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Author's Note: The following is a character study set before the final (tag) scenes of "Mandatory Refusal." It assumes that Michael gets a night off before he comes back to Section to debrief. It includes spoilers for "Mandatory Refusal," "Nikita," "Approaching Zero," "Simone," "Hard Landing," and "New Regime." I'd rate it an MA-14, I guess, though I'm not sure it really merits that high a rating. No infringement of any sort is intended with the following.
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"`Kita," Michael moaned in his sleep.

It was the several thousandth time he had done so--both in pleasure and in pain--since he had met her. This was one of the less pleasant times. His voice--had anyone been listening--sounded feverish. His unconscious mind was caught in an onslaught of imagery, all of which scared him.

The dream's images were surreal; they shifted and blended into one another. He was in Section, though--if a darkened, frightening version of it. He was dressed and equipped for a mission. He could hear her screaming, begging for mercy, for help, but every light he turned on blew out; he couldn't see to find her.

"`Kita!" he called hoarsely, trying to locate the direction of her voice.

"Michael," her voice pleaded back, "help me."

He couldn't track it. It came from one direction, then another. He spun around. "`Kita," he whispered desperately.

"Please, Michael," Nikita called him.

He began running, praying that he would find her. The corridors of the Section followed no logical pattern, however. They would shift and change, leading him back to where he had started, then taking him somewhere else he knew he shouldn't be.

"Michael," Nikita's voice called softly again. She sounded choked by tears, like she was losing strength.

With a desperate burst of determination, Michael ran down another corridor to stop abruptly in front of a set of swinging doors, which were guarded, calmly, by Madeline and Operations. They stood watching him.

"You can't have her," Madeline reasoned.

"The material is *off-limits*," Operations stressed.

Michael reacted immediately, shooting and killing both of them and then running past their bodies into the room. Once inside, he saw a target range, with Nikita in the distance beyond it. She was strapped to a gurney, struggling, looking much like she had when he had first met her. She looked over and saw him.

"Michael, help me." Her arms were bound to the stretcher, but one hand tried to reach toward him.

Just as Michael was about to move toward her, though, the firing range sprung to life. Paper targets with the images on them of Madeline, Operations, Jurgen --as he had looked when Michael was recruited, and hundreds of others who he had trained or worked under or with in Section flew toward him.

He fired as they came, each one shattering, as he hit it, as though it were made of glass.

After what seemed like hours, he had taken them all out. He ran past the range toward Nikita, but his destruction of the images seemed to have destabilized the foundations of the building; it began to fall in around him. He reached Nikita and threw himself over her in an attempt to protect her, as 500 feet of solid earth fell in upon him, crushing him.

A second later, however, he heard her voice again. "Michael . . . Michael, take my hand. . . . Take my hand, and I'll pull you out," she instructed.

With one last surge of strength, Michael reached up. Nikita caught hold of him and pulled him from the rubble, which suddenly seemed much shallower than it should have been. She held him close. He opened his eyes to find they were outside the bunker where Simone had died. He clung to Nikita desperately. "It's alright, Michael," she soothed. "I have you now. Section's gone. We're safe now. . . . We're safe."

The sound of moaning woke Michael up, before he realized it was his own. He was sweating, and he reached up to find tears on his face.

"Damn," he murmured softly and sat up to hold his head in his hands for a few minutes.

Damn Nikita. Damn Section. Damn himself. . . . Damn everything. He closed his eyes and clutched at the sides of his head, as though it were in danger of exploding.

It had only been two days ago that he had asked Nikita to dinner, thinking that he was ready to see her again. . . . He was wrong. Her actions over the past few days had intensified his feelings; he now worried that his emotions for her were so strong that they were threatening his sanity.

She had come after him, risked her life--from him and the Section--in order to save his. She had weighed his needs against Operations' orders and--he suspected--not paused for a second before coming to aid him. He hung his head further, his hands running back through his hair. It was just the proof of her feelings he didn't need at the moment.

Michael sighed. He had to be careful around her constantly to keep himself from pulling her painfully close and holding her.

"It's not an option," he whispered angrily to himself before looking up. He was doing everything he could think of to keep himself distanced from her. It was only when he felt he had that distance that he allowed himself to be around her, when it wasn't a Section necessity. He had thought he was ready again, but he had simply been fooling himself.

"My God, I need her," he thought. His need had never been just sexual, though; it had never been that simple.

Michael had been intrigued by her at first--by her beauty and spirit. Not long after that, he had developed a deep respect for her. He had often found, during training, that he was spending far more time than was actually necessary with her--finding the excuse of one more exercise, another repetition--in order to be near her for a while longer. He became reluctant to go on missions, simply because they took him away from her.

The love had begun without him realizing it--without him wanting it to. She had started simply as a distraction from his thoughts of Simone, but--over time --her place inside him had grown until she became Simone's equal in his heart, although he had found this hard to admit to himself. Now, however, Simone seemed almost inconsequential compared to Nikita, and he was finding it nearly impossible to get through his life without her.

Michael closed his eyes tightly and leaned back against his pillow. Every wall--every defense he had put up against Nikita had proved useless; they were Maginot lines to her, although his invader's intent was love--not hate. He could keep his distance on the surface, could seem cold and uncaring. Internally, though, she had shattered his every barrier. She was no longer fighting for a place in his heart; she had intertwined herself with its muscles --its very fibers long ago. It . . . he didn't exist without her.

He knew she didn't know this--didn't believe; she had built her own walls. It was just as well for him, really. It was only when he felt her defenses were strong that he would approach her now. Otherwise, their mutual weakness could lead them into each other's arms--into emotions which simply couldn't exist in Section.

Michael brought his hand up to rub his temple. He should have killed her yesterday, should have pulled the trigger before she even saw him. As it was, he had purposely fired wide when he first saw her and simply disarmed her the second. He shook his head slightly. In Section, that sort of weakness could get you killed. And, even though he had told her he could kill her if he had to, he knew he was lying. He still had nightmares about beating her in order to bring her back into Section; there was no way he could cancel her.

Michael lowered his hand again and opened his eyes. He had to distance himself from her, or their weakness could prove deadly. Already, Petrosian had tried to use it against them, to turn their mutual need into a promise of loyalty. God, the strength it had taken to resist that. . . . For both their sakes, they had to be careful.

His dream was right, he decided. If he let himself, he would destroy Section itself to save her. He couldn't allow that to happen.

With this new attempt at resolve, Michael got out of bed and moved toward the shower, willfully ignoring most of his dream's hidden messages.

The End

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