Walter had finished collecting the gear from the latest mission, putting it aside for inspection and conversing with Birkoff and the returning team leader, newly promoted level five operative Chuck. Jurgen had run tactical with Davenport watching and learning. With Michael moving out of the field and Jurgen’s status as field leader temporary, personnel moves had been made.

Other than Nikita and Jurgen no one knew that Michael was on probation. The assumption was that Nikita was here to oversee and smooth the transition. Davenport training for Michael’s old position further fueled that assumption.

Most figured that once Nikita was ‘comfortable’ with all the personnel moves she would return to Center. They were only partially correct, however. The truth was that as Michael had guessed, if he exceeded expectations and proved Nikita wrong he would attain the Perch and Jurgen would move up to second. If Michael ‘failed’ Jurgen would still move up to second, the position he had been training for in the last year and Nikita would remain in the Perch until a suitable candidate was primed.

As Walter was finishing up and the only operative left at Munitions was Chuck, the three conversed while waiting for Chuck’s summons to debrief.

“Good job, man,” Birkoff congratulated Chuck on his first successful mission since his promotion. The computer wiz was slowly working his way back into the fold and re-establishing friendships after a two year absence.

“Thanks,” Chuck smiled.

“Yeah, lucky for you there’s a new boss,” Walter grinned. “Otherwise with your stellar personality you’d be in abeyance instead.”

“That reminds me, who recommended the promotion?” Chuck asked Birkoff, figuring he’d know.

“Michael.”

“Really?” Walter asked, surprised.

“What?” Chuck defended his former friend. “I’ve been telling you not to count him out of your five percent club.”

“One act doesn’t…” Walter began.

“Chuck, debrief with Jurgen,” Nikita came by Munitions for her informal appointment with Walter. She had taken to practicing on the shooting range and familiarizing herself with Walter’s latest gadgets at least twice a week.

”Better get back to Comm myself.” Birkoff muttered, still not entirely comfortable in Nikita’s presence, despite what he’d heard from Jason and Walter. Unlike his brother and friend, Birkoff’s introduction to Nikita and Center wasn’t on the best of terms and he was still wary.

As Birkoff turned to go, Michael strode through the area on his way to the white room to interrogate the hostile Chuck and his team had brought back. On his way he caught the stares of three still standing in Munitions. Without breaking his stride Michael shot a brief nod of acknowledgment and approval at Chuck as he passed into their line of sight.

Once he turned the corner, Chuck looked over at Nikita and Walter who were readjusting their own gazes back as well. He could tell what they were thinking and felt the need to say something.

“He wasn’t always like this you know,” Chuck directed his comment to Nikita, knowing she wasn’t exactly enamored of her second in command.

“What changed?” Nikita asked when she realized Chuck expected a response. As long as she had been studying Section, the object of their discussion had always been the way he was, but Nikita humored Chuck by asking.

“His wife died,” Chuck answered. “Twice,” He threw over his shoulder as he turned towards Michael’s old office to debrief with Jurgen.

An hour later Nikita and Walter were back in a deserted Munitions. Most of the ‘training’ sessions occurred late, when a couple of hours without some kind of a crisis wasn’t such a rarity.

They’d spent a half hour at the target range and another half hour in Walter’s lab testing the older man’s newest explosives. As she handed back her gear Nikita’s expression turned thoughtful, remembering her very brief conversation with Chuck.

“So, what do *you* think about Michael?” Nikita asked. Walter had been the only one in Section that she’d confided in about the true nature of the personnel reconfiguration. Instinct had told her from the beginning that she could trust the aged hippie, and her instincts were rarely wrong.

“Personally or professionally?”

“I figure they go hand in hand.”

“Well, he is good at what he does. Always has been,” Walter hedged.

“So were Paul and Madeline,” Nikita reminded him. “Do you think he can change?”

“I don’t know,” Walter answered honestly. “But he *is* adapting.”

“Not good enough. I can’t afford to leave Section One in the hands of someone who doesn’t believe, just goes along with the tide.”

“Well, you’ve still got a couple of months to decide.”

”Yeah,” Nikita sighed, turning to head out for the Tower, her home for at least the next two months. “Thanks Walter, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Walter called, waiting for Nikita to turn around. “Did you ever consider that maybe it was *Operations’* way of thinking that Michael adapted to?”

“I thought you…”

“All I’m saying is that Section hasn’t been a bed of roses for anyone in the last few years. Lots of people adapted to survive, doesn’t mean they changed what was inside.”

“You know, Walter,” Nikita smiled at his ambiguity. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re very wise or just full of crap.”

“When you figure it out Sugar,” Walter grinned. “Let *me* know.”

The sliding door to Michael’s office opened to reveal Section’s current field leader. Jurgen had debated the necessity of this conversation since he’d returned to Section a month ago. Knowing his former material would never bring up anything not Section related himself, Jurgen decided it was finally time to get the ball rolling.

“Yes?” Michael inquired as Jurgen stepped down into the office. He’d been reviewing a profile when the other man’s presence outside his door was signaled. Not exactly surprised, Michael prepared himself for the conversation ahead and smoothed his features into his usual bland mask.

“We need to talk,” Jurgen announced, sitting down in one of the two chairs across from Michael’s desk without waiting for an invitation.

“Concerning Section?”

“Indirectly.”

“What do you want?” Michael asked, logging off the computer and sitting back.

“We’re going to be working together,” Jurgen started. “This isn’t temporary, I’m going to be here for the long haul.”

“I’m not,” Michael countered, immediately throwing the other man off balance. “So, why bother?”

“You plan on ah, leaving?” Jurgen asked, surprised at both the information and the sharing of it.

“We both know the probationary period is merely a formality,” Michael answered without a hint of accusation or even criticism.

“You can’t really believe that,” Jurgen returned, his original purpose in coming to Michael completely forgotten. “What would be the point?”

“To ease the transition,” Michael replied. “Eliminating the entire hierarchy at the same time would have been too much of a setback. Three months is sufficient to restructure and complete the housecleaning.”

“Believing that, you’re not…offended?”

“I have no illusions about the Agency or my longevity in it,” Michael replied, his expression betraying nothing.

After a still off balance Jurgen left Michael briefly wondered how long he’d have to wait until their conversation netted him the desired results before returning to the profile he’d been studying.

As expected, Jurgen discussed his and Michael’s conversation with Nikita. They’d come to the conclusion that Michael had used the opportunity to try to manipulate them to his own endgame. Just exactly what that endgame was though, neither could quite figure out.

The newest Section leaders’ working relationship had been nothing but cordial since the pronouncement of the evaluation results. The week after Michael’s bombshell however was more than just a bit tension filled. As Nikita was as stubborn as Michael was obstinate they engaged in a battle of wills, each waiting for the other one to blink.

Both Nikita and Michael wanted answers, but neither was willing to ask the questions. Section functioned as usual, the two working together but scrupulously avoiding any topic other than ‘business.’ Michael was by nature and necessity more patient than Nikita and he had the added advantage of having nothing to lose.

Michael hated not knowing and not being in control of both his fate and that which was around him. *But,* he hated laying his cards on the table even more. He hadn’t exactly lied to Jurgen as he honestly didn’t believe that he would be given the Perch. He didn’t think he would be canceled, but rather transferred and demoted.

In the five weeks that Nikita had been running Section, Michael had been grudgingly impressed. She’d laid out her plan and stuck to it. Section had maintained high numbers and there were significantly less casualties. Perhaps her original assessment *had* been correct. He’d long ago lost the ability to separate the acceptable collateral from the unacceptable.

Maybe he *would* be better off someplace else, somewhere where he could start over and regain what he’d lost over the years. He barely remembered what he was like before Simone was lost to Glass Curtain. The five years since his wife’s capture were a blur of missions, isolation, sacrifices and lost lives. Was there really a place for him in a kinder, gentler Section?

As for Nikita, there were less than two months left to her self-imposed deadline. Extension was not an option, she’d given her verdict and there was no going back. She knew the response she’d get from her father if she notified him that she needed more time. He’d tell her no, three months was plenty. If Michael couldn’t be trusted with the Perch by then he never could be.

Nikita never threw anyone’s life away, but in this particular instance she was even more hesitant than usual. She chalked it up to an unwillingness to lose Michael’s impressive skills and experience and nothing more, refusing to dig any deeper for her motivation in keeping the sometimes exasperating man around.

Finally, after a week of mental chess matches, at the end of another long day Nikita summoned Michael into her office.

“You wanted to see me?” Michael inquired, stepping into the Perch.

“Yes,” Nikita confirmed looking up from her desk, one of several new additions to the Perch’s furnishings. “Sit down, please.”

“Thank you.” Michael complied.

“We’re almost at the halfway mark,” Nikita was going to get answers and results, but that didn’t mean that she was going to lay all her cards out to get them.

“I know,” Michael didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what his superior was talking about.

“I would have expected some suggestions or policy recommendations from you by now,” Nikita circumvented.

“I didn’t believe they’d be welcome,” Michael replied honestly.

“Why not?”

“You’ve made it clear from the beginning that my…abilities were lacking. Why would you want my input?”

“You’ve been here a long time. At the very least your experience is valuable,” Nikita answered. “Quite frankly I expected more initiative from you, regardless of whether or not it had been asked for.”

“Fine,” Michael returned wearily. “Where do you want to start?”

“What do you think is going to happen if Jason’s faith in you is proven wrong?” Nikita thought it important that he understood the consequences.

“A demotion and transfer.”

“That’s not an option at your level,” Nikita countered. “Neither is retirement.”

“I understand,” Michael returned, a slow blink his only visible reaction.

“Good,” Nikita replied in a dismissive tone, not realizing from his unchanged expression that Michael was still unsure whether he cared or not. It wasn’t in her scope to believe that anyone could consciously accept, let alone wish for, oblivion. “I expect some modification in your behavior and attitude.”

Unable to see past Michael’s façade, Nikita was unaware of the damage done from their conversation.

Once he was gone, Nikita refused to acknowledge that the discussion bothered her in the least. She would not regret what she had said. Putting the conversation and everything else aside, Nikita began studying the report on the screen in front of her. Half an hour later she gave up any pretense of working and headed for the Tower.

Hoping to banish all thoughts and relax before going to bed, Nikita drew a bath, sat back in the tub and closed her eyes. But, unlike most other times, Nikita couldn’t keep her thoughts at bay.

She’d wanted to provoke a reaction, that much Nikita owned up to. Time was short as it was, and besides, she was tired of trying to figure Michael and his motives out. Had she gone too far? Was her original approach a mistake?

From everything she’d learned about Michael, endless sims included, her method should have been sound. Michael needed to be the best at whatever he did, that much had been obvious since he reached operative status a decade ago. Nikita had thought that by challenging him to prove her wrong Michael would rise to the occasion and quickly show his continued value.

Nikita had told Walter that she needed Michael to change and not merely adapt. But had she given him a fair chance by hanging cancelation over his head from the get go? She wasn’t so sure anymore.

To top things off, she’d let her frustration get the best of her. She’d conceded that she goaded Michael an hour ago, his “I know” inciting her to do it. Nikita figured his next reply, about his ideas being unwelcome, was just another ploy of some kind. So she lost control, something she had worked very hard on these last five years, and lashed out once more.

Then of course, Nikita admitted, she made things even worse. Looking back now, she realized that Michael might have actually been sincere when he asked her where she wanted to start. Resigned, but sincere. At the time she hadn’t seen it and instead of getting down to business she again reminded him of his precarious situation.

Nikita cringed even more as she recalled her last statement to Michael before dismissing him. “I expect some modification in your behavior and attitude.” Damn, she had sounded like a high school principal rather than the head of the most clandestine anti-terrorist organization on the planet.

“Tomorrow.” Nikita concluded, giving up and getting out of the tub. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

But what is it about him that irks me so badly? And why the hell am I even thinking about him, let alone feeling guilty at my behavior?

Before anyone had a chance to fix anything, events led Section One down a different path.

The next morning while Nikita was still in the Tower discussing business matters with her father a mini-crisis gripped Section.

Davenport had begun training for field command. His first four solo efforts had been successful and he was now running tactical oversight of his fifth. Jurgen was team leader on this one, a fairly straightforward retrieve and destroy.

Things fell apart towards the end and egress turned very ugly. Information had been downloaded, the charges set and already on countdown but the Section operatives came under heavy fire before they cleared the incineration zone. Faulty intel put the perimeter patrol on the ‘wrong’ side of the building and the team was spotted prematurely. Security at the targeted plant was good and the Section team was quickly surrounded then pinned down in two groups of three.

Neither Jurgen nor Davenport saw a way out from their respective vantage points. But they both knew that the mission and the destruction of the three-story building came first. Therefore, the countdown had to continue, regardless of who would get caught in the explosion.

Nikita was just entering Section when things had turned sour but she too could only watch as the team’s egress became impossible, seeing nothing to save the situation. Jurgen’s team originally numbered in six but were now down to four. Jurgen himself was barely mobile, having been injured while trying and failing to save the two operatives pinned down with him.

Before the doomed operatives got their final orders Michael strode quickly into Comm and grabbed Davenport’s earpiece. A rapid series of commands later and all four remaining team members cleared the incineration zone and were on the way to the secondary pickup point. Even with Jurgen’s injury slowing him down, Michael had managed to get the man out, with seconds to spare.

By the time the people standing in Comm recovered from their shock, Michael was almost halfway back to his office.

Nikita was the first to recover and ordered Davenport to write a report then wait for the team’s return to, along with Jurgen, debrief with her. That done, Nikita hurried after Michael and caught up to him as he was about to enter his office.

“Michael,” Nikita called out after checking to see that they were alone in the corridor.

“Yes?” Michael turned around.

“You saved the team,” Nikita commented.

“You’ll have the report within the hour,” Michael returned.

“Why?” It was important for Nikita to know the reason behind his actions. “You despise Jurgen. No one would have been the wiser if he hadn’t gotten out…”

“I helped train Davenport and recommended him for the position,” Michael interrupted. “The team’s lives were my responsibility.”

“Damn the man,” Nikita muttered again. Facing the darkened perch window, she watched Michael as he strode through Systems on his way out for the evening. She had sent him home after telling him she’d debrief Davenport and Jurgen personally.

As she watched, Michael changed course to speak with Davenport, having seen him coming in from the opposite direction. She couldn’t make out was being said, but it seemed to Nikita that Davenport’s countenance was much improved after the brief conversation.

Before Michael could take his leave, Jurgen hobbled over to the two men, having come straight from Medlab to debrief. Nikita saw Davenport wisely beat a hasty retreat. After an even briefer exchange with Jurgen, Michael walked away, facial expression as bland as when he’d first entered the area. Jurgen merely looked puzzled, then thoughtful as he watched his former material walk away.

“Damn,” Nikita muttered again as Michael finally left her line of sight. ‘Did he save the team because he cared or was he just trying to demonstrate his continued usefulness? His answer to her unasked question and the blank mask that had accompanied it were of no help. If she thought she could get an honest answer, she *would* voice the question.

Seeing Jurgen make his way towards the Perch, with Davenport quickly catching up and following, Nikita pushed aside her questions and frustration to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Davenport left the perch an hour later, somewhat assured that the lives lost were not his fault. Once they were alone Nikita and Jurgen turned the discussion towards Michael’s behavior during and after the mission as well the day’s events relevance to Section’s future.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Nikita asked Jurgen, after his involuntary grimace of pain. “We can call it a night.”

“No, I’m okay,” Jurgen resisted the temptation to sit, leaning instead against the still tinted aerie window. “What’s troubling you?”

“What was that exchange downstairs about?” Nikita asked in reply

“With Michael?”

“Yes,” Nikita confirmed.

“None of us saw a way out; I still don’t know how he found it,” Jurgen replied. “I tried to thank him for what he did.”

“Tried?”

“He said, ‘there’s nothing to thank me for. I was just doing my job.’” Jurgen elaborated.

“Would you have done the same?”

“Yeah, now I would, even though I’m sure Michael likes me about as much I like him,” Jurgen replied. “Up until two years ago, I probably wouldn’t have. But Michael would have, that much I’m sure of.”

“Why?”

“After Simone was…thought dead, Michael lived and breathed Section. He never let anything, anyone, or his personal feelings interfere. After Simone was confirmed dead two and a half years ago, he *completely* shut down. Didn’t even talk to anyone, unless it was Section related. Still doesn’t,” Jurgen sighed. “I’m not proud of my behavior afterwards, but I managed to hold on until I got out. Now, coming back here and being a part of what’s going down, it hits home.”

“What does?” Nikita asked, not following.

“The hell that this place was, and what it took to survive. And before you ask, I might be tired of this crap myself if I were in Michael’s shoes,” Jurgen continued. “You hired me on partly because of my Psych Ops proficiency. My professional opinion is that he’s not looking to die, but he’s not looking to live either,” He paused. “Now I want to ask you something.”

“What?” Nikita returned distractedly, her mind still on Jurgen’s statements.

“Why do you care more about whether Michael lives or dies than *he* does?”

“I-I told you before…” a jolted Nikita stammered.

“I know, no one is acceptable collateral,” Jurgen interrupted. “What else?”

“What makes you think there’s more?” Nikita asked, stalling.

“Isn’t that why I’m here - because I’m good at reading people?”

‘Yeah, maybe too good,’ Nikita thought.

“Well?” Jurgen prodded.

Nikita paused, suddenly aware of the personal impact that question provoked. Better to think about that later, much later, when she was alone and recovered from the shock of realizing that there *was* a personal impact.

Sticking to professional reasons, she replied, “The truth is that he’s the best candidate. There’s no one to promote from within. Paul and Madeline made sure of that. The other Sections have their own problems. Oversight and Center have different mindsets. Bringing in a complete outsider isn’t an option either.”

“What *is* an option?”

“Good question,” Nikita returned ruefully. “I’d have to remain for as long as it took to find and train someone.”

“I thought you had to return to Center.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I‘ve already decided that Michael can do the job. Now I have to figure out how to make him *want* the job.”

“You know how,” Jurgen argued, referring to a previous strategy discussion. He agreed with Nikita about Michael’s suitability for the Perch and was willing to go even further than she was to make it happen.

“No,” Nikita countered adamantly, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “I won’t use the boy.”

“At least until you find someone else,” Jurgen continued. “If it’s the only way…”

“No,” Nikita reiterated forcefully. “It’d only be a temporary solution. And besides, it would make me no better than Paul.”

“At least think about it.”

“That avenue is closed for discussion.”

“Fine.” Jurgen saw that Nikita’s mind was made up. He’d bide his time; there was still enough of it left to persuade her otherwise. “Are you done for the night?”

“Not yet,” Nikita lied. “You should get some rest anyway.” She smiled, softening the blow. “How about a rain check?” She didn’t want him to suspect that the real reason she was refusing his implied dinner invitation was because she needed to be alone with her tumultuous thoughts.

Alone in the Perch, looking down at a nearly deserted Section, Nikita let tumble the thoughts she’d held back from Jurgen. She hadn’t really lied a few minutes ago, at least not completely. There simply weren’t any viable candidates for the Perch. Considering what she’d gleaned from her sister, Michelle, Nikita could forget about looking to the other Sections for a contender.

Jurgen understood that as well, and had offered her a solution when it became apparent her original strategy was failing. “Use the boy to bring the father in line.” Uneasy on the inside, Nikita didn’t let it show. Her outward response had been non-committal; she’d merely told him she’d think about it.

Even though she’d been vaguely unsettled with the conversation at the time, Nikita had realized Jurgen was looking out for Section One’s best interests. However, she hadn’t wanted to discuss it again. Now, the repeated suggestion clearly angered Nikita. No one deserved that kind of sword hung over their head, certainly not someone whose cooperation they were trying to gain.

Michael especially didn’t deserve it, not after everything he’d endured and everyone he’d lost as a result of his ten-year tenure in Section One.

Now where did that come from? Nikita asked herself. Why on earth am I defending Michael?

Before Nikita could answer her own question about her second in command, a loud beep from the computer alerted her to a top priority message, clearance level eleven.

Sitting down at her desk, Nikita rapidly entered her codes and opened the red-flagged file. Paling almost instantly at the message in front of her, she slumped in her chair, a softly uttered, “Oh my God,” escaping from her lips.

How could this have happened? Nikita was appalled, They were under our protection.

Nikita reacted immediately by sending out a team of top operatives. That done, her thoughts turned toward how she was going to tell him this terrible news.

EIGHT HOURS LATER.

“You wanted to see me?” Michael asked, as he stepped into the Perch, folding his hands in front of him. The look of apprehension on his superior’s face put him immediately on guard.

“Yes,” Nikita sighed, alerting Michael that it wasn’t apprehension, but pity in her expression. Believing the pity was for his fate, Michael steeled himself while keeping his expression unreadable.

“There was an incident last night,” Nikita began hesitantly.

“Yes?” Michael prodded, when Nikita’s pause stretched into silence.

“A woman and child under Section’s protection were killed in an explosion.”

A feeling of foreboding forced Michael to ask, with a calm he didn’t feel, “Who?”

“I’m sorry, Michael,” was all Nikita could manage. In that moment Michael understood that his son’s parentage and security were not as secret he thought they were and Adam and Elena were both dead.

“How?” Michael had to know.

“Salla Vacek’s brother, Stephan,” Nikita answered, startled at the change that overcame him. She’d been witness before to what many referred to as his ‘machine mode,’ but the coldness and detachment emanating from the man in front of her went far beyond that. She felt shivers course down her back as she looked into the emotionless depths of his icy green eyes.

“Where is he?” Was the first thing Michael wanted to know.

“A Center team brought him here a few minutes ago,” Nikita answered. “I know this is little comfort now, but there was maximum security coverage. This should never have happened.”

“How *did* it happen?” Michael couldn’t keep the accusation out of his tone.

“We were monitoring for possible contact. The team followed Stephan after he visited with them. We didn’t know he would blame his niece for his brother’s death,” Nikita defended lamely. “He planted a bomb before he left the house; it went off a few hours later.”

“I *want* him.” Michael spoke with deadly equanimity.

“He’s in the white room,” Nikita acquiesced.

“Thank you,” Michael responded quietly, then turned to leave.

“Michael.” Nikita stopped him, waited for him to face her, and reluctantly reminded him, “We need his intel first.”

“Of course,” Michael returned, still eerily calm, and exited the Perch.

Even though Michael blocked the live feed from the white room, Nikita’s higher clearance netted her access codes to override his. However, she respected his desire for privacy and after a torturous internal debate decided not to watch the interrogation live. The sound of her intercom broke into Nikita’s thoughts.

“Yes?” Nikita punched the intercom.

“Jurgen to see you, ma’am,” The disembodied voice announced.

“Send him up.”

“I think you’re making a very big mistake.” Before even fully stepping into the Perch, Jurgen was making his feelings known by forcefully reiterating his position.

“And I still think you’re wrong,” Nikita countered. “Michael will get the intel we need from Vacek.”

“I agree with that much. He has the most incentive.”

“Then why the argument? I thought your main concern was Section.”

“It is,” Jurgen agreed. “That’s why I’m telling you this is a mistake. You’ll get the intel, but you’ll lose Michael in the process.”

“How?”

“He won’t come out of this intact.”

“He needs the closure,” Nikita argued “Besides, it’s already begun.”

“Replace him.”

“No,” Nikita answered with absolute conviction. “Michael’s stronger than you think.”

“Michael's feelings are strongly shielded but they’re still there. He’s not as invulnerable as *you* think.” Jurgen countered, equally adamant.

Although she had decided to forego monitoring the live interrogation, Nikita’s conversation with Jurgen had left her unsettled. She was good at reading people, but Jurgen had known Michael longer.

By the time Nikita’s doubts had reached the point where she was finally compelled to turn on the live feed, Michael had almost completed the interrogation. She took the opportunity to reflect on their almost two months of working together. It dawned on her that, although it was Jurgen with whom she was having a personal relationship, she found herself spending more and more time thinking about her second in command. Furthermore, all her thoughts were not Section related, which was beginning to cause her concern.

Nikita was snapped back to the present by the sound of a gunshot. Looking at the monitor in front of her, she turned in time to watch a neat little hole form on Stephan Vacek’s forehead.

Her eyes followed the gun in Michael’s outstretched hand as he slowly lowered it, turned it around, and purposefully raised it toward his head. Nikita’s eyes opened wide in disbelief; her body momentarily frozen. Without engaging the safety, Michael ran the barrel of his weapon slowly up and down the side of his face, from forehead to chin. His outwardly unseeing jade eyes turned inward, looking at something non-existent within the room.

Nikita thought he had the look of a man who had come to a decision, about to carefully make his next move, seemingly against himself.

“Michael!” Nikita wrenched herself from her frozen disbelief and fairly shouted into the intercom connecting her to the white room. Thinking he was about to kill himself with the gun just used to avenge his son’s death, she acted quickly, without conscious thought, pressing another button on the console before his name was completely out of her mouth. The fast acting knock-out gas released at her touch had been installed for use against hostiles who managed to escape the white room’s restraints. She prayed it would stop him in the scant seconds she believed to be between Michael and certain death.

Her forceful tone turned Michael’s attention toward its source - the camera mounted in the far corner. As hoped for, before his gaze had even completely focused, Michael succumbed to the gas.

Pausing only long enough to ensure the white room was locked to all but her own access codes, Nikita quickly and deliberately strode across Section, careful to shield from notice the events of the last few minutes. She calculated she had at least fifteen minutes until Michael regained consciousness.

After checking for any personnel within sight, Nikita opened the white room door. Taking no notice of the dead man still under restraint, she dropped to her knees in front of an unmoving, silent Michael. He was lying on his back near the door, still clutching the gun in his right hand, alive.

After pausing for a moment of silent thanks, Nikita gently pulled the gun out of Michael’s grasp and pushed it away. Looking down at the unconscious man, she noticed how young and vulnerable he appeared. His shoulder length auburn hair, almost always severely swept back, fell in disarray around his face, an errant strand curled across his forehead. Gone was the cold expression or blank stare he usually sported, in their place a look of peace and innocence.

Nikita berated herself for not listening to Jurgen when he argued Michael’s emotional state was too unstable to survive the interrogation. She didn’t want to believe her error in judgment of Michael, but the evidence precluded any further denial. She would never forget the recent scene in this very room - Michael running the barrel of his gun up and down the side of his face, gaze unseeing, almost flirting with the deadly weapon in his hand.

Her heart beat faster and her pulse raced anew at the reminder of how close she thought she had come to losing the man next to her on the floor. She’d never been more scared in her entire life, which led her to the stunning realization of the depth of her feelings for him.

Mesmerized by the captivating sight in front of her, Nikita found herself reaching out to tuck the stray curl behind his ear. Unable to pull her hand away, she was about to run her fingertips down the side of the face he’d so recently caressed with his gun, when Michael’s eyes opened.

Apprehensively pulling away from a rapidly wakening Michael, Nikita stood up and averted her eyes. She silently reproached herself for forgetting that Michael had an unusually high tolerance for drugs, chemicals and pain.

Getting his bearings, Michael rose quickly, albeit a bit unsteadily. Waiting until Nikita faced him, his eyes piercing green lasers, he uttered only one word, “Why?”

“Why?” Nikita looked at him incredulously, at a momentary loss for words in answer to his accusatory challenge. “Why?” she threw back at him again, letting her tone of voice convey her disbelief at his question. Michael, by now in full command, refused to let her gain the offensive and increased the intensity of his stare, defying her to answer him.

The tense silence that followed was broken by Nikita. “It looked like you were just about to . . .”

“Why did you stop me?” Michael saved her finishing the sentence, disappointed she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. At the same time however, he was unaccountably pleased at her caring enough to stop what she’d misread as a suicide attempt.

“I-I,” Nikita faltered. “I couldn’t stand by and watch you die.”

“Why?” Michael was curious. He allowed himself the unaccustomed luxury of hope, his expression a bit unguarded. “You wanted me canceled from the beginning.”

Not expecting this reaction, Nikita again floundered. Discomfort clouded her usually clear blue eyes, causing her to retreat to the safety of the company line to recover her composure. “You’re still needed. Section isn’t finished with you.”

Michael’s mask slammed back into place. “Section. Of course.”

Nikita felt him about to walk away, and didn’t want him leaving with an adverse impression. Distracted by his alluring green eyes, she misguidedly asked, “Do I need to put you on suicide watch?” “Why bother?” Michael answered, slight sarcasm tinting his usual monotone.

Nikita reacted immediately to Michael’s inflection. “I told you…,” she started to proclaim….

“Section is not finished with me,” Michael completed, interrupting the harangue he saw coming. The hint of bitterness in his voice did not go unnoticed by Nikita.

“That’s right.” Since he hadn’t denied his attempt at suicide, Nikita concluded Michael might try again. She needed to prevent that right now. “And I don’t think you will make any further attempts.”

“Why not?” Michael asked, the challenge back in his eyes. “It’s my choice; it affects no one else. Section has seen to that.”

Michael’s somber statement led Nikita to believe that he really did want to die. His refusal to shed light on his actions in the white room reinforced the belief. Desperate to forestall another attempt, Nikita forced her compassion aside to use a tactic she’d always stood staunchly against.

“You have a sister,” Nikita unemotionally began, belying her inner turmoil at using against him the last remaining tie to his personal world. She needed to explain no further. “I understand.” Michael returned to machine mode, his expression set in granite.

“Good.” Nikita concluded the discussion, not totally happy with the result, but inwardly relieved at having bought some time. “Everything after the interrogation’s completion will be deleted from the surveillance tapes.”

Michael comprehended Nikita’s message. Potentially devastating, their discussion and events precipitating it were to be known only by them. Blank stare securely in place, he uttered the expected response, “Of course. Will that be all?” Michael wanted to be out of the white room and away from Nikita as quickly as possible.

Nikita, unable to find the words to stop him, stepped aside to allow Michael’s determined exit. With shuttered gaze, Michael walked swiftly towards his office. Needing to leave Section to process his thoughts about what had just occurred, Michael grabbed his coat and strode purposefully toward the elevator. Before he could reach his destination, Jurgen appeared in his path.

Concerned for ‘whatever was best for Section,’ Jurgen had tried to access the live feed and then the surveillance footage from the white room, only to find them both blocked.

Jurgen was frustrated, especially after watching Nikita’s slow, unsteady gait as she crossed the corridor on her way back to the Perch a few minutes ago. Now, he saw his chance to discover what had taken place by intercepting Michael.

“How did the interrogation go?” Jurgen tried to make his interest sound friendly and casual.

“Fine,” Michael replied - standard answer, standard tone, standard look over Jurgen’s shoulder. “Nikita is studying the tapes for useful intel. Expect a profile in the morning.”

“Anything unusual, out of the ordinary?” Jurgen asked, surprised that Michael wasn’t writing the profile himself and hoping to provoke some answer to his concerns.

“No.” Michael’s distinctive one-word answer was accompanied by a red stop sign in the center of his green eyes clearly broadcasting, “Don’t even go there.”

Jurgen knew he’d discover nothing else when Michael stepped around him and resumed his course to the elevator, effectively ending any further discussion. Feeling this was one thing Nikita would *not* confide in him, Jurgen nevertheless headed for the Perch.

From his vantage point in Munitions over the years, Walter had seen and understood more than anyone else. He’d been collecting gear from Chuck’s returning team, but this didn’t stop him from noticing Nikita’s purposeful and somewhat tense stride to the white room.

Walter had then been distracted by the small group of Birkoff, Davenport and Mowen who’d come to congratulate Chuck on a successful mission. They’d then begun to tease him about his new relationship with Liz, a level three cold op, and to ‘manfully’ warn him about the distractions a ‘pretty woman’ could provoke on a mission. Walter listened with half an ear, his thoughts elsewhere.

Walter knew why Michael had wanted privacy in the white room; knew all about the true paternity of the boy who’d been killed in the explosion for which Stephan Vacek had been responsible. After thirty years in Section, there wasn’t much Walter didn’t know.

A few minutes later, as the conversation around him was breaking up, Walter saw Nikita’s return - her stride slow, gaze unfocused. Shortly thereafter, Michael crossed toward the elevator, momentarily waylaid by Jurgen. From where he stood, Walter watched the conversation. Jurgen obviously wanted something from Michael, whose stoic expression and body language clearly indicated he wasn’t going to get it.

Putting together the looks and actions of Nikita, Michael and Jurgen, Walter was certain something disastrous had taken place in the white room. Whatever that was, for the first time since Nikita took over the Perch, Walter’s emerging peace of mind was threatened.

Things did not bode well for Section.

Michael rode his motorcycle out of Section, driving by rote, no destination in mind. His usual calm exterior belied the disconcerting tangle of thoughts inside his head. As was his strategy with any challenging situation, his superior profiling skills led him to set aside the undependable confusion of emotion, and use instead the orderly precision of logic.

First, he was forced to admit to himself that Nikita’s words and actions had been skewed by his withholding the truth - that there was no attempted suicide. How then could he, who prided himself on his fairness, judge her? He justified his omission by telling himself that he did not really lie to her. He had simply taken advantage of a better opportunity to “test” her.

With this troublesome sticking place overcome, he examined Nikita’s reactions in the order they had occurred. Seeing what she believed to be an imminent suicide attempt, she had taken immediate action to prevent it by releasing the gas. Sound strategy; he would have done the same. She then proceeded quickly to the white room, no doubt shielding her actions from notice; another sound strategy.

Once inside, she rushed immediately to check his condition. Michael’s orderly processing of events halted here. He had come to consciousness a short time before Nikita realized it, section training dictating the assessment of his situation before showing any signs of awakening. Eyes closed, he still felt Nikita’s sympathetic, warm gaze, which had surprisingly stirred his desire. His body reacted to the gentle, searching caressing of his face, as to the sun after a cold winter. It was hard to remain still, to keep his sensitive fingers from returning her arousing touch, to suppress the tremble that threatened to engulf his body. He opened his eyes quickly, hoping to catch her off guard and see in her eyes what he had felt in her touch. He was not disappointed. Before she was able to turn aside, he saw desire in the darkened blue depths of her unshielded glance.

Michael thought back over the last few weeks. As he and Nikita continued to work together, they’d become more comfortable in each other’s presence. He had grown to respect Nikita and had even begun to see her as more than just a colleague or boss, maybe even a friend. To his consternation, on more than one occasion, he’d even found himself fantasizing beyond friendship. Michael thought that Nikita had begun to feel further than professional respect for him.

After their close contact in the white room, even before opening his eyes, his suspicions about both their feelings were confirmed. As they started to talk, he had actually chanced the belief that there was cause for optimism about his future in Section and with Nikita as well. But this was short lived, dispelled with her crushing statements.

“Do I need to put you on suicide watch?” “I don’t think you will make any further attempts.” “You have a sister,” “You’re still needed”

Worst of all, and most painful, was Nikita’s declaration on the heels of his son’s death: “Section isn’t finished with you.”

He hadn’t needed to know Adam to love him as any parent would. Michael’s grief was as great as if he’d spent a lifetime with his son.

Before the white room encounter, Michael had begun to think Section was different this time around. He’d seen many positive changes wrought by Nikita over the last few weeks - changes he envisioned continuing when the Perch was his to command.

In the end though, it had all been an illusion, as had Nikita’s concern for his continued well being. Michael now saw her apparent sorrow over Adam and Elena’s death as regret over losing an effective means of controlling him.

There would be no “kinder, gentler” Section, no regarding operatives as human beings with feelings, no support, no praise, no……..

Section had been better off with Paul and Madeline. You always knew exactly where you stood. They didn’t pull the carpet out from under your feet - they never offered it in the first place.

However, in six weeks none of it would matter any more. Six weeks, that’s all he had to endure. In six weeks, as originally intended, Center would cancel him.

Michael smiled ironically. His strategic thinking was complete. He knew how he must proceed. Clarity and composure again reigned on the inside as well as the outside.

Six weeks.

Outwardly polite and cooperative with each other, both Michael and Nikita churned inside with unresolved issues, unexpressed feelings and unanswered questions. Their personal thoughts and decisions, however, did not interfere with their working relationship. They were both too well trained for that.

Ten days after the confrontation in the white room, Nikita had scheduled a breakfast meeting in the room Paul and Madeline always used for this purpose. Both Michael and Nikita approached this meeting with some trepidation, but for different reasons.

Nikita knew that, due to some appalling statements she had made in panicked haste, Michael’s loyalty, respect and desire to remain at Section had been compromised. If she now expected to undo the damage created, she’d have to replace his negative impressions with positive support and encouragement. Uncertainty as to how to accomplish this with a man as complex and multi-layered as her second in command was the cause of Nikita’s trepidation. She hoped the personal and warmer setting of this room would be a good first step.

Michael, on the other hand, desired to accomplish nothing at this meeting. As far as he was concerned, the days of strategy, maneuvers and tactics were behind him. His goal was simply to get through the next month or so with as little pain as possible for himself, or those around him. His innate sense of pride dictated against performing poorly, but he would no longer sacrifice his soul to do well.

His trepidation sprung from conflict within himself regarding Nikita. His own eyes had shown her to be a liar and cold manipulator as Section’s leader. Nevertheless, he had trouble believing this image, perhaps because of his growing attraction and desire for her as a woman. Then too, her invitation to this more intimate setting was intriguing.

Nikita welcomed Michael to the elegant, but simply decorated room and to a seat at the large glass table upon which was set an antique silver coffee service and tray of French brioche and croissants, chosen especially to please him. She took a seat opposite him, passed the tray, and began to pour the coffee. Fortunately, breakfast was proving to be an excellent ice breaker, helping to dispel the nervousness both Nikita and Michael were feeling.

Nikita reached across the table, set a cup before Michael, looked up and found him staring at her. His probing green eyes asked questions which she didn’t want to answer, not even to herself. She tried to look away from those compelling eyes, eyes that haunted her waking and sleeping hours since their white room confrontation.

But she was no match for Michael’s stirring gaze in her imagination, let alone here in person. Her body betrayed her, pulling toward him, aching, longing. She tried to remember she was Michael’s superior at Section, but it was Michael who now seemed to have the upper hand.

Even though Michael was aware of the power wielded by focusing his famous emerald glare upon an unsuspecting victim, at this moment he was feeling more captive than captor.

Nikita’s guileless blue eyes gave no discernible clue as to what images lay behind them. Had he been able to penetrate the blue boundary, he would have seen pictures conjured there that mirrored his own.

He was aware, however, of the distraction provided by the closeness of Nikita’s long blonde hair, the intoxicating aroma of her sweet-scented shampoo threatening to overwhelm his senses altogether. Immediately, the image of her in the white room came flashing before him, as it had done so many times since then. Once more, he felt her gentle touch, arousing in him the same desire as then. He grew steadily warmer, his body throbbing, hardening flesh straining the material of tightening pants.

As the amount of space slowly diminished between man and woman, a harsh buzz from the intercom sounded, restoring proper distance between Section’s leader and second in command. Startled into reality, both hoped no notice had been taken of the physical manifestations caused by their errant thoughts. Each, needing time for composure, hoped the other would speak first.

Emotional distractions were not tolerated in Section One, the most clandestine anti-terrorist organization on the planet.

“Davenport’s doing better than projected.” Nikita predictably broke the silence that reigned from the intercom’s intrusion. Birkoff had buzzed in to inform them that he’d downloaded Section’s current numbers into their computers. Silently thanking the computer wiz for interrupting, Nikita finally gathered her errant thoughts enough to discuss business. She noted with relief that Michael had been too immersed in what, she erroneously believed, were Section related thoughts to notice her slip in concentration.

“His numbers have remained stable despite the added responsibility,” Michael commented, also silently thankful for Birkoff’s interruption as it allowed him enough time to compose himself. He was grateful that Nikita hadn’t seemed to notice his discomfort. “He should continue to do well.”

“However, his successor is another matter. Perhaps we promoted Chuck to Davenport’s old position too quickly.”

“Chuck’s personal relationship is still distracting him,” Michael interrupted, feeling the need to defend his old friend. “He’ll adjust.”

“A three and a half percent drop in efficiency.” Nikita pressed a couple of keys to bring up the recently promoted operative’s statistics. Michael’s brusque manner brought the remnants of her wandering thoughts back to the business at hand.

“Yes,” Michael returned. He knew what this would mean for the operative. Section pounced on half a percentage drop and this was considerably more significant.

“Talk to him,” Nikita suggested.

“I’ll transfer Liz to another team,” Michael reasoned. “That should ease the distraction caused by their relationship.”

“There’s no need,” Nikita countered. “Keeping her on Chuck’s team will keep him more focused on the objective and returning with his team intact.”

“No censure?” Michael asked, surprised.

“No,” Nikita answered, then took advantage of the opportunity for a more personal admission, hoping Michael would discern the deeper meaning. “I may have been rash in the past about the best approach to motivate operatives’…commitment to do the job. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

Upon hearing her ‘confession,’ Michael turned to look at her, but Nikita’s attention was already back on the screen. Pondering her statement, it took Michael a moment to focus on her next words.

“Section Three reports increased activity by the Collective.” Nikita continued staring at her screen, afraid to let Michael see how personal her admission really was.

“The Collective’s using Red Storm as a cover,” Michael commented after a moment, “allowing the smaller group to take responsibility.”

“For what reason?”

“They don’t want to show their true strength yet,” Michael surmised.

“What do you suggest?” Nikita asked for his input, trying to draw Michael out through his expertise. “Take them down now?”

“No, step up surveillance,” Michael replied after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Why was Nikita asking him his opinion now?’ He almost smiled ruefully as realization dawned. She was going to use his skills and experience for as long as he was around. He couldn’t really fault her, as he’d do the same in her position. Deciding to allow it, Michael gave his honest opinion. “We don’t know who’s funding them yet. Take them down now and we’ll never find out. They’ll merely go underground until they find a new group to back.”

“Agreed.” Nikita turned to the next topic. “The Asian Sector has asked for our assistance to handle their internal security problem,” she continued, unaware that Michael had misread her intentions for requesting his contribution.

The two spent the next half hour on Section business. Each avoided looking directly at the other for fear their desire, too close to the surface, would re-emerge and break the tenuous professional relationship they’d barely managed to attain.

The end of the long, mission-laden day found Michael on his way back to his office to finalize his latest profile. Crossing the main corridor he noticed Jurgen making his way to the Perch, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wondering if he was going there to discuss Section business, Michael shrugged it off, believing if that were the case he’d hear about it soon enough.

Nikita stood before the privacy-tinted Perch aerie and noticed Michael crossing the floor below as Jurgen made his way to the Perch stairs.

“You wanted to see me?” Jurgen asked, stepping into the room.

“Yes.” Nikita replied gravely, although somewhat startled by Jurgen’s voicing of the familiar phrase she’d come to associate with Michael. It caused her to recognize she’d spent more time with Michael over the last couple of months than with the man standing in front of her.

“Everything all right?” Jurgen asked, immediately concerned at Nikita’s unusually somber expression.

“Fine,” Nikita answered, closing the distance between them by tentatively reaching out and placing her hand on his arm. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you….”

“It’s about us, isn’t it?” Jurgen’s suspicions prompted him to ask.

“Jurgen…” Nikita’s tone conveyed his accuracy.

“It’s okay.” Jurgen sighed sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“Us,” Jurgen answered. “There is no ‘us’ any more, is there?” He knew Nikita’s feelings for him were of friendship now, even had suspicions as to one of the major reasons behind it.

“I still care for you,” Nikita tried.

“Care, yes. But it’ll never be more than that for you, will it?”

“I...I,” Nikita tried to explain but couldn’t find the words.

“The truth Nikita, please, before…”

“Before what?”

“I could grow to love you,” Jurgen admitted. “But I could also live without you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Nikita paused. “How did you know?”

“Things haven’t been the same since we’ve been in Section,” Jurgen stated. “Better to acknowledge that now, before feelings get out of hand.”

While Nikita and Jurgen were sorting out their feelings, Michael sat in his office completing the last profile for the night. It was a simple search and destroy which, thanks to one of Nikita’s new policies, wasn’t so simple. He’d spent twice the amount of time he’d usually spend on a profile in order to ensure zero collateral. Michael wasn’t upset at the extra work. Saving lives, Section and innocent alike, was something he was glad to do.

Nikita had occupied his thoughts for most of the day, and he needed to get away from them. Michael shut down his computer and prepared to go…home.

Home. Now there was an interesting word. He hadn’t really had a home since Simone’s death - over five long years. What he had was a place to ‘crash.’ If he were lucky, he’d get five hours of sleep before the start of the nightmares. The only things worse than nightmares were his vivid dreams of Nikita, dreams he thought could never be. Between the dreams and nightmares, he invariably woke up in a sweat.

Thoughts of his lonely existence again brought up his breakfast meeting with Nikita and the olive branch with which she’d seemed to reach out.

“ I may have been rash in the past about the best approach to motivate operatives’…commitment to do the job. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

She’d actually looked *at* instead of *through* him just before she made the statement, almost making him believe it was personal.

Almost. Until the time he remembered that Section wasn’t finished with him. Yet.

Grabbing his jacket, Michael sighed and left his office. Reaching the main corridor, he observed Jurgen leaving the Perch, a sad, almost wistful expression on his face. Michael’s instincts had told him from the beginning that his former mentor and current boss were involved in a personal relationship. He’d seen the way they sometimes looked at each other, and at first thought it was merely banding together in a new and sometimes hostile environment. But he soon realized there was a personal component.

Jurgen and Nikita’s behavior towards each other in Section had been nothing but professional in the two months they’d been here, but there *was* something between them, Michael was sure of it. Although it hadn’t stopped Michael from fantasizing about Nikita, it was just another indication of how foolish he felt those fantasies were.

Curious as to the reason behind Jurgen’s apparent melancholy after leaving the Perch, Michael shot him a questioning look as he passed him just below the Perch. Receiving a closed look in response, Michael continued staring at his former mentor, waiting for elaboration. When none was forthcoming, Michael surmised that the reason behind the other man’s blocked appearance had nothing to do with Section business.

Not knowing what to do, Nikita observed the silent staring match below, as both participants simultaneously turned their gaze up towards the still tinted Perch.

Unfortunately, not Nikita, not Michael, and not Jurgen, would have the luxury of time to sort out their feelings. The last month of Michael’s probation flew by in a whirlwind of activity.

News of Section One, and the rest of the Agency’s changes of leadership, had leaked out into the world of anti-terrorism and terrorism alike. Thinking the change in hierarchy was a golden opportunity to strike, many terrorist factions escalated their activities. As a result, Section was kept very busy, affording little time to dwell on anything other than the job at hand.

The various terrorist groups eventually realized that the Agency was not weakened, but rather strengthened, by the sweeping changes, and sat back to lick their wounds. By the time that happened, and Section One had a chance to breathe, Michael’s three-month probation period was almost over.