Author's notes:

I started this story several months ago. I don't want to remember how many; it's too depressing. However, I do remember that part of the idea came about because of some comments mak made. She pointed out that people never cut Nikita the same kind of slack that they do Michael. Her point, if I remember correctly, was that Nikita has had a difficult life too, and Michael doesn't do much to make that life any better. I combined that with some ideas I had about Nikita's development as an individual and some song lyrics that wouldn't leave me alone, and this is the result.

The lyrics are from a song called "I Love, I Love" by Dar Williams. We will now pause for a shameless Dar Williams plug. She's wonderful. She's talented and funny, and a really impressive songwriter. This song is off a CD called "The Honesty Room." I also have another CD of hers called "Mortal City" and I recommend them both highly. Her music is mostly folky--often just guitar and her voice, sometimes a cello, sometimes a piano. Both CDs have more up-tempo stuff as well, though. Finally, her most recent project is a trio called Cry Cry Cry. She and two other very talented folk singers, Lucy Kaplansky and Richard Shindell, recorded a CD consisting of folk music covers. I recommend that one too. It's wonderful.

OK, back to the regularly scheduled author's notes. Thanks to Cynaera and LMG for the beta and for catching several really dumb typos. Thanks to Betsy for being such a fabulous example. I have the feeling that I've swiped a little bit of her style. If so, it's mostly unintentional, and it's only because everything she writes is so damn good.

Story context:

This was begun before the whole MMWK scenario played out. Because of a reference in the story, it takes place after "Inside Out", but other than that, context doesn't really matter. If you want to read it as taking place after the Season 3 arc, that works. If you want to pretend that Elena never happened, that works too.

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

I heard love can fall so hard, it can bury a kingdom;
I heard it makes the spring appear out of season.
It's a storm in a shadowbox, a force to be reckoned with
When it finds you, and find you it will.

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

Michael sat at the briefing table, listening to Operations drone on. Half of his brain was busy analyzing the information he was being given; the other half, as usual, was thinking about Nikita. How beautiful she looked, sprawled disdainfully in her chair next to him. How soft her skin had been and how sweet she had tasted. How she had made his life bearable again. There had been so many times when his sense of honor and duty had almost been overcome by his longing for death and rest. After Simone's first death, he had begun to question Section's purpose and methods. For so many years, his desperate belief that Section served the greater good had been the only thing that made it possible for him to perform the tasks required of him. With Simone's death on his conscience, along with the hundreds of other deaths for which he felt responsible, he had wondered whether there was any purpose in staying alive. And then they had assigned Nikita to him, and everything had changed.

It wasn't like the questions or the guilt or the pain had gone away. They had simply become irrelevant. Nikita had become the focal point of his life. At first he had rationalized the attachment. She was his material. He had spent most of every day training her, mentoring her. He had never really wondered why he was so committed to helping her survive. Then Operations had told him to cancel her. Instead of blindly obeying, like he always had before, he had refused and accepted Operations' ultimatum. "If she fails, you fail."

He had never expected to fall in love. God only knew when it had happened. Perhaps it wasn't even love, just some sick need for possession. He just knew that her life was the most important thing in the world to him. The need to protect her was stitched into his soul, woven into his own life. He had deceived her time and again to keep her alive, knowing all the while that his deceptions made it less and less likely that she would ever really trust him. But he had told himself trust wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was her life.

Something Operations was saying caught his attention, and he asked a pertinent question. Operations smiled briefly, convinced that his top operative was, as always, focused on the mission. Meanwhile, Michael returned to his silent adoration of Nikita.

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

"Here honey...come to your daddy."

The smell of stale sweat and cheap beer flooded her nostrils, and she froze. She hated hiding in the closet, but this way there was a chance he would lose interest or pass out before he could find her. Her fear of the drunk that her mother called a boyfriend kept her silent when a rat ran across her foot, seeking the bait in the trap at the back of the closet.

"Come on baby...I know you need some lovin'..."

Nikita came awake slowly, remembering only parts of the nightmare. The terror was still with her, choking her. She pulled the blankets tight around her and over her head, but still heard the taunt in the darker corners of her mind. "Lovin'"-that was what this particular boyfriend had called the groping. Not that it mattered. The only things that mattered to Nikita were that her mother had been too drunk to care and that she herself had been too young to stop it.

With a conscious effort, she banished the last fragments of the nightmare, refusing to let the ghosts of the past bother her anymore. After all, she reasoned, she had plenty of her own sins to feel guilty for, thanks to Section.

At least the dream hadn't been about Michael. She wasn't sure if she preferred half-remembered nightmares about her mother's lecherous boyfriends or memories of Michael's lovemaking that left her gasping and unfulfilled.

She threw off the comforter, got up, and padded toward the kitchen, intent on making herself some tea. Unfortunately, the thought of Michael, once roused, refused to be banished.

The glint of sunlight on his hair...

The changeable beauty of his eyes...

The knowledgeable touch of his hands...

The glimpses of humanity and vulnerability...

Damn, damn, damn, she chastised herself. It's not as if it was real. The man is a skilled actor, as well as a skilled whore. You know that, so why are you letting yourself agonize over him?

Because of the way he looks at me. Because I know that somewhere, deep inside, there's a soul in there.

You are a Section operative. Love has no place in your life. Didn't Gray teach you anything?

Sure. He taught me that I can love.

Fine. Didn't Simone teach you anything?

Yeah. She taught me that Michael can love.

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

And I'd not believe it 'till I loved...I love...
The rivers sing and stars awaken above me,
And the wind and the moon in fits of restless conspiring
Turn night to heaven for you.

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

Nikita shoved her chair away from the desk in frustration. It wasn't there. No matter how closely she analyzed the data, the bio for Mehta's right-hand man was missing. She rose from her station, heading towards Comm. Birkoff would have the information, and he'd be able to explain why it was missing from the profile.

Halfway there, striding through the corridor outside of Michael's office, she noticed that the door was open. Unable to resist temptation, she peeked in. Michael was seated at his desk, eyes trained on his computer. At first, he didn't appear to notice her, and Nikita guiltily took the opportunity to study him, and to marvel at the intensity he displayed.

Suddenly it was obvious that he felt her eyes upon him, because he raised his head and looked her across the top of his terminal. The intense gaze was now trained on her, and she nearly gasped at its power.

He didn't look at her as if she were a colleague, or a friend, or a subordinate.

He looked at her as if she were his salvation. And his next meal.

She wanted to look away, tried to make herself look away, but his eyes held hers. His gaze was hot and hungry, and he was utterly still.

Bastard, she thought desperately. Don't you dare do this to me. Don't look at me like that, when you know damn well it's not true.

But he did look at her, and he continued to look. He offered her his soul with a glance, and she was tempted, as she had been countless times before. It's not real, her rational self insisted. But she wondered if that even mattered. Maybe it didn't need to be real...maybe it was enough that it was...

"Nikita?"

She emerged from her reverie to find Madeline's amused gaze on her.

"Yes?"

"Can I see you for a moment, please?"

"Of course."

Nikita tried desperately to regain her equilibrium, knowing she would need all of her mental resources for whatever mind game Madeline had planned. But as she walked away, she could still feel Michael's incandescent gaze branding the back of her head.

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

But I am going to a far, far land.
I know it sure as I've a past and a future.
With my maps on the table, you see, I have lost many things...
So many, I won't turn back.

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

"I have a proposal for you."

Said the spider to the fly, thought Nikita.

"Our substation in Thebes is significantly understaffed, for a variety of reasons. Operations and I would like to reassign you there."

"For how long?" asked Nikita.

"Indefinitely."

"Is this some sort of trap? Should I expect my transport to explode in mid-air?"

Madeline looked amused. "Why would you say that?"

"I know Operations has wanted me out of his hair almost since I was recruited. Are you telling me he wouldn't be happy to see me go?"

"You are rather unorthodox for his tastes, but you obviously know that. However, this mission is exactly what it appears to be. An opportunity for you."

Nikita looked at Madeline skeptically. "Why is it such a great opportunity?"

"You will gain experience in profiling as well as field mechanics. Additionally, you'll be allowed a little more leeway in your methods."

"Why?"

"It's simply a style issue. Operations prefers to have total control over every aspect of Section One. Some of the substations are a little more relaxed."

Relaxed anti-terrorist operatives? Nikita snorted to herself, but was intrigued. "Fair enough. More importantly, why me?"

"I think I've already answered that question, Nikita. You would fit in well there. Additionally, you are experienced enough to be transferred from under direct supervision, but not so experienced that your reassignment would create any significant personnel problems here."

Madeline continued. "Do some research, Nikita. There is no catch to this offer, nor are you obligated to accept it. But I think it would be good for you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Good for me as a Section operative?"

"That too." Madeline turned to her monitor. After a moment, she looked at Nikita, who was still seated in her chair. "That will be all, Nikita."

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

And were I a deadwood ship, my heart a compass,
I would leave with inanimate grace, no love could touch me.
But I live, and I know that I'll burn as I grow
Though it might break my heart to walk away.

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

"I can't take it anymore, Michael."

Michael looked at her across the table. She had called him and asked him to meet her here, a little Thai restaurant in one of the less populated areas of town. Despite the slightly dingy appearance of the facade, the interior of the restaurant was warm and comfortable. Asian art adorned the walls, and the smells of coconut milk and curry drifted from the kitchen. Michael reflected to himself that he hadn't known Nikita liked Thai food. Then again, that was no surprise, considering the many things that he didn't know about her, eclipsed only by the number of things she didn't know about him.

"What do you mean?" he answered.

She looked at him steadily. "You know what I mean, but I'll explain it anyway. I can't take this half-relationship we have. You claim to care for me...of course, you say it without actually saying it. But you constantly manipulate me, lie to me, and hurt me. You say you protect me from Section, and I suppose you have on a few occasions. But it's no less than I've done for you." Her voice was matter-of-fact and her eyes dry.

She continued. "Ever since you told me that you're no longer my mentor, we have even less of a relationship than we did before. I'm tired of trying to read into your silences and empty stares. What you can give me, if anything, isn't worth this trouble. So I'm moving on. Starting tonight. I leave for Thebes in the morning."

"You accepted the mission."

"Yes," she replied, not surprised that he knew of the offer Operations and Madeline had made.

"Why did you bring me here to tell me this?"

"Because I wanted a clean break," she replied. "Don't misunderstand me, Michael. I'm not angry at you. I even believe that you think you've always acted for the best." She took a sip from her water glass. "But frankly, I don't care anymore. I don't want to spend the rest of my life chasing after something that doesn't exist. I've taken the crumbs of affection you've thrown me and built a beautiful illusion in my mind. But I can't live with an illusion, especially if it doesn't give me anything. I deserve better than that."

She paused to look at Michael, trying to gauge how he was reacting to her declaration. As usual, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. But this no longer worried her.

"I'm not saying that it will be easy to leave you behind. But it's something I need to do. I'm no longer 'Michael's material.' I need to become my own person, and that means moving past you."

"Fine," Michael said. "Was that all? I need to get back to Section."

"Yes," she replied with a small smile. "That was it."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Michael." Michael pushed back his chair, stood, and strode rapidly out the door. He turned the corner and began walking, not heading back to Section, not heading anywhere, just desperate to put some distance between himself and the black pool of pain that was welling in his chest.

Back in the restaurant, Nikita sat and contemplated the entire meeting. It had been remarkably easy. She wasn't sure what she felt for Michael, anymore than she was sure what he felt for her. But what she had told him was true. Although it hurt her to think of severing her connection with him, she believed it was for the best. I can only live in limbo for so long, she thought. It's time to move out of limbo and on with whatever life I have.

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

And so, as a moon may adore you and remain, high moon,
The wind may crown your head with leaves and keep blowing.
So I'll stop and I'll watch you, for I love, I love...
And then be on my way.
And then be on my way.

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

Nikita paused in the doorway, taking a last look at the place that had been her place of employment for the past few years. There was precious little she'd miss; she'd already said her affectionate good-byes to Walter and Birkoff. As she turned to go, a voice reminded her that there was a last goodbye she couldn't escape.

"You're really leaving."

She turned to face him. "Yes, Michael, I am."

She waited for a response, but his face seemed more expressionless than usual, if that was possible.

"That's it?" Nikita demanded. "No goodbye, no last words of wisdom?" She turned to storm away. "You really are an unfeeling bastard."

His quiet words halted her. "Would anything I said make a difference at this point?"

Sighing, she answered, "Maybe. I don't really know anymore. I guess that's one of the reasons I'm leaving."

"Are there that many?"

"Yeah, there are. But mostly, I'm leaving because I want some stability in my life, and you ...you throw me off-balance." She snorted disparagingly. "I know "stability" is a foreign concept for a Section operative, but there has to be something better than this."

He looked...distressed. "Is your life here so terrible?"

"Yes," she whispered fiercely. "I can't stand it when we're apart, and it hurts too much to be with you. Which hell do I choose, Michael?"

Instead of answering her question, he lifted a hand to touch her face. "I need you."

"Do you?" She pulled away from his touch. "That's flattering, Michael, but you don't need anyone."

"You may think that, but you're wrong."

"Fine. Maybe you do need me. But this isn't about what you need, anymore. It's about what I need. And I need to get away. I need the distance."

He struggled, searching to find the right words...the words that would break through to her. Lifting his eyes, he met her clear-eyed gaze.

"You make me a better person."

Finally, her expression softened. "That means a lot to me, Michael. Really, it does. But I can't. Not anymore. Too much has happened." She reached out a hand and touched his cheek. "You'll survive. You always do."

As she turned to go, he asked one last question.

"Will you come back?"

She stopped, but did not turn around. After a moment, she continued walking away...but her answer floated back to him, so softly that he might have imagined it.

"I think I will."