The expense of spirit in a waste of shame....

William Shakespeare Sonnet No. 129

Madeline scanned the debriefing reports on the latest mission, focusing particular attention on Nikita's, and worrying about the one that was missing - the most important one; Michael's.

For some time, Madeline had been concerned about Michael. He had been off his game recently, but truth be told, it went farther back than just the past few months. In actuality it went all the way back to when Simone was lost four years ago. Michael had successfully pulled himself through that, but never been truly whole. They'd thought assigning him a new recruit would be the key, but that plan had failed. The introduction of Nikita had brought Michael back to the land of the living, but had not brought him back to them. Madeline had sensed him slipping away from them, since Nikita gained full operative status. His feelings for Nikita ran deep, Madeline was sure of that, causing his loyalties to split.

To insure absolute loyalty of their operatives Madeline and Operations had to be ruthless with them. This often required manipulations, tests and sacrifices. Michael had already sacrificed so much; loss of child, and wife, loss of his own humanity and they continued to take from him. They tested him repeatedly, as they did all operatives - more often in the last few months - because ever since Nikita's return they had felt less sure of his loyalty than they ever had.

The problem was that with every test it seemed they were driving him further away from them instead of reeling him in. Following the scenario to take care of the Jurgen problem Madeline's uneasiness increased. Questions plagued her. What would it take to push Michael to the limit? How much could they ask of him before he could perform no more? How much more could they take from him before he had nothing left to give? How much longer before there was nothing left?

Despite everything that had happened, he remained strong, competent and loyal, still followed their orders, if not to the letter at least the job got done. Now, just when she thought he was finding his center, again, Rene Dion had surfaced, and thrown Michael's balance off. The bond between the men had been a strong one, and for the first time since she had known him, Madeline was unsure whether Michael was capable of carrying out the mission profile. She had even gone so far as to offer to handle it for him, despite the fact that she knew he would decline her offer.

That would have proven a weakness and Michael never showed his weaknesses. In the end, there had been nowhere for him to hide, as he'd stood prepared to die by Rene's gun. If it had not been for Nikita they would have lost Michael.

Nikita had taken out the target, stepping in when Michael was unable to complete the mission profile. She'd saved his life, yet again, but judging by her mood and cold demeanor during the debriefing Madeline feared something was very wrong. Nikita had shot Rene Dion, in self defense, doing what was required of her, but to have such an unemotional reaction to it, troubled the older woman.

Operations would say, hooray. Nikita was finally becoming what they always wanted her to be; a cold, calculating Section operative. Yet, Madeline was far from happy. In their usual fashion, over the past few years, they had been able to find ways to use Nikita's humanity, and now, it seemed, they had destroyed it. Sure, the young woman's tendencies towards compassion had hindered their mission objectives many times, but her naivete and vulnerability had also come in handy on certain missions. Nikita was less of an open book than some might think, but her heart she wore on her sleeve. If that changed, as dramatically as it appeared to be, they would have to reevaluate her usefulness.

Madeline was far more aware of her operatives' emotional states and psyches than Operations ever would be, consequently she knew what was best for them. That was one of the reasons why she was here. She knew that for Nikita to function as an effective operative she needed to believe she still retained control of her soul. For Michael to remain at his highest level of efficiency he needed to believe he had their respect, and ultimate control over their perceptions of him. Madeline made sure both operatives got what they needed, at least the illusion of it, if not in reality.

Ever since Nikita's supposed death and return to Section One it had been apparent that neither functioned well without the other. This was one of the reasons why they had allowed Nikita back into the fold, even though they were still suspicious of the circumstances surrounding her missing six months and return. It was glaringly obvious that Michael needed Nikita as his counter balance. His grief at Nikita's loss had been plain for all in Section to see; he'd made no attempt to hide it. Madeline was less certain of exactly how Nikita felt, but her attraction was obvious and no matter what Michael did to hurt her, or she did to hurt him, the young woman always was there to cover his back. It was as if she felt that if he died a part of her would die as well.

That is what had transpired last night, yet Michael had drawn away from his balance, and Madeline felt uneasy. She knew that Michael would not take his life. Thirteen years in the Section and not one single attempt was a remarkable record. No, there was no fear of that, but he was likely to bury himself within himself, like he had when he believed Simone dead, and she feared they might not be able to bring him out, again. There was one chance. One thing had kept Michael from slipping into the abyss when he'd lost Simone for the second time. She hoped it would work, this time.

The door to her office slid open, breaking into her thoughts, and Madeline looked up to see Nikita standing in the doorway. The young woman was attired in a sapphire blue, formfitting shirt with a v-neck and elbow length sleeves, black, body hugging trousers, and low heel ankle boots. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a neat braid. She cut a striking figure. It was no wonder she captured the attention of most of the male operatives, including Michael. Though it was more than Nikita's looks which attracted Michael. He was too controlled to be that easy.

"You wanted to see me." There was a hint of apprehension in the young woman's voice, but her face remained unreadable.

"Yes, come in." Madeline gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "I've been going over the reports on this last mission."

A shadow passed over Nikita's face.

"Is there a problem?" Nikita lowered herself carefully into the chair.

It was then that Madeline noticed how tired the young woman looked. And it wasn't just the ridiculously early hour. She looked as if she had chased sleep all night only to lose the race.

"Not a problem, per sa," Madeline assured. "We have no debriefing report from Michael. And it doesn't seem as if he returned with the rest of the team."

Nikita's eyes grew wide for a second, and her mouth dropped open, then it shut, then it opened again, and she spoke, "And you think I know something about that?"

"Well, by your own admission, you were the last one to see him."

"Yes, but I didn't follow him. He needed his distance, Madeline. I respected that."

"Ah." Madeline sat back in her chair, while Nikita eyed her suspiciously.

The older woman began to wonder if Nikita would be willing to do what she would ask of her. It was imperative that Nikita be cooperative for this, if it was to have a chance of working. If the young woman approached it with hostility it was likely to blow up in their faces.

"Is that all you called me here for?"

"No. I would like you to check on him, for me."

"*You* want *me* to check on him. Why?" Nikita's incredulous look irritated Madeline. Despite herself, she like Nikita for her bravado and humor, but her obvious suspicion could be irksome.

"Because, I'm concerned." Madeline returned her attention to her computer monitor. Then, when Nikita leaned forward, to rise, she stopped her. "You've both been given the day off. And tell Michael I want to see him first thing tomorrow morning. That's all."

With a slight shake of her head, the young woman rose, hesitating before turning to leave. Madeline remained impassive, as Nikita climbed the stairs and the door slid closed.

*****

After a scant few hours of sleep, and none of them restful, no appetite for breakfast, and her little meeting with Madeline nearly an hour ago, Nikita had found herself on Michael's door step, but he appeared to not be at home. Now, she was beginning to wonder why she was here.

No one had seen Michael since he had staggered out of that warehouse room last night, and if she was still haunted by the sight of Rene falling from *her* bullet and the realization that Michael had wanted Rene to shoot him, it was to be sure that Michael was in far worse hell, right now, than she. The fact that she had done it to save Michael, because he had been prepared to die by Rene's hand rather than take his friend's life, didn't make it any easier. She still shook from the knowledge that her finger had pulled the trigger.

This whole business with Rene had set them both off kilter. Michael's need to protect Rene had left her perplexed. After years of being told that the mission comes first, and personal considerations come dead last, to see Michael ignore that and to hear herself reciting his own arguments back at him had made her think she had somehow wandered into a bizzaro world.

He had stubbornly refused to listen to her arguments, though he'd obviously known there was no other way for it to all end, other than the betrayal of his friend. Knowing that hadn't made it any easier for Michael. He had been order to betray a friend who had seen that his sister had been protected, and grown into a happy, healthy, and beautiful woman. When it was obvious Michael was conflicted Nikita had stepped in. Ultimately everything she had done had been to protect Michael, either from himself or from Section's wrath. It was becoming a habit of hers, a role reversal of sorts. Instead of being the protected, she had become the protector.

Once he'd shared with her a little of his past and his reasons for protecting Rene, she'd felt closer to Michael than she had ever felt before. He had always been a blank slate to her. She had even questioned whether he had even existed outside of Section One. Did he have a past? Did he go home at night, or did he ever leave? The thought of him having parents was an awkward one.

Imagining Michael as a child was extremely difficult, if not impossible. His admission to having a sister, had suddenly warmed her heart, toward him, to see his eyes softened when he had talked of her, and his lips curve into the closest thing to a genuine smile as she had seen from him in a long time.

Nikita envied the kind of devotion he had for his young sister, to care enough about her to provide for her and see that she was cared for after he was gone. She'd only known apathy from her mother, a woman who had consider her no more than an annoyance, like a rodent in her house, and once her daughter was gone, it was as if she had never existed. Michael had known the kind of love which Nikita longed for, and he had treasured it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Nikita was beginning to understand that they weren't that different. Neither were wholly innocents or wholly devils. There was no black and white, only shades of grey. Those words were beginning to finally mean something. To simply condemn Michael as a devil would be to do them both an injustice. He'd shown her a level of trust in coming to see her yesterday afternoon, in confessing his fears and asking for her support. A connection had been forged between them and she'd be just as cold as she accused him of being if she were to turn her back on him, now. Maybe that was why she was still here - sitting on the cold, hard stoop to his apartment building waiting for him to come home - because she needed to hang onto that connection, but would he want her here?

Most likely, Michael would reject her sympathy, and would push her away, again. The thought of confronting him after what had taken place last night scared her, a little. She had done what she had to do, turning Rene in to Section One. If Michael had given her a reason to protect Rene she probably would have, for him, but he had said nothing.

Michael had forgiven her for that, but would he forgive her for killing Rene? Or would he merely be ice cold, and as unbending as ever? She thought she could handle Michael's anger, but not his distance. And that was all she had been getting from him for the past few months, since Jurgen. Her stomach turned a flip-flop. All they seemed to do was hurt each other. It was stupid of her to be here, probably best if they kept their distance.

Decided, Nikita rose from her place on the concrete stoop and brushed off her pants, as she started down the steps. Her eyes, as they lifted from the ground, found themselves staring into grey-green eyes and a depth of pain that frightened her. Michael - dressed in his accustomed black - blinked at her, then stepped past without a word.

*The Iceman Returneth,* she scoffed, and for a moment considered continuing on down the steps; leave him to himself.

His voice stopped her, "Well, are you coming in, or not?"

A few deep breaths were required, to calm her thrumming heart. Then, she turned around, to find his back still to her, and followed him inside.

Her body was taut with anger, sorrow, and guilt. His was limp with exhaustion from the same emotions. Unaccustomed awkwardness gripped her, as she warred with what to do next. She alternately wanted to take him in her arms and never let go, and the next second knock him senseless upside the head. She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, to protect them both.

"Where have you been? Madeline says she's concerned that you didn't come back, last night."

"I had some thinking to do," was his cryptic reply and Nikita accepted that she would get nothing more.

"I was worried about you." Her heart clenched around her own words.

He had stopped before the window, his posture slack, and as she moved toward him shadows swept across his face. The grey early morning light echoed the somber mood between the pair as he stood staring out at nothing in particular, and she stood staring at him.

"I didn't get a wink of sleep," she blurted out, surprised by the sound of her own voice. "And then Madeline had to call me in, at some absurd hour, because you're missing. She asked me to come here."

"You shouldn't've come." He half turned, his profile strained from trapped emotions.

"You let me in. Do you not want me here?"

"Whatever you want."

His cheeks were sunken, eyelids drooping, mouth taut; she was certain she could feel the grief radiating from him. So much pain and anguish wrapped up in the illusion of indifference.

"Madeline has given us the day off. She ordered us away from Section. She doesn't want to see our butts anywhere near there until tomorrow. You're to report to her first thing in the morning."

No response. Nikita breathed a sigh, situating herself deliberately, not too close, not too far, at his side. It was an odd feeling but she suddenly felt the need to be here, in his presence. Turning her attention to the outside, she tried to figure out what he was looking at, but a quick glance at him, told her that his mind was far away. So, she pushed back the urge to step closer, to touch him.

"I'm so sorry, Michael," she whispered, recognizing how futile it would be, but needing to say it.

His eyelids drifted shut, head bowed, then he shook it slowly. The tension in the room crackled like electric lightening.

"You should have stayed out of it, Nikita." The tone was strained and deep.

*'You should've let him do it,'* echoed in her mind, reverberating in her heart.

If she had stayed out of it he would be dead, now. She was aware, somewhere in the depths of her mind, that when Michael had come to her apartment, before the mission, he had been coming to say good-bye. He hadn't expected, hadn't wanted to come back from this one. He had been asking her to release him, to not need him any longer. That was something, her heart told her, she could never do. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and all her grief and anger rushed to the surface. She surged forward, meeting him practically nose to nose; her body shaking with pent up fury.

"Do you want to die, Michael, is that it? Because if you do, you don't have to face down some maniac or throw yourself at explosives. All you have to do is ask."

She drew the gun she carried and held it under his chin. He didn't flinch, but curled his hand over hers and shoved the barrel further, closing his eyes. With deliberate movement he dared her to pull the trigger. An almost peaceful expression of resignation washed over his face and as her stomach turned over, she tasted bile. In a flash, she snapped her hand away from under his.

"You bloody bastard!" Without thinking about it she drew back, to wack him across the face with the gun, but he swerved to evade, and grabbed her wrist, but the momentum carried the weapon out of her hand. It fell and skidded across the floor, spinning three times before hitting the far wall.

Vision blurred, as tears stung her eyes, and anger spent she sagged against him, when he pulled her close.

"I know what he'd become, 'Kita," he whispered, into her hair. "But that doesn't change what he'd done for her."

"You think that makes his life worth more than yours?" She stepped back from his embrace, while his hands still held her. He didn't answer; there was no need. His eyes told her all. "Don't do this, Michael. Don't do this to yourself," she breathed.

One hand rose from her waist to touch her face, fingertips brushing against tingling skin. *Oh god, don't do that either, Michael,* she pleaded silently. His tenderness was her weakness, and if he continued she didn't know how long she could hold out. Smokey green eyes returned a different plea; a plea for freedom, for a reminder, for her.

Her breathing came quick, as gooseflesh rose along her skin, following the path of his hand down to her neck. He seemed closer than he had been only seconds before, and without conscious thought, she realized, they were leaning in toward each other, as inexorably as a gravitational pull. Yet, like opposing magnets they flinched apart once, before their lips finally met, softly molding to one another. A sweet kiss, more of friendship than passion, of forgiveness and promise.

Both pulled away simultaneously, and moved from each other, avoiding eye contact, gaining distance. Now, was not the time. Emotions were raw and running hot. Both knew it was a bad idea to complicate matters further, when things were already shaky enough. Before she could get herself fully under control, though, he had turned to face her, and in a quiet voice rough with trapped emotion, he made an admission.

"I went to see her, this morning."

Nikita started at his words, her eyes widening, in surprise, before a smile crept onto her face. "Did you, just *see* her?" she asked, knowing the answer, but asking anyway.

"Yes. She was on the street with her son and husband." He paused taking a deep breath. Nikita saw that he was moving closer, so she took a step toward him. "I watched them from the car. She can't know."

"I know." Nikita shook her head sadly, at the pain in his voice. "Tell me about her. I'd like to know what she's like."

It was far from a simple request, and she feared, for a moment, that she would get no response. Yet, to her surprise Michael moved toward the couch, signaling silently for her to join him, and she followed. He remained silent for a few seconds, looking down at his hands in his lap. Nikita gave him the time he needed to collect himself.

"Her name is Martine," he began, a quiet smile touching his eyes. "She's six years younger than me. I didn't want a sister, at first. But when she came home from the hospital and my parents introduced us. . . I don't know what happened, I felt protective of her. She's always been beautiful and smart."

He talked of his sister until he was talked out. Nikita listened, drinking it all in, savoring it, finally seeing a Michael she had never seen before, and wondering how long it would last.

-----

The End

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