Some people need to know what to expect,
Need to keep control, need to keep one step
Ahead of every chance, as if chance decides
Who it's gonna pass, and who it will reward.
They don't understand, chances don't keep score.
They just find us when we're there to find.

And so this has to be a sudden gift of fate.
You're nothing less to me than a sudden gift of fate.
It's not as if it comes down to your turn
That someone somewhere feels you've earned.
You just learn to wait for sudden gifts of fate.
You can celebrate, gifts are never late.
You just learn to wait for sudden gifts of fate.

Mary Chapin-Carpenter, "Sudden Gift of Fate"

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

I look up as Michael walks into Munitions. I know exactly why he's here. There's a mission leaving for South Africa, and he's on it. And, as usual, he's here twenty minutes earlier than necessary--twenty minutes before any other member of his team. That twenty minutes gives him the opportunity to triple-check not only his equipment, but also the equipment of his team members. It's one of the habits that makes him such an effective team leader. It used to bother me, 'cause I thought it meant he didn't trust me do to my job. But I learned pretty quickly that it was nothing personal. It's just the way he is.

I should know better than to try and make small talk with him. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I'll get four or five words out of him that don't have to do with transmitters or C-4. But it never stops me. I just keep talking, figuring that maybe one day, he'll need to talk back.

And besides, today I've got a subject worth talking about.

"So," I begin, "you've got a new recruit, don't you? What's her name...the pretty blond..." I already know her name. I know a whole lot about her, since she starts weapons training next week. I've seen everything there is to see in her file. And Michael knows that I know. But he'll play along with me, just for the sake of politeness.

"Nikita."

"Right, Nikita," I reply, not discouraged at all by his flat tone. "That's a pretty name, kinda exotic. So how's she doing?"

He takes a moment to answer, apparently fascinated by the Uzi he's assembling, and I'm almost convinced he's just going to pretend he didn't hear the question. He's pulled that one on me before. But instead, he looks up at me, and I'm shocked to see a hint of...something...in his eyes. "She's not adjusting well."

"Of course she's not adjusting well," I say, dropping the ignorant act. "She's barely out of diapers and she's been living on the streets. She's not exactly going to be Miss Congeniality."

"She's deliberately rebellious," he says quietly, and it looks like he's torn between frustration and astonishment. I guess that would be surprising to Michael, who's had every rebellious bone beaten out of his body. The duo upstairs did their damnedest to create a perfect operative out of him, and for over ten years, he's played the part perfectly.

But now...I look at him for a moment and then begin to chuckle. The duo upstairs may be in for a few surprises of their own.

Michael, being Michael, simply looks back at me.

"She's gotten to you, hasn't she?" Amazing. All the recruits he's trained, all of the women and men that have thrown themselves at him, and this little girl was the one to get through.

Still more silence from Michael. He'd rather die than admit a weakness, but I know him well enough to tell. Plus, I recognize that look. I've seen it on my own face a time or two. She's under his skin like an itch, and if you ask me, it's about damn time.

"Good for her," I say, pushing him further. I'm gonna get him to admit this whether he wants to or not. "It's about time someone got through to you." He stares back at me, and I think about Simone. I think about Elena. I've never seen him like this before. I meet his stare, refusing to back down, and he finally caves.

"Operations doesn't like her. He'll have her cancelled," he says, and on anyone else, I would call that look despair.

"So fight for her, Michael," I insist. "Operations probably won't do anything to her until she's finished training, so it's your job to make sure she's good enough to survive. Train her to be the best damn operative around here, and then make Operations see that."

He still looks doubtful, so I guess it's my job to convince him.

I catch his eye and speak carefully, trying as hard as I can to show him I'm dead serious. "People like her don't come around very often, Michael. I can't remember the last time I saw you like this, and if she's the reason, then you need to hold onto her as tight as you can." His eyes soften almost imperceptibly. "When you're given a gift, you better be smart enough to realize it. And you're one of the smartest guys I know."

It looks like I've gotten through to him. At the very least, I know he'll think about this. What I don't know is how I managed to get myself appointed head shrink around here. Madeline may be the chief PsyOp, but I'm the one that tries to make sure everyone around here is happy. It's probably because I'm old. They figure that if I've lived this long, especially in Section, I must know something.

And maybe I do, because there's a spark of determination in Michael's eyes--maybe even a touch of rebellion. Operations and Madeline better keep an eye on him and Nikita.

"Walter," he says, jolting me out of my thoughts. "Thank you."

I'll be damned. That's probably the first time he's ever said that to me on any kind of personal level. I smile back at him, and maybe I'm not imagining the answering smile on his face.

"You're welcome," I reply. "You remember what I said."

He inclines his head slightly, picks up his equipment, and leaves. I know he'll probably pretend we never had this conversation, and that's okay with me. I know he heard me, and it looks like Nikita might be the one who finally gets through to him. I hope I'm around to see it.

I'm not saying it's gonna be easy. Nothing around here is ever easy. But it'll be one hell of a show.