The day had worn on long enough. Nikita was tired, and ready to go home. Home? She smirked inwardly at the notion. For her, there was no such place. Michael had a home now. With his son, Adam, as it should be. But should it be without her? Nikita shook her head and rested her forehead in her open palms. It had been a year since she’d laid eyes on Michael, but it had only been about five minutes since she’d last thought of him. He pervaded her senses everywhere, haunted her like a ghost, his grip on her heart only increasing tenfold every day that she was without him.

Nikita was beginning to resent Section more and more. From her perch above it all, she watched people come and go. Jason was in comm, looking more and more like his brother every day, and far more likable than Birkoff was, even though Nikita had once thought that impossible. And there was Walter in munitions, hitting on the newest naive recruit to come inside Section’s platinum walls. She would have to have a talk with him. Maybe one day when she actually believed what she was saying. Her resolve in herself, her confidence in her ability to make decisions had been wavering slightly. Yes, she was qualified to run Section, Oversight, and eventually Center--no one doubted her capabilities. But as Michael had once told her, there was no room for distractions in this job, and at the moment, Nikita had her fair share.

She picked up the remote control and pressed it, turning the perch dark. She seated herself against the wall and stared down at her panel, going over mission parameters. This next mission would require special attention from none other than herself. As if handed down from on-high, those in place at the helm of Center since her father’s perhaps timely death, had ordered her to step down from her duties as Operations for one mission--the retrieval of Italian prince, Christophori Verde. Verde was an international arms dealer that had recently stepped up his game and was now trading nuclear weapons on a global scale. He had to be taken out of play, and normally this would have been a mission for a level five operative, not level ten, as Nikita now was, but this mission was special--Verde knew Nikita, and as far as she knew, he was very much in love with her.

Verde and Nikita met on a mission three years ago, when Section was bringing down one of Verde’s buyers. Christophori was supposed to be an informant, but once Section released him, he provided Intel for six months, and then disappeared off the face of the earth. He wasn’t considered a Class-A threat, so Section found him, and monitored him, effectively feeding his ego to let him think he’d gotten away with it all. His overconfidence only allowed him to expose himself more, of course, which was how he had risen among the ranks, that and his family’s wealth. On the previous mission, Nikita and Michael had pretended to be Donatella and Giuseppe Bizet, an engaged arms-dealing couple from the south of France. As Giuseppe and Donatella, Michael and Nikita insinuated themselves into Christophori’s life, and the three of them became fast friends. After the disaster of a mission with Helmut Volker, Michael had been determined to make it clear that on this mission, he was VERY MUCH in love with his fiancée, and that she was NOT for sale. Christophori got the message loud and clear. Donatella and Giuseppe’s furtive whispers and hushed laughter echoed through the palace corridors reminding those in love of what a precious gift it was, and those not in love, couldn’t help but be envious of the couple.

After three weeks, the deal was complete, and Donatella and Giuseppe prepared to return to France, but Christophori insisted that they extend their stay,--his country villa the perfect place to hold their wedding. Donatella and Giuseppe were honored, but Michael and Nikita were wary. Being truly in love, it hurt them deeply to pretend that their love was anything other than what it truly was--their own. Something private, sacred, and understood by no one but themselves. When the mission was over, and they would be going on separate excursions to different parts of the globe, perhaps never seeing each other again, then it would be difficult, almost impossible to be apart. Pretending to be in love wasn’t difficult, but savoring this special time only to have it snatched away--that was becoming increasingly difficult. Under Operations and Madeline’s orders, Giuseppe and Donatella were married. Little did Operations and Madeline know, however, Michael and Nikita had been truly married. Michael knew the priest from St. Petersburg, many years ago, and had the man secretly switch Giuseppe and Donatella’s marriage license with one for Michael and Nikita. Because the actual ceremony was done privately with only the royal family as witnesses, no one heard the priest utter “Michael Samuelle” and “Nikita Wirth” instead of Giuseppe Bizet and Donatella Angelil.

Michael and Nikita enjoyed a honeymoon in the south of France, and then returned to Italy, to thank the royal family, namely Christophori, for their hospitality. Christophori had taken Nikita aside and presented her with an even more spectacular ring than the gems that glittered on her finger, from Michael. Michael’s ring was a classic--diamonds, princess-cut, set in a platinum channel setting. Nikita’s wedding band was pink gold, with the words ‘Michael, Nikita, and Forever,’ engraved inside. Christophori’s ring had a cluster setting, a brilliant sapphire surrounded by smaller diamonds, the band itself platinum and white gold in a rope style. The ring was more to Donatella’s style, but Nikita herself had no intention of parting with her rings, or the man that came with them. She politely turned down Christophori, who had appeared so heartbroken Nikita was actually sorry for him. Christophori turned quietly on his heels and walked away, never laying eyes on Nikita. Because they had been on an official mission, once Madeline and Operations learned of Christophori’s infatuation with Nikita, she had been sure they would exploit it to the hilt.

Once returning to Section, Nikita had been ordered to seek Christophori out, give him one night of passion in order to increase his obsession with her, and then remove herself from him completely. Michael had been totally against it, offering up every alternative possible, but Operations had been unyielding in his decision. Donatella sent Christophori an invitation to attend her latest fashion show in Milan, he respectfully declined. Later that evening, however, he had shown up, with roses, to offer his congratulations. Before Nikita could, albeit reluctantly, begin her seduction, he told Nikita about Maria, an Italian girl he had met and fallen in love with. It was clear to everyone involved that he wouldn’t be moved by Nikita’s advances, so the mission was called off. Nikita went back to Section, only to learn from Birkoff that Michael had gotten to Christophori, ordered him to fabricate the story of Maria, and make sure that nothing whatsoever happened between himself and Nikita. Michael had put the fear of death into Christophori, and was not at all surprised to learn that things had gone according to plan. Nikita inwardly was pleased with Michael’s possessiveness, but she was worried that his actions would spell trouble for him with Madeline and Operations. They did not. The surprises did not end there, for when Michael and Nikita had been getting ready to leave, Walter let them know that Christophori had been brought in, and they were attempting to turn him, and send him back out. Michael’s cover with Christophori had been blown, but not Donatella’s, though everyone involved was sure that the recent happenings had been enough to put suspicion into Christophori’s mind. For now, they would all stay away from him.

Christophori was eventually released, and Michael and Nikita went on with things, never forgetting their union, but unable to acknowledge it as well. The eventual demise of Michael, however, had come as a complete shock to Nikita. She revealed herself to be working with Mr. Jones, handed down her sentences to everyone involved, and then went to take her place in Center. As usual when it came to her life, she was never quite able to get out from under Section One. Michael had gone rogue, she’d sent him personally, with what she assumed to be her final words to him-- “I don’t love you. I never did.” He left, she left. Moments after he disappeared into the forest, she trailed behind him, to make sure that he got out of satellite range. Uncharacteristically tripping over a fallen branch, Nikita came eye-level with Michael’s ring. Whether intentionally dropped from his fingers or slipped off by accident, it was here, with her, and not with him, as it should be. Her fingers closed around it in an embrace, as though her own arms were holding him close to her body. A silent tear went unchecked down her cheek, wetting her hand as she examined the ring closely. She slipped it into her pocket, none of her fingers being large enough to wear it, and once she was in the privacy of her own quarters at Center, she placed his ring on a chain and wore it about her neck, never alerting anyone to its presence, even though it was a constant reminder to herself.

Now here she was, back in Section as Operations. Michael had returned to her after informing the Collective of Section’s comings and goings for nearly the entire time since he’d last seen Nikita and shared that tender goodbye. The Collective had taken Michael’s son, Adam, hostage, and in a series of near misses, Michael was finally reunited with his son, under the extreme sacrifice of Nikita--her father Mr. Jones was murdered, and she lost all three of the men in her life--her father, her lover, and the young boy she half-heartedly considered a son. During this brief reunion with Michael, the subject of their marriage, and his missing ring, had not come up. In bed together, late at night, Nikita had rested her head against Michael’s chest, waiting for the deep even breathing as a signal that he was truly asleep. She took the opportunity then to take the ring from her jewelry box and place it back on his finger. She watched him sleep, watched the ring, watched her love slip further and further away. Before he could awake she removed it from his hand again, and placed it back on its chain and around her neck. Nikita wondered sometimes why he never brought it up. She knew why she didn’t herself--it was too painful. Perhaps Michael didn’t want her to know he’d lost something so precious--perhaps he had never really lost it. It was like a final gift to her, something of his that she could always keep--she preferred to think of it that way.

But Michael didn’t remain in Section, with Nikita. He took his much-deserved freedom, moving with Adam, to some unknown corner of the world. This time their parting words were “I love you.” He had mumbled something in French and just now, in the perch, could she focus enough to remember what the words had been--”IL y aura un autre jour. There’ll be another day.” With that he squeezed her hand once more, and tore his eyes from her beautiful face, and walked away.

Nikita stood and took a deep breath, the heavy weight of the memories too much for her. If she thought of Michael and his absence for too long, it was nearly impossible for her to get back on track. Never had she allowed herself to indulge in the memory of him so completely as she was at the moment. Reprimanding herself as though she were a school girl, she took the dark off the perch, and went back to checking mission parameters.

“Jason?” she asked. After two consecutive beeps, his Creole-voice came through.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Do we have a location on Verde?”

“Indeed we do. He’s en route to Reykjavik. Are we gonna pick him up?”

“Reykjavik?” Nikita asked, unsure she’d heard Jason correctly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice slightly annoyed. “Are we going to pick him up?”

“No,” Nikita answered quickly. “Allow him to go through with the sale. Is he coming back through North America?”

“Yes,” Jason confirmed. “His itinerary has him returning through North America, specifically, Nova Scotia.”

“All right then, we’ll pick him up there. I’m going personally. Arrange a back-up team.” Nikita left Jason with his orders, and then returned to her quarters, to prepare herself. She’d be leaving in a day or two, to go to America, and she wanted to be ready soon, in the event that something else would come about, requiring her attention. She was interrupted from her menial tasks when Walter came in.

“How you doin’ Sugar?” he asked, sauntering over to her and placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. She returned his affection with a slight kiss on the cheek, but couldn’t keep up the smile for long.

“I’m doing all right, I guess.”

“Missing Michael?” he asked, gesturing towards her left hand. She wore her rings when she was in the privacy of her own room, so rarely was she interrupted when she was there. She quickly took the rings off and placed them in her jewelry box--trying not to meet Walter’s stare. When she stood thinking momentarily about where she was going and who she was going to meet on this particular mission, she decided to place the rings back on her fingers.

“He still thinks I’m Donatella Bizet, Walter. I’ve got to keep up the facade.”

“Uh-huh,” he said sarcastically, not believing her in the slightest. “Come on now, Sugar, you don’t have to lie to me. This is Walter, remember? I knew you and Michael and cooked something up on that little excursion of yours. Though how you got Operations and Madeline to go along with it, I’ll never know.”

“That’s because they didn’t know,” replied Nikita. “Michael and I never told them. They think that our covers, Donatella and Giuseppe were married, not Michael and I. I can’t imagine what they would have done had they found out, but they didn’t. In any case, none of it matters now.”

“Of course it matters, Sugar. How can you say that?”

“What are you talking about, Walter?” Nikita asked. She didn’t enjoy thinking of Michael, or talking about him with someone else, it was more like punishment to her. She wanted to be rid of the subject--quickly.

“I just mean that you’ve been a little out of it lately, and I’m not the only one that’s noticed, by the way, and now it seems clear to me why. Because you and Michael were married, you love him, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult for you to stay objective when you’re every thought is of him.”

“I can handle myself, Walter--”

“Oh I’ve no doubt that you can, Sugar, but when you need help, you should ask for it.”

“I don’t need any help, Walter. What I need is for you to leave me alone, so I can finish packing.”

“You don’t really BELIEVE that, do you?” he asked, urgency on his voice. Nikita stopped what she was doing and regarded him fully since he’d first entered the room.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The Center Committee is running checks,” Walter said in a hushed whisper, as if someone could hear their conversation.

“Running checks?” Nikita said. “I’ve never heard of that.” As Walter pulled up something on the computer in her room, Nikita vaguely recalled a statement her father had made to her, days before his death.

“I am NOT a king, Nikita. I have people to answer to.” Nikita had never actually met any of the people she would eventually work with in Center, but she supposed that was normal. She had never so much as laid eyes on Mr. Jones, her own father, until she was to take his place.

“What have you got there?” Nikita asked, peering over Walter’s shoulder.

“Jason pulled it up for me. You know him, always lurking in places he shouldn’t be--he hacked into the Center’s mainframe!”

“Well that’s impossible,” Nikita said. “How could he--”

“In that short time they were together, Birkoff taught him a lot I’m sure,” Walter said. “This is the plan--Center is combing through all the sections, getting rid of the undesirables, and making sure ALL of sections’ leaders, namely YOU Sugar, are running tight ships.”

“Things have been running smoothly,” Nikita said, knowing that the statement wasn’t as true as she’d like it to be.

“Smooth won’t cut it, Nikita. They have only done this ONE other time in all my years of Section.”

“Is it bad?” Nikita asked. “Why aren’t any of us made aware of it?”

“The objective is to catch you all unawares. They will throw some obstacles your way, make it as difficult as possible for you, and then come in and question your methods, your motives, and if you don’t give them what they want--”

“They cancel me?” Walter’s lack of response was enough for Nikita. “How can they do this?” Nikita asked. “Based on whose authority?”

“This is Center,” Walter emphasized, “they can do whatever they want to do.”

“Was Operations in power the last time this happened?” Nikita asked.

“Well that’s just the thing, Sugar--when this all went down, Operations CAME into power. He was appointed to the head of Section by Center itself. That’s why you might say he was a little more arrogant than most that come through here.”

“Paul was a POW from Vietnam,” Nikita said, shaking her head. “How could they have been certain he was right for the job?”

“They trained him specifically for this position, Nikita--and when the opportunity presented itself for Paul to take control from Adrian, he sailed right into position.”

“So what you’re saying is--”

“What I’m saying is that each time one of these things goes down, a change of power is practically a guarantee.”

“Can’t pretend I’d be sorry to see someone else run this place,” Nikita said.

“Well I would,” Walter exclaimed. “No one has run this place like you do--there’s never been so few operatives in abeyance, our mission numbers are essentially 100%.”

“But?”

“But, Section operatives having so many freedoms is unheard of. You have a lot of leaks, there’s also more double agents than ever before--you’re not winning their loyalty, Sugar, and that’s mainly because they’re not afraid of you.”

“I’m not in the habit of ruling with an iron fist, Walter,” Nikita said.

“I’d never criticize how you do your job, Sugar, but you’ve got to make some changes, crack down on the informants, because if Center looks for them, they will find them, and leaks in your organization spell trouble.” Nikita sighed and turned her back on the computer screen. Now was not a good time to be absent from Section, still she knew that Christophori wouldn’t be receptive to another operative’s charms, he wouldn’t allow himself to be taken by anyone else. She was the only one to bring him in. They needed him alive for interrogation before they disposed of him. They’d been able to backtrace every cache of weapons he’d sold thus far except for one, three nuclear war heads all at different points on the globe. They had to find those war heads immediately.

“How long do I have?” Nikita asked Walter.

“A week.”

“One week?” Nikita asked incredulously. “I’m supposed to convince Verde that I’ve fallen out of love with my husband, that I’m still Donatella the fashion designer, and get him to tell me where he’s placed three nuclear war heads I’m not even supposed to know exist, and get back here and weed out all the recalcitrant operatives in the space of a week?”

“I see your point,” Walter mused. “What can I do to help?”

“Pull all the abeyance files, and give me the names of every operative connected to the abeyance members. I also want every operative that has been canceled in the past six months, and their profiles.”

“That’s an incredible amount to weed through, Sugar.”

“I’ll do it en route to America. There’s no other alternative. I’m counting on you and Jason to keep things cool here until I get back. Now down to the business of picking someone to have command and control until I get back.”

“I’ve got a few suggestions--” Walter said, about to suggest himself, but only as a joke.

“What about you?” Nikita supplied, before Walter could speak up.

“Huh?” he asked, becoming flustered. “Oh no, Sugar, I’ve got plenty to do, believe me.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you once told Operations you could do his job and yours too?”

“You know me, Sugar, I exaggerate--uh--”

“Relax, Walter. I’ll need you elsewhere. I’ve actually considered letting Jasmine do it.”

“Jasmine? You really think she’s ready?”

“She was ready when she came in here,” Nikita said, recalling the young girl’s strength and determination. She came from a background similar to Nikita’s--unwanted and unclaimed by both her parents, growing up alone on the streets of China. Jasmine was a force to be reckoned with, and Nikita knew the young woman was more than up to the challenge of running Section for a day or two. There were others more qualified, some who would even perhaps feel snubbed that Nikita would choose a young girl that had only recently reached her 21st birthday, but there was no one else Nikita could trust. She decided then her momentary successor would be Jasmine.

Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island

Nikita was dressed warmly, even though the snow had melted and the blossoms were threatening to overtake every tree and bush. Nikita sat on a beach blanket, far enough away to escape the reach of the tide. Her blonde hair had grown back out, and extended halfway down her back. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and sketched on her note pad. She knew Verde would be spotting her soon. Intel had let her know that he had taken a walk along this very beach every day of his stay at the White Sands Hotel. Jason informed Nikita from comm, back at Section, that Verde was leaving the hotel and was heading towards the beach. She got up then, and put her pad down, knowing that some of the loose sheets of paper would begin to blow away since the wind was a little strong. She wrapped her white, gauzy shawl around her shoulders and walked away from her blanket and drawings, letting the wind whip her skirts. She gathered them in her hands as she let the cool water nip at her toes. She didn’t walk far into the surf, the water was still extremely cold and biting. In an instant she knew it--he was very near.

“Donatella?” she heard him say. She stopped in her tracks, not turning around. “Donatella?” he said again. This time she did turn around to face him, an awkward smile on her face.

“Chris?” she asked, using the nickname only she and his mother were permitted to utter. He smiled brilliantly, giving her a flash of white teeth.

“Donatella,” he exclaimed, rushing to her and hugging her, “what are you doing here?”

“I came for the inspiration,” she said. “I had a showing in New York and thought I’d fly up here to draw. I visited once before with Giuseppe--”

“And how is Giuseppe?” Christophori asked, his mood ruined at the mention of the man he knew to be not only her lover, but her extremely protective and possessive husband.

“I’m doing quite well, actually,” Michael said, coming up the beach from nowhere. Christophori turned to face Michael and Nikita was glad of it, because she didn’t have to cover the shock on her face. She almost called Michael by his real name, but seeing that he was in mission mode, she bit her tongue and blinked back the tears which exposed her joy. Nikita knew she shouldn’t appear to be surprised to see her own husband. After all, she was wearing her wedding rings. Christophori noticed it when he had kissed her hand. “Here you are, love,” Giuseppe said, handing Donatella her drawings. “You should be more careful, with the wind blowing so, I almost didn’t recover them all.”

“Thank you sweetheart,” Nikita said, going over to Michael and kissing him lightly on the cheek, questioning him with her eyes. His face was its usual unreadable mask as he placed both arms around her waist and held him to her.

“Bene ciao, Chris,” Michael said, taking a liberty he knew wasn’t his own.

“Giuseppe,” Christophori replied, extending a hand. “How are you both?”

“We’re doing well, the year has been good to us,” Michael answered. He released Nikita as she began to gather her things.

“Are you staying in the hotel, too?” Nikita asked, standing near Chris and letting her perfume invade his senses.

“The two of you are staying at the White Sands?” he asked. “I didn’t know.” His accent was beginning to peak through, as he was becoming more and more unfocused. The material of the shirt Donatella wore was quite thin and revealing. Nikita noticed where his gaze was going and shifted slightly, repositioning the shawl. She smiled prettily and took one of Chris’ hands in hers.

“You will join us for dinner tonight, won’t you? It’s the least we can do after you and your family treated us to that beautiful wedding.”

“Ah, it was nothing, I am sure. But are you certain you and your husband,” he emphasized the word, “wouldn’t like to spend some time alone?”

“We will be on the island for the rest of the week,” Michael supplied. “We can meet you if you like.”

“Well excellent, I shall see you both in the garden room at 8:00.”

“Fine,” Nikita said, giving Christophori a kiss on both cheeks. “Ciao, Chris.” Christophori was a tall, well built man, with dark hair, flashing blue eyes, and a bright smile. He was quite a handsome man, who could have had any woman he wanted, except Nikita. But it was Nikita, however, that he wanted. As he continued his walk up the beach, Christophori thought about how he would pull the sweet and completely unaware Donatella away from her husband. Chris wanted to protect Donatella from knowing her husband’s true identity, but wasn’t sure he could sway her loyalty, without breaking her infinite trust in her husband. It was a distressing problem indeed, not to mention the most recent sale of his nuclear war heads. He had to make sure they got to their final destinations without incident, and if Michael was lurking around, it had to mean that Section wasn’t far behind. Chris would have to be more careful from now on. But at the moment, his mind was only on somehow convincing Donatella to runaway with him.

Nikita stood staring after Christophori until he was out of sight, and then turned to face Michael, who still held her in his arms. She could feel his heart beating against hers, as he wordlessly pulled her into an embrace, and sighed against her. Her arms automatically went up around him, but there was nothing enthusiastic or desperate in their embrace. It simply was. Her face emotionless, Nikita allowed him to hold her, and then pulled back, questioning him.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” he answered simply, moving a few tendrils of hair that were blowing in her face thanks to the wind. “You needed me.”

“I--uh,” she didn’t dare say that she didn’t. But how did HE know that? “What do you mean, I needed you?” she asked. “Where’s Adam?”

“He’s safe,” Michael said. “With my sister, and nephew. He’ll remain there.”

“What?” Nikita asked, looking around to see if there was anyone close enough to hear their conversation. “You left him?”

“I told you I would come back for you someday.”

“It’s only been a year--” she began.

“It’s been long enough,” he answered, his voice tired. “Adam and I were constantly running, constantly looking over our shoulders. I couldn’t protect him the way that I wanted to. I just needed time to make peace with it all. Time to say goodbye.”

“Michael, how could you ever say goodbye to your son?”

“He understands, Nikita,” Michael said, looking away from her and towards the sun as it melted into the ocean. His expression told her he wouldn’t discuss it further. She was unclear on what he meant, what he was doing here, and why he was doing it at all. But she knew he would explain all in good time. And as far as his presence there, she wouldn’t complain. But getting to Christophori, the matter at hand, would be perhaps more difficult, with Michael there. He wasn’t up to speed on how she planned to play this thing, and part of her wondered if he’d be totally against her sleeping with Chris, or if he’d allow her to go through with it, for the sake of the mission. Something told her he wouldn’t interfere, and part of her wished that he would. Changing the subject from Adam, Michael moved to pick up her blanket and shake the sand from it, saying as he did so, “We have work to do.” She nodded and took his offered arm and linked it with her own, as she leaned down to pick up her shoes. They walked in the opposite direction of Christophori, while Nikita related her plan to seduce him to Michael, and waited for his reaction. “There is no need for you to do that,” he said, looking around as he always did, for any anomaly that might come their way.

“Well how can I get him to trust me unless--”

“He believes that you are still Donatella, and that you don’t really know who I am. He doesn’t know you’re Section. He’ll want to break your trust in me, and by doing so he’ll have to tell you who I really am. There is no need to prove your loyalty when you already have his.” Nikita nodded, and stared out at the ocean as Michael continued. “Let him tell you who I am, and then pretend to be shocked and hurt. He’ll want to comfort you, don’t let him. Come back and talk to me, and then return to him. Pretend as though we’ve had an argument, and you’ve left me.”

“Will he buy that?” Nikita asked.

“You can convince him,” Michael supplied, completely assured of her would-be success. “Ask him to take you away somewhere.”

“What good would that do?” Nikita asked. If she’d simply thought about it a few more seconds it would have become clear to her, but as usual, when she was around Michael, authority meant nothing to her. The fact that she was his superior meant nothing to her, and she naturally let him lead the way. It simply was the way things were between the two of them.

“If he goes anywhere when he leaves the island, he will have to go to the location of one of the nuclear war heads.”

“He has all the detonation codes,” Nikita added. “He’ll need to be there personally.”

“Right,” Michael added. “If you go with him, we can stop the detonation.”

“But there’s three of them,” Nikita said. “How can we stop them all?”

“He has a personal computer, a palm pocket, with the locations of the other two war heads on it. The contingency is that if the first two are neutralized, he’ll have a third to detonate.”

“This may be difficult, Michael, for both of us--”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” he said. “I’d rather just talk about you.”

“Me?” Nikita asked, after all this time, unused to him giving her any special attention.

“What have you been doing since we last parted?”

“Missing you,” she wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, she leaned in to give him a light kiss on the lips and then turn away to rest her back against his broad chest. “Let’s not make this any more difficult, Michael,” she said. “I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but I am sure it won’t last.”

“I’ve come back to stay, Nikita. That much I can tell you now.”

“Why can’t you tell me all of it?” she asked, knowing on some level why, but not wanting there to be any secrets between them.

“You’ll have to trust me for now,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Let’s get ready for dinner.”

Garden Room, White Sands Hotel

“Che pasto meraviglioso. Sono sicuro che sua moglie lo avaria anche piu di questo,” Christophori said, wiping his mouth as he continued to sing the meal’s praises. It wasn’t anything special, but he was prone to exaggeration when it came to eating. Nikita merely smiled, and finished her wine, seated comfortably next to Michael, whom she continued to refer to as ‘Jimmy.’ Christophori was obviously bothered by their closeness, his anger magnified when Michael brought up Maria, the “woman” Chris was supposedly in love with.

“Ah, yes, I am afraid that did not end well. She went her way, I went mine.”

“Oh I am sorry to hear that,” Nikita said, touching Chris’ hand with her own and squeezing it gently, before pulling it back underneath the heat of Michael’s gaze.

“IL recoit tardif, cher. Nous devrions nous coucher,” Michael whispered into Nikita’s ear, suggesting that they retire for the night. Christophori, understanding, rose and kissed Nikita’s hand, thanking her for the lovely evening.

“Will you be staying on the island much longer?” she asked, her face hopeful. This expression was not lost on Christophori.

“Unfortunately, I am leaving in the morning.”

“Will you two excuse me?” Michael asked. “I’m going to go settle the bill. The waiter never returned.” Nikita nodded gracefully, kissing her husband on the cheek as he left. Christophori offered to walk her back to her room, and she politely accepted his invitation. They were in the elevator, when he decided he would tell her the “truth” about her husband.

“I have something to tell you, Donatella,” he murmured, pushing STOP on the elevator panel.

“Well what is it?” she asked, looking slightly alarmed at his forwardness. She was doing an excellent job of playing the coquette, her innocence completely charming him.

“Your husband, forgive me, is not what he seems.”

“Giuseppe? Why do you say such a thing?” Nikita asked.

“Three and a half years ago, when you walked out of my life, it felt as though you took my heart with you.”

“Oh, Chris,” she said, taking his face in her hands, “I told you why that could never be. I’m in love with my husband--”

“Yes, I know,” he said hastily, taking a moment to kiss her open palm, before she took it back. “But I wonder if you will love him as greatly when you know what he does.”

“What he does?” she asked. “Christophori, my husband and I are arms dealers. Is there something worse than what we, or you yourself do?”

“He is policia,” Christophori said, once again setting the elevator in motion.

“Je ne comprend pas,” Nikita said, looking angrily at Christophori. “What do you mean? He is not a policeman.”

“When you invited me to your showing in Milan, your husband kidnapped me, gave me a warning to stay away from you. He was able to do this because of the people he works for--Section One.”

“Section One?” Nikita asked, looking at Christophori as though he had two heads. “What are you talking of? How can you say this of my husband?”

“Please, do not misunderstand me--”

“Four years ago, at my showing, Giuseppe was with me there. You did not see him, he was at the hotel, but he did not kidnap you, he spent every moment with me.”

“Listen to him not, my dear,” Christophori said. “Your husband works for a clandestine government agency--their mission to stop people such as you and I.”

“I do not believe it,” Nikita said, giving him the impression that perhaps she truly did believe it. “How could he do something like this to me?”

“Confront him with the truth, cher. He will not be able to look into that angel’s face of yours and lie. Ask him, learn the truth, and then return to me.”

“Return--to you?”

“Yes. He is policia, and eventually he will try to arrest you as he did me, no? The people he works for, it would be a shame if you should succumb to them--they are very powerful indeed. Talk to him, and then run away with me. I will protect you, mon cher. You will see.” Nikita, maintaining her cover as Donatella stood speechless, until the elevator doors opened. She walked off, holding her shawl even tighter around her shoulders. She glanced back at Christophori, until the doors shut in front of his face. Nikita immediately dropped her expression, and marched down the hall, towards Michael. He was waiting for her in their room.

“Everything went as planned,” she said, entering the room and discarding her shawl on the bed.

“There’s been a change of plan,” Michael said, his back to her as he typed on a laptop. We’ve been able to obtain satellite confirmation on the regions in which the war heads are located.

“So do we still need Christophori?”

“We need him to suggest more specific locations. You’ll go back to him, agree to leave with him, and get him to suggest three locales. Amongst those he’ll name, he’ll likely give away all three of the locations.”

“And if he doesn’t? Michael we can’t move on him on the off chance that he might give us the wrong location. I’m going to have to actually leave with him.”

“No you won’t. We’ll know immediately whether or not he’s telling the truth--”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then take him in to Section, they will get the answers from him.”

“Michael he was partially trained by Section, remember? Besides, Chris has a very strong spirit. I’m not sure he’ll break under interrogation. He knows our methods.”

“Not all of them,” Michael said. “Trust me. You will not have to leave with him.”

“I’m going to be prepared, just in case,” Nikita said, taking a gun and stuffing it into the back of her skirt, confident her shawl would conceal it.

After waiting two hours, Nikita packed her bags, and then went to the lobby, and checked out. She wasn’t surprised to turn around and find Christophori standing there.

“Did you talk to your husband?”

“I did,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “He claimed to have no knowledge of what I was talking about, but I left him anyway. Your name didn’t come up, don’t worry.” Christophori nodded and put an arm around her, leading her to a couch.

“Come away with me,” he said. “I love you, I always have, you know this. Won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Oh Chris, where would we go?” Nikita asked, sighing deeply and appearing to have no real interest in his answer. Christophori glanced around, as if in deep thought.

“We might go to Spain, Murcia is beautiful this time of year. Aragon as well. Or perhaps the Caribbean.”

“Spain or the islands,” Donatella said, her French accent returning slightly. “It does sound lovely. But I’m not sure I want to go there, Chris. Perhaps France is where I need to be. I kept a flat in Marseilles, I can return there until I’m settled.”

“Please,” Christophori said, standing, “I’d much rather have you with me. And that husband of yours, he does not deserve you, bello.”

“Still I did love him,” Donatella answered, giving him a warm smile. She stood and began to walk towards him, once she saw the familiar men dressed completely in black, ready to overtake him and bring him in.

“What is this?” Chris asked, looking about him frantically. Clarity suddenly dawned on his face. “Ah, of course, a mission. I do not know why I did not suspect you both. During my time in Section there was talk of a beautiful, but deadly blonde agent. I should have known the woman was you.”

“Take him away,” Nikita said.

“Che é il suo nome?” he asked, sadness on his voice.

“Nikita,” she answered, as she walked away.

The hotel suite

Nikita came back into the room, to find it lit with aromatic candles, and slow seductive music playing in the background. A slight smile curved her lips, Michael was planning a seduction, and no one could recognize it more than she. “Michael?” she called out. He emerged then, from the bathroom, still dressed to her considerable disappointment. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“We got confirmation on the war heads, they’ve been neutralized,” he said, as an afterthought, when considering where his attention was fixed at the moment. She allowed him to take her in his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder, as he began to sway softly with her.

“Michael,” she said, “what kind of a game are you playing? Why don’t you just tell me the truth. I wasn’t needed for this mission, was I? They didn’t need Christophori’s confirmation on the locations of the war heads, we already had them, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” he answered plainly.

“So how did you do it? Why am I here?” she asked, standing still, and then pulling away from him to gaze up at his eyes. “And more importantly, why are you here?”

“I’ll give you all the answers you need, Nikita, just not right now.”

“When?” she asked, stepping slightly away from him, her arms dropping to the side. Her body betrayed her, as she felt an intense longing at suddenly being parted from him.

“Tomorrow morning,” he uttered, his voice almost a whisper, as he continued to unabashedly stare at her body. He craved her, and she knew it. She also knew she didn’t dare resist him, not that she ever would. The heat of his gaze was intoxicating, an intimate caress as his eyes gently swept over her face, down her slender neck, along her white arms, across the slopes of her breasts, to her toned stomach that was bared to him when she walked and turned certain directions. The skirt she wore hugged her hips, but pooled out, not revealing anything further than that.

The breath rushed out of Nikita when he pulled her roughly to him, his mouth crushing down on hers after an eternity apart. She moaned slightly, pressing her hands against his chest, in order to gain her balance. His kiss grew in passion, as his hands slid to the base of her neck, angling her closer, so that she felt the evidence of his arousal. His tongue lapped at her bottom lip, begging entrance to her mouth. She granted it immediately, but pulled away just as quickly, to give him a kiss along his jawline, which gave her enough strength to pull away slightly. He allowed her to do this, but maintained a strong grip on her waist, his fingers sending rays of warmth to her sides.

Looking at him now, his eyes full of passion and intense longing, it would be difficult not to give in. But she didn’t feel as though she could give herself up to this man, ever again, if it wasn’t permanent.

“Michael, you should go back to your own room,” she began.

“Why?” he asked, leaning in to plant warm kisses along her hairline, and onto her eyelids. “I would rather stay here with you.” Nikita fought back the tears as Michael continued his sensual assault on her body. His hands had left her waist, and were now traveling up the sides of her limp arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them.

“Michael, I--I can’t say goodbye to you again.”

“You don’t have to, Nikita, I promise.”

“Michael, you don’t make promises. You can’t keep any of them.”

“I promised to love you for the rest of my life, and I will do that,” he whispered, placing a feather-light kiss on her lips. “You are my wife,” he said again, his breath warm against the base of her neck. As his hands moved to her lower back, he held her firmly, soundly, and would not be parted from her again, at least not this night. “Let me love you,” he said. “Let me.” He picked her up then, feeling the weakness seep through her body. His hands along her bare thighs sent electric sparks through the both of them.

“Michael,” she whispered, as he undressed her, “don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?” He didn’t answer her, only kissed her.

“My lover’s gone.

His boots no longer by my door,

He left at dawn.

And as I slept, I felt him go.

Returns no more.

I will not watch the ocean,

My lover’s gone.

No earthly ships will ever bring him home, again.

Bring him home, again.

My lover’s gone.

I know that kiss will be my last,

No more his song.

The tune upon his lips has passed,

I sing alone.

While I watch the ocean,

My lover’s gone.

No earthly ships will ever bring him home, again.

Bring him home, again.”

Nikita gave in to her desires, and to her husband. His weight on her body felt wonderful, she felt surrounded, as his hands roamed her body and his lips excited and soothed, heated and cooled, every part of her body. He knew just where to touch her to make her react, just how to bring the ultimate satisfaction. Tonight was not about him, or letting her please him, though her talents were considerable in that area. Michael wanted to cherish her body, to worship it in old, familiar ways, and new, delicious ones. To have her body writhing in passion underneath his, was arousal in and of itself. He decided then, as he entered her and watched a thousand emotions cross her face, that he would never hurt her again, never be parted from her again. He was forgetting the next morning, and what would come to them then, but he didn’t want to think of that now. It would be his last grievance to her, and from that moment, never again would he harm her heart, mind, body, or soul. He would die first.

The next morning

The sunlight was barely peeking through the drawn curtains in Michael and Nikita’s bedroom at the White Sands Hotel. Nikita lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the sun sending interesting shapes and colors splaying across the room. Michael rested his head against her chest, one arm laying across her waist, his thigh extended across both of hers, as if keeping possession of her, even in his sleep. Her fingers ran lightly along the shapely contours of his back. His muscles involuntarily jumped at the intimate contact, which made her smile secretly. Michael’s warm breath was doing funny things to her heart as he slept. He was almost twice as big as she was, so pushing him off of her was difficult. She moved his arm, only to have him groggily move it back into place. She laughed slightly, the gentle rumble enough to make him sigh in his sleep. Nikita managed to pull her legs from underneath Michael, and then use a trick that she had learned in her secret explorations of him nearly five years ago, when they’d made love for the first time--Michael Samuelle was ticklish. Her fingers danced lightly over the delicate flesh at the base of his throat, and as she predicted, he flinched, and rolled off of her. The cool air in the room hit her bare skin then, making her regret the loss of heat that his body had provided. She leaned over and took her slip from the bedside drawer. It was ivory, silk and stopped mid thigh. Nikita stood and walked over to the mirror, always fascinated at the visible change in her after making love to Michael. Her skin stayed flushed for days, her eyes danced in any light, and she smiled often uncontrollably. As she regarded herself, she actually believed that she looked more beautiful--in fact, it was the only time she believed herself to be beautiful at all.

Just then, the sunlight caught her diamonds and sent a myriad of colors across the room, her skin, and her slip. Nikita stared down at her wedding band and engagement ring. She wore it so seldomly, she was constantly aware of its beauty, and rarity. Michael may or may not have spent a long time selecting it, but it fit his notions of her just the same--it was perfect. He was by her side in an instant, his hands trapping her on either side of the vanity table.

“Michael,” she said, “I have never seen a ring so lovely. It seems old somehow, antique. Almost as though it’s been around for centuries.”

“That’s because it has,” Michael said, taking her hand and holding it. “It once belonged to an archduke, he gave it to his wife in a talisman.”

“Diamonds were thought of as charms?” Nikita stated, more than asked. She felt Michael nod behind her.

“Even Cupid’s arrow was once said to be dripping with diamonds, to enhance love.”

“That’s funny, I never took you for the type to believe in fairy tales, Michael,” Nikita said, looking at him in the mirror.

“It’s no tale, Nikita, it’s absolutely true. In fact, the ancient Egyptians believed the diamond held special powers, which is why it’s worn on this finger,” he said, trailing her ring finger up her hand, and arm, to her heart. “Vena amoris,” he continued. “The vein of love.” She turned around and kissed him then, her heart never having been more full of love. Before the kiss went further, she pulled away and stared at him expectantly. He knew what she wanted to hear, and prepared himself to tell her. Not like this, though. He pulled her up to stand, and wordlessly began to get dressed. She followed suit, patient enough to wait for him to begin.

They left the hotel and put their belongings in a car, after radioing back to Section, and waiting for air lift. Michael took Nikita’s hand then, and began walking with her along the beach, as they watched the blue-black ocean turn choppy when the wind began to pick up. Nikita stood silently, as she literally felt the change in Michael. He was going into mission mode, his answers would be veiled explanations, and she would be left with questions, no matter what he said. She prepared herself for the inevitability.

“You were right,” he said. “We had the locations on the war heads before you left for Nova Scotia.”

“Why was I sent?” Nikita asked. “Christophori would have been difficult to apprehend, but it wasn’t impossible.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“So it was because of last night?” Nikita asked, her voice almost child-like. He still had this power over her, to make her doubt herself, and his love for her. It had been years since she considered their lovemaking anything but something they both wanted. She never imagined at all that he would use this to manipulate her. It was a struggle to keep from getting angry.

“I wanted last night with you, Nikita. Things are about to start happening, we may not get the chance again--for a while.”

“So you conjured up this mission to get me alone. Why?” Michael just stared at her, his face unreadable once again. Nikita sighed and turned away from him, not anxious at all for their relationship to regress back to a time when he couldn’t be honest with her. “I have to go now,” she said, holding her hair at the base of her neck as the wind continued to pick up. “I’ve got work to do,” she added, her voice obviously angry.

“I know,” he said.

“What do you mean, you KNOW?” she asked. “Know what?”

“About Center, how they’re running checks through all the sections--how they’re out to prove you a failure.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, not really caring how or why he knew. Something told her that if he was aware of it, it was dangerous, and that more than likely, he would be able to help her. Michael didn’t answer Nikita’s questions, however, he simply stared back at her, waiting for realization to set in. It did, in bits and pieces, more and more, with each step she moved closer to him. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” she said. “Nothing should be a surprise when it comes to you. Did my father know?” she asked.

“No,” Michael said. “He was never made aware. I’ve had to make some decisions, Nikita. We both have. It hasn’t always been pleasant, but--”

“How long have you worked for Center, Michael?” Nikita asked, not in the mood to hear his excuses, reasons, or explanations.

“I don’t work for them, Nikita,” Michael explained, folding his hands patiently. “I am Center. There’s no one else, just me.”

***

Nikita stared in disbelief, feeling all the feelings that Michael must have felt nearly two years ago, when she’d revealed herself to be a part of Center. Her mind immediately traced through all the moments that confirmed her suspicions. Michael had always had a reputation for being the best, and his work with the Collective was now becoming the stuff of legends. As remarkable as he was, Michael had gotten lucky one too many times over the years. All the loop holes in Section, all the technology that Nikita had never been aware of--all the technology that many of the operatives never knew of--Michael had been well versed in them all. It all explained itself now--Michael was Center, Center was Michael. And here Nikita thought she’d been running the show--per usual, it was Michael all along.

“Why?” was all Nikita could ask. “Why kill my father? Why not use your own power and influence to rescue Adam? Why pretend to be powerless? I don’t understand.”

“There are others at Center, of course, to watch over the sections--the world. I head all of the committees, but I cannot force them to go after my own personal ends. I had to give them something--”

“You mean you had to give them my father,” Nikita supplied.

“There are many things you don’t know, Nikita,” Michael said, his voice authoritative, and almost daring her into defiance.

“Well please do enlighten me, Michael,” she said, her voice stern and giving him a clear message that his reasons would not be good enough.

“Mr. Jones was becoming obsolete,” Michael said, searching for the right words. “He didn’t want to resign from his post until you were available to fulfill it. I did everything in my power to keep you from that.”

“But Adam,” Nikita said, searching Michael’s face. “The Collective--”

“Doesn’t exist,” Michael answered finally.

“What?” Nikita asked, feeling rage boil to the surface.

“The Collective is a coalition of people that we’ve captured over the years from Red Cell, Crimson Star, Bright Star, and others, but they were all successfully turned--all operatives for the Center.”

“So they only pretended to be working against us?” Nikita asked. “This was all just an elaborate ploy to bring down my father?!”

“Mr. Jones wasn’t easily tricked--he had his spies everywhere--it had to be real, Nikita. The whole scenario, Adam’s kidnapping, all of it was necessary to force Mr. Jones into action. I had to give the Center a logical reason to dispose of him.” Nikita couldn’t stand to listen to anymore. This man that she was so finally convinced she knew as well as she knew herself, became an enigma to her once again. How could he do this to her? How could he kill her father so carelessly? How could he put his own son through so much?

“What of Adam?” Nikita asked. “You wouldn’t intentionally put him in that kind of danger--”

“No, I wouldn’t. I did my best to shield him from all of that, Nikita. Paul’s interference was expected, but not to that degree. There wasn’t supposed to be any shooting.”

“No,” Nikita said, shaking her head. “That’s not good enough for me. There’s something you’re not telling me, Michael. I want to know what it is.”

“All in good time, Nikita,” he said. She knew he would speak on the subject no more for the time being. “You have work to do,” he said.

“Will you be running the check yourself?” she managed to ask, hiding her pain with a stone-faced mask.

“No, I will send a committee. They’ll report back to me, I’ll make a decision. I have some advice for you regarding the check,” he said. “Do not allow them to question any of what you’ve done. Stand by your decisions. You wouldn’t have made them if you didn’t believe in them.” Nikita turned her back to Michael to allow one tear to slip down her face. She didn’t know anything anymore. Not one damn thing. How was she going to pull herself together in time? It only made her angrier to admit to herself that she needed Michael’s help.

“I just have one question, Michael,” Nikita said, as she heard the Section-issue helicopter coming in to pick them up. “How long have you been in Center?”

“All my life,” he answered plainly.

“Everything was a lie?” she asked to no one in particular. Michael turned away from her then, unable to take the expression on her face, unable to watch her cry. She grabbed his wrist however, and held him soundly in place. Her short fingernails cut into his skin and he grimaced at the contact. “Was it all worth it?” she asked, her voice anguished.

“Every moment,” he said, touching her face slightly. She stepped back from the touch, and then quickly moved past him, to the waiting chopper.

Section One

Nikita marched in, giving orders left and right, to anyone standing still, anyone not looking important. She had the abeyance files in her hand, and had a small group of operatives who were standing in the middle of section, waiting for her arrival. Jason in comm, and Walter at his station in munitions, watched as Nikita came to stand in front of them, her face pure and unadulterated rage.

“Each and every one of you,” she began, looking from one end of the small crowd to the other, “is guilty of betraying our organization. Not in the traditional means, mind you, oh no. No, each of you is guilty of sending secrets to the Collective, an organization that we have worked for MONTHS to try and dispose of. Our greatest foes yet--the only problem is, the Collective, isn’t really the Collective. The Collective, is Center.” Nikita paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. Jason stopped what he was doing and stood. A panel crashed to the floor from Walter’s shocked fingers. “The Collective,” Nikita went on, turning on her heels and facing all the operatives, “is merely a cover for Center. It was all a ruse, all a decoy, in order to bring down my father, Mr. Jones. And these people,” Nikita said, “your colleagues and friends, are guilty of helping them. Now the Center is running a committee check,” Nikita said sarcastically, “to make sure we are all doing our jobs.” She paused then and returned to regard the recalcitrant group. “Take them to containment,” she said ruthlessly.

“STOP!” She heard Michael’s loud and booming voice behind her. This time she wouldn’t be stopped, moved, or intimidated by him. Her anger with him was too strong. Nikita couldn’t even keep it straight anymore, how many underhanded maneuvers had passed between them, how many times they’d been ‘undercover’ so to speak, with one another. One lie on top of another--pretty soon that’s all there’d be between them. Nikita feared this was already the case. “I can’t let you do that, Nikita,” he said, standing very near her, and though their heights were close, his demeanor suggested that he towered over her. “These people have risked their lives to work for me. They’ve done all that I’ve asked, made personal sacrifices, with the guarantee that they would have my protection one day.”

“I don’t care,” Nikita said, as though she were talking to some lowly communications operative about failed Intel. “They may have been your spies, but they are MY operatives. I’ll decide their fate. Betrayal of this nature is grounds for cancellation.”

“No,” Michael said, as though reprimanding a child. Nikita couldn’t believe his gall, but she wouldn’t be pushed around, not by him, not now, not after everything they’ve been through.

“I don’t know who you are anymore, Michael,” Nikita said, repeating words that she’d said to him long ago, in a situation similar to this one. “But you are not the boss of me,” she said, her voice almost melodic. “I do not take orders from you.”

“You do,” he said. “Today, here and now. Let them go.”

“Fine,” Nikita said, turning to her operatives. “You have your orders. Release them.”

“Return to Center,” Michael said, to the small group of spies that had helped him to achieve his ends. Michael turned back to Nikita, desperate to scream out his reasons, explain himself, and make her understand. He longed for the day when he could finally tell her the complete truth. At the rate things were going now, he feared that day would never come.

“Wait,” Nikita said, through gritted teeth. “If they’re all going to go home, then so am I. So are all of you. Jason,” Nikita said, raising her voice. “SHUT DOWN COMM.”

“What?” he asked, his southern accent coming through.

“SHUT IT DOWN. Go home, all of you.”

“What about the committee checks?” Jason asked, prepared for anything.

“FORGET the committee checks,” Nikita answered, staring him down and challenging him to question her authority at this point. “Shut it all down, turn it all off.”

“We’ve got three missions in play, Sugar,” Walter said coming over to stand between her and Michael. “What are you doing?” he mouthed to her. Nikita took his comm unit and tapped in to all the missions. About ten seconds went by.

“I have confirmation that all of the missions are complete and successful,” Nikita said. “Jason, give them their orders to go home. Abort any other missions, shut it all DOWN,” she said, indicating that she would not repeat herself again. “All of you, are free to go home. GET OUT--NOW.” Michael turned to her then, and spoke softly.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Michael. We all could have been spared so much,” she added with disgust. “And for now--perhaps even for good--section’s on strike.”

The Perch

Nikita stood silently watching them all, as they temporarily shut down Section One. Operatives walking to and fro, preparing themselves for an indefinite downtime. Jason was sitting calmly, rerouting missions throughout the other sections, and Center itself. They could handle the extra missions, section one had been shut down temporarily once before. Nikita recalled the situation--section one’s location and directory had been exposed, and section one destroyed in a self-contained blast. Now things were different. She supposed there’d always be a few people here--the medical team, and security and such. But for the most part, everyone was going home. They’d be called in for their interrogations when Center finally did run its committee check, but until then they were to live their lives as free individuals. Michael stood just behind Nikita, waiting for her to respond to him. She turned the perch dark, and then turned to face him, smiling slightly, a look of worry on her face.

“Do you think they bought it?”

“You were very convincing,” Michael said, standing near her and touching her face lightly. “I almost believed you myself.”

“Walter did,” Nikita said, “but I’m not so sure I fooled Jason, he knows something’s going on. He’s much more intuitive than Birkoff ever was. He reads people, makes decisions based on that--pretends to be oblivious, to be cool, sophisticated and detached. He’s fun, popular--”

“Just the type to betray Section One?”

“To you?” Nikita asked. “Is Jason one of your spies?” Michael didn’t answer her, instead he simply stared into the cold, cool depths of her eyes, completely disarming her, as he always did. She had the same power with him, of course. He had caught her staring at him many a time over the years, and though it never appeared so on the outside, he would be stuck with indecent thoughts of her for the rest of the day. “This is going to be difficult, Michael,” Nikita said.

“Go home,” he told her. “Rest. The interrogation will be thorough. Brush up on some of the older missions, get it all fresh in your mind. They’ll be calling you in soon.”

“Oh, Michael,--” Nikita said, putting her hand in his outstretched one.

“Don’t worry, Nikita. This will work.”

“It had better work.” Nikita regarded him silently then, her expression that of wonder. He always wondered what was going through her mind when she looked at him that way. Was she angry with him, confused by him, in love with him? She was his wife, and true he could predict many of the things she would do, but not all of them. She continued to shock and surprise him, much to his delight. He would never ever get over his love for her at all.

“Nikita, it was never my intention to deceive you--”

“Michael, I understand. God knows I’ve had to keep my share from you. One day maybe it’ll become clear to both of us that we work better together, instead of against each other. I’m tired, Michael. I’m going home. Will I see you later?”

“If you’d like,” he said, overjoyed secretly that she wanted to be with him after everything they’d gone through.

“Goodnight, then,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek, a promise of things to come.

The White Room

The committee checks came and went, every one of Section’s operatives, as well as Walter, Jason, and Quinn and especially Nikita, were interrogated thoroughly, some of them even giving up information they hadn’t been asked, if only the questioning would end. Nikita’s questioning came last, so that her rage at being questioned when she was the supposed infallible head of this organization could fester long and deep. She had entered the white room coolly detached from everything around her, and gave quick, no-nonsense automatic answers to every question she was asked. Nothing surprised her, nothing offended her, and if it did, she didn’t dare show it. She thought she was done, thought the questions had ended, and she blinked rapidly, to keep the sweat out of her eyes. Her hands were locked into the arms of the chair, and she couldn’t have moved them if she wanted to. Her body was betraying her, was weak and ready to give out. Nikita knew she would lose consciousness if she didn’t get out of this room soon, and get some fluids into her body. Where was Michael? She knew that coming here and handling her interrogation personally would only discredit him. She also knew that no one was aware of her profound knowledge of exactly who he was and what he was doing. More than that, more than Michael’s reputation, or her own personal safety, she worried about the life inside of her. The life that had been created that night on Prince Edward Island--the life that Michael and she had created together. If Nikita didn’t get out of this chair soon, she may not have the chance to save this baby, and she’d be damned if Section took one more thing from her, especially this.

“Hello!” she bellowed, staring up at the corner of the room, where she knew a camera was placed. “Is there anyone out there? Am I DONE?” She tried not to let the urgency come through in her voice, only the anger. Perhaps some comm flunky who didn’t know any better would remember and respect her authority, and rush to free her, thinking the questioning process was completed. It wasn’t. Just as Nikita began to relax against the back of the chair, the metal door directly across from her began to creak open. A man walked in, tall, smooth, and extremely handsome. His tanned skin revealed that he was foreign in nature, exotic in blood, mood, and temperament. Nikita barely glanced at him at first, but then she heard him speak, the Italian accent distinct. She looked up at him, knowing it wasn’t Christophori--but someone who looked very much like him--someone she’d met only once, many years ago. His brother, Antonio.

“What are you doing here?” Nikita asked, temporarily forgetting her pain. Antonio came closer to Nikita, examining her wounds carefully. The restraints had caused tiny red cuts along her arms, the red slits were visible just beneath her eyes as she glared at him.

“I work for Center, of course.” Relief flashed over Nikita’s face then. Perhaps she needn’t worry about him having any sort of resentment for his brother’s death. Nikita had no idea how wrong she was. “My brother,” he began, “was very much in love with you. You broke his heart.”

“I never loved your brother and he knew that,” Nikita said, extremely annoyed and angered. “He was a terrorist. No one was more aware of that than you. He should have been stopped!”

“I don’t disagree with you, bello,” he said, circling her like a shark. “But the way that you went about it was all wrong.”

“What would you have had me do?”

“Left the country with him perhaps. He would have given it all up for you.”

“Your brother wasn’t in love with me,” Nikita said through gritted teeth. “He was in love with Donatella Angelil-Bizet. He wanted a fashion designer, a trophy to hang on his arm. He could have found dozens of women like that. He saw a submissive-ness in me when I was around my husband that he wanted from a wife. A respect he didn’t get from his mother and father, or his big brother. Don’t blame me if you couldn’t be what your brother needed.”

“Bitch!” he exploded, slapping Nikita across the face. A groan of shock and pain was the only response he got. She stared back at him defiantly, not entirely sure that he wouldn’t kill her, but entirely sure that if he did, Michael would make sure he didn’t live long enough to see another bright red tomato.

“Enough!” Michael said, coming into the room and oozing authority. Antonio immediately moved into submission, taking a casual stance across the room. Michael didn’t so much as look at Nikita, he knew full well that if he did, he would kill Antonio then and there. “You should go now,” he said.

“I have every right to avenge my brother’s death,” Antonio said, looking at the floor, cowardice coming through in his voice.

“You have the right to walk out of this room still breathing,” Michael said. “It’s up to you to exercise that right. Leave. Now.”

“Yes sir,” Antonio replied, leaving quickly. Nikita got the distinct impression that Antonio was surprised to see his superior there. She knew she was. When the door finally closed behind Antonio, Nikita allowed relief to flood through her body. She didn’t realize she’d been clenching her teeth so hard--her jaw bone hurt and her fists were clinched, her fingernails making tiny cuts in the palms of her hands. Michael came to stand behind her, releasing her from the prison of the chair. If she had been able to get up and walk, she would have. As it were, she couldn’t so much as gather the strength to put her feet flat on the floor. Michael moved to make two rapid beeps in quick succession of one another.