Simon Alapin looked around the large room as technicians worked with quick surety on the clutter of equipment that sprawled over every available surface. The master of all I survey. Such as it is. His lips quirked into a humourless smile at the dry thought. It might not be much for now, but he was moving rapidly to secure the resources he needed to expand his personnel and operations.

He had worked hard while the Council was decimated around him, gathering remnants of a variety of terrorist groups such as Red Cell, Moshtar, ul-Qadir and Black Storm. He had tried to save the best and the brightest, the youth with potential as well as the more experienced and cunning, then started to weld them together, despite their differing ideologies, into a unit to fight against the organisation that had destroyed theirs.

Simon was drawn from his thoughts when Mikenas, his aide and tactical commander, approached him. "There's someone to see you, sir. A woman. I've had her taken to your office."

My office? That was not the usual way uninvited guests were treated. Alapin tilted his head, studying Mikenas' placid face for more clues. They had been colleagues for a long time, and he trusted the big man's judgment completely. Mikenas kept his face carefully expressionless, and Alapin gave a slight smile of amusement at his refusal to give anything away about this unscheduled visitor. This was an old game between them. He turned to the technician who was hovering nearby and issued a few instructions, then went to meet this unknown woman.

As Alapin entered his office, the woman waiting there turned and introduced herself. Both her face and her expression of cool confidence were familiar and he was searching his memory as she spoke.

"My name is Monique. I was Mr Smith's assistant."

He nodded, recognising her now. "We met in Prague, I believe. Why are you here?"

"To offer my assistance. There's a purge underway in Center. My past associations render my life forfeit."

Simon studied her calm countenance. She lacked the air of a supplicant. "So you seek... sanctuary?"

"I seek a deal. In return I'll tell you all that I know about the people that destroyed your organisation. I also have skills that may be useful to you." Simon raised his eyebrows in silent invitation. Monique paused before continuing, clearly choosing her words with some care.

"I was placed with one of Mr Smith's colleagues to keep an eye on the Board's activities. As it turned out the Board was not the danger. Section One placed a mole in Center. Her name is Nikita." Monique shook her head in reluctant admiration.

"She was brilliant," she admitted grudgingly. "I never suspected her. For all the world she was grieving her dead lover, barely capable of doing her duties, only one mistake, and some residual gratitude, from Abeyance."

"It was an act?"

"Oh yes. It was all a ploy to expose Mr Smith, and the Council through him." Monique shrugged and calmly waited for his decision.

Simon smiled and inclined his upper body toward her. This was not a decision that required much consideration. Monique would be a useful resource, if one that had yet to prove her loyalty. "We have a deal. Welcome to Zenith."

=====

Michael stood near the front of the bus, assessing the screaming crowd which surrounded it, barely restrained by a police cordon. He was in Melbourne, Australia, where the World Economic Forum was being held. The meeting of 700 international business leaders and economists was more lightly defended than the Olympics, being held in Sydney to the north in just over a week's time. That fact, along with the high profile nature of many attendees, made it a lucrative target for terrorists, and Section had received word of a credible threat.

Michael's cover was a Canadian private security guard. It had been the profiler's decision. Apparently negative feelings lingered in Australia over French nuclear testing in the South Pacific, and the sinking of a Greenpeace vessel in New Zealand. Canadians, even French-Canadians, were regarded as "friendlies". Michael didn't care, but it avoided interest in him and his politics. In any event, his credentials had not been questioned and he circulated, unremarked upon, amongst the delegates.

A team from the regional substation was scattered throughout the casino which was hosting the conference. While that was the most likely location of any incident, the protesters outside could not be discounted. Most were there to peacefully air their views, but a small group was intent on provoking violence, particularly from the police. They were on a boisterous high from the previous day, when they had blocked the coaches bringing the delegates from their hotels. The delegates had still made it to the conference, entering via water taxi from the river behind the venue, but the protesters were apparently unaware of that.

They were a mixed group: anarchists, issue motivated groups - mostly anti-globalisation protesters, and many teenagers, recruited from schools, who simply wanted to protest the injustices they saw in the world. Comparisons were invidious. It wasn't possible for Michael to ignore the similarities between the young men who were enthusiastically throwing themselves against the barrier of police, and himself so many years ago.

A woman's voice came back to him, a voice he had not heard since the early days after his recruitment. "Almost every young person goes through a stage where they want to change the world. For most it amounts to nothing. For some, it becomes their life's passion. Even so, very few have the chance to achieve anything, but here... here it's what we do on a daily basis. Only the very best survive. You have potential. It remains to be seen what you make of it." How many of those he was watching would end up travelling the road he had?

His words to the Red Cell strategist, Satin, echoed in his mind. I did what I believed in. Looking at the young men, their faces contorted with their passion, he could not help remembering what it had been like to be as they were, to feel the fire their faces reflected so clearly. How did I get from there to here? No, he knew all too well, and refused to let his mind walk that familiar trail again. Resolutely, he pulled his thoughts into order, and to keep them from straying again he mentally recited the threat indicators he was automatically evaluating as his eyes ceaselessly roamed the crowd and the coach rolled slowly forward.

=====

Will you sacrifice your soul to their ideal of what you should be?
If I am the tool that they break you with, it will break me.

Will you withdraw into yourself, nursing your wounds in isolation?
Will you rebuild your armour, losing yourself protectively in the mask you wear?

Do you have the courage to open your heart to me again?
To trust in my feelings for you, despite all appearances? Despite my very words?

You are stronger than you know. Stronger than they would have you believe.
Your strength frightens them, which is why they try to undermine it.

I hold tight to the memories of what we had together.
It was real, however much you might doubt that now.
How can I convince you of that, given the shadows the past casts for both of us?
Should I even try?

Nikita came up out of the shadows of semi-wakefulness with tears in her eyes, glancing around her quarters to orient herself as she fought down the ache that suffused through her. The apartment was spacious, and she had a large flat screen display hanging on one wall showing an outdoor scene, but she could not fool herself into thinking of it as a window, or that she was above ground. The air was still filtered, still had that indefinable scent that she associated with Section. She had been back for a month now in the place she had hoped never to have to enter again, and she judged it to be one of the most challenging of her unconventional life.

Early on, she had urgently tried to clarify her position with Mr Jones, but he had given her no timeframe for her secondment, and his instructions were vague. "Think of it as an extension of your previous mission," he had advised, less than helpfully. Contact with him after that had been infrequent and brief. Nikita felt like she was in Limbo, and deeply resented it.

At least she had formal authority within Section. Somewhat to her surprise, Operations had not been tardy about establishing her place in the command hierarchy, or assigning her real, and significant, responsibilities. On the other hand, Section had so many positional gaps that Operations would probably assign a job to the Devil himself, should he put in a personal appearance inside Section. Nikita's mouth quirked despite her downbeat mood. Probably in PsychOps.

Nikita had not been shy in using that authority to try initiate change, even in the frantic midst of the concerted action against the Council and its affiliates. She had been told that Madeline had been given charge of internal affairs while Operations focussed on "external matters", which Nikita had mentally translated to mean in-fighting between the Sections, Oversight and the Agency. Given that Nikita had always regarded Madeline as the more dangerous of the pair, she had watched Madeline's reactions to her activities cautiously. Nikita admitted to herself that she wasn't sure what to make of Madeline's general lack of opposition to her proposals. True, there were times when she had countermanded Nikita, but Nikita had realised that she only did so when the proposal in question was irremediably flawed.

Nikita couldn't help but wonder what Madeline's game was. Survival, probably. Just like the rest of us, Nikita thought sourly. Was Madeline trying to impress Mr Jones? Was she waiting for Nikita to make a large enough mistake that she could be taken down for? Was she simply curious to see what Nikita would do? The uncertainty made Nikita restless and she had to curb the urge to jump up and stalk around the room impatiently.

Another voice intruded into her thoughts. Be patient. Nikita felt her lips quirk again, and suppressed the wry smile that tried to emerge. The attribute she had least of was the one both Center and Section required her to most exercise. Her thoughts inexorably turned to the man who had given her that counsel. She had not seen Michael since their brief encounter during the endgame against Mr Smith. There had been no discussion that she was aware of about when, or even if, he would return to Section headquarters. Nikita's eyes closed in pain.

Her return to Section, along with the shock return of Madeline, had precipitated a storm of gossip. News that Michael was also alive had caused it to rise to hurricane pitch. The prevailing view seemed to be that the upheavals three months previously had been some kind of huge Section setup. Doubts were expressed, mostly by those who pointed out that she was indubitably on loan from Center. Nikita suspected Jason of injecting that fact into the rumour chain.

Nikita had not understood his unfriendly attitude towards her until a stray memory had surfaced, of Walter telling her that Jason's girlfriend had been brought in. Nikita quietly dug for information on the girl's fate, understanding flooding her when she discovered Naomi was a Section operative. Jason thought that Center had done to Michael something similar to what Section had done to him. While he didn't blame Nikita for following her orders - he understood how things worked - he did hold her in disdain and distrust. He was not alone in that, either.

In general the upper level operatives, both field and technical, treated her with characteristic cool professionalism. The lower level operatives were a more volatile group. They would stop chatting when she approached, and banter would turn to business. In short, they treated her with the same fear-induced deference they had formerly reserved solely for Madeline.

Speculation on why she was back in Section ranged from punishment, for Michael and Madeline's survival, to an extension of her previous mission. It was the possibility of the latter which had most operatives treating her very cautiously. Walter had been quick enough to pass on gossip, but Nikita now also realised that he had served as a sort of moderator, putting wilder, and more damaging, rumours to rest. Without his influence, the more poisonous threads survived to gain unwarranted validity.

She had gleaned some of that gossip from those who tried to curry favour with her in light of her supposed favour by Center. Some versions of the events surrounding her evaluation of Section left her nauseated. One had her gloating over the prospect of cancelling Michael, practically salivating at the thought of getting him to the White Room in order to put a bullet into him. Given that she'd earlier given him to Red Cell for torture, some speculated that more than one bullet was not unlikely. Apparently that version had been sparked by the existence of a sim, created from a reconstructed psych profile after her disappearance, and set in a restaurant of all places, which showed her shooting Michael in the head. She had verified its creation, which shocked her, but had not been able to bring herself to watch it.

Michael's survival was attributed to Operations' intervention with Mr Jones, to get him on the mission, then Madeline on site. With Walter gone, Nikita's true role in the chain of events was never even hinted at. Nikita was stunned that such stories had been thought of, let alone spread. That she was not who they thought she was, that she had duped them so thoroughly, was not something some of her fellow operatives would easily forgive. No, the anger and resentment were well masked, one of Section's earliest disciplines, but they were there.

The hostility of the less experienced operatives, however subtly expressed, had forced her to look at how others viewed her. From there it was a short step to examining how she viewed herself. The time with Helmut had provided a painful lesson in how far she'd strayed from the boundaries she had set for herself, the boundaries she had once, laughably, thought inviolable. She kept trying to convince herself she had not sold her soul, but the truth was a raw wound. In the last year she had killed in cold blood. She had even slept with, and married, a man she didn't love for the sake of a mission. There were reasons for those things. Reasons for why she had lied to, and betrayed, those who trusted and cared about her. Reasons, but no excuses.

Nikita shook her head, her breath expelled in a hiss as anger surged through her. She did not owe Section an explanation. She didn't owe anyone an explanation. Her eyes closed as her shoulders slumped, the surge of adrenaline draining away. She did, however, wish to offer one to Michael.

If only she could find the words.

She had used him, yes, but the attraction she had felt for him had been only too real. The deeper emotions she felt for him were also real. But the real was lost in the tangled web of deceit that shrouded her now. How could she ask him to believe in her, when she could not?

I don't know what I am. Her words to Michael in that dilapidated apartment so long ago rose into her thoughts. It was more true now than ever.

Nikita rubbed at her eyes, weary despite the morning hour, then headed for the shower, trying to gather her concentration. She had a meeting in half an hour with Operations and Madeline.

=====

Paul stood in the Perch, surveying the early morning lull in Comm. He had largely caught up on the sleep he had sacrificed in the aftermath of Mr Jones' intervention in Section affairs. He had run Section close to single-handedly while defending it from the hyenas nipping at its flanks when it was weak. That situation had changed radically with Mr Smith's exposure: Section One was now viewed as dominant, and the scrambling to retrieve position was almost amusing to watch. He was aggressively taking advantage of the upsets to solidify Section's position, which he well knew was not as untouchable as it might seem to others. Paul sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing his glasses. The cut-throat politics were wearying.

Given the importance of consolidating Section's position externally, he had temporarily turned over many of the internal functions to Madeline, with Nikita assisting. Nonetheless, he kept abreast of mission details and he was aware of Michael's recent, subtle, prodding at the boundaries of approved behaviour. With the winding down of the effort against the Council and its affiliates, Michael would be coming back to headquarters soon, and a decision on how to handle him was required. Paul had thought it over and concluded it would be better to give him his head within looser, but utterly non-negotiable, boundaries: Section could do without conflict with him for the moment. The recent instability at the highest levels had shaken Section morale badly, and Paul was keen to avoid further, and unnecessary, damage.

Paul shook his head, with a faint smile of reminiscence. When Michael had come to Section One he had been arrogant, willful and brilliant. While Section had largely managed to contain, or channel, the former two traits, it had never succeeded in eradicating them. Perhaps, at some level, Paul realised that to do so would also eliminate the brilliance they so prized. Now it was up to Michael to make his own way. Paul's mouth quirked downwards, suddenly dissatisfied with his thoughts. After all, in a strange way, Michael always had.

Michael had been tested as no other at his level had been. A contender, the strongest contender, for the future leadership of Section, assurance of Michael's loyalty to their cause was essential. On the other hand, it had become clear that the habits of obedience, so relentlessly drilled into him, went a little too deep. If he would not defend himself against his superiors within Section, then he could not be relied upon, as Section's leader, to defend it against Oversight. Goading Michael all the way into full rebellion had never been a goal, however, and Paul was left wondering what had gone wrong with their strategy.

Paul's thoughts turned back to his fortnight at Center over a year earlier. It had been an honour to be selected, even for so short a time, but now he had to wonder if there had been more behind it. He had used to the time to test Michael in the position of Section's leader. George had done the same, with the overt challenge to him to succeed against Bergomi. That Center may have orchestrated events with a similar interest had not occurred to him at the time. Had the timing of his call in been solely dictated by world events, or had the escalation in Michael and Nikita's relationship played some role?

Uncertain, he considered the outcomes. George had been impressed, but Paul suspected Nikita's evaluation would have been far less favourable. It was a bemusing thought - he suspected she would have assessed Michael as driven by ambition. After all, it was likely that that was all Michael had shown her of his motives. The Center, on the other hand, had far more complete information. How had they judged Michael?

On the one hand, he had been listed for cancellation, but it was notable that no sanction had been incurred by either himself or Nikita for Michael's survival of his Abeyance mission, despite Mr Jones' explicit command. Nikita's actions were quite predictable, but had Center also anticipated his? The more he mulled things over, the more he was inclined to believe so. That led in some unpalatable directions, one of which was that Center had known it had a problem, and had manipulated Section One into initiating the house-cleaning the entire organisation was currently enduring.

The only certainty was that they all continued to be under close scrutiny. Paul half smiled. This was an old game, whose rules he was intimately familiar with. He also knew how to play to win. It only remained to determine the exact parameters and goals of the game and then to manipulate them to his advantage.

=====

Nikita fought trepidation during the entire trip to the Farm. After their morning briefing on overnight developments, Madeline had tasked her to bring in a prototype that Walter had developed.

"I thought he was teaching," she had sharply protested.

"He is," Madeline's reply had been characteristically calm. "But he enjoys doing development. Operations asked him whether he would be interested in doing some for us in his spare time and he agreed."

"Asked." Nikita's half-statement, half-question had been thickly coated in sarcasm.

"Yes. Walter knew there would be no repercussions if he declined." Madeline's shield of serenity had been undented by Nikita's sceptical glare, and Nikita dropped the issue. She could ask Walter when she saw him. Of course, Madeline knew that and could easily predict Nikita's reaction should she find that Walter had been coerced, so her story was likely to be true.

It didn't make facing Walter any easier, Nikita thought as she strode through the facility. She had not seen him, not spoken to him, since his transfer, the transfer she had personally recommended. It was the right thing to do, she insisted to herself, trying to forget the times she had angrily lashed out at Michael for making decisions about her life, on her behalf.

Taking a deep breath, and summoning a warm smile, Nikita approached Walter with a casual stroll. He was deeply engrossed with soldering a wire onto a circuit board, peering at the small connection through a magnifier, his hands deft despite his age. Nikita slowed her approach, respectfully waiting for him to lift the soldering iron away from the board before speaking. "Hey Walter," she greeted him softly.

Walter looked up, his frown of concentration shifting to a neutral expression as he realised who'd spoken. "Nikita," he responded with a slightly cautious nod.

Nikita's smile dimmed a little but reminded herself that he had been given good reasons to be cautious of her. Walter knew what she had tried to do for Michael when he was sent on the Abeyance mission, but it seemed that that knowledge had not completely outweighed his disappointment in her deceptions.

"How are things going?" she asked, looking around his work area. It was larger, and even more cluttered, than it had been in Section. She guessed he was working on several of his own projects here, between bouts of providing instruction to the recruits, unhampered by the constant need to prepare extensive inventories.

"Fine," came the bland response. "Just... fine."

Nikita nodded, returning her attention to him. "Is there anything you need?" she asked, her eyes indicating she meant the question on a personal level.

"Nope. Can't think of anything." Walter's stance was open, his voice pleasant and his expression was attentive, but he was clearly rebuffing her approach.

"Good," she said, feeling a little helpless as waited for an explanation of her presence. Nikita had desperately hoped he would be happy here, away from the deadly pressures of Section One. While it was undoubtedly an easier life, he lacked the company of friends, was out of the information loop, and was probably not respected by the recruits. She could still recall Clare calling him "the relic".

Nikita thought about her return to Section, and could relate to his isolation.

"Madeline wants me to pick up the H-15," she went on, keeping her tone friendly through the shift to business.

"Ahh," he nodded, and went into the storage area, rummaging for the device, its peripherals and a travelling case. Nikita watched, catching glimpses of him as he moved amongst the shelves.

"Why'd you give him to Red Cell?" Walter's voice floated out to her, the tone almost conversational. The subject of the pronoun did not need clarification: his spectre haunted their shared memories. Nikita closed her eyes briefly in relief. Walter'd undoubtedly pieced together the events of the weeks leading up to her evaluation of Section, but he was willing to give her a chance to explain it from her point of view.

"I needed Section to think I'd gone rogue," Nikita explained. She gave a rueful smile. "Anything less he'd cover up." To protect me. As I failed to protect him. Nikita swallowed, now staring into the middle distance. "I knew he'd be alright." Hoped. Prayed. Willed. Willed with a ferocious desperation. "It was also a double cross of Grenet," she added unnecessarily. That, at least, would have been clear in the aftermath.

Walter nodded as he returned to the bench, matching her words against the picture in his mind, even as his hands packed the electronic components into the case. "And what came after?"

"I needed to get him out for a while," she hedged.

Walter pushed. "It wasn't your first goal though. I mean, why Quinn? Her position was high profile. And why wait so long to tell Michael? Hmm?"

Nikita looked away. "You're right. My job was to funnel intel back to Mr Jones while Section was distracted thinking I'd gone rogue. Comm was the best place to do that from and Quinn had the clearances needed." She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to continue, but knowing Walter would continue to probe if she didn't. "When Michael i.d.'d me though, I needed to get him out of there - he'd blow the operation if I didn't. Jason's links were in place by then so I wasn't needed inside for a while, so I used an escape scenario." It sounded so hellishly cold when stripped to the naked bones.

Apparently Walter agreed. "A nice, tidy little Valentine op," he summarised, disgusted. Tears she refused to show, let alone shed, tightened her throat.

"You know what I tried to do for him," she whispered hoarsely. So many plans for the better which had come to nothing - or worse than nothing.

Walter watched her, his expression unmoved by the emotion in her voice. "No. I don't." As he'd given her the equipment to save Michael's life, Nikita's head snapped around to him in surprise, the bubble of tears in her throat receding. "I know what you did to him," he clarified. Nikita shook her head, suddenly wanting him to understand her motives.

"I wanted him to be free," she admitted softly.

"To do what?" Walter asked forthrightly, his eyebrows raised.

Nikita blinked. "To live a normal life," she stated with emphasis. Walter snorted his derision. "It's not impossible," she asserted. "He had to do it for the Vacek mission. He knows what's involved."

"And why would he want a normal life?" Walter challenged. Nikita stared at him, confused by the question. Walter shook his head and continued. "Michael understands the importance of what he does. He's proud of how well he does it too."

Nikita could not dispute either point, but she disagreed with the conclusion he had drawn from them.

"He was happy enough with me, on the outside," she stated, letting her mind wander briefly back to that time. Back to the memories that sustained her while haunting her.

Walter nodded, his face sad. "Because it was what you wanted," he told her. "Or so you led him to believe." The cynical undertone implied he thought she'd been selfish. It also implied that she had led Michael to also believe other things of dubious truth.

He snapped the container clasps into place, and handed the box to Nikita. She took a deep breath before accepting it, wishing she could end this meeting on a better note, but she could think of nothing to say to mend the rift between them. She felt she had to say something though, to try to keep his faith from failing altogether. "You risked your life for someone else's dream, a dream you also believed in. Does the fact that not everything was what it seemed make that dream less worthwhile?"

Walter's expression was inscrutable, but she felt his eyes on her back as she walked away.

=====

Michael mentally gave a relieved sigh when the passengers finally disembarked the coach. The coach had been a horribly restrictive environment for an operative to work in and the lack of mobility and flexibility for dealing with threats had abraded his usual calm. Through his comm set he could hear the local team conducting a sweep of the venue, with a particular emphasis on externally sourced services. The permanent staff had been vetted, but there was an unmanageably large transient population. Terrorists lurking in the catering was something of a cliché, but no possibility could be overlooked.

He approved the team's efficiency. Given that they were nearly as far from HQ as was possible on the planet, Michael had half expected to find laxness but he found that Australasian substation personnel were diversely trained and quite disciplined. The region had been labelled the "arc of instability" by the press. Section One had very specific goals in this volatile environment, though it was of minor importance on a global scale, and precision was required to achieve them.

Michael recognised Kathleen standing at the head of the stairs leading to the conference rooms. At Level Four, she was the ranking field operative among the locals. Tall and solidly built, her dark hair, blue eyes and pale skin spoke of Irish ancestry. Thick freckles over that skin revealed a childhood spent under the harsh Australian sun. She was holding a cell phone to her ear to cover the instructions she was passing to her third team. "Gary, commence circulation. Lynn, take the next level."

Kathleen nodded to Michael as he drifted past. He had designated himself as a floater, leaving team co-ordination to her. She was well aware of the implied evaluation, but Michael noted that this had not appeared to affect her performance. Both were oblivious to the opulent nature of their surroundings, tuning out the tinkle of the water cascade beside the stairway and the fountains playing at the base. Michael was more interested in what might lurk in the shadows of the very high ceiling, which was dark coloured to facilitate regular laser displays.

*

Nearly six hours later Kathleen intercepted Michael as he meandered around the fringes of a buffet of pastries and coffee, watching the staff setting up tables.

"How solid was the intel on the date?" she asked in a murmur. It was not good etiquette to ask, but he could understand her concern. She simply needed to learn patience. He banished the image of Nikita that thought brought to mind. Focus.

"It was solid," he replied. Kathleen nodded and moved on.

The call finally came an hour later. Michael identified the voice as Taurui, a Maori operative, as he moved to investigate. Michael had attempted to alleviate the lack of activity throughout the day by reviewing the floor plans of the building, continuously mapping the fastest route between any two randomly chosen points. That review helped him now as he strode confidently through the corridors to the fire stairs, unbuttoning his coat to give faster access to his gun.

As Michael approached a corner, the curved, reflective facade on a vending machine that was facing up the perpendicular corridor shimmered slightly. Alerted to an approach, Michael unhurriedly moved to the inside wall and waited. The man who scurried around the corner was shorter and slighter than Michael, who had no trouble grabbing him and, with casual brutality, used the man's momentum to slam him against the wall. Before he could recover, Michael's left hand had grasped this throat, while the right held a gun to his temple. The man froze, eyes wide with startled fear.

"Where is it?" he demanded. The man, Malaysian by his appearance, panted but said nothing. Bahasa Malaysia was not a language Michael was proficient in, but he knew a few phrases and tried his question again. There was comprehension in the man's eyes, but no answer, so Michael released the safety on his gun. The man flinched at the harsh, uncompromising noise, his eyes flicking convulsively between the gun and Michael's cold eyes.

"Tolong tunjukkan saya (Please show me)," Michael demanded softly. The man gave a slight, shaky nod, and Michael shifted his grip, maintaining a controlling hold even as he propelled the man back down the corridor. It was not far. The man stopped and gestured to a small service room, used to store cleaning supplies.

"Terima-kasih (Thank you)," Michael politely said, gesturing to Taurui and his smaller, slightly built teammate, an Indonesian man who went by the western name of Thomas rather than his birth name, Mangoenkoesomo, to take the terrorist. The large, solidly built Maori loomed over the prisoner, whose expression turned sulky as he was man-handled away for interrogation.

Michael had already dismissed the man from his attention as he focussed on the explosive device. It was not cutting edge in sophistication, but the sheer volume of explosive material made it a significant threat. Michael considered the placement, slightly puzzled. The room was near the reinforced central stair and lift shaft. While the blast would cause significant damage to the building, it would not be maximal. Was that the fault of the operative he had detained, or the orders he was given? Michael put the question aside and started to carefully examine the timing mechanism and detonator.

Gary and Lynn arrived at a brisk walk, Gary dressed in executive chic and carrying a highly trendy slender steel briefcase which held a variety of interesting tools instead of glossy reports. Lynn was an electronics specialist, and Michael indicated she should join him. As they examined the device for traps before disarming it, Michael listened to the impromptu interrogation taking place in a room nearby.

"Anda dari mana? (Where are you from?)" Thomas questioned insistently. Kathleen had left the questioning to Thomas, despite being equally fluent in the language. She must have decided the prisoner, who had admitted to the name of Razak, would respond more quickly to a male interrogator. Given the crude conditions she had to work with, and the urgency of the questions, it was her call. Michael simply needed to know if this was the attempt they were expecting, and whether this was the only device.

*

"Do you have any questions for him?" Kathleen asked Michael as he entered the room. It was an oblique way of asking whether the man should be cancelled. Michael considered the question as he looked at the broken man sitting in the centre of the room. Razak had confirmed that he was from the organisation Section had been tipped off to, and the bomb was a singularity. It had been disarmed and Gary and Lynn were taking care of retrieval. Michael had already transmitted the new mission status through to headquarters and the substation command.

"Take him in," he decided. "Find out how the placement was decided, and where he fits into the group." Kathleen nodded and started organising her people's return to the substation. Michael was ready to follow them out when he heard a familiar electronic chirrup. He stopped and pulled out his PDA to read the message.

RETURN TO HQ. TRANSPORT IN 2 HOURS.

He dismissed the team and went back to the hotel where he'd been staying during the operation. Michael considered the implications of the, not unexpected, summons as he headed up to his room. He had been deliberately pushing the boundaries on his past two missions, improvising where he thought the profiles were weak, inserting his own parameters when he thought Section had more to gain. Michael had been interested in seeing just how much leeway Operations was prepared to give him in his unsanctioned activities. He suspected he was about to find out whether he had reached the limit.

Feeling tired after such a long period of sustained concentration, Michael decided to have a quick shower before flying out. He was facing 26 hours of travel to get back to Section. Back to Nikita. Michael sucked in a sharp breath as the thought, and the roil of unresolved emotion which accompanied it, hit him unexpectedly. He closed his eyes and gave himself a mental shake. He didn't want to think about this now.

Michael walked into the bathroom and was confronted with the sight of a bathtub, evoking another memory. "I don't want to think about it now," he'd told Nikita about his demotion. He admitted to himself that he rarely wanted to think about uncomfortable or painful things too deeply, and he'd been particularly assiduous in that regard during the past few months. Michael stripped and stepped into the shower with a soft sigh as he dwelt on that realisation. Evasion was not resolving anything.

"You know how they operate. You won't even see it coming." Satin had been right. He hadn't. Nikita's revelation of her role with Center had completely blindsided him. It was that lack of perception on his part which had left him mired in self-doubt, trying to discern the shadows of truth cast by the lies, trying to determine self-delusion from fact.

No matter what Nikita really felt for him, one fact was clear. She didn't need his protection anymore. She had procured other, better, sources for that. An intelligent move. Michael rejected the bitterness of that thought even as he circumvented tarmac gate security at the airport. He'd done the best he could against enormous odds. The fact they were both still alive, and relatively intact, could be counted as success, all other agenda aside. Why was he disappointed by the hypocrisy which had seen her demand a higher standard of integrity from him than herself?

As he settled into a seat on a Section sub-contracted long-haul freight 747 for the long flight back, Michael thought about devotion to duty, the only virtue of his past that Section had permitted him to keep - had, in fact, encouraged. In betraying that for Nikita, he had finally cut the last tie to his old self, and he believed that he deserved the painful consequences of that self-betrayal. With that final death of self, however, Michael recognised that he now had the chance to re-define himself.

He had tried to be too many things to too many people. Now it was perhaps time to be himself, once he worked out who that was. Michael was fully aware that he had the instincts, and morals, of a predator: both were necessary for his survival. The parameters that delimited his existence could not be ignored. On the other hand, his future place in the organisation was now completely uncertain. That changed how he viewed his choices.

Section still had control of Adam's fate, but that was a large threat, not applicable for control at the daily level. No, they had no realistic way of holding him now unless he wanted to be held. What did he really want from his life? He needed a goal, then a strategy to achieve it. Staring blindly out the window, Michael felt more settled as he ventured inside his own mind. He now had a quest.

=====

Nikita stood by Madeline's desk as the older woman studied the mission profile on a wall mounted monitor on the opposite side of the room. Operations stood near Madeline, looking over her shoulder at the sim results, an irritated scowl on his face. They were meeting to discuss a flash mission to acquire Tal, the main information broker for several second-string Council affiliates. In the past six months he had been too insulated to be a viable target, however a brief window of opportunity had presented itself unexpectedly.

"The POS is 65%," commented Madeline, dissatisfied.

"What if I went in?" Nikita asked. "Tal knows me." Tal had passed non-Council intel to Section on a handful of occasions, and Nikita had handled the meetings. On the one hand, he knew Nikita was Section, but on the other, he still believed himself to be green-listed, and therefore safe.

"No." Operations was unequivocal. He did not look at her as he said it.

Madeline had already worked the numbers. "It rises to 83%," she answered, turning to direct a pointed look at Operations. That sort of advantage could not be ignored but Operations was apparently determined to do just that. He shook his head.

"Why not?" Nikita asked bluntly, her frustration rising sufficiently for her body language to become challenging.

He looked at her thoughtfully for several moments before answering. "Consider it self preservation. If you die, we die," he stated blandly. It was a specious argument, and obviously not his real concern. He was stone-walling for no reason Nikita could discern and her anger was starting to churn.

"What's more important? Getting the job done, or being safe?" Madeline, startlingly, interpolated. Nikita and Operations both turned to stare at her, Operations' mouth thinning in anger. Nikita felt herself reflexively tense as Madeline resolutely held Operations' glare, the silence stretching. She resisted both the urge to fidget and the urge to intervene.

"She'll need backup," Operations finally said, his voice tight. Madeline's expression did not change at this sign of capitulation, but Nikita felt her body loosen in relief.

"Padraic could be there in 80 minutes," Madeline offered, then paused for a moment, maintaining the eye contact with Operations. "Alternately, Michael is inbound at present. If diverted, he could be on site in 100 minutes." At the mention of Michael's name, Operations' attention seemed to tighten on her even further. Nikita froze, her impatient frustration collapsing into emotional chaos. The silence returned as Operations continued to stare at Madeline, his face now expressionless.

"Use Michael," he decided. Madeline inclined her head in acknowledgement, then turned to Nikita, her expression serenely unreadable.

"You'd best get ready," she said pleasantly. Nikita's answering stare was hard, but she accepted the dismissal with a short nod, stalking from the office.

*

Nikita waited to collect her equipment from Jenkins, a tall, calm black man who had replaced Walter in Munitions. He'd had a hard time of it before her return, bearing the brunt of field operative dissatisfaction at Walter's removal. Her presence in Section gave them a far more deserving, though not particularly accessible, target. Nikita's contact with him had been limited before this, however, and she was unsure how he regarded her.

"Nikita," Jenkins acknowledged in his deep voice as he came out of the storage area. "What can I do for you?" he asked, with the same impenetrable pleasantness he showed all operatives, irrespective of their attitude toward him. Nikita felt some relief as she gave him her PDA. An irritated Munitions expert could make a field operative's life unpleasant and/or brief.

"Standard package please. Mission clearance B-387-J," she said, giving a slight smile with the formal wording. Jenkins showed no surprise that she was going out into the field, but then she had never known him to show surprise about anything. He simply nodded and efficiently assembled the small collection of items required. Nikita watched him thoughtfully. Efficient, but, by all accounts, not especially imaginative. Of course, Walter's inventive genius was rare to find, but Section felt its loss. She swallowed back regret as she thanked Jenkins for her package, and headed for Van Access.

*

While Nikita was en route to the mission site she wondered why Operations had decided on Michael as her backup. Perhaps he was worried she would be in more danger from her backup than her target, given the sentiment some in Section held towards her, or was the concern Madeline's? She had certainly been giving Operations a clear message about something during their staring match. Nikita felt a pang. She and Michael had once been able to communicate wordlessly too.

Michael.

Nikita closed her eyes. The contingencies of a mission wasn't how she'd envisaged their meeting again. Despite the endless hours she had spent thinking about him, about them, the feelings his name evoked were chaotic. Nikita rubbed her forehead in weary confusion.

Michael is inbound at present. No mention of it had been made to her. Had Madeline planned to spring his return on her, to guage her reaction? Nikita's expression turned sour as she thought it not unlikely. Her breath hissed out in a disgusted sigh. More games. Of course. The question was, could she be bothered playing? She was about to reject the idea out of hand, but a thought stopped her. I suppose that depends on the prize.

*

It was a strange feeling, Nikita thought, as if time had somehow dilated, everything happening in slow motion. She was watching Michael walk down the road toward her, his long coat swinging with each confident, powerful stride. It was a sight which still had the power to make her breath catch in her throat. With an effort, she kept her face an expressionless mask, even as the greeting she had mentally rehearsed fled her mind. The emotional minefield between them notwithstanding, the physical attraction between them seemed as strong as ever. But can that buy us the time we need to sort things out?

As he came to a halt in front of her, Nikita noted that he looked somewhat tired, even with his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. It was subtle, but her practiced eyes could see the signs in the way he carried his body. Adding the time zone difference to the local late afternoon time, she realised his brain thought it was 3am. She knew better than to question his capability or offer comment however as he would reply that he was fine irrespective of his actual condition. Frustrating man.

"First mark in three minutes." Her first words to him in a month, her first words to him alone in a third of a year, were a mission directive, delivered in an unemotional voice. She restrained a wince. Michael simply nodded, checked the ammunition clip for his gun, and silently fell into stride beside her as they approached the building containing their target.

*

"Three hostiles approaching from the west," Madeline calmly informed Nikita. This was one type of complication she had been concerned about, but so far it was nothing Nikita could not handle. She kept a vigilant watch on the readout of the thermal scanner. Glancing at the main board, she opened her mouth to tell Michael to hold his position, and closed it again. Madeline blinked, but the data on the display didn't change. Michael had not budged from his assigned position. He had not even taken a single concerned step in Nikita's direction. Madeline noted the anomaly even as she turned her attention back to Nikita's extraction. It stayed in the back of her mind, however. Madeline didn't like anomalies, even those which masqueraded as correct behaviour.

Madeline didn't, and wouldn't, accept that Michael had no feelings for Nikita. They had endured too much with, and for, each other for something like Nikita's revelation of her status at Center to break their bond, especially given that Michael understood such games only too well. Besides, Nikita had tried to set him free, an indisputable, if misguided, sign of her regard for him. He had certainly felt significant negative emotion immediately afterward, but more than enough time had passed for him to get over it. What, then, was going on inside his head?

Madeline considered possible answers to that question as the mission played out. None of them satisfied her. Madeline was not pleased.

*

Nikita pushed their securely bound prisoner down onto the bench at the rear of the mission van, before moving forward to sit opposite Michael. She was acutely aware of what had not happened earlier, and was looking for an explanation. "You didn't come in," she finally commented, too stunned for her words to be an accusation. His eyes were shut but she was certain he wasn't asleep - there was no way he'd be unaware of his surroundings with a prisoner in custody.

"You didn't require help," he replied coolly, without opening his eyes. That's never stopped you before, she thought automatically. The words stung, as did the essential indifference to her safety his lack of action indicated.

Nikita took the opportunity his closed eyes offered to study him, unsure of what to make of his detachment. Questions were crowding through her mind, jostling for precedence. Was this distance an attempt to show Center he was eliminating the weakness they had condemned him for? Did he view the assessment, her assessment, against him as valid? Nikita shook her head. There were too many questions that she had no answers for, questions which were too difficult for her to ask the uncommunicative man opposite her.

As she obsessed over Michael's words it suddenly occurred to her to wonder if she had misinterpreted them. What if he had given her a simple truth - and a professional compliment in the process? You didn't require help. Maybe, just maybe, he had trusted her to ask if she had required it. Until then, he trusted her to complete her portion of the mission.

Instead of feeling relief, Nikita felt oddly uneasy at this realisation. Suddenly she saw his words, his attitude, as deeply ambiguous, and that was more disturbing than thinking he might be indifferent to her. Knowing where she stood with Michael, good or bad, was vital. More vital than she had permitted herself to realise.

Nikita was struck again by the importance of words. Her final words to him in those woods still hung between them, their reverberations undiminished. Said, they could be repudiated, but not unsaid. Nikita had become aware of how potent a weapon words could be during her years in Section, but she was finally aware of the implications of using that weapon. Irrespective of actions it was words which haunted dreams, which echoed through the mind.

This was not the place or the time to pursue any of these issues with Michael, she abruptly realised. They were nearing Section and escorting a prisoner. Hardly the ideal circumstances for an exploration of what might remain of their relationship. She was becoming utterly determined, however, that it would be a discussion they would have.

*

Madeline was waiting in Van Access with two operatives when Michael and Nikita arrived. "Take him to Containment," she ordered. The operatives with her correctly interpreted the pronoun to refer to the prisoner, although her gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Michael, who was calmly watching Tal's departure. Nikita watched Madeline, guessing her to be perturbed by Michael's actions, or lack of them, on their mission.

Nikita, with some lingering resentment, was morbidly curious as to why. After all, such behaviour was exactly what Madeline had been trying for since the Type One directive had been issued for Nikita and Michael to "extract the personal component" from their relationship. Nikita didn't feel the pleasure that she'd normally feel at Madeline's confusion, however, because Michael's behaviour had confused her as well.

"Nikita, you'll debrief. Michael, you'll handle the interrogation." Nikita strongly doubted that this was Madeline's original intention. Michael simply nodded and headed to Munitions to return his weapons while the prisoner was being prepped, leaving Nikita to face Madeline. She wished, however, that she could have been in Comm to watch the reactions of the operatives there to Michael's return.

=====

Nikita had seen Michael torture prisoners for information before, both in the field and in Section, and was familiar with his techniques. This interrogation had had... an edge... which disturbed her, was too unlike the Michael she was convinced she knew. Nikita turned this thought over in her mind as she watched a replay of the events in the White Room, becoming increasingly uneasy. Deepening her concern was the knowledge that Madeline would be watching this also, analysing Michael's every move. Nikita chewed on her lip then came to a decision. She checked the computer system to see which terminal Michael was logged into. Upon discovering it, she got up from behind her desk and headed for Containment.

She found Michael standing at the wall mounted terminal entering his debrief. Nikita had presumed that Madeline had assigned him an office, but was uncertain whether he had been told this, or where it might be. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know his official status either. She'd been assigned most of his duties upon her promotion, and had not been informed that any of them were being transferred back to Michael. Nikita was annoyed with herself for that oversight. I should have checked.

Nikita slowed, suddenly doubtful about the wisdom of confronting him here, in a relatively public place. She studied him carefully as she approached. He had to be aware of her, but he stayed focussed on his work, not even glancing in her direction. That decided her. Seeing them interact at a professional level should cool some of the gossip. While there were no other operatives around, she knew the area was under surveillance. The word would get out. It always does, she thought tiredly.

"Which location do you think we should go after?" she asked. Michael turned his head a little toward her, keeping his eyes forward, in acknowledgement of her presence.

"Munich," he replied succintly. Nikita thought over the information Tal had revealed and agreed with his assessment. It wasn't what she really wanted to know however. After a few moments of restrained fidgeting she decided to simply ask.

"Was it necessary to go so far? He seemed pretty soft." Nikita tried to keep her tone from being too critical, unable to find a softer wording for the question. You were almost sadistic in there, and for no reason. It wasn't necessary - he broke so quickly. Why, Michael? Michael did not answer for close to a minute. Nikita was familiar with that tactic, though not entirely used to it, and waited.

"Perhaps I wanted to prove you wrong," he finally stated.

"Wrong?" Nikita was confused.

"You once said I no longer belonged here. That I wasn't ruthless enough." It took Nikita a few seconds to place the comment, and she was profoundly shocked when she did.

"You know I was under the influence of the Gelman process at the time!" she protested. The unease she had felt in her office was deepening. Where was Michael going with this... and why?

"Yes. It was an objective assessment." Michael's voice was calm, and he did not look away from the terminal, his typing not changing pace.

Nikita gritted her teeth against an instinctive protest, realising bitterly that she would get nowhere arguing this point with him. Her thoughts returned to the unresolved issue of his future in the organisation. Surely he understood the implications, and potential opportunities, of a purge?

Carefully she said, "Maybe, but if ruthless was what those higher than Section wanted, Operations would have been promoted out of here. He wasn't."

"Not yet."

"Not ever if I have any say in it!" she muttered incautiously.

"Do you?" Michael asked, turning to meet her eyes for the first time.

The question caught her by surprise. The frustration that had been swirling through her drained away as she realised what he was really trying to find out.

"I don't know. My status is... unclear. They know I wasn't involved with Mr Smith's activities, but I broke protocol to help Section bring him down," she replied honestly, meeting his eyes as they searched hers.

Michael nodded, studying her. "Your loyalties are unclear." It was a statement with multiple edges, every one of them drawing a thin line of blood. Nikita fought to keep her expression composed.

She shrugged lightly, but her voice was hard. "I'm sure they'll figure it out."

Her intense, blue eyes bored into his, challenging him to do the same.

=====

Monique looked up from her terminal as Simon strolled into her small office, his expression thoughtful. He was a moderately handsome man, in his early forties, but Monique had been surprised at the charisma he now projected. At their previous meeting he had been a background figure, appropriately deferential to his seniors. She had recognised the sharp intelligence behind the bland presentation, however, and had not been surprised that he escaped the net that had entangled so many of his colleagues. It was starting to appear, however, that she had chosen even better than she had initially hoped.

"They've got Tal," he informed her.

"Already?" Monique sat back in her chair, crossing her legs as she considered this. Section One had moved with more alacrity than she had expected. It seems their efficiency wasn't overstated.

"It won't take them long to break him," she mused, thinking over the information Tal held. "In my opinion, Munich would be the hottest of the locations he'll give them."

Simon nodded his agreement. "How long do we have?"

"It's hard to tell. Once they have the information though, they'll move fast," she warned. Interception was the main problem as a profile had already been developed for engagement. Monique had enjoyed writing it - at Center the profiles she had been involved with had been far less intricate - and was pleased that it might soon be executed.

"A team will leave in 30 minutes then," Simon decided. He gave her a wolfish smile of anticipatory satisfaction and strolled out into the main area, signalling to Mikenas as he did so.

=====

Sitting back at her desk, Nikita's mind was not on the profile she was supposed to be developing. Her mind kept looping over Michael's behaviour in the White Room and his unexpected answer to her question. There was a niggling feeling, like a tickle in the back of the brain, that she was missing something. Nikita knew she'd be better off leaving it to her subconscious to resolve, but she was unable to keep herself from repeatedly poking at the thought instead. Like picking at a scab. Her breath puffed out in a very quiet snort of amusement at the analogy, which went back to typical childhood habits.

Nikita was trying to re-gather her scattered attention when it hit her. The bastard manipulated me! The realisation caused her to freeze in shock. It was suddenly so clear. She had responded to his anomalous behaviour in the White Room - and if she hadn't... well that would have given Michael information too. Nikita's first response was anger. Damn him. Why can't he just ask? The answer was swift in coming, and very sobering. He doesn't trust what I say. It was understandable, disappointing, frustrating and painful.

Her eyes closed until the intense roil of emotion started to subside a little. Why does another manipulation surprise me? No, she knew why. When he had committed to their relationship he had done what he could to be honest with her. It had made her guilt nearly overwhelming. Nikita shook off the thoughts of the past which clung persistently, and insidiously, to her mind like the sticky threads of a cobweb. Now is what matters.

Nikita stared blindly at the monitor, her fingers absently playing with her lower lip, putting the profile aside while she considered what she should do next. She contemplated asking him to see her, wanting to broach the issues between them. Nikita turned the idea over several times, assessing the potential drawbacks. Madeline would be aware of it, but she was probably expecting it. Nikita decided to go with the idea.

She checked the roster only to find Michael was listed as team leader for the Spielmann mission. We need him in Strategy! Nikita understood, however. Michael was trapped by his own overwhelming competence into running high risk field missions. Or is Operations trying to kill him again? Probably not, she decided. He needed Michael to bring Section's success rating back up.

O'Brien would be running tactical on the mission, she noted. An interesting choice, though it explained why Michael had been assigned to a lower priority mission. An experienced field leader would compensate for an inexperienced tactician. O'Brien had `graduated' early, thanks to the training he'd already received for the police force. While O'Brien's strong sense of justice was extremely comfortable with most of Section's ends, he had some notable difficulties with some of the means used to achieve them. He was also not afraid of stating his opinion to his superiors. It reminded Nikita of her own early days in Section, which would have given her concerns about his survival, but unlike she had been, he was far from naive. O'Brien understood working within the limits of a system, and stretching those limits.

Nikita sighed. Her relationship with O'Brien was strained, which was not surprising given that it had been her mistakes which condemned him to a life in Section. She rubbed her forehead and turned her thoughts back to Michael. The Spielmann mission would be loading in six hours. That gave him only a few hours rest between briefing and deployment, so she'd have to defer the invitation to talk. Will we ever get to have that talk? Nikita sighed again, despondently, and reluctantly got back to her profiling.

====

"Nikita, have you looked at the Spielmann profile?" Madeline's voice startled Nikita as she hadn't heard the older woman approach. How long has she been standing there? Nikita thought, unhappy that she hadn't noticed.

"No. Should I have? I've been working on Zagreb," Nikita replied warily. In truth, she had meant to, given that Michael would be on it, but she hadn't figured how to manage it without Madeline's knowledge.

Madeline's faint frown pleased Nikita. Keeping you on your toes, am I? It was an adolescent thought, which Nikita recognised. Madeline always seemed to bring out the worst in her. Well, Michael can too, she ruefully acknowledged. Nikita's attention snapped back to Madeline when she spoke again.

"There's been a problem with Munich, so O'Brien will be unavailable to run it. You'll have to do Tac and Comm."

"Both?" It must be only a one or two team mission, she realised.

"The profile is on your queue. The team will reach their initial mark in 5 minutes." Madeline didn't linger, which suited Nikita. She turned to her terminal, eager for the profile's details.

As she walked briskly to Comm Nikita was prepared to admit privately that she didn't like running tactical on assault missions Michael was on. He was certainly capable - undoubtedly, and by far, the most capable person she had ever met - but she preferred to be with him, guarding his back. Still, it was far better than having no involvement at all. At least this way she could try to help him.

There was some comfort from the fact that he'd taken a good team with him. The operatives on his team certainly respected his skills - particularly his skill at getting them back as intact as possible given mission contingencies. Many would nominate him as the team leader they most preferred to work under. They knew he didn't care about them as individuals - would sacrifice them without blinking if required - but he'd never pretended he had. Whether it was from personal or professional pride, Michael tried to bring back his team in as good a shape as possible, and that was enough for the average operative, whose only goal was to survive.

One side of Comm was a flurry of activity, and the tension was palpable. It seemed that Munich had gone bad, possibly even critical. She tuned the activity out, focussing on her own mission. Nikita checked the board for the mission status then the area scans. Michael's teams had disembarked and were about to move to the second mark, Michael on point.

All had gone well for the first three minutes, when a perimeter sensor flashed. "Hold," Nikita ordered. "There's a bus entering the perimeter. Southwest, heading 110." She paused, waiting for the analysis readout. "Non-combatants."

Nikita had to consciously stop herself from chewing on her lip as she rapidly re-evaluated the situation. This target was high priority, and their window for his acquisition was small. Going with the existing profile, however, would put a bus full of innocents at risk. Operations could take no action against her if she called an abort, but as field leader, Michael would bear the brunt of his ire if she did.

Even as Nikita hesitated, Michael took the decision out of her hands, directing his operatives into a new configuration on the fly. Staring hard at the monitor, it took Nikita nearly 15 seconds to realise what he was doing. She shook her head in admiration. To reconfigure tactical in Comm was hard enough, but to do it in the field, when on point, was incredible.

Nikita opened her mouth to give him a confirm, strictly as an imprimatur, when she glanced at the communications status board. Michael had turned the off the receive function of his comm set. Nikita wasted several stunned seconds staring at the indicator before she moved her hand to mask the lapse in protocol, stopping when she remembered that the mission logging program was locked. There was nothing she could do to hide his actions.

Frustrated, then increasingly angry, Nikita found herself relegated to the role of observer as the acquisition phase of the mission commenced. The target was captured without complications, and the bus and its oblivious occupants went on its way unscathed. When Michael finally reopened his link - to determine the perimeter status for egress - Nikita's responses were terse and flat with repressed fury.

Nikita stood in Comm, considering what she would say to Michael when he returned, angry at the egregious breach of protocol, and somewhat frightened on a personal level at the implication that he felt he could not rely on her backup. As she contemplated, and discarded, several particularly pungent comments, she idly listened to the conclusion of the Munich mission O'Brien was running tactical on. It had been a bloody failure and Quinn, who had been running Comm on it, looked tired and dispirited.

Nikita had worked with Quinn on several missions since her return to Section. At their first encounter Nikita had wanted to clear the air between them, realising that a solid working relationship with the senior Comm techs was vital.

"Do you resent what I did?" Nikita had asked her forthrightly.

"If it had been for a mission, then no, I wouldn't. As it wasn't, then yes I do." Quinn had sat back in her chair, watching her with faintly visible disdain.

Nikita was surprised, but only let the edges of that emotion show. "What makes you think it wasn't?" she asked mildly.

"You could have pulled the plug on Section anytime, so why the routine? It makes no sense professionally, so it had to be personal." Quinn's tone indicated she felt contempt for such an abuse of power.

As much as Nikita wanted to argue that interpretation, Quinn had no need to know the details of events - or the motives behind them. Besides, to claim there had not been a personal component would not be credible - it was simply the nature of that personal component which was in dispute.

"I could've killed you instead of drugging you," Nikita pointed out.

"Maybe you just don't think I'm much of an enemy." Quinn maintained eye contact, her cool tone indicating that assessment could be a fatal mistake.

Well I wanted to know how she felt, Nikita thought, suddenly feeling tired. "Will it affect your ability to work with me?" she finally asked in a briskly professional tone.

"I don't think so," Quinn conceded with equal briskness. No other answer would have been acceptable, as both women were well aware.

"Good."

Nikita dragged her mind back from that encounter when O'Brien brushed past her, mouth pinched with stress, on his way to the Perch to report. Nikita didn't envy him. Operations didn't respond well to mission failures, especially ones whose profiles had had a high POS. O'Brien was in for a grilling.

So, quite probably, was Michael. Nikita rubbed her forehead, and headed for her office, considering how Madeline would react to Michael's actions on the mission. It occurred to her to wonder if this was how Michael had felt at those, not infrequent, times in the past when she had violated mission protocol. His brusqueness to her on such occasions now made perfect sense.

=====

Nikita watched Mentz guide the blindfolded prisoner through Van Access, followed by Michael, then the rest of the team. Michael stopped just outside the airlock as the other operatives filed past, then approached Nikita and waited for her to indicate what she wanted.

"Your comm unit went send only before engagement," she pointed out. Internally she winced. I sound like Operations. Michael seemed to think so also.

"It must have been a malfunction," he told her blandly, eyes roaming the area before coming back to her. "I'll have it checked."

"It was fine for egress," she pointed out acerbically.

"No. I used Snow's." His eyes were back to wandering around the corridor.

She had no doubt now that the tiny unit would, indeed, be found to be faulty. Nikita felt a surprising stab of empathy for Operations, who had undoubtedly been on the receiving end of Michael's tactics many times in the past. It was incredibly frustrating. The man had a way of making solid ground turn to shifting sand, leaving his interlocutor floundering. She paused, uncertain of how to proceed.

Unexpectedly a series of memory flashbacks sounded through her mind. Early in her days with Section Michael had used "us" to identify himself with Section's leadership. Later "us" had become "them" as the alignment of his loyalties changed. By emphasising the Section line now, had she joined the "them" in his mind? Perhaps she might be "them" because of her role in Center. Nikita's chin lifted to a mulish angle. I'll never be "them".

"Why, Michael?" she demanded softly. "Your decision was the right one. You knew I'd support you."

Michael scanned the corridor again, before meeting her eyes. "Did I?" he asked. Nikita's jaw clenched. His eyes were remote, unreadable, as he continued. "Perhaps I don't know who you are anymore." Nikita's eyes clenched shut, her head dropping to her chest, even as he walked away, not waiting for a response. Had he felt this pain when she had thrown those words at him after his time in charge of Section? Was he reminding her of her hypocrisy at the time, remonstrating him for the masks he had to wear for survival, when she was living a bigger lie? Undoubtedly the answer to both questions was yes.

Nikita knew she was being observed. Examined. She pulled her face into a cold mask and lifted her head back up. Let the watchers make of this what they would. Inside, she nursed a spark of hope and determination, kindling it with relief.

Had Michael been giving her a clue as well as a truth? Yes. Michael had gone to extraordinary, reckless, dangerous lengths to reveal his inner self to her in the aftermath of her accusation. She now needed to do something similar for him. To reassure him that he had not been wrong about her, about them, about his own feelings and judgment. To show him who she was, without agenda or subterfuge. In fact, she had largely done so, but she understood his doubts. It was time for a reaffirmation, so he could believe her feelings for him had been real, and independent of her mission.

Just give me the chance Michael.

=====

"Do you have a problem with the outcome?" Nikita decided offense was her best option. She was in Madeline's office, enduring a review of the team debriefs from the Spielmann mission. Madeline was aware of Michael's reconfiguration, and it was prudent to assume she was equally aware of his flagrant violation of protocol in the process. The fact that Jenkins had tested his comm unit and found it to be faulty was irrelevant.

It had been a tense hour for Nikita, as Madeline probed all manner of details, except the one she was expecting. That was no surprise, of course - such a tactic was standard repertoire. I wonder if she's even doing it consciously, or whether it's sheer habit, Nikita mused. Knowing how the game was played did not make the rules any more palatable.

"No. The target was acquired. We're satisfied with the result." Madeline was serene, unreadable. Nikita didn't trust Madeline's equanimity but had to push the issue. Had to know, not caring what conclusions the other woman would draw from her concern.

"There'll be no... repercussions?" she asked cautiously. Was that a flash of amusement in Madeline's eyes?

"For?" Madeline asked blandly. Nikita saw the obvious trap. If Madeline was prepared to ignore Michael's transgressions, she was not about to raise them.

"The final configuration took innocents into account," she drawled. It was a dangerous tack to take, and it was Michael that would take the brunt of any retribution.

"You're mistaken if you think this has anything to do with the people on that bus," Madeline enigmatically told her.

Nikita was confused. "What does it have to do with?" she probed, puzzled. Madeline's smile was uninformative. There seemed to be a touch of smugness in her eyes however.

"That will be all, Nikita. Send Michael in please." Nikita stood up reluctantly, uncertain of where Madeline had taken the conversation. She seemed pleased about something however, and that made Nikita distinctly nervous.

=====

Michael's debrief was a perfunctory pro forma and Madeline's thoughts strayed as they both followed the same, approved script. Paul had delayed Michael's return to Section, citing a wish to minimise the disruption an influx of senior staff could cause. He would also admit to a secondary desire to keep Michael and Nikita apart. Madeline certainly disbelieved the first reason, and even doubted the second. Nikita would not be in Section for long, after all. Center would want her back.

No, Paul was more concerned with Madeline's relationship with Michael. Not a sexual one - neither of them had ever shown an interest in that - but their professional one. On the one hand, Paul had tried to abandon her in a doomed Red Cell base for no readily explicable reason. More recently, she and Michael had worked closely together for several months in a stressful, inter-dependent environment.

Paul is right to worry about the possibility of collusion she mused as Michael skillfully avoided giving incriminating answers regarding the changes he made to the mission profile. Despite the near certainty that their "trials" by Center had been a farce engineered to manipulate them into uncovering Mr Smith, the fact remained that both she and Michael had suffered negative assessments and their future was still uncertain.

Madeline had given the situation a great deal of thought. It was her increasing belief that Michael was being scrutinised at the highest of levels. Scrutinised, tested, and weighed against unknown criteria. She simply could not believe that an operative of his caliber would not be moved upward, sooner or later. And when he was... It was far too early to risk changing allegiances, but she could start laying groundwork.

Michael was waiting for her to ask any question she required to clarify points he might have been unclear on. Normally this was the point where their verbal sparring began. Madeline had been sitting forward, her hands clasped and resting on her desk. She now sat back, the more casual pose a close to the formal part of the debrief. There was no visible change in Michael's demeanour, but she sensed his attention had also sharpened. She briefly gave him a faint smile of amused complicity.

"Your performance in Van Access did evoke a certain sense of... deja vu," Madeline commented. Her tone was curious rather than condemnatory.

Michael considered his response for a few moments. "Not really," he said, his eyes straying over her shoulder before he continued. "We can never go back. Be what we were." His tone was matter of fact.

Madeline's eyebrow quirked at his bluntness. She felt compelled to address the point before taking the opening it presented. "True. The past plays a part in the present though. It can shape it, or distort it, if you let it." The words were both warning and challenge.