Roberta was forgotten as Michael jumped out into the street and made his way around the stopped cars. He found Nikita on the sidewalk, slightly moaning and holding her head. A car did not hit her and Michael touched her arm. He saw that she had cut her head from hitting it on the ground and swallowed. "Can you stand up?"

Nikita didn't respond and Michael frowned. He bent down and helped Nikita to her feet. He turned to expect to see Roberta heading towards them, but as he looked out over the street that was staring at him and Nikita, Roberta had disappeared. Michael felt the chill that had invaded his blood as he looked at Roberta, freeze his body entirely.

"Come on..." Michael directed Nikita, hoping he could get her to his car so he could get her to Section One and to medical attention. Nikita looked at Michael and he stopped. Her blue eyes showed so much and he felt his heart stop. "No Section... please..." And then Nikita closed her eyes. And there was only one option left.

*

This is the true nature of home -- it is the place of Peace; the shelter, not only from injury, but from all terror, doubt and division. ~~ John Ruskin

Michael settled the sheets over Nikita's hot body as he looked down at her. She had stirred in the car, showing that she was probably more ill than hurt. Michael had placed a makeshift bandage on Nikita's forehead before driving off to his house.

Why his house?

Michael still didn't know. It was the same question that Davenport had questioned him with when he called into Section One and asked for Davenport's help. It was clear that Nikita needed medical attention. Davenport first told Michael to take Nikita to the hospital, but after really seeing the mother and the way that she treated Nikita, Michael balked at that idea. And he also balked at the thought of taking her into Section One. It was the last thing that Nikita had requested and there was always something about requests like that one.

Nikita truly meant it. She probably rather die than go back to Section One. Davenport had given into Michael, realizing that if he didn't help Michael, that Michael would do whatever he wanted either way. Michael probably had the resources to find another doctor to help him, but it wasn't good enough. Davenport had already dealt with Nikita.

"Sleep, Nikita... I'll be back with a doctor..." Michael whispered as he touched the blankets once more, seeing that Nikita was tossing her head around already. She was exhausted on top of being sick. Michael guessed that the run in with her mother also drained all the energy that she did have. Michael forced himself out of the room, although he felt that he needed to be by Nikita's side.

Michael walked down the hallway and checked his watch; annoyed that Davenport wasn't here yet. The doctor had told Michael that he wanted to borrow some supplies from Section One before coming over to his house, but Michael just wondered if Davenport was having second thoughts about this. Michael continued his worried and hasty thoughts as he turned the corner and walked down the stairs. He rubbed his arms as he looked out the window for Davenport's rusty and beaten up car before heading to the kitchen for coffee.

"NOOOO!" Nikita shrilled from upstairs, causing Michael to jump. He caught his breath as he identified the scream and who it was. He started to move slowly, wondering if it was just a one-time event. "NOOOO! PLEASE!!!!"

As Michael hurried upstairs, the screaming continued, but it was clear to Michael that it was happening as a night terror. Michael continued towards the room and looked into the room. Nikita was still laying down and he swallowed. She was struggling as if she was being held down.

"Momma! Stop him! Help!" Nikita screamed as the tears rolled down her face. Michael could hear the difference in her voice, although she was screaming. This was a child screaming. The child that Nikita was years ago haunted her in her day and in her sleep. Michael slipped into the room and settled into a chair near the bed.

"Nikita... please wake up," Michael spoke in a steady voice, not allowing his racing heart to be portrayed in his voice. He couldn't have Nikita inserting him into the dream, it would be detrimental and Michael would never be able to help Nikita.

Michael felt the tears filling his in his eyes as suddenly all the blankets were off of Nikita's body and she was portraying the actions of a young girl savagely taken and used.

Michael turned his head as he stood up. He swallowed as he listened to the sobs of Nikita. Until she woke up, and woke up on her own, there was absolutely nothing that Michael could do. He couldn't wake her up. She had to live through this over and over again until she found a way to get past it.

And getting past was something that took many people years and even decades to get through. And most never get through it.

Michael turned around when the sobs stopped and Nikita seemed to sink into the bed. He moved to the edge of the bed, arranged things around and pulled the covers over the woman. He licked his lips and wondered if his actions of placing her into a huge football jersey of his had something to do with this. It was never something that Michael would have done inside of Section One, but he felt he had no choice. He moved to the dresser and sifted through the clothes that Nikita had been wearing.

"No one ever helps me..... I am lost...." Nikita whispered in her fevered night terror. Michael turned around to look at her face. Although the tears were gone and the words were chilling, she was a striking young woman. Michael felt all the regrets that he always did when he saw clients like this that could have been something so much more. Michael turned his head and swallowed. "No one ever helps me.... I am lost..."

Michael picked up the shirt and folded it, although it should probably be thrown away or at least washed. He settled it down. The words haunted his thoughts as he picked up the pants that Nikita had been wearing, hoping to find some more information about who Nikita was. He was sure that some secrets were dark and deep, but that some of the necessary stuff to know, like Nikita's entire name and her age, shouldn't have been so difficult to find out.

What Michael found was a crinkled piece of paper and he turned to look at Nikita. He watched as her lips moved in the pattern of saying what she had repeated twice. "No one ever helps me.... I am lost..." Michael opened up the paper carefully, noting that it was worn and quite old. Inside started with a picture of a large building drawn by a child and a child sitting on the street. Michael swallowed as he realized that this was something that Nikita must have done for school. He allowed his eyes to drift down and he felt his heart contract.

"No one ever helps me.... I am lost..." was written on the paper in the child handwriting, a child just learning the alphabet and how to read. Michael carefully folded the paper back up and slipped it into the pants. He heard the doorbell rang and knew that the doctor had arrived.

"What took so long?" Michael demanded of Davenport as he swung the door open. He took a bag of supplies from Davenport's hands and helped the doctor in. "I was trying to figure out what I was going to need."

"I could have used you a few minutes ago... she is having night terrors..." Michael informed Davenport as he looked up the stairs. Davenport nodded his head, although he noted that Michael just didn't seem like himself, he looked shaken. "What did you tell Madeline?"

"I told her that I needed more time off and that she was right, I wasn't ready to be back," Michael informed Davenport. Davenport whistled but made no further comments. He looked up the stairs as Michael rolled his shoulders back. "Do you have an assessment of what happened to her?"

"Davenport... I don't know. Nikita hasn't told me anything," Michael stated as he picked up the bag and started up the stairs. As soon as the conversation got too difficult, Michael did the best thing. Change the subject and the focus.

"You must have an idea... What do you think happened?" Davenport pushed on. He wanted to know if he should be looking out for something more than just a bump on the head.

"She was abused..." Michael stated and Davenport blinked his eyes. "Sexually... not by her father."

"How can you tell that?" Davenport questioned as he continued up the stairs slowly behind Michael.

"She doesn't ask her father to stop when she was in her night terror... she was screaming for her mother to stop... Plus, I met Roberta..." Michael informed Davenport as he turned on the top of the stairs and looked at the doctor. He raised an eyebrow, asking the question without saying a word. "Her mother."

"Is that why she ran into the street?" Davenport questioned and Michael nodded his head. He also believed that in the end, Nikita would have taken her life if she had the means at that moment.

"The cut on her head was still bleeding..." Michael stated, trying to hurry Davenport into the room. He wanted to tell him about the paper that he found, but he also felt that he needed something for between Nikita and himself. Davenport pushed past Michael and into the room. Nikita was blinking her eyes in an attempt to wake up.

"Hello, Nikita... Do you remember me?" Davenport questioned as he opened up a bag and pulled out some latex gloves. Nikita turned her head towards Davenport but closed her eyes. He could feel the heat radiating off of her body. If her fever didn't break and come down soon he was going to need to do alcohol baths, which could be difficult with a woman with sexual abuse in her history.

"Yes..." Nikita finally admitted although Michael stood nearby and was sure that Nikita really didn't care right now. "Don't feel well.."

"I know... I want to do something for that... Can I look at your head first?" Davenport questioned Nikita as he leaned down on the bed. Nikita merely blinked her eyes and Davenport set to work, taking off the temporary bandage.

"Michael... in that bag you are going to see a lot of IV bags... Pull one out and find something to hang it from," Davenport instructed Michael as he looked at the head injury. Nikita was going to need stitches, but as he looked at the wound and then started to clean it, it was clear that Nikita was very ill from the pneumonia and the bronchitis. She needed strong antibiotics and soon.

Michael was not out of the room for long. He had a hat rack in the hallway and soon retrieved it. Davenport pulled his hands away from Nikita's head in order to slip the IV into her hand and then sighed. "I think she may have a small concussion on top of being sick... It would be best if we took her to a hospital."

"No," Michael snapped and Davenport sighed and then continued to work. He looked around and then pulled the pillow out from Nikita's head. She opened her eyes and stared at Davenport. "I'm going to stitch you up... but I want you to settle your head into my lap."

"No..." Nikita whispered and Davenport pressed his lips together. From the angle of the bed and the environment of the bedroom, he had to be creative. He couldn't lean over Nikita's body and do this successfully.

"I'm here, Nikita... I won't let him do anything to hurt you..." Michael spoke as he looked over the bed. Davenport looked at Michael as Nikita started up at him. He didn't know what was really going on between all of them, but Davenport knew that it was partly the reason why Michael didn't take Nikita to Section One.

Nikita lifted her head and Davenport settled in next to the headboard. He looked down and nodded his head. Michael moved to where Davenport had been standing and helped Davenport to complete the four stitches. During that time, Nikita had fallen back to sleep.

"This is going to be a big job," Davenport spoke to Michael, indicating that he felt that once Nikita was feeling better that Nikita had a lot of emotional problems to get involved with. Michael nodded his head and stroked Nikita's bangs out of her eyes.

Davenport made no move to leave his position, knowing that sleep was important for Nikita. He stayed in the bed, allowing Nikita that luxury until his legs fell asleep.

"Why are you doing this, Michael?" Davenport questioned and Michael shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know. He just knew that this was the right thing to do. The thing that Michael needed to do.

"Are you doing this because you couldn't help Elena? She wouldn't want you to do that," Davenport whispered, broaching the thoughts and concerns he really did have about this. This was erratic behavior for Michael. He would have always maintained his professional distance from Nikita in this situation before Elena's and Adam's deaths.

"No... this has nothing to do with Elena... or Adam..." Michael spoke and Davenport nodded his head.

"Then in that case... I guess Nikita is in the best hands..." Davenport stated and Michael nodded his head.

*

People seldom refuse help, if one offers it in the right way. --A. C. Benson

Nikita began to stir for real one day later. Davenport had kept Nikita adequately medicated in order to stave off the effects of the torturous events of the street, which Michael related to Davenport, and the illness itself. She needed lots of rest in the days to come.

But now, Nikita needed to wake up and look at the person who had been taking care of her and watching her through all of her nightmares.

Michael.

Dutiful didn't even describe the lengths that Michael had gone through in order to tend to Nikita. It was more like an obsession. He was more likely to leave the bedroom for Nikita's good than his own good. Michael slowed down what he ate and drank, just in order to cut down the amount of times he needed to run to the bathroom.

Michael didn't speak at first. He merely watched Nikita's eyes flicker and register the room. There was a flash of horror, as she didn't know exactly where she was until she was able to feel the sickness in her lungs. Nikita allowed her head to fall slack in the pillow and then continue to struggle to keep her eyes open.

"Would you like something to drink?" Michael offered as he stood up from the chair that he had been perched in for hours, watching the sleeping Nikita. He had to note that the past few hours had been the most peaceful that Nikita had been through.

"What?" Nikita questioned through a hoarse voice. She shook her head, surprised with the voice. Nikita didn't know how frequent her nightmares had been and how loud she had screamed. Michael leaned on the edge of the bed and looked at Nikita carefully.

"Do you know where you are?" Michael posed the question and waited as he looked at Nikita's face. She pondered the thought and looked around. "Your place?"

"Yes... that's right... You have been here for two days... Do you remember what happened out on the street?" Michael questioned as he could tell that Nikita was still half asleep. Davenport would be back in about three hours, during his lunch hour at Section One. Right now, Michael was alone with Nikita.

"I don't want to talk about it..." Nikita announced as she turned her head away with a grimace of pain. Michael nodded his head and decided that it was time to change the topic for now. When Nikita wanted to talk about what happened, she would. He had to give Nikita that space in order for her to grow the trust in him that was needed.

"Do you know why you are here? You are sick," Michael questioned and answered for Nikita. She turned her head slowly towards him and blinked her eyes. She looked like she still needed many days of rest in front of her and that was probably the truth. Davenport had said that it would be at least a week until Nikita would feel good enough to do a lot.

"I've never been sick," Nikita struggled out as she slightly coughed. Michael looked around and kept his hands down although he wanted to swipe the hair out of Nikita's face.

"I can tell you what is wrong. Do you feel that it is hard to breath?"

"Yes..." Nikita admitted as she closed her eyes in shame. Michael pressed his lips together and continued on. He needed too. "That is caused by the pneumonia and the bronchitis..."

Nikita nodded her head and then gave into the coughs that Michael had noticed her trying to hold back. When after the fifth cough didn't end the fit, Michael reached for her arms and helped her to sit up. "Here.... let me rub your back until you stop coughing..." Michael stretched his hand across the expanse of Nikita's back and rubbed. If it was anyone else, he would have been lightly hitting her back, but knowing the abuse that Nikita had been through but had yet to admit to, he played everything carefully, never wanting to scare Nikita.

Nikita closed her mouth while she continued to cough. She wanted them to stop and she felt that by forcing them to stop, that it would be better. Michael could tell what she was doing and could tell that she needed to take in the oxygen in any matter. "Just let the coughs out, Nikita... Just let it out."

Finally the coughing ended and Nikita was left breathless. Michael supported her back, allowing her to relax while sitting up. She was still stunned by her surroundings and what she felt like. Nikita never felt like this before. Worn out. Ready to give it all up. She closed her eyes and rolled her head towards her arm. It was when Nikita opened her eyes that she noticed the IV line in her arm and then the tears started to fall.

"It's called an IV. It gives your body the nutrients, liquid and medicine it needed the past few days," Michael informed Nikita as he saw her eyes glued to the thin tube.

Nikita's body shook although Michael supported her and Michael tilted his head to look into Nikita's eyes. "I know."

"You do?" Michael questioned, confused that Nikita knew this but yet didn't know what being sick meant. Nikita nodded her head but didn't tear her eyes away from the IV. Nikita looked at Michael for a split second and rubbed her lips together, trying to get her nerves up to talk to Michael. He was waiting for her and was going to let her do what she wanted.

Nikita had never met a person like that. This was a person who wanted to help her, but to help her on her own terms. Nikita k new that opening up and answering this one small and innocent question was going to open up a box of emotions that she didn't know that she could control.

"It's ok... Don't worry about it.... Do you want me to get you something to drink or eat?" Michael questioned as he saw Nikita's uneasiness about what was going on. Her eyes didn't divert from the IV as she swallowed roughly. "My da... he had one when he... when he died..."

"Does that mean I am going to die?" Nikita questioned as she turned her huge blue eyes towards Michael's face, horrified with the thought. The amount of times that Nikita had wished that she had died back when her father did, she didn't want that now.

"No..." Michael quickly informed Nikita, seeing the panic that had settled into her eyes. He looked at Nikita and took a shaky breath. "There is medicine in the line... that has made millions of people who were sick with what you have... better.."

"Promise?" Nikita questioned with a soft and kid like voice. Michael nodded his head and liked his lips. "I promise."

"How old were you when your da died?" Michael inquired as he helped Nikita to sit back and lean against the headboard. He pulled his hands out and looked at Nikita as she reached her other hand over to touch the IV line. "I don't know..."

"Where you in school yet?" Michael questioned, trying to find something else about Nikita while also trying to get Nikita to talk.

"No... I was small... and I missed him..." Nikita whispered as she turned her head away, seeing her father's face in her mind. He had been sick for a long time, but it didn't matter. He had always told Nikita that he loved her, words that Nikita had never heard from her mother.

"What happened next?" Michael spoke as he settled more onto the bed, glad that Nikita was not as defensive as she had been before. Nikita continued to stare away from Michael and her hands rubbed together. Michael was terrified that Nikita was going to shut down and stop talking.

"My pappap lived with us for a while... He was funny... had a motorbike..." Nikita spoke as a soft smile crossed over her face. Michael nodded his head but kept quiet. There was something about Nikita that told Michael that she was about to continue on talking. He didn't need to push her right now.

""He would play with me... My pappap loved me..." Nikita stated as she looked at Michael with tear drenched eyes again. "Was he your mother's father?"

"No..." Nikita announced as she swung her head back and forth. She rubbed her hands together. "Probably why we had to leave... he was my da's father... My da's family was nice..."

"Why did you have to leave?"

Nikita looked to Michael and then down to her fingers. She could remember the look on her Pappap's face when she had left. He was crying so hard. He asked Roberta if he could keep Nikita until she came back to France, but Roberta didn't even give that a thought. She also didn't care about what Nikita felt about it. "My mom... she took me to Australia before I started school..."

"Must have been hard. Leaving everything that you knew," Michael stated as he looked at Nikita. He could identify her pain. It was similar to losing Elena, but he had a feeling that this was much more.

Nikita started to cough once more and Michael leaned Nikita forward a few inches in order to move his hand back to her back. Nikita blinked her eyes and tears streamed down her face along with the tears. Michael looked at Nikita once more and swallowed. He wasn't sure if he really should be handling this situation. Nikita again gasped for air as the coughing ceased and she leaned herself back. Nikita didn't turn her head towards Michael. "I wish that I would have stayed with him... everyday from the moment I was pulled away from his hug."

"Australia was bad?" Michael questioned as he looked at Nikita. She trembled and Michael felt his heart shatter for her. "I can't tell you what happened there..."

"Start with the easy stuff.... You felt out of place, right?" Michael picked out a topic that he hoped would lead to more. Nikita looked at Michael and tried to ease her body away slightly. She felt her mind screaming to let the words out, but her heart had been tattered by what had happened. Her heart was sure that it would never be mended enough.

"I was out of place... I didn't know the language... It was so hot... and I was so young..." Nikita whispered the words that didn't hurt her, that didn't betray her memories. Michael nodded his head and stayed still. He knew that again, it was time to wait, to allow Nikita to speak.

"My mom... she was never home... and there was never much to eat..." Nikita admitted as the tears started. She turned her head and looked into Michael's eyes. Michael's green eye softness were allowing Nikita's defenses to melt away, but not all the way. She had never told herself the truth and she couldn't tell someone else. She wasn't ready for it. "I can't tell you."

"Can you narrate? Just give me the parts that really meant something?" Michael tried to continue the conversation. If this was inside of Section One, he would have stopped at this point. It was tremendous amount of information to get from someone. But Michael had seen a lot about Nikita. He had seen the interaction between Nikita and her mother. Nikita was in his house.

"I can't.... They haunt my dreams.... and my life... I can't give them more power to hurt me..." Nikita spoke and Michael blinked back the growing tears. He didn't know how Nikita could have survived this long and that was part of the reason why he continued to try to find the story behind her life.

"I know that they hurt... and I know that right now... it might not feel like it is helping you to get better... but talking about it... with anyone.. with me... will ease the pain... and make the memories.. less hurtful.. so in the future.. they can't hurt you as much as they do now..." Michael tried to ease Nikita's worries. She continued to shake her head in protest. She just couldn't do this. "What if I ask you questions? Can you answer yes or no?"

"I can try..." Nikita whispered out as she rubbed at her face and at the tear-drenched eyes. She looked to the side, wondering if Michael was going to hit all the hard parts right away.

"Did you live alone with your mother?" Michael questioned softly, taking something that was probably as neutral as Michael could have picked in the topic. Nikita rubbed at the blanket and blinked her eyes.

"Yes... at first," Nikita responded and Michael nodded his head. This was progress.

"Did you go to school?" Michael questioned as he looked at her face, seeing that Nikita was shocked that his questions hadn't gotten about the ugly stuff in her life.

"Yes. My first year," Nikita stated as her voice softened some. "It was good at first.... Although I was different... we did a lot of projects."

"Did you learn to write words and read?" Michael questioned, trying to figure out about the significance of the note and when that occurred. Again, Nikita was not threatened by the question. "Just the alphabet... we didn't do more until the next year."

Michael heard the tremble in Nikita's voice and he stood up. He retrieved the paper and placed it in front of Nikita. "Is that when you wrote this?"

"Yes," Nikita sobbed out as she dropped her head down. Michael rubbed her back, soothing her in order to continue.

"Those words... was that because someone was doing something bad to you?" Michael questioned carefully, not getting detailed and not jumping to conclusions.

"Yes," Nikita tightly responded. She began to cough and Michael helped Nikita to get through the fit. He reached over for a glass of water and placed it in her hand at the end. He watched Nikita sip the water as if it was a fine wine. He took the glass and looked at Nikita. "Can we continue or do you want to stop?"

"What?" Nikita questioned as she turned her head and looked at Michael. She was being given a choice, something that was abnormal for Nikita to experience. Michael blinked his eyes. "Do you want stop for now?"

"No.." Nikita stated as she turned her head to the side. She looked at Michael and took one of his hands. "I have to do this, don't I?"

"Sooner or later. You aren't going to do this all at once. It is going to take time," Michael responded, truthfully knowing that it was going to take a lot of time that there was probably going to be a lot of pain before it got better.

"But you want to know about the men," Nikita stated as her eyes went flat and Michael looked at her. He did want to know about them, but that was not his next question. "I was going to ask if your mother hurt you."

"No... but she never stopped them..." Nikita whispered as she placed one hand at her mouth while the other one squeezed Michael's. She was staring towards her feet and trembling. Michael was afraid to proceed. "It happened once.... and then again... and again..."

"Nikita... you don't have to tell me..." Michael whispered out as he saw how difficult it was for Nikita to speak. This much was a beginning to the process. "So many..."

"Did it stop?" Michael questioned as he felt Nikita's hand tighten her grip on his. She pulled the hand away from her face and blinked her eyes. "For a while... we were coming back to France... My mom said I was going to have a new Da..."

"A new one? Did you meet him?" Michael questioned Nikita as he shook her head.

"No... but we came back to France... I was in the fourth grade... I wanted to see my Pappap... to have someone love me..." Nikita spoke as she closed her eyes. "It was worse here."

"It's ok... you are far away from the men that hurt you," Michael responded, knowing that Nikita was looking for protection. She swallowed and then reached for the glass of water. Michael handed it to Nikita and waited for her to take several sips before turning the glass back to him. "Are you ready to stop for the day?"

"It was daily..." Nikita whispered, clearly not hearing Michael's question. He dropped his head down. "No one should have done that to you, Nikita... and your mother should have stopped it."

"She needed me..." Nikita whispered as she placed both of her hands at her mouth. Michael felt the chill that he had when he met the infamous Roberta on the street. He had the feeling that she had done Nikita more wrong than he expected.

This was the wrong that she expected.

"I ran away..." Nikita spoke, her thoughts jumping around, trying to get through the years of abuse that she was positive that she would never be able to speak about. There were days that men came into her room over and over again in an endless line.

"How old where you?" Michael questioned. Nikita was going to continue on and Michael knew that if he helped to structure the conversation, he might be able to spare Nikita some of the pain of going through thoughts and memories that she wasn't quite ready to discuss.

"I tried when I was ten... to look for my pappap..." Nikita cried out as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. Michael could see how vulnerable Nikita was at this moment, hoping up herself to a man that she only knew by chance.

"What happened? Your mother found you?" Michael questioned and Nikita nodded her head. She looked towards the wall away from Michael before she closed her eyes. She shook her head slowly. "The police got me... when I was in the park..."

"I ran away again... years and years ago..." Nikita spoke and Michael nodded his head as he eased off of the bed as he took the paper off the bed. It had triggered thoughts, but they didn't discuss it fully. Nikita needed to get through this painful narrative of her life first.

"Once they found me... said I was missing..." Nikita continued on and Michael blinked his eyes as Nikita's head turned to look at him once more. "I tried to tell them... they wouldn't listen to me..."

"Your mother had told them that you had wild stories in order to stay away from her.... because you had a bad boyfriend... She manipulated them," Michael informed Nikita, giving Nikita a piece of the puzzle that she didn't have.

"What? How do you know that?"

"I had a friend gain access to the computers about your mother after our run into her... As long as she has you as missing... any law enforcement agency and most social welfare programs will try to reunite you with her..." Michael informed Nikita. She shook her head and then looked at Michael. "Because I make her money."

Michael felt his world stop on that statement. Nikita threw her hands over her mouth and dropped her head. She couldn't believe that she had finally said it. As she had gotten into her teen years, she had realized what was happening, how her mother benefited financially about having the men with Nikita. Even now, her mother probably still needed Nikita in order to support her drug habit. That was why Roberta chased after Nikita, trying to make the easy buck by offering her daughter as meat.

"I'm here to help you..." Michael responded when he found his voice again. Nikita dropped her head down, almost to the point of bumping Michael's hand. He looked at her. She seemed like she needed comfort, but he wasn't sure if Nikita would accept it. "Nikita... can I hold you? So you can cry like you need to?"

"Please... no one has ever held me as I cried..." Nikita responded as she leaned closer to Michael. She shifted her body and Michael placed his arms carefully around the sobbing young woman. No one should ever be tortured like this and Michael knew that he was going to help her.

If that was the only thing that he did for the next three months or the next year that was what Michael was going to do.

"I've always been alone... even when with my mom..." Nikita sobbed out and Michael rubbed at Nikita's neck. He had never been allowed to do this inside of Section One. Physical contact, except during a medical emergency, was not allowed. But this was probably what Nikita needed most of all. She needed Michael to hold her. The first man probably in her entire life that gave her a little dignity back to the girl that had been used and abused as a child to benefit her mother.

"Shh... you aren't alone now..." Michael whispered as he looked towards the wall. He looked at it and swallowed.

He held Nikita until she feel back to sleep and the continued to hold her for another hour, just so her body knew that someone was near her that cared.

*

What makes loneliness an anguish is not that I have no one to share my burden, but this: I have only my own burden to bear. ~ Dag Hammarskjold ~

"Are you comfortable?" Michael questioned as he looked at the way that Nikita was positioned in the recliner. It was so much better than the bed and Michael was sure that just the change in the scenery would help. It had been three days since they talked, Nikita's heart pouring out. Nikita didn't talk anything more about it. They had stayed on neutral topics about how Nikita felt and the recent events out in the street.

Nikita never mentioned her mother either. It was best just not to go there right now. Nikita was still recovering, but Michael knew that sooner or later, that he would have to broach that subject. Denying that they had talked and that Nikita had someone to talk to wouldn't do any good.

"Fine," Nikita whispered out as she leaned her head back. She looked tired from just the walk from the upstairs bedroom to the recliner that had been placed in front of the television in the den. Nikita turned her head and her eyes opened.

"What is it?" Michael questioned as he watched the expansion of Nikita's eyes.

"It is so big!" Nikita exclaimed as she looked at the television screen. Michael smiled softly. It was quite large. He didn't know why. It was just there to take up space, something new that Michael had collected to fill this habitat with things that wouldn't die and disappear.

"I can put it on. Do you want me to find a soap opera?" Michael questioned Nikita and she blinked her eyes. She shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to watch..."

"Ok.." Michael stated, trying not to sound disappointed. He had forgotten for a moment that Nikita didn't have those normal things in her life. He looked around and moved to his stereo system, currently updated and on the cutting edge of technology. He checked the disks that were inside of the ten-disk changer and smiled. All soft and instrumental, something to help Nikita.

"I have to start to make lunch... Why don't you try to take a nap?" Michael questioned and Nikita smiled and nodded her head. She liked that idea a lot. Nikita leaned her head back and Michael flipped on the heating switch on the chair. Nikita didn't seem to notice that heat or the music as he slipped out of the room.

This was Michael's next step in treatment, actually allowing Nikita to be away from him. It had taken Michael a lot to get to this point. He watched Nikita sleep for hours, watching over her every movement, trying to analyze what was going on in her dreams. It wasn't helpful, so Michael started to drag himself away from longer periods of time, sure that he would know if something was wrong.

He had even left the house yesterday while his next-door neighbor, Gail, stayed. She reported that Nikita slept soundly. Michael was relieved, but then felt guilty for leaving Nikita and not telling her.

This was a slippery slope that Michael was on. He was probably breaking all of the rules that he had established for himself while in school and then while practicing at Section One. Madeline would definitely have issues if she found out about what he was doing here.

Michael wouldn't let himself move as he first heard the crying from Nikita. He realized that he couldn't be everything for Nikita. He knew that he had tried not to fix everything right now.

But he had seen these dreams. He had seen these nightmares. He had seen the terror on Nikita's face as she fought the images in her mind. He had seen the child that was stuck inside of Nikita.

To stay away fro long was impossible. He turned his head and then turned off the stove, moving towards the room, knowing that Nikita needed him again. There was no option in Michael's mind.

"Nikita?" Michael questioned as he turned the corner and looked at the tears rolling down Nikita's drawn face. Nikita didn't respond to Michael's voice and he moved into the room further.

"Please... no.... go away..." Nikita's childlike voice pleaded with the dream. Michael pulled closer to Nikita and looked over her. She was so protected, if only Nikita would open up and allow Michael to help. But he just didn't know how to reach her when Nikita was in this state of mind.

"No more... please!" Nikita yelled out and Michael touched Nikita's arm, hoping to drag her out of the dream. Sometimes this worked and other times it didn't. It was always good when Nikita jerked awake. She was being stunned about what she was dreaming and never would speak about it. But that reaction was much better than going through the entire dream and waking up much later. When that happened, it took a longer time for Nikita to just talk in a casual conversation.

"Please, Nikita... Wake up," Michael spoke as he touched her arm stronger now. He frowned, as there was no reaction from Nikita at all. "It's me, Michael."

Nikita started to toss her legs about. Michael's eyes fluttered with understandment of what she was dreaming of right in this moment. He had seen case studies about this behavior. Michael had been lucky up to this point of not having to interact with someone who was going through this.

And Nikita was probably the worse case that one could pick.

"Kita.... please...I just want to help," Michael begged out as he squatted and touched her arm with both of his hands. Nikita's head jerked to the side this time, registering his voice. Nikita flickered her eyes, allowing the last of the tears to gush down the side of her face. She looked around and gulped at the area, aware that Michael had been there for the majority of the dream.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Michael offered, like he had done all the other times that he was forced to wake Nikita up from a terrible dream. Nikita looked at Michael and then to her hands. "Why?"

"It would help you to talk about it," Michael stated and Nikita blinked her eyes. She was fighting everything that made her who she was. She never told anyone the details. Slowly Nikita rolled her head around and swallowed once more. "I can't... tell you the... details..."

"I understand that, Nikita... but sooner or later... those details are going to eat you alive..." Michael spoke and Nikita blinked her eyes once more. She often felt like the memories were trying to swallow her up alive.

"I can't even place the man... how bad does that sound?" Nikita questioned out in desperation. Michael took Nikita's hand and squeezed it carefully. She wasn't afraid of his touching her any longer and Michael was grateful. He didn't know what he would do with himself if he couldn't touch Nikita. She needed this contact with human beings.

"There were a lot of men, correct?" Michael questioned carefully. Nikita nodded her head. Michael reached out and wiped a few of the tears away from Nikita's cheek and chin. He looked to them and then pressed his lips together carefully. "Maybe this is a situation that isn't as defined and as scary as the other ones... maybe this is one that you can talk about..."

"I can't even for the words... and why do I have to talk about it?" Nikita demanded and Michael wanted to grin. It was a good sign to see Nikita demanding more from him and demanding questions Michael looked at Nikita and took her hand slightly in his. He didn't want to rub it too hard. He didn't want to push her either.

"Nikita... I wish helping you was as easy as fixing a car... I can't find the part that is broken and replace it... I can't fix you.." Michael explained until Nikita pulled her hand away. Her eyes showed a hatred that had been kindled by Michael's words, which he tried to keep simple, however truthful.

And Nikita hadn't allowed Michael to finish.

"How dare you? You said that you would help!" Nikita shrilled out and then blinked her eyes. Michael waited as Nikita started to cough as she forgotten how sick she still was.

"Are you ok?" Michael questioned as Nikita settled back down against the recliner. Nikita turned her head away and Michael was forced to turn her head to look back towards his face. He needed her to see what he was saying, to see that he meant it. "Nikita.. I can't fix you... but I can help to heal you... It's a big difference... One that takes a long time to understand..."

"We don't get rid of the bad?" Nikita questioned and Michael nodded his head. Nikita had part of this correct in her mind. "No... there is no way to take away those bad memories.. I don't brainwash people... and distort their personalities into something that they aren't... Those bad memories are part of you... You have to learn to know that they are bad... but to know that were is much more to you than just the memories..."

"How?" Nikita questioned as she settled down. Michael wasn't going to find his way to that dream that had disturbed her. It was gone and locked far off now. Michael continued though, knowing that quitting was not an option.

"We talk... a lot... and we start to train your mind... to think differently..." Michael stated and Nikita looked at Michael perplexed. Slowly Nikita hung her head to the side and pressed her lips together. "What about the dreams? You can't control them!"

Michael stroked Nikita's hair back. She looked exhausted again and Michael rubbed a warm hand against her wet and cool cheek. He rubbed slightly and then pulled away, giving Nikita that space back. "Things aren't black and white. There are many shades of gray... and dreams are part of those shades of gray..."

Michael stood up and looked around. He was hungry and knew that Nikita must be, even if she protested and declared that she was not hungry. Her looked at her and then sighed. "But not know.. you are still sick... Why don't you rest until I finish lunch?"

"Ok..." Nikita whispered back as she settled her head to the side. Michael stood there, knowing that Nikita had turned her head away in order to allow more tears to escape. It was not what he wanted, but there was nothing much he could do now. This was enough for one day.

Michael didn't wait for Nikita to fall asleep, but he knew as he exited the room once more that Nikita must not be far from falling asleep. He hurried to the kitchen, hoping to finish the soup before any more interruptions.

The soup was almost complete fifteen minutes later when the doorbell rang. Michael turned the burner off and placed the lid on the pot. He glanced into the room that Nikita was in and saw that she was still asleep. He softly smiled as he continued down the hallway and to the door. Michael was not surprised to see Davenport towering there, waiting to come in.

"How is she?" Davenport questioned as he entered and then shook his head around. He was sore from pulling not only his duty at Section One, but also here at Michael's house, although he found much more pleasure here, even if Nikita was difficult.

"She got out of bed. Got her into a recliner," Michael commented and Davenport looked around and pulled his coat off. "You don't have a recliner."

"I do now.... it even has heat... Nikita is sleeping in it now," Michael stated calmly, like there was nothing highly unusual with his behavior. The fact was, it was odd.

Michael did have the money, and he would never have to truly work if he didn't want too, but still, this was a move that showed to Davenport that there was a lot more going on here.

But he wasn't going to say anything more.

"Have you found out more about her? About where she is going to go once she is better?" Davenport questioned as he started down the hall. Michael looked at Davenport and shrugged his shoulders. The man who was known for planning every single step and set back of all of his clients, had thrown out his own book of rules and regulations.

For one person.

For Nikita.

"She isn't safe. Nikita is extremely afraid about her mother," Michael repeated himself again to Davenport. Every time that Davenport visited, Michael said the same thing. He wasn't going to just set Nikita free on the world again. She would probably run and never give herself the chance to heal. Davenport was going to speak, but found himself in the room with Nikita.

"She looks like she is breathing easier... how was the walk down here?" Davenport questioned as he pulled out his stethoscope. Michael looked to Nikita and then Davenport.

"I carried her. Nikita doesn't have much strength."

Nikita opened her eyes as the stethoscope touched her warm skin. Davenport smiled and made the small talk that had allowed Nikita to accept Davenport as a doctor and not as someone who could abuse her. Nikita made it easily through the thorough check up and Davenport soon left.

Michael helped Nikita to eat the soup. She was extremely quiet, but Michael didn't comment on it at all. It was just better that way. He was back in the kitchen when the doorbell rang again. He moved down the hallway, this time not stopping and checking on Nikita. He knew that she was watching the news on the television.

Michael looked out through the small window and swallowed. This was not something that he wanted to deal with. He pulled the door open and felt the cold air rush past him.

"Good afternoon, Madeline... What are you doing here?"

*

The man who trusts men will make fewer mistakes that he who distrusts them.~ Camillo Benso Conte Di Cavour ~

"I was concerned about you, Michael," Madeline spoke as she pushed out a smile. Michael merely blinked his eyes and then nodded his head. He was quite frankly surprised that Madeline hadn't been over sooner. "Paul is too... You are our best."

"You were the one that suggested that I needed more time," Michael replied back to Madeline in a steady and cool voice. He wanted to get back into the house, but now things were complicated. He was not going to destroy what he had done with Nikita right now because Madeline was being nosy.

"But I am thinking that it may be a mistake. At least before you were leaving your house. When was the last time you left?" Madeline countered as she stroked her hands up and down the black fur coat that was warmly around her body. Michael rubbed his hands together but stopped when he remembered that Madeline would notice and report everything that she noticed about him.

"I was out yesterday. I bought a recliner. Do you need to see a receipt?" Michael questioned bitterly back. He didn't want to play this game. Not today. Not ever.

"I'm looking out for your best welfare, Michael. I have always been there for you... you just have never accepted any of it," Madeline stated, trying to make this conversation about Elena and Adam. Michael stared at Madeline coldly. "I never needed your help. I am fine."

"I have noticed that Davenport has been out here a few times. Is there anything I should know?" Madeline questioned as she tilted her head to the side, trying to see into the house, trying to find the evidence of what she was hinting at. Michael pulled his leather jacket off of the banister and walked out of the house, leaving the door opened a bare centimeter incase he needed to get back into the house.

"What I do here has nothing to do with you," Michael responded as he looked at Madeline, placing his hands deep into his pockets. He hoped that Madeline saw how serious he was with this.

"But you are using the Section One doctor. Therefore, this concerns me and Paul," Madeline declared as she clapped her hands in early victory. Michael inched forward and then leaned his head down to Madeline's height.

"It is on his free time. And it has nothing to do with me," Michael revealed with slow words and with green eyes glaring at Madeline. She turned her head to the side and was about to launch into attack when she paused and looked at Michael's face. There was something there and then realization of what was truly going on seeped into her conscious.

"You did it, didn't you?" Madeline questioned as she moved forward and tugged on the forearm of his jacket. Michael looked down the road and cleared his throat. "I don't know what you are speaking about."

"You brought that girl here," Madeline hissed out, showing her disgust of Michael's decision. It was clear that Madeline did not approve of Michael's manner of handling the situation.

"First, she is a woman and her name is Nikita... Second, I didn't have much choice. She was hurt, sick, and being chased," Michael commented, deciding that beating around the bush with Madeline would only keep him out in the harsh winter day longer than he needed to be. Michael knew that Nikita was going to need him.

"Chased? She was being searched for by her mother!" Madeline chuckled out at Michael's choice of words. She had spent several hours with Roberta, the woman who was looking for Nikita. She had been sure that someone was hiding her inside of Section One. Instead, it was someone inside of Section One who was hiding her. This was not a good situation.

'She may call it searching.. but she can't accept the truth. Nikita was abused for years and she is an adult. She does not need to be returned to her mother to be reunited," Michael bitter spat out. He couldn't hold back his emotions with this topic. He had heard too much from Nikita, even with the sketchy details that she had described her life with.

"Michael... I read the reports for the various police agencies... Roberta reports that Nikita has the tendency to exaggerate the truth," Madeline validated as she tried attempt to move forward and closer to the house. Michael stepped forward and blocked Madeline's entrance. "Then she is still exaggerating abuse. We both know the signs..."

"Signs? Michael.... you know that there has to be proof..." Madeline chuckled as she acted as if Michael was a young student that had no concept of therapy.

"Fear, anger, isolation, sadness, guilt, shame and confusion... Nikita has them all... Do I need to continue?" Michael questioned out in a battering voice. This was one argument that he was not going to lose.

Nikita needed him to win and protect her from the likes of Madeline.

"Those are feelings that we all have Michael... She is snowing you in.... Do you know that she has been arrested before... and known as a con artist?" Madeline questioned back. Michael knew that Madeline knew too much about Nikita. She should have seen the signs herself.

"She has runaway... she has attempted suicide.... she has hysterical reactions to men.... sleep disorders and night terrors every time that she goes to sleep... no appetite...avoidance behavior... social withdrawal... depression... she never graduated... had many problems in school... difficulty with relationships... especially men... These are all signs that you taught me Madeline.... Do you need to relearn them... because if you do... I have the textbook case inside my house..." Michael hissed out with energy surging through his body.

"You should have brought her to Section One," Madeline declared and Michael smirked as he laughed deep in his chest. "And how many times has her mother been to Section One?"

"Checks in everyday, Michael... Nikita is a missing person...." Madeline commented and Michael pulled his hands out and pressed them together.

"A missing person who decided to go missing because of the terrible living conditions that she was in.... I do not have to justify my actions to you... and I'm not," Michael promised as he looked at Madeline and didn't back down.

"Michael... you have never treated someone with sexual abuse..." Madeline commented as she looked at the young man. She did not like being locked out of his life and the treatment of a young woman who had some problems, but also had a mother who was frantically searching for her.

"I will handle it myself," Michael bit out.

"You are supposed to work with a team in a situation like this. This sounds like a severe case.... you need support yourself," Madeline attempted again. Michael saw that she was willing to say anything to get what she wanted.

"I don't work like that."

"Paul will be disappointed," Madeline revealed. Michael looked to Madeline then stepped back. He was glad that Nikita was not having problems, but he wish right now for a way to get out of this.

"This has nothing to do with him," Michael suggested and Madeline shook her head. She had been talking to her boss about this situation for days now, since Davenport has first left Section One in a rush. Madeline should have known that something more was going on when Michael decided to take her advice and to take more time off.

Michael never listened to her.

"Why don't I go inside and tend to her? A man can't help her, Michael," Madeline declared and Michael backed up, blocking his door. He knew that right now, the only thing that was keeping Nikita in one piece, or as close as being in one piece, was him. Michael didn't understand why, but he just knew that it was the truth.

"I won't let you do that. Nikita is fine. All she needed was someone to carefully listen to her and not to jump to conclusions," Michael steadily spoke to Madeline as he blinked his eyes. He was calm.

Madeline was not.

"Do you know what Paul thinks of this? Do you think that after this stunt that he is just going to let you come back to Section One with no penalties?" Madeline hissed out the threats. Michael merely blinked his eyes.

"I have to follow higher standards being a therapist. You know this Madeline. I have to do what is right for Nikita," Michael spoke and Madeline sighed softly. Michael was speaking the truth and Madeline was duly chastised by Michael's words.

"I still have to tell Paul that you won't accept my help," Madeline stated as she backed away from Michael. Michael blinked his eyes and waited. He knew that there was more.

"But, I won't tell Nikita's mother where she is. You are right. Nikita is an adult and her mother should realize that."

"Her mother can't be helped, Madeline. She has done this to Nikita from the time that her husband died. Don't try to make her better," Michael spoke and Madeline tilted her head. She had been ready to leave, but now Michael's words were bitter. "Michael, you always believed that people could change..."

"Not after meeting her. I felt who she was, Madeline. Do yourself and Section One a favor, don't bother with her. Don't get burned," Michael warned as he gray eyes looked at Madeline. She watched as Michael backed up into the house and closed the door.

Michael immediately looked through the small window, watching Madeline slowly walking away. It was clear that his words had gotten to Madeline. Now he only hoped that Madeline listened to him and hoped that Paul would let this issue to cease to exist. Michael wasn't going to change his mind.

"NO!!!" Nikita shrilled out, as there was a loud crush. Michael instantly forgot Madeline and hurried into the room, finding Nikita sprawled on the floor, trying to crawl away. She had tipped the recliner over along with the stand that was sitting next to it. All of Nikita's pill bottles had dropped to the floor and Michael was pleased that they had not emptied. He didn't know if he could withstand another trip from Davenport on this day.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered as he felt her hands on his shoes. He looked down and frowned. She was not responding and this was not a way for Nikita to heal. He squatted and touched Nikita's head as she meagerly tried to pull towards his frame. She lifted her head and blinked her eyes.

Then she moaned in pain. It was clear that when she fell and started to crawl, that Nikita had actually been rather deeply asleep. Michael listened to Nikita as she moved around, moaning in pain. He hoped that it was just bumps and bruises. "What is it Nikita?"

Nikita looked at Michael and her blue eyes froze on his. Michael felt his heart stop. It was perhaps the only time that Nikita had fully stared into his eyes. It was not uncommon for people to advert eyes, especially women who had been so badly abused in their childhood like Nikita. But usually it took years to gain this sort of trust for Nikita to look into his eyes and stay there.

It was like she was reading his mind, like Nikita was able to tell that he wanted to help her badly.

But Michael couldn't read anything back. He only saw the deep blue eyes, that didn't seem to hold as much pain as before. Nikita's hands started to move up from his feet and Michael stayed very still but soon decided to stand up.

His mind was running through everything that could be going on with Nikita right now. She wasn't acting like she had before.

It could be a simple partial seizure. Michael looked at Nikita's face, noticing that her eyes had yet to move. But there was nothing else wrong. Only her eyes were frozen to his.

It could be a fugue state. That was more likely as Michael looked into Nikita's face. But she wasn't fleeing. She was just staring at him.

But she was also touching him. More than Nikita had ever done or allowed someone to do. Her hands had reached his knees in the slow process upward.

Michael's mind stop running off what this could be. This was just Nikita, trying to heal, but Michael didn't know how she would choice to do so. He rubbed her face as she continued to pull upward, now reaching her knees.

Michael was afraid as Nikita's face was level with his waist that she was going to be in another state, that she was about to recreate some events that had happened to her in the past, as a child. He was about to shove Nikita's head away and wrap his arms around her when she continued up, her face coming up to his stomach.

It was a careful swallow that Michael took when Nikita's fingers started to run up the buttons of his shirt. He could feel her body heat along with the tears that had been across her face. He could feel her ragged breaths through the touch she had against him. Finally Nikita was up on her feet and Michael waited to see what she was going to do. Her face was level with hers, her eyes looking into Michael's. He brushed the hair out of her face, noticing that there was still an abundant amount of fear in her eyes, but there was something else.

Determination.

"What do you need, Kita? How can I help you?" Michael questioned as he pulled his hand away from her hair. He was willing to do whatever Nikita was going to suggest, if it was within reason. She adverted her eyes, but soon turned her head back. The fight that was within her was telling Nikita to not run away from Michael.

Nikita didn't speak as she tilted her head to the side and leaned it against Michael's shoulders. He stood there like a log, waiting to know what Nikita was thinking and wanting. "Hold me. Please."

The whisper broke Michael's heart and broke his stoic standing. He wrapped his arms around Nikita and rubbed her back softly. This was the closest that Nikita had ever allowed Michael to be, and he could feel the tears pouring out of her face. She needed this. She needed Michael to hold her and let her know that it was ok to cry.

"Come on... we'll sit down..." Michael whispered as he held onto the clinging woman. She didn't speak, but Nikita's actions were saying so much more. Michael rubbed at Nikita's back as he looked backwards to make it carefully to the couch. He settled down and Nikita lifted her legs up onto the couch in order to cling to Michael more.

"You need this, don't you?" Michael questioned, as he needed Nikita to speak again. She nodded her head into his shoulders. "I'll hold you for as long as you need, Nikita..."

About an hour later, Nikita had long turned he head away from Michael's shoulder, but didn't release her hold on him. Michael felt parts of his body going to sleep, but couldn't imagine that pain being more than what Nikita was going through. During that long hour, Michael had studied Nikita's face and watched her eyes stare at him intently, as if just looking at him was going to help her.

"Who was at the door?" Nikita spoke and Michael's entire body perked up. Those were not the first words he had expected to hear from Nikita after all of this. Michael rubbed at her brow and swallowed in order to steady his breathing and his rapidly beating heart. He never felt this way before for someone that he was helping.

"First thing is first... Did you hurt yourself from falling out of the recliner?" Michael questioned in a calm voice, not wanting to sound threatening at all. He had attempted to find out this answer earlier, while sitting there. But Michael hadn't wanted to make obvious attempts at finding out.

"I'm sore," Nikita commented and Michael nodded his head. He looked at Nikita and she chewed slightly at her already swollen lower lip. Michael had noticed the slight cut on the bottom lip and the swelling on the lip. He rubbed the lip and pulled his hand away abruptly, for no reason that he could find. "Where do you hurt?"

"Here..." Nikita stated as she pointed to the middle of her torso. Michael looked into Nikita's eyes for the permission to touch. She nodded her head and then closed her eyes. Michael realized the strength that it was taking her to allow him to examine her, even after all the examining that Davenport had done. This was something new and a positive step in the right direction.

Michael prodded at the ribs and saw that Nikita winced, but she didn't shout out in pain. Michael didn't want to draw conclusions, but he also didn't want to sound an alarm for something that was just a bump. "When Davenport comes tomorrow... I'll mention it to him to take a look... You probably bruised a rib... and you have a swollen lip..."

"It feels funny..." Nikita commented as she chewed at the lip again. She dropped her head, knowing that she shouldn't be chewing on the lip, but it was too tempting and it helped Nikita to get rid of the tingling that was in the lip. "Who was here?"

"That was Madeline... she is my boss at Section One," Michael revealed in a steady voice, knowing how Nikita reacted whenever Section One was heard. "I'm not going there, Michael! How dare you do this to me!"

"Nikita..." Michael rushed to settle her failing arms. Nikita stopped and looked at Michael. "I'm not making you go there. She wanted to talk to you... but she isn't your type... But she did tell me that your mother has continued to look for you."

"She is going to tell, isn't she?" Nikita questioned and Michael shook his head.

"Madeline is not going to tell your mother where you are..."

"Good," Nikita stated as she pressed her head back down into Michael's chest. He looked down to her hair and swallowed.

They both had been through a lot today. There would be no more pushing for information.

*

The truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering the more you suffer because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you in proportion to your fear of being hurt.~~ Thomas Merton

Michael struggled with Nikita's still fragile frame as she struggled to pull in a deep breath and tried to stop her mind at the same time. It was a struggle that had consumed most of her time since Madeline's visit. It was going to take time, but after four days, Michael had to wonder if there had been any progress at all.

It didn't seem to matter any longer that Nikita allowed Michael to touch her and hold her in ways that probably no one ever did in her life. This holding had become second nature to Michael with Nikita and now he wondered if he could get Nikita to stand on her own two feet by herself.

But right now, the task was to get control over the random panic attacks, that were triggered by nothing but memories trapped deep inside of Nikita's unconscious that would appear to wreck havoc on Nikita's life.

"I can't breath.... I can't... I can't..." Nikita chanted out as her eyes started to show the panic that she was going through. This started out from something in her memory and now progressed to real fear as the panic consumed Nikita and pressed hard and deeply into her chest. "Kita... close your eyes... relax... You are going to be fine."

"Never... never going to be fine..." Nikita hauntingly whispered and Michael groaned deep in his throat. Now, after days and days of continuous care of Nikita, he was starting to wear down, feeling the effects of constant attention towards Nikita and constant worrying about Nikita, sparked by Madeline's own visit.

Michael had spoke to Davenport about the panic attacks during the onset. The kind doctor didn't look surprised. A lot of the young ladies that were seen inside of Section One experienced them and most people attributed them to being a defense mechanism so that the ladies didn't have to talk about the evil that they were feeling. Michael didn't know if he could buy that explanation, but he was glad when Davenport had left a prescription for the panic attacks.

But only if Nikita would agree and consent to take the medicine.

There were two medicines. Davenport left injectable lorazepam for these severe attacks so Nikita could easily be controlled and essentially sedated. It would slow down her mind and would probably put Nikita to sleep. Michael would have given it to Nikita on this attack had he been closer to the bathroom in which he stored it, but Nikita had quickly wrapped herself around Michael in an attempt to steady and ground herself as the panic increased. There was nothing much more Michael could do.

Davenport had also left BuSpar, which would help decrease the anxiety over the next weeks, but would do nothing to help Nikita in this situation. The BuSpar would need to be taken several times a day for weeks before any decrease in the anxiety levels would be seen, but Davenport indicated that this was the traditional way to handle these sporadic attacks, although Nikita was having one or more a day. He didn't feel that Nikita would benefit from anything stronger.

At least now Nikita was just speaking about not being able to breath. The first attack that Nikita had was accompanied with Nikita screaming that she was going to die. Michael had a few panic attacks in his lifetime, and knew that it did feel like you were dying that first one you had, but that it did not matter if you knew that or not.

Michael had quickly started to try to teach Nikita relaxation techniques when she was feeling better. He was trying to teach her how to breath properly, but from what she was going through now, Michael could see that she hadn't quiet caught onto the technique.

"Relax... feel my hand on your back..." Michael whispered as he started to rub the hand back and forth on Nikita's back. He could feel every muscle being stressed from the pressure inside of Nikita's body. She just had to let go and let the pressure go, to relax.

And slowly, that was exactly what Nikita did, without any medications and with total and complete trust in Michael.

"Are you feeling better?" Michael whispered as he looked down to his lap where Nikita's red and swollen face sat there still, but her eyes were opened.

"I feel shaky..." Nikita stated in a calm voice. It was ironic that her voice was so still and calm while the rest of her was jumping inside. Michael continued to move his hand back and forth, knowing that on some level that Nikita was using that as a focusing point for her thoughts. "That is to be expected.... You heart is slowing down... I can feel it."

"Why can't they stop?" Nikita whispered as she had the other times. Michael looked at her bangs and fluffed them slightly as he hinged on his next words, unable to decide what to ask and what to do next.

"Do you want them to stop?" Michael questioned as he decided to plunge down that road right now. He had a feeling that this was wrong, but there was no other time than now to have this conversation. It was incorrect of him to wait on telling Nikita that there was a way to control the panic attacks.