Late in the evening Michael found himself at Nikita's apartment, in search of answers. He knew that they would be watching, but he couldn't stay away.

Damn them. They did something to Nikita. But what? Nothing else mattered if he didn't have Nikita.

What have they done to her?

Paint covered fingers pulled open the door. Nikita glanced at Michael and simply said "Hello," as she beckoned him in, fluttering her arms, carefree.

"Hi, " he replied as unease swept over him. She was still not right. No, this was all terribly wrong.

She had been painting, if you could call it that. White paint haphazardly placed on the wall in strange flowing strokes. Almost whimsical.

"What are you doing here?" Nikita asked out of simple curiosity like a small child.

What have they done to her?

"I wanted to see you." Michael answered her.

But not like this.

"They're watching the apartment, you know," Nikita said matter-of-factly, as her focus returned to her painting.

"I know."

The sterile white paint covered the melancholy blue, blotting out its coolness. The painting was a task to be focused on, one stroke after the next.

He watched painfully as she remained focused on the paint. His presence meant nothing to her. She was trapped in a reverie, her head swaying back and forth as she moved the roller. His fingers reached out to her, caressing her hair, lifting it, as he moved to stroke her neck.

Nothing.

Nikita moved to load her roller with more paint. He shifted to her right, pushing her hair away, touching the soft skin of her neck.

"What did they do to you?" Michael asked, his eyes seeking hers, searching for any clue.

"Nothing," Nikita replied as she pulled away trying to stay focused on painting.

Michael held her painting hand, squeezing it tight. The roller dropped from Nikita's hand as he turned her toward him. He needed her to focus on him. To hell with the painting.

Her eyes looked into his, but there was no connection. Only silence was held between them. Michael looked down as his heart felt like it was in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't hide the pain that came in waves washing over him.

"Nothing." Nikita repeated shaking her head lightly, trying to reassure him.

How could he reach her?

Following his heart, his lips sought hers. The feeling couldn't just be gone. Her lips were soft and warm, but he found them unable to give him what he sought. Nikita pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, as he held her shoulders.

"Tell me, " he softly demanded.

Her arms flew upward pulling away from his hold.

"I don't know. I don't remember." Nikita answered with frustration.

Then she closed her eyes, shutting herself from the emptiness. Her face was filled with pain. The answers were not there. It was all gone.

Michael reached for her hand, stroking her fingers, searching for a way to connect to his lover.

"Don't," Nikita stated as she pulled her fingers away, "It doesn't work. I don't love you anymore."

Michael's heart felt like it was torn apart as those words left her lips.

What have they done to her?

He closed his eyes as the waves of pain crashed over him, covering him, suffocating him. Michael walked away in search of air. His lungs burned for relief.

~~~~~

As the door closed behind him, catching his breath, he whispered,

"I won't let them do this."

Michael turned and slid his fingers down her door, wanting to reopen it and find that this had all been a bad dream. A nightmare. Inside would be his Nikita, the one who reacted to his touch. The one who knew him better than anyone. The one who loved him.

But they had wiped all her memories away, all her emotions, all their hope. Gone. Just like that.

He would make them pay for doing this to her. To him.

However, revenge would not bring back his Nikita. His beacon of light and decency. His love.

With that thought, he rushed outdoors. The cool, crisp air washed against his searing cheeks. Michael closed his eyes. His burning lungs filled with cool air as he tried to focus.

What now?

Michael turned the keys in the ignition of the black Pathfinder. Where he was going, he didn't care. Just away, somewhere he could think. Somewhere he could let out the hurt and anger he was feeling.

Anger at them. Anger at himself.

How could I let this happen to the woman I love?

They had been playing a dangerous game, a chess match Michael believed he could win. He never thought they would bypass him and steal his queen. His Nikita.

I'm sorry Nikita. I should have anticipated their move.

His stomach churned as he thought about what they had done to Nikita. Clearly they had altered her mind. Disconnected her feelings for him.

He wouldn't believe they wiped it all away...no, he couldn't. Karl had remembered his past that had been 'erased.'

Somehow Nikita would, too. He had to believe that. It was all there was to hold onto.

The question was how?

~~~~~~

Michael's cell phone rang persistently. After a few moments of silence it began to ring again.

Mon dieu.

He flipped open the phone.

"Michael?"

A quizzical look appeared on his face.

"Michael, it's Birkoff."

"Birkoff, you're not following protocol. Though I don't care right about now. What do you want?"

"Uh, I guess it's nothing. Sorry to bother you...."

"Birkoff, don't play games with me. I'm not in the mood. Why are you calling me?"

"Well, Nikita isn't home and ..."

"She's not with me," Michael sighed.

"Actually, I need to talk to you. It's about Walter." Birkoff hesitated. "He's acting, well, he's acting strange."

"Strange? In what way?"

Michael didn't want to deal with Birkoff right now. He was too busy wallowing in his guilt. But he let the young man speak.

"I dunno. He just isn't himself. Told me retirement was great and wishes he could have stayed there. All his dreams came true. Michael, what do they do to operatives that go into retirement?"

"We need to talk in person."

~~~~~

Birkoff relayed the details of the actions he had taken to have Walter brought out of retirement, finishing with Walter's reaction to being back. Michael sat before him carefully considering Birkoff's words.

"Is there something wrong with Nikita?" Birkoff ventured hesitantly taking notice of Michael's unusual emotional state.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment. Should he be honest with the young man? Should he tell him what Operations and Madeline were capable of? He knew the young man cared about Nikita. But clearly Birkoff would do what it took to remain alive, even if that included betraying his friends. Could he risk that type of betrayal?

There were no easy answers. Birkoff could prove to be useful. With some unease, Michael decided to explain.

"Yes. Something happened to Nikita. Rather something was done to Nikita. During the Genefex mission, they got to her. Adjusted her. Interfered with her memories such that she has no feelings for me."

"They? Adjusted her? How?"

"Section. They have ways of altering one's mind. Controlling it. Creating feelings that aren't real and removing those that are. You've been around Section long enough to know this. They simply created a side mission, sent her to one of the upper floors of the facility to lure her into their trap."

"I try not to think of what Section is capable of...I like to sleep at night," Birkoff answered. "Is it possible they did the same thing to Walter?"

"Maybe. But my guess is that Walter's retirement had more to do with keeping him out of the way...so he wouldn't interfere."

"And I guess to keep me occupied, too. I was too busy trying to get Walter back to pay much attention to what was occurring in the Genefex mission. I sent Nikita to one of the upper floors because Operations indicated there was another target present. I didn't think to question it," Birkoff stated in a regretful tone.

"There was probably not much you could have done." Michael replied. He didn't blame the young man. He blamed himself.

~~~~~~

With his downtime over, Michael entered Section. He found himself struggling to stay in control. Urges to confront Operations and Madeline coursed through him. But he needed to keep those urges in check for Nikita's sake. He needed to focus on his objective-to get Nikita back. In order to do that, he needed to function normally as a Level 5 operative. Split in half, just as he survived before.

Michael unbuttoned his jacket as he slowly seated himself behind his desk. His fingers tapped the keys of his keyboard, checking mission status after mission status. Michael sent off some parameters to the mission profiler via E-mail. Soon he would be prepping a mission, one that may require him to call in Nikita.

Thus far, since the Genefex mission, Nikita's focus on missions had increased. Her efficiency ratings were high. It appeared Section achieved what they wanted-Nikita at peak efficiency and him off-balance. Operations and Madeline feared him, feared his potential. The alteration in Nikita succeeded in putting his attention elsewhere, allowing them to be less vulnerable-for now.

~~~~~

Madeline sat at her terminal as the door slid open. Operations stepped down into her office. Madeline glanced at him briefly with a subversive smile, before returning her focus on her monitor.

"The Turosk mission is being prepped. Michael will be leading the team." Madeline stated anticipating the topic of their discussion.

"Do you really think it's wise to pair him with Nikita on this mission? This one is critical." Operations asked, seeking Madeline's analysis of the situation.

"I am pleased thus far with Nikita's results and Michael is holding up better than I had expected. I think it should not be a problem."

"The adjustment appears to be a success, I take it?"

Operations strength was in military tactics, secret agendas, and world dominance. He knew little of the workings of the human mind and how to control it. He left that to Madeline.

"Yes, her numbers look excellent. She's focused now that the distractive influence of Michael has been eliminated. I foresee her improvement to continue as time passes."

"I can't see Michael giving up so easily." Operations countered.

"No, but I have taken steps that will ensure that his attempts at intervention will fail. Then if his will to survive is still strong, he'll find a way to move on. If not, despite Michael's worth to this organization, he can always be replaced."

~~~~~

"Hello," Nikita approached the receptionist with a smile. "I seem to have locked my keys and my cell phone inside my car. And it turns out my insurance agent next door is closed for lunch. Can I use a phone here to call a locksmith?" Nikita asked looking around as if to scan the area for a phone. The receptionist smiled and pointed her to the copy room.

"Just dial 9 first to get an outside line, dear."

"Thanks." Nikita said with a friendly smile.

She picked up the receiver and dialed the phone. Meanwhile in the lobby, a delivery man entered, causing the receptionist to become distracted. Nikita noted that everything was going as profiled and proceeded to the elevator undetected. When the doors opened she stepped inside and pressed '3.'

"Non-hostile approaching the elevator," Birkoff indicated as she neared the third floor. As the doors opened, Nikita moved out of the elevator, knocking into the gentlemen waiting to board.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me help you."

"No problem. I...I've got it," The gentlemen replied smiling at Nikita. He leaned over to pick up his briefcase and a folder that had fallen. Nikita leaned forward to reach for it as well, her hand brushing against his. She made certain he got a good view of her cleavage.

"Are...are you new here?" he stammered as he stood up and reached to hold the elevator.

"Yes I am...maybe I'll see you around. I'm late, so I really need to get going," Nikita said flirtatiously as she handed him the file folder and moved away.

The gentleman's gaze followed her as she walked down the corridor. He looked away only when the elevator buzzer sounded, prompting him to get on. He definitely hoped to see her again.

"Nice use of your femininity, Nikita. That poor guy is gonna need a cold shower," Birkoff commented sarcastically.

Birkoff jumped slightly as he looked up, making eye contact with Michael. It was best not to joke about Nikita's attractiveness in front of him.

Nikita turned down the next corridor.

"It's the next door on the right." Birkoff indicated. Nikita opened the door to find a young woman seated behind a computer monitor. A look of puzzlement appeared on her face.

"I'm looking for Mr. Turosk?"

"You need an appointment for that. Who might you be?"

"Let me get you a business card," Nikita answered as she opened her purse. Instead of a business card, Nikita pulled out her gun equipped with a silencer. "I believe Mr. Turosk will see me now," Nikita added as she pointed the gun at the secretary.

"He's...he's not here."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"I'll only ask you once more. Where is he?" Nikita demanded with more urgency.

"I told you. I don't know. He had me cancel all his appointments today. He didn't indicate his plans," the secretary answered, eyeing Nikita nervously. "Please don't hurt me. I have two young children and a husband that need me. I'm telling you what I know."

"Nikita, have the secretary bring up Turosk's computer files. There may be something useful in those," Michael instructed her.

Nikita directed the woman into Turosk's private office. There she instructed the secretary to access the necessary files.

"What's the mission status, Michael?" Operations asked linking down to Comm.

"Turosk is not on site. His current location is unknown. We may be able to extract some useful intel from his computer. Nikita is having his secretary access the files," Michael answered.

"Those files mean nothing without Turosk. The group's plans will change once they learn that his office has been compromised. Order Nikita to eliminate the secretary and have the area sanitized," Operations commanded with irritation.

Michael instructed Nikita to eliminate the secretary. Nikita simply cocked her gun and fired, shooting the scared woman, wife and mother of two, in the chest. Placing the gun back in her purse, Nikita made her way towards her egress point.

Michael and Birkoff witnessed the expression of horror that overtook the secretary as she realized Nikita shot her. Both men looked at each other in silent disbelief. Nikita killed the innocent woman with no objection or hesitation and walked away displaying no emotion. This was not the Nikita they knew.

~~~~~

Mick's knocking went unanswered. He shuffled around for a moment and then began to lean against the doorway. As he was just about to leave, Nikita's apartment door swung open abruptly.

"Hey Dollface! How are things with my favorite female Section operative. I'm not interrupting anything am I? You don't have spyboy hidden away in your bedroom, do you?"

"Hi, Mick. No, come in." Nikita answered as she allowed him inside.

She didn't seem irritated by his presence like she normally was. She didn't seem phased by it at all. Something was different.

Nikita smiled and picked up her palette and paintbrush. Where her walls were once a cool blue, they were now white. On the white, she had begun to paint colorful images. Ivy wrapped around her French doors. A cheerful garden of blue, purple, yellow and red flowers covered the adjoining wall. And a bright yellow sun beamed down onto the garden.

"I didn't realize you were an artist. Maybe next time you should invest in some canvases or something. This isn't exactly your typical Section décor," Mick commented expecting to produce a rise in her. Instead she kept painting, her mind clearly miles away.

He moved in close to her, placing his face in her line of sight. But she just continued to paint as if he weren't there.

"What's up with you, popsicle? You're not yourself?" Mick queried, waving his hand before her face.

"What do you mean? Why does everyone act like there's something different about me?" Nikita asked incredulously.

"Well, there is. You haven't been experimenting with some recreational drugs? I mean, I know you're not getting them from me. I'll try not to be offended by that."

Nikita ignored Mick as she continued painting a large toadstool.

"Oh, I get it. That's where the caterpillar sits and smokes his pipe. From the children's story...you know the one-with the blonde girl. Oh, what's her name?" Mick put his hand to his chin as he pondered. "Um...Oh yeah, Alice. That's the bird. Alice in Wonderland," Mick exclaimed waving his index finger.

Nikita just looked at him blankly before returning to her painting.

"I think...I think I'll just let myself out. Okay? If you need anything, love, I'm just right across the hall." Mick said as he backed up towards the door.

Mick shook his head as he closed the door behind him. "The blonde has lost it. Total cuckoo. Maybe she's taking it real badly because spyboy has dumped her for another woman. He'd be a fool to do that, but who knows."

~~~~~

The cool air blew through Michael's curls, as he walked down the dimly lit street. Thoughts of Nikita rushed through his mind as he saw a tall blonde pass by. Every interaction between them now was business-like and distant. Then there was the Turosk mission. He was still stunned. It had hurt terribly to see Nikita with her emotions stolen, but to see her as a cold killer, to see her light extinguished--it was devastating.

How could Section have the power to change a person's nature, their very being? Could this be reversed?

Birkoff could rake the system, but Madeline would expect that. She could even place false information there for them to find. Maybe Walter could test her blood, check for any mind-altering drugs.

Or perhaps he could find a way to interact with her more. But first he'd have to lure Nikita away from her apartment on her own accord. Her distance toward him could make this tricky. Additionally, Section would try to counteract his attempts, if they became aware of them.

Section's chief strategist. Hah! Ideas were plentiful. Answers were not. Failure was not an option. Nikita was too precious.

Michael had reached his rendezvous point. Opening the door, he found the bar to be smoky and dark. Reaching the bartender, he asked for a cognac. A tulipe glass of liquor was placed before him. Taking the glass in his hand, Michael turned to scan the room. Placing the glass to his lips, he breathed in the aroma before tasting the amber liquor. Sweetness, followed by bitterness and acidity.

His eyes made contact across the room. The silly balding Englishman smiled and waved. Michael nodded slightly as he moved toward his table.

"Hey, Michael! Good to see you could make it."

"What's this about, Mick?" Michael asked as he took a seat.

"Why, that bird of yours, Nikita." Mick answered, moving the candle from the center of the table to the side

"What about Nikita? Michael asked, wondering why he was embarking on a conversation about Nikita with Mick of all people. Michael placed the glass to his lips again.

Mick leaned forward. "She's not herself these days. Well, that's an understatement. She spends all her time painting pictures on her walls. That is, when she's not in Section. And I don't see you coming around these days. Could it be you two are splitsville and it's sent her off the deep end?"

"Mick, any personal component of our relationship is none of your business. However, her change in behavior has nothing to do with anything I have done. Is that all you wanted to know?" Michael replied as he scanned the room in preparation to leave.

"What's happened to her then?" Mick asked. Michael thought he detected concern in Mick's face.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, before he proceeded to answer Mick. "Section adjusted her."

"Adjusted her? What the devil does that mean?"

"They modified her memories and behavior. More than likely they used electroshock and drugs on her. They disapproved of our relationship. So this is how they decided to 'end' it. They detached her emotions and in the process created a programmed assassin. It's what they always wanted her to be," Michael explained, the last line tinged with sadness and regret.

"Programmed? Doesn't that mean the program can be ended? Deleted? Like you do on a computer." Mick queried, placing his fingers as if they were on a keyboard tapping keys.

" I don't know. She's a person, not a computer. It's not so simple." Michael answered.

But ironically this conversation with Mick sparked an idea....

~~~~

The water rushed from the tap into the sunken tub, blotting out the silence that rang throughout her apartment. Nikita breathed in the aroma of the small bottle before adding some Juniper Breeze bubble bath to the filling tub. Bubbles began to appear, created by the turbulence of the water falling into the tub. Soon it was filled with bubble covered, scented water. Nikita slowly turned the knob, ending the beautiful bubble formation.

She struck a match and quickly lit a few candles, burning herself in the process. She sucked on her singed finger briefly to soothe the slight pain. The candlelight danced off the walls, creating a soft atmosphere. Nikita placed a CD in her player and hit the play button flooding the air with the mysterious voice of Enigma. This along with the bath was sure to bring her peace and relaxation.

Her satin robe gently slid off her body, exposing her nakedness to the cool, damp air. Dipping her toe in, she felt the heat racing up her body. Slowly she sank down into the water, carefully withstanding the heat. Leaning back, she began to submerge herself beneath the soft bubbles. They danced around her nipples as her breasts were the last point to sink beneath the blanket of suds. Its warmth wrapped around her, bringing soothing comfort in the wake of much uncertainty.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the aroma and listened to the noise of the bubbles. Her soul had been weighed down with doubts and ambiguity. Blank spaces reigned where once there were answers. A touch, a smell, a stimuli that should lead to a response, instead led to nothingness. Only emptiness. She found herself devoid of any feeling.

The events of the last few weeks replayed in her mind.

Had Section done something to her on the Genefex mission? She couldn't remember. But if nothing had happened, why would so many ask her that question while others, like Birkoff, simply act uncomfortable around her? And why would Michael, her mentor and her colleague, hold such sadness in his eyes when he looked at her?--when he could look at her. Nikita had caught him several times looking away in pain. But yet even that evoked no emotion in her. She simply noted his response and continued working.

What is wrong with me?

She slid down, sinking her head beneath the bubbles, trying to escape these thoughts. Her golden hair floated freely on the surface above, as her knees peeked out of the bubbles on the other end of the tub. Pushing her feet against the wall of the tub, Nikita brought her head back above the surface. Rubbing the water from her face, she pulled in a breath of air, wishing that the answer would come to her. Nikita took her scrubbie, and ran it along each of her arms. The scratching sensation was comforting. It was something she could actually feel. She kept her balance as she lifted her legs, one at a time, running the scrubbie slowly against her wet skin. Her body felt so good, soaking in the sudsy warmth, but her mind was still in turmoil. She lay there thinking of Michael's words from that night a few weeks prior, wrangling with his question. Finally she asked it of herself,

What did they do to me?

The security of the bubbles had diminished. And she was beginning to feel a chill as the water had cooled. She rose from the tub and pulled the towel from the bar. After wiping the cool dampness from her body, she wrapped it around her.

Entering her bedroom, Nikita quickly pulled on a nightshirt. Her eyes began to examine the dark pictures on her wall. These were unlike the ones she had been painting in the rest of her apartment. These she had painted when the light was dim, when she woke from her dream-laden sleep. People without faces, without feeling. Like stick figures. Darkness, fear, and uncertainty. She knew the answers she sought were present in her subconscious, present in her dreams. But when she awoke, she only remembered faint cryptic images that made no sense to her. Painting was the only way to capture what she saw before the image faded from her memory.

Nikita found these images to be disturbing. She avoided staying in her bedroom whenever possible. However, these images were the only clues she had thus far, clues that she needed to heed. But clues to what?

Why am I having these dreams and what does this all mean?

~~~~

"What do you have Birkoff?" Michael asked as he entered the musty smelling motel room. Michael needed to know what methods Section could have used to alter Nikita's mental state. He would find a way to get her back.

He had asked Birkoff to help him track down some leads. A dingy, out of the way, no-tell motel was the route they decided upon in order to avoid Section surveillance.

"I'm glad I brought my satellite modem. This roach motel isn't exactly wired for making internet connections," Birkoff commented sarcastically.

"Next time I'll get us reservations at the Tower." Michael retorted.

Birkoff cracked a smile and continued, "Well, first I did an internet search on 'Reprogramming.' That didn't give anything except how to quit smoking...a lot of biofeedback mumbo-jumbo."

"Then I did a search on 'Mind Control.' That's when things got interesting. Gotta love the Freedom of Information Act."

"What did you find?"

"It looks like Section turned Nikita into a 'Butterfly'?" Birkoff began.

"A Butterfly? Birkoff, don't play games with me. What the Hell does that mean?" Michael replied impatiently.

"Trust me. When you hear the whole story, you'll understand. It seems the U.S and Canadian governments were conducting Mind Control experiments under a few different project names starting back in the sixties, probably even earlier. It all stems from some research started under Hitler that the CIA and others decided to continue. In particular, there was a project called Monarch, as in Monarch butterfly. Basically, structured programming or mind control was used to make 'sleeper' assassins. Otherwise known via Hollywood as 'Manchurian Candidates.'"

Michael closed his eyes and nodded. Birkoff continued,

"This programming is performed using trauma and drugs. Electroshock creates the trauma, which produces a feeling of light-headedness as if one is floating or fluttering like a butterfly. I guess that's where they got the name. Also, it says here that butterflies are symbolic of transformation. Basically Section transformed Nikita, recreated her, in order to make the operative they desired."

"How were they able to simply erase her feelings. Like they never existed?"

"According to this, it is possible to 'compartmentalize' a person's mind--lock away pieces of the memory. Think of the brain as a computer hard drive. The feelings are present in her memory, but she's been denied access to them. "

Michael was silent for a moment, his hand placed against his chin, covering his mouth. He was processing the information Birkoff had just relayed. Then thinking back to his conversation with Mick, he asked, "Does it say what can be done to delete the programming? So she can regain access to those feelings."

"It does briefly explain the levels of programming," Birkoff replied moving out of the chair to allow Michael access to the laptop.

Michael carefully read the long document before him. It outlined the history of mind control and its purpose. After awhile, Michael found himself staring at the screen in disbelief. As much as he knew that Section's ruthless means didn't always justify the ends, this still shocked him. For they had done this to his Nikita.

Finally he reached the portion that Birkoff alluded to:

Levels of MONARCH Programming ALPHA. Regarded as "general" or regular programming within the base control personality....

BETA. Referred to as "sexual" programming. This programming eliminates all learned moral convictions and stimulates the primitive sexual instinct, devoid of inhibitions...

DELTA. This is known as "killer" programming, originally developed for training special agents or elite soldiers (i.e. Delta Force, First Earth Battalion, Mossad, etc.) in covert operations. Optimal adrenal output and controlled aggression is evident. Subjects are devoid of fear; very systematic in carrying out their assignment. Self-destruct or suicide instructions are layered in at this level.

THETA ....

Michael couldn't read anymore. It was too much for him to process.

"I need to get some air." Michael said in a whisper as he moved quickly out the motel door, leaving Birkoff behind.

~~~~~

The murky water lapped against the pier, splattering the sun-bleached wood. The laughter of seagulls filled the air. Michael watched as one landed on the post before him. The annoying bird began to laugh again. It was if the bird were laughing at the dark-clothed man.

"Yes, I am such a fool. I deserve to be laughed at. Ridiculed," Michael reasoned, "I let them use her as a whore, because I had justified it in my mind. I didn't like it, but I still justified it. I didn't expect her to do anything I hadn't done myself in order to survive. But now...to know it was more than just a means to get Peruze...that it actually was the beginning of something more sinister....

"Oh God, I let them do this to her. A slap? I deserved so much more than that." Michael closed his eyes to keep the moisture from seeping out.

"Why didn't I just let her go? She was free. Instead I selfishly allowed her...no, encouraged her...to return with me to Section. Oh, Nikita...my love is a curse...."

~~~~

"Come in, Nikita. Please have a seat." Madeline directed the blonde operative to the chair before her desk.

Nikita folded her hands in her lap and watched Madeline intently. She was unsure why the older woman had called her in.

"With the move to the new facilities approaching, I thought this was a good time for us to have a chat." Madeline began. Nikita simply raised her eyebrow and remained silent as Madeline proceeded.

"You've been with us for 5 years now. A milestone many field operatives never achieve. Operations and I have been pleased with your progress. You perform well when given more responsibility and take the initiative when appropriate. You have gained the respect of other operatives that you are teamed with. Bottom line is your mission success rate is high and you've shown good leadership skills."

Nikita wondered where this conversation was leading. It was a rare occasion to receive praise from Madeline.

"We have put in a recommendation to Oversight to elevate your status to Level 3. George will likely accept our recommendation and allow the increase in your status within the week."

"Really? What more will be expected of me as a Level 3?" Nikita asked, looking for a catch.

"You will lead more missions, be involved in training and evaluation of recruits, and continue to take more responsibility as necessary."

"In anticipation of your upgrade, I'd like you to examine and evaluate the intel on this disk and work up a scenario with a profiler. It is low priority, but it will be your mission to run," Madeline explained as she handed Nikita the mini-disk.

"Certainly." Nikita replied as she handled the disk " Is that all?"

"Yes." Madeline replied. Nikita began towards the door when Madeline added, "Congratulations Nikita."

"Yeah. Thanks." Nikita added uncertain how to react.

~~~~

Birkoff's body was present within the cold, concrete walls of Section, but his mind was elsewhere. He continued to mull over the information he had found regarding Project Monarch. The information had really spooked him. He slept fitfully, waking several times the night before. Each time he felt as if someone were watching him.

Would Section do to all their operatives what they did to Nikita? Would they build a controlled army of mind-control subjects? They had already encountered someone who had done just that-Chernov. Nikita had been the one to disarm one of his suicide bombers. Somehow she had gotten through to him. Birkoff gave a shudder. Now Nikita was being transformed into something not unlike that boy.

Was it because she and Michael had brazenly continued their relationship? Or was it because Nikita was unique in that she had managed to maintain her soul and her beliefs? The documents had explained that to best demonstrate that mind control really works, subjects with high morals and ethical behavior were used.

The whole damn thing was disturbing.

Birkoff looked up to see the Level 5 operative in black heading toward him. Pale and red-eyed, Birkoff knew sleep had evaded Michael, too. The previous night, Birkoff had left the motel after a few hours, though Michael had not returned.

"Have you seen Nikita?" Michael asked with a tinge of weariness in his voice.

"Yeah, Madeline called her in a short while ago. I haven't seen her since." Birkoff answered.

"How did she seem?"

"Nikita didn't stop here. She's not been very sociable since her adjustment. Walter's been asking me if she's angry with him for some reason. I think we need to let him in on what they did to her. I can't keep this from him any longer." Birkoff explained.

"I guess." Michael mumbled as his eyes caught sight of the swept up golden hair of Nikita, who was coming from Madeline's office.

Michael walked towards Nikita, placing himself in her path.

"Hi." Michael breathed.

Nikita returned his greeting, though her blue eyes showed uncertainty.

"What did Mad'laine need from you?"

"Nothing. She and Operations have recommended an upgrade in my status to Level 3." Nikita replied.

An idea quickly presented itself and before he knew it, the words were passing from his lips,

"Congratulations. We should celebrate. How about some coffee?"

"I dunno. I'm not sure I'm up for any celebrating." Nikita replied, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Nothing fancy. Just some coffee." When Nikita didn't answer right away, he added, "I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer."

Nikita bit her lip, then replied, "I need to stop at my place first, if that's okay?"

"Sure." Michael answered. He just needed to figure out what to do now that he had this opportunity to interact with Nikita.

~~~~~

The lock clicked free as Nikita turned the key in her apartment door. Michael stood behind her, with his mind contemplating scenarios. She cast an uncomfortable glance at him before entering the apartment and then motioned for Michael to wait by the door.

Michael's concern would not allow him to remain outside. He peered around the apartment noting all the colorful images Nikita had painted on her walls. The one that stood out in particular was an image of a tree in her dining room. Michael recalled reading that the tree of life was a predominant image used in this sort of programming.

Then Michael approached her bedroom, slowly climbing the few steps, trying to discern the images held by her bedroom walls. They were much darker and chilling than those in the rest of the apartment. Almost nightmarish.

Nikita came from her bathroom noticeably upset with Michael's intrusion. She had changed from her Section black to a cardigan and a long straight skirt.

"I asked you to wait by the door." Nikita reprimanded.

"I noticed the paintings and was curious to see what changes you've made since I was here last. Nikita, these are very dark and sad. What prompted you to paint them?" Michael eyes sought out hers, wishing to reach out to her, to touch her and hold her--to comfort her.

Michael could see her pulling away, resisting his question. Her body shied from him, as her troubled blue eyes diverted from his gaze.

"We don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable," Michael indicated as he noted the tears pooling in her eyes. He needed to regain that trust. He didn't want to lose this chance. "Let's get that coffee. This is supposed to be a celebration."

After some silence, Michael was relieved when she finally nodded in agreement. He placed her jacket around her tenderly and led her toward the door.

~~~~

Operations entered Madeline's office with his lips curved upward in a grin. "George is pleased with the outcome in Kazakhstan. How is the next phase developing?"

"It's going as planned. It should be a success as well," Madeline replied as she typed, then examined the figures on her monitor.

"Good."

"On a different front, I gave Nikita another DVD. I was hoping to shore up the bit of program fragmentation that has surfaced. Nikita has been experiencing dreams. Upon her awakening, she still sees residuals of those dreams. Nikita has documented many of the details by expressing them in her painting. I don't wish for her to put the pieces together."

"Will the material on the DVD correct the problem?"

"It should. However, Michael has decided to try to reinsert himself into her life. He coerced her to join him for coffee before she had a chance to examine the materials on the DVD."

"Will this be a problem?"

"I'm not certain. Most of the programming is intact. She did hesitate to accept his offer. Hopefully, she will continue to keep him at a distance despite his attempts."

"And if she doesn't?" Operations queried, raising an eyebrow.

"We'll cross that bridge if it happens. I would prefer to have the problem fixed beforehand, but it is unlikely he could break the programming. Michael is not familiar with this depth of programming."

Operations cold blue eyes met the dark eyes of his second in command. They both understood what was at stake--The future of Section One.

~~~~

Hands began to clap as the music ended. Nikita smiled easily as she applauded the quartet of Celtic musicians who were performing in the cozy cafe. It was the most relaxed Michael had seen her in some time.

Michael put the cup of coffee to his lips, taking in another hot dose of caffeine. It was strong and black just as he preferred it. Nikita had chosen a Vanilla flavored decaf latte instead. Being generally a tea drinker, she preferred the latte's sweet soothing flavor.

Somehow they found themselves on the topic of her childhood. Nikita recalled how she was scolded for taking a taste of her mother's coffee when she was out of the room. She simply had been looking for something to appease her growling stomach. Instead of being fed, she was placed in the bedroom for being an impudent child. At that age she didn't understand the irrationality of her mother's drunkenness.

"Was your father ever around?" Michael asked. He had never thought to ask this question before. But there were few occasions when the two discussed their former lives. Still he knew much more about her than she knew about him. Someday, he'd like to change that.

"I'm not sure. My mother claimed he died before I was two. She wouldn't tell me anything more. Roberta always was tight-lipped whenever I asked about him. That and her drinking would become worse, so...I stopped asking about him." Nikita answered Her eyes showed the same sadness and regret that could be heard in the tone of her voice.

"Surely he's listed on your birth certificate?" Michael inquired.

"That's the weird part. When I was maybe...twelve, I found where she kept my birth certificate. On it, my father is listed as unknown. I would go through phases where I'd think she didn't know who he was. Just some random guy she was sleeping with at the time for money or a place to stay."

"But sometimes I'd get the feeling he was someone special. Someone she loved. And she was angry with him for leaving her alone with a child. Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself of that. It's more comforting to think you were conceived by two people in love rather than be the result of some physical pleasure and an exchange of money." Nikita explained as her fingers became entwined in her hair, twirling it nervously.

The silence between them felt heavy, as Michael's hand neared Nikita's face. He longed to stroke her delicate skin and remove her pain. Nikita, sensing his nearness, pulled away. Her mistrust of him was still firmly in place.

"I hate to call it a night, but I'm really tired." Nikita informed Michael. "I just need to stop in the ladies room before we leave."

"While you do that, I'll pull the truck around to the front of the café. Okay?"

With Nikita headed toward the ladies room, Michael departed the café. Black storm clouds were moving in, filling the evening sky. Distant rumbles of thunder were growing louder. When he reached the black Pathfinder, he scanned the area for any onlookers. Seeing a couple move out of view, he pulled his gun out and aimed it at the front tire. The silencer prevented anyone in the vicinity from hearing the gunshot.

Returning to the front of the café, he met up with Nikita.

"I thought you were going to get the truck?" Nikita asked with confusion written on her face.

"It has a flat. I'll have to change the tire. I didn't want to leave you here waiting." Michael answered in a regretful tone.

Cool raindrops began to sprinkle down upon them. The evening sky lit up as a bolt of lightening struck in the distance.

"This isn't exactly the best weather for changing a flat." Nikita noted, squinting as raindrops splashed on her face. "I guess we could go back inside."

"My place is close by. It's just up the block, remember?" Michael replied taking her hand, urging her in that direction. Nikita was hesitant until another clap of thunder sounded much closer. The pair then ran toward the building that held Michael's loft as the raindrops began to pour down on them.

Once inside, and out of the pouring rain, Michael let out a rare laugh. Nikita couldn't help but join him in his laughter. They were simply soaked to the skin. Michael pulled open the gate to the lift and allowed Nikita to enter first. As the lift neared the top floor, a thought occurred to Michael.

What do I intend to do now that I have her here?

~~~~~

A newly dry Michael came from his bedroom carrying a flannel shirt and sweats.

"Here. You're soaked to the skin. Put these on." Michael said offering the clothes to the shivering, wet blonde before him. Nikita eyed him warily, not moving to take the clothes from him.

"You can change in there." Michael motioned to the bedroom he just came from. "You can't just stand there dripping on my hardwood floor." A smile appeared on his lips. She was quite beautiful even in her wet disarray. Finally he just pushed the clothes into her arms.

"Go ahead." He said softly looking into eyes that held fear. Perhaps he was pushing her too hard. Finally, she moved toward the bedroom, turning her head several times to see that Michael was not following her.

Michael closed his eyes. To see her that fearful of his close presence disturbed him. It really hurt, plain and simple. Every time he was tempted to touch her, he had to remember not to. It would only produce more mistrust and fear. How was he going to restore her trust when she was specifically programmed to distrust him? Especially since he didn't know what stimulus they used to create the distrust. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

The minutes passed slowly until Nikita returned from the bedroom. Despite the comfortable clothes, she appeared ready to jump out of her skin. Perhaps it was his scent that lingered on the clothes. Like an impala sensing an approaching lion, she looked ready to flee. Maybe it had been hasty on his part to bring her here.

Approaching one of large windows, Nikita peered out. The sky lit up followed by a crash of thunder. Rain still pelted the earth, causing rippling puddles that reflected the streetlamps' glow. Michael slowly moved beside her.

"As a child, I was very frightened of the thunder and lightening. So much that I would climb into my parents' bed, too frightened to be alone. Mama would comfort me. Tell me there was no need to be scared. God was merely moving the furniture up in heaven."

"When my sister came along, things changed. When I would flee to my parents' bed, Papa would say that I was too old to be scared anymore. How could I become a man if I continued to run to them every time I was afraid. I thought he was being cruel and didn't love me anymore. They would allow Marie to stay with them, while I was forced to face my fears alone. Whether it was a storm, monsters under the bed, or nightmares that woke me from my sleep. One day I would be the man of the family. I had to be strong and brave."

Nikita's turbulent blue eyes met his and she replied, "When it stormed or I had bad dreams, I usually was alone. Forced to cling to my dolly. Roberta didn't permit me in her bed. Usually there was a man there or she would simply sneak out after I had fallen asleep. So I'd pretend my doll was the one that was scared. I was the mommy, telling her everything would be okay." Her voice trailed off as her gaze returned to the window.

Michael began to stroke her hair. Her childhood was so sad compared to his. He wished he could take that pain away. Instead she repelled from his touch. "Please. Don't."

Michael gave her an apologetic look, holding his hands up.

"I need a glass of water." Nikita choked on her words as she moved towards his kitchen.

Michael closed his eyes and mentally scolded himself. Why can't I keep myself from touching her. Why is that so hard?

As she returned from the kitchen, he could see her distorted reflection in the window. He remained facing the reflection, still wondering how he would ever break the programming.

Those thoughts were quickly cast aside as he felt the sharp blade of a knife press against his neck. "Nikita, no." Michael whispered.

She made no reply as the knife remained in place. Michael struggled to pull her arm away, for this was not the way he intended to leave this world. With her arm now outstretched and his hand holding her wrist, he turned himself to face her. Her eyes were cold and determined sending a chill down his spine.

Nikita was strong and lethal, but he had trained her. With his legs, Michael tripped her, sending her to the ground. Gasping for air, they violently grappled, each vying for possession of the knife. Nikita gained the upper hand and retained hold of the knife. Leaping back up on her feet, she brandished it before her.

"Don't come near me. I'll kill you if I have to," Nikita hissed like a frightened cat with her ears laid back.

"Give me the knife, Nikita," Michael demanded. "I don't wish to hurt you."

He tried to move closer, but she increased her defensive stance. Clearly she had no intention of giving him the knife. He'd have to forcibly take it from her.

As Michael slowly moved closer, her eyes became wider as she began to shake her head. "No. Don't move any closer. Stay away from me," she said almost pleading.

Suddenly Nikita turned the knife toward herself.

"No!" Michael gasped, as he reached for the knife. Grasping her wrist he pushed her backwards against the wall, slamming her hand that held the knife repeatedly against it, until the knife dropped from her fingers.

Her body went flaccid as her eyes rolled back into her head. Michael caught her, holding her limp body close. Tears filled his eyes and fell onto her damp hair as his adrenaline rush subsided. His fingers trembled as he touched her warm cheek.

How could they do this to her? Why?

~~~~

Michael carried an unconscious Nikita to his futon. He carefully placed the comforter around her and examined her pale face. His fingers lovingly caressed her cheek with no response. Michael wished to lie down beside his estranged lover and hold her close. But fear that she would awake in an upset state kept him from doing so.

Instead he pulled a chair close to the futon and dropped into it. He really needed some sleep. But the events of that night troubled him greatly. He had pushed too hard, setting off a trigger within Nikita's mind. The whole scene kept repeating in his head. The knife at his throat, the attempt at using it on herself, and then the chilling look of her eyes rolling back. Few things scared Michael. And this certainly had.

His lethargic green eyes fought to stay focused on the sleeping form before him. In slumber, she appeared to be at peace, while her lover remained haunted. But despite his attempts otherwise, a troubled sleep overcame him.

~~~~

A darkness was closing in on her, gripping her soul. Gasping for breath, Nikita ran from it. She feared it would suffocate her, driving the life from her body. Her legs burned as she took each step as if in slow motion. It was getter closer and closer. She couldn't get away from it. In the distance appeared a form dressed in white. A person. She squinted to focus on the person.

Michael.

She kept running, but seemed to get no closer to him. The darkness was closing in on her. She screamed his name. Could he hear her?

Michael!

Nikita woke with a start, repeating Michael's name over and over. Strong arms quickly wrapped around her, holding her close. His fingers stroked her hair as he rocked her gently. Sobbing, she clung to him tighter. Tears drained from her crystal blue eyes, making streaks on her pale skin. Her trembling lessened as she heard his voice, soothing away her fear. Her tear-stained eyes sought the gentle green pools of Michael's soul. His worry was evident in the crease of his brow and the tone of his voice.

Realizing her surroundings, Nikita asked with uncertainty, "How did I get here? W-why am I wearing your clothes?"

Michael stared at her for a moment. "Nikita, what's the last thing you remember?"

Closing her eyes, she tried to mentally focus. Everything was kind of fuzzy. Opening them again she began to answer him.

"We were at the pharmaceutical plant. Genefex? Yes, Genefex. I was going to meet you, but I got called away. I think. It's all sort of fuzzy. And my head hurts really bad. What happened to me?"

Michael held a curious look as he gazed at her. His fingers began to gently trace her face. "Does it feel like you hit your head?"

"No, it feels like someone has placed my head in a vice grip and is squeezing it tighter and tighter. It really hurts." Nikita explained placing her hands against the sides of her head.

Michael smoothed her hair from her forehead and took one of her hands in his. With his thumbs he began to rub circles in her palm. Nikita tried to manage a smile, but she couldn't hide the pain. Finally, Michael offered her some Tylenol. She barely nodded her head in agreement, grimacing with pain.

Nikita watched him leave her side and move towards the kitchen. It had been a long time since she had been to Michael's loft. Nikita lay back and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly, inhaling Michael's musky scent. It came from both the clothes she was wearing and the sheets wrapped around her. Despite the pain, it helped Nikita feel safe.

Michael returned with two tablets and a glass of water and carefully sat down beside her. After taking the tablets, she leaned her head against his chest. "So how did I get here?"

"It's a long story, Nikita. Why don't you get more rest first? It may help."

Nikita wondered what he wasn't telling her, but didn't feel up to forcing the truth out of him. It would have to wait until later. So instead she bargained with him, "Only if you come lie down with me. You look like hell and probably need the rest more than I do." She brushed her fingers against his stubble, hoping he would acquiesce.

A smile escaped from his lips. "You're the one in pain and instead you're worrying about me." Then he motioned for her to move over. Pulling the comforter over the two of them, he slid behind her such that they were curled in a spoon position.

~~~~

Michael rolled over and reached out for Nikita. Instead he found her place empty. His eyes fluttered, trying to adjust to the dim light. What happened to her? Was I just dreaming?

Michael's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of bare feet walking across the wood flooring. Nikita came from the direction of the kitchen. Michael watched her intently, wondering why she was up and about.

"Morning," Nikita greeted Michael with a wide smile. Her smile left her face sensing his apprehension. "What's wrong?"

"Nikita, where did you go?" Michael asked sternly.

"To the kitchen," Nikita replied in a questioning tone. "I went to get a couple more Tylenol. Why the third degree, Michael?"

He motioned to her with two fingers to come closer. As she approached, Michael reached out and took her hand, pulling her down onto his lap. His fingers ran through her tousled hair apologetically.

"I was worried when I woke up and found you missing," he replied gazing into her blue eyes.

Nikita stared back at him. He could feel her warm breath on his face as her lips slowly moved toward his. Her soft lips brushed his teasingly. Michael's desire took over as he reciprocated her kisses with more intensity. Moving down her neck with his sensuous lips, his fingers sought to undo the buttons of the flannel shirt she was wearing. His tongue glided over her erect nipple sending shivers through her.

Michael pulled back a moment. His deep green eyes took in her beauty. It was clear her desire for him was just as strong as his for her. Her hands moved downward taking hold of his shirt. Once she had removed it, her gentle hands brushed against his rough stubble. Michael held her hands before him as his lips and tongue sought to taste each of her fingers.

With careful intent, Nikita brushed her wet fingers down Michael's bare muscular chest, exerting more pressure as she passed them over the hard bulge in his pants. Michael pulled in a deep breath and slowly released it. His eyes fluttered open meeting her blue ones again.

Michael then pulled her into an intense embrace, his tongue seeking out hers. Placing Nikita down on her back, his tongue moved to find her breasts again. Her breathing became louder as he traced each of her nipples. Then, his tongue flicked across her navel as he traveled further down her supple body. Once he removed the sweatpants, his fingers stroked the inside of her thighs. Nikita began to run her fingers though the uncontrolled curls that covered his head as her pleasure grew. Her thighs spread further, beckoning him to explore her depths. Nikita tensed slightly with anticipation. His careful tasting and teasing brought forth soft moans that escaped from her lips.

His adept fingers continued where his tongue left off. Waves of pleasure overtook her sending tremors throughout her body. Michael took great pride and satisfaction in bringing his lover intense pleasure. But now his own need was growing ever stronger. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out.

"Oh God, Mich-ael....plea-se," Nikita whispered with urgency. With that he reached for her lips again, kissing her fiercely, before entering her warm depths. He moaned as she shifted to take him in completely.

The intensity of their passion increased exponentially with each stroke, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge. Finally, Nikita's lips breathed out softly the words, 'I love you.' With this Michael lost himself within her, squeezing her tightly to him with his last bit of strength. His heart beat rapidly against her as he wondered if he was dreaming.

Nikita had never said those words to him. He hadn't realized how much he longed to hear them pass from her lips.

Despite Nikita's slight objection, Michael slowly lifted his weight from her. Once he was positioned beside her, Nikita moved closer wishing to snuggle. Brushing the stray golden hair from her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, he whispered, "I love you, " before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

~~~~~

"I wish we could stay like this forever." Nikita declared as she lay with Michael's arms around her.

"Yes," Michael replied. But he knew they would part again very soon. His mind was processing the reality of their situation. Section was willing to separate them at all costs. Would they try altering her mind again? Or would they try a different approach? Either way he knew Section would not allow them to find happiness together. They were only alive to serve Section's goals. Even taking control of Section one day would not guarantee them the freedom to love one another.

Freedom. It was a vague memory. Michael hadn't experienced that reality since he was 19 years old. He had been a foolish kid attending university who was swayed by some idealistic beliefs. And those beliefs led him on a path that put him in Section.

That idealism pushed him to be the best operative with the hope he would somehow make a difference in the world by stopping terrorism. Now they expected him to work like a finely tuned machine, with no regrets, no emotions. And the fine line between the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys' was becoming increasingly blurred. He was finding it harder and harder to believe in Section's goals anymore.

His soul wanted to live again. Nikita had tended to it, nurtured it, until it began to flourish again. He refused to allow the darkness of Section to obscure the light his soul now sought.

He would find a way.

"Michael, what's wrong? You look like you're a million miles away." Nikita asked with concern written on her face.

"Nothing. Just thinking...How's your headache?"

"Better. But it's still there. Michael, you never explained what happened." Nikita gently touched his stubbled chin, seeking an answer.

Michael took her hand and kissed it affectionately. How was he going to explain what had happened? He had no intention of telling Nikita about her attempt on his life and her own. Despite having no control over her actions, she'd blame herself. That was the last thing he wanted.

"Remember the Peruze mission where they altered your emotions? How they made you have feelings for Karl using those you had for me?"

"Yes." Nikita replied giving Michael an apprehensive look.

"This time, they adjusted your emotions such that you didn't feel anything for me except distrust. They were trying to make you a perfect operative devoid of emotion." Michael explained

"And was I the perfect operative? Did they succeed?" Nikita questioned him further.

"Yes." Michael whispered.

Nikita closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. When they reopened, tears began to moisten the corners. "I killed innocents, didn't I?"

Michael carefully wiped the tears from her eyes without answering her.

Nikita pulled away from his touch and slowly sunk her tear-swollen face into her hands. After rubbing her wet eyes, she turned them upward, looking directly into his stormy green eyes.

"They'll know that I'm back to normal, won't they?"

Michael nodded taking hold of her hand. He squeezed it as he said, "But I'll find a way. We will be together."

"How? How can we win? They have all the power, all the control." Nikita replied with some anger. "We're just pawns in their little game."

Michael understood that she was feeling helpless and angry. They had controlled her. Taken away her free will. Her actions had been no longer hers to choose. Living on her own terms was one thing she desperately clung to in this dark existence. And it was one trait he found so remarkable in her.

Michael put his arms around her in a tight embrace in the hopes of bringing Nikita some comfort. Her head buried into his chest, as tears trickled down her cheeks.

I will find a way.

~~~~~

Nikita stood before the door to her apartment. She both dreaded and anticipated seeing its new appearance. Michael had explained about the strange paintings she had created. He did not know their meaning, but he knew they were a result of the programming Section had placed in her mind.

Michael had wanted to accompany her back, but Nikita thought it best if she were to return alone. They did not need Section's cameras and spies witnessing them together. Despite the fact that she could not fool them about her transformation, she didn't want to place any undue focus on their relationship.

Slowly she pushed open the door. Before her was a myriad of bright colors. Flowers and foliage. A landscape of sorts. The first thing that caught her eye was the large deciduous tree. It meant something, she was certain. But maybe it was best if she did not focus on it. Michael had warned that some of the programming might remain. It was a scary thought. But Nikita was determined to take back her life in spite of it.

Then Nikita climbed the few stairs to reach her bedroom. The images were as stark and chilling as Michael had described. It disturbed Nikita to think she had been so haunted by these images. But it led her to believe that her subconscious was fighting to bring out the truth of her existence into her conscious mind. Her soul would not be destroyed even with her mind under Section's control. And now she was in control.

Nikita rummaged around to find a pail of white paint. It was time to erase these images. It was time to take her life back. She began with the large tree in her dining room. Stroke after stroke, she painted, until the tree was obscured.

Suddenly, there was a rapping noise. Nikita wiped the paint from her fingers and headed toward the door. Looking at her monitor, she saw it was Mick.

"What do you want Mick?" Nikita growled as she swung open the door.

"Hi love! What's new with you?" Mick asked as he barged in.

"Nothing. I'm painting. I'd rather not have any company if you don't mind." Nikita insisted as she held the door open looking to him to retreat back out the door.

"Returned to your senses, have you? Glad to see it. My mum sent me a little something for you. A kind of welcome to the family. Lemme just run next door and get it." Mick said as he pointed toward his place.

Nikita sighed and crossed her arms. She wasn't in the mood for Mick's games.

Within moments, Mick returned with a large potted plant. A flowering tree of sorts.

"Where do you want it, doll? Over here by the French doors?"

"Sure. Whatever." Nikita just wanted to be free of his intrusion.

"It's such a beautiful tree peony, don't you think? Mum just adores these. She wanted to show her new daughter that she is welcome to the family. Also, mum sends you her love."

"Mick..." Nikita's level of annoyance was increasing.

"Well, I'll leave you to your redecorating, popsicle. Toodles!" And out the door Mick went.

Nikita examined the lavender colored tree peony. It had many large beautiful blooms. And it had an orange butterfly attached, perched on one of the flowers as if to drink from its nectar. A monarch.

"How curious?" Nikita thought. She remembered another woman who cherished tree peonies.

"No it couldn't be, could it?"

~~~~

Author's Notes:

Project Monarch is a real government project started officially in the 1960's. It was based on previous research by the Nazi's and specifically research by Josef Mengele. This project supposedly no longer exists, being terminated in the 1970's. It is still classified as Top Secret. But some basic information, including some Congressional Hearings, is available via the Freedom of Information Act. It is one of several projects of this nature initiated by the US and Canadian governments and continued by the CIA.

It was a project to develop programmed killers using a system of programming or mind control. Interestingly, 75% of the subjects were female, because females have a higher tolerance for pain and dissociate easier.

You can read about project Monarch via the internet, but I warn you, it WILL give you the heebie-jeebies. I've read one article three separate times, and each time it still gave me chills. Ironically, LFN has dealt with many components of Project Monarch and other projects like it. So far I've found connections to: Brainwash, Not Was, UTI, IOD, TOP, BIS, AMN, OBT, as well as smaller ones to SID and LAC. (Basically covering most of the Lenkov and Hertzog episodes.) S4 is likely to continue with this dark theme. But these guys also like to throw in HR moments, so we do have hope.

The prognosis for those placed under this sort of mind control is not good. But I did find mention of one woman who did fight her way back to normal with the help of a man she later married. Love can find a way.

'Butterflies' is a magazine for survivors of incest, sexual abuse, and ritual abuse who have reclaimed their lives. This includes those who have undergone Monarch programming (cults have been known to use similar programming).

In Russia butterflies are called 'babochka' or 'little soul'. The ancient Greeks called butterflies 'Psyche' which also means 'soul.' Many cultures feel that when we die our souls go to heaven as butterflies.

Butterflies also signify transformation. The caterpillar enters a chrysalis and is transformed to a butterfly.

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