The night wind blew against Nikita sending a chill through her tired body. She shivered and hugged her arms over her chest, her fingers absently stroking her upper arms, as she walked with her head lowered. *She* had brought Simone back to Section. It had been HER decision to disobey Jurgen and return into the lower level of Glass Curtain's lair to retrieve Michael's wife. She'd had no choice. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she hadn't gone back.

Nikita had known from the moment she found out Simone was alive what the consequences of bringing her back to Section would be. Although at the time, she had pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, Nikita had known that the fledgling bond she had built with Michael would be sacrificed. Although she and Michael had carried their relationship one daring, trusting step further by making love, Nikita knew in her heart that he belonged with Simone. Her conscience dictated that she yield her love for Michael so he could honor the vows of marriage that bound him to Simone.

Feeling weak, Nikita sat down and rested on a park bench. Her impromptu run had left her body achingly exhausted. It was foolish, maybe even childish, she thought, of her to think she could run from her problems. She realized that now. Besides, she had never been a quitter in her life. She had learned to fend for herself from a very early age and it was that survival instinct that now took control of her as Nikita contemplated on her situation. She realized that for her, there really were no options from which to choose. She HAD to give Michael up. The thought weighed heavily upon her and she felt the sting of tears burning her eyelids. Angrily, Nikita blinked the sign of weakness away and forced herself to stand. She would get through this. She *would* survive - just as she always had.

Some time later Nikita finally reached home. She had made up her mind that she would go in to see Simone this morning and see how she was holding up. Nikita showered and was in the process of getting dressed when she recalled the scars that Simone bore from Glass Curtain's torture. She tried to feel what Simone must now have been experiencing as a result of the inhumane conditions under which she'd been crushed. She wanted to make sure that Simone would feel comfortable around her, so she dressed simply, in jeans with a dark blue T-shirt, her hair pulled back in an unpretentious ponytail. With a final survey of her apartment, Nikita closed the door and headed towards Section.

It was barely daylight when Nikita arrived at headquarters. As the elevator doors opened, the cold, sterile air of Section enveloped her and she suppressed the urge to shiver. The halls were still fairly empty at this hour. It was one of the reasons Nikita had chosen to come early. She wanted to visit Simone with a minimum of interruptions. Stepping out from the elevator, Nikita turned left and headed towards Medlab.

She found Michael asleep in a chair next to his wife's bed - her hand clasped in his. The scene caused Nikita's heart to contract painfully in equal parts sympathy and devastation as her eyes watered. Quickly, she blinked the tears away as she moved quietly forward and stood next to Michael. Even in sleep he looked exhausted. Nikita raised her hand and placed it briefly, gently, on Michael's shoulder. He awoke immediately, startled by the soft touch. Glancing up, he saw Nikita and visibly relaxed.

The tall blonde bestowed a small, forced smile upon Michael as she asked, her eyes indicating Simone, "How is she?"

Michael's gaze shifted back to Simone, and his countenance softened with an almost imperceptible warmth - Nikita saw it and felt the indirect effects of it, even though his tender look was aimed at Simone. She felt shamefully like a voyeur who had walked in on them in an intimate moment. "The doctor gave her a sedative to help her sleep." He spoke quietly - as was his manner - but unlike other times, his voice was filled with a myriad of emotions. Nikita realized that this was as difficult for him as it was for her.

"How are you doing?" Nikita asked. She longed to reach out and to push his hair back from his face. Instead she concentrated on maintaining a casual expression as she carefully searched his eyes for any clue of what he was feeling, wanting to confirm what she'd been positive she'd seen in his eyes a moment before. It would have been, in any other case, a wasted effort since Michael was a master at concealing his emotions when he wanted. But this time, Nikita saw that Michael's exhaustion and his love were combining to war against him - he'd lost that battle, and his expression was one of pure, gem-cut honesty, if only for a moment.

The corner of his lips curved slightly up as he transferred his attention back to Nikita. "I'm fine," he responded quietly. His eyes roved over her and he noticed the dark circles and slight puffiness of her eyes. She had been crying. The knowledge tore at him as he realized the sacrifice it had taken for her to come here and to offer her support to him during this time.

Michael lowered his troubled gaze. His mind was a whirl of confusion. His feelings for Nikita had not changed. In fact, his love for her grew as he had watched her hold Simone in the helicopter last night. Even now, he could feel his emotions for her escalating. Yet, he loved Simone, too.

Nikita watched as Michael struggled with his feelings. With her hands tucked safely in the pockets of her jeans, she stared down at the floor. "Its okay," she offered in a hushed voice. When Michael glanced back at her, she turned and smiled reassuringly at him. "Go get some rest, Michael." Nikita pointed to Simone with a nod of her head. "I'll stay with her."

Michael opened his mouth to decline her offer but was interrupted by Nikita, "Just because Simone is back doesn't mean Operations is going to let you sit around here all day." Her lips curved into a smile as her eyes conveyed her empathy. "I've got some down time, Michael," she stated. "Let me stay with her..."

A warmth filled Michael's green eyes as he allowed his gaze to glide tenderly over Nikita's profile. He recognized, with a sudden pain in his heart, the gift of true friendship she offered him. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes returning once more to Simone a moment before he turned to face Nikita. Michael's hand gently touched hers as he whispered, "Thank you." He left the room without a sound.

Nikita stood a moment watching the petite woman sleeping. Even sedated, her expression showed signs of stress and pain. Nikita leaned over the bed and carefully straightened the covers around Simone. She looked so vulnerable lying there, her body curved protectively in a fetal position. Nikita felt her heart constrict in sorrow as she gazed upon the burn marks that marred what was obviously a once beautiful face. The patches of bald spots amongst her ebony hair revealed further evidence of the torture she had had to endure. Tears sprang to her eyes and Nikita tilted her head back, closing her eyes momentarily to clear her vision.

She turned and reached for the chair that Michael had so recently occupied and sat down - she could still feel the warmth from his body lingering in it. Nikita nervously rubbed the palms of her hands along the front of her jeans and looked around. "I wish they would change the color of these rooms," she muttered distractedly. Nikita glanced back at the sleeping Simone and smiled. Her eyes shifted over to Simone's hand. Hesitantly, Nikita reached out and gently touched two of her long fingers to the back of Simone's small hand. It felt cold.

There was a mission in which Nikita had been hurt a couple months back and she had had to spend the night here at medlab. She remembered waking in the night and looking around at the cold harshness of her medlab room. She had felt very alone then. Had wished for companionship - someone to talk to her - to care.

Nikita's hand closed gently over Simone's. "I know you don't really know me..." she stated softly, almost apologetically. "...I'm Nikita." She flashed a small smile at Simone - wondering if she could hear her. Nikita took a deep breath as her thumb absently stroked Simone's hand. "I work here," she stated quietly. "I guess you would already know that..."

Nikita paused as her mind drifted, memories of the past two and a half years gliding through her thoughts. "Two and a half years," she murmured. "Sometimes it seems only yesterday I awoke in a room similar to this," she stated in a hushed tone. "Sometimes... it seems an eternity."

Her attention returned to Simone's face and she wondered what circumstances had brought her here to Section. What had brought Michael here? she thought.

"I guess I should be thankful," Nikita continued again softly, "...thankful that I'm not rotting away in some prison. Sometimes, though, I feel that this is worse -- sometimes. Of course, there has been some... good... that has come out of this." A faraway expression fleeted across Nikita's countenance. "I've met some good people..." Her mind conjured up images of Walter, Jurgen, Birkoff.... Michael. Nikita's eyes closed over the last vision as she ordered her heart to be calm.

She forced her mind to think of a safer subject. Over the next several minutes Nikita began to relate to Simone stories about her first days in Section. She told of her first encounter with Madeline and of the awful, revealing outfits Madeline dressed her in in an attempt to have Nikita become more the seductress Section wanted. Nikita laughed softly at the memory of learning to walk in three inch heels. "I nearly twisted my ankle, not to mention my pride, in those things," she stated with a smile. Nikita then told of her experience with Operations and how he constantly glared at her with those steely gray eyes of his. "No matter what I do it never seems enough for him..." Nikita mused.

A wide grin settled upon her lips as she told Simone of her earliest encounter with Walter and how she had nearly broken his arm when he had gotten too fresh with her. Nikita's quiet laughter pierced the silence of Simone's room. "I guess I was pretty terrible to him," she said with a loving smile. "Then there's Birkoff... He can be such a brat," Nikita stated affectionately. "And Jurgen..." Nikita thought a moment about the man that was her mentor and trainer. "In many ways, he's been like an older brother to me. Always correcting me, giving me counsel."

Nikita was unaware that Michael had returned, having showered and changed. He stood quietly at the door and listened to Nikita's laughter - her one-sided conversation with Simone. He marveled at her compassion and knew that Simone would like her. After a moment, he turned and left as quietly as he had come, leaving Simone in Nikita's care.

Nikita was still speaking of Jurgen. "Sometimes I think he knows me better than I do myself - its irritating." A smile curved her lips once more as she looked at Simone. "But I don't know what I would do without him... or Michael," she whispered.

Nikita yawned helplessly and glanced at her watch - it was barely seven A.M. She'd been up all night, had pushed her body and her emotional capacity to their limits, and was exhausted. The grueling treatment she'd knowingly inflicted upon herself was finally catching up with her, and she felt like she could easily fall asleep in any posture, in any chair. Nikita knew she didn't want to leave Simone's bedside - she'd made a promise to Michael to stay with her, and she intended to keep that promise. However, she also knew that if she allowed herself to succumb to slumber in her current position, she'd wake up with a stiff neck, or worse.

Nikita turned her chair strategically, stretched out until she was comfortable, and rested her head on the bed, next to Simone's hand, as a sort of warning system so she could feel any kind of movement from her. Then, finally, she allowed herself to slip beneath the surface of cognizance, the soft, spiraling rush in her ears fading as she lost consciousness.

While Nikita slept, Simone slowly opened her eyes, struggling for focus and for remembrance of where she was and what had happened to put her here. She cast her eyes all around. Becoming aware of a warmth by her hand, she looked down in mild surprise to see the sleeping woman with the blonde hair. Simone moved her fingers and gently touched Nikita's head, then surrendered once more to the effect of the sedatives.

**********

When Simone next awoke, several hours had passed. She found the blonde woman had gone and her own beloved Michael was sitting in the chair. She smiled weakly as she lifted one hand towards him. Slowly, carefully he took it in his as he returned her smile and leaned forward.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, his voice deliberately hushed so as not to reverberate in her ears. Simone nodded to indicate that she was fine, seeing from Michael's face that he didn't really believe her but was willing to allow her the pretense.

His doleful eyes searched hers deeply as his thumb gently caressed her fingers. She had been dead to him for three years - it was difficult for him to adjust to the idea that she was alive. Under normal, non-Section circumstances, the return of a loved one thought to be dead would be cause for celebration. For Michael, though, it meant acknowledgement of the fact that for three years Simone had been abandoned and left to suffer at the hands of the enemy. How could he forgive himself that? How could *she*?

Michael's gaze studied every inch of Simone's scarred face. The evidence of Glass Curtain's torture was as a razor slashed across his heart and he couldn't help but think that it was HIS fault. On that day three years ago when he and Simone had been ambushed - he had left her, convinced that she was dead. Housekeeping had been called in to retrieve Simone's body and eliminate any evidence of Section having been there. It had never been reported back to him that her body had not been recovered. If he had only known then...

Simone could see the guilt eating at Michael as he stared down at her. She knew he was looking at the burn marks on her face. Knew he was feeling responsible. When Michael moved his hands to her gown to see what further evidence of torture lay hidden there, she lifted a slightly unsteady hand and stopped him. She didn't want him seeing any more of the suffering she had endured. Didn't want him to be pained. His gaze shifted back to hers, a question in his emerald eyes, and she shook her head slowly. "No," she said simply.

Simone understood the reason for his perusal. Understood the direction in which his mind was racing - and she couldn't allow it. She loved him too much to have him think that he was responsible for what had happened to her. She had accepted long ago that being captured and tortured was a calculated risk with which all Section operatives lived.

Her eyes roved over his beautiful face - the face that had sustained her throughout the three years that Glass Curtain had held her prisoner and tortured her. His hair was longer. She liked it like this. The curls helped to soften the serious expression Michael so often favored. Her gaze fell upon his lips and the memory of their softness against her own mouth, and against other, softer places caused a faintly familiar ache to blossom within her. Simone reached up, her hand trembling a little, and touched his lips, her gesture conveying her thoughts.

The tenderness of her caress overwhelmed Michael. He raised her fragile, lean, hand to his cheek, rubbing the back of it against his skin, savoring the familiar, sweetly-painful warmth and smoothness of it, before he turned his head and pressed his lips to the middle of her palm. Holding her gaze, he leaned in and softly, cautiously brushed his lips to hers - once, then twice. His hesitancy revealed the strained nature of their reunion. The love that had bound them together in the past remained, but it was foreshadowed and burdened by sorrow, guilt, and the simple passage of time spent apart.

Wordlessly, Michael sat on the edge of the bed, pulled Simone into his arms with peculiar tenderness and held her trembling, frail body. His hand caressed her hair, lovingly avoiding the bald patches he knew were there, as he gently rocked her to and fro.

"Michael..." She choked out his name, her voice still weak and raspy, as she clung to him. The tears that she had refused to shed during her captivity burst forth, the pent up emotions of her ordeal releasing themselves in quiet sobs that wracked her small body. Her tears soaked through Michael's shirt, burning his skin with anguish, grief and despair as his arms tightened about her.

After the first few months of her captivity, she had begun to think that she would never see her Michael again, never feel his strong arms wrapped around her. Glass Curtain had done their worst to her - not to gain information, but for the sheer sport of watching a helpless victim writhe in pain. She'd thought, many times, that she would die - had even prayed for it sometimes. But she carried a picture of Michael in her mind and heart, and it had never left her, no matter what her captors had done to her. Still, she had had doubts and fears, when she was weakened by the abuse - fears that Michael was dead, that he had given up on her, that he'd forgotten her. That she was here with him now was a miracle - and it caused her to cry even more.

Tears glimmered in Michael's eyes as he held his wife - tears of love, guilt, agony, confusion. In near-obliterating anguish, he closed his eyes. His soft words were barely-discernable. "I thought you were..." He paused, unwilling or unable to complete his thought. "If I had known, I would never have stopped looking for you. Never stopped loving you," he whispered.

Never stopped loving you.

The words escaped before he could curtail them and Michael stiffened as he realized the intimation behind them. He hadn't stopped loving Simone per se, but he had locked his feelings for her away, deep inside, as a means of surviving her death. He pulled away and gazed into Simone's eyes, afraid that she might misunderstand his meaning. She was staring back at him, though, love and compassion shining through her tears as she raised her hand to gently stroke Michael's cheek.

Simone knew her husband well, even after so long a time apart from him, and after so many circumstances between them. She understood that he had done what was necessary in order to continue living. It was what she would have wanted him to do. She also understood how it was, now, between them. Too much had happened to them both - changing them forever from the individuals they had been three years ago - despite their love for each other.

Her brief release of tears subsided as fatigue overcame her and she lay back against the pillows, her hand seeking his and clasping it lovingly. She smiled tenderly up at him, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude that she had been given this chance to see him again... The time had come, though, for them to face the reality of her situation - of THEIR situation.

As Simone gazed into Michael's eyes, her heart ached at the favor she had to ask of him. Ached because she knew it would be one of the most difficult things for Michael to do. Yet, it was necessary. And in the end, Simone knew with a certainty, Michael would come to realize the wisdom in her decision. There was no way around it.

Her mind turned to the blonde-haired woman that had rescued her and had been sleeping in complete innocence and trust by her bedside earlier. Simone had felt a strange bond with the woman. In the helicopter, the woman had showed her - compassion. Simone's eyes clouded over slightly. Compassion was a trait that was frowned upon in Section - yet, this woman had exuded kindness, both in the helicopter and here by her bedside. Simone was curious to know more about her.

"The woman... that was here. Who is she, Michael?" Her dark eyes searched his, imperiously demanding the truth, to the degree that he could impart it to her.

Michael's gaze wavered slightly. He hoped Simone hadn't noticed. He wasn't willing to discuss Nikita yet. Thoughts of Nikita had the power to create feelings in him that only added to his guilt where Simone was concerned. His and Nikita's tenuous relationship, muddled by the recent turn of events, confused Michael. It seemed better - as Nikita's earlier actions inferred - to leave it alone, for the present.

Michael carefully maintained a blank expression as he answered Simone's question. "That was Nikita," he responded quietly. Simone had always been able to read his emotions and he didn't want her to see the chaos that the mere mention of Nikita's name elicited in him.

"She's very kind," Simone mused. "Strange trait for an operative."

Michael watched Simone quietly. He recognized that she wasn't finished with her out-loud ponderings, and he remained silent, waiting - he would not respond until he knew Simone had finished, because he knew that sometimes her thought-processes zig-zagged drastically in their path from point A to point B, and he didn't want to miss a single word.

"She stayed with me a long time." Simone's brows furrowed together in concentration as she tried to remember. "I could hear her voice talking to me, reading..."

Michael simply nodded, not trusting himself to make any other comment about the blonde-haired woman who had the power to make him feel a traitor both to her AND to Simone. His pulse pounded, and he was grateful that Simone's fingers were not on his wrist - she would have felt the reaction to Nikita that even speaking her name could evoke in him, and he didn't want to face that - not yet, perhaps not ever.

Simone gazed at her husband. Although he was trying hard not to show it, Simone could tell that there was - for lack of a more accurate term - a *connection* between him and Nikita. A sharp pain pierced her heart as she contemplated whether or not Michael loved this woman. Yet, another part of her was, strangely enough, calmed by the thought.

Simone sensed that this Nikita had a good heart and would be able to help Michael to survive the ordeal through which her impending request would force him.

"Three years is a long time, Michael," she began. Her eyes sought his briefly before she turned to stare straight ahead - a distant look filling her eyes. "A lot can happen in that time.... A lot *has* happened."

Michael flinched at her words but Simone squeezed his hand weakly, her gaze turning back to his to reassure him. She needed to say these things, not as a means of punishing Michael, but so that he would comprehend and accept the reasons for her request.

Simone sighed as she struggled against her fatigue. She wanted, needed, to express to him her thoughts, her love. Slowly she raised her hand to lightly stroke his chest. Her gaze roamed freely over him once more. The love she felt for him revealed itself plainly in the depths of her dark eyes. She took his hand in hers and held it a moment, studying the fingers whose gentle, inquisitive touch she knew so well. She continued to stare at their clasped hands as she finally voiced her thoughts quietly. "I can't come back to this life, Michael."

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she watched Michael's fingers tremble, then slowly close over hers. With effort, she raised her gaze to see Michael's own eyes glimmering with tears as he stared back at her. Silently he waited for her to finish what it was she had to say.

"I thought that I would never see you again. But now, here we are..." A fragile smile graced her lips as she reached out and stroked his face, her fingers lingering...

"Without Section, I would never have met you. Fate brought me to you, it took me away from you, and now, fate has granted me a chance to say goodbye to you, my love."

Michael's eyes closed tightly against the words she spoke, the moisture of his tears glistening on his lashes. He whispered in anguish, in denial, "I don't believe in fate..."

"Michael, look at me," she pleaded. She could feel the energy draining from her body but needed to make him understand before she succombed to the comfort of unconciousness. His eyes were shut, his expression tortured, as if he sensed what it was she was about to ask. "Look at me, Michael, please." Slowly Michael opened his eyes and gazed into Simone's. What he saw there confirmed his suspicion and he turned his head away in agony.

"No," he whispered.

"Think about it, Michael," she continued quietly. "From the moment we're born, death becomes our companion. It is inevitable, our destiny."

Michael uttered softly, his expression shot with something like dread, "I don't believe in destiny..."

Simone eyes pleaded with him, "I can't return to life as it was, Michael." Glancing at her crippled right leg, a result of when Glass Curtain had broken the bone and it had not healed properly, she stated, "I'll never be able to return to the field."

"You could train in data analysis," Michael interjected quickly, trying desperately to find an alternate route than the one Simone was offering.

Simone shook her head slowly, her own eyes closing as tears slid from the corners. "No, Michael," she breathed. "That's not the answer." Dark eyes opened to look into his, pleading with him silently. "I love you, my dearest heart. But I'm tired, Michael - I want peace."

Silence filled the room for several minutes as Simone tenderly stroked Michael's hand. Offering him what comfort she could as tears escaped his closed lashes. When he had regained enough control to open his eyes and return his gaze to meet hers, Simone smiled lovingly at him. Then, with a sigh, she completed her request. "Promise me that when the time comes, you'll be the one to set me free, Michael."

Michael shook his head, the frustration and sorrow he felt at her request becoming apparent. He remembered the mission where he'd had to leave her behind, the excruciating pain of believing she had died - and he knew he could not go through that hellish gauntlet of desperation and desolation again. "Please, Simone," he whispered in a broken voice. "Don't ask me to do this."

The tears Michael had tried to hold back rolled down his cheeks as he gently gathered Simone back into his arms. His heart was breaking at her request. A selfish part of him wanted to deny her what she asked - to force her to stay here with him. To restore things back to the way they had been three years ago. To pick up where they had left off... Yet, another part of him understood her request. Understood the weariness that plagued her dark eyes. Understood the desire she had to be free - truly free - of Section.

Simone could feel herself slowly slipping back into darkness. She pushed weakly against him and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Promise me, Michael," she whispered. A tormented expression filled Michael's green eyes as he felt his heart twist into a knot.

"I promise..." ***********

Jurgen glanced up at the lazy, clicking cadence of footsteps he knew only too well as belonging to Nikita. She was strolling towards him in a languid manner, her lithe body clothed in a dark red silk dress that outlined every curve of her body with each sensual sway of her hips. The thin straps of the dress showed off her silky shoulders while the crimson color highlighted her golden hair that was curled and swept back, exposing her long slender neck.

Jurgen stood and pulled out her chair for her as she smiled her thanks to him. "Did you have trouble finding a parking space?" he asked.

"No, I took a cab. Didn't feel up to driving."

They were at a small, intimate restaurant located just twenty minutes from Nikita's apartment. Being a week night, there wasn't much of a crowd. The ambiance suited Nikita, as she really didn't want to be anywhere crowded and noisy tonight.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked once she had settled in.

"Mmm, fine," she answered distractedly. She had been called in on a mission that had required her to spend a couple of days in Europe and had arrived back that morning. Jurgen had sent her home to rest with instructions to meet him here for dinner and an informal debriefing.

They spent several minutes discussing in quiet tones the outcome of the mission, pausing only when the waiter appeared to take their order. As Nikita gave a cursory glance at her menu and ordered, Jurgen allowed his gaze to roam over her, noting the dark circles that were barely noticable under her carefully made-up face. She was trying to pretend that the situation between Michael and Simone didn't bother her, but Jurgen had come to know his student's behavior and emotions very well. He knew this was taking its toll her. To what extent, he didn't know, but he intended to find out.

After the waiter left, Jurgen reached over and took her hand in his. "Dance with me?" he asked softly. Nikita was about to decline when he stood and looked down imploringly at her. "Please?"

Nikita flashed him a resigned smile. "All right," she agreed and stood gracefully.

Jurgen led her out to the dance floor in the midst of the other dancing couples. Turning, he held her, keeping a respectable distance between their bodies, as they began to sway to the soft music. She was a little tense, but gradually, the soothing melody of the piano seeped through her tired body and Nikita found herself relaxing.

Her thoughts were transported back to the many dance lessons she'd had with Michael in Madeline's office and her eyes closed with silent longing for him. In her mind, she remembered his strength, his gentleness, his soft voice murmuring instructions in her ear. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, almost taste his skin. It didn't take much for her to pretend it was Michael who held her now, not with her imagination calling up such vivid images of him, almost against her will.

Nikita removed her hand from Jurgen's clasp and wound both her arms around his neck. Instantly, his arms encircled her waist and pulled her in more snugly, allowing him to feel her body moving very gently against his from neck to knee. She closed her eyes and allowed her body to respond to the music - just as Michael had taught her. Again, she was mentally assaulted with memories of a more lithe body, warmer skin, softer hands sharing her nearness, and she could not stop her mind from longing for Michael - couldn't stop her body from aching for him. Nikita inhaled sharply and turned her head to rest on Jurgen's shoulder. The torment was almost too much for her. Silently, she swayed in Jurgen's arms as her heart beat for Michael.

Jurgen frowned when he felt the moistness of her tears. "Nikita," he breathed softly as he buried his lips into her hair. It was tearing at him to see her pain. "Tell me what's bothering you," he whispered in her ear.

"It's nothing," she lied.

Jurgen pulled slightly away and gazed at her as she lowered her eyes. Tenderly, he wiped at her tears. His fingers stroking her cheek was so painfully reminiscent of Michael's caress. With a slight shake of her head, Nikita pulled his hand gently away and whispered, "No, don't."

He sighed and pulled her her once more into his arms, his fingers gently caressing her back until he felt her relax again. She was wreaking havoc with his emotions. Jurgen knew he was treading in dangerous territory. Nikita was his material and he couldn't risk forming an emotional attachment to her. But he also knew that right now, more than anything else, she needed - no, craved - old-fashioned, tender loving care. He was also wise enough to know that a part of him wanted very much to be the one to offer her that comfort. She was a beautiful woman with a spirit to match that beauty. It was a powerfully irresistable combination, and Jurgen was only a man, no matter what Section envisioned him to be - he swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment in an effort to suppress his own human desires.

His arms tightened around her, though, as she leaned her head toward his. His eyes opened, startled for a second, then closed again as he struggled to keep from kissing her cheek as he longed to do. She was vulnerable enough as it was, he argued with himself - he didn't need to add to her confusion.

Jurgen continued to restrain himself as he danced with her - allowing her to take what comfort she needed from his arms around her, even as his own emotions warred within him and he was forced to call upon all his Section training to keep from sweeping her deeply into his arms and kissing her into a faint. As the song came to an end he risked the fire and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he whispered as he took her hand and led her back to the table.

He decided not to press her on the issue of Michael and Simone. Instead they spent the evening leisurely enjoying dinner. As the evening progressed, Jurgen continued to watch Nikita discreetly. One would never guess, from looking at her lovliness, that she was an assassin. Listening to her speak of the wonder and enchantment of the cities through which she had passed in her last mission, Jurgen was amused that she would have noticed. Most operatives only saw the mission objective and parameters. He doubted anyone noticed the flowing green fields or apple orchards that Nikita was describing to him. He hoped that she would never lose the ability to find good and beauty in the world - the longer she stayed in Section though, the more unlikely that seemed.

Finally, their meal completed, Nikita took on a more serious tone and leaned forward. "Tell me about this next mission," she stated softly. "Who is this Gray Wellman?"

Jurgen reviewed the basic outline of the mission. It wasn't standard procedure to give out intel on missions before the briefing, but he knew that this particular mission was bothering her. Jurgen paused to fill her glass with more wine. "Am I being ordered to seduce Wellman?" Nikita asked with lowered eyes.

Jurgen could hear the trace of anxiety in her voice. "No, Nikita," he assured her, his ice-blue eyes softening almost imperceptibly at her sudden vulnerability. "We just need for it to appear as if Wellman has the directory. He's only a decoy."

Nikita sighed as she fingered the stem of her wine glass. "An *innocent* decoy," she mumbled.

Jurgen leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table as he clasped his hands and peered into her eyes. "If all goes well, there's no reason why Wellman should be in any danger."

Nikita listened carefully, then nodded as she lifted her napkin and gently dabbed at her lips. "Is there anything else I should know about this mission?" she asked.

Jurgen held her gaze with his own. "No. You just need to be very careful, Nikita. You'll be on point - meaning that you risk the most exposure." He paused to place extra emphasis on his next words. "I *need* you to be alert."

One corner of her sensuous mouth lifted in a half-smile. "I understand, Jurgen." At his doubtful look, she reached over and took his hand in hers. "Thank you for your concern." She paused, her fingers squeezing his hand slightly as she finally admitted in a quiet voice, "There *are* a few things right now that are bothering me." Nikita paused, lost in thought for a moment, before she turned her focus back to Jurgen. "But they won't interfere with my ability to do the job."

"Good," Jurgen smiled as he stood and pulled her up next to him. His hand gently caressed her cheek as he peered deeply into the blue eyes that lately had begun to haunt his dreams. "I'll take you home," he murmured softly and led her out into the night, her hand clasped securely in his.

***********

After Jurgen dropped her off at home, Nikita found it difficult to sleep. And so it was that when Michael knocked on Nikita's door, he found to his relief that she was still awake. She answered the door, a thick novel - the cover mercifully devoid of the stereotypical "muscular-hero-sweeping-fragile-heroine-into-his-arms" illustration - in her hand, her finger keeping the place marked. The room behind her was dark except for the subdued glow of a lamp in the living room and another one in her bedroom. Soft, instrumental music, something Michael didn't recognize, played in the background.

Michael's gaze swept over Nikita and he felt the familiar quickening of his pulse that occurred each time he was near her. The black sweater Nikita wore over dark leggings provided a striking contrast for her hair as it fell softly about her face. He quickly lowered his lashes as he clamped down on the traitorous thoughts that entered his mind. He didn't really know why he had come here. *No, that's a lie,* he thought to himself. He knew exactly why he had come. He needed someone right now to help him come to grips with what Simone had asked him to do. He needed a friend. Michael glanced up at Nikita, who stood waiting, watching him almost protectively. He knew that it was probably unfair of him to ask this of her, but Nikita was the only person in whom he could confide with absolute trust. But he didn't even remotely know where to begin, or what to say.

"Michael?" Nikita's voice revealed her surprise to find him standing at her door. Her eyes quickly took in the weary, almost haunted expression on Michael's face, and it alarmed her. For him to be there at all, much less in the dead of the night, sent warning signals to Nikita that something was dreadfully wrong, and she opened the door wide, allowing him in.

"I wasn't sure you would still be awake," he stated apologetically. His voice was husky and strained.

"What's wrong?" Nikita asked. His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, as if he hadn't slept in a long while. "Is Simone okay?" Her voice held a note of anxiety as she concluded that the only reason Michael would look this upset would be if something was wrong with Simone. She immediately stepped aside and let Michael enter the apartment, never taking her eyes from him as she tried to read his demeanor and expression. She wondered if that perception would be all she would have on which to base her final conclusion regarding his appearance in her deep twilight hours.

"Fine," he murmured, deliberately not meeting Nikita's too-perceptive gaze, knowing she would see the lie there. *At least for now,* he added silently, as his mind reviewed once again the promise he had made to her. He had spent the past few days in a sort of catatonic daze, alternately methodically handling his responsibilities and checking on Simone's progress. When he'd found out Nikita had returned from her mission in Europe, he'd been almost compelled to see her, to be near her, as if she could have somehow miraculously made his decision about Simone more rational.

Nikita reached over to the wall to turn on the overhead lighting, but Michael stopped her by putting his hand on her wrist very lightly. "No, Nikita," he uttered. When she turned puzzled eyes towards him, MIchael explained as he reluctantly withdrew his hand from her, "Please, no light... not right now..." The dim lighting comforted him and helped to conceal the emotions he was having difficulty hiding tonight.

"All right," Nikita answered as she lowered her hand back down to her side. She closed the door and locked it - an automatic precaution she carried out as a well-trained operative of the Section. She moved behind the counter and put her book down on it, her eyes still fixed on him as he made his way over to the window and stood staring out into the night. "Would you like a drink?" she asked him softly.

Michael shook his head. "No, thank you."

Nikita made her way slowly over to him and stood by his side, studying his profile. He looked exhausted - as if the burden he was carrying had become too heavy for him to bear. She suppressed the urge to touch her hand to his cheek. "What is it, Michael?" Nikita asked softly, her voice rich with concern and compassion. She never took her eyes from him, but he continued to stare out at the night, seemingly oblivious to her words. A small flickering of his lashes, visible in the ambiguous shadows cast from the dim lighting within the room and the city lights outside, revealed to Nikita even more completely than words his anguish and torment. She thought for a second that he'd blinked back tears, but she couldn't be certain.

Silently, Nikita reached for Michael's hand and was surprised to feel his fingers close over hers. She lifted her gaze and saw that he still would not look at her. Quietly she led him over to the couch where she gently pushed him down by his shoulders. His acquiescence unnerved her - he was so reticent, so docile that she wondered if he was even aware of his actions. It occurred to her that this was not the "Mission-Michael" with which she was all-too-familiar - this was a strange changeling whom she did not quite recognize, but against whose presence she could not keep a neutral distance.

Afterwards she moved back to the kitchen and busied herself preparing coffee. Instinct told her that Michael had come out of a need to talk, but talking wasn't something which was easy for him. Although they had always been fairly comfortable in each other's presence before, their conversations had always centered around Nikita. The one exception had been when Michael had told her about Simone and even then, the revealing of information had been very difficult for him.

Michael watched Nikita as she moved around in the kitchen. She'd made the apartment her private space, and she obviously was comfortable within her domain. He looked deeper, realizing that she knew him better than anyone in his life now, with the exception of Simone. Nikita seemed to understand him so well - she could anticipate what he needed and she never failed to unerringly, selflessly provide it to him, whether it was a cup of coffee, a listening ear, or-- Michael squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to admit that her body inflamed him beyond rational thought. He fought back memories of their lovemaking - now was not the time to dwell on something which might never happen again. He needed to focus on Simone. The fact that he had even come here to her while his wife lay in medlab tormented him.

Nikita finished making the coffee and carried it over to Michael. He thanked her softly as he took the cup she proffered to him. Not trusting herself to sit too close to him, Nikita turned and settled down in the adjoining armchair.

She sipped quietly at her coffee as she waited. Her eyes roamed over him and took note of the absolute stillness that seemed to surround him as he stared down into the cup in his hands. She knew that it would take a little subtle coaxing to make him open up to her. After a minute or so, in which Michael absorbed the silence, Nikita decided to prod him into revealing what was bothering him. She placed her cup on the table beside her chair and turned in her seat to face Michael, curling her feet up underneath her.

A part of her dreaded what she was about to do - was afraid that what would be shared with her would only cause her more heartache; yet her love for Michael would not allow her to sit back and watch him suffer alone. He had come to her tonight because he'd needed her - not in a physical or sexual sense, but as a confidante and friend. "Tell me about Simone, Michael," Nikita prompted him in a calm voice that revealed her willingness to listen.

Michael gazed at her, his eyes searching hers. He hesitated, still uncertain whether or not this was the right thing to do. He hadn't failed to notice that she had physically distanced herself from him. His eyes silently asked Nikita if she was sure she wanted to embark on what could very well be a hellish path with him. "Maybe I shouldn't have come here..." Michael began remorsefully, even as he moved to place his cup down on the table and stood.

"No - Michael, wait!"

Nikita sprang from her seat and reached for Michael's arm, halting him as he attempted to leave. "It's okay - really." She smiled at him a bit nervously. She could see the torture in his eyes and understood that Michael wanted to share his burden with her, but at the same time was afraid that doing so would destroy their friendship. She had to reassure him that she was willing to listen and that anything he had to say, even if it was about his love for Simone, would not alienate her from him.

"Sit down, Michael, please."

Michael stared at her, his expression uncertain. Cautiously, Nikita released her hold on his arm and slowly sat down on the couch, her gaze never leaving his. She patted the cushion next to her to indicate that she wanted him to sit beside her.

"Are you sure, Nikita?" he asked quietly.

In response she raised her hand out to him in another gesture of invitation. Michael focused on her hand and after a moment, reached forward with his own and took her hand in his. Nikita closed her fingers over his as her thumb gently stroked the back of his hand. It was a simple gesture but it filled Michael with comfort. He raised his gaze to meet hers before allowing her to pull him down to the empty place beside her.

Sweet torture swept through Nikita as she felt his warmth pressed lightly against her side. Carefully she disengaged her hand from his. She could feel her heart pounding and knew it would be safer if there was a minimum of physical contact between them. Reluctantly she clasped her fingers together and placed them safely on her lap. "Tell me about her," she repeated softly as she closed her eyes and sank deeper into the couch. His closeness warmed and strengthened her, infusing her with the resolve she needed in order to help him. "What's she like?"

In spite of his reservations, Michael found himself relaxing as he watched Nikita. After a moment he leaned forward, his elbows placed on his knees, and allowed his mind to drift towards Simone. Thoughts and emotions he had repressed for so long slowly surfaced and he began to speak quietly. It started out slowly as he told Nikita about how he'd first met Simone, a touch of a smile fleeting across his lips as he recalled those early memories.

Nikita listened intently. She was surprised to find that instead of feeling jealousy or pain, she experienced a welcome sense of fulfillment as she listened to Michael speak of his wife. He was revealing a part of himself to her that had been hidden from her until that moment - a person who was loving, caring, observant and loyal in his inscrutable fashion. Nikita had suspected he'd possessed all these qualities, but from his everyday demeanor, and the role he was forced to play within Section, nothing was given out to hint at it. Now, she saw a side of Michael that was a surprise and a delight, in spite of the pain he was feeling.

An hour passed as Michael and Nikita discussed in quiet conversation his feelings for Simone. Nikita smiled as he spoke of Simone's humor and her uncanny ability to make him dissolve into laughter. Nikita laughed quietly at some of Simone's antics as described by Michael. "She sounds like a wonderful person," she said softly when Michael had fallen silent.

Michael turned to glance at her, a small smile touching his lips. "I think you would have liked her," he responded.

Nikita raised her eyebrows and stared at Michael with a puzzled expression. "Would have?" she asked, sensing something ominous was about to be revealed.

At her question Michael stood and took a few steps away from Nikita. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he stared blankly ahead. He was lost in his thoughts for a long while. Finally, Michael emerged from his reverie. "There's something I have to tell you, Nikita," he stated quietly.

Nikita waited patiently as Michael seemed to struggle with his next words. "Simone's not going to make it." His voice was so soft, Nikita had to strain to hear him.

"What do you mean, Michael?" she asked. "What have the doctors said?"

Michael continued to act as if he were in some sort of trance, his answers seeming to come from a great distance. "It doesn't look good."

A loaded silence fell upon the room. Michael stood frozen, his eyes unblinking as he stared sightlessly ahead - deep in thought. The sound of Nikita moving finally caused him to glance back and he saw her striding quickly towards her bedroom, her head lowered and her hands wiping at her face.

"Ni-ki-ta?" He watched her as she took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into her room. A few seconds later he heard the bathroom door close. Michael looked around in quiet agony. I shouldn't have come here, he thought. He started to walk towards the door, intending to allow Nikita her privacy - then he stopped. He couldn't leave her like this. Michael turned and made his way up the stairs to her room.

Through the bathroom door he could hear the sound of running water and muffled crying. Michael knocked on the door, then paused a moment, hoping she would open it of her own volition. When it remained closed, he twisted the knob slowly, pushing the door open to reveal Nikita standing over the sink, her head bent as her body trembled with the sobs she was trying to suppess. Hestitantly, Michael leaned over and turned off the faucet. His other hand reached out and gently rubbed her back in a slow, soothing motion.

She stiffened at the contact of his hand on her; then in the next second she turned and stepped closer to him, her arms slipping around his neck as his arms encircled her waist and pulled her to him. No words could define the emotional turmoil they were experiencing, so they stood locked in a tight embrace for several minutes, each seeking and finding comfort in the other's arms.

After a while, Michael pulled back slightly so that he could look into her eyes. He lifted his hands and tenderly wiped away the remaining tears from her cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Better?" he asked. Nikita nodded and gave him a weak smile as she lowered her arms. Michael took her hand in his and led her back to the living room and over to the door. It was nearing the time for him to return to Simone. He released Nikita's hand and stood silently a few moments, reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort he had found here, but knowing that he had to go back.

"Michael..." her voice stopped him as he turned to leave. "What exactly did the doctors say?"

Michael paused, his hand resting on the doorknob. "They've... said there's been too much damage," he whispered haltingly. "Too many internal injuries that weren't treated in time... too much emotional trauma. She--" His voice broke off for a second, and he swallowed visibly, then resumed. "She won't fight for her life anymore, Nikita. Not for any reason." He paused, then finished his sentence in a voice shot with profound remorse. "Not even for me." Nikita's touch on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts and he glanced at her, the agony he felt revealed in his expression. Nikita gave Michael's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she lowered her hand back to her side. "I'm so sorry, Michael," she whispered. "I - I don't know what to say..." Nikita lowered her gaze to the floor as she turned slightly away from Michael.

A small, sad smile touched Michael's lips as he watched Nikita. He could see the emotions playing over her countenance - could see how this whole situation tortured her as well. He released the doorknob and turned back to face Nikita.

"She wants to meet you, Nikita."

Nikita's head whipped around and she faced Michael. "W..what?" A look of panic filled her blue eyes at the thought of meeting Simone - especially in light of what Michael had just revealed to her. Nikita shook her head as she turned away from him. "I don't know, Michael," she stated. "That doesn't sound like a very good idea." Suddenly, she turned back to him with a delayed reaction. "Why does she want to meet me?"

Michael smiled. "You saved her life..."

Nikita flinched at his words. She'd saved Simone's life - for what? So she could give up living? So she could be cancelled?

Michael read her look of pain and stated, "Its not your fault, Nikita." A note of bitterness entered his voice as he continued. "If anyone's at fault for Simone's present condition, its me." When Nikita looked at him, Michael explained, "I'm the one that insisted we didn't need back-up. I'm the one that abandoned her - left her for dead..." His voice trailed off as Michael blinked back tortured tears.

"Don't do that, Michael," Nikita whispered as she shook her head. "Don't punish yourself for what you can't change. Simone *needs* you now more than ever." She paused as another thought occurred to her, "Does Simone know... about her status?"

Michael lowered his gaze to the floor as he nodded briefly. "She knows... and she's accepted it," he stated quietly. Michael's eyes closed tightly against the pain the next words caused him. "She wants *me* to cancel her."

***********

The backpack fell with a muffled thud onto the cement floor as Nikita slowly rotated her shoulder and neck. Who'd have thought that pretending to be a student majoring in architecture could be so strenuous, she thought to herself. "God, those books must weigh at least a ton..." she muttered as Jurgen smiled. Silently he moved behind her and began to massage her tired shoulder with strong, deft fingers.

"Ahh, that feels good," Nikita moaned softly. "Are you free tonight?" she asked with a grin. "I could use more of this, you know."

Jurgen's eyes closed as he smiled with a touch of wry amusement at her playful remark. She had no idea how very willing he would be to give her a full-body massage. With a final squeeze, he lowered his hands and returned to his seat behind his desk. "You met Gray?" he asked, both as a means of changing the subject and as an innocuous way of assessing the progress of her mission.

Nikita dropped wearily into the chair facing Jurgen and stretched out her long legs. "Yes." A distant look entered her eyes as she recalled her *accidental* meeting with Gray at the university library. He seemed like an exceptionally nice guy. Handsome, intelligent, quiet-spoken... She sighed loudly. "Isn't there anyone else we can use as a decoy?" she asked.

Jurgen's piercing stare answered her question for her. Nikita exhaled in exasperation. "I know. Just do the job." She smiled a bit wistfully as she continued, "Its just that he seems so sweet, you know?"

"Nikita..." Jurgen gave her a subtle warning look.

"All right," Nikita sighed as she accepted the fact that nothing she could say or do would change the mission profile. She sat up straight and began her debrief. "Everything's set for the meet with Benko. It'll take place the tomorrow at 1 o'clock at the City Park," she reported. "He's demanding that both Gray and I be present when the exchange takes place." She glanced at Jurgen, hoping he would say that Gray's presence wouldn't be needed. But, of course, he didn't.

"Richard's team will be your back-up," Jurgen informed her quietly. "Make sure you come in early to pick up your equipment from Walter and to study the rest of the mission parameters."

"I thought Michael's team was backing me," she said uneasily, a silent warning alarm activating in her head. The change in plans caused her to worry if something had happened with Simone. She had promised Michael she would go in to see Simone, but, Nikita had to admit, she was still nervous about actually meeting Michael's wife and had been trying to avoid it.

"Michael will be monitoring from com with Birkoff," Jurgen explained. He noted Nikita's slightly concerned expression as she stood and walked over to the window and looked out into the main hall of Section.

"Has there been any further development with Simone?" she asked softly.

"Her condition hasn't improved," Jurgen answered. "Madeline's allowing Michael to monitor the mission from here so that he can be nearby."

Nikita turned her head to face Jurgen. "Is it that bad?"

"She's not going to make it, Nikita." Jurgen saw her flinch and wondered at her reaction. "Medlab is waiting on Michael for his final decision."

A tortured look came over Nikita's face as she quickly glanced away. "Can't they do anything to... to help her?" she asked quietly. "They're just going to..." She couldn't even say the words.

Jurgen stood and came round to stand next to her. His hand reached up to hold her by the shoulders and turn her to face him. "This is Section, Nikita," he stated in a quiet but firm tone. "Simone knows there's nothing more that can be done for her. Michael knows it too. Madeline and Operations are granting Michael a little leeway by allowing him to postpone the inevitable." He sighed as his hands began to stroke her arms in a soothing manner. "I'm not exactly sure what Michael's waiting for. The delay can't be easy on either one of them..."

Nikita closed her eyes in agony as she turned away from Jurgen. She knew what Michael was waiting for. He was waiting for her. Giving her a chance to fulfill her promise to go and meet Simone.

"Do you need me for anything else?" she asked Jurgen as she began to straighten her clothing.

"No. We're done here," he replied, carefully scrutinizing her through half-closed eyes. Nikita nodded and then smiled at him, a smile strictly from the mouth, not the eyes, as she turned and left. Jurgen watched her through the window and noted that she was heading towards medlab.

Her heart pounded with anxiety as she made her way down the hallway towards Simone's room. Nikita hadn't seen Simone since that first day when she had told Michael she would watch over her. Mostly it was because she feared that Simone would recognize she was in love with Michael.

The glass doors to Simone's room were closed. Glancing at her watch, Nikita saw that it was just past 10 pm. Through the floral designed glass, Nikita could see Simone lying on the bed, her eyes closed in sleep. There was an empty chair next to the bed. Nikita wondered if Michael had kept a loyal vigil over Simone every night. Presently he was nowhere in sight. He's probably at his office preparing the tacticals for tomorrow, she thought.

Hesitantly, Nikita lifted her hand and pressed the circular button on the side of the door. The glass opened with a hushed swoosh and a blast of cool air struck her like a gentle wave. Nikita's throat grew dry and her hands clammy with sweat. Absently, she rubbed her palms along the front of her skirt - trying to warm them against the sudden chill she felt. Her confidence wavering, Nikita turned and began to retreat when a small voice called out to her.

"Nikita?"

Nikita froze, then slowly turned back towards the direction from which the voice had come. Simone was wide awake, staring at her with a pleading expression. Nikita remained rooted to her spot, uncertainty flashing across her face. Slowly, Simone moved her hand, which lay at her side, and held it - palm up - towards Nikita.

Nikita bit her lower lip as she closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them, tears glimmered in their blue depths, and she wished her emotions were not always so close to the surface. Cautiously, she moved forward. Simone continued to hold her hand out to her.

She approached the side of Simone's bed and gazed down at the petite woman lying there so fragile and still, like a broken doll. The look of compassion she saw there caused the first of Nikita's tears to roll quietly down her cheek. Nikita didn't need to hide the truth from her. Simone knew.

She tore her gaze away - unable to face the empathy in Simone's eyes. This is wrong, Nikita thought. She wasn't sure *how* it was wrong - but she knew it was. Simone should have been feeling anger, bitterness, even hatred towards her. Instead, this gentle woman, battered and scarred from her years in captivity, lay before her with a look of love and understanding shining forth from her dark eyes. It was almost too much for Nikita to bear.

She was startled out of her thoughts as Simone's fingers touched her own. Nikita glanced down at the nail-less hand that held her own, and a surge of sorrow engulfed her for the pain that this woman had suffered at the hands of Glass Curtain. Carefully, Nikita closed her fingers over Simone's and squeezed gently. Her gaze shifted to the dark eyes that stared at her. It dawned on both women that, physically, they could not have been more opposite - yet in a deeper, much more important sense, they were identical. Both were loving, giving people - and both were deeply in love with Michael.

"Sit with me for a while?" Simone's voice was still weak and raspy. Her eyes indicated the chair behind Nikita. Nikita nodded and with one hand, pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down - her other hand was entwined with Simone's, the contrast of light and dark skin tones further emphasizing the physical differences between them.

"I've been waiting... hoping you would come," Simone said.

Guilt surged through Nikita and she began to apologize. "I'm sorry..."

"Shh... No...no..." Simone shooed her apologies away. "I understand. Really, I do."

After a long pause, Nikita confessed in a hushed tone, "I was afraid."

She stared as Simone squeezed their clasped hands - silently encouraging her to speak. Nikita tried, but she couldn't say the words - her mouth worked, but no sound came out - so Simone said the words for her.

"Afraid to meet the other woman."

A blush began to spread across Nikita's face and Simone smiled gently. "That's how I felt about you, too." Nikita turned surprised eyes towards Simone as the dark haired woman continued. "He loves you, Nikita. I saw it in his eyes that very first night." Simone's voice broke and Nikita was instantly out of her chair and sitting on the side of the bed, her free hand smoothing back the dark hair from Simone's forehead as she comforted her.

"Don't say that, Simone. Michael loves *you*. He's never forgotten about you." Simone turned tear-filled eyes towards Nikita and smiled at her words. "You two have a second chance now," Nikita whispered. "But you have to at least give *yourself* a chance. Let the doctors help you, Simone," she pleaded.

Simone stared at the blonde woman beside her and love filled her heart. Silently she thanked whichever benevolent deity had smiled on her for blessing her beloved Michael with this woman. Nikita would help him to heal when she was gone.

Simone was tired. Her body ached continually from the abuse and torture she had suffered and her spirit longed for rest. The only reason she had held on during these past three years was because of Michael, and her fear of what he would do if she didn't survive. In spite of all his skills and expertise as a Section operative, Michael desperately needed love to keep him alive. Now that she had come back and had seen for herself that Michael was all right, that he had Nikita to love him and help him continue on, Simone was ready to let go of this world.

Gently, Simone raised her hand and rubbed it against Nikita's cheek. "You're a good woman, Nikita," Simone whispered as her eyes began to close in weariness. "Thank you for loving him."

Nikita sat for several long minutes holding Simone's hand as tears streamed unabated down her face. The ache that had plagued her over the past few days had been lifted miraculously by the mercy and love of this woman - Michael's wife. Gratefully, Nikita rose and bent over Simone's sleeping form, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow before she turned to leave. Unbeknownst to Nikita, Michael had watched most of her exchange with Simone from the darkened shadows of the observation room.

***********

"Ni-ki-ta."

His soft, naturally hushed voice halted her as she moved away from Simone's room and Nikita turned to see Michael approaching her. He was dressed, impeccable as usual, in all black. His face remained carefully blank but in his eyes, she could see an almost imperceptible glimmer of softness.

He came to stand next to her, his eyes looking down to the ground a moment before he glanced up at her. "Thank you," he murmured.

The corner of her lips curved up into a tiny smile. She wished there was more she could do for him... and for Simone. Nikita began to turn away to leave but something restrained her. She glanced back at Michael and tried to read how he was feeling but he was carefully shielding her from his torment. "What happens now?" she asked softly.

Michael blinked slowly and looked away a moment before he returned his gaze to Nikita. "She's suffering." It was all he could say to explain the decision that he had made. Despite his best efforts, Nikita could see the pain reflected in his eyes. She reached out to touch his hand, not completely surprised to feel his fingers squeeze hers in gratitude briefly before he let go. Michael turned then, and headed towards Simone's room.

"Michael?"

He halted, his head turning slightly back towards her. Nikita moved to stand next to him and she asked quietly, "Would you like me to stay?" Michael swallowed and she saw the tears that filled his eyes as he quickly looked away.

"You don't have to, Nikita," he replied softly, and she could hear from his voice that he was trying, one more time, to be strong alone, as he'd always done before.

"I know I don't HAVE to," she replied. "But... I would like to. If you don't mind, that is."

Michael turned to face her then, his eyes revealing fully his absolute respect, admiration and slightly astonished love for her. "Thank you," he replied again. This time when he turned to walk away, Nikita strode next to him in perfect synch. Michael wished at that moment that he could tell Nikita what her very presence meant to him - he longed to open his mouth and have all the emotions, all the words, all the tortured thoughts and resolved conflicts just tumble out, one over another, knowing she would understand them perfectly, no matter how jumbled they seemed to his own ears.

Then, in his next, more rational thought, Michael realized that Nikita already knew. She knew him more deeply than he'd ever credited her. He could not have chosen a more worthy person with whom to share the most traumatizing, agonizing event to which he would ever be a party. He needed Nikita with him.

As they re-entered Simone's room, Nikita saw Michael hesitate. His eyes closed for several long seconds and Nikita reached out and touched his arm, lending him her support quietly. Her touch brought him back to awareness and he glanced at her, the gratitude in his eyes apparent.

Michael approached Simone's bed and gazed down at her. Even in her sleep he could tell she was in pain. Only the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor, and Simone's labored breathing, disrupted the silence in the sterile, offensively white room. Gently, Michael reached out and caressed her face before he bent and pressed his lips softly to her forehead, her cheek, and finally her lips. Simone's eyes struggled open and she smiled weakly at Michael. Looking into his tortured eyes, she knew the time had come.

She had been ready for this moment for a long time. Death was a companion that Simone had learned to live with. As an operative, she had faced its darkness every time she had been put into play. In those days she had fought hard to live, doing whatever was necessary to survive. Now, her soul was ready to embrace the sweet peace that death offered.

Michael's tear-filled eyes gazed down at her. "Are you sure?" he whispered brokenly, wishing - no, praying - for a different response than the one he knew she would give.

She nodded silently. Simone became aware of another presence and she moved her head to see Nikita standing in the background, a look of uncertainty on her face. "Nikita..." Simone breathed, and a smile crossed her face. She lifted her hand weakly, indicating that she wanted her recently-discovered friend to be near her. Hesitantly, Nikita moved forward and stood next to Michael. Simone moved her hand towards her and Nikita took it in hers. A small, peaceful smile settled upon Simone's face as she stared up at the two tortured faces gazing down at her. A small, weak laugh escaped her lips as she stated in a slow quiet voice, "I thought *I* was the one dying... You two look worse..."

"Simone..."

"...Teasing, Michael..." she stated as she smiled up at him. A seriousness then overcame her, and she gazed up at Michael. "It's time..." she stated softly. A look of complete desolation, resignation, and sorrow washed over Michael as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a hypodermic needle. Both Simone and Nikita watched as he pulled off the protective cover and then, holding it upright, lightly flicked it with his fingers to rid it of any air bubbles. Michael moved slowly towards the IV bag that hung on the stand next to Simone's bed.

He inserted the tip of the needle into the opening and, with hands that trembled, depressed the plunger on the syringe. He watched as the clear liquid was injected into the IV bag. His emotions shut off then - he became as a zombie, barely cognizant of the act he had just performed. Nikita watched him, her heart aching quietly.

Both of them were brought brutally back to the reality of the present when Simone breathed, "How long, Michael?..." Nikita moved to stand on the other side of the bed near Simone's head, never taking her eyes off the woman. A strange, almost comforting peace washed over Nikita, and she could see that Simone was content. She glanced up, across the bed, and her eyes met Michael's - they were glassy and deep green, tears running down his cheeks. Nikita realized it was the first time she'd ever seen him give in to his feelings completely, and that, coupled with the agony of the moment in which they were participants, broke her heart.

Michael replied, his voice breaking, "About eight minutes... Simone..." He tried to say more, but his voice would not come. He was helpless in the face of this one death, after all the deaths he'd caused, and prevented - it was more than Michael could take. He closed his eyes and knelt by the bed, clasping Simone's hand, holding it to his cheek as if he were willing himself to die with her.

Nikita knelt, too, watching them, and her heart cried out in sympathy and anguish. She took Simone's other hand, whispering, "Rest easy, love..." She kissed the small hand, tears falling onto the soft, gossamer flesh she held. Unconsciously, she had moved over Simone's body, perhaps to be closer to Michael. She didn't realize that he had done the same, until they were almost touching over Simone's upper body. Each held one of her hands, each was in complete communion with her, each felt her pulse fade, her breath become fainter, her eyes flutter closed...

***********

The high-pitched shrill of the alarm clock startled Nikita as she woke with a jump. In a disoriented daze, she gazed about her as she tried to get her bearings. Her eyes still unfocused, she groped blindly toward the intrusive sound until her fingers came into contact with its vibrating source and quickly silenced it.

Nikita moaned as she turned and promptly fell onto the hard wooden floor. "Oh, hell..." she muttered. She was wide awake now. She peered up at the unfamiliar surroundings through the curtain of tangled blonde hair that fell about her face. Suddenly the memory of all that had transpired the night before came flooding back and Nikita reclined against the front of the couch with another moan.

Simone was dead.

With a flick of her hand, she swept her hair from her face and looked around the room through tear swollen eyes. She was at Michael's apartment. She had driven him home last night after the medlab technicians had taken Simone. Nikita's heart contracted at the memory of Michael watching them as they had gently lifted her onto a gurney and had almost reverently wheeled it out of the room. Anguished tears fell from his eyes as he had wept silently, and his pain had also been Nikita's pain. She *couldn't* leave him alone last night. After getting him into bed, she had come into the living room and crashed on the couch.

Nikita glanced at the clock. It was just past 5 am. Quietly she rose up onto her feet, stretching to get all the kinks out of her sore body, then treaded noiselessly into the bedroom. Michael was still asleep. The emotional strain of the past several days had finally taken its toll on him. Nikita stood watching him for several seconds, wishing she could stay to talk with him when he woke, but she had to report for a mission today. Silently, she returned to the living room to gather her things, and exited without a sound.

*

"Where is she?" Operations' tone was filled with impatience as he leaned both hands on the briefing table and glared at Jurgen. The rest of the team had returned from the scheduled meet with Benko, except for Nikita. Around the table the members of Richard's team, along with Madeline, waited tensely, stealing covert glances at one another.

"Nikita's never late," Jurgen replied evenly. His gaze was unwavering under the steely eyes of Section's leader. "There has to be a valid reason for her delay."

Operations' eyes narrowed as he straightened. He made a mental note to speak with Jurgen in private concerning his unconventional methods of training Nikita. Although she was performing well, she was still far too emotional, and unpredictable, for a cold operative. Turning his ire towards Richard, Operations demanded once again, "Are you sure you told her to report in?"

The muscular, bald-headed man in his mid-thirties nodded nervously. "Yes sir. We waited two hours. Benko never showed and then..."

"I found her!"

Every head swiveled toward the entrance of the briefing room and the sound of Birkoff's youthful voice as he rushed in. "Benko has her!" He moved immediately over to the vid-com controls and began pushing several keys as he quickly explained. "She's activated the cam unit in her glasses..." A few more strokes over the keys and the vid-screen sprang to life, showing a close-up of Benko as he spoke to Nikita. Behind him stood two other men, dressed in dark clothing and obviously keeping their attention focused on the perimeter.

*****(Vid-Screen)

"...and tell him to bring the directory here," Benko was ordering.

"I'm not a fool," Nikita answered in a sarcastic voice. "If Gray comes here with the directory, what's to stop you from killing both of us?"

"You're not exactly in a position to bargain," Benko replied, and in the view from Nikita's vid-link, his expression was smug and his voice was self-satisfied, as if he believed nothing could go wrong.

"If you want the directory, you'll bargain," Nikita stated calmly.

A cold smile flashed across Benko's face as he turned and signaled to one of the men standing behind him. The man moved forward and placed a small, flat case in his hands. Benko's eyes gleamed with amusement at he opened the case to reveal a large, gaudy gold choker. He removed the necklace and swiftly moved to clasp it around Nikita's neck. The wildly out-of-focus images on the vid screen indicated Nikita's struggle as she tried to prevent Benko from doing so. "Get your hands OFF me!" she demanded angrily.

Benko grabbed Nikita by the shoulder and turned her ruthlessly, unconcerned about any possible damage he might inflict on her. It became apparent to the group watching in the briefing room that Nikita was in a van as the cam unit focused on a statue that could be seen through the windshield of the vehicle.

"You see that statue?" Benko asked. "It has a necklace just like yours..." A view of Benko's hand holding a triggering device appeared. He pressed a button and the necklace on the statue exploded, bursting the marble statue into a thousand tiny pieces. "You have one hour to bring me back the directory."

"I'll need more than an hour," Nikita stated. "It's not that close."

"Two then. No more."

He yanked the side door open and roughly shoved Nikita out of the van, forcing her to stumble to regain her balance. As she turned to leave, Benko issued one final warning. "In case you try to double-cross me, the necklace is equipped with a listening device and is set to detonate if you should try to remove it."

*****

Operations turned toward Birkoff. "Can you pinpoint her location?"

"No," Birkoff replied, chewing his bottom lip nervously for a second, then finished, "she's not wearing a tracker."

Operations swore beneath his breath as he glanced about the room. Nikita would be heading back here. "Jurgen, work up a contingency plan," he ordered. "The rest of you are on close quarters."

*

The tension in the air was the first indication to Michael that something was wrong. He continued to stroll through the halls of Section with his usual calm as his eyes noted every detail of the activity around him. Madeline had offered to give him a few days off to come to terms with Simone's death, but he had declined. It was easier for him to work and keep his mind occupied than to sit at home and dwell upon the fact that he had lost Simone, again, and that this time there was no bringing her back.

His gaze surveyed the hall and noted how the computer analysts, of which Birkoff was in charge, were busily rushing about. Birkoff was grabbing disks off of his console before heading quickly toward the east corridor. Jurgen intercepted him, saying something quietly to him, and they headed off together.

Michael's senses immediately heightened the moment he saw Jurgen enter the picture. Quickly he looked around to see if Nikita was anywhere near and recalled that she was in the field today. She should have been back by now, that is, if everything had gone as scheduled. Michael headed toward the comm center and checked in with Simon.

"Whats going on?" he asked quietly.

"Benko wired one of our operatives with an explosive..."

"Which one?"

Simon paused a second, a little reluctant to say the name - he knew that Michael was fond of her. He finally swallowed and blurted out, "Nikita."

Michael paused as a sense of dread filled him. His expression remained blank as he asked calmly. "Where is she now?"

"Containment three."

Michael headed towards the same hallway into which Jurgen and Birkoff had just disappeared and made his way towards the observation room adjoining booth number three. Jurgen and Birkoff were there - the older man stood looking over Birkoff's shoulder as the young genius moved about pressing several controls on the computer before him.

Michael stared through the observation glass to see Nikita sitting cross-legged in a large, futuristic-looking chair in the middle of the room. Her eyes were closed. Around her neck was a wide choker that Michael guessed was the explosive. As Michael stared at her, Nikita's eyes opened and locked onto his. He saw the trace of fear reflected deep in her blue gaze. Michael gave her a small smile as if to reassure her that all would be fine. He turned then with determination and moved towards Jurgen to find out what had happened. After listening carefully, Michael asked, "Who's leading the back-up team?"

"Richard is," Jurgen responded.

Michael turned to face Nikita who sat watching him. He couldn't let her fate rest in the hands of someone else. "I'll go," he stated simply. A small smile of gratitude touched Nikita's lips as she once again closed her eyes.

Jurgen watched him carefully and knew in that instant that Michael did love Nikita. The two men stared at each other, their eyes meeting like signals as an understanding passed between them, then Michael spun neatly on his heel and walked quietly from the room.

*Later that evening*

The moment she stepped into her apartment she sensed his presence. Her left hand reached behind and pushed the door closed as her eyes scanned the room. He was standing in the corner, leaning against the wall next to the window with his arms folded across his chest.

Nikita placed her keys and bag on the counter and stood a moment watching him. It had been a very long, physically and emotionally exhausting twenty-four hours, beginning with Simone's death and ending with the near-fiasco with Benko. Fortunately the mission had been a success. She had been grateful when Michael had replaced Richard as her back-up. Not that she had anything against Richard, she had just felt better knowing that Michael was there.

Silently she walked over to him and waited. Michael straightened himself from the wall and pulled her gently into his arms. Nikita sighed as she rested her head against his chest, her arms automatically circling his waist.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said in his uniquely quiet manner.

Nikita nodded her head in understanding as her arms tightened about him, and she softly thanked him for his concern. "Are *you* all right, Michael?" she asked.

He answered softly, "I"ll be fine." Michael released her then, his hand reaching up to move a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, as he moved away and headed towards the door, closing it softly behind him.

***********

Poetry is from "Stanzas for Music" by Lord Byron (1788-1824)

"I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart"

*

Michael stood alone on the hillside, gazing out at the setting sun as the evening breeze blew gently against him. After having checked on Nikita, he had driven out to the country to be alone with his thoughts and to bid his final farewell to Simone.

She had always loved watching the sunset. Its multi-faceted warm hues of orange and gold reminded her of the wonder and beauty of the universe, she used to say. Now as Michael watched the descending sun, a single tear rolled down his cheek, a prelude to a storm, as he wondered if Simone had found her peace.

His eyes closed in sorrow - the tears flowed freely for the loss of the woman who had shared a precious part of his life. The guilt that she had tried to absolve him of swelled within, threatening to choke him. No matter what Simone or even Nikita could say, in his heart he would always carry the belief that he was ultimately responsible for Simone's death. The pain of that knowledge tore at him and filled him with despair.

Simone had encouraged him to turn to Nikita when she was gone. But how could he, when each time he looked at her, he was reminded of his failure? How could he ensure that he would not hurt Nikita as he had Simone? He loved Nikita - that he could not deny - and he resolved in his heart that he would never allow what had happened to Simone to happen to her. He would protect her, and even stand guard over her dreams if necessary, but he would not allow the darkness of his soul to tarnish hers.

* (One month later...)

Nikita ambled along next to Chuck, smiling at his exaggerated tale of misfortunes that had befallen him on his first mission out in the field.

"Chuck, you're such a liar," Nikita grinned. "You really expect me to believe that story?"

"Its the honest truth!" Chuck answered as he tried to maintain a straight face. When Nikita started laughing, though, Chuck's lips curled up in an impish smile and he said, "Well... maybe its a *little* exaggerated." He quickly added, "But not by much!"

Nikita laughed. She loved working with Chuck, simply because he was so full of life. Of course, when he was in play, Chuck was very serious - he knew full well that any lack of concentration could result in death. However, his easy demeanor and friendliness when he wasn't on a mission made him a favorite amongst all the operatives.

Presently, Nikita and Chuck were working as partners for a reconnaissance mission that would take them to Cairo. Their target was a middle-east businessman that Section believed was in possession of a nuclear trigger, a device at least as valuable and dangerous as an actual nuclear weapon. They were to attend a ball sponsored by the Egyptian government and monitor the businessman's contacts that evening.

"You know, this is the first time we're being paired as a couple," Chuck stated with mock concentration.

"So?" Nikita asked, suspecting a set-up and wondering if she should be preparing to duck a well-aimed pie in the face.

The corners of Chuck's mouth pulled down in a frown as he shrugged his muscular shoulders. "Well... seeing as how you're still a fairly new op and all... I wonder if this is a demotion for me?"

"Ah!" Nikita swung a fist and playfully punched Chuck on the arm as he began to laugh. From across the hall, Michael watched the interplay between the two operatives. He was glad to see Nikita smiling.

He'd avoided seeing her for a month now. She had approached him a couple of times to ask if he wanted to go out for coffee. He had quietly turned her down each time, and finally she had stopped asking. There was no action on her part to show that she was upset with his distance - she assumed he needed time to be alone, to deal with Simone's death on his own, and she was granting him that.

However, watching Nikita now - smiling and joking lightheartedly with Chuck - filled him with silent longing. Despite his resolution to stay away from her, Michael found that he missed her easy smile, her acts of kindness, her friendship. He missed holding her and having her hold him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Nikita glanced up and scanned the room until her gaze fell upon Michael. Her eyes softened and she smiled briefly at him, not breaking stride as she accompanied Chuck towards egress. Michael maintained a blank expression, but his heart quickened in that simple gesture. Quietly he turned back to the monitor before him and resumed his typing.

Chuck and Nikita returned two days later. The intel they were able to provide identified John and Helen Wicke as the contacts. The couple had a long history of supplying small arms to various terrorists groups. Now it appeared they were looking to expanding their business. There was no doubt in the Agency's mind that John and Helen would re-sell the trigger - Section was ordered to step in to retrieve the device before that could happen.

Michael drew up a profile that called for a team of four, including Chuck, to pose as buyers. He conveniently assigned Nikita, though, to monitor the mission with him from headquarters. After the briefing, she had pulled him over to the side and asked, "Why was I taken off the team?"

Michael gazed back at her with his emerald eyes and replied softly, "Your skills aren't needed there."

Nikita's eyebrow quirked in amusement. "And... they're needed here?"

His gaze drifted slowly to her lips and then back to her eyes. "Yes," he stated simply before he turned neatly and exited. Nikita's smile widened and she followed him out.

Michael met up with the team as they headed toward van access. His eyes glanced at Chuck's new haircut and he commented sardonically, "Hey, Chuck, what's with the hair?"

Chuck replied blithely, "Had to do *something* - I was startin' to look like *you*!"

Michael smiled, barely more than a quirking of the corners of his mouth. Very few operatives would have dared to make light of Michael in any capacity, but Chuck was different - he respected and admired Michael, but he also recognized that Michael was human and had feelings and emotions - and a sense of humor, if one looked deeply enough.

As Chuck and the other three operatives proceeded to enter the van, Nikita appeared around the corner and called out to him. She carried in her hand the briefcase of money that Chuck had obviously forgotten. The look on Nikita's face was oddly young and idealistic, as if she'd never been exposed to pain in her life.

"You're not going out with us?" Chuck asked Nikita with a smile.

"Guess they thought we had TOO much fun the last time..." Nikita grinned. Chuck responded with a conspiratorial wink before Michael stepped in.

"Remember that the *trigger* is our main focus," he said, bringing them back to the sobriety of the mission and effectively disrupting the bond he could see developing between Nikita and Chuck. The two friends exchanged chastised looks, a twinkle in their eyes, as Chuck turned and stepped into the waiting van.

As the van pulled away, Nikita pivoted around to see that Michael was watching her, his expression carefully blank. She glanced around to make sure that no one else was nearby and then took a step closer. "We've got about two hours before the team reports in, Michael. Would you like to go grab something to eat?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Nikita."

Michael saw the disappointment in her face as she lowered her gaze to hide the pain his refusal caused. Nikita stuck her hands in the back pockets of her black jeans as she gazed up at him through her lashes. "Have I done something wrong, Michael? Is that why you're avoiding me?"

Michael blinked several times in silence. How could he explain to her that he wanted nothing more than to be with her, but he couldn't allow that because ulitmately he would end up hurting her? In Michael's mind, it would be best for him to stay away from her, despite what his feelings for her might be. The silence stretched awkwardly and Nikita realized that Michael wasn't going to answer her.

"All right, Michael," she stated in a low voice that reflected her sadness. "You win. I won't bother you anymore." She spun then on her heel and walked quickly away before he could see the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

It was as if Michael wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Silently, she wondered if he hated her for bringing Simone back. Hated her for making him go through the pain of losing his wife all over again. The thought filled her with misery as she made her way quickly to Jurgen's office.

Jurgen was sitting behind his desk working on the computer when Nikita knocked. "Can I come in?" she asked tentatively. He smiled at her and pointed to the chair that he had begun to think of as hers. With a grateful smile on her face, Nikita entered and closed the door behind her. She moved towards the chair and sank down into it.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Nikita looked at him a few moments before she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "No," she said softly, almost sadly.

Jurgen's eyes roamed over her and a feeling of anger towards Michael slowly filled him. It was obvious the two were in love with each other, yet, for some strange reason, Michael was withdrawing from Nikita. Jurgen could see the effect this was having on her. He removed his glasses before he reached over and logged off of the computer. Then he stood and made his way around to sit on the front of his desk facing Nikita.

She had opened her eyes when she heard him moving and now sat watching him. Jurgen folded his arms and thought several seconds before he carefully spoke. "Sometimes the best thing to do, Nikita, is to let go."

Nikita stood and walked over to the window. A numbness seemed to suffuse her as she pondered Michael's avoidance of her over the past few weeks. Perhaps letting go of Michael *was* the best course of action. It certainly seemed as if that was what Michael wanted. Perhaps even Simone had overestimated the depth of Michael's feelings for her.

Slowly she closed her eyes and fought to find the strength to accept this painful truth. When she felt Jurgen's arms encircle her from behind, she turned and buried her face in his chest, not wanting him to see the look of anguish in her eyes. His arms tightened about her, holding her as she leaned against him.

"Letting go of someone you love is never easy, Nikita," he whispered into her hair. His words were like a knife twisted in a festering wound and Nikita flinched in torment as she tried to pull away. However, Jurgen held her fast, his strong hands lightly massaging her back until she finally succumbed to his caresses and moved her arms around him of her own accord.

His fingers stroked her hair as his lips pressed against the top of her head. The warning bells were ringing in his head, but he was helpless to stop himelf as he realized that he wanted Nikita very much for his own. His lips moved lower, pressing kisses upon her forehead, and then her eyes, before they finally descended upon her soft lips, which were parted in woeful abandon. She seemed so willing, Jurgen thought, even as his mouth opened against hers and his eyes closed. He wanted to mold her body to his, to bend her backward until she would need to depend on his arms to keep her from falling...

All of the pent-up desire Nikita felt for Michael over the past weeks was released as Jurgen's kiss deepened. Her hands glided up and around his neck as she pressed her body closer to his.

"Nikita..." Jurgen moaned her name softly against her lips as he took a breath, not wanting to break the connection between them. He wanted to fall completely into her, into the warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of her spirit, the softness of her body. His hands stroked the astonishing curves of her as his mouth tasted the wonder of her lips and skin. *Oh, god*, Jurgen thought in agony as his mouth pressed to Nikita's collarbone, *one of us needs to stop this*...

But even as he processed that reality, his body and his emotions were acting on a different wavelength, and the look he revealed to Nikita was one of raw desire - and she seemed to embrace it willingly...

Nikita suddenly came to her senses, remembering that it wasn't Michael to whom she was yielding her body and her deepest heart... She abruptly broke off the kiss, twisting her face away from Jurgen's passion-parted lips, stepping away from his tautly-clenched arms, fighting for emotional balance, finding it, and distancing herself from the situation coolly. She regained control of her emotions imperceptibly, focusing on the reality and not the fantasy of what had just transpired.

Nikita stared at Jurgen - a little stunned at her reaction to his gentle words, passionate kisses and tender caresses - almost apologetic for her hasty withdrawal. In any other instance, his arms and his fervent ardor would have been welcomed. But now, Nikita realized, even if Michael didn't want it - her heart belonged to him.

"I'm sorry," Nikita apologized as she nervously brushed her hair back from her face and turned to sit on the window sill. "I can't do this. It wouldn't be fair to you," she tried to explain as she looked into his eyes. Not knowing what else to say, or even how her words had been received by him, she exhaled silently and resigned herself to whatever he would say or do next.

Jurgen raised his hand and gently touched her cheek. "Michael's a fool if he gives you up, Nikita," he murmured. He walked back to his chair and grabbed his coat. "Come on," he said as he moved back towards her.

"Where?" she asked.

"I think we both could use some fresh air," he replied with a little smile. "Let's go grab a cup of coffee."

Nikita smiled, grateful that he wasn't going to push the issue. She stood and followed him out of his office, then walked alongside him, careful not to get close enough to brush against him accidentally. She suspected that he was probably feeling as tight as a bow-string, and she didn't want to do anything to exacerbate the situation.

An hour later, they returned to Section, both of them in lighter spirits as they made their way over to the com center. Madeline, Michael and Birkoff were already there. Nikita carried with her a plate of fruit. She perched herself on the edge of a desk and began to eat as Jurgen settled next to her.

"Are we set?" Jurgen asked, his gaze focusing on the three standing in front of the screens.

"Almost," Madeline replied. She offered them a rare smile before turning back toward Birkoff.

Michael glanced briefly at the two newcomers, his expression revealing nothing. His nonchalant, seemingly uncaring behavior sent a chill through Nikita. What little peace she had managed to find in the past hour dissipated quickly. She was grateful when Birkoff suddenly announced that the link with the team had been established and the screens clicked on to reveal Chuck and the other operatives inside the van with a large briefcase.

From the expression on Chuck's face, Nikita saw nothing to indicate anything amiss - yet she still felt something dark tugging at the back of her mind as she skewered a slice of apple on her knife and bit into it...

**********

Everything happened so quickly that there was no time for Nikita to register anything other than shock. One minute, Chuck was reporting that all had gone as planned. The exchange had been made and the trigger retrieved. Then, in the next minute a beeping sound accompanied by a flurry of activity within the van signaled something had gone drastically wrong.

"We have trouble," Chuck reported. His voice was tense as a result of the adrenaline that was pumping through his blood. A timer on the device they'd thought was the trigger had activated, showing a countdown of ten seconds. "It's not the trigger," Chuck reported, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"It's a bomb."

"Can you deactivate it?"

"There's no time." They all heard the fear and dreadful realization in Chuck's voice - everyone knew there was nothing else that could be done for him.

Nikita's eyes grew round as she stared, aghast, at the nightmare unfolding before her. Her heart pounded as she saw the eminent danger her friend was in. *Chuck...* her mind called out silently. *No! Please, not Chuck!* There was a ringing, like that of an egg-timer going off, followed by a long moment of absolute silence, then an explosion - and the screen went blank. The small group gathered in the com center had fallen silent. They stared in shock at the static-filled screen which indicated the connection had been lost.

"Chuck?" It was Michael that recovered first and spoke, his voice revealing his disbelief even as he closed down emotionally. "Chuck, are you there?" Birkoff switched channels but the result was the same - static.

Madeline reached over and clicked the screen immediately in front of her off. There was a hardened gleam in her eyes as she turned towards the group. Meeting Michael's gaze she ordered in a tight voice, "Call everyone in. THIS is now priority one." She turned and walked away, the stiffness of her spine and the solid determination of her step revealing her anger at the loss of the four operatives.

Nikita wobbled on her feet for a moment, feeling as if she had been slapped in the face. She had just seen four of her friends - people with whom she'd worked side by side, some with whom she'd only recently shared a moment of laughter - obliterated in the blink of an eye. It was more than she could fathom, and for a few completely irrational seconds, she honestly believed it all had been an elaborate joke. She kept waiting for the screen to wink back on and Chuck's face to appear.

Finally, she realized the explosion had been horribly real, and her shock turned to anger and sorrow. She didn't notice that Michael and Birkoff had exited the area. Didn't notice that Jurgen had removed the plate of fruit from her hand - her eyes were focused on the remaining static-filled screens as she walked slowly forward and extended her hand as if to try and connect with the friends that she had just lost.

She was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Jurgen gazing at her. Confusion, disbelief, and shock filled her eyes as she silently looked to him for an explanation. Her voice would not carry past her lips. She could only mouth the word "Why?" Jurgen took her hand in his briefly and squeezed it to try and comfort her. "Come on," he said in a low voice. "We have to go."

From within Systems, Michael glanced up to see Jurgen clasping Nikita's fingers in his. Although he tried to convince himself that his former trainer was only trying to get Nikita to focus on the next task at hand, a part of him recognized, with a pang of remorse, that Jurgen was falling in love with Nikita. He watched as the two left the com center. Jurgen had released Nikita's hand, but he walked closely beside her, his hand brushing against hers as if to constantly reassure her of his presence. Michael felt a tightening in his chest - he quickly shoved it to the back of his mind as he returned to the tacticals before him.

*

"Nikita - focus!" Jurgen's voice was filled with irritated anxiety as he surveyed her appearance once again. "These people don't trust anybody. They're extremely dangerous and unpredictable. You HAVE to keep your wits about you."

"I know that, Jurgen," Nikita responded as she pushed her arms into the sleeves of the faded worn jean jacket. "I'll be okay. I *have* lived on the streets before, you know." She smiled in an attempt to ease the tension.

Jurgen sighed. He wished they could have come up with something more acceptable than sending Nikita into danger without backup. All their intel, however, had shown that the only weak link in the Wickes' security was Helen's search for her missing daughter - a daughter who had been taken away from her at birth. Nikita had been more than adequately schooled with the proper information to ensure she would be completely convincing as Helen's long lost child.

"I don't like this," Jurgen muttered under his breath, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes for a moment, then putting them carefully back on again.

Nikita smiled, sadly, with a touch of bitterness, saying softly, "And you think I do?"

* (36 hours later: Operations' tower)

Operations had his hands tucked in his pockets as he paced back and forth with barely - harnessed anger. Madeline, Michael and Jurgen watched him and waited, each with their own degree of dread. Operations finally asked, his voice carefully controlled in an effort to keep from sounding like a ranting tyrant. "Have we been able to locate the trigger?"

Michael stood with his hands clasped together in front of him and stared calmly at Operations. "No."

The older man had paused in his pacing to ask his question - after Michael's tacit answer, he resumed his incessant stride. "Then what do we have?"

Madeline answered, "Nikita was able to place a tracker on Wicke's car which we followed to a meet he had with the buyer's contact. We have him now in interrogation."

"The contact is no good to us if we don't have the trigger!" Operations was becoming increasingly aggravated, his voice rising a little in timbre.

"We're working backwards," Michael interjected softly. "We still have time."

"Time for WHAT?" Operations burst out then, his voice harsh. "We can't trace the buyers - they don't know where it is. And Wicke won't set up a meet until the last possible moment. If that trigger leaves the country, we may never find it." Operations seemed to physically pull himself out of his emotional diatribe, and he redirected his train of thought. "What about Nikita? Any word from her?"

Jurgen answered calmly. "We're not in real time contact with her, but she should be getting back to us soon."

"Damn it!" Operations swore in absolute frustration. "Has everyone in this place suddenly become incompetent?" He pulled out a cigarette and lit it as the three watched him, all of them knowing better than to utter a single word when Operations was like this. Instead, they silently began to leave, noting that his action involving the cigarette was a cursory dismissal of them. Jurgen halted abruptly, though, when Operations called out his name.

"I have no intention of failing this mission," Operations stated, his voice deadly low as he exhaled a a puff of smoke directly into Jurgen's face. "Nikita may have to sacrifice."

"Meaning what?" Jurgen inquired, though he already suspected the appalling implication of the words." At the mention of Nikita's name, Michael hesitated at the doorway, tensing visibly. His jaws clenched, and he dreaded what he would next hear.

"If Helen believes that she's Nikita's mother, she may not be able to tolerate the pain we inflict on her daughter." Operation's words were like lead weights landing on Michael's shoulders - he forced himself not to react physically, but he couldn't breathe for a moment, and he knew if he hesitated in the room a second longer, he would have to bite back a snarl.

Jurgen's reaction was more internal. He remained stoic, steely-eyed, his face betraying nothing of what he was feeling. But his mind was working - planning an alternate course of action. He knew Nikita would suffer, no matter what contingency plan he developed. There was no way around it.

As it turned out, Operations was right. With time running out and none of their other efforts to locate the trigger meeting with any measure of success, the profile was changed to utilize Nikita.

Nikita drugged Helen after befriending her. She hated her own duplicity - betraying this woman, who had shown her nothing but kindness from the beginning. Nikita forced herself to remember that Helen was a terrorist of the vilest kind and that if left alone, she would cause thousands, perhaps millions, of deaths. It helped her to focus enough to sprinkle the drug into Helen's tea when she was distracted with her pictures of her family. Yet, even with the image of a cold-blooded killer in her mind, Nikita still could not help but carry Helen to her bed, cover her with a quilt, and whisper in remorse, "I'm sorry..." She left the room, her destination Wicke's office.

When John found Nikita in his office , obviously transmitting information from his confidential files to an unknown recipient, Nikita promptly shot him, an expression of satisfied revenge on her face as she stated forcefully in a low voice, "That's for Chuck."

While Helen slept, Section's "housekeeping" took John's body away to eliminate any traces of deception. Section then arranged for Jurgen to appear at the mansion posing as a police officer, bearing the tragic news to Helen of an automobile accident that claimed the life of her husband.

The plan was simple. Helen, in her grief, turned to the only other person with whom she also felt a bond - Nikita. While supposedly transporting the two women to the morgue to identify John Wicke's body, Jurgen and the other operatives posing as fellow police officers took a detour into the woods. They dragged Helen from the car - Nikita had been expecting that, knowing it was part of the mission profile. She hadn't expected Richard to grab her as well - her complete bewilderment was obvious on her face. Not knowing what was happening, she fought, remembering that she was supposed to be Helen's daughter, who would never have been docile in the face of the unknown.

She struggled against the manhandling of the operatives, fighting to get a glimpse of Jurgen's face behind her, hoping it would reveal something to give her an indication of what she was expected to do. She began to feel afraid - this was not a part of the plan, and Nikita somehow knew she was about to be an unwilling pawn in this deadly chess game.

She allowed herself to be bound with her back to a large tree - waiting to see what would transpire next. Two operatives held Helen, their faces neutral. Nikita could see, though, that their eyes were pained - they knew what was about to happen, and they didn't like it.

She saw Jurgen nod to Richard. She didn't see Richard grit his teeth, didn't hear him beg silently, *Please forgive me, Nikita*, just before he raised his arm back and swung at her.

Jurgen clenched his teeth as he watched Richard's fist connect forcefully with Nikita's jaw. He steeled himself and turned to watch the horror on Helen's face. "Where is the trigger?" he asked. He could not bear to look at Nikita - could not face the agony of betrayal he knew he would see in her eyes. Even though he'd told Richard to pull his punches, to hit her in areas that would bruise, but not break, he still felt like the worst criminal ever allowed to live.

Enlightenment dawned in Helen's eyes. "You killed John because *he* wouldn't tell you." Hatred filled her eyes as she glared back at Jurgen. "And you think *I* will?" She laughed, putting on a brave front, but her eyes held a hint of anxiety as she glanced at Nikita.

Jurgen nodded towards Richard and his gut tightened as he saw the muscular operative swing again, heard the sound of his knuckles connecting with Nikita's cheekbone with a sickening cracking sound. Behind him, Jurgen heard Helen release a sob of sorrow. Richard swung again. This time his punch landed squarely in Nikita's diaphragm, effectively knocking the wind out of her. Nikita, whose hands were tied behind the tree, buckled and slid slowly towards the ground. Blood trickled from nose and mouth, her face already showing large, dark bruises.

Helen stared in shock, her loyalty to her dead husband torn by her newfound bond with the young woman she believed to be her daughter. She watched in horror as Jurgen, seeing she would need a little more persuasion, said, completely without expression, "Kill the girl." The man who had been beating Nikita reached into his jacket and withdrew a gun. He released the safety and then placed the gun next to Nikita's temple stalling as long as he dared, hoping he would not have to follow through with the cold-blooded murder of a friend.

Suddenly, Nikita knew what the intended effect was to be. She fought unconsciousness and forced a look of resignation. She would be a martyr - she would die for her mother. Nikita put her head back as if offering her neck to Jack the Ripper, closed her eyes, and waited for the bullet.

The look was too much for Helen to bear and she screamed out in agony. "NO! I'll *tell* you where it is..." she sobbed. She turned tear-filled eyes towards Jurgen and pleaded. "Let her go, please... She's all I've got..."

Tears ran down Nikita's face as she heard Helen's words. Her *real* mother wouldn't have saved her - yet this woman whom she had deceived into believing she was her daughter had come forward and fought for her life. The feelings of betrayal Nikita felt caused her more pain than the physical beating she had just endured.

* Several hours later, Nikita lay in medlab. She had suffered massive bruising, a concussion, and two very sore but unbroken ribs. She lay sedated on the bed, her blonde hair spread across the pillow.

Michael stood next to her, looking down at her with pain that almost blinded him. He heard the doors open behind him and knew it was Jurgen. His body went rigid - he fought every instinct to spin, deliver a crescent kick to Jurgen's head and lay him out. As it was, he was barely in control of his reactions, though his face gave nothing away.

Their eyes met and locked - glacial blue with icy green. Neither spoke for several moments, each gauging the emotional condition of the other, sizing each other up, seeking an advantage or a weakness.

Finally, Michael spoke, his voice so soft he almost seemed peaceful. Jurgen knew, however, that his calm was deceptive - he'd trained Michael, and he recognized the dangerous quiet that invariably precluded a quick, bloody death at Michael's hands.

"How could you do this to her?" Michael asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth prominent in an effort to bite back what he really wanted to say to his former mentor.

"I had no choice."

"That's a lie," Michael uttered. "You could have changed the profile--"

Jurgen interrupted him, "Stop it, Michael! You know as well as I do that once the profile's set--"

"--You were team leader. It was your call. You sent Nikita out there without telling her what to expect. You would have let Richard beat her to death--"

"--No!" Jurgen interjected. "I told him to pull his punches. I told him to hit her in places that would bruise. I had him pull the gun, but I told him to wait for the last possible moment. I knew Wicke would crack..."

"--No, you didn't!" Michael's voice was scathing - his fists were clenched in an effort to keep from knocking Jurgen's head from his shoulders. "You didn't know. How could you put her through this without telling her--"

"--A physical wound heals with time, Michael - not like the emotional wounds YOU'RE inflicting on her!"

Michael's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "What do you mean by that?"

Jurgen saw, then, that he had temporarily disarmed Michael, and he used the time to his advantage. "You give her as much as you think you can spare, then you push her away. You let her believe you love her, but then you turn cold and act like she's committed some unforgiveable sin. She's dying inside, Michael - and you're killing her."

Michael stood helpless, speechless, dazed, absorbing Jurgen's words. The entire exchange had been delivered in tones so soft they could have been a hushed lullaby but for the content. Jurgen needed no parting shot. He turned and left the room - left Michael to think about what he had done to Nikita in his misguided attempt to save her soul...

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

She had awakened on the second day to find Jurgen sitting beside her bed, a look of pained sorrow in his eyes as he gazed at her. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Nikita stopped him. She tried to smile, but the bruises made it painful to offer much more than a small lifting of the corners of her mouth. "Don't," she stated, her voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm getting use to how things are."

She glanced slowly around the room. "How long have I been out?" she asked huskily.

"Almost sixteen hours."

She fell quiet as she stared straight ahead. She concentrated on keeping her eyes devoid of the disappointment she felt at not seeing Michael anywhere. She longed to ask Jurgen if Michael had been by to see her, but she knew that Jurgen would not approve. He was convinced that she shouldn't have anything more to do with Michael. Nikita closed her eyes in anguish and resignation. He was probably right.

"Can I get you anything?" Jurgen asked.

Her eyes fluttered open and she stared blankly at him. "No. I'm fine," she responded quietly. "I'm just tired."

Jurgen nodded as he stood and stepped closer to the bed. His hand reached out and he tenderly, carefully smoothed her hair back from her battered face. Wordlessly, he bent and placed a kiss on her brow. "Sleep well, Nikita," he murmured before he turned and left.

For a long time Nikita lay contemplating the feelings of despondency and rejection that engulfed her. She had made the grievous and foolish mistake of thinking that Michael cared for her - now she realized that she didn't matter to him one way or another. His true love had been Simone, and now that she was gone, Michael wasn't inclined to make room in his life for anyone else.

Her eyes closed as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Let GO, Nikita," she told herself. "He DOESN'T love you."

Despite her best efforts, Nikita couldn't hold back the fresh set of tears that slipped silently like mercury from beneath her lashes. She turned her head to the side, away from the light shining in through the glass doors, and allowed the temporary solace of sleep to overcome her.

Three days later Nikita was released from medlab. She walked stiffly down the long hallway, her eyes shielded behind her trademark dark glasses. She allowed her hair to hang loosely down in an effort to conceal the faint traces of bruising that still marred her face.

She had had several visitors during her sojourn in medlab. Madeline and Operations had come to congratulate her on a job well done, their expressions carefully guarded. Jurgen visited every day, as often as he could. Birkoff and Walter brought her roses. Even Richard had come to apologize for his role in the profile. Nikita had dismissed his apology with a smile and a squeeze of her hand on his. The one person she longed to see, however, continued to keep his distance.

Reaching her destination, Nikita raised her hand and knocked lightly before twisting the knob and pushing the door slightly open. Jurgen looked up from behind his desk. Seeing Nikita, he stood immediately, his eyes flying to his watch. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time..."

"If you're busy, its okay," she stated. "I can ask transport to drop me off."

Jurgen was slipping on his jacket as he made his way toward Nikita. "It's no problem, Nikita. I'll take you home."

"Are you sure?" she asked. Her eyes quickly scanned over him and she almost unconsciously straightened the lapels of his jacket in a loving, familiar gesture.

Jurgen reached out and removed her sunglasses, slipping them into his coat pocket as he peered deeply into her eyes, his gaze missing nothing. His heart contracted at the sadness he saw there, even as his fingers caressed her cheek softly and he answered her question with two words uttered in complete certainty: "I'm sure..."

Nikita smiled up at him. He was so kind to her - he always had been. She knew it had hurt him to use her on the last mission. She understood that there had been no other option. With a sigh, she turned and fell into step next to him as they made their way leisurely towards the exit. Somewhere in the back of her mind Nikita wished that Michael could have been as attentive to her.

Weeks passed during which time Nikita gradually grew closer and closer to Jurgen. On days when she worked, she could almost always be found in his office - even if he was out on a mission. He drove her home in the evenings, took her out to quiet dinners, took long walks with her in the park... All the time spent together was carefully cloaked in valid reasons for their meetings, in case Section decided the relationship was becoming dangerously romantic.

Slowly, Nikita found herself more receptive to the idea of Jurgen taking on a more important role in her life. Yet, even as she warmed to it, the thought caused a dull ache to reverberate deep within. Her heart rebelled against her mind's conscious effort to eradicate Michael from her life once and for all, and despite her determination, there was a wrongness about it that never left her alone.

The ringing of her cell phone broke her from her reverie and Nikita reached over to the table next to her couch to retrieve it. Jurgen was away on a mission so it had to be Section.

"Yes?" She listened carefully then hung up. There was a briefing in half an hour. She stood and stretched before making her way to the bedroom and getting dressed.

Twenty minutes later, Nikita entered the briefing room to find three other operatives there. One of them was Michael. Their glances met briefly, neither pair of eyes willing to reveal their owner's inner thoughts. Nikita slid into the chair nearest the door - and farthest from Michael. A minute later Madeline and Operations entered and the briefing began.

DOD satellite surveillance had pinpointed a weapons manufacturing plant inside of Eastern Europe that was disguised as a mining station. The profile seemed standard enough. They would penetrate under the cover of darkness. Nikita would be on point. Her job was to take out the guard at the light tower and divert the huge search lamp away from her team mates. Dylan and McGraw would provide cover while Michael would plant a single explosive charge. After the charge was set, the team would withdraw. The charge would be detonated using a remote from the van. It was a standard infiltrate-and-destroy mission and Michael would be in charge.

"Are there any questions?" Operations asked as his eyes moved from one operative to the next. He smiled his approval at the silence that greeted his inquiry. "You leave in one hour."

Nikita headed immediately to her quarters to change into mission gear. Afterward she headed over to Walter's to gather her equipment. She spent the few minutes it took to gather her things laughing at Walter's innuendos.

"Here, Sugar - let me help you with that vest," he said, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "It looks a little snug..."

"You're terrible, Walter," she smiled as she turned to leave.

"Take care of yourself, Sugar," he called out to her - she shot him a dazzling smile and an impish wink, making her escape before he could act on that flirtatious parting shot.

She still had the smile on her face when she rounded the corner to van access and came face to face with Michael. The smile was quickly replaced with a carefully neutral expression as she stepped to the side and moved around him.

Michael watched her as she stepped into the van. After his confrontation with Jurgen, Michael had once again withdrawn from Nikita - but for a completely different reason than the one he had before. He was ashamed. Jurgen had made him realize just how much he had hurt Nikita with his avoidance. Jurgen's words, "Nikita's dying on the inside and you're killing her" rang in his mind constantly. He had left medlab that night before Nikita had awakened and he hadn't gone back.

The longer he stayed away from her, the more difficult it became to approach her. The distance between them grew wider, more uncrossable with every passing day. Then, he had noticed Nikita and Jurgen spending more and more time together. There were rumors that there was more than just a mentor - material relationship between them. Michael realized that even if he wanted to reach out to her, it was probably too late. Jurgen was staking his claim on Nikita and she didn't seem to mind.

Michael and Nikita kept their distance both in the van and the flight over to their destination. Each was keenly aware of the other but one would hardly know it by the way they carefully, meticulously avoided even the briefest of eye contact. Of course, if either had had the slightest idea of the turmoil that the future held, they might have acted differently.

The mission went smoothly until they began to execute egress. Michael was spotted by one of the guards, who fired the first shot. Michael returned the fire, hitting the guard and sending him toppling to the ground. The sound alerted the other guards of the intruders. The night air was filled with the flashing lights and rapid bursts of gun-fire erupting as the Section operatives retreated to the waiting van. Nikita was providing cover as Dylan and McGraw slipped past. She continued to fire as Michael drew nearer. He had almost reached her when one of the guard's bullets hit him in the back of his thigh. Michael staggered and fell to his knees.

"Michael!"

Nikita reacted instantly, killing the guard before running towards Michael as he struggled to stand. From the back she could hear her team mates providing cover fire as she reached Michael and helped him to his feet.

"The remote, Nikita..."

Nikita reached into his jacket pocket for the device and aimed it towards the area where Michael had planted the charge. She depressed the detonate button - nothing happened. Nikita looked at the remote and pressed the button again. Still there was no reaction.

"It's jammed," she shouted over the noise of the gunfire. Without thinking, Nikita turned and signaled to Dylan to return for Michael. She gently lowered him back down, reluctant to let go of him, knowing it might very well be the last chance she would ever have to touch him again.

"Nikita, NO!" he shouted as he realized what she was about to do. Her eyes met his and in that brief second she saw the Michael she loved gazing back at her. It seemed they were locked in that space of moment for an eternity as their eyes unreservedly conveyed all the regrets and love they had for each other.

Nikita bent and kissed Michael quickly on the mouth, savoring the sweet softness of his lips, memorizing that touch... She then pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, "I love you, Michael." She had picked up her gun and was running back toward the plant before Michael could stop her.

"Nikita!!"

Michael tried to struggle to his feet but his wounded leg wouldn't obey. Dylan reached him and half-carried him back to the van. "Forget me," he ordered, his voice thick with emotion. "Go help her, Dylan!" Even as the words were spoken, an explosion rocked the ground as a huge fireball erupted into the sky, followed by a chain reaction of further explosions.

"NIKITA!!!" Michael screamed her name into the night, the anguish of his cry heartbreaking and haunting as the sound of fading gun-fire and explosions filled the air.

"It's too late, Michael," Dylan responded as he pushed Michael into the waiting van. "We can't do anything for her now!" The door slammed and the vehicle lurched into motion. Michael sank back against the side of the door.

She was gone.

The End.

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