"Water's Edge" is post Inside Out

Your touch is cold and damp the devils in your eyes
I wonder why I always let you lead me on this way
Cause you see what you want to see - You feel
Only what you want to and I am on the outside of your
Strange world
It's a strange world
It's a very strange world
That leaves me holding on to nothing when there's nothing left to loose.
We're walking hand in hand we'll walk this way forever
Our eyes have risen to the water's edge watching with the tides
The stars have fallen to another day and the sun warms our path to
find the reasons leave us far behind in our strange world. . .
It's a strange world It's a very strange world
That leaves me holding on to nothing when there's nothing left to loose. . .

"Strange World" 1989 Sarah McLachlan

------------------------------------------------ It was too quiet. Had been too quiet, for too long, in the mission van.

On any other day she might have welcomed it, but today disturbing thoughts chased through her mind; her head was filled with images of the sick and dying back at Section One. Since, her return she hadn't let herself get close to anyone. It just didn't seem worth it. Yet, she still had an attachment to those she had worked with since she'd entered Section, years ago. Her mind kept dwelling on them, picturing their agony. She'd wondered about how Birkoff and Walter were holding up. Were Madeline or Operations sick, yet? What had Mowen's last hours been like?

As her mind traversed these tremulous paths, imaginings of her friends' pains were pushed away by dangerous thoughts. Thoughts of freedom.

"Michael," she softly broke the silence. "What will happen if we don't find the antibiotic in time?"

He answered simply, "They'll die."

"I mean." She halted, unsure she wanted the broach the subject, knowing what he was likely to say. "I - I want to know what will happen to us."

He lifted his chin to hold her eyes, leaving her bobbing in a sea-green tumult. Then, he lowered his gaze; released, she swayed.

In that brief moment she understood so much. Michael needed Section. It was so much a part of him - the physical place, the people, the duty, and the cause - to sever that bond would mean a kind of death for him. At the same time he needed her, needed the freedom she offered. She had just witnessed the war between the man whose identity was completely characterized by what Jurgen and life in Section had made him, and the man who wanted to love her. The man who was rediscovering that part of him which had been buried, but whose soul continued to scream for freedom.

"There will still be a need for us," he finally replied, in full machine mode. "The substations will be in chaos with the overflow. Someone will have to take command."

Nikita nodded, her mouth forming in a silent "ah." She swallowed back the bitter taste in her mouth. "And I suppose that 'someone' will be you."

He met her eyes, again. They were cold and empty. Pain shot through her chest.

"Operation will have activated the chain of command, along with other protocols." He turned his attention to the computer screen in front of him.

"Is there anyone else?" It was a cautious question.

There was a hint of sardonic mirth in his eyes when he lifted them. "Possibly."

"Will they think we're dead?" She was edging closer to her goal. His impatient expression told her that maybe she was moving a little too slow.

"They'll know we're clean," was his answer. She didn't back down.

"But if that data possibly might happen to be lost in all the chaos. . . in the aftermath."

"Nikita we can't run." The force of his command hit her hard. With those words, he'd blown the conversation wide open. She flinched, resettling herself on the van's leather bench seat.

"Michael, this might be our last chance. Our _best_ chance at freedom," she pleaded with him.

"Without us they'll die," he retorted. He was daring her to say what they both knew she wanted to say, damning them all to hell. She bit her lower lip to keep quiet. "I won't have our freedom at the cost of their lives. Not if I can stop it."

"And what if we can't stop it?" she threw at him. Neither had really wanted to admit it, but their chances did not look good.

"As I said, we'll be needed." Again, he lowered his eyes to the computer.

"Dammit, Michael!" she snapped, slamming her hand down on the table. The only acknowledgment of her outburst he made was to sit back against the leather cushion. "Quit giving me these Section sanctioned answers and tell me what you really think."

"That is what I think."

She wanted to cry, wanted to scream and throw things. She wanted to throttle Michael and she wanted to tear this van apart. Instead, she sat staring at him, stare back at her. An impasse, as always. Until one or the other broke the silence. She decided to be the first to speak.

"I don't have to tell you what I want, because you already know I want my freedom. Tell me what you want, Michael. Isn't there a small part of you that wants to be free of all this. To know what it's like to live free, again."

"Of course," the reply was barely audible. "But what I want doesn't matter."

Nikita surged to her feet, biting back a string of expletives and taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"It does matter," she told him, moving around the table to sit beside him. He flinched at her closeness, but gave no other sign that he was uncomfortable. "It matters to me." As she said these words his eyes stopped their slow circuit of her features to lock with her eyes. His were shining, apologetic.

"As much as I might want to go with you. I can't." He mutely begged for her understanding.

"And I can't go without you," she returned.

In silence, their eyes communicated all the unsaid things. The need they shared. The wishes which would forever go unfulfilled. And the duty they both now clung to for survival. At that moment, they chose their path, and they would walk it together.

A chirping sound from the computer, shattered their reverie. Michael responded quickly. "We have a location on Bisseroff. Let's go."

-- End --

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