SPOILER warning!!! This takes place immediately after VOTG ends, and makes reference to the new eps. Don't read if you don't want to be spoiled.

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

Michael slipped the key in the lock of the door to his loft apartment and wearily walked inside. It had been a long day. Since he had returned to Section two month ago with Nikita after securing a tenuous truce between himself and Operations, his wary superiors had kept him running. He had been sent on four missions in the last two weeks, three short local ones, and one out of the country, without a break in between. The Class Five operative was now pushed to exhaustion.

And despair, he admitted to himself. Nikita, Michael thought harshly. They were back, in Section, together again. He was with his lover, his life, his friend and teammate, his Nikita. Madeleine had promised that Nikita would be safe. She was to be maintained, to be kept alive….

Her body was alive, he amended bitterly. But her heart and soul had been sucked out of her by Madeleine's brainwashing techniques. The process had drained the warmth and compassion out of her, excising her emotions, leaving an empty shell. He didn't know if it was even possible to get Nikita back to the way she was, before the tampering. Now she was as cold and as unfeeling as he himself had pretended to be.

She didn't love him anymore. Perhaps she never could love him again.

Michael sighed, and with an effort of will, resolutely schooled his thoughts in other directions. There was nothing he could do to help Nikita tonight. The restoration of her soul was beyond his powers at the moment. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

Michael closed the door behind him, automatically engaging his security. Six months ago, shortly after the Vacek mission had ended, he had installed a sensitive perimeter surveillance system which could pick up the slightest movement in the darkest night. Michael had considered modifying it, just because it was TOO sensitive. The activities of a pair of mated robins and their offspring in a tree outside his window had already triggered the alarm several times, waking him out of a sound sleep with a soft, but persistent beep.

Now he was glad he hadn't changed it. The security equipment needed to be hyper-sensitive, given what Operations might do.

Michael grimaced wryly; he knew at any moment this new delicate balance he had established with his employers might crumble. Their rivalry for power was now over a decade old. Paul Wolfe had recognized from the first the potential threat, as well as promise, of the intense young recruit culled from the ranks of L'Heure Sanguine. Michael, at twenty, had been the raw material, the raging strength of youth, the implacable drive, and naked power that Section would mold to its needs. Ruthlessly, they had tried to break Michael's proud spirit, but they had only succeeded in honing the young man's tenacity and will to survive to a fine edge.

Operations had been his mentor, his de-facto father, his rival and his nemesis for fourteen long years. Now their relationship, once fluid and changeable- fluctuating at times between a rapport of tender respect and a partnership of harsh, searing, and mutual resentment- had solidified into something hard, definite, and permanent.

Now they were enemies.

The older man was more than capable of unilaterally breaking their new, tenuous agreement. After all, Michael thought, in the last two years Operations had already ordered Michael's death several times, whenever Michael's will to survive became …inconvenient. What was once more?

Michael threw his keys on the hall table by the door, and walked through the living room, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he went. Without turning on the light, he crossed the slick hard-wood floors, carefully negotiating around the furniture in the darkened apartment, as he made his way to the area in the corner of the huge space that served as his bedroom.

A platform bed awaited him there, the thick down coverlet and plump pillows soft, lush and inviting. He was too weary to think anymore, either about old enemies or old friends. He didn't want to consider that Nikita was now both those things…

Michael shrugged off these uncomfortable thoughts and eyed the bed, a large form looming in the shadows. He couldn't wait to get in and nestle between the sheets, anticipating his mating with the gods of sleep like an eager lover. Hastily, he kicked off his shoes, then stripped off his jacket, shirt, pants and socks, letting the assembled clothes drop in a heap at the foot of the bed. He shivered slightly, as the cooler air wafted across his bare skin.

Ordinarily, he would have carefully hung up his clothes at the end of the day and then have donned pajamas and robe before retiring, but tonight he was just too tired, physically and emotionally. Naked, his eyes already half-closed, Michael collapsed on the bed and pulled the thick eiderdown quilt around him. He sighed, his eyes closing all the way as he let himself relax in the warm comfort. The last thing he did before sleep claimed him was to check that his loaded pistol was still in its usual place under the pillow where he laid his head.

Surrounded by soft warmth, cocooned and protected by hard steel of his weapon and guarded by the latest in surveillance technology, the weary operative finally let go of his duties and burdens. The heavy lids over green eyes fluttered closed, and a soft breath escaped past full lips. The hardened face relaxed, his features softening to innocence, looking as trusting as a child in its mother's arms….

At last, Michael slept.

But not for long…..

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

Two hours later, a soft beep from the surveillance system startled Michael instantly awake.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound was soft. But insistent. Michael knew better than to ignore it.

Beep. Beep. Beep

Michael lay wide-eyed and alert in the darkness, listening to the warning signal that informed him that someone- or something- had entered the perimeter around his apartment. For a moment, he let the idea cross his mind that it was just the robins settling in the nest in the tree again, or perhaps a scurrying squirrel, that had set off his alarm. He was actually tempted to settle back into the luscious warmth of the bed, pull the pillow over his head, and go back to sleep.

But he didn't. Years of learning how to survive prevented such a lapse. Instead, on instinct, Michael snaked his hand slowly under the pillow to grasp the comforting weight of hard steel gun butt in his hand. With his weapon in his grip, he immediately felt calmer, realizing that his heart was racing, adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins. Michael forced his breathing to slow, returning to the deep rhythms of sleep. He didn't attempt to get out of bed, not wanting to alert the intruder, whoever he was, to the fact that the target was now awake.

Let them think I'm dead to the world, Michael thought calmly.

Beep Beep Beep. The surveillance system signaled again, after a short silence.

Michael listened, and waited, unable to keep his muscles from tensing.

Beep Beep Beep.

The alarm had taken on a regularity of rhythm. There was a pattern, Michael realized. The alarm would signal, then there was a few seconds' pause, then the alarm again. Tightening his grip on the gun, Michael strained his ears to hear any sounds outside.

There was nothing. At first.

Beep Beep Beep

The squirrels must be marching in formation, Michael thought dryly. Or was it line-dancing raccoons? He let himself relax slightly, thinking that perhaps the regularity of the signal meant that it was something non-threatening, like the wind blowing the branches of the tree against the building, or perhaps a stray piece of newspaper skittering along the porch steps.

But the wind wouldn't be so… static. So uniform. So perfectly paced.

And neither would robins or raccoons…

He held his breath, straining all his senses. Then he heard it- a slight scuffing noise, the sound of a shoe against pavement, barely audible above the ordinary sounds of the night.

Beep Beep Beep.

A shadow passed by his window, fleetingly darker than the shade of dark that engulfed the room.

Someone was pacing outside, Michael realized. Walking back and forth, searching for a way in? Searching for a way to kill him?

Making a sudden decision, Michael lunged upward out of the bed, grasping his gun in one hand, shoving the covers back with the other. Naked, his skin rippling gooseflesh, his feet silent and bare against the cold floors, he swiftly crossed the room to a more protected position with his back against the far outer wall, blanketed by shadows. Ignoring the cold, he peered carefully through the window.

Beep Beep Beep.

The shadow had returned. This time Michael got a better view, gleaning a few more details, as his eyes, green as a cat's, adjusted to the darkness.

The glimpse was brief, but telling. The assailant wore black, he realized. A black hood, a black mask, black clothes. And he, like his potential victim, was armed. Michael had seen the unmistakable outline of a rifle barrel in the dim light.

His mouth hardened. This new intel, fleeting though it was, was enough to tell him what he needed to know. Michael didn't need his sense of smell to know that this intruder reeked of Section.

So, he thought numbly. This is it.

They want me dead.

A chilling mask of resolve settled over his features, the relaxed visage of a sleeping child of a few moments ago disappearing as if it had never been. The seasoned operative, the trained killer, usurped the tender child's place. Determination glittered in the ice green eyes as they darkened to cold jade.

I'll see them dead first, Michael vowed silently.

He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with air, so full they were almost like painful balloons in his chest. Fear coiled in his belly as he tensed himself to strike. Waiting, waiting, he chose his moment….

Beep Beep Beep

The shadow crossed the window again, the two armed assassins separated only by the structure of French doors and slim glass. Michael pounced, as swift as a panther….

Caught unaware, the enemy was swiftly overcome. In seconds, Michael had flung open the door, rushed toward the assailant, grabbed him, and hauled him back into the room. Two swift blows from Michael's muscular, naked arms disarmed the attacker, knocking his rifle to the ground and sending its owner reeling to the floor. With a grunt of alarmed surprise, the assailant landed heavily on his back in the center of a Persian rug in Michael's living room.

Michael pounced again. He was on him, covering the intruder with his long, nude length, straddling the attacker's legs and pinning the would-be-killer to the floor with a forearm against his windpipe. With the other hand, Michael pressed the gun he held to the man's temple and cocked the trigger.

"Don't move or I'll kill you," Michael hissed.

Disobediently, panicked with fear, the assailant writhed beneath him, pressing the outline of soft flesh against Michael's nakedness.

Michael stiffened, jolted with shock.

Breasts, he thought. And round hips. Not angles, but curves. The intruder was female.

From below him, a soft, feminine voice whimpered his name.

"M-Michael…" the killer pleaded, her voice catching on a sob. " Oh, God…M-Michael, please….."

His heart softened, but his arms still held the gun tight to her head.

"'Kita?" Michael whispered back. "Kita, is that you?"

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

"Kita…." Michael groaned. "Kita, is that you?"

The words were forced from him, gasped out in a betraying tone of hope and desperate need. Michael cursed himself for the longing tone in his voice. But what did it matter? Everyone in Section knew that he loved her, loved her beyond reason, or caution, or sense…

Loved her even when she hated him….

His breath caught as he uttered her name, and he pressed closer, unconsciously melding his body to hers. It had been so long since he had held her like this, that even this contact of combat was almost welcome, feeling so good, so right….

He lowered his face to hers, straining in the darkness to glimpse the blue eyes behind the dark mask. His lips brushed her ear as he begged for the reassurance of her presence, even as he held the gun to her head. Trust and fear warred within him.

"Kita….?" A tentative whisper, filled with hope.

In answer, his captive whimpered again and once more struggled to speak. The next words from the assailant's lips shattered all of the hopeful lover's illusions.

"No, Sir," the prisoner choked out. Michael could feel the words vibrating against his skin as he held his arm to her throat. "Not Nikita…."

A rush of crushing disappointment overwhelmed him then. Christ, Michael thought in self- disgust. It's come to this. I'm disappointed that it's not Nikita who's trying to kill me. He choked back the taste of bitter bile that rose in his throat. Angrily, sorrow clenching his belly, he realized that their relationship had deteriorated so far that the only intercourse between them lately had been Nikita's efforts to carry out her assassination orders handed down by Section…

She never touched him, never said "I love you," to him, except as bait to seduce her prey….

He closed his eyes, slumping heavily forward as the weight of this cruel truth stung him anew.

Oh, God, she really doesn't love me anymore….

A gurgling sound beneath him roused Michael from his tortured reverie. He was leaning on the operative's windpipe, and she, whoever she was, was struggling for breath. The girl bucked convulsively beneath him, arms flailing weakly.

"Uhhh…." The operative moaned desperately in a strangled cry.

Almost absent-mindedly, Michael sighed and released the pressure on her wind-pipe. The girl gasped and choked, then drew in a harsh, ragged breath. Michael waited while she coughed a few times, and then lay still, panting in gulps of precious air.

He sat up straight, still straddling her hips with his, and shoved the gun more firmly into the flesh of her cheek. He could feel her begin to tremble beneath him.

"Who are you?" he demanded coldly. His voice was indifferent again, numb, as if he didn't care if he killed her or not. In truth, he didn't. He didn't care about anything anymore….

Anxious to obey, the girl sputtered out her name.

"Kathy!" the prisoner confessed desperately, eyes wide and wild. "I'm Kathy! From Section!" The high, feminine voice choked with tears. "God, Sir, please…" his teammate pleaded. "Please, Sir, don't kill me…."

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

"Don't kill me, PLEASE!" the operative begged.

"Shut up," Michael ordered angrily, as much put out by his own crushed hopes as by the girl's intrusion. With a grunt of disgust, Michael got to his feet and then hauled the hapless operative to hers. His grip was bruisingly tight on her upper arm, his face scowling into hers without mercy. But, to her great relief, he did pull the gun away from her head.

"Over there," Michael ordered gruffly, shoving his prisoner toward the kitchen area. "Sit down…" Kathy staggered forward, collapsing heavily into a plain straight-back chair in front of a round oak table. She clutched the sides of the chair-seat for support.

Michael approached from the other side of the table, holding the gun on her warily. She was quiescent and frightened, and totally obedient so far, but Michael knew better than to let down his guard, especially with someone from Section. He couldn't afford to feel any sympathy.

"Put your hands where I can see them," he barked harshly.

The girl obeyed. Slowly, carefully, she placed her gloved hands flat on the table-top, fingers spread wide, then she lifted her face to meet his eyes. Michael could see that the whites around her irises gleamed in the faint light.

She was terrified, Michael realized.

So she should be, he thought harshly. So she should be.

The girl sensed his dark mood and began to babble an explanation. "Sir, I'm so very sorry!" Kathy gasped out. "I- I didn't mean to wake you, really I didn't, and I didn't mean to trip your security…."

Michael interrupted her with a curt, angry retort. "I bet you didn't," he spat out harshly.

Kathy gasped in a sharp breath, her eyes wide with shock. Her hands came up off the table as she gesticulated wildly. "Sir, you don't understand!" she pleaded urgently. She tilted her head, straining to meet his eyes in the darkness. "I was just…."

"Shut up!" Michael barked again, his patience wearing thin. The prisoner swallowed hard and subsided into silence, once more facing front with her hands on the table. With one quick step forward, Michael pulled the mask from her head, revealing a tumble of long, straight, auburn hair that spilled past her shoulders, as well as a face of pure porcelain skin. Michael's lips firmed in recognition.

The name Kathy had been vaguely familiar- there were several Kathy's in Section- but now he had a face to the name. He knew her. She was a Class One operative, just out of training, with a specialty in computer analysis. A quiet girl, he recalled she had performed adequately as back-up on some of the more recent missions in the past months.

He frowned, his ego partially stung. Why were they sending raw recruits to assassinate him? The idea was vaguely insulting. Or unsettling. Didn't they know he was better than that? Even their best, Nikita, hadn't been able to take him out. Was this some kind of test? A trick, perhaps?

Eyes narrowing, Michael raised the gun again to aim directly at the center of the girl's forehead. He could see her shudder and tremble even in the darkness.

"Who ordered you to come here?" Michael demanded harshly.

Kathy swallowed hard and gulped in a deep breath, finding her voice. "No one ordered me," she answered tremulously. She licked dry lips. "Please believe me, Section knows nothing about my being here," she assured him in a urgent tone. Kathy paused, and he saw her bite her lower lip. "It was my idea…." She confessed in a high whisper. "I just wanted to .. uh… see you…"

Michael let out a soft breath, his confusion clearing. So that was it. The girl's words had a ring of truth. It made sense that Section hadn't sent her- this mission of hers was not professional after all. It was personal.

Michael was not a vain man, although he had every right to be. With his sense of power, his good looks, and the aura of blatant sexuality that exuded from him, it was fated that people would be attracted to him. It was a matter of course, that among each year's crop of new recruits that several of their ranks, males and females alike, would fall in love with him. The crushes that developed were natural, considering the proximity and power he wielded over them, and the claustrophobic nature of the Section environment. The recruits were young, seething with hormones and strong emotions that had few outlets. Beyond mere sexual desire, the desire for a hero to admire was also a component. That these energies were directed and focused on Michael was inevitable.

So, he thought sadly. She's in love with me. The fact that she chose to corner him at his home instead of just flirting with him at the office made Michael believe that Kathy's obsessive interest in him was perhaps beyond the ordinary level.

He decided to nip this particular desire in the bud. Brutally. A lesson must be taught, or this trend would never stop. He couldn't have her escalate into a full-fledged stalker…

He sighed wearily, not wanting to have to deal with this recruit's personal problems right now, but realizing that he had to. Now.

With one swift movement, Michael reached up and pulled on the cord that dangled from the light fixture hanging just above the table. Dazzling light illuminated the room, flooding the table, the startled girl who sat there, as well as revealing in stark relief every detail of Michael's nakedness. He stood with his hands at his sides, his whole body, head to toe, from sculpted torso to lean thighs, displayed to her gaze.

He let her look.

Kathy stared at him open-mouthed, barely able to breathe. Her eyes widened, and she stayed frozen in shock for several seconds, then she let out a gasp and turned her head away, blushing furiously. "Sir!" she spluttered in a choked tone, profoundly embarrassed. "Sir, I'd like to explain…."

Michael interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "There's no need for further explanations," he told her coldly. He had shocked her, and he was glad. It was what he had intended. The green eyes bored into hers.

"You got what you came for," he hissed tartly, stepping back to the bedroom area where he retrieved his robe, leisurely shrugging into it and tying the sash around his waist. He took his time about covering himself, making sure she got a good long view of his perfectly shaped back-side. No longer worried about security, he casually pocketed the gun inside the thick robe. He turned back, his face sneering.

"You came to SEE me, and now you have," Michael announced baldly, emphasizing the verb as if it were a four letter word. "I hope the view .." he drawled insultingly, "Satisfied you."

He paused, then pointed at the door. "Now you can leave."

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

Kathy stared at him for several seconds, the color in her translucently pale skin fading further. She sat completely still, long enough for him to notice that her eyes were not blue as he had thought, but rather, like his own, a pale shade of green. Her thick, lustrous hair framed a strong, square-jawed face, a face sensitive but yet powerful.

She is really quite lovely, Michael mused as he studied her. Too bad she was emotionally unstable…

The seconds wore on into minutes, neither one of the Section operatives taking their eyes off the other. Michael waited, then grew impatient. He was tired and wanted to get back to bed. He didn't have time for this nonsense. He was just about to open his mouth and order her out of his apartment again when Kathy leapt to her feet, eyes blazing angrily.

She had a few grievances of her own.

"Jesus Christ!" the girl exclaimed in exasperation, settling her hands on her slim hips. She was tall and slender, yet muscular, just as Nikita was. Her small but shapely bosom heaved with emotion. She shook her head vigorously in disbelief.

"You're a nice-looking man, Michael, I'll grant you, but come ON!" she continued in a frustrated tirade. "I mean, REALLY! Do you actually think I went to all this trouble just to OGLE you, for God's sake?" The pale green eyes met his, staring defiantly. "Give me a little credit! I'm not a complete IDIOT!" she declared in an aggravated tone.

Michael paused for a moment, reassessing. This Kathy did not seem like a star-dazed fan, or a blithering fool. This girl was independent, acting of her own accord, not from orders from Section or from her own unchecked libido. He regarded her with respect, realizing to his shock that he LIKED her. He crossed his arms across his chest and lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. His curiosity was piqued. Kathy was an intriguing puzzle he wanted to solve.

A small smile played fleetingly over his lips. "No, you're not," he agreed dryly. The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a self-deprecating smile. He sighed. "But perhaps, *I* am," he added drolly.

Before Kathy could process this astounding statement, Michael turned suddenly, reaching into the cupboard for glasses and a wine bottle. He placed these items on the table before her and then settled into a chair across from her.

"Perhaps you would care to sit down and explain…?" he invited smoothly, pouring the wine in the glasses.

Kathy remained standing for a moment, still shocked by this sudden turn-about in her leader's attitude. She exhaled a sharp breath, and then, partially mollified by the genuine entreaty she read in his eyes, she gingerly took her seat in the chair opposite him.

"Tell me," he invited softly, the words gentle, not an order. He took a sip of his wine. "Why are you here?"

Kathy blinked at him in surprise, then dared to smile back, tentatively. Her hand crept across the table to twine around the stem of her wine glass. She sighed deeply and took in a breath for courage.

"I'm…. I'm guarding you," she announced in a low voice, her eyes softening.

Michael paused with his wine glass raised to his lips, then took a deep swallow. He leveled his piercing gaze directly at her.

"Guarding me?" he repeated sternly, the words raised in a question.

Kathy's lush mouth firmed stubbornly. "Yes, Sir," she answered with alacrity, eager to explain. "Less than a month ago, every Section operative had orders to kill you on sight," she rushed on breathlessly. "You can't be sure Operations and Madeleine don't still want you out of the picture, even though the order to eliminate you has been rescinded…"

The girl lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and looked warily over her shoulder, as if she half-expected Madeleine herself to be standing behind her, eavesdropping. "Your life still needs protecting…" She nodded her head for emphasis. "So I thought it would be a good idea to stand guard while you slept, to watch your back…"

Michael considered her words for a moment, then shot out his hand to grasp Kathy by the wrist, his grip firm and insistent.

"Why?" he demanded sharply. "Why are you doing this?"

The green depths of Kathy's eyes clouded with regret-tinged sorrow.

"For Nikita," she told him innocently.

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

"For Nikita."

It was Michael's turn to blink in surprise. For a moment he felt the world tilt, his heart lurching with sudden, sharp hope, but then he ruthlessly tamped down this feeling. Still, he couldn't hide the tremulous eagerness of his next question.

"Nikita?" he demanded, his hands fisting together on the table-top. "Nikita told you to do this?" His body tensed as he leaned forward toward her. "She ordered you to patrol outside my apartment building?" His eyes bored into hers. "She wanted you to protect me?"

Kathy's look was almost one of pity. She took a deep gulp of her wine before answering, squirming in her chair uncomfortably. When she spoke, she didn't look at him.

"No, Sir, she didn't," the red-head answered carefully, aware she was breaking bad news. She bit her lip and continued on in a rush. "But I KNOW her. I mean, I knew her, the way she used to be, and I know that Nikita- the REAL Nikita- would watch out for you if she could. She would want you to be safe…."

She lifted her eyes to his, her expression pleading for understanding. Michael stayed silent, digesting this news. Jesus, he thought despairingly. Even the lowest recruit in Section knew that Nikita was no longer the same person. The deterioration in her personality was that obvious….

"I wasn't aware that you and Nikita were intimate friends," Michael barked out snidely, the words coming out more harshly than he intended, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Since when do you know what she's thinking?"

Kathy bowed her head at this rebuke, then closed her eyes. This interview with the imposing Michael was proving more difficult than she expected. She took a deep breath and tried again to go on with her explanation.

"You're right," she confessed meekly, staring blindly past him at the far wall. "Nikita and I aren't that well acquainted. I've only been on a few missions with her, but they made an impression…"

The girl raised her eyes to meet his, her mouth firming stubbornly. She sighed deeply, remembering.

"My first time out in the field, I was on Nikita's team; we were in Kosovo. I was scared out of my mind. And I had no clue as to what I was doing. Nikita kept an eye on me…." The redhead grimaced. "She saved me from stepping on a land-mine." The young operative grinned wryly. "So I kind of feel more than just an impersonal interest in Nikita since then…." She tilted her head and smiled at Michael brilliantly. "Being rescued from death rather creates a connection between people, don't you think?"

Michael nodded, his face relaxing out of its scowl into a more pleasant, but still unreadable, mask. Encouraged, Kathy dared to continue further.

"We never talked much, about girl-stuff, about her feelings, I mean…" Kathy went on, studiously staring into her glass. "We never had any heart to heart conversations. But I'm not stupid, and I'm not deaf. I've heard things…."

She raised her eyes to boldly confront his. "I knew she loved you. Everyone knew it. And I knew she used to watch out for you here…" the operative gestured around the apartment, "After the Vacek mission ended, and you weren't quite yourself…."

Michael said nothing, tensing at the memory of those times when he thought he would go out of his mind from grief over losing his son. He hadn't cared then whether he lived or died. The idea that this near-stranger, this mere acquaintance, knew his emotions so intimately, made him feel as emotionally naked in front of her as he had been physically naked just moments before. And this feeling of vulnerability made him cautious.

He raised his head and eyed her warily. Part of him wanted to believe she was as guileless and genuinely innocent and sincere as she looked. But she was Section- that meant she might not quite what she seemed. What lay under that beautiful surface? Did Kathy really want to help him, or was this yet another Section attempt to get past his defenses? He couldn't afford to let this young woman disarm him with her warmth and sympathy, with her simple human compassion….

He had let that happen before… With Nikita…. And now he was totally lost…..

Michael took another slow, deliberate sip of wine, using the gesture to gain time to think.

"So," he said slowly. "You're guarding me because you feel it's your way of paying Nikita back for saving your life?"

Kathy nodded, her expression serious and intense. "Yes," she answered quietly. "That's exactly it."

It seemed straight forward enough, Michael thought, but there was another possibility. What if Kathy was spying on him for Section, or maybe, as he had originally surmised, she had a personal agenda of her own? What could it be? Revenge? Lust? A desire to conquer? Or was it more twisted than that? Section attracted deviants and psychotics. Who was she? Did she want to f*ck with his mind as well as his body?

He closed his eyes wearily, feeling the weight of the years in Section come crushing down on him. What had he become, he wondered fearfully, that he could no longer allow himself to trust anyone, even this well-intentioned comrade? Michael realized that, except for his son and Nikita, he had walled himself off from any human contact, letting no one touch the feelings inside. How many years had it been since he allowed anyone near him, since he had a real friend?

God, what kind of monster had he become? He was a man more comfortable killing people than talking to them…He swayed involuntarily in his chair, and let out a soft groan, hating himself for what he must do…

"Sir?" Kathy inquired anxiously, placing her hand gently on his. "Sir, are you all right?" she asked in concern.

Michael straightened in his chair and lifted his eyes to hers once more. He forced a bright smile. "I'm fine," he assured her firmly. "Just …. Fine."

Kathy smiled back uncertainly, but he eyes were warm with sympathy. "You're exhausted," she told him gently. "You need to rest…"

She patted his hand diffidently once again, then rose to her feet to take her leave. "Well, okay then…" Kathy began awkwardly. She wiped her suddenly damp palms against the material of her pants along her lean thighs. She had a sudden urgent need to flee the now claustrophobic apartment.

"Uh… well, if you'll just let me have my rifle back, I guess I'll go and continue patrolling while you get some sleep, all right?" Kathy was aware that her voice sounded high and frightened; she was suddenly overwhelmed with an instinctive from-the pit-of-the-gut apprehension. Something about Michael's manner made her nervous, despite the reassuring answer he gave her next.

"Of course," he agreed smoothly, rising to his feet as well. The strange, unnatural smile still held as he gestured across the room. "I think it's over there…" he told her, pointing.

Kathy's eyes tracked where he indicated, to a spot on the floor on the other side of the loft, near the bedroom area. When Michael had wrestled her to the ground and disarmed her, the rifle must have been knocked out of her hand and had skittered to a halt just by the large bed.

Kathy blushed, embarrassed by the memory of being ignominiously tackled by a potently naked Michael. She nodded quietly, then strode across the room determinedly, quelling the urge to run. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she knelt down to retrieve the weapon, feeling her knees quiver with apprehension. She chastised herself mentally for her inexplicable case of bad nerves. Why the hell, she wondered, did Michael spook her so, and why NOW, now that they had cleared the air and everything was right between them?

She was lost in thought, her back turned, hand outstretched, ready to scoop up her rifle into her arms. But she never reached it. Kathy had barely begun to close her fingers around the stock when, out of nowhere, Michael lunged at her, knocking her off her feet and back on the bed.

In an instant, he was on her, pinning her down by the wrists, pressing her back into the coverlet that smelled of him, of clean, warm man….

And that man himself was lying on top of her…

She lifted her head, struggling, and stared into his eyes. His robe had fallen open, and she was intensely aware of his now bare thighs pressing firmly into her.

"M-Michael?" she whimpered uncertainly, suddenly feeling a rush of warm desire flooding her lower belly with heat. Her mind feared him, but her traitorous body had other ideas.

"Shhh…" he whispered soothingly. Slowly, he bent his head and gently, so gently, brushed his lips lightly across hers. The sensation made her weak, his tenderness sapping her will. She no longer had the urge to fight him….

He devoured her with his eyes, the glittering green depths drinking in her very soul.

"Kiss me…" he commanded roughly.

She shuddered, letting her body win the war of wills.

Kathy let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and obeyed.

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

Kathy surrendered; Michael plundered. She opened to him, relaxing back into a haze of sensation as his tongue entered her, powerfully exploring, conquering. Eyes closed, the world darkened and expanded, containing nothing but this moment, these feelings, this magnetic kiss. She moaned, all consciousness fleeing, unaware that she herself made the sounds.

Michael, however, was not lost in his companion's erotic world. Alert and aware, he watched carefully through slitted lids to gauge the reaction of his prey. Is this what she wanted? Is this why she had come to him?

Would she pass this test?

With calculated movements, he pushed his forceful wooing further. Still kissing her breathless, he nudged her knees open with one of his own, and settled his weight more fully between her legs, grinding his pelvis into hers, a conquering gesture proclaiming ownership, proclaiming the conquest yet to come.

Kathy's pliant body stiffened. She tensed, coming aware out of the magical dream of the kiss to harsh reality.

This was a fantasy, a dream. He wasn't hers. He never would be.

Nikita, she thought desperately. She was taking what belonged to Nikita. It was WRONG. This was no way to repay the blonde operative for saving her life. Suddenly, making love to Michael was the last thing she wanted to do. With a supreme effort of will, she fought him, and her own desires.

Her eyes fluttered open and she wrenched her head away. "Michael… no!" she murmured hoarsely, futilely struggling to free her wrists from his grasp where he held her pinned to the bed. A feeling of claustrophobia engulfed her; she was trapped, crushed beneath his punishing weight. She couldn't breathe…

Michael eyed her clinically for a moment, then renewed his assault. Ignoring her plea, he claimed her mouth once more and adjusted his grip on her hands so that he could be sure there would be no escape.

Panicked, overwhelmed, and afraid, Kathy fought him. She bucked and twisted beneath him, then managed to free her lips once more from his onslaught. Gasping, breathless, she begged for release.

"Don't!" she whimpered, thrashing her head on the pillow. "This isn't… right….." Kathy gasped. "Please!"

Michael stilled, and his eyes bored into hers. They stayed like that, a frozen tableau, he calm and cold-eyed above, she panting and distressed below, for several long minutes. The coldness in his eyes registered, and Kathy shivered, feeling chilled to her bones.

Abruptly, as suddenly as it had begun, the encounter was over. Michael rolled quickly off of her and stood up, adjusting his robe with his back turned to the bed. Kathy, shaken and disconcerted, struggled to catch her breath, then sat up on the side of the bed, eyeing him warily.

"W-Why?" she managed to speak after a moment, her voice coming out strained and thin. "Why did you do that?"

Michael turned to face her, his features a blank mask.

"I had to see if what you told me was real," he told her baldly. He looked away, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "I had to be sure that you really were Nikita's friend…" He paused, then continued, his tone tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry," he apologized stiffly, realizing with a sinking feeling that he might have alienated a badly needed ally. "But I had to find out if Section had sent you to seduce me, to get close to me…"

The redhead let out a startled groan, ran a hand through her disheveled hair, then buried her face in her hands. Eyes closed, her mind reeling, she took a few seconds to process this shocking answer.

You son of a bitch, she thought, suddenly furious. A raging anger replaced her fear and distress, and her guilt. The defiant recruit leapt to her feet, green eyes blazing.

"You BASTARD!" she screamed at him. "You're the one who jumped ME, remember?" she spat out in fury. Chest heaving, she pointed her finger in his direction. "I TOLD you why I was here!" she ranted, feeling better as she vented her righteous anger. "I was only trying to help you! What the hell more do you want from me?" the incensed female demanded bitterly.

Michael tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were seriously pondering the answer to her rhetorical question. He sighed deeply, then turned to stride across the room to the kitchen table. He retrieved both their wine glasses and then returned to the bedroom area, holding out Kathy's glass to her like a peace offering.

Too startled by this action to do anything else, Kathy numbly accepted the drink from his hand. Silently, they both took up seats on the bed, he at the foot, she on one side, sitting at right angles to each other, neither one making eye contact.

Kathy waited, tensely clutching her drink, knowing instinctively that a further explanation was coming.

After a moment of strained silence, Michael took a swallow of wine for courage, and then began.

"I knew there had to be more to your story," he said softly, his voice level, yet tense. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her. "Some other motivation…." He grimaced ruefully. "Forgive me, but kindness, gratitude, and altruism are not usually common traits among Section operatives…"

He shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of wine. "Operations and Madeleine, as you have seen, want me dead. Right now, befriending me is not a particularly wise career move…." His eyes met hers. "I just wanted to know," Michael asked quietly, leaning forward, "What's in it for you?"

Kathy stared back at him, then lowered her eyes and sighed. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. She had no choice but to answer him as truthfully as he had spoken to her.

Kathy took a large gulp of wine. "You're right, Michael," she told him frankly. "I guess there is something in it for me…"

He tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. "And that is..?" Michael queried gently.

Kathy sighed, then flashed him a smile, but a smile with pain behind it.

"I'm on your side, Michael," she confessed in an edgy tone, "Because what's going on in Section is scary. Scary as hell. People are walking around with feelings and personalities one day, and then the next day they're some kind of mind-altered robots…"

Kathy shuddered, scowling thoughtfully. "The old Nikita saved my life. The Nikita of today would kill me without blinking an eye if Section ordered it…" She looked up at him pleadingly. "There have been others that have been… adjusted. Dori in Systems, for one, and a few of the new recruits. .They're.. not REAL people anymore. It's been just a few here and there, but the numbers are growing…"

She scowled down at the floor, her perfect brow wrinkling in thought. "I can see what's coming. They'll do this to all of us, sooner or later, I know it…."

She grimaced, and then raised her wine glass to him in a toast. "I don't want to be next. That's why keeping you alive is important to me, because you're fighting them…." Kathy took a deep draught of her wine and them smiled at him. "You're my best hope of not ending up as a brain-dead zombie…."

Michael nodded. Her answer made perfect sense. A healthy dose of self-interest and instinctive self-preservation could always be trusted over higher motivations like compassion. Now he knew where he stood with her.

Perhaps, he pondered, it was time to take a partner in his crusade…..

Coming to a decision, he tilted back his glass and drained the last of his wine. Perhaps it was time to trust someone other than himself. Perhaps he didn't have to do everything alone anymore. Perhaps he could allow himself to have the luxury of a friend….

Besides, Michael thought ruefully, he could use all the help he could get.

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

"Join me," Michael offered, standing up and holding out his hand to her. He pulled her to her feet.

Kathy stared up at him, blinking uncertainly. "Join you?" she echoed awkwardly. "Uh, in another glass of wine, you mean?" she asked, looking vaguely toward the kitchen table.

Michael shook his head. "No," he said with an amused smile. "I mean, join me in fighting their mind-control…" He nodded solemnly. "I could use you on my team…"

Kathy's green eyes flew open. His words at once frightened and exhilarated her. The idea of battling Madeleine was terrifying, but the concept of achieving victory was thrilling. And she would be working with the best, the superlative operative of Section. If anyone could win this war, she knew Michael could.

She could never resist such a challenge.

Suddenly, Kathy felt light-hearted and free, happier than she had been for years, since she had been kidnapped/recruited into Section.

She gurgled out a laugh, unable to keep her mirth inside. Life was good, full of glorious possibilities. Perhaps her future in Section was not so bleak after all. If Michael succeeded, as his ally, there was no end to how far she could go…. The potential was staggering.

She thrust out her hand to shake Michael's palm in hers.

"It's a deal!" Kathy exclaimed excitedly, her eyes glowing. "What should we do?"

Michael smiled at her eagerness, buoyed by her enthusiasm. He needed sleep, but it could wait. There was no time like the present to take advantage of Kathy's boundless energies. It was time to plan their next move.

"Sit down," he ordered, walking toward the living room area. Kathy followed like an obedient puppy, settling in the chair opposite his. Auburn heads together, green eyes seeing eye to eye, the partners plotted their strategy far into the night….

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

As the night wore on, a strange thing happened. Michael found himself letting go, letting himself trust this new friend. Always before, even with Nikita, he had inevitably held back, never revealing all he knew, all the cards he held.

But this was different. Having tested Kathy's loyalty through the crucible of his own exacting standards, he knew she could be relied upon. And, given the desperateness of the situation, he realized that holding back any intel, no matter how seemingly irrelevant it might be, could mean the difference between life and death, success or failure.

And he knew he couldn't afford to fail.

As the night wore on, Michael pondered with amazement the easy intimacy that grew up between him and Kathy. It was as if this new stranger was an old friend, someone he felt comfortable with, right from the beginning. He felt at home with her, as if the connection they shared was decades old, not merely hours. Kathy listened eagerly, and just as eagerly shared her own ideas with him. Michael found this openness, this ease of communication, refreshing and heartening, especially after years of hiding himself and veiling his true thoughts, motives and feelings.

Something inside him eased as their conversation continued, Kathy's enthusiasm proving contagious and freeing. For the first time in months, Michael felt a renewed hope that all would be well. His new partner had restored his faith, imparting some of her strength to him.

They talked and talked; at times they laughed, even. Their bond forged stronger with each word, each idea presented in trust. Hours passed; Neither noticed that the sun was coming up until a shrill noise sounded in the air, startling them.

Beep Beep Beep

Kathy flinched, then sprang to her feet, looking wildly around her. She reached for her gun that lay across the kitchen table.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, looking at Michael wide-eyed. "What the hell is that?"

Michael smiled at her and waved her back to her chair. "Don't worry, it's nothing," he assured her, casually rising from his seat on the floor to flick off the alarm at a switch on the wall. "My security system is extremely sensitive…."

He looked out the window at the glistening new sunshine pouring in and smiled. "The robins stirring in the tree outside probably tripped it off…"

Just then, the family of red-breasted birds twittered and sang, as if to illustrate his point.

Kathy laughed. "I see," she said, her eyes twinkling merrily. She sobered, however, the next moment and looked at him thoughtfully.

"So," Kathy said frowning, "That's how you knew I was outside patrolling around your apartment, wasn't it?"

Michael nodded. "Yes," he admitted succinctly.

Kathy's thoughtful mood faded and she grinned at him suddenly. "Well, I'm glad to hear that…" She smiled at him, cocking her head to one side. "I was beginning to wonder if you had robot radar or something," she quipped impishly. "Now I know you're really human…."

Michael's face softened and he smiled back. "Yes," he told her gently, "I'm really human…"

At his words, the mood shifted. Kathy eyed him uncertainly, all light-heartedness gone.

He approached her slowly, holding out his arms, his face open, eyes pleading.

Kathy nodded once, then solemnly stepped into the circle of his arms. He held her then, in an embrace of heart-felt friendship. The two allies stood together like that for a long time, drawing strength from each other, a current of compassion flowing between them.

"Thank you," Michael whispered gratefully into her hair.

Kathy, too choked up with emotion for words, thumped him on the back for an answer, then pulled away. Their eyes met in total understanding.

"Well," she said after a long moment, suddenly awkward and shy, "I guess I'd better go now."

Michael nodded, giving her a rare sweet smile. "I'll see you later then," he agreed gently.

Kathy's handsome face brightened, and she grinned back at him. "Later, then, amigo," she echoed cheerfully, and then turned on her heel, picked up her gun, and left.

When she had gone, Michael eyed the clock on the wall, realizing he still had a few hours before he was due back in Section. His weariness hit him anew, and he hastily set his alarm, and crawled into bed for a brief rest.

He relaxed quickly, slipping into a deep, untroubled sleep. After all, he had friends now, and this knowledge gave him confidence that Nikita would be his once again, very soon. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Outside his apartment, a man in a black trench coat moved away from the window and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He swiftly dialed a number and waited for the answer.

"Yes?" demanded a querulous female voice in bored tone. "Do you have anything?"

The man squared his shoulders and reported in. "Yes, Ma'am. The operative in question just left Michael's house," her minion told her eagerly. He grinned, a small smirk on his face. "Uh, looks like she spent the night."

He could almost feel his superior's pleased surprise across the phone line. "Really?" his superior responded, intrigued and alert, and definitely no longer bored. "Excellent work. You may return to Section now…"

"Yes, Ma'am," the spy replied. "Right away, Ma'am."

He flipped the cell phone closed and with a light step, went whistling down the street.

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

In her office, Madeleine hung up the phone, leaned her chin on her hands and pondered her next move. She would have to be careful, very careful, if she wanted to beat Michael at his own game. It would be a delicate process, but she knew she couldn't pass up the opportunity to use this new weakness in the enemy against him.

Making a decision, she quickly reached for the phone again, speaking orders.

"Prepare a new Gelman phasing shell on Level 8 as soon as possible," she commanded. "And," she added, with a smile on her face, "When Kathy arrives in Section, send her to me …."

************ Two weeks later

Madeleine looked up from her desk as the doors of her office slid open. She had been anxiously expecting this visitor.

"Come in, my dear!" Section's Chief strategist invited with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?"

The newcomer stepped slowly down the stairs and approached the desk. She did not smile in return.

"Fine," Kathy answered flatly. She stood still, hands behind her back, her posture bored, face blank, a rag-doll staring off into space.

Madeleine's smile broadened. "Good! That's excellent!" she beamed, pleased with her protege. "Tell me, how did your latest meeting with Michael go?" She eyed her material appraisingly. "He has no suspicions about your motives?" she queried sharply. "He still trusts you completely?"

Kathy tilted her head and raised dull green eyes to stare unseeingly at the far wall. In a low, uninflected voice she revealed her friend's most intimate secrets.

"Yes," she answered in a dull tone, as if reciting dry statistics. "In fact, we're getting closer. He kissed me good-bye quite passionately when I left..."

The recruit's mouth twisted thoughtfully, her eyes coldly calculating, processing information, like a machine. "I think he wants to sleep with me...."

Madeleine nodded, unsurprised. "Whatever it takes," she commented off-handedly. She shot a knowing glance at the younger woman from under her lashes.

"Would f*cking him be a problem for you?" Madeleine demanded gently.

The recruit answered immediately, the one word firm and unequivocal.

"No," Kathy said flatly.

Madeleine smiled. "Good," she responded, pleased with this answer.

The brunette beauty raised gleaming brown eyes to her robot. "And did you acquire any useful intel this time?" she asked pointedly.

Kathy nodded slowly. "Yes, Ma'am," she stated as tonelessly as before. "He told me where he's hiding Adrian," Kathy went on, betraying the ultimate trust. "Apparently Adrian has lucid periods during which he gleaned the process for reversing Nikita's conditioning. He intends to kidnap Nikita from Section in the near future and attempt to de-program her..." she recited flatly.

Madeleine's eyes widened. This was even more perfect than she had hoped.

It was over. She had won. She had Michael just where she wanted him.

"When?" Madeleine demanded sharply, her pulse pounding with the thrill of the chase.

Kathy told her. "Soon. He wants to do it whenever the South African mission is over."

"That's perfect," she praised her mindless slave, her mind racing with delightful possibilities. "We'll move against him at once, maybe tonight...'

Kathy's eyes flickered with suppressed pleasure, showing emotion for the first time since she had entered the room.

"Do you want me to kill him?" she asked, her tone eager.

Madeleine sighed contentedly. "I don't know yet," she answered slowly. She smiled encouragingly at Kathy once more. "We'll see..."

"Of course." The redheaded recruit nodded slowly, calmly content with this answer.

"Whatever it takes," the girl droned out a mantra to herself, her eyes flat and lifeless once more, her voice devoid of soul. "Whatever it takes..."

The End

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