Prologue

"I have heard so..." Mr. Jones snapped through the phone. He looked around the oak office, finding it difficult not to let his real worries shine through his words and actions.

He turned to the side and walked to the desk, listening to the reports from the other person on the line. They weren't good in his mind, but it was an individual that was bothering Mr. Jones more than anything. "And you have sent her back to us?"

Mr. Jones flipped the computer screen on and started to retrieve the relative reports, working quickly, knowing that time was of the essence. He would be moving the files into the next room with him after this conversation.

"I'm glad to hear that you have done something right. Major fouls up in the first week would not be wise," Mr. Jones warned as he snapped the disk up and then stood up. He walked towards the door and looked at Monique as she answered the door and led the blonde dressed in black into the inner office.

"I'll be in touch when I solve things," Mr. Jones directed the person on the other line and closed the phone. His mind was whirling with the facts and the situation at hand. It was not one that he was going to be able to handle on his own.

Mr. Jones had spent too many years to get to this point and had hurt too many people to get to this point. He used and abused them and saw the real horrors and reactions of his actions. He watched the human souls quiver with the need for respite from the actions and the horrors, but he had never been able to back up and resolve himself to deliver those who faithfully followed him what they deserved.

Mr. Jones inched forward and pressed the intercom to the other office and pressed it down. It was not because Mr. Jones wanted to reveal what was going on to the blonde, but it was the despondency he saw on her face and what had almost happened on the emergency mission that he had sent her out on. "I need you."

Mr. Jones turned away from the image and swallowed. This had been his greatest achievement, moving all the operatives to positions that they should have been, finding the right leaders and allowing them to lead. Some couldn't have been helped, like Michael, and was given what they were deserved, a chance at life without the interference from others watching him. If Mr. Jones had released him, Section One and Oversight would forever be watching him, no matter what orders Mr. Jones would give.

The door behind Mr. Jones' opened and the click of the high heels was heard. Madeline inched forward, wearing the off white suit and nodded her head to Mr. Jones. With a slight smile, Madeline moved her way to his side, knowing that for him to be asking for her help now, just as Paul was realizing who was now in charge of Oversight was something that spoke of great need.

"We have a situation," Mr. Jones stated and Madeline nodded her head. She had feared that this would happen and it didn't take much of a guess what would happen and what would be needed to fix this.

"She had done a lot for us... Working with me and dealing with the issues that I had to force to make it look real..." Madeline stated and Mr. Jones nodded his head. But he didn't need Madeline reminding him all that was done for Madeline.

"She was sent here... An operative pulled her out of the line of fire... She was heading right for the bullet," Mr. Jones stated and Madeline turned her head and moved towards the screen. The blonde wouldn't even sit down in the office to wait for Mr. Jones. The woman that worked mostly with Mr. Jones to bring Madeline to power, who was responsible for the unknowing shift of power, was falling apart.

And Madeline felt the guilt of it all. She knew that Mr. Jones must feel it too.

"There is only so much that we can do," Madeline reminded Mr. Jones. He moved to the screen and reached his hand up and touched the image. He didn't want to see the demise of this woman and although he would regret this decision later, he needed to do what was right for her.

Mr. Jones reached his hand out and pushed the button down. "Monique... you can send her in now..."

Mr. Jones turned and looked at Madeline as he backed up from the door and to his desk. He didn't know if she would be ready to see Madeline standing there, but that was reality and the goal of all of her efforts.

The door opened and still in field blacks, Nikita walked in, with her head hung low and barely looking up to look at her superiors.

"They had to pull you out," Mr. Jones spoke from the desk. His heart went out to this woman. Yes, most of his time as Mick Schtoppel was a guise, but not all of it. He had that opened heart and he truly cared about what these people did and how they lived. Yes, he picked Nikita to help him, but he saw that she truly cared about life, that it was something that she was trying to reclaim that she never had a chance at.

"The mission was fine... they shouldn't have pulled me out. It would have succeeded in the plan," Nikita stated as she lifted her head and stared into Madeline's eyes.

There was nothing left inside of Nikita. That glimmer of hope that Madeline had watched carefully for years had always been there, even after she had been through the Gelman process. But now it was gone.

"You were walking directly in line of fire. Was it your plan to get killed?" Mr. Jones questioned as he stood up and moved towards her side. This could be much worse than he first thought. It sounded as if Nikita had planned this, which was a steeper problem than he first cognized.

"That was the hope," Nikita admitted without a sound of regret in her voice. Instead, she was disappointed that she was stopped.

"It's not what we want, Nikita... We want you to help us," Madeline tried to make Nikita realize. Nikita still didn't blink and she still didn't stand up strong. She may have helped them and at one point, Nikita believed and wore their hopes and goals on her shoulder, but that was no longer processed.

"Haven't I done enough?" Nikita questioned and Mr. Jones swallowed and closed his eyes. He reached out and touched her arm.

"You really did love him... Is that why it has been hard adjusting to this?" Mr. Jones questioned, sounding more like Mick than he did Mr. Jones.

"How dare you ask me that? I thought you knew.... I thought that you wanted to hurt me as much as I hurt him!" Nikita snapped as she lifted her head and looked around. She moved away from Madeline and Mr. Jones.

"Popsicle..." Mr. Jones slipped.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT! I'm not sweet! I'm not good! And next time I will succeed... and if you keep pulling me out... I'll find another way!" Nikita warned and promised in the same statement. Madeline leaned her head back and moved forward, placing herself between Mr. Jones and Nikita, not because there was risk, but because she felt that she should be bearing most of the brunt of this.

It had been her decision to not allow Michael and Nikita to see each other again. There was a chance that they were going to have to do what Madeline was going to do, but she really didn't believe that it would happened. She had hoped that Nikita would pull through like she had all the other times. But that wasn't the case.

"Nikita... why don't you go into my office... I have to make a few phone calls, to check in with Jason and to set some things up... There is a shower and some clothing. Find something more comfortable," Madeline stated as she looked towards the door. Nikita turned her head away, not believing that she was being sent away, but doing exactly what Madeline was suggesting.

As the door shut Mr. Jones turned and looked at Madeline. He was ready to cry. If there was one person he wanted to hold onto, it was Nikita. "I don't want to lose her."

"We will if we don't do this," Madeline stated, giving the warning. Mr. Jones swallowed and looked to his hands.

"You heard her. She is going to do this... she wants to be dead..." Mr. Jones stated and Madeline looked towards the door. She was sure if Nikita could just get through the next few months, that she would be fine.

"I'll deal with it... I can plant the suggestion in her mind to not kill herself... it will make her black out whenever she things of that... I can't get rid of the images of Michael.. it doesn't work... but this is the best that I can do..." Madeline stated and Mr. Jones turned and looked out of the slight window.

"And there is no way that we can get them back together?" Mr. Jones questioned and Madeline blinked her eyes. For the years that she had known Mr. Jones, he had been the bubbly Mick Schtoppel and Mr. Jones. She was sure that Mick would have been emerging more if Nikita was to stay, but feared that it would be the strict Mr. Jones for a long time to come.

"Michael is going to stay lost... It is best that way..." Madeline stated as she nodded her head. Mr. Jones looked to Madeline and sighed. He felt as if he was losing his family. First Birkoff. Then Michael. And now Nikita. "You still have me, Mick..." Madeline stated as she looked at Mr. Jones. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Set her free," Mr. Jones stated as he walked back to his desk and settled down.

~~

Madeline moved into the room as she carried a pot of tea. Nikita was sitting on the couch, showing that she had done nothing that Madeline had suggested. She settled the pot of tea down and moved to the other end of the couch.

"We have come to a decision... That we can't allow this to continue..." Madeline spoke as she looked at Nikita's thrown forward head.

"Cancellation will be a blessing," Nikita stated as she lifted her head and looked at Madeline. She shook her head from side to side.

"That's not the option here... We are going to set you free... You have served us well and got us exactly what we wanted and needed... It's time for you to go on..." Madeline spoke in a firm voice as Nikita's face flinched.

"Why didn't you let me go with Michael? Why?" Nikita questioned, showing her bruised heart and soul.

"It was not feasible at that time, Nikita. The reality of the situation is that we cannot allow you two to be together. Paul is not going to just let this pass. To Section One... you are going to die as Michael did..." Madeline stated as she started to illustrate the reality of the situation.

"But that is what I want," Nikita deeply stated, showing what she felt that she needed to make up for the sins that she had just completed.

"No... it is the hurt of last love... you will feel different in a little bit..." Madeline stated as she reached over and pressed her hand into Nikita's wrist. Nikita felt the prick and stared at Madeline, shaking her head.

"No... No..." Nikita stated and Madeline carefully eased Nikita down on the couch.

"I'm going to make it that you don't kill yourself.. you can stay depressed all of your life.. but Mr. Jones and me can't live with your death on our hands.... You can leave here tomorrow... a new person.. with a new life... and a new direction... Or you can wait around for Michael for the rest of your life and never get that," Madeline stated as she watched Nikita fade.

"But I want to die..." Nikita stated. Madeline stood up and brushed Nikita's hair back.

"I don't grant wishes, Nikita," Madeline informed Nikita as her eyes closed. It would be a couple hours before Madeline could do anything more. She turned her head and listened as Mr. Jones walked in. He reached his arm around Madeline's waist and looked down to the sleeping Nikita.

"It's all set up... We aren't going to be able to set up a fund either... Will she be able to survive?" Mr. Jones questioned.

"She is a survivor," Madeline stated as she turned and nodded her head to Mr. Jones. He pressed his lips together. "That is not what I asked. We both know that Michael will be able to set up anywhere and make a decent living and go on... Is Nikita just going to end back up on the streets?"

"No... but not far from the streets... Hopefully she'll catch a break... and find someone that she may be able to care for..." Madeline stated as she slipped away from Mr. Jones' hands, feeling the touch of her lover's hands too raw on her nerves right now.

She felt guilty. The two people in the world that were meant for each other would never get that chance because in the end, she was as greedy as Paul had been.

Madeline wouldn't make that mistake again.

Mr. Jones looked after Madeline and then dropped to his knees. His prize was on the couch, suffering for all that he had asked her to do and complete. Often she didn't even flinch while she did what Mr. Jones questioned and asked for. Nikita had been diligent and started the relationship with Michael before Mr. Jones even needed her to make that sort of contact with him.

He realized now that those few days weren't enough. They would never be enough. He stroked Nikita's hair back and swallowed back the tears. He had hurt his popsicle. He had hurt the workhorse of the entire trio.

"It's going to get better there, doll..." Mr. Jones whispered as he slipped. He couldn't help it. He looked at her and swallowed back all the feelings long enough. She knew what real humanity was, and that was giving up her entire life for something that was for someone else. Mr. Jones knew that he should have been aware that asking Nikita to say that she didn't love Michael, in order to drive him away, would end up ruining her.

Madeline was going to stop Nikita from killing herself, but her prediction was ringing in Mr. Jones' ear. She was barely going to live off of the streets, allowing the depression of not having Michael by her side until the day that she died.

Was that helping Nikita?

Or was that just hurting Nikita more?

Or was it a prayer to fate to step in and intervene?

Mr. Jones kissed Nikita's head and prayed that he wouldn't see her again. She needed to go on as he was going to go on with Madeline.

"Good luck... and live well..." Mr. Jones whispered as he slipped out of the room, regret weighing heavily on his heart.

*

Five Years Later...

Vincent DiBartilo looked down the street. It was not his favorite part of New York, but he wasn't scared of it. He just wouldn't spend much time here, especially as the sky darkened and showed that fall was definitely coming to the East Coast.

He was here on business and carefully walked away from the cab, glad that he had decided not to bring his own car down to this part of down. Something was driving him to come here, although a colleague had suggested that it was a wild goose chase.

Vincent had never been one to go after new talented artists. The artists always came to him. That was the way it had been for the fifteen years he had been running his chain of galleries, each one, classier than the last. The newest one was stunning and in the heart of the cultural district. The stars came out and joined in the fun and pageantry of every single opening he had since the first one.

Vincent belittled himself as he walked towards the little dingy restaurant. He should have dressed down before coming out to this part of New York, but it was too late to do anything about it. He wanted to be in and out of this restaurant as quickly as possible, before the harsh and rowdy night crowd started to come out for the bar hopping he knew went on down here.

The door pushed opened with a clang of several bells. Vincent looked around the emptied restaurant and the glaring sign that declared that it was opened twenty-four hours a day. He didn't know if his colleague was sending him on a wild goose chase either. He just felt that this was somewhere that he needed to go to at least check it out.

He turned to the side to see exactly what he was looking for. The pieces of art were hanging on the walls in cheap poster frames and he smiled. From a distance, it looked like fruits and vegetables, but as he walked closer to the pictures, they turned out to be intricate pictures of people and happenings in New York.

Whoever did these was very talented.

"Hey you..." Nikita stated as she pushed a towel into her hanging apron and looked at the man in the fancy suit. It had been a long time since she had the pleasure of seeing anyone dressed nicely and Nikita pushed that thought away. She had picked up some New York edge, but her accent was still that mix of Australian and French, lilting and soft.

Vincent turned and looked at the waitress that had finally arrived from somewhere in the back. It must not be a normal time for anyone to push their way into the establishment.

"You have your choice in seats... Going to pick one?" Nikita questioned as she chomped at the gum. Nikita blinked her eyes and tossed her head to the side. Her blonde hair that had once been taken care of by the best was piled up in a clip, some of it falling down and scattered. It showed evidence of partial trims that Nikita had managed by herself.

"Sure..." Vincent stated as he moved and settled in a booth underneath two of the drawings he was studying. Nikita rolled her eyes and moved towards the table.

"Do you want some joe?" Nikita questioned and Vincent blinked his eyes. He clearly forgot at first what Nikita was specifically asking for. Nikita looked around and rolled her head around. She was tired and exhausted, but she got used to that feeling about four months outside of Section One. She never caught up her sleep, she never stopped doing something. Sleep was something that Nikita rarely got and that was something that Nikita had long ago accepted.

"No... What's a pretty woman like you doing here?" Vincent questioned as he looked up into Nikita's face. She was pretty despite the fact of being extremely thin and pale. Nikita turned her body around and moved back towards the counter. She was unimpressed and Vincent pressed his lips together. Nikita pushed the stray hair away, accenting her hands that were simple skin and bones.

"Because I have to pay rent," Nikita snapped as she strolled back to the table and snapped down the menu that had been mentioned to Vincent. Each one was handwritten and hand drawn. For such a dive, it was a feature that spoke of class. "Now, do you want some water or something to drink?"

"Water would be fine," Vincent stated as he continued to study. He was sure that he had seen her somewhere before. Her face and eyes looked so familiar. Nikita shrugged her shoulders as she moved back to the counter.

"Now do you need that fancy bottled water or can tap water just do?" Nikita posed the questioned with a hand on her hip. She had clearly spent a lot of time being a waitress.

"Tap is fine... a little ice..." Vincent stated as he dropped his eyes to look at the menu. Soon the glass of water clanged on the table and Vincent looked up at Nikita. He hadn't even looked at the food. He was looking at the name of the place. "Joe's Place" was delicately placed on the menu with a vast array of activities going on in each letter.

"Do you want to order?" Nikita questioned. Usually the customers ran in, ran out as quickly as possible. She looked out the street and then to the clock. In just a few minutes she needed to be heading out of here and to her next job down at Jack's Club. She wasn't looking forward to it, but if DebbieAnn didn't get here soon, Nikita was going to be late, and Jack would be upset.

"Can I have a few minutes?" Vincent questioned and Nikita huffed. She turned and pointed to the counter. "I'll be over there... resting my feet so I can go work my next job, since I don't have a cushy job like you do, and I have to walk instead of taking a taxi..."

Vincent blinked his eyes. Nikita was very observant and then turned back to his studying of the menu. He needed to know the artist. He wanted to display this artist before anyone else in New York could find him. He could sense that other pieces of the artist's may be deeper, more than just letters and food. He was intrigued.

But he didn't notice the simple things.

Nikita stood at the counter, simply pushing her pencil against the paper, drawing the image of the man in the booth in quick detail. She sighed as the man just flipped from cover to cover. "Are you going to eat or are you going to drink our free tap water?"

"Ah... do you have any specials?" Vincent lamely spoke and Nikita stared at him and dropped the pencil down.

"Yeah... we do... Joe in the back cooks up some quiche and I get up on the table and do a lap dance. How is that special?" Nikita questioned as she swerved her head from side to side. She was a woman that had been in this area to long. It almost depressed Vincent to know that as he looked at her.

"Is Joe the manager?" Vincent stated and Nikita rolled her eyes. She knew when a customer had a problem with her attitude, but Joe never seemed to matter. He had given her this job five years ago and he had asked her to leave a couple of her former ones. But with Nikita's rent constantly going up for the one room dump that she lived in, Nikita had to keep her other job at Jack's along with the temporary live-in care for terminal cancer patients when regular attendants needed a break.

"Yeah.. and he is in there making you some special bread," Nikita quipped as she moved towards the counter and looked in to see Joe making the bread for the nightly rush, when the men and women were trying to sober up. "I guess you would love to talk to him."

"JOE!" Nikita hollered loudly back before Vincent could speak. Nikita thought the man to be uptight and stuck-up, but she had actually being more civil than she normally was. Joe trotted towards the silver door and pushed it opened.

"Nikki, Nikki.... you are looking so thin... Why don't you make yourself a sandwich before heading towards the 'Cave'?" Joe stated as he looked at Nikita and grabbed her chin. He almost did this every single day of late and Nikita rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine, Joe... Customer wants to speak with you..." Nikita stated and Joe smiled at Nikita. He loved Nikita's spunk. He went through all of his other waitress too quickly because they couldn't handle the male population. Maybe Nikita was brutal at times, but she sure survived.

"Don't you worry, Nikki.... I'll make the man go away... and we will be happy again..." Joe stated with a smile. Nikita rolled her eyes. She didn't think that Joe's normal offer of a free meal would make this man happy. Nikita stared at him and swallowed. When she had first seen him walk out of the taxi, he reminded her of men working for Section One. Still, to this day, she worried about Paul gaining control and coming after her.

Joe started to move towards Vincent, who had been listening to the entire conversation while looking at the menu. He was preoccupied but definitely not upset at this woman. In fact, he was intrigued by her.

"Hey, Nikita..." Joe stated as he snapped his fingers and turned around. "Go finish those three loaves of bread and get out of here.... Jack doesn't need to be mad at you tonight... And get some sleep!"

Nikita turned and stared at Joe. He rarely called her Nikita, it always made comments from the customers, but there was only one, so Nikita didn't really care. "What about DebbieAnn? She isn't in yet," Nikita stated.

"I can cover.... It's better than being late for Jack," Joe pointed out. Nikita nodded her head and slapped the towel to the counter and rushed into the back. "I'm sorry if she upset you..."

"She didn't... I was actually wondering about this art.... Are these originals?" Vincent questioned as his cell phone rang. Joe rolled his eyes. He was so glad that he was not one of these busy men. Vincent whispered his apologies and pulled the phone to his ear.

"I know that he is temperamental... just deal with it..." Vincent snapped. This latest artist was a great man, but one that Vincent wished that he didn't have to deal with. Vincent knew him several years ago, before this finance, as the artist just seemed to jump from wife to be to wife to be. But this one was with him for now two years and the wedding was approaching. And she didn't like his paintings.

"I know that, Stan... but just deal with it... Tell him to come in and talk to me tomorrow..." Vincent stated as he rolled his eyes. He was closing the phone as a woman walked in and waved her hand to Joe.

She must have been DebbieAnn.

"These doodles are original. Is there a problem?" Joe questioned and Vincent blinked his eyes. They were what he thought. An undiscovered artist.

"I run an art gallery.... I'm Vincent DiBartilo..." Vincent stated as he pulled out a business card and handed it to Joe. He whistled so Vincent guessed that Joe had heard about him. "A friend told me about the menus and the drawings... They are finely done.... Did you do them?"

"No... Nikki did them," Joe stated as he turned around and looked towards the kitchen. Vincent stood up to look into the kitchen to see it empty.

"You mean this Nikita drew these?" Vincent stated and Joe nodded his head. He moved back to the counter and pulled up the drawing that Nikita had started on Vincent. Vincent smiled and moved to take it into his hands.

"Do you know if this is all that she does?" Vincent stated and Joe rolled his eyes. He had seen some of Nikita's other pieces, when he carried her back to her house after she fainted for no reason. They were dark.

"Dark... deep... detailed... I can't really describe them.. something I wouldn't want to live with..." Joe commented and Vincent blinked his eyes. All of this made his interest in this Nikita grow.

"Did you pay her for these?" Vincent questioned and Joe laughed heartily. "Nikita gave them to me... I paid for the frames... They make the bare walls look better."

Vincent looked around and swallowed. He needed to talk to this Nikita now. He rubbed his hands together and looked to Joe. "If I would need to display her work... could we use these?"

"I don't know why you would need them... Her entire apartment is filled with stacks of paper and canvas things with paint... She says that she creates when she can't sleep... and she almost never sleeps..." Joe stated and Vincent nodded his head.

"She went to her other job. Where is that?" Vincent questioned. Joe laughed into Vincent's face. Jack's Club was definitely not the place for this man to be at. It wasn't even a place that Joe wanted Nikita working at, but she did make a little bit more money bartending than she did at Joe's.

"It's down the street three blocks... but if you hurry up, you'll catch Nikki before she gets there... It's a rowdy place..." Joe pointed out. Vincent nodded his head and placed the picture of himself back down on the counter with a twenty-dollar bill and left.

~~

Vincent DiBartilo entered Jack's Club some seven and a half hours later, just as the last call on drinks was about to be given. He had watched Nikita scurry down the street, apparently late for her second job. Vincent decided at that time, that he better pick up one of his more rough body guards and some casual clothing before attempting to follow Nikita into Jack's.

Stan, Vincent's bodyguard, wasn't pleased with the location or the reason why Vincent was going into Jack's. For years, the neighbors in this part of town had been trying unsuccessfully to close Jack's down. It was the scene of crime and rapes. Plus it was pretty well know that Jack was rough on his employees, which were all women.

Vincent spied Nikita on the back bar. It appeared that it was a place that Nikita dealt with the rowdy customers and Stan hissed as he saw that was where this talented woman was working at. "Come on, Vin... It's not worth it now... The back bar are Jack's women... He isn't nice to them..."

"I need to see her," Vincent stated and Stan rolled his eyes. Last call of the night was about to happen and things were going to spark up. They always did this time of night.

Nikita turned her head as the bell rang. It was time to go and clean up. She looked around as her customer came back.

"Fill me up," The man hissed and Nikita shook her head. She stood her ground even as the man pulled himself up over the bar. Nikita slapped his hand away from the whiskey that he was trying to grab and in return, got slapped across her face.

"Look... Do you want Rocco and Bull to come over here? Just get out of here..." Nikita stated as she moved and pushed the garbage into the pail. She wanted to get home tonight and just fall asleep. She was sure that tonight, that she would sleep.

"I want my money back sweet cakes... So either pay up or give out..." The man snarled. Nikita turned her tip can and threw it at the man.

"Get out of here!" Nikita hissed. Vincent raised an eyebrow and touched Stan's arm. He was going to wait outside and see Nikita when she walked out. It was as Vincent was leaving that Jack came out of the back room and grabbed Nikita's hair. He pinched her neck and continued to gawk at Nikita. He loved her body, but he felt that pain would get Nikita to submit.

"When will you learn to be nice?" Jack questioned. Nikita blinked her eyes and swallowed. For the past three years she had worked for Jack, he had been trying to get into her pants.

"As soon as you learn to take bath," Nikita snapped out as she dropped her apron to the counter and looked at Jack. She was off the clock now.

"I'm going to dock you if you leave now..." Jack warned. Nikita blinked her eyes. She was always losing hours worked because Jack would take it out on her because she wouldn't sleep with him.

"Is that new?" Nikita snapped back. She walked out of the bar, knowing that the only reason why she got away with this was because she was strong and that she also worked at Joe's. Joe seemed to be a protector to Nikita and Nikita knew if Jack ever harmed her, that Joe would make Jack pay.

Nikita pushed her hair back, wishing that winter would get here. It was still warm enough that the men hung out around the bar, waiting to watch the waitresses walk home. Nikita hurried her pace, but soon the man that wanted the whiskey was in front of her.

"Where are you going honey?" the man questioned as the wave of liquor washed Nikita's face. She could make money doing this, but this was something that she didn't get paid to deal with. She wasn't like the other waitress, who was known for turning those tricks on the side for the fact they couldn't make good drinks. Nikita didn't want the extra money. Enough to pay for the rent and some food. That was enough.

"I'm going home. Without you," Nikita stated. The man laughed and tried to reach for Nikita. Nikita sidestepped him at first. Then he reached out much like Jack did. He grabbed a hold of Nikita and then grabbed for her breast. Nikita sidestepped and launched into action. She snapped the man's hand back and felt the bones crackle.

But this was different from operatives that she had done this too. This man was drunk. His bodily sensors just didn't register the pain, but he started to swing at Nikita. Nikita took the light blow to her shoulder and then she turned with a right fist into the man's nose and eye.

The power of the punch dropped the man to the ground. Nikita couldn't remember how many times that she had to do this sort of thing before. She jumped as she heard the footsteps behind her.

"Woo! I mean no harm!" Vincent stated as he raised his hands in defense. He had seen the entire scurry and came running when he thought that Nikita would get hit. He was surprised and in awe of Nikita's abilities.

"You? When are you going home?" Nikita snapped as she turned and continued down the street. It was clear that she wanted nothing to do with Vincent.

"You are bleeding... Do you want that looked at?" Vincent questioned as he touched the hand that Nikita had punched with. He was worried that it was her painting hand and that she had done some serious damage to it.

"Does it look like I have health insurance?" Nikita questioned as she turned around and stared at Vincent. He stopped and looked at Nikita's hand. He pulled out a handkerchief and dapped at the bleeding. She wasn't going to have much success in bandaging this herself and he didn't want Nikita to wait until she went to work at Joe's in the morning to deal with it. "And what do you want?"

"I wanted to meet the artist of the drawings at Joe's.... and I knew that you were busy..." Vincent stated. Nikita rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand away.

"I'm not an artist..... I doodle in my free time..." Nikita stated as she turned at the building and stared up the stairs. Vincent followed and he knew that Stan was having a heart attack at the moment with the risks that he was taking.

"Then you don't know your real talent.... Maybe you have heard of my galleries... I'm Vincent DiBartilo..." Vincent stated as he stood in front of Nikita and produced the business card. Nikita looked at Vincent and then the card. "I have my driver's license if you want to compare..."

"NO!" Nikita snapped and Vincent smiled for the first time while looking at Nikita. She looked around and sighed. "Do you want to come in?"

"If it's not to late..." Vincent stated and Nikita crooked a smile. She pushed the door opened and moved down the loud hallway. The bars might be closed, but the apartments were rocking. Nikita knew the hookers on floor one and was glad for the most part, that she didn't hear the slamming doors all night. She moved up the stairs and Vincent looked around. "You work two jobs to live here?"

"Yes..." Nikita replied as she moved to her door and opened it with her left hand. She neglected to mention her third job, but this man didn't need to know how difficult it was to scrap enough to afford to live in New York and how Nikita didn't dare to move anywhere else. She wasn't comfortable, but she could survive here and hide easily. She was safe here from the darkness in the large world. Terrorists didn't come into Joe's and Jack's and Nikita needed that.

Nikita flexed her right hand and moved to the small sink that was surrounded by the canvases that Joe said would be there. Vincent immediately pulled some up, looking at the details and the creative expression. The one that he pulled up was a large face, with a person in the eye in a cage and in careful detail; there was another person in the cage in the eye.

"I just finished it..." Nikita stated with a shrug of her shoulders. He looked around her apartment. There was so much material here, and none of it was bad. Vincent watched Nikita pull out a first aid box and then moved to the couch that he soon realized would fold out and be Nikita's bed. "Let me do this, Nikita.... tell me more about your art..."

Nikita sat silently as she watched Vincent worked on cleaning and taping her bleeding knuckles. She blinked her eyes and looked around. The paintings and drawings were the only thing keeping her sanity. It was the only thing that kept her head on straight when she spent weeks without a decent night sleep.

"You didn't tell me anything," Vincent stated as he finished Nikita's hand. Nikita moved to place the box away as he moved to a pile to look at the pencil drawings. Vincent started to calculate how much the decent frames for these would be. They all deserved to be hung. He wished that she had a name, so he could hang an entire show, but Nikita would have to piggyback off of someone else.

Like his current artist.

Nikita turned and her eyes opened. She moved and pulled that drawing out of Vincent's hands. It was not one of the more intimate drawings, but the ones underneath exposed her heart and soul. "You can look at any of the others... not these..."

Vincent nodded his head and tilted his head as he moved back to the painted canvases. He looked around then turned to Nikita. "I want you to bring some to my studio tomorrow... How about bring two of your favorites... and I want my employees to criticize them... I think they are stunning..."

"I work tomorrow..." Nikita stated and Vincent nodded his head.

"When are you off again?" Vincent questioned.

"I'm not," Nikita replied and Vincent swallowed. He rubbed his hands together. He knew what he was asking was unorthodox, but that was something that got him ahead in this game. He ran his fingers through his black hair and smiled at Nikita.

"I'll pay you a day's salary for two hours of your time... Come to my gallery in town tomorrow at four... That will give you enough time to get to Jack's correct?" Vincent stated and Nikita nodded her head.

"Why are you doing this?" Nikita questioned as she moved and looked at Vincent. She was afraid that this was some sort of scam, but she had heard of this man. She knew of his galleries. She would have nothing to wear.

"I see talent like this not very often... I want to see if I am right... Now do you have a business suit?" Vincent stated as he pulled out another business card. He heard Nikita's laughter and swallowed. It was a stupid question and he wrote his name and the code for entry into the gallery from the back entrance.

"It's ok... but you'll have to come through the docks... bring your two best pieces and ask for Stan when you get to the docks... If they don't listen to you.. give them the card," Vincent stated. Nikita looked to it and looked up at Vincent.

He still didn't know if she would come, but he hoped that she did. There was something more than just her artwork that made him shiver. There was something about her that he didn't quite identify yet, but he was sure that he would.

"Tomorrow then..." Nikita stated as she crossed the three steps to her door and opened it. She looked to the card and threw it on the top of the counter next to the sink. Vincent looked at Nikita and sighed.

He prayed that Nikita would take this opportunity. It could get her out of this life that she was in.

But as Vincent walked down the hallway, he had a feeling that this was something deeper than just being poor. Nikita had the talent and she was definitely intelligent. It was like she was deciding to live her life in hell, to make it unbearable.

And that was a shame.

*

The coffee was piping hot as Vincent stared at the screen. He needed to fill up dates for this gallery and he had the perfect way of how. The only problem was to get his artist to agree with it and to bring in Nikita and make her see that this was her future.

"Are you ready for lunch now?" Stan questioned as he moved into the room and stared at Vincent. He was a dedicated man to his work and wouldn't let up until things were exactly like he wanted them to be. Stan pressed his lips together, sure where this conversation was going to go.

"I'm going to wait for Nikita to arrive," Vincent stated and Stan sighed. This was where he thought it was going, but Stan hoped that Vincent would have given up on her.

"You know, Vin... I don't think she is going to come... She looks awfully thin... like she is sick," Stan informed Vincent. He had gone out early this morning to see that Nikita was a very busy woman. She was in Joe's before the end of the breakfast rush ended at 8 o'clock.

"She is a poor woman..." Vincent stated carefully as he looked at the schedule. He arched his head back and sighed. "When is that wedding?"

"Three months. Three months of Angelina driving us up the wall because we are showing paintings by her fiancé that aren't of her," Stan wryly stated. Vincent raised his eyebrow. It was very much the case, but there was something that Angelina didn't seem to know about her fiancé. He really didn't care what she felt about the paintings, showing that painting was his life and not Angelina.

"The wedding isn't going to happen... He is looking for that fantasy girl in the paintings..." Vincent commented as he rubbed his hands together. He was aching to show Nikita's work off and looked to his watch.

"You know, she looked like she was staying at Joe's all afternoon... and I bet that those drawings are only a fluke..." Stan commented, as he looked Vincent. He was protective of his boss. They grew up and Vincent made the right decisions in life before bailing out Stan a couple times. Now, although Vincent was the boss, they had a relationship much like best friends.

"No... there are more... I saw them in her apartment... and the ones I wanted to see, she wouldn't let me look at... but I saw a glimpse of greatness... a strong face..." Vincent commented as he rubbed his chin. Stan shook his head. He liked that most of the time; Vincent didn't fall for the artist sob stories. This Nikita didn't seem to come with one and Stan hoped that they would both move away from her.

"She works at Jack's Club...she punches men in the streets... You call this an artist?" Stan bellowed out, finding it difficult that Vincent was stuck on this woman.

"Yes.... and she is painting from within.... Wait till you see her stuff..." Vincent confidently spoke. Stan rolled his eyes. He didn't even see how Nikita was going to get in the door.

The phone rang and Vincent smiled. He pulled it up to hear the hyperactive boy that was working the docks talking about the woman standing there. It was Nikita and Vincent listened to the vile description of her and then smiled at Stan.

"Will you let her up? I did say for her to come today," Vincent commented and the boy rattled off again. There was an unspoken dress coded inside all of Vincent's galleries. He wasn't running galleries that the artists could walk in from their studio with paint splattered over their jeans. He ran an upper class establishment. That was what gave him the good name. From the beginning. "Let her up. I am aware of her dress."

"You know that she doesn't only work two jobs... she works three... and is in some financial hurts according to her landlord... lost a car... tried to get some college and still has to repay school loans that she didn't graduate from.... This isn't something you should get involved with..." Stan stated as he followed Vincent as he walked down the hallway, going to meet Nikita. Vincent turned and stared at Stan. This time, he was not liking the advise from his friend. "Why don't you get the others out of the meeting room... I'll set up her stuff there..."

Vincent sharply turned and walked down the hallway. He turned at the stairs and started to jog down them as he saw the blonde hair as carefully placed on the top of Nikita's head as she could with the old clip. She was not in a business suit, but she had a pair of clean jeans on and a pale pink sweater. Nikita was clean and presentable and carrying two large pieces with her.

"Let me help you with those..." Vincent immediately offered as he surprised Nikita. She smiled and pushed the one nervously into Vincent's hand. It was quickly decided that to stand out in the hallway much longer would just drive Nikita batty. He moved back up the stairs, hoping to protect this fragile being. Vincent turned and smiled at Nikita. "I haven't had lunch yet, Nikita... and I was wondering if you would join me?"

"I'm not very hungry... and call me Nikki..." Nikita replied and Vincent nodded his head. He wanted Nikita to take up in his offer. He was positive that Nikita didn't eat earlier. He was probably sure that Stan would know that answer. Nikita looked ahead and then saw Stan walking out of the meeting room. "Did you have me watched?"

Vincent stopped and glared at Stan. Nikita was observant and that was something that Vincent should have remembered. He cleared his throat and tried to make the best out of the situation. "Stan is my friend... and he works for me... He is a bit overprotective..."

"And a bad tipper," Nikita stated with clenched teeth. It was clear that she didn't like the interference into her life.

Vincent closed the door and pushed the first piece up to the wall. He carefully unwrapped the paper that Nikita had placed around it and stood back. It was unlike anything else of Nikita's that he had seen. It was a huge cliff, dark and looming. The details in every crevice and Vincent moved forward. On the bottom was a woman, mangled in the rocks. On the top was a man, tall and firm, with no face. Vincent turned and saw that Nikita was busily pulling out the other painting to display.

The next one was the opposite of what he had seen. It was simply a mother holding her child in her shoulders in a simple charcoal. Vincent smiled and then moved closer. And in that light, like all of the other pieces of Nikita's he had seen, the other details came to life, how Nikita had weaved together to form this woman and child. And they weren't children playing in the park and children laughing and giggling. They were the homeless, the hungry, and the poor. It evoked emotions in Vincent that he tried to hide.

"I think they are my best..." Nikita commented when she nervously pushed her hands underneath her armpits, hating the silence. Vincent nodded his head and was about to speak when the door opened. His receptionist stood there. "Marie?"

"Michel is here," Marie stated and Vincent closed his eyes. The temperamental artist with a fiancé with a bad attitude was inside the gallery and all of his staff just shivered in the shadows of the man. Vincent nodded his head, indicating that he would be right out. "I have some business that I have to take care of... Can I get you a drink? Some water?"

Nikita shook her head and continued to look around the room. Other pieces were permanently displayed in the office and Vincent bowed his way out of the office. He turned to see his staff scurrying around like the building was on fire. Either they were afraid of what would happen or they were afraid that they wouldn't get a chance to look at the new piece or the body of the artist.

Vincent clapped his hands together as he walked into the office and looked at the large canvas that was perched on his desk. There stood Michel Samuel, stoic and without an emotion on his face. "Michel... Michel... What brings you here today?"

"To tell you that my fiancé has no say over my artwork. Is that clear?" Michel questioned with his green eyes burning into Vincent's. He nodded his head and sighed slightly as he walked up closer to Michel. He was probably the only one that had anything that resembled a friendship with Michel. He didn't like to talk, but Vincent found that Michel's art spoke for him. He had noticed that the mysterious and dream woman had become a more frequent feature of his pieces of late. A sure sign that Michel didn't want his Angelina forever.

"Of course.... and you brought me a gift?" Vincent stated as he switched the topic. He would have his staff just deal with Angelina and then worry about the opening in a few days later. He stood back with his hand on his chin, finding himself not thinking about Michel, but Nikita in the other room. She was familiar to him, but he couldn't quite get where he had seen her before.

Michel tore away the paper, not caring to spare the paper to be used again. He was sure that this painting would be hung, but he wasn't sure if he would ever sale it.

"Oh, this must make the fiancé very happy..." Vincent commented as he looked at the picture of the blonde, walking down the beach, very pregnant and radiant. The hair was swirling around picking up all the shades of the sun. It wasn't as abstract as Michael usually was. This was very realistic and showed that Michael had a great range in talents.

"It has been a debating issue," Michel commented with a brief blink of his eyes. Vincent nodded his head, thinking how delicious this piece would be sitting next to Nikita's mother and child piece. "I know that I was going to let you hang alone this show... but I want you to meet someone..."

"Vin..." Michel stated and Vincent raised his hands. Often in the past he had made Michael share a show and it ended up being disastrous, the other artist hating Michel. "It is a fresh new artist... she is very poor and just needs to be shown with an artist with a name."

"A charity case?" Michel questioned and Vincent rolled his eyes. Michel and Stan were at times, too much alike.

"I think you should just see her work... It makes me stare in wonder of how she does it... and complete three jobs on top of it..." Vincent informed Michel. "Probably on drugs."

"No... I was in her apartment... I think she may be fighting demons, but not drugs... and she has this sense of a dark soul... Kind of like you..." Vincent reacted immediately. He wasn't going to let Michel leave without meeting Nikita. He moved down the hallway, feeling Michel beside him.

He pushed the door opened to the meeting room and blinked his eyes. Nikita had dropped her blonde hair down and looked like a different person. Very similar to the blonde of Michel's mysterious woman.

"Nikki... I'd like you to meet my star artist..." Vincent stated, startling Nikita once more. She started to turn as Michel entered the room. "Nikki... this is Michel Samuel..."

Vincent felt the vibe in the air as Michel turned his head and saw Nikita. She opened her mouth and then jumped to her feet. The man that she had hurt was in front of her. This was the man that Vincent had been speaking about. The man with the fiancé with no heart. Her Michael. "Michael..."

"Nikita..." Michael whispered back. He wasn't sure what he could say. He surely didn't know what to do. He thought that she was still back inside of Section One, doing their dirty work. She didn't look like she did way back when. She was frail and skinny. She was pale and struggling to keep herself up.

"You know each other?" Vincent questioned and Michael nodded his head. He only used Michel Samuel as his painting name, but it had stuck over the names. Rarely was he called Michael anymore. Nikita nervously pushed her hair back and started towards the door.

"It's been nice... but this isn't going to happen... I'm not this caliber..." Nikita declared and passed judgment on herself. She rushed out of the office and out of the building, leaving her pieces behind. Michael was silent as he walked into the room and looked at the paintings, noticing that Vincent was silent and trying to sort out things.

"She is the girl... in the paintings..." Vincent stated and Michael nodded his head as he stared at the cliff that Nikita had done. The details were vivid and it spoke of something deeper. Something that they shared together. The pain and hurt that Section One did to both of their souls.

The words that Nikita muttered used to come back all the time, but had slowly faded as Michael adjusted quickly to the art world and the world of New York. Now, five years later, he had seen what Nikita had said as a gift, to set him free. And for someone to set one free, it had to be done out of love.

But looking at the painting, it was clear. Somehow, Nikita got out, but was trapped with the dirtiness of the past and the hurt of a heart torn out of its owner's body.

"I knew her many years ago..." Michael stated and Vincent swallowed. He wanted these two to put on a show together, but that wasn't going to happen with Nikita running away like a bat out of hell. She was scared and she didn't even get the money that Vincent was going to give her. Michael turned and looked at Vincent. "I'll do a show with her... if you get her here..."

Vincent stood still as Michael left, his mouth still flapping in the wind of what was going on. He shook his head and tried to sort things out. Michael's past and history was like a ghost. It just wasn't there. He went to schools that burnt down or schools that lost records. He had the credentials, but no one remembered him. He didn't excel into out of school.

It shouldn't have shocked Vincent, as much that Nikita, the woman struggling to make a living, with something haunting her, would know Michael. And then he wondered if the look in Nikita's eyes and the look over her shoulder were because of her past.

Where those demons Michael?

~~

The music was heavy as Nikita poured the heavy liquor. She didn't care what was going on, her mind was whirling miles at a minute, wondering what her next step was from this point. It had been clear that she was not to seek out Michael. But this was something beyond her control.

Was she still be monitored?

Who was in control?

Nikita didn't know the answers. She didn't want to know the answers and knew better than to go and look for the answers. She was shielded now, in the darkness of the one of the hardest clubs in New York.

"Hey darling... the customers say that you are being rude and snappish," Jack roared as he entered the bar and placed his hands on Nikita's shoulder. It was early into her shift, only a few hours and Nikita cringed.

"Back off Jack. They get their drinks heavy on the liquor either way," Nikita snapped as she pushed away and broke free from the man that had tortured her for too many years. Nikita reached for the next glass to get a beer, when Jack pulled her away and into his hands. He slapped her lightly.

Nikita was used to that. She lifted her head and stared at Jack. She didn't care anymore. Things were spinning out of control. This was her life. A bar and a diner. There was nothing to make it better. There was nowhere out of here. She was crazy for going to the gallery and now she knew that she wouldn't be back. "Do you feel big now?" Nikita snapped.

"You'll listen to me sweet pea... you walk around hear with a steel chastity belt fine.. but I'm your boss..." Jack growled as he picked up the bottle of beer that Nikita was moving for. Nikita swallowed and tried to duck. Jack slammed the bottle against Nikita's neck and back. Nikita felt the pain but didn't let it register.

"You go man!" the customers hooted and hollered as Vincent squeezed his way into the bar. He saw that Jack was standing in front of Nikita. He didn't know what else had happened but he could tell that Nikita was not taking it tonight.

"Look, Jack... you think you are all big and bad... but deep down... you are a man with no balls," Nikita cracked as she stared at Jack. She ducked the flying fist but didn't miss the push against the bar.

"I think someone doesn't know her place... get out of here... You are off... and you aren't getting paid for tonight..." Jack shouted. Nikita pulled herself up and over the bar although the crush against the bar was great. Nikita hurried her step, glad to get away with only the damage that she had. She wanted to rub her head and see the damage that was done, but it had happened before. There would be some blood.

Nikita rushed out of the club and heaved the night air. She felt like she had been strangled and it was all because she ran into Michael. Of all the places in the entire world that Michael could have been, it wasn't New York that Nikita believed that he would pick.

And he had a fiancé. Nikita didn't know what hurt more.

"Nikita!" Vincent shouted out as he ran out of the bar and hurried to grab Nikita. She spun around, shaking her head. She wanted this man to leave her alone.

"Don't you get it! I don't need you!" Nikita shouted. Vincent shook his head and took Nikita's arm once again. He knew that she really didn't mean her words when she didn't cock her hand back to punch him. "I wanted to bring your pieces back and just talk..."

"I don't want them back. Maybe I'll stop this damn doodling. It has only brought me heartache. I don't want you in my life... This is my job!" Nikita stated as she pointed back to the bar. She stared at it and felt the tears forming in her eyes.

This was all that her life was and it burned her inside, and it was something that Nikita had never been able to look at. She had been so busy trying to live from day to day that there was none of that introspection that she used to dwell on.

"You can get out... I want you to hang some of your pieces in Michel's show... It is a great opportunity and you can get away from this boss," Vincent stressed. He saw only half of what Jack did to Nikita.

"I don't have the money to frame my work. It is probably better firewood than anything..." Nikita slatted out. She needed to distance herself. She needed to gain perspective. Everything was happening too quickly.

"Or are you saying no because you know Michel? Because you are the woman in his drawings? Is that why?" Vincent stated. Nikita turned and slammed her foot to the ground. She wasn't going to have Vincent hounding her for days.

"I said it once. I don't want this. I want my job in at Joe's and my bartending here... That's all I'm good at," Nikita stated and Vincent swung his head as Nikita started to place distance between herself and him. Vincent stared and swallowed.

"I'll give you a week... Nikita, Michel wants this!" Vincent stated, but soon, Nikita blended quickly into the shadows.

But the shadows didn't help ease Nikita's worries. Instead, Nikita found the shelter that she needed for the emotions that she had been holding back for five years. Nikita found the telephone pole and leaned against it as she touched the back of her neck, feeling the blood.

"You could have stopped that attack," Michael stated as he pulled out from the shadows and stood next to Nikita. Nikita looked at Michael and then turned her head to the side.

"I'm surprised that you even care," Nikita assessed. She needed to keep her mind in this situation. She hoped that this one contact would not jeopardize Michael's life. He had made something out of his life.

"I'm trying to understand. How did you get out?" Michael questioned as he stood still. Nikita stood up and winced. She was sure that her body just couldn't handle things any longer. "Madeline faked her death... took control of Oversight... and promptly stopped me from doing what I wanted to do."

Michael didn't even flinch. "She stopped you from walking in front of a bullet."

"Yes. And she has made sure that I can't do anything to harm my life..." Nikita continued to fill in the gaps.

"She gave you a trigger to stop yourself from killing yourself?" Michael questioned. Nikita nodded her head and rubbed her hands together, seeing the blood spreading out on her hands.

"I pass out... but it hasn't stopped depression," Nikita stated and Michael nodded his head as he moved down the street. He looked around then turned back to Nikita.

"You could have done so much, Nikita. You have the skills," Michael questioned, trying to figure out why Nikita was here, in New York, doing the two worst jobs one could have. Dealing with a man that regularly abused Nikita and she continued to go back.

"This is my life... I have no other real skills, Michael... This is where I started... this is where I am destined to be..." Nikita stated as her emotions choked her voice.

"No... This is punishment to yourself... And it's not needed..." Michael stated and Nikita shook her head. She didn't know where Michael got this feeling and where he got off doing these things without knowing this Nikita for five years.

"Michael... you haven't changed. Never making sense..." Nikita commented and Michael looked at Nikita. He wanted to touch her, but didn't dare too. "This is punishment for the biggest lie of your life."

Nikita stared at Michael for a few long moments and then turned. She tried to walk away but stopped. It wasn't going to work that way. "I'm not going to do that show, Michael..."

"Yes, you are..." Michael stated firmly. Nikita shook her head. She couldn't bare being close to Michael like this. She wanted to kiss him and hug him. Nikita clutched her head, knowing that her emotions were swirling. And in many ways, she wished that she were dead so she wouldn't have to have this conversation.

"Why do you think that?" Nikita stated and Michael looked around.

"This isn't the life you dream of... And you can do better..." Michael calmly stated. Nikita watched as Michael inched away, ready to leave. Nikita inched forward and Michael stopped. "Why don't you hate me?"

"I don't know," Michael replied as he turned and vanished. Nikita looked around and despite the bad part of town that she was in, she sat down on the curb.

And cried.

*

The lines were strong and deep. The harsh deep black charcoal contrasting against the white canvas, outlining an eye that stared so deep and so strong, perhaps it hurt more than the real eye itself.

Inches away from that piece of canvas just started the chain of faces and poses of the some person, the same stare, the same hate and disgust and hurt. Sheet after sheet of artistic paper hung up, when before, for weeks they sat in the pile, never to be looked at after drawn.

Nikita lifted her head from the pile of 'safe' artwork, the artwork that didn't express her darkest and deepest fears and worries. The artwork that didn't have Michael in them. But she looked up and only saw Michael, and she made it that way.

So once again, Nikita was discovering and living in the pain that she had chosen to stay with from the past. To reopen that wound now, after seeing Michael and knowing he was somewhat well was natural. For days, Nikita stared at the drawings that had once been in her head and only recently started to come out of her hands and fingers.

The blood teardrop. It was a feature in a lot of the drawings, no matter which way Michael was facing, staring out to the world that had fractured his heart, the teardrop Nikita always tinged with red.

Often, opting to do so with her own blood.

She had a decision to make tonight. She knew that she had to make it and go for it. But this was all about bringing up the past. Nikita wanted to make sure that she didn't interfere with Michael's life. There could already be problems right now.

Nikita stood up and tried to gather her strength. The reality for Nikita was teetering back and forth between sanity and insanity. Often in the past several days, Nikita felt ready to plunge into the darkness that she wasn't allowed, but pulled herself out by doing one thing.

Staring at these pictures.

Nikita didn't even try to understand Michael's actions and words. She didn't think she would ever understand why he felt that she deserved this chance. And there was the growing list of ifs and what abouts that was making Michael's offer happen.

Because she had to pay that overdue loan.

Because she had to pay that doctor bill.

Because she did really need to get food.

Because she owed that car payment.

Because she had to buy more canvas, supplies, and charcoal to keep the images out of her mind.

Because she had to pay rent or get kicked out.

Nikita turned around and took a deep breath. Even with all of those things driving home the fact that she was on the brink of being homeless and back on the streets with nothing more than she had when she got inside of Section One, she hesitated.

She ought to be on the streets.

She ought to be hurt.

She ought to be in dirty clothes for weeks at time.

She ought to hurt for the rest of her life for that one lie.

Nikita walked to the back of small apartment and pulled out the largest canvas in her apartment. It had only been shown to one person, about two years ago, when Nikita first started to paint. An acquaintance that lived at the end of the hallway noticed that Nikita couldn't sleep and said that she had always painted to get rid of the bad images.

This was the first one that came to be drawn.

It was the glade that Nikita had stood in as she muttered those words. It was a portrait of what she felt the situation was.

Michael was dressed in white, although he was not in the real situation. He was walking away, in the light, with a brand new beginning. He was walking off to a better life. And left behind was a rotting pile of flesh. Nikita stared and stared.

She still felt like that rotting pile of flesh.

~~

"We have most of the show hung... Do you want me to get in touch with Michel about pieces for the empty walls?" Marie questioned as she pushed the door opened to Vincent's office. Vincent, knowing that Stan was watching and would criticize his decision, shook his head. "I'll have that other artist in... But I do need some framing supplies in stock... Are we well stocked?"

"Of course," Marie stated and Vincent nodded his head, dismissing Marie to go back to her other tasks that needed to be done for the opening. Vincent turned his head and stared into Stan's eyes.

"She isn't going to come," Stan stated and Vincent shrugged his shoulders. A few days ago, he was confident that Nikita would come through, would see the light and do exactly what he wanted her to do, bring her artwork. Now, with just over twenty-four hours before the show, Vincent wasn't as sure.

"She worked last night... and she is off today... She'll drop her work off before she goes to Jack's... And I'll be here..." Vincent confidently spoke, although it didn't match his real feelings. Stan stood up and turned around.

"You are having her watched," Stan commented and Vincent shook his head as he looked at his computer screen. He was trying to get information on Michel, about his likes and dislikes, which were impossible since Michael never filled out his biography forms. "I called Joe's."

Vincent sighed and settled down to doing the work. It was easy to get sidetracked, but every once in a while, while thinking about Michael, Nikita would pop in his mind. He wanted to know the true relationship, but he was sure that neither Michael nor Nikita knew how to be true. The phone dully rang and Vincent pulled it up.

"I'm going to hire a private investigator..." Angelina declared as she got in touch with Vincent. He sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn't know where Michael was going these nights, it wasn't where he normally went, which was to look out towards Ellis Island. "About where he is at night? Maybe he is getting his inspiration?"

"No! Are you deliberately mocking me?" Angelina snapped and Vincent swallowed. He had forgotten for a moment who he was talking to. This was the paranoid woman that Michael was engaged too. At first, Angelina seemed right, but slowly started to show her true colors to those who worked with Michael, but not to Michael directly.

She was a daughter of a man who came from old money, but image had started to change of recently. Her father was sometimes mentioned on the darker side of the family businesses, but Michael claimed to know first hand that it wasn't the case. If anything, Michael speculated that it was a grand scheme that was being planned by Angelina and her older brother Evans for plain out attention.

"I want to know who the woman in the painting is," Angelina stated and Vincent swallowed once more. Angelina was also persistent and interfering. No matter how often Michael told her that his art was his art was sometimes a merely expression of art, Angelina stated that it wasn't, that it was the truth.

Until recently, Vincent had believed Michael's explanation. Now, knowing Nikita and seeing the looks between the two, Vincent knew that it was different.

But he wouldn't say a word to Angelina about that.

"It would be a waste of good money that could be used for that wedding or that honeymoon," Vincent stated as he lifted his head, finding himself utterly alone in the office. He looked to the clock and saw that it was getting late.

And he immediately thought about Nikita. He prayed that she would stop by.

"You don't know what I live with Vincent. My father expects more out of me," Angelina spouted out and Vincent sighed. It was the same old Angelina, the one that he wished that Michael never met and never fell in love with.

At least now, Vincent knew that it wasn't as head over heels that he had once thought it to be.

There was a slight knock at the door and Vincent barely heard it. He turned his head up and saw Nikita, standing in her clothes for going to work to Jack's, but holding several portfolios worth of work in her arms. Vincent waved Nikita in as he stood up. He wanted to jump and shout to the stars for his luck and for proving that he was right. "Angelina... an artist just walked into my office and I will have to go."

And Vincent didn't wait for Angelina to protest. She probably talked to herself as Vincent hung up. He had more important things.

Nikita.

"I'm so glad to see you, Nikita... I was thinking you weren't going to take me up on this offer," Vincent spoke as he rounded his desk and reached for the first bag. Nikita nodded her head and remained silent as he pulled the work out and watched the detailed work with awe. She was talented.

But this wasn't her best work.

"You left some stuff behind," Vincent commented, not knowing that the topic was one that was sore. He just thought that Nikita didn't have enough confidence in herself.

"I just brought a few pieces... These are my best..." Nikita stated as she folded her hands in front of her. She didn't even move to the chair to sit down. Vincent could tell that Nikita was nervous, so he changed his tack and approach to Nikita. He leaned back on his desk and balanced his body as he tapped the other side for Nikita to do the same. She almost looked comfortable doing so when she finally joined him.

"I was talking about that other pile... I saw the first picture... Those are skilled beyond these," Vincent revealed and Nikita turned her head to the side. It was a good indication that this wasn't something that Nikita was very comfortable talking about.

"They are only my first things I did. Doodles," Nikita replied as she still didn't turn her head back to gaze at Vincent. He looked at her and knew exactly why Nikita didn't bring them. "They are of Michael, correct?"

When Nikita's head turned and the veil of blonde hair moved away from her face, Nikita looked numb. She looked like she had been battling to make this decision and was scared that Vincent could see into her as he had. Vincent swallowed and cleared his throat. "You are a lot like Michael. He paints you more often than he likes to admit."

Nikita stood up and Vincent almost went after her out of fear of her leaving. That was the opposite of what he wanted. There was a mystery here that he wanted to end and figure out. Maybe it should be left alone, but these two tortured souls created each other over and over again in art, although Vincent had never seen Nikita's work of Michael. Vincent stopped as Nikita reached down in the bag and pulled something out.

"I had a friend... she has since left... but she got me to paint and draw... She created the monster..." Nikita started to relate the story to Vincent. She looked at him and didn't feel as threatened as she did when she entered the office. The reality was that Vincent was going to tell probably anything that Nikita told him to Michael, but that was a reality that Nikita decided that she couldn't worry about any longer. Nikita rubbed her nose and exposed that she held a picture. "She took a picture of the one piece... to take to her boss... He said if it was the size that I had it at... five feet by six feet... that it would be worth an easy grand... if not more..."

Vincent stared at Nikita, finding it hard to believe that Nikita stayed in her job and didn't jump at the opportunity to sell that piece. It could have made her life so much easier. Nikita turned and slipped the picture into his hand. Vincent swallowed as he stared down into the face that was Michael's, but not the Michael that he knew. This one was stressed, tired, destroyed, and with a vivid red tear rolling down from the crease of his eye to his mouth. The details of every hair were remarkable and the eyes bore holes into Vincent exactly like Michael's real eyes.

Nikita shifted and stood away from the desk. She didn't feel ready to be casual with Vincent again. She saw him gawking at the piece that was stashed deep in her apartment. Nikita cleared her throat and shifted through her purse. "I won't be at the opening tomorrow... I have to work."

"I'll pay you," Vincent immediately replied. He didn't want Nikita to miss this night. It could be the beginning of the rest of her life, but that was going to be extremely difficult if Nikita didn't mingle with the critics and guests. She needed to be there tomorrow. "This is Jack's that I would be missing... It isn't that simple. And I don't have anything to wear."

Vincent leaned over his desk and grabbed the envelope that he had been holding onto until he saw Nikita once again. He looked to Nikita and pushed it into her hands. "I don't take charity."

"It was your pay from before.... for dropping by with the two pieces... I just thought that I would give it to you in cash since it might be difficult to get to the store. Will that buy you a dress?" Vincent stated. Nikita shook her head as she stood up.

But she didn't give the money back. It would help make her landlord happy.

"I can't come.." Nikita spoke as she slipped out the door. And the reason was Michael. Vincent slid back against the desk and sighed. He looked around flipped his light out.

He needed to find Michael and he was almost sure where he would find him.

~~

Vincent walked down the street with his hands into his pockets. Maybe Angelina thought that Michael was already shacking up with someone new, but Vincent saw into Michael's heart in the past few days. There was only one place that Michael would be.

Somewhere around Nikita.

The darkness was heavy, but Vincent was sure that Michael was out here, on the street, outside of Jack's Club. Was he trying to protect Nikita? Vincent didn't know. Frustration was setting in when the hand seized his shoulder.

"What are you doing here? Trying to get killed?" Michael questioned in a deep and stern voice. Vincent stared into those eyes and almost saw danger in them. Vincent rolled his head around when Michael released him and moved into the light.

"Nikita stopped by. Dropped off work," Vincent started to relay the story of the happenings of the past few hours.

"She was late for work... I thought that would be a good reason. It's good for her," Michael dryly spoke, trying to appear detached, but Vincent wasn't so positive about that any longer.

"She isn't coming to the opening, Michael. You know what that will do," Vincent stated. It was as Vincent lifted his eyes and stared at Michael that he wanted to laugh. He had a similar conversation with Michael right before his first opening, about the importance of appearances. Michael bowed to Vincent's pressure.

"She'll be there," Michael stated and Vincent swallowed. He didn't know where Michael was getting these things. He clearly knew the ins and outs of Nikita's mind and behaviors, but with what knowledge and for how long. Everything that Vincent would have sworn too, was blown away. Going through this entire adventure of finding Nikita and seeing the connection, made Vincent question almost everything he knew about this man.

Vincent was about to protest once more to Michael, trying to go over the things that Nikita was missing and her quick rush out of the office, when Michael stepped forward and pushed Vincent to the side. When Vincent turned around, he saw Nikita hurrying down the sidewalk.

Well before the end of her shift.

"We need to get her out of this club," Vincent stated with a shiver doing down his spine. He looked to Nikita, knowing that he was worrying about Nikita's well being and saw that the same was on Michael's mind.

But did Nikita really know that?

*

The heavy coffee stench filled the entire little diner as DebbieAnn walked away from the counter with a heavy sigh. For the eighth time in a minute, DebbieAnn glared at the watch and then turned back to stare back at Joe who was scrambling eggs.

"She is late," DebbieAnn complained and Joe slammed the skillet back down onto the stove. There was only so much he could handle, and complaining wasn't something that Joe could withstand. He had run this diner from the time he was out of high school and he would probably do this until the day he died. He didn't need complainers.

"Look, Debbie, Nikki has stayed late for you more than enough... and she works from eight to six virtually every day. Cut her a break," Joe snapped as he wagged a finger at the other waitress. Joe could only wish that his other staff worked liked his Nikki. It might have been unhealthy, but there weren't ever many problems with Nikita. She could stand her own ground with the tough crowd and get things done.

"Do you think Nikki dropped us to become that famous artist?" DebbieAnn prattled as she stared at the counter, not making an attempt to clean it up. Joe sighed as he scooped the eggs onto the plate and started towards DebbieAnn. "I wish she would... But she isn't the type to leave... not yet."

The door swung open as DebbieAnn moved towards Ted, one of the regulars, with his plate of scrambled eggs. He smiled and looked at the woman that had just walked in. He whistled and smiled as he could almost see the scowl behind Nikita's big sunglasses. "Legs just got in.... And look at those legs."

"Go to hell," Nikita snapped as she pushed her way to the back immediately, not saying good morning or even looking to DebbieAnn. Nikita knew Ted. They joked with each other for years now. There was no reason for Nikita to resort to petty swearing and Joe swallowed.

"Something happen Nikki?" Joe questioned as he looked at Nikita, pacing in front of the refrigerator. She shook her head from side to side, but Joe wasn't so sure. Nikita dropped her purse down on the counter and looked to the refrigerator.

"Can I get some toss and juice? You can dock me..." Nikita stated as she started to spin her hands together. Joe nodded his head. He wasn't going to dock Nikita for such little items as a piece of bread and some juice. He knew Nikita. She wasn't going to finish all of it.

"Joe..." DebbieAnn whined from behind the counter. She swung her arms back and forth and Joe swallowed. He knew that something happened, but for the moment, Nikita was emotionally shutting herself down, and that was never good.

"DebbieAnn... you are just going to have to wait and call Joyce in..." Joe stated and DebbieAnn's eyes widen. Nikita snapped around and shook her head. "I'll only be a few moments..."

"With sunglasses? What's going on? Why don't you have food at your place?" Joe questioned demandingly. Nikita dropped her head with a slight wince and then placed herself on the tall stool in the corner. She stared up at Joe and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Well then, you can stay back here for now... I know that this has to be a Jack thing," Joe declared as he slapped his hands together, knowing that his point was made. Nikita leaned her head back against the wall and swallowed.

"And who is going to tend to the customers? DebbieAnn? Do you think she can handle Frank when he comes in half stoned just before noon?" Nikita demanded, trying to flex whatever power she did have over Joe at the moment. Joe stopped and looked at Nikita. He wasn't going to fall into this trap.