The coldness of the floor had a numbing effect upon her feet, causing her pink toes to curl in. She shivered and tried to wrap the thin white shift more tightly about her slim frame in order to trap more heat. The minutes slipped away in stark silence while she roamed the small medlab cell that they had put her in. A brief flicker of movement to her left prompted her to turn and look at the man who had for the past twenty minutes stood perfectly erect and motionless. His hands, which had previously been loosely clasped in front of him, were now at his sides since he had folded his muscular arms. A muscle in his sculpted cheek twitched, and she thought he was going to say something, his gaze upon her was so intense. His mouth never opened though, and she rolled her eyes, feigning nonchalance despite the stirring feeling his eyes transferred to her. Suddenly the room seemed even smaller, and she wished with even more longing that the door would just open so that they could get on with the mission.

She sat down gingerly upon the sanitized floor, cringing slightly as her barely covered derriere came in contact with the frigid linoleum. Although she was perfectly fit, standing barefoot for long periods of time while having to face the unnerving stare of an exasperating specimen of the male species tended to make her legs feel like jelly. She folded her legs and leaned forward, resting her chin on top of her hands.

"We all live in the yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine," she sang into the silence. It had been so quiet, she felt like her ears were going to burst from the pressure of the silence. "Sky of blue, and sea of green, in our ye-el-low, submarine. . .

"Nikita," the man interrupted, "Please." His voice was kind, but definitely laced with irritation.

"Sorry," she ducked her head in a brief flash of embarrassment. Hadn't she been singing in her head? But as quickly as her abashed expression appeared, it dissolved and was replaced with one of concealed mischief. She loved these rare occasions when she succeeded in pushing his buttons. After all, she had resolved to stop being so predictable.

Pursing her lips, she began whistling. Michael's eyes narrowed, and she almost stopped when she saw his murderous expression. Then she checked herself, I'm not scared of him, it's only Michael, she thought, and continued her song. Only Michael she bit her lip. Somehow the phrase didn't seem right.

"Nikita," he ground out.

"Yes?" she asked innocently, looking up at his towering form. Not wanting to be at the disadvantage, she moved to stand, but was stopped by his hands on her shoulders. Michael bent so that his face crossed the clean breath distance between them. Nikita caught a whiff of coffee mixed with toothpaste.

"Will you stop acting like a child, and focus?" he patronized her.

On impulse, Nikita stuck her tongue out at him. The gesture caught Michael by surprise, but he merely blinked and continued his look of disapproval.

"Loosen up Michael," Nikita said throatily, "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

She moved to push herself up again, but was treated to a hard shove by Michael.

"Ow!" she protested, when her rear impacted the floor. She rubbed the soreness and muttered, "Now who's immature."

"I heard that," Michael shot back testily, then closed his eyes in exasperation. Why was he letting her get to him? He started to walk away, but his deeply ingrained sense of courtesy nagged him, and he turned back to offer the blonde a hand.

Nikita stared suspiciously at his proffered hand for a moment, before she relented and allowed him to assist her in getting up.

"Better?" he asked dryly.

Nikita smiled. "We'll see," was all she said.

They stood, staring at each other until finally, the cell door swung open. A tall medic sauntered in with his PDA in hand.

"I'm sorry for the wait, folks," he said cheerily, "But there were complications in our attempt to preserve the subject, and Dr. Lynn was delayed in surgery. But she's ready for you all now, so follow me." He grinned and beckoned with his hand before turning rather sloppily on his heel to stroll down the hall.

Nikita glanced at Michael, and he swept his hand out to indicate that she was to go first. Rolling her eyes, she stalked out of the cell to catch up with the green medic. A heartbeat later, Michael followed. He strolled casually behind his former pupil, his eyes focused on the back of her pale head.

Nikita's behavior in the white room had brought back memories for Michael. Memories he had always treasured, but could never share. Michael closed his eyes at the inward flash in his mind's eye. An image of a little girl appeared before him. A smiling, determined little blonde girl. A little girl he thought would die after Nikita became an operative.

"Michael?"

Michael opened his eyes to find Nikita staring at him in an inquiring manner.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"Nothing," he answered. "I'm fine."

"You've been standing there with your eyes closed for way too long to be fine," Nikita said pointedly. "Come on, sit down." She patted the seat next to her. "Dr. Lynn said she wants to see me first, alone. Do you know what's going on?"

Michael just stared at her. "Go in," he told her. "I'll wait here then."

She shrugged and then turned to leave.

Michael watched her walk away. He hated having to keep Nikita in the dark. A feeling of immense sadness filled him, and he knew why. Today was the day he had first met Nikita. Michael closed his eyes, trying, but not succeeding in keeping the onslaught of memories from filling his mind. Year after year he had told himself that it was better this way for her not to know. Even if he and Nikita had established a working relationship, they had both agreed that some secrets had to be kept. Michael just didn't know if this was one secret that he had a right to keep anymore. Perhaps it was time she knew.

* * * *

The steady beat of water on ceramic reverberated throughout Section One's men's locker room. Barely clad operatives sauntered about, pausing every once and awhile to exchange monosyllabic greetings. Seated on a wooden bench, Michael quietly folded his sweaty work-out clothes.

"What the hell are you doing?" the operative next to him asked.

"Folding my clothes," Michael replied quietly, reaching for his socks.

"If you're just going to toss them in the laundry, why bother?" the operative smirked.

Michael shrugged, but did not respond verbally. He packed up his belongings, nodded curtly to the operative, and strolled smoothly out of the locker room.

"Freak," the operative muttered under his breath. He turned to the man next to him.

"Who the hell was that guy?" he asked.

"Watch you mouth," was the brisk response. "That's Michael.

"Michael?" the operative gaped. "Michael? The Terminator?"

"Yeah."

The operative swallowed hard, hoping he hadn't made too much of an ass of himself. He'd heard stories, rumors about the brown haired operative that had just finished training.

* * * *

"Michael, come in," Jurgen nodded to the young man.

Michael paused, then entered the office and carefully seated himself in front of his former trainer.

"You have heard of Section Four?" Jurgen inquired, casually leaning back in his chair to appraise the fresh operative before him.

"I've heard people talk," Michael answered quietly.

Jurgen nodded. "In my opinion, it's not going to work. They're just kids, babes."

Michael knew to keep his mouth shut.

Jurgen smiled. "They've brought one in."

"A child?" Michael asked carefully.

Jurgen nodded. "A girl."

He reached for PDA on his desk and handed it to Michael.

Michael glanced down at the screen.

"I thought they were grown in labs. Not brought in from the outside," he said.

"In most cases," Jurgen admitted. "But that really takes too long. Sometimes they take from pregnant operatives and then do their best to train and raise."

"Like the computer genius?"

"Yes, that one," Jurgen nodded. "He'll make an excellent addition to Systems."

Jurgen paused, then leaned forward. "This one's special."

Michael's eyes flickered to the image of the girl that was displayed on his PDA screen.

"The mother's not an operative," said Jurgen.

"The mother was a street walker?" Michael guessed.

"I wouldn't put it that way. Let's just say she appealed to a Section operative, for a brief moment in time," he added.

"Who's the father?" Michael asked, secretly wishing his former trainer would just get to the point.

Jurgen ignored the question. "You're young, Michael. Yesterday, was your what, twentieth birthday?"

Michael answered in the affirmative.

"When you were brought in, you were still fairly young. Just barely settling down in the university. But you'd had enough years on the outside to miss it, right?"

Michael kept his mouth shut.

Jurgen smiled. "Experiencing life on the outside isn't always a weakness. In fact, it can work to your advantage. Those children at Four will never know what it's like to really live. That's why he decided to let her go free for now. Let her experience real life. Of course, he's not really being that generous. In fact, he's got a son that he's completely shielding from Section life." Jurgen sighed. "Double standards," he remarked.

"So he wants the daughter to start training now?" Michael inquired.

"Sort of," Jurgen nodded. "He's brought her in, but she doesn't know where she is. She's been drugged into a semi-hypnotic state, so she won't remember a thing after she's released to the outside again."

"Why release her?" Michael asked.

Jurgen shrugged. "She's only eleven. I think he wants to wait awhile."

"I am to train her?" Michael concluded.

"Yes," said Jurgen. "Her program is on the PDA. When you're done with her, you'll have to take her to medlab so her memory can be downloaded before she's released to the outside. She'll have no recollection of what happened to her. But when she's brought back in, you'll upload her Section memory, thereby allowing you to slowly advance her in training."

"This memory program was tested at Oversight," Michael stated.

"On a half dozen operatives," Jurgen admitted, "it's not completely safe, but he's willing to take his chances. He seems adamant on allowing her a chance to really live, if only for her childhood. He thinks having street smarts will make her an even better operative, someday."

"Who is this 'he'?" Michael asked.

Jurgen smiled. He typed a few words onto his laptop, and for a moment Michael thought his mentor would not answer his question. The seconds passed, and finally Michael rose to leave. As he reached for the door, Jurgen raised his head an inch

"You really want to know?" Jurgen asked casually.

Michael kept his mouth shut.

Jurgen shrugged. "Operations." He let the information hang in the air. Michael's pupils dilated slightly, but other than that, he showed no outward response. Nodding to his mentor, he quietly exited the office.

* * * *

The cold chill of the white room permeated through Michael's black hooded sweatshirt. He entered the room quietly, his eyes scanning the walls before they came to rest on the small figure that was strapped to the cot. Michael's heart squeezed as he stared at her. The girl was so young, an innocent. She didn't deserve to be in Section.

Michael sighed and walked over to the cot. He stared down at the girl and marveled at how tiny she looked. Thin, blonde hair fanned out from under her sleeping face. On impulse, Michael reached out to touch her cheek. His hand shook as his fingers brushed against the softness of her cheek. She moved, and he jumped back. Silently, he berated himself. I'm suppose to be in control here he reminded himself.

Moving to her restraints, he methodically released her wrists and ankles. Then he took out the syringe medlab had given him, and injected some of the clear liquid into her scrawny arm.

Stepping back from the cot, he waited a full minute before he saw her pale eyelashes flutter against her white skin. She awakened with what seemed to be caution, he noted. The girl turned her head, and Michael found himself staring into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

"Good-morning," he heard himself say in a cordial voice.

The girl leapt up from the bed, startling him, and he nearly stepped back before he checked himself. Control he reminded himself. He watched as she dashed to the farthest wall away from him and cowered in fear.

"Don't be afraid," Michael told her, "I'm not here to hurt you."

He took a step toward her, and she stiffened in alarm.

Michael's mind raced, trying to think of a way to calm her. He thought of his sister, and how she used to react to strangers.

"My name's Michael," he told her in a conversational tone. "What's yours?"

The girl eyed him suspiciously. Michael took a chance and strode toward her in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner.

"Where am I?" her thin voice barely traveled the distance to his ears.

"Section One," Michael informed her.

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that?"

"It's, uh," Michael paused. Don't stammer! he berated himself. "Section One is a, a school."

"A school?" the girl repeated. She stared curiously at the man before her.

"You were sent here for training," Michael told her.

"Bullshit," she spat at him.

Michael's jaw dropped, not believing what had just popped out of the girl's mouth.

"Look," he took a step toward her.

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!" she half screamed.

Michael winced at her high pitched voice. You're suppose to be the one in charge he reminded himself. Act like it. She's just a kid. Deciding to be assertive he closed the distance between him until he was no more than two feet away from her. However, even that was too close for the girl.

A flash of pain cursed through Michael's lower body, and he doubled over. Strands of silk slapped him in the face as the girl dashed away from him.

"Ni-ki-ta," he grounded out. I can't believe she that! Straightening himself, Michael turned to see that the girl had placed herself behind the cot, using it as a shield. Michael's eyes narrowed. This has gone far enough.

He leaped over the cot and snagged the girl by the scruff of her shift and lifted her clear off the ground. Her bare feet kicked at him.

"Let me go," she growled, her blues eyes flashing.

"Not until you calm down," Michael retorted.

She glared daggers at him.

"How do you know my name?" she bit out.

Michael ignored her question. "I am your teacher," he told her, summoning every ounce of his twenty years of life to make himself sound like a person in charge, "and from now on you will treat me with respect. If you do not, you will pay the consequences. Understood?" he added in what he hoped was a sharp voice.

The girl bit her upper lip, and for a moment Michael braced himself for a reprise of her caged animal act. He watched as she cocked her head to the side and nodded her assent.

Michael held her for another heartbeat. Then when he was sure she would comply with his order, he turned and deposited her skinny figure onto the cot. She sat, staring at him with those big blue eyes.

"You look like a prince," she stated matter-of-factly. Michael made note of her Aussie accent.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious of her change in demeanor.

"I found this book of fairy tales at the library one night when I fell asleep behind the bookshelves. I wasn't scared," she told him brightly, "I didn't want to go home anyways. My mamma had another boyfriend staying over. She doesn't like it when I'm around. This book had lots of pictures of fairies and witches and princes. All the princes had long hair. You look like the prince that kissed Snow White."

Michael nodded numbly. "You like to read?" he asked on impulse.

The girl nodded vigorously. "When I grow up I want to own a bookstore. I've read many books. My mamma yells at me whenever she sees me reading though. One time when she had been drinking too much, she caught me reading Paddington. She told me to stop 'cuz no matter how hard I studied I'd still grow up to be a good-for-nothing slut. Michael, what's a slut?"

Michael shook his head at the girl's rush of words.

"I'll explain later," he said evasively.

The girl swung her bare legs back and forth.

"Right now, we have some place to go," he told her.

"You look too young to be a teacher," the girl said, hopping nimbly off the cot. "But I like you a lot better than all my teachers at Saint Mary's. I don't have to go back there, do I?"

"Yes, you do," said Michael. "I'm only your teacher when you come to Section One."

"Oh," the girl considered this bit of information. "How many times can I come here?"

"Many times," said Michael, avoiding her eyes.

"If this is a school, where are all the kids?" she asked.

"You'll meet them later," said Michael.

"You're a bad liar," the girl folded her arms.

Michael laughed. In spite of himself, he was starting to like the kid, even if she was Operations' daughter.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm new at this."

Soft flesh pressed against his hand, and he looked down to see that the girl had taken hold of his fingers and was tugging him toward the door.

"I'm hungry," she informed him.

Michael paused, unsure of what to do. However, Nikita had made up her mind and was determined to leave the room.

"Then let's find you some food," said Michael. Medlab could wait.

* * * *

Michael glanced down at his watch and stared curiously at Nikita.

"When was the last time you ate?" he demanded.

"Day before yesterday," she answered between mouthfuls of Christopher's chicken soup. She burped and swiped at her mouth with the sleeve of Michael's sweatshirt. He had loaned it to her when he saw that she was shivering in her shift.

"My mamma forgets to go grocery shopping. And when she does, she always brings home beer and potato chips," said Nikita, biting into a hot biscuit. Still chewing, she leaned back and patted her stomach contentedly.

"Can I really call you Michael?" she asked.

"That's my name," he answered, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you have a last name? Or do I have to call you Mr. Michael?" she licked her fingers absentmindedly.

"Just Michael," he stood, impatient to get on with the training schedule. He was a cold op, not a baby-sitter. No matter how cute the kid was, she was still intensely annoying at times. Not for the first time that day, Michael wondered why he had been the one stuck training a child. Maybe Jurgen still thought he didn't have what it took to be on the field. Michael grumbled to himself. So maybe he hadn't been a spectacular success on his first mission. There had been an old lady in the line of fire, and they had expected him to shoot her down. If only he hadn't hesitated. How was he to have known that there was a red cell operative underneath that wrinkly old face? Maybe I'm just not cut out to be here.

"Come on," he pulled the little girl to her feet.

"Where are we going," she asked, reaching for yet another biscuit.

"Medlab," he replied. "You need your immunization shots."

Michael waited for the flash of fear to cloud her frail face. It didn't come. Instead, she smiled.

"Do I get a sucker afterwards?" she asked, hopefully.

Michael shook his head. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-track mind?"

"What's that?" Nikita stared at him in innocence.

"Never you mind," said Michael, taking her sticky hand into his. "Come on."

* * * *

Madeline smiled smugly to herself as she observed Operations watching the monitor of Michael and Nikita.

"I don't think Michael is the right choice," she told him, cocking her head. "He just recently finished his probationary period, and while he is a full-fledged operative, he doesn't have any experience in training. Nikita would benefit from someone who had a higher sense of control."

"In other words," Operations said coldly, "someone who was willing to discipline her."

"In other words," Madeline answered indifferently.

Operations' eyes glimmered. "I'll take that into consideration," he said.

"And another thing," Madeline added, "Michael still has a conscience. While he is a skilled operative, there may come a time when his feelings will get in the way of judgement."

"A couple more years in Section should take care of his conscience," Operations replied tactfully. "Michael shows promise."

He turned away from Madeline, but she caught the tightening of his jawline. Satisfaction trickled down her spine. She had vowed that Paul would be sorry for cheating on her. Unfortuantely, she had been unsuccessful in taking down Roberta. However, now she had the daughter. Madeline's eyes turned to the monitor, and she watched as the little girl chattered away with Michael. Yes, little Nikita was a much better catch than Roberta.

Madeline made a promise to herself, I'll see to it that she becomes an integral part of Section, so she'll always be here to remind Paul of his transgression.

* * * *

"Hey Michael," the old man greeted the operative, "Que tal?"

"Nothing much," Michael answered, checking in his equipment.

Walter scanned the area before lowering his voice. "I heard through the grapevine that Jurgen's got you on a special assignment," he said.

Michael didn't look up to answer. "Really?" he asked in a flat voice.

"Look Michael," said Walter. "When you first came in here, I thought, now that's a boy to watch. You're destined for greatness. That means Operations has got his eye on you."

Two operatives passed by the workstation, and Walter pretended to be fiddling with his PDA. When they were alone again, Walter leaned it toward Michael. "Don't get too attached to the subject," he warned. "You can't afford to be emotionally involved."

"You're familiar with Section Four, then" Michael stated, lifting his eyes.

"Let's just say I've made my fair share of life and death calls," said Walter. "I'll never look the same way again at a coin toss."

"Michael," Jurgen's voice interrupted their covert conversation.

Michael turned, making sure his face was void of expression.

Jurgen almost rolled his eyes. I wish I'd never taught him the blank stare technique. He's taken it to the extreme.

"Michael, you're needed on level ten," said Jurgen, giving his former pupil a meaningful look.

Michael nodded. "I'm on my way." He turned to Walter. "Good-bye."

"See ya round kid," Walter responded.

After Michael had left, Jurgen pinned Walter with an icy glare.

"I'll thank you to keep your advice to yourself, old man," he told Walter in a clipped tone.

"Hey, I'm just trying to give the kid some guidance," Walter shot back.

"He'll get the guidance he needs, from me," Jurgen replied coldly.

"Gotcha," said Walter mockingly.

The two Section veterans engaged in a brief staring match before reaching a mutual agreement to go on with their business. Jurgen stalked off and Walter returned to his inventory list. Nevertheless, the atmosphere of tension remained.

* * * *

"Oh, hi, Mike" a balding, forty-ish operative barely glanced up from his console as Michael approached. "Go on in. She's ready for you. Just finished uploading her memory."

"It's Michael," Michael corrected.

"Whatever," the operative said, waving his hand absentmindedly.

Not for the first time, Michael wondered what it took to get a little respect around Section. Yes, he had just recently finished his probationary period. Yes, he was young. But other than that, Michael knew he possessed the skills of at least an experienced Level Two op. Hadn't he already demonstrated that during his last four missions? Obviously, no one could care less. I'm just another cog in the machinery.

Michael quickly dismissed these thoughts as he entered what he had come to call as "Kita's Room." He saw that she was sitting on her cot in what was a very still manner for her. Normally, she would be fidgeting. However, today she had a rather remorseful look on her pale face.

"Hello," Michael greeted her shortly.

The girl looked up. "Oh hi Michael," she said, her face brightening a little bit. "What do I get to learn today?"

"We'll start with a brief overview of computer programming, then we'll proceed to - ," he stopped, his eyes glimmering with an intensity that startled the girl.

"What is this," he demanded in a rough voice, grasping her chin to tilt her head up. A bruise the size of a silver dollar smudged her left cheek. Michael opened his mouth then closed it when he saw her arms. Gripping her arms by the wrists, he turned them over to reveal an appalling landscape of bruises and red slashes.

"Nothing," Nikita mumbled, ducking her head to stare at her bare feet.

Michael followed her eyes, and when he saw her legs, anger burst into his veins.

"Who did this to you," he demanded.

The girl shrank away from him and turned catatonic.

"Nikita?" Michael shook his head and struggled to calm himself. "Nikita, I'm only trying to help you. Please, who did this to you?"

Nikita stared off blankly into space, as if she hadn't heard him.

Michael's heart clenched. He stood there contemplating what to do, running possible scenarios through his head. Then, deleting them all from his mind, he reached out to touch her gently on the shoulder. She flinched violently, but instead of drawing back, he kept his reassuring hold on her until she calmed somewhat.

"Kita, I'm sorry," he murmured.

The girl swiped at her eyes and struggled to hold back a sob.

"It's okay," Michael whispered.

She bit her trembling lower lip and turned toward Michael. Automatically, he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face into his chest and cried silently as he gently stroked her hair. Gradually, her tears turned into sobs that racked her thin body, until she was almost bawling.

Michael hugged her close while she cried herself to exhaustion. He was still holding the girl's shaking frame when Jurgen walked in.

* * * *

"Is there a problem?" Jurgen asked in a maddeningly indifferent voice.

Michael's blank stare fell into place, and with a final stroke of Nikita's soft hair, he set the girl down on the bed. She immediately curled into a fetal position and quietly moaned.

Michael rose and walked to a corner of the room. After a moment, Jurgen followed.

"She's been beat up really bad," Michael said in a low voice. "I suspect her mother's boyfriend did it."

"Of course he did," said Jurgen as if Michael had stated the obvious.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Roberta's 'boyfriend' is Section material," said Jurgen. "Madeline decided that was the best way to get the mother hooked on drugs and alcohol."

Anger once again seeped into Michael's veins. "I see," he said carefully. "Distance the mother from the girl, so that when Nikita's brought in, the mother won't ask questions."

"Right."

"But it's not necessary to abuse the girl," Michael pointed out.

"Oh, that," Jurgen wave his hand dismissively, "that's part of a research project Oversight's conducting. They want to see if there's any possibility of memory recall even after downloading. Nikita's had about four self-defense lessons, but so far, reports show that she hasn't employed any of these skills when attacked by the 'boyfriend.' That's good, it's evidence that her memory erasure is total."

Jurgen stiffened as he noted the intensity of Michael's green eyes. Suddenly, out of rage, Michael plowed his fist into Jurgen's nose. Jurgen staggered back, but reacted quickly by sweeping Michael's legs from under him. The young man fell, and his head impacted the floor with a sickening thud. Barely fazed, Michael proceeded to pull himself up. Without warning, a swirl of white jumped in front of him and struck out at Jurgen. The man gasped, and from his pinched features, Michael realized that Nikita's aim was once again on the mark.

Michael stumbled to his feet and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Jurgen laughed hoarsely. "I see that the uploading process is certainly operational." He pressed a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. "All right Michael. Finish up here. When you're done, see Madeline. She has something for you."

Jurgen eyed Nikita and gave her a sardonic smile. She glared back. "You're going to break hearts when you grow up, darling," he told her. Shaking his head, he left the room.

Michael looked down at Nikita. "Thanks," he said, "but you didn't have to."

"I know," she said, "but I felt like it." She managed a small smile. "Do we have to have lessons today?"

"Yes," said Michael, "but if you want, we could hold off until you feel better."

The girl cocked her head in contemplation. "I'm hungry," she finally stated.

"Big surprise there," Michael muttered, smiling to himself. "Then let's find you some food," he said, tucking her smaller hand into his.

* * * *

"You wanted to see me," Michael stated in a neutral tone.

"Yes, Michael," Madeline turned away from the rack of clothing to acknowledge him. "How is your arm?"

"Fine," Michael replied, adjusting his sling. He had been shot during a mission in Iran.

"Good," Madeline returned to examining a blazer that needed tailoring. "And how is your trainee progressing?"

"She's performing well," said Michael. "Her scores are well above average."

"Yes, I suspected that of Nikita the very first time I saw her," said Madeline, her brown eyes glinting.

"I've advanced her to stage four," Michael informed her.

"Good, then she's ready to undergo desensitization," said Madeline. "Put her through the Afee Process."

Michael scanned his brain. "I'm not aware of the Afee Process," he said after a moment.

Madeline turned to another rack. "The Afee process is a program that strips its subject of unnecessary emotions and empathetic tendencies. It's only been successful on children in the developmental stage, however."

"I see," said Michael, nodding. "Emotions tend to hinder the performance of operatives."

"Exactly," Madeline affirmed. "Get her started the next time she's brought in."

"I will," said Michael, trying to appear indifferent. Bitch.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

"Just one more thing," said Madeline. "You're on downtime for the next three days. Get some rest, and heal that arm." She gave him one of her "nurturing" smiles.

Michael resisted the urge to shiver and instead nodded stiffly.

"I will."

* * * *

Michael put down his fifth novel and considered reaching for Whitman's Leaves of Grass when a wave of pain tingled through his injured arm. He glanced at his watch. It had been over two hours since he had staked out at the library Nikita frequented. She had told him that she liked to hide out at this particular library whenever she could after school. However, Michael hadn't seen her at all, and he was worried. She probably found something else to do. he assured himself. She's probably at a park.

Michael stifled a yawn. The librarian at the counter smiled at him as he walked by and he returned the smile, oblivious to her flirtatious agenda.

As he walked down the granite steps that led to the library, a pitiful wail filled the air. However, the sound was quickly swallowed up by the city traffic, and Michael almost failed to locate it. Fortunately, being an operative trained to hone one's senses, Michael was gradually able to filter out all other noises until he pinpointed a whimper. He strode to the back of the library until he saw a fairly large gang of teenage boys circled around a very familiar eleven-year-old girl. Michael's fists clenched when he saw that her nose was bleeding, and her shirt torn.

"Come on Nikita," a tall boy taunted. The ringleader, Michael noted.

"Go to hell," Nikita snarled at him.

The boys laughed hysterically.

"Looks like teacher's pet is really just a wild skank," said the ringleader. He grabbed Nikita's shirt collar and dragged her off the ground. While Michael pondered whether to intervene, she spat into her attacker's eye. With a yelp, the boy dropped her. Quick as a mouse, Nikita darted under another boy's spread legs and scrambled away. The gang started to chase after her, but they stopped as soon as Michael made his presence known.

"Get lost," he growled at them. "Or I'll call the cops."

One look at his terminator-like physique, and the gang immediately obeyed.

His work done, Michael went back into the library.

The librarian, who had previously smiled at him, now started to approach him with the telltale nervousness of someone about to make a proposition. Michael ducked into the men's restroom and waited until the coast was clear. Then he calmly walked across to the women's restroom.

Nikita was at the sink, trying unsuccessfully to clamp down on her bloody nose with a paper towel.

Michael checked the stalls and saw that they were out of toilet paper. Accordingly, he took out his handkerchief and offered it to the girl.

She stared at him suspiciously.

"This is the women's bathroom," she informed him, her words muffled by the paper towel.

"Oh, is it?" said Michael. "My English isn't very good."

"You're French," the girl stated matter-of-factly.

"You're very perceptive."

"Are you blind too?" she said bluntly. "There's a universal symbol on the door of a woman wearing a triangle dress."

"I must have missed it," Michael replied.

The girl raked her eyes over the man. Then, after concluding that he was probably a harmless crank, she accepted his handkerchief and applied some more pressure to her bleeding nose.

"No, not like that," said Michael, stopping her from tilting her head back. He replaced her hand with his own and pressed the handkerchief to her nose.

"Who are you?" Nikita asked, after realizing that resisting was futile. The man was bent on helping her. "Are you from social services?" she demanded.

"No," he said. "I'm from France."

The girl giggled. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Hush," Michael admonished. "And stop moving if you want this bleeding to stop."

The girl obeyed, and after several minutes of silence the flow of blood finally stopped.

"Thanks," said Nikita, watching as the man carefully folded up the handkerchief and place it inside his leather coat.

"You're welcome."

Nikita cocked her head to the side and bit her lip. "You know, you remind me of someone."

Michael's heart contracted. "Do I?" he countered.

"Yeah," said Nikita. "I just can't remember who." She furrowed her brow in thought. "Strange," she murmured.

"I was just going out for dinner," said Michael, trying to appeal to her stomach. "But being new around here, I wasn't sure where to go. Do you have any suggestions?"

"There are bunch of good restaurants on East and 25th," she advised, waving her hand in the general direction.

"East and 25th," Michael repeated. "I'm not sure where that is. Perhaps, we could arrange a deal. You guide me to this place, and I'll buy you dinner."

"Look, Frenchie," the girl retorted, "I'm not who you think I am." She glared at him accusingly.

"Pardon me?" said Michael, deliberately making his accent more pronounced to convey his innocence.

"I've seen the movie Gigi," said Nikita. "I'm not a leetle girl."

"I don't understand," Michael stammered, effectively embarrassing her.

She bit her lower lip, almost feeling sorry for the man. Maybe she ought to help him up. What else was there to do? After all, there wouldn't be dinner at home.

"Never mind," she assured the man. "You've got a deal. But first you have to tell me your name."

"Michael."

"Okay, Michael," she said. "I'm Nikita." She turned on her heel and motioned for him to follow. "Let's get some food."

* * * *

"Do you see anything you like?" Nikita asked impatiently. Her stomach growled.

Michael rubbed his chin in thought. He glanced sideways at Nikita and saw that she was staring wistfully at a pizza eatery.

"How about that place," he said, pointing at the small restaurant.

"I didn't know Frenchies liked pizza," the girl commented.

"I like to try new things," said Michael.

"Okay," Nikita consented.

She took his hand and led him across the busy intersection as if he were the child. Michael let her, admiring her spunk.

They entered the pizza eatery, and she immediately strode up to the man behind the counter with a false sense of bravado.

"I'd like a slice of pizza with olives and pepperoni on top," she ordered confidently. "And a large coke."

The man behind the counter looked the girl up and down, taking in her riffraff style. Nikita glared at him, daring him to comment.

"She's with me," Michael told him.

"I see," said the man. "And what would you like."

"I'll have the same," Michael replied curtly.

"That'll be nine ninety-nine," said the man.

While Michael paid, Nikita gathered up napkins and straws. Then she found a table near the window and waved at him to bring the tray over.

As soon as Michael set the tray down, she pounced on the food and began cramming the pizza into her mouth. Michael opted for a knife and fork to cut up his slice first.

Her initial hunger temporarily sated, Nikita slowed down and chewed so she could savor the flavor. She eyed Michael's elegant hand movements as he cut up his pizza.

"Why were you at the library?" she asked, her mind half mesmerized by his hands.

"I like to read," Michael answered. "It's a way of improving my English."

"Oh," said Nikita, sipping at her coke. "What's the last book you read?"

Michael furrowed his brow. He'd actually been reading five different novels the last time he remembered he had some downtime. "Hmm, Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations," he answered.

Nikita cocked an eyebrow. "I'm reading Jane Eyre," she said, licking her fingers.

"Really," said Michael. "I read that a couple years ago," he recalled. He settled back for the childish, if not entertaining, conversation ahead of him. All he could think of though, was I'm not running the program on her.

* * * *

"Walter, I need your help."

Walter looked up from his worktable. "What kind of help," he asked in mock gruffness.

Michael looked Walter straight in the eyes. "Madeline wants me to run my material through the Afee process."

Walter nodded. "So?" he prompted.

"I need a way to make it look like a desentisized the subject."

Walter shook his head. "Michael," he said in a fatherly tone, "I know the Afee process sounds inhuman. But in Section, living without emotions may actually be a good thing. Chances are, your material will have a better chance of surviving in here that way."

"Can you help me," Michael said, bluntly.

"Look kid," said Walter, "even if I taught you how to work around the surveillance, there's still Madeline to contend with. Nothing gets past her."

"I'll handle Madeline," Michael said, his eyes glinting. "Teach me about the surveillance systems."

Walter sighed. He had to admire the kid. "Okay," he agreed.

* * * *

Nikita's forlorn face broke into a smile when awoke and saw where she was. A sparse white room that was so chilly, she half expected to see icicles under her cot. That could only mean one thing - Michael.

Sure enough, the steel door scraped open, and a young man clad entirely in black stepped in.

"Michael!" she greeted enthusiastically.

"Michael?" she repeated, when he shook his head and held up a hand. She watched as he walked over to a wall and placed an object onto it.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Michael took of his black coat and wrapped it around the girl. He took her hand into his and led her out.

"Where are we going?" Nikita whispered, her blues eyes wide.

Michael smiled fondly down at her. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked.

* * * *

Several years later. . .

Madeline calmly assessed Operations over the rim of her teacup.

"He's reached his breaking point," said Operations, folding his arms. "It's only a matter of time before we lose Michael. A pity, really. I had such high hopes for him."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Madeline countered. "There may still be a way to remedy the situation."

"Madeline, the man just lost his wife," said Operations. "His performance on the Vachek mission has been deteriorating. Oversight has been threatening to take us off the mission if things keep on this course. And frankly, that last stunt he pulled in Moscow is already grounds for cancellation. I can't give him anymore preferential treatment."

"What Michael needs is a new project," said Madeline.

"The man's only got twenty-four hours in a day," Operations pointed out.

"So we'll lessen his mission schedule," Madeline shrugged. "He could use a break."

"What do you suggest?"

Madeline smiled. "Do you remember a woman by the name of Roberta?"

Operations' eyes flashed. "What does she have to do with this," he said, his tone frosty.

"Remember how we brought her daughter in?" said Madeline.

"Yes."

"Well, her time on the outside has expired. It's time to see if your investment has paid off," said Madeline.

Operations nodded slowly. "We'll match her up with Michael again."

"Yes," said Madeline. "But we'll start her off with a fresh mind, no uploading of her previous memories. However, she'll have the advantage of unconscious recollection of her previous training."

"Was she run through the Afee process?" Operations asked.

Madeline turned to her console to pull up the file. She scanned it. "Yes," she confirmed.

Operations rubbed his chin.

"You're feeling guilty," Madeline observed.

"What?"

"As her father, you're feeling guilty for allowing Stephen to remain on the outside, while bringing her in to Section."

Operations glared at Madeline for a moment, before retaining his composure. He shook his head. "That girl was an accident. I don't hold myself responsible for her well being," he declared bluntly.

"Very well," said Madeline, smiling. "Shall we go ahead as planned then?"

"Yes. Bring her in."

* * * *

Epilogue

"Michael, is something wrong?" Nikita asked.

Michael turned around, his eyes falling on his loved one. She looked so beautiful, dressed in a long evening gown, her hair pinned up in a mature chignon. It seemed like only yesterday those blonde tendrils were in a tangled mass around a thin girl's pale face.

Michael crossed the expanse between them, and gazed down at Nikita, who was sitting demurely on the sofa.

"We can just stay home tonight if you'd like," she offered.

Michael's lip twitched. He knew how much she had wanted to see the ballet tonight.

He shook his head and offered her a hand to draw her up. She stood and brushed imaginary lint off from his tuxedo. Her hand stilled as understanding dawned on her.

"Oh," she said, "I know what this is all about."

"Do you?" Michael asked.

Nikita nodded. "Seven years ago from today, I was brought into Section, and I met you for the first time," she reminded him.

"Yes," Michael allowed. "I remember."

Nikita smiled. "Remember when I attacked you, and you flipped me onto my back?" she asked. "You told me that next time I should go for the kidneys." She giggled, and Michael caught a glimpse of the little girl. "My mama always taught me to go for something else."

"I know," said Michael, remembering his first encounter with Nikita. Problem was, of the two of them, only he knew of their first meeting.

Nikita bit her lower lip. "Michael, sometimes it's best to just look forward," she said. "What done is done. And while we may have regrets, we can't change the past."

"No, but we can learn about the past," said Michael. "Uncover the truths of her origins."

"You know I was framed for murder," Nikita said, her eyes glimmering. "And I know you believe me. And if you know the real motives for why I was brought into Section, I know you'll tell me when the time is right. Is that time now?"

If you don't know history, you don't know anything. You're a leaf that doesn't know it's part of a tree.

Michael looked at her blue eyes that were dangerously moist. Her chin was held proudly up, but he could detect her slight tremble.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked.

She nodded. "I deserve to know," she said fiercely.

Michael reached out to cup her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, cherishing her. And then he took her hands into his, ready to give her back what was rightfully hers. Her memories.

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