“Madeline is dead.” I state bluntly. “Cyanide capsule. You saw it yourself. We both did.”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Madeline’s ability to stop her own heartbeat. A trick she learned from Adrian. Her performance was nothing less than what I’d come to expect from her.”

“If you thought she was alive why didn’t you say anything?” I ask sincerely.

With his back to me, Jones walks over to the bar. Taking a bottle in hand, he pours himself a snifter of brandy. After taking a taste, he returns my look and answers.

“Letting her believe she pulled it off gives her a false sense of ease. I knew before long she’d make her move against me.”

I nod, but I begin to wonder why he’s tipping his hand. Why tell me this? He has me, not her. Does he think that Madeline would allow for him to trace a call? He must be smarter than that. What is he up to?

I try to act more relaxed moving toward the center of the room, examining the artwork on the walls.

“So this is Centre? It’s not what I imagined. I expected it to be more sterile. Somber and clinical. Instead it’s rather warm and extravagant. Suited to its leader’s tastes?” I ask, having learned from Madeline the art of getting into my adversary’s mindset.

“Let’s not stray from the business at hand. The phone call.”

“Sorry, I don’t have the number for Hell.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Here I thought you were a smart woman. I guess I assumed that’s what attracted Michael to you. Must have been your other talents.” Jones says eyeing me up and down.

I clench my jaw annoyed by the veiled insult. It seems he’s studied me well during his time as my neighbor. Jones holds a determined look as moves toward me and grasps the phone from my grip.

“I’m afraid that was your last chance.” Jones flips the phone open and begins to dial. I find Jones was not bluffing as I hear the familiar series of tones. He then holds the phone out to me and demands “Say hello.”

I give him a defiant look before grasping the cell phone.

“It’s me.” I say, feeling defeated.

“It’s done?”

Jones takes the phone from me and replies, “Well, hello Madeline.”

After a pause Jones continues, “You gave it a good go, but I’m afraid your bid for the top spot has failed. I’m wondering what Paul would think if he knew of your alliance with Adrian.” Unable to contain his pleasure at having flushed out his opponent, his serious face takes on a more jovial appearance.

“Yes, Adrian. I know she is alive and well. Where he believed the adversarial nature of your relationship with her, I did not. When Paul overthrew Adrian, he interfered with your rightful succession to the ‘throne’, shall we say. Of course, he never realized that’s what he had done.”

“What happens now? Well first, I put a bullet between the eyes of your lovely, but unfortunately incompetent mole. As you well know, I do not tolerate traitors in my organization.” Jones says to Madeline as he looks toward me.

My stomach churns as I hoped it would never come to this. The image of Michael sitting alone in the brasserie plagues me. I look towards the door, but I know any attempt to escape would be futile. I’d be lucky to get out of the building, let alone off the grounds. I pray silently that Michael has the strength to move on and finds happiness and peace. Unhappy with whom I’ve become and all the pain that I’ve caused him, I find some comfort believing Michael will be better off without me.

“Then, there is you and Adrian. My people are already positioned to extract you. This little chess match has been a nice diversion, but I’m afraid it is over. Checkmate.” Jones closes the phone, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Clutching my arm, he leads me out of the room to the central hall covered with a marble floor. My shoes make a hollow echoing noise as the heels tap on the stone surface. I look into Jones cool blue eyes as we halt.

“You had so much potential, Chickadee. But you trusted the wrong people.” Jones says softly touching my chin. “Adrian and Madeline are most adept at getting into people’s minds. Finding what is necessary to control them. It’s a pity that it must come to this. Now who am I going to being able to borrow sugar from at 3 am?”

“You never borrowed sugar at 3 am. And it’s a good thing, too. You would have been a dead man.” I reply, choking slightly on the word ‘dead.’ Why is it that I get an executioner who wants to chat about the good ole days? I just want this over with.

Jones reaches into his suit jacket and withdraws a pistol.

“I figured the marble floors of the hall would make for an easier clean up.” Jones cracks. Personally, I didn’t need to know that. I’m not sure if he’s trying to rattle me or if he just likes to hear himself talk.

“Any last requests? Blindfold? Cigarette?”

“No. Just do it.” I breathe.

Closing my eyes, I hear the click of Jones cocking the gun. I concentrate on the image of Michael in my mind, knowing each intimate detail. Every fine line and curve. I choose to die holding him in my heart, as I wait for Jones to pull the trigger.

~~~~~

“That will be all.”

My eyes pop open, as my jaw almost hits the floor. Unable to hide it, my shock shows plainly on my face. I watch as Jones lowers his gun and exits the room as ordered.

What is he doing here?!

My eyes scan over his face with both fondness and great interest. Clearly he outranks Jones, ordering him away like that. Has the man I’ve revered and respected held this position all along?

“Come.” He bids me to follow. Silently I accompany him to what appears to be an office. A large severe desk faces the doorway where we stand. “Take a seat, Nikita.” He says in a very business-like tone unlike what I’m accustomed. He seems cold and far from reach. Confusion riddles my mind as I await some answers. Why am I alive? Why am I here? What is real and what has been an illusion?

I stiffly sink down into the armchair, crossing my legs numbly. As the silence builds the tension in the room, I decide to break the ice.

“Last time I saw you, I ordered you to the Farm.” I look straight at his steely blue eyes searching for the warmth in them. “I guess the chain of command is not what I thought it was.” I smile at him, but to no avail.

Is it anger I see in his face? No. Not quite. More like a father ready to scold an irresponsible child. It’s disappointment that I see. Yes, disappointment.

“I was sure you were in the 5% club. I was so sure you’d find a way to hold onto your soul. I even tried to steer you in the right direction when I could. To give you something to smile at when things appeared grim. Unfortunately Madeline is good, and Adrian even better. They saw your despair and used it. Praying upon your moral code. Twisting the ends to make them appear just,“ Walter speaks, his voice tinged with regret.

“They want to save lives. Adrian and Madeline want to return Section to how it was before Operations took control. An organization that fights terrorism. One that values its operatives.” I explain earnestly.

Walter starts to shake his head as he leans back against the desk. “No, Nikita. It’s all about the struggle to be in control. The struggle for power. It poisons even the most just.” After a pause he asks, “If their interest is purely in the just leadership of Section, why are they interested in pursuing Mr. Jones? Have you asked yourself that?”

“Centre oversees both Oversight and the Sections. As far as we could tell, Jones determines the leadership of each organization. I guess it was feared that he was as corrupt as Operations. But it is actually you who hold that position. Head of Centre, right? And all this time, you’d have us believe you were simply a Munitions expert.” I say, feeling deceived and uncertain what to trust.

“Yes, who’d have thunk it?” Walter smiles for the first time, as he places his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. ” A long term cover that has suited me well. Granted once upon a time it was my sole job.”

“So you just pretended to be my friend. What? To get into my head? To maintain your cover as a dirty old man with a heart of gold? Huh?” I enquire, finding the uncertainty disconcerting.

“Pretended to be your friend? How about you? I risked my neck to help you out on more than one occasion. Especially when it came to your relationship with Michael. You on the other hand, you lied to everyone. Everyone who cared about you. Including Michael. I really believed you loved him. I know for a fact he loves you.” Walter replies indignantly, pointing at me.

“Loves?” I ask, noticing his use of the present tense.

“I know you took the bag of tricks, when he wouldn’t. I know you saved him and set him free. Was that out of love? Perhaps. Does he love you? Enough that he’s still pursuing you despite your betrayal. I guess love can make even the smartest man a fool.”

I sit silently, staring down at my lap as I toy with the hem of my shirt. I can’t say I’m proud of the things I’ve done. But there were reasons for everything I did. At least at the time. How can I explain that? How do I find the words?

“So now what happens?” It’s what comes out of my mouth instead of what I really want to say. I close my eyes with resignation.

As Walter begins to lean against the desk again, I look up to see him gazing directly at me.

“I remember the first day I saw you inside Section,” he starts. “Walking in with your torn shirt, your hair in a knot. Full of attitude. Real spunk. Ready to take on whatever was thrown at you. I did a double take when you came past my workstation. Seeing those familiar blue eyes looking back at me.”

“Familiar? I thought you said it was the first time you saw me.” I answer, struck by the oddness of both his words and the gesture on his face.

“It was.” Walter replies. I sense him considering his words carefully, as his hand grips the corner of the desk. I return his stare showing my confusion. As he moves to walk behind me, he continues, “But those baby blues you have, match another pair. A pair that belonged to someone I knew.”

I turn in the chair to face him, saying nothing. I’m certain my expression says it all.

~~~~

Crouching down beside me, Walter tenderly begins to explain, “Nicholas Blythe, was a colleague and a friend. Not only was Nick a very capable operative with keen tactical skills, he was someone you could count on to watch your back. Someone you could trust. He in turn confided in me once. About his involvement with a woman.”

I try to control my breathing to steady myself, but my pulse quickens. Is he telling me what I think he’s telling me?

“It happened during an op. He saw a guy getting rough with this young woman. Nick tried to stay out of it until the slime belted her. Though as a seasoned operative, he knew it could jeopardize his cover, he intervened anyway. Once he got her home and cleaned up, they got to talking for a while. Then Nick found himself checking up on her when he could. Before he knew it, he found himself emotionally attached and in a difficult position. She started asking those tough questions, the ones a Section Operative can’t answer honestly. The op was ending and Nick found he had no choice, but to let her go.”

I nod in understanding. I begin to realize I’m gripping the arms of the chair, waiting for his next words with both expectation and fear. As he pauses longer, I grow impatient, biting my lip. Uncomfortable with his crouched position, Walter stands and retrieves another chair to sit next to me.

“Then what happened?” I anxiously ask, hungry for answers.

“After a few months, he broke down and checked on her from a distance. Making certain there was no surveillance on him. He found she was with child. Nick guessed the timing was about right. But he wasn’t certain. Then, Nick came to me for advice.” Walter explains. I detect the sadness in his eyes.

“What did you say?” I ask, intent for him to continue.

“I told him whether or not the child was his, the best thing he could do for mother and child was to stay away. And pray that no one makes the connection.”

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a moment as I try to process my thoughts. A tear releases from one, as I open them again. Renewing eye contact with Walter, he quietly nods his head.

“But Operations did, right? Just like George explained.” My animosity towards Paul slowly rises, gripping me with hatred.

“No. George was using you for his own quest for power.”

“Then who?”

“Madeline.”

All the rushing thoughts in my mind come to a crashing halt.

“Madeline? Why?”

“Genetics. Pure and simple. Adrian established that there was a greater success rate using the children of high-level operatives. Seymour and Jason were one such test of that. Their mother Lisa had innate skill with computers. Both children raised in different environments showed that same predisposition toward computers, learning advanced processes more rapidly that your average kid. Unfortunately, since Lisa was unable, Adrian had me choose between the boys. When I argued that they were just babies who deserved a life outside Section, I was countered with the ultimatum, choose or they will both spend their lives inside Section. It didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

Silence looms between us, as I’m sure he’s thinking of Birkoff, just as I am. Seeing a tear welling in his eye, I know Walter’s love for the young man was genuine. I ache, knowing Birkoff sacrificed himself to save the only family he knew. His soul was far purer than mine.

“Did Madeline know my father?” I ask, uncertain that I believe my recruitment to Section was solely based on my genetics.

“Sure. They butted heads on occasion. When he found her tactics to be too cold-hearted. And when she thought he was ruled too much by emotion rather than logic. But they respected each other’s abilities.”

“How did she find out about me?”

“Who knows? Even at operative status, she watched those around her carefully. Trying to get into each person’s head. To know what made them tick. And to collect intel that could be used later. Must have been all those years of being a ward of the state, dealing with all the child psychologists hired to pick her brain apart.”

Thinking of Madeline as a child evokes too much sympathy, so I push the image aside. Feeling overwhelmed by the amount of information that’s been thrown at me, I begin to rub my temples. Somehow, I need to make sense of all this and how it relates to my current situation.

“Putting the issue of my father aside, why did you recruit me to evaluate an organization that you had already infiltrated?”

“I needed a second independent evaluation. And you needed a noble purpose within Section. An ace in the hole so to speak. I knew that the mere idea that you could make a difference would keep you fighting to stay alive. I couldn’t get you out without suspicion, but I owed Nick. The only thing I could do was try to keep you alive. And when your romance with Michael blossomed after his blood cover was completed, I tried to nurture it. I truly wanted to see you happy. However, in spite of all my efforts, the only thing I hadn’t counted was who else would recruit you and how many masters you would try to serve.”

Before I can say anything in response, the phone on the desk rings, cutting me off. Walter slowly walks around the desk to retrieve the receiver by the fourth ring.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Walter pauses as he listens. “Leave the situation to me. I’ll handle it when I’m done with this matter,“ he answers as he reaches into the desk drawer. Anticipating his next move I speak.

“I betrayed you Walter. I did it because I believed I could make a difference. I believed what Madeline and Adrian told me. It concurred with the things I saw with my own eyes. And, of course I didn’t trust Schtoppel, Jones, or whatever you call him. So now what happens to me? Do I get my fingers slapped or should I still expect a bullet between the eyes?”

Walter slowly lays the receiver down with one hand as the other remains in the drawer. Is it contempt that I see in his eyes? Or something else?

~~~~~

Walter closes the drawer abruptly. I practically jump out of my skin as the sound reverberates through the desk.

“A bullet between the eyes could be arranged for if you have your heart set on it. But apparently, you’ve not been paying attention. I just explained my interest in keeping you alive. I didn’t tell you all that to assuage my guilt, nor for my health.” Walter breathes with disgust.

“But...I…uh…thought you were reaching for a gun in your desk. I’m sorry, Walter.” I answer, feeling like dirt. After all Walter has done for me, he certainly did not deserve my verbal attack. My eyes begin to feel misty as I realize how overwhelmed I’m feeling. I long to be alone and outdoors, breathing in cool fresh air, soothing my burning lungs. Instead I’m caught in this room thick with tension, my breathing, labored and raspy.

“If you would stop jumping to conclusions, you would see that I was only getting this.” Walter states as he hands me a photograph.

I gaze at the snapshot with great interest. I always wondered as a child if I would know my father if I were to see him. Now I know the answer is yes. The resemblance is uncanny. My hand trembles as I study the picture, afraid if I look away it will all have been a dream.

“It’s yours to keep, Sugar.”

I look up at him feeling like a child on Christmas morning.

“Oh, Walter. Thank you. You cannot imagine how much this means to me.” The tears that have been threatening spill over as warm rivulets down my face. I press the picture against my chest, as I long to give Walter a huge hug showing my gratitude. Now that I’ve been given a glance at the man who was my father, I want to know more about him.

But before the questions can pass my lips, Walter speaks, “I’m glad you liked the picture. I thought it an appropriate good-bye gift.”

“Good-bye?” I choke.

“Yeah. There’s someone who’s anxious to find you. It looks as though he’s in the process of breaching my security here. And Michael would be successful in getting in undetected except I have been expecting him.” Walter chuckled.

“Michael?” I whisper. He’s here?

“Yes, in case you haven’t noticed, he’s quite attached to you. Now, that your ‘dead’ again thanks to Mr. Jones, it is time for you to be reunited with your ‘dead’ lover.”

“I’m dead.” I mutter as Walter’s words sink in. I realize he’s giving me a second precious gift. My freedom.

My tears renew themselves as I move towards Walter with outstretched arms. I press my lips against his cheek as I feel his arms returning the hug, holding me tight. I may have just learned who my father was after all these years, but Walter held that role since I arrived inside Section. Releasing our embrace, I find I am not the only one lacking dry eyes.

“Now get out of here!” Walter motions, uncomfortable with his own tears.

“How can I ever repay you?” I ask as I reach out to squeeze his wrinkled hand in my own. Parting from him is tinged with regret as I sense the finality of it all. I owe him for more than the truth and my freedom. I owe him my life. Without his love and friendship, I’m uncertain that I could have remained sane inside Section. How can words express such gratitude?

“Just be happy. And live life to the fullest….make lots of babies with that lucky fool…’kay?”

I burst into laughter, not expecting Walter’s candor.

“Maybe. If he can forgive me for all that I’ve done.”

If I can forgive myself.

~~~~~

Having gained access to the grounds, I view the German schloss from my vantage point behind a row of sculpted bushes. With some cash, a few flirtatious smiles, and a fake phone number, I’ve managed to trace Nikita and Jones here. The possibility I was fed false info remains, but I’m determined to follow every lead I have until I find for certain Nikita is not in danger.

In the time I have been watching, I have seen little activity outdoors, other than a guard patrolling the outer perimeter of the building. I deduce the schloss is equipped with sophisticated alarms, while the guard is more for appearances. Having avoided detection by the outer perimeter security system, I seek to get closer to get a crack at the interior alarms and surveillance. Once the guard is out of view, I will have six minutes until the he comes back around the other side. Just six minutes to disable the alarm and enter.

As he slips from my view, I begin to move from my crouched position. But an unexpected movement from the corner of the schloss where the guard disappeared causes me to stop, remaining hidden. I exhale a breath as I see the familiar shape of Nikita come into my view. She is here.

Her eyes scan the area. What is she looking for? Me? No, she cannot know I’m here, could she?

I watch as she slowly walks through the side garden. Her fingers push a hanging tree branch from her eye level. I sense this is not a leisurely stroll as I see intent in her eyes. I stay hidden as she moves closer to me.

Do I reveal myself? Can I trust her? Or have I fallen prey to a trap that she has set?

Uncertain, I remain unmoved, watching her carefully. A rustling noise catches her attention. I hear her breathe a sigh before muttering, “Just a squirrel.” Nikita’s face lightens with a smile as her blue eyes follow the scampering red creature.

As she nears my hiding spot, I quickly make my decision. Letting her pass me, I rise behind her grasping her arm behind her. Nikita pulls against my grasp, twisting to see her captor. My name lingers on her lips as I motion for her to stay silent. In order to remain hidden, I guide her to crouch down low. She turns to face me as I release her arm.

“I was concerned at your sudden departure from Monaco.” I state, feeling now that I may have worried needlessly.

Her face betrays a warm smile as she gently lays her hand on mine. “After our last conversation, I wouldn’t have expected you to seek me out. But I’m glad you did.”

Nikita’s palm moves up my arm stopping at my shoulder. Her thumb gently traces my jaw. I hold my breath uncertain of her motives. But soon the tension releases from my body as I find myself enraptured by my beautiful Valkyrie. Whether she intends to lead me to Valhalla or Hell, it matters no more. Whether her love is true or a lie, I remain bound to her.

She breathes, “It’s over. I owe you an explanation. The truth.”

My brow rises. I watch her expectantly as I say nothing. First I see a hint of sadness in her eyes. Then, her nervous habit reappears, as she bites her lip. Her seeming innocence rips through me, as I yearn to taste her lips pressed against mine. Somehow I keep the urge in check as I leave any movement up to her.

Nikita swallows hard, “But not here. We need to go.”

Her fingers slide through into my curling hair, as her pupils appear dilated. I grasp her hand, drawing it downward as I intertwine my fingers in hers.

“Where?” I ask, wondering if Nikita has a place in mind.

“Anywhere. Alone.” Nikita whispers, almost swallowing the second word with its urgency.

I nod as I have a location nearby in mind.

~~~~~

I stay behind Nikita, watching as she wanders within the interior of the deserted cottage, curiously eying all the details. I’m relieved to know that aspect of her personality is intact.

But now I’m growing impatient to know the truth since it has been dangled before me. What has changed in such a short time that is bringing her to offer the truth to me? Could it be some ploy or is she being sincere?

Taking a seat on the old sofa, I lean back, stretching the tension from my limbs. Before long Nikita ventures over and sits on the opposite end. She starts to wring her hands nervously. I study her silently as a few minutes pass. Finally she looks up at me with those pale blue eyes.

“Not sure where to start. I…”

“The beginning is usually a good place.” I reply, sensing hesitance but also sincerity. “Maybe you should start with when you started working for Centre.” And why?

“It was shortly after Jurgen’s death. I was away on leave. Feeling betrayed by you. Feeling like a pawn in some sick game. I received a phone call. At first I thought it was just another Section test. But the sporadic contacts continued. I was asked to observe Section. To evaluate their procedures. Their personnel. No other action was necessary on my part. Just observe and evaluate. In return, I would receive what I wanted the most. It seemed simple enough.” I sense the pain in Nikita’s voice.

Closing my eyes, I recall those events clearly. Seeing Nikita alive in Lyon brought me alive again. Then, our contact on the boat. A night of passion forever etched into my being. Lifting me from months of self-hatred. One night of possessing her body and soul was not enough for me. She became like a drug, soothing my pains, but addictive nonetheless. My euphoria at discovering her clouded my judgment. I brought her back in only to find myself forced to keep her at an arms length to protect us. Instead, I hurt her deeply as she was too naïve to understand my motives and actions. She saw it simply as another person who had claimed to love her that instead cast her aside after using her.

Additionally, I pushed her toward Jurgen for Section purposes. This only widened the rift and Jurgen was more than willing to take her from me. And becoming the Section pawn—my pawn—yet again shattered the fragile trust that had been forged. She relinquished her freedom for me and I rewarded her with a sense of betrayal and loneliness.

I quietly nod understanding just how vulnerable she was during that time. Swallowing hard Nikita continues,

“Still uncertain what my assignment meant or if I could trust it, I soon found myself enlisted by Operations. He detailed how I might be recruited by a woman named Adrian and that it was necessary to go along with her plans with some reservation in order not to raise her suspicions.”

Of course, this I came to know after the fact. Nikita had been my material but I was kept in the dark in regards to this assignment. But how does this fit in with her role in Centre?

“But before Adrian ever made contact I found myself caught between Madeline and Operations in regards to her husband, Charles Sand. We came in contact with Charles during the operation against Abel Goellner. Charles pulled me aside giving me instructions to contact Operations. He wanted in after 9 years of being out in the cold. Soon I learned Operations had been rerouting Charles communiqués and sinking them so that Madeline was unaware that Charles had been alive. As per Charles request, I made Madeline aware of the situation.”

“You put yourself in the middle. Not a healthy thing to do.”

“No. I finally had no choice but to follow the chain of command. Kill Charles Sand as per Operations orders. But then Madeline arrived on the scene and killed him herself. However, I did not realize this was only the beginning of my divided loyalties. The beginning of the lies and deceptions. Because within days, I was abducted by Adrian’s people and then the series of events unfolded that led to Adrian’s capture. A series of events that would change my life.”

I remember that time well along with the hurt that had penetrated me knowing that Nikita would not trust me. Instead of seeing me as a friend and ally, she saw me as the cold section operative—the persona I had thrust at her to keep her at a safe distance. Despite orders from Operations to prove Nikita as Adrian’s accomplice, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to protect her. Section rules be damned. But without her cooperation, my hands were tied and I could do nothing but confirm that she indeed was working with Adrian.

When I took her and Adrian into custody, I offered Nikita her freedom. I didn’t care what would be done to me in retribution. If I hadn’t brought Nikita back into Section—a place she found morally reprehensible, she would not have been facing cancellation for helping Adrian. I felt helpless when she refused my offer, leaving me no choice but to return her to Section for cancellation. It was only when her alliance with Operations was revealed, that I came to understand why she had refused my offer.

“Even knowing my assignment, I couldn’t help but believe in what Adrian explained to me. This was the woman who started it all. She created the Sections in cooperation with Oversight and Centre. What Section became under Operations was not the organization that she started. But when I was put in the difficult position of deciding the fate of Section and maybe the fate of the world, I felt overwhelmed. Dizzy with calculations and scenarios. It was too much for me to decide within seconds. So I stood down.”

“And so instead you just spent another 2 years judging Section?” I ask, still trying to see how Adrian fits in with her work at Centre.

“I wish it were as simple as that.” Nikita replies.

~~~~~

Looking uncomfortable, Nikita moves from her position on the sofa and begins to pace about the room like a caged animal. Several times she begins to say something but changes her mind. I finally decide to approach her, brushing her elbow with my hand. She turns to face me on the verge of tears. I carefully blot a stray teardrop from her cheek with my fingers. The moisture glistens on her lashes as her eyes try to blink away the moisture.

“You should run from me. As fast as you can. I’m not the woman you fell in love with. I’m….” Nikita’s voice cracks with strangled emotion.

“You’re what?” I ask gently caressing her hair with my fingertips.

“I’m lost. I’m empty.” Nikita struggles with her words. “I sought to bring morality back to Section and instead I…I lost my own in the process.”

“It happens to all of us at one time or another. We’re constantly defining and redefining who we are. Growing out of old ideas and growing into new ones. And with Section it becomes harder and harder to know what is the façade and what is real, even within ourselves.” I answer sensing the anguish in her voice.

I understand the feeling all too well. I long for her to continue so I can know the whole story and help her better. Being in the dark I can do little to soothe her fears.

Her body leans into mine seeking embrace and comfort. Her tears soak into my shirt as she buries her head against my chest sobbing. I trace my hand against her back in a soothing motion.

“You don’t understand. I let her do this to me.” She swallows.

“Who? You let who do this?” I ask puzzled by this remark.

“Madeline. She…she needed a way to keep Adrian alive. Operations ordered her cancellation. But Madeline convinced him to use her in a series of mind control experiments.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. They swirled in my mind, twisting my perception. I lead her back to the sofa, needing a seat for myself.

“Madeline needed Adrian alive? Why?” My gut wrenches with apprehension of where this conversation is going.

Nikita pulls away, avoiding my eye contact by looking down at her hands on her lap.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but the move against Operations was made with Madeline’s cooperation. It was Madeline who hand picked me for Adrian to use as her inside person. It was safer that way, in case I were caught. That way Madeline’s role would not be exposed. But what she did not know was that Operations had also enlisted my help.”

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as my mind tries to piece together what I know with what Nikita has revealed, trying to make sense of it all. What is it she let Madeline do? I slide closer to Nikita, grasping her hand in mine, intent to extract the whole truth. With my other hand I lift her chin to reinitiate eye contact.

“Let’s fast forward. To last year. When you were placed under mind control. You let her do that to you willingly?” I ask in disbelief, as my heart feels crushed under the weight.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Nikita pauses. “I was asked to intensify our relationship in order to raise Operations paranoia. To distract him. I was not privy to what Madeline had in mind in terms of getting Adrian outside of Section.”

“So Madeline altered your mind, knowing I would do anything and everything necessary to get you back, including getting a frozen Adrian outside Section?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes.” Nikita barely breathes with a terrified look in her eyes.

“And you continued to cooperate with Madeline and Adrian after that transpired?” I ask hesitantly feeling nauseous, sickened by this nightmarish scenario.

“Yes.” Nikita barely squeaks out.

A lump rises in my throat as I feel the need to leave the room. I thrust her hand away from me, disgusted, as I rise from my seat. I glare at her, with my mouth agape unable to say anything. I see the fear etched in Nikita’s tear stained eyes just before I turn toward the front door.

~~~~~

Amidst my tears, I see the blurry figure of Michael walking away. As I hear the door shutting with a resounding thump, I feel my heart sink.

I’ve really screwed up. More than screwed up.

I’ve lost him.

But I couldn’t hold this inside any longer. I couldn’t live with the lies. Even if I hadn’t told him, I would know. I have known and it has been eating me from the inside leaving me hollow and empty.

My aching heart bids me to run out the door after him and beg for his forgiveness. But another part of me feels I deserve this fate. I’ve betrayed his love and trust. I may not have known early on that he truly loved me. However, once he did open up, the emotions he expressed were deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. As much as I tried not to get re-involved with him, I couldn’t help myself. When he held me in his arms, loving me, everything else was inconsequential.

The tears begin to brim again as I think of how much he risked to be with me. How he chose me over the future leadership of Section. If it weren’t for me, he may have eventually moved into Operations position. Michael could have changed Section. He is a man that operatives could respect and revere. His ruling of Section would have been just. Instead of improving Section’s future, I stole its brightest star and greatest hope.

I took from Michael everything that mattered to him. His love. His purpose.

I tried to justify my actions by giving Michael his freedom. But it wasn’t freedom on his terms.

Sobbing, I wipe my swollen eyes with the back of my hand. I wander to the bathroom, hoping to rid myself of these wretched tears. If I can manage to stop them.

Rusty water trickles from the tap as I turn the knob. As it runs longer, the color turns clearer. With my hands I lift the water to my face, rinsing the tears. But my guilt remains. I stare at myself in the mirror, seeing an image I find revolting. It’s not the running make-up or the mussed hair I see, but the hollow person within. Self-hatred and anger rises within me.

Slamming my fist against my reflection, the glass shatters, falling in sharp pieces. The few remaining pieces reflect shards of my image. Broken and irrepairable.

I lift a large wedge of glass, eyeing it curiously. It certainly is sharp enough. It would be so easy. And quick.

I grip the wedge tighter as I close my eyes, prepared to end it all. But something inside me screams, piercing my resolve.

No. Death is easy. It’s living that is the challenge.

Was it Walter who said that once? Michael?

My hand releases its grip, letting the glass slip to the floor.

No, I said it. To Birkoff. Death's easy. You don't have to do anything. It's life you have to face.

The tears start running again. What would Birkoff think of my actions? He always looked up to me. He saw me as one of the good guys. It pains me to think of how he would have reacted to my role in evaluating Section.

The boy who spent his entire life in Section had the inner strength to sacrifice himself to save Section, while I was the shortsighted one who destroyed any good that could come out of it.

Looking down at my hands, I see blood covering the palm of my right hand. I slowly realize it is from gripping the glass just moments earlier. I rinse the blood from my skin before rushing to find something to bind my hand.

Eyeing the tattered curtains in the bedroom, I tear a long strip suitable in size to wrap around my hand several times. After tying a knot, I grip my hand tightly placing pressure on the cut.

Looking toward the bed, I become conscious of my weariness. Sitting on the edge, I kick off my shoes and stretch my weary toes. Pulling the bedspread up, I find the pillows underneath are suitable enough for a nap.

I may not know where I go from here, but some sleep may help my perspective.

I’m still alive, for whatever that’s worth.

~~~~

Questions linger in my mind as I near the cottage. The long solitary walk has calmed me, allowing me to think more clearly. My feelings of anger are directed at myself as much as Nikita.

Why didn’t I see she was headed down the same path—the path of justifying one’s actions for a so-called greater good? Living within a lie. Split in two. Nikita’s deceit only affected people inside Section. Those that live with deception on a daily basis.

In my case it gets even grayer. If seducing and marrying an innocent young woman to get to her terrorist father wasn’t repugnant enough, I took it a step further by impregnating her to get closer to Section’s goal. It was at a time when striving for success meant everything to me, no matter the cost.

Simone had tried to warn me. She had accepted my ‘marriage’. But she felt that producing a child as part of a cover was something I’d deeply regret. I brushed off her concerns thinking I could handle it. Simone never got to see just how right she was.

After Adam’s birth, the unfeeling hollow Section operative I was began opening his heart to a wee little baby. My child. My flesh and blood. Maybe the distance between my own father and I had given me the false sense that I too could keep that sort of distance from my son. That his birth would not affect me the way it did. But I was so wrong and unprepared for the array of emotions that swept over me. That day and each day thereafter.

I split myself in two in order to keep the goodness of my newfound fairy tale life separate from the darkness of my section persona. I thought myself cunning enough to keep the two parts distinct and separate. I could not see how much of a struggle it would become.

Then, a young recruit entered Section around the same time. Nikita. In some ways I had become a parent to her as well. It was my responsibility to train her such that she could be a viable operative able to perform proficiently under orders. Her success reflected my own success. But her desire to find the goodness in my Section persona drew out the other half of me that I had tried so hard to keep hidden safely away.

My interest in her became more than professional. More intimate and personal. The two women thrown into my life shared one thing in common—their innocence. But otherwise they were like night and day. While I cared for Elena, as the mother of my child, Nikita ignited my passion. Maybe because she reminded me of the man I once was. A man who was not afraid to defy authority to fight for what he believed to be just and right.

I laugh. Yet another example of my choosing the wrong path. While Rene’s ideals were noble, his building of bombs and use of those explosives against innocent people was very wrong. What Nikita did by following Madeline and Adrian was no different than my following Rene. If anything, I’m more at fault. I’m responsible for her transformation from street girl to cold Section operative, driving her to just do the job.

Like they say, watch what you wish for. Someday you may just get it.

I sigh as I grasp the door handle.

What do you say to the woman you love after showing her your contempt and disgust for what she’s done?

Especially when I’ve done much that is truly contemptible.

~~~~~

Opening the door I walk into deafening silence. I find the old sofa where I’d left a distraught Nikita to be empty. I’m not sure what I had expected. But I guess it wasn’t an empty cottage.

I venture in a little further, alert and aware. The only noise I hear is the slight creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet. That and my heart thudding against my chest. As I near the bathroom, I hear the small crunch of glass beneath the sole of my shoe. From the faint late day sunlight coming through the window, I can discern that the glass is from the mirror, shattered by a blunt force. I see spatters of blood along the edge of the sink and on the floor.

My mind races, contemplating the blood and the broken glass, pushing me toward the bedroom. Looking in the doorway, I spy Nikita lying still within the bed’s covers. As I fearfully step closer, the floorboard lets out a sigh. Nikita stirs ever so slightly, brushing her bound hand against the bedspread. I release a breath, finding relief at the sight of a sleeping Nikita. I look closer to see that the ad hoc bandage shows some seepage of blood. Gently sitting on the edge of the bed, I begin to silently watch her sleeping.

But sensing my presence, Nikita’s eyelids begin to flutter. My name escapes from her lips as her eyes look at me sleepily. My fingers lovingly brush the hair from her face, then, trace her cheek warm from resting on the pillow. Nikita’s bandaged hand catches mine lightly pressing my palm to her lips. She hoarsely whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Our eyes meet as no other words pass between us. With a tear threatening, Nikita finally breaks the silence.

“I didn’t think you would be back.”

“I just needed to think. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It…it was just more than I could have anticipated.” I reply, uncertain how to explain.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you for walking away. I probably deserve it. Actually I know I do.” Nikita says as she slowly sits up in the bed.

I shake my head. “No. Living inside Section…surviving…inside Section has required us both to do things we would otherwise find repulsive…things that are horrid and detestable. We just cling to the hope that the outcome is worth the price we pay. Only another person who’s lived it can truly understand.”

“Where do we go from here?” Nikita asks almost rhetorically.

“I don’t know. Where does Centre think you are?”

“I’m free. Well, as free as I can ever hope to be.” Nikita mutters before rubbing her eyes.

I look to her waiting for her to explain. As she looks up at me again she realizes I’m waiting for her to speak.

“My assignment was to discover the real Mr. Jones, since it was very doubtful that it was Mick Schtoppel.” We share a smile before she continues.

“By pushing forward the time of my evaluation, it was hoped that upon completion, I would be given access to Centre and its true leader. My end game—to flush out the real Mr. Jones. Instead it was not I who deceived him, but the other way around. He used me to flush out Madeline and Adrian. He suspected all along.”

I nod as past events and motivations become clearer. Her feigned cooperation with Red Cell, her escape from Section, and our capture was all part of getting the evaluation pushed forward. But if she betrayed Centre, why is she alive? And free? Sensing the perplexed look on my face, Nikita continues.

“The trip to Monaco gave Mr. Jones and the true leader of Centre time to find Madeline and Adrian’s location. With that detail taken care of, I was lured in and brought to Centre. A phone call was made to the two women indicating that they had fallen into his trap and that their mole was to be cancelled. But instead of death, I received audience with the real Mr. Jones.”

Still perplexed I can’t help but notice the excited look on her face. I only hope she hasn’t accepted any more deals with the devil.

“Even after hearing his voice, I still couldn’t believe my eyes. All this time the man behind the scenes was someone near and dear to us.”

The word ‘who’ is pursed on my lips as I wait in anticipation.

“It’s Walter.”

~~~~~

I listen to her soft breathing as she sleeps beside me. Where she is exhausted after purging her soul, my mind replays it all, trying to analyze and understand all that has happened.

I do not doubt that she has told me everything as I see the tired and worried lines of her face easing with rest. I’m just not sure what to make of it all. Adrian played me for a fool once again. The feigned after effects of the Gelman Process lulled me into a false sense of security, as I left her in the care of the convalescence home. As for Madeline, I’m not surprised she faked her death, but the reality that she had been cooperating with Adrian is shocking by comparison.

But what has affected me the most is the revelation of Walter’s position in Centre. As much as I tried to keep my motivations hidden inside Section, other than Simone and Nikita, Walter was the one person I allowed a glimpse of what was inside the cold shell. He in turn would put his two cents in from time to time. Sometimes it was simply a few words to lift my spirits. Words of encouragement. Other times he’d inject his opinion whether I welcomed it or not. Especially in regards to Nikita in the later years.

Walter was the one always at ease, looking on the brighter side of things. The one face that always remained the same within Section, other than the upper management. But to think all that time he was way up at the top. Above Madeline and Operations. It shakes all my beliefs about the man. But not my respect for him.

I lift the worn photograph from the nightstand, examining it with the warm glow of candlelight. The eyes, the nose, even the light freckles, all traits Nikita shares with this man. Her father. A Section operative, long before I ever arrived at Section One. Where it was my own actions that landed me inside Section, it was that which she had no control over—her parentage—that led her to Section One. She was as innocent as she always claimed.

My gut twists with the thought that this could ever happen to Adam. I wonder if Nick Blythe ever thought about the child he would never know. Did he ever suspect that Section could potentially find and take his child? Or was that not a concern since he never knew his child. He never saw those first steps. Heard those first words. Was that a blessing or a curse?

I cannot erase the image of Adam smiling up at me as I tucked him into bed. Nor the sound of his voice saying ‘I love you Daddy.’ As much as the memory warms me, it chills me at the same time. Haunting me. Hurting me.

In a strange way, Nikita is not much different from Adam. A person caught up in circumstances not of their choosing. The only difference being Nikita is no longer a child, but very much a woman.

As I try to settle down beside her to give sleep another chance, Nikita stirs from her slumber. Her blue eyes try to adjust to the dim candlelight of the room as she props herself up on her elbow to look at me.

“So it wasn’t a dream? You really are here.” Nikita whispers. “Did you get some rest?” Her last question is punctuated by a large yawn.

“Not much.” I shrug. Hearing a large growl from Nikita’s stomach, I surmise, “I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re hungry.”

Nikita gives a relaxed smile. “I can’t believe I slept so long. How late is it?”

“Almost 10 pm. You’ve slept nearly 3 hours.”

Her eyes widen. “I guess I was exhausted.”

I glide my fingers against her warm cheek. “A lot has happened in the past few days.”

Nikita timidly nods. “I hope not too much.”

I’m not sure of what answer to give her. Has too much happened? I’m uncertain. But our connection is too deep to walk away without giving our relationship another try. However, there is one stipulation.

“No more lies.” I state gently, but firmly, holding eye contact.

With a serious look and her eyes returning my stare, Nikita shakes her head slowly as the words pass from her lips. “No more lies. No more secrets.”

A promise I hope we can both keep.

“We better get you some food.” I state as her stomach reiterates her hunger.

“Not many places open this late. Not out here, anyway. Maybe we can find a tavern or something.”

“I have a few rations in the Pathfinder,” I offer. “It’s not fine cuisine, but will hold us over until we find something better along the way.”

“Along the way?” Nikita asks hesitantly. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever the road takes us.” I answer as Nikita’s features show her intrigue at my last statement.

“Are you referring to your travel plans or…us?” Nikita asks with some hesitation.

I pause for a second before replying, “Both.”

~~~~~

Traveling these past few weeks, I find my tendency is to head toward the South of France. I’m uncertain why I’m drawn toward my homeland.

Familiarity, perhaps?

Despite having spent both my University years and my Section years in and around Paris, I now realize I never considered it home.

Sète. A port city not far from Marseilles. Not far from home. I can’t explain it. It just feels like a suitable place to stop. Nikita does not appear to mind as her eyes greedily gorge on the colorful Italian architecture in this island city of fishermen and boats. France’s own Venice, minus the gondolas.

Turning toward me, Nikita’s face lights up with a smile. She weaves her arms around my waist as her lips meet mine. Caught in her impulsive kiss, my tongue seeks to taste her warm mouth. As she pulls away, I reach out to grasp her arms to keep her from moving. But her focus is no longer on me, as her cheeks turn a bright red. I turn my head in the direction she is looking.

Towering over a small elderly woman, my eyes meet a pair looking up at me filled with indignation since we have nearly collided with her. I flash her a flirtatious smile as Nikita tries to pull me away. Finally, the woman lets out a laugh.

“If I were a few years younger, I’d give her a run for her money.” The woman muses in French as she winks at me.

I can’t help but grin at her comment, before turning to follow Nikita. My hand brushes Nikita’s elbow as I take my place beside her. Her eyes sparkle a pale shade of blue in stark contrast to her flushed cheeks. I cannot be certain if her color is more from embarrassment or from our kiss. But I find her ever more alluring at this very moment.

Reaching out, I take Nikita’s hand and grip it lightly with mine. I can feel her excitement as Nikita squeezes my hand, leading me to a bench facing the waterfront. As we sit facing each other, I study her facial expression, sensing something not quite right. Then, Nikita’s eyes avert downward as her fingers remain entwined in mine. Slowly her crystal blue pools glance upward, meeting my focus. The whiteness of her teeth peeks through her soft red lips, as her nervous habit reappears.

Slowly she whispers, “Thank you.”

“Thank you? For what?”

“For taking a chance with me.” Nikita pauses. “I’m not sure I would have done the same had I been in your shoes. But then I’ve come to learn you are a stronger soul than I, Michael Samuelle.”

The touch of her fingertips against my brow and then my cheeks raises the yearning inside me. I detect she feels that yearning too, as her cheeks become flush again, before she releases a gentle laugh.

After a moment she shifts her position to lean against me, placing her arms around my neck. Instinctively, I begin to stroke the back of her head as I feel her breath on me. Looking closer at her eyes, I sense her weariness.

“Still not feeling well?” I ask realizing she has hidden it well. Why didn’t I sense it earlier?

“It kinda comes and goes. I can’t seem to shake this bug,” Nikita slowly admits.

“Maybe it would be best if you rest back at the hotel. You should have told me.” I lightly scold out of concern.

“But I really wanted to be outdoors enjoying this gorgeous day...with you. It’s so beautiful here. Everything. The boats. The architecture. Even the people. I thought I’d shake it after a bit. Besides, much of the time I feel okay. Being with you, it’s easy to just…forget. Michael, I’ll be fine. Really.” Her eyes plead with me to relent.

But my concern wins out over her pleading, as I decide it best we return to our hotel room. Nikita starts to object, but with my insistence and a kiss, I get my way.

~~~~~

I’m annoyed that I let him sense of my discomfort. I had hoped not to ruin this perfect day by being stuck in a sickbed. With that dizzying kiss and the thought of Michael sharing the bed I had consented to returning to the hotel. But with our arrival back, I see that he is taking on the role of nursemaid rather than lover. Damn.

Not him. Me.

Why can’t I rid myself of this bug? I feel ill if I eat. And I feel even more ill if I don’t eat at all. What night did we have those oysters? Was it last week already? Must be something else? Ahhh…the dangers of eating out while traveling.

“Jump under the covers.” Michael orders, lifting them.

“Yes, sir.” And here I was hoping for something more romantic. “Nothing like sweeping a girl off her feet. Where’s your bedside manner, Michael?” I crack as I slowly relent.

Before I slide my legs under, I carefully strip down my pants and disdainfully toss them across the room. I shrug my shoulders as his authoritarian stare holds firm. As he releases the covers atop me, I begin to cross my arms and give my best pout, before sticking my tongue at him.

“Sale gosse,” Michael mutters.

“What?” I laugh.

“I called you a brat.” He accentuates not only with his voice but with his facial expression as well.

“I am not.” I whine knowing full well that he’s right. I am being difficult. But so is he. Well, sort of.

As he turns away, I question his departure.

“Where are you going?” I really pour on the ‘woe is me’ look as he turns back toward me.

“Nowhere in particular.”

With a smirk, Michael casually sits on the bed beside me. His green eyes mocking me. And yet seducing me at the same time. He motions for me to move over as he slides in beside me. My temperature rises as his firm body moves in closer wrapping around me. Spooning with me.

“That better?”

“It’s a start.” I muse playfully.

“No. We’re not starting anything, Nikita. You need rest. I’m just going to lay here beside you. Help you relax.” Michael replies being the spoilsport.

Does he honestly think having him this close is going to help me to relax?

I wiggle from his grasp and roll to face him. Encountering his serious stare, I try to brush off his concern.

“I really am not feeling that bad.” I whisper.

Well, at least not bad enough to find him undesirable. My fingers stroke his chest as I try to break his firm resolve. He grasps my hand as it strays lower.

“Oh. So why is it you look pale and tired? And are acting irritable as well? Not to mention, you have been living off soup and crackers for days.” Michael counters.

Okay. He’s got me there. So much for promising no more lies. I do feel like shit. But rather than dwelling on it, I wanted to soak in as much of the ambience as I could. Or at least, have my mind occupied by more pleasurable thoughts and feelings.

Feeling defeated, I make another face at him before turning over, surrendering to his orders. I really hate it when I’m sick. And I hate it even more when he’s right. But perhaps some rest will do me good.

~~~~~

Sleepily, I reach my arm over to find only an empty pillow. I groggily lift my head, peering around the room. Witnessing no sign of Michael, I strain to hear if he is even in the hotel room. Hearing only silence, I try to summon the strength to rise from the bed.

I feel the rough carpet beneath my bare feet, as I pull myself upright. My head feels woozy as the world spins around me. I remain upright as I lean against the bed, hoping to regain my orientation.

As my mind refocuses, I hear a rapping on a nearby door. My body tenses with caution and uncertainty, especially with Michael’s absence. Regaining my steadiness, I carefully move toward the door. With the peephole before me, I squint to see what is on the other side of the door. The jangling of keys fills the air as the hotel housekeeper fumbles with a large key ring before unlocking the door of the room across the way. Nothing unusual. I let out a sigh as I begin to wonder where Michael has disappeared. But then I spy a note on the table.

“Running an errand. Be back soon. Michael.”

An errand? For what? I find this very curious. The last time Michael left a note for me, he never returned. Instead I soon had Section operatives breaking into the farmhouse, scouring the place for the field router we had taken. Our freedom was an illusion. All an elaborate ploy to smoke out Zahlman.

But this time it’s real. At least I hope it is. I’m not sure I’ll ever trust this freedom completely. Section has forever tainted me, making distrust second nature. Not that I found it easy to trust before I landed inside Section. No, I’ve only really trusted few people in my life. And Michael is the only one I’d trust my life with.

Guilt resurfaces within me as I think of the last few months. How much my actions have cost our relationship. I’m amazed Michael still loves me despite it all. The naïve girl that was brought into Section and fought against the darkness is long since dead. As though I had put the bullet in her head myself.

And I’m not sure I like the woman that rose up in her place. A seasoned operative, cunning and resourceful, closed off emotionally to keep the pain and remorse at bay in order to survive the dark world of Section One. Now as I reinvent myself again, can I be a woman that can give herself unselfishly to another, both emotionally and spiritually? To love Michael the way he deserves—as deeply as he loves me.

I do love him. But sometimes my love feels inadequate. I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s the loss of faith in myself. My humanity staring back at me. I once had faith that I was better than them. But now I know I could easily be my own worst enemy.

I rub my eyes as tears begin to slip from them. Perhaps it’s not my body that needs to be nursed back to health, but instead, my soul.

I feel helpless as the warm tears stream from my eyes as I’m not sure how they started, nor if they’ll stop.

What’s wrong with me?

The sound of a key turning the lock interrupts my sobs. Moving out of sight, I press my body against the wall. Swallowing my tears, I hear familiar footsteps as my heightened senses ease.

~~~~~~

My eyes meet a pair of wet swollen ones before they quickly avert away. Nikita slowly seats herself atop the rumpled bedcovers. I had hoped to find her still asleep, but the tears concern me more.

I sit on the bed facing her, taking her chin in my hand. My thumb traces her skin back and forth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She swallows hard. The sadness in her eyes grips me, as I feel the pain of her soul.

“Why are you crying?” I gently whisper trying to maintain eye contact. She thinks for a moment before answering.

“No reason.” She sniffles as she wipes her eyes with her sleeve.

Reaching over to the nightstand I grab a handful of tissues and offer them to Nikita. After she blows her nose a few times, Nikita starts to say something, but then thinks better of it. She blows her nose once more with disgust before trying again.

“I…I don’t know why. I just started crying and couldn’t …stop.” Nikita’s voice cracks as she appears on the verge of more tears.

I carefully wrap my arms around her and pat her hair in a soothing motion. In my heart, I already know what’s the cause of these tears. But I’m uncertain if she’s aware of the signs that are so obvious to me.

Pulling away, Nikita begins to scold herself.

“I need to stop blubbering like this. Feeling sorry for myself. You probably needed to get away from…from me and my mood swings.” Nikita sobs again.

Her eyes catch sight of the brown paper bag that I set beside me on the bed.

“Did some shopping?” She asks struggling to change the topic.

“Yes, for you.”

Her eyes widen as a smile begins to surface despite her teary eyes. However, as she opens the bag to reveal its contents her expression changes to puzzlement.

“A home pregnancy test?”

Her question confirms my suspicion. She’s unaware of what her own body is telling her. I suppress my amusement at the irony of the situation.

“The thought hasn’t occurred to you?”

“Nooo…. I’m not late.” But I see her mind twisting around the concept, evaluating it.

“And the Morning Sickness?”

“Morning Sickness? My sickness isn’t restricted to mornings.”

I can’t help but laugh at both her naïveté and directness. But I realize Section only added to the isolation that began with her mother’s neglect throughout her childhood. She lacked both the female companionship and camaraderie that would have instilled in her such knowledge.

“Humor me.” I reply placing the box in her hands.

Nikita holds it with uncertainty as she looks back up at me while biting her lip.

“Go ahead.” I gently urge.

Her hesitation is written in all her movements as she begins toward the bathroom. As she looks back one last time, I give her another nod of approval.

Only with Nikita’s departure, do I become aware of the heavy beating of my heart. It’s only now I realize that I’ve been so focused on Nikita’s feelings and emotions that I haven’t considered my own.

~~~~~

A baby.

Something so intangible, so unthinkable while we were inside Section. Not simply because of the possible leverage a blood relation could hold as a weakness. No, it ran deeper than that. We were assassins living in the world of the dead, killing to survive another day. A world without freedom. Or hope.

Yes, I became a parent. But because they decided it was necessary for the mission profile. Under orders, I brought a child into the world, without fully understanding the ramifications of that action. Adam opened up emotions I never knew existed. Emotions that I could not shut out with the walls I had become so adept at building.

As Snow shot me before Elena’s eyes, part of me died with that bullet. I was resigned to lose my parental rights, resigned to lose my connection with my son. I had no choice but to leave Adam in order for him to have any chance at a life. A life without his father, but a life nonetheless.

What are my feelings as I stand on the threshold of another chance at fatherhood?

Is this a chance for redemption? Am I seeking to replace the boy I lost?

No.

I crumple the empty brown paper bag, clutching it with my fist. I close my eyes as I whisper the word ‘no’ again. I reopen them as I roll the balled-up paper between my hands before tossing into the wastebasket.

No other child could replace Adam in my heart. My first son. My greatest joy and deepest guilt.

But with this child, I am afforded another chance to love. Another chance to teach and show a pair of innocent eyes both the joys and trials of life.

Do I still have it in me? Do I still carry a capacity to love? To see the world through the eyes of an innocent child again?

And Nikita? Does she?

Is it that she can’t see the clues that stand before her or has she blinded herself to the possibility as a means of coping?

I feel at a loss for I was unable to protect her from the harsh environment of Section. Unable to protect her delicate balance of morality and innocence. Just as I was unable to prevent Adam from losing his father. In spite of my precise and controlling nature, I have yet to find a way to stop the inevitable from happening. I’m still cloaked in my humanity despite my longing to shed my weakness and failures.

Now that we are, dare I say free? Yes, now that we are free, do we hold the ability to nurture and care for a child, in addition to finding the way to maintain our fragile relationship. Battered and bruised not by the forces outside ourselves but from within.

Perhaps if our relationship were on more solid ground, I would not feel these doubts. But as it stands, our trust is fragile, pieced together with care. Will a child this soon strengthen the bonds or cause further stress, splintering our feelings forever?

Am I just torturing myself for no reason? Perhaps there is no child. Perhaps I’m the one who is having trouble seeing reality.

Through Adam, I formed a connection with Elena. Not of love, but of respect and adoration. A connection that cannot be severed by words or actions. Do I yearn for such a connection with Nikita? To prevent another episode where Nikita turns to me proclaiming she never loved me?

My throat goes dry as that painful scene replays in my mind. Will I ever be able to forget that day? Or can we move forward despite that image and those words? I’m not certain. But my heart bids me to try. These last few weeks have softened the sharp edges those words etched. Each moment, each word, each touch and glance, soothing the wounds.

And now the possibility of a child. Not something we planned or even considered. But in spite of that, I see before us a chance to heal and grow together. Or at the very least a reminder of the precious gift of life. As the minutes tick away, I desperately cling to that small glimmer of hope having lived so long without any.