"How much longer?" Birkoff was shouting, even though he had earphones on. They worked to keep the noise from the chopper dampened but he couldn't shake the feeling he needed to shout to be heard.

"We're almost there," the pilot answered.

"Thank God," Birkoff muttered as he sat back in the seat. He could still found it hard to believe that they were in a chopper and finally on their way back to Section. Birkoff shook his head, wondering at Michael's resourcefulness. How had he known where to find a chopper on such short notice? One that was Section friendly, too. He frowned as events of the past few days played through his mind. They had been in a barn, a University and now a chopper. None of that had been in the mission profile or briefing. There were things Birkoff couldn't recall about all that had transpired, mainly why he had awakened in a barn, but he pushed the nagging memory loss aside and considered all that Michael had brought them through. For the first time, Birkoff recognized all the planning Michael must have made for this mission, all the effort he must have undertaken to memorize the surrounding areas as he planned for any possible anomaly. He had watched him plan missions, of course. Even been a part of that planning the same way he helped other Class Five operatives. This, however, went beyond mere planning. This type of forethought could only mean one thing: Michael cared.

Birkoff turned back to Michael and Nikita. They were sitting across from him, eyes closed against the rising sun. Nikita rested her head against Michael's shoulder, with her left arm folded across her stomach, right hand splayed on his muscled thigh. Michael had applied a bandage to her injured leg as soon as they had reached the chopper, ignoring his own injuries. Birkoff recalled how gentle Michael had been when he propped her foot on the seat next to Birkoff. He shuddered softly as he noticed the blood seeping through the white gauze.

Michael rested his head against the metal wall above the seat. His left arm was wrapped around Nikita's shoulders, the other rested on the seat, holding a gun. Birkoff noted that the hand holding Nikita was absently stroking her silky blonde hair and he wondered if Michael even knew what he was doing. He had never seen two people fit together so perfectly. He studied the pair with a new awareness, his eyes opened by the extreme planning this mission had to have had. Oh yes, Birkoff thought. Michael cared.

He sighed and turned back to his laptop, immersing himself in his work. He had been typing furiously, lost between the drone of the chopper and a world of numbers and codes when the pilot's voice jerked him back to the present.

"Nobody's answering down there. What do you want me to do?" The pilot was looking over his shoulder.

Michael was still holding Nikita but his head was up and his eyes were alert. He looked to Birkoff, his question unspoken.

Birkoff blinked before answering, "That's the first step to the end game for this code. It's been working to get to this point, and now it's making its move. Cutting off communication-Did you try the phone lines?"

The pilot shook his head, "Don't have a phone in this baby. Sorry."

"Doesn't matter. It would take out the phone lines first," Birkoff turned back to Michael. Nikita was awake too.

"Michael, cutting off communication would be the first major step to breaching security. The doors will be unlocked all over Section in fifty minutes, if this laptop is worth anything."

"Are you sure, Birkoff?" Nikita asked as she moved to sit up straight.

Birkoff looked back and forth between the battered operatives. "I've run it over and over. It's got to be right."

"Can you stop it?" Michael's voice was still soft through the headphones.

Birkoff nodded, "I think so, if we don't waste any more time. If I can-"

Nikita raised her hand, cutting him off, "No need for technical details, Seymour. If you say yes, that's all we need to know." She smiled at him.

Michael kept a blank face as he gave coordinates for their landing. Then he turned to meet two pairs of questioning eyes. "It's not the usual access site, but it's closer and classified to everyone below Class Five status. It doesn't run on the primary computer system. It should be clear."

Birkoff nearly fell over. He didn't think Michael had ever spoken so much at one time in his entire life.

**********************

Birkoff clutched the laptop in one hand and the gun Michael had given him at the warehouse in the other. Nikita leaned against the building, her gun also drawn. They watched as Michael punched a code into the keypad then stepped back as the door slid open. He glanced at them, then moved inside, his gun ready to dispatch any resistence they might encounter.

Nikita held her breath, waiting for the sound of gunfire or Michael to reappear. She sighed softly when he stepped back out from behind the door. With one hand, he motioned Birkoff inside, then offered a hand to Nikita. She leaned against him as they limped inside, the door sliding shut behind them. Nikita looked around warily. The gray hall was devoid of life, which she took to be a good sign. She rested against a wall as she waited for Michael to lead the way.

"Which computer, Birkoff," Michael was leaning against the wall next to Nikita.

Birkoff looked up and down the hallway as he answered, "I could do it from almost anywhere but it will be faster if I can get to my station."

Michael nodded, "Fine." He pushed himself away from the wall and turned to Nikita again. "You need to go to Medlab."

Nikita lowered her head and looked at him beneath raised brows. "With you?"

Michael didn't blink as he read the determination in her eyes. He had expected this sort of reaction and was pleased at her fortitude. He acknowledged her challenge with a slight nod, then turned back to Birkoff. "How much time, Birkoff?"

"We only have about forty minutes. This is going to be close," Birkoff's eyes were wide and he was bouncing slightly with impatience. "Let's go!"

Michael moved down the hall, dropping the gun to his side but keeping it in hand. Birkoff followed, leaving Nikita to provide backup.

It seemed like they walked forever through silent, gray halls until they suddenly emerged into familiar passages. Nikita let her gun fall to her side as well and she moved up next to Michael as Birkoff surged ahead in his rush to purge the virus from his computer systems. Grimacing, the two injured operatives increased their pace to keep him in view.

The scene that greeted them was chaos with Madeline standing in the middle like the eye of a hurricane. Operations paced back and forth, disgust and frustration clear in every step. At first, nobody noticed the three newcomers; they were all too busy trying to keep from running into each other as well as avoid Operations' wrath. Then Madeline turned her deep brown eyes to meet them, her gaze landing with unerring accuracy on Michael. Operations turned at her sudden silence then followed her gaze to the trio that approached. Walter came out from behind his workstation and smiled as he took in the scene that was playing out in front of him.

Birkoff paused in front of Madeline for a moment then stepped around her. He broke the silence that had descended with a gruff "Move," directed to the operative seated in the swivel chair. Quickly, he took over the chair and the computer, then proceeded to issue a stream of technical orders. Operations watched as formerly inept operatives hustled to do the young man's bidding. He smiled slightly before turning to face Michael.

Madeline moved to stand next to Operations as Michael and Nikita stopped in front of them. Her eyes dropped and she pointedly noted the guns the two battered operatives still held at their sides. Michael stood stiffly as he addressed his superiors, "They have our location. We need to send back-up to every egress point in Section."

This news hardened Operation's face to granite. "How much time,"he growled.

Birkoff answered, "Thirty minutes before security goes down."

He was rewarded with a sharp look from his leader, "Can you stop it?"

"Maybe. I'm going to try. I think so, but we may lose some systems."

Madeline spoke then, "Can you get internal communication back online?"

"That's going to have to wait . . .," Birkoff voice trailed off as his attention was drawn back to his computer screen.

"Send a runner," blue eyes met blue eyes as Nikita offered the suggestion to Operations.

He looked at her bleeding leg before dismissing her, "Obviously, it won't be you. Michael . . ."

Michael blinked but held Operation's gaze, hating that he might have to show weakness. He knew what Operations was going to ask but he was uncertain he would be able to provide it. He clenched his teeth, steeling himself against the thought. He wouldn't show weakness. He would do whatever Operations asked, no matter what.

Madeline stepped forward before Operations could demand more of the injured operative. "Send Stillman."

Operations paused and looked at Michael more closely, noting for the first time pale skin and unnaturally stiff posture in which he stood. His clothes were black, but they were stiff with dried blood. Operations considered all that Michael must have been through, then nodded. Madeline turned to give the designated operative his new assignment.

"Are you all right?" Operations didn't quite manage to keep the concern from his question.

Michael returned the piercing stare with cool determination. "I'll be fine." Silence followed his pronouncement as Operations assessed the prize operative for himself. After a moment he let the matter drop. "Good."

Madeline rejoined them. "Stillman's gone to retrieve all available operatives. Walter is getting the hardware ready. We'll be short, but each point will have some coverage."

"Nikita and I can provide back-up at our weakest point," Michael held Madeline's dark gaze as he spoke.

"Good," she nodded. "The South entrance."

As Nikita turned awkwardly to leave, Operations spoke to Michael. "Get a comm. unit, Michael."

"Of course." Michael turned and together they limped to Walter's station.

Nikita didn't wait for Walter to appear out of the back room. She reached over and picked up two comm. units from their places, then handed one to Michael. No verbal communication passed between them as they moved toward the South entrance, but they fell more into synch with every step they took.

Halfway to their destination, Nikita's injured leg gave way, causing her to fall into Michael. He caught her, but her sudden weight against broken ribs caused them both to stumble. Michael held Nikita as they hit the wall, his breathe leaving in a soft grunt. She felt him tremble and his arms tightened around her while he fought to control the pain. She pushed herself away from him, stretching her leg carefully as she leaned against the wall. After a moment of battling her own pain, she turned her attention back to her companion.

Nikita studied the way Michael struggled to regain physical control. It was obvious he was hurting but it was just as obvious that he wouldn't give in to it. After a moment he opened his eyes and turned them to her. She knew they needed a few more minutes of rest so she carefully broached the subject that had been bothering her for the past several hours.

"Michael, what happened on the first mission?"

When Michael didn't answer immediately, Nikita added the pieces she had managed to gather on her own. "I remember holding a gun to your head, Michael. I remember Birkoff shooting you. What I don't remember is why. What do you have to do with all of this Michael? We retrieve a disk, then you and Birkoff are missing with no effort being made to find you. I wake up from a drugged sleep to be sent out on a doomed mission only to find you waiting for me. Now Section itself is under attack. What's going on?"

Michael moved his eyes away from her before answering. "Not now, Nikita."

"We may never have another chance, Michael."

For a moment, Nikita thought Michael was actually going to tell her what she wanted to know. He looked exhausted and battered and she thought she may have finally reached him somewhere inside. She watched as he parted his lips to speak then sighed as their comm units sputtered to life and Birkoff's voice spoiled the confession.

"Michael? Michael, are you there?" Nikita turned her head away as Michael responded.

"Yes."

"Good. Stay where you are. I'm sending the other operatives your way."

"What's going on, Birkoff?"

"I've got most of the system online. Madeline has a plan."

"What plan, Birkoff," Nikita interrupted.

"Mice in a cage, Nikita. Mice in a cage."

Nikita shivered at the images that came from that.

**********************

"Will this work?" Operations was back in his balcony office overlooking Birkoff and his computer personnel.

Madeline nodded. "If the system is back to full capacity. We'll know for certain in a few minutes." She looked at Operations and smiled as he turned his head sharply toward her. Then he smiled and turned back to the window.

Beneath them, things had calmed down. It could have been any other day in Section. People moved from one station to another in a more leisurely manner than they had a mere fifteen minutes ago. Voices were back to normal levels as communication was conducted via computer and speaker units. No outside lines had been established yet, but things on the inside were almost normal. For Section, anyway.

Madeline and Operations waited in silence for the final showdown. In the end, it turned out to be a tempest in a teapot as Madeline's plan worked almost perfectly. It was with some sense of relief that Operations turned and half-sat on the bar in front of the window.

"Status, Birkoff," although much calmer, Operations voice was no less demanding.

"All teams are reporting in. We have containment everywhere. . .Wait a minute, sir. We may have a problem." Birkoff began typing frantically on his keyboard again.

"What is it?" Madeline asked the question before Operations could.

After a moment, Birkoff looked up at the balcony looming over him. "It's the South entrance. The gates didn't close. I'm sending back-up."

Operations stood again as the tense atmosphere of moments before returned tenfold.

**********************

Michael took aim and fired, watching in satisfaction as the invader crashed to the floor. He fired again then moved back behind the strut as a hail of bullets splattered the steel beam. Looking across the hall, he watched Nikita execute the same move. It was futile to continue in this manner.

"Birkoff, we're pinned down." Michael dropped to a knee and fired twice, killing two more invaders.

"Can you get to the keypad next to the door? You can manually activate it." Birkoff sounded distracted.

Michael looked over at Nikita again and met her gaze. She didn't look happy at Birkoff's last suggestion. Michael didn't know how much longer they could hold out. The other two operatives that were with them were already down and out of the game. It was only himself and Nikita. Back-up would be here, but he didn't know how long it would take. He looked at Nikita again, drinking in her features. Then, before he could really think about what he was doing, he rolled out onto the floor, firing as he did so, then was up and running to the door, trying to ignore aching ribs and side.

Nikita had watched as Michael studied her face, some unidentifiable expression crossing his tired features. She shook her head as he nodded slightly then watched as he started to move towards the door. With disbelief written on her features, she provided what little cover she could as she saw him make his way down the hallway to the door. Why couldn't he just wait for back-up, she wondered. But then, Michael wasn't one to depend on others if he wasn't certain of the time frame.

Seeing her chance, Nikita moved across the hall and up one strut, keeping the distance between them the same and switching to the opposite side of the hall from Michael at the same time. Her leg slowed her and she barely made behind the strut before more bullets rained down on her. After the barrage, she peeked out to check Michael again. He was at the door now, the keypad smashed and he worked to twist wires together. Nikita brought her gun up to fire as a masked invader moved close to Michael. She squeezed the trigger but was rewarded with empty clicks instead of gunfire. Her eyes widened as she realized her gun had jammed.

She threw it down and grabbed another from her leg holster and raised it only to see Michael turn to meet the new threat too late. The butt of the gun came down hard on Michael's temple as the invader fought to keep the door open. Nikita, her stomach twisting as Michael slumped to the floor, yelled in defiance of what she had witnessed as she hit the terrorist with two shots.

Michael had been working intently on the wiring as he counted on Nikita to provide cover. He knew he didn't have long but he didn't expect the man to be so close. He had just caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye and turned, only to see the butt of the gun coming down toward his face. He turned his head, wondering vaguely why the man hadn't just shot him. The impact was just above his left temple, the butt of the gun splitting the skin above his eye against his brow bone, and he felt himself falling to the floor. He closed his eyes against the pain as his head filled with a dull ringing. Fighting to stay conscious, Michael squeezed his eyes tightly and shook his head to clear it.

After a moment the ringing faded to a dull buzz. He moved to sit up but a hand held him down. He opened his eyes and waited for his sight to clear. It took a moment for him to realize that the darkness that enveloped him only had a few random spots of light. He waited for it to clear. It didn't. Cold fear gripped him as he realized he was blind. Something tickled his cheek and he raised a hand to brush at it, only mildly surprised when his fingers encountered slick blood as it gushed from the cut above his eye.

"Don't move" the voice was Nikita's but he couldn't see her face. He lay still and listened. "I'm at the door, Birkoff. Michael's down. Which wires do I twist? Birkoff? Birkoff!" Nikita's voice ended in a shout and Michael could tell that both of their comm units were down.

He moved again, jumping as Nikita's gun barked fire next to his buzzing head. Numbly, he reached out trying to find her, to figure out exactly where she was. He could tell she was next to him, but he couldn't see her.

"Michael?"

He heard his name dimly, as if she was at the end of a long tunnel. Her hand found his and he gripped it tightly. " 'S'the blue one, 'kita. Blue t'white." He could tell his speech was slurred but he didn't care. He was tired, so tired.

All he wanted to do was sleep, to escape the pain. Even breathing hurt, his side pulsing in harmony with his head. He let his eyes drift shut. Just a minute. . .

Nikita held Michael's hand as he spoke to her. She turned and fired out the door then quickly turned back to him. His left eye was cut along the brow and there was a lot of blood streaming down the side of his face. She was sure he had a concussion. It was a miracle he was even alive after the blow to his temple.

What had he said to her? Blue to white? There was no time to second guess; she couldn't hold them off much longer. Nikita dropped Michael's hand and worked her gunfire across the hallway again. Hoping she had understood his slurred words correctly, she dropped the gun and turned to the keypad. Quickly finding the blue wire and a white one, she stripped the coverings and twisted them together with a flashing spark. She grabbed the gun again, certain it hadn't worked when the door slowly made its descent. After it had closed, she peeked around the wall to see what had happened. The door at the other end of the hallway had closed as well, effectively trapping the invaders between bullet proof glass.

Even as she watched, Section initiated a sequence and green gas filled the room. She watched in silence as the people inside fell limply to the floor, like flies. Or mice, she amended and smiled. Mice in a cage.

Her smile faded quickly and she turned back to Michael. She felt her eyes widen as she really looked at him. His face was pale, a stark contrast to the crimson blood that coated his cheek and ran down into his hair. Quickly, she sat next to him. Holding his face with both hands, she called to him softly. There was no response and she raised her voice, almost sobbing with worry. To have taken such a blow to the temple and then lose consciousness! Her voice became desperate and she shook his shoulders.

With great effort, Michael opened his eyes only to encounter darkness. Dimly, he felt someone shaking him. Birkoff? Had he gotten free?

"Michael! Wake up, Michael. Wake up!"

No. Nikita, then. Where was she? Above him, somehow. He raised his right hand and was rewarded by her strong grasp. He moved his head slightly to the right, then groaned as a wave of nausea washed over him.

"Michael, don't move. I'm pretty sure you've got a concussion. Be still." Nikita settled herself in a more comfortable position, stretching her injured leg out.

She studied Michael's pale face. His eyes were open, but he wasn't looking at her. She frowned. "Michael? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Michael smiled inwardly. Fingers?

"Michael?"

Her voice finally made sense and he struggled to answer, to see her hand. His mouth was dry as he tried to answer. "Can't see, 'kita." Just that much seemed to drain him. He started to close his eyes against the blackness.

"No, Michael! Stay awake!", Nikita shook him again. He couldn't even see her fingers?

Michael opened his eyes again and groaned. "Don't. Hurts."

Relieved, Nikita smiled down into his sightless eyes. "Sorry. You'll just have to stay awake for a while, then your sight will come back and you'll be running missions in no time."

Michael clenched his teeth as another wave of pain radiated up his side. His head throbbed in echo. "No. Side." *Have to get control,* the thought came vague and wispy.

Nikita frowned, then scooted down a little so she could raise his shirt. She had noticed that he was favoring his right side slightly, but more immediate threats had kept her from asking. Michael groaned softly again and she put the hand she had been holding, resting it on the floor. Carefully, she raised his shirt. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. A bloody, grime coated bandage was wrapped around his torso, blood oozing out from under it and running down to the floor.

Quickly now, she unzipped his jacket and pushed it back to reveal his multi-colored chest.

He could feel her hands touch his bruised chest carefully. Fingers, he thought and smiled. Her fingers on him. Not like this, though. Not like this. He clenched his teeth as she touched his ribs.

Nikita continued her exam watching Michael's face closely. She noted the sharp intake of breath and clenched teeth when she touched his side. Broken ribs, then. And no telling what else. They had better get some help soon. She looked down the corridor, hoping to see someone coming down the empty hall. No one, yet.

Helpless, Nikita picked up his hand again and gently stroked the hair from his face. All she could do until help came was to keep him awake. In pain, yes, but awake was more important than pain. She saw how he struggled to control it, to ignore the agony and function like normal. She doubted she would even be able to talk with all the injuries he had. How long had he been like this, anyway?

Michael blinked as a few small spots of light pierced the shroud of darkness that covered him. He could see a part of the wall through one of them. They were small areas, like bullet holes in a blanket. Bullet holes. " 'koff shot me."

He didn't know he had slurred the words out loud until Nikita answered.

"Birkoff shot you? I know." Nikita rested her hand on his chest. She needed to keep him awake and thinking, and he had given her an opportunity she couldn't resist. Softly, she asked, "Why?"

Michael blinked and squinted. Why couldn't he see yet? Why? Why couldn't he just sleep and sleep and sleep and wake up when all of this was over?

"Michael!" Nikita's sharp voice forced his eyes open again. "Why did Birkoff shoot you, Michael?"

He blinked. Birkoff? Shoot him? "Disk. Had t'be disk. Sleep. Let me, 'kita. 'Kay?" He felt his eyes closing again as the pain undulated across his body.

"In a little while, Michael," she tugged gently on his shoulder, keeping him from slipping away. "Talk to me for now." Nikita looked up as footsteps boomed down the hallway.

Ken Stillman motioned for the five operatives following him to stop. He took in the scene before him slowly. Nikita sat on the floor as she held Michael's hand. Michael was conscious, but just barely. Ken looked beyond them. The door was closed and at least ten terrorists were unconscious in the closed off hall. It seemed as if Michael and Nikita had managed to kill another ten, as bodies sprawled in various places between them and Nikita. Shaking off stunned surprise, Ken put his gun away and spoke into his comm unit. "Birkoff? We're here. The area's secure. They're still alive, but you'd better send medical, STAT."

Nikita sighed in relief as Ken made the call for medical. She looked down at Michael and touched his face again. Leaning in close, she whispered, "Hold on, Michael. Please, just hold on for a few more minutes."

Hearing her plea from far away, Michael struggled to hold on. For her, he would do anything. Even fight to stay alive.

**********************

"Sir," Birkoff swivelled in his chair to face Operations.

"Yes?"

"We have containment. Stillman has called for medical. Michael and Nikita are down."

Operations looked sharply at the young man before him. "Dead?"

"No sir."

"Keep me informed."

He wasn't certain, but Birkoff thought something softened in Operations' face. Sighing, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the throbbing behind his eyes. He closed them, feeling the adrenaline that had kept him going the last few days begin to drain away. Suddenly, he felt extremely heavy, as if his limbs were filled with sand. The pounding behind his eyes grew stronger. *Too long without my glasses* he thought, tugging gently on his hair. All he wanted to do now that the immediate threat had passed was to go lie down in a dark room. No monitors, no television, no visual input; just soothing dark, nothingness. He sighed again. There was too much to be done. He looked up to find Madeline watching him.

"How do you feel, Birkoff?"

He was at a loss. How should he answer that? For the first time, he understood why Michael had always responded with "Fine" to that question. His indecision must have shown on his face because Madeline smiled and stepped closer to him.

"Have you eliminated the damage from the disk?" Madeline's voice was crisp, yet soothing.

Birkoff blinked and looked at the monitor. "No, but I've controlled it. It'll purge itself in a few hours with careful monitoring." The thought of another few active hours made him cringe inside.

"Birkoff," she warned.

He turned to meet her gaze. "Yeah?"

Madeline tilted her head slightly as she took in the exhaustion emanating from the young genius. She chose her words carefully. "Admitting to a physical limitation could be perceived as a weakness by some. However, there are times when it becomes necessary to do so in order to adequately complete a job. It's important to recognize the difference."

Birkoff stared at Madeline, so calm and cool in her warm brown aura. Her words, though careful, clearly held a message for him. He couldn't ignore it. He looked over to the computer screen again then raised his eyes to meet Walter's worried gaze across the room. After a moment, he turned to one of his computer technicians and issued a few terse orders before facing Madeline again.

"Okay. Now what?"

Madeline smiled and stepped aside to allow Birkoff to stand. He did so, albeit self-consciously, and they moved away from the communication center. Madeline paused as they reached Walter's station. "Walter, will you please take Birkoff to Medical before completing your duties?" She was pleased when he nodded. He was eager to relieve the worry of the past few days, although he refused to admit it. Madeline stood for a moment as the two moved down the hallway. Then she turned and made her way to Operation's observation deck. There was a lot to be done.

**********************

Michael drifted. He was aware of new voices asking questions and foreign hands probing and lifting his battered form.

"Possible skull fracture, broken ribs and he's bleeding from a wound in his right side. You still with us, buddy?"

He tried to answer the questions as best he could while he endured the offensive hands. "Yes," he forced out with effort.

"OK. Let's get an X-ray and get busy. Start with a unit of whole blood, we need to bring his blood pressure up. Move him over, on three, people. One. . .two. . ."

There came a sickening lurch that made his head spin. He swallowed hard against the threatening nausea. He closed his eyes and shuddered, suddenly afraid that he would lose the battle and vomit. He tensed briefly, then opened his eyes in relief as the nausea passed. To encounter darkness once more.

"Oh, yeah. He can't see."

"Pam, check his sight"

He felt a presence next to him and he moved his eyes in that direction. The myriad voices blended together, broken only occasionally by one or another.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" The voice was feminine and it echoed through the buzzing in his head.

Michael shifted his gaze, trying to work one of the bullet holes of vision into a position to see her fingers. It was useless. He gritted his teeth in frustration and reminded himself that it would just take time, that it wouldn't be forever. He squashed the thought before he answered. "Can't see." At least his voice wasn't so slurred this time.

"What? Speak up, please."

Closing his eyes against the annoying question, he repeated himself, forcing his voice to increase. He felt as if he were shouting.

"Crikey, you're a quiet one!" the feminine voice sounded amused.

"Enough, Pam. Step back and let them get the picture."

Michael felt the probing hands leave him and he breathed a small sigh of relief, only to catch his breath as a fresh wave of pain lanced through his body. Slowly, he let his breath out. He was sleepy, so tired. He closed his eyes, willing to let himself rest. Suddenly, the hands were back, jarring him from pain-filled peace. With them came the questions.

"What's your name? What? Speak up, please."

Cool metal on flesh, snipping quickly along legs and arms. Hands at feet, hands at his side. A small prick and a needle in his arm. But all of it shrouded in darkness. Only small bits of light dancing just out of sight. Sound ruled his world, medical jargon blending over him and becoming as dull gray as his vision until sharp white voices pierced the woven noise. He answered those razor voices, wanting this over so he could sleep, enduring only because he had no other option. He cared little for what they were doing to him physically but sleep wouldn't be granted until the technical details were taken care of.

"Michael, huh? That's nice. Do you need the staple gun yet?" For a moment, Michael was confused then realized the last question wasn't directed at him. He couldn't see who it was for, but he heard the deep male voice jump penetrate his dark world.

"Yeah, he's numb. Clean wound, too, although jagged. Wonder how he cleaned it?"

Inwardly, Michael smirked. They would never believe it if he told them. He felt a gentle tug at his side but no pain as he heard the staple gun shoot home.

"Michael, squeeze my hand. That's good. And this one? Okay." The feminine presence moved further away, then gentle hands were on his feet. "Pull against my hand? And this side? Good."

Simple commands, stupid commands but he would do almost anything right now if it meant they would just leave him alone. His head hurt, the buzzing in his ears almost unbearable, and his body ached all over. He closed his eyes and struggled to control the pain.

"All right. We're finished here. The ribs are fractured but there's no danger of them causing further damage. Give him seventy five milligrams of Demerol to take the edge off, then Neuro Checks every hour. Let me know when his sight returns."

"Certainly."

Michael sighed. Finally, they were going to leave him alone. He closed his eyes as he felt the Demerol hit his system. Not enough to knock him out, but hopefully enough to let him rest. He drifted, unable to find the sleep so desperately craved. The events of the last few days kept invading his thoughts as if his mind were in as much pain as his body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Birkoff, Nikita's unit is down. Is she with you?" He wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer but he had found that with Nikita, it was always better to know where she was than to be surprised later. Birkoff didn't answer immediately. He spoke again, a little concerned over the delay. "Birkoff? Are you there?"

"Yeah! Of course I'm here, but I'm busy Michael! I can't be babysitting Nikita right now! She's here, she just went out for some air. Can I finish this?!"

He was mildly surprised at the tone of Birkoff's voice. He didn't like what Birkoff had said, though. Something was off kilter, but he didn't know what. He ordered his teams to hold position and told them that he was going to check on the van, omitting the fact that he would check on Nikita first.

He was halfway back to the van when Nikita stepped out of the shadows, her gun pointed at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael woke from a light doze disoriented and restrained at wrists and ankles. He tugged against the bonds, then blinked as he realized he still couldn't see. There was someone beside him. He jerked slightly when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Sorry about the restraints. It's for our protection. You guys have been known to wake up, er, in a defensive mode. Relax. It's okay, I just need you to answer some questions for me, okay?"

Carefully, Michael assessed the state of his body. The Demerol was still present although he still ached here and there. It wasn't the first time he'd been restrained in Medical, either. It happened every time he came in with any type of head wound. Standard Section policy. Still, he found he just wanted her. . .Pam? to ask her questions and leave him alone. He was still exhausted, wanting to slip deeper into a more restful sleep.

"What's your name?"

Michael briefly considered giving his real name, in French, but then thought she might mistake his meaning and call the doctors back. He closed his eyes. He definitely didn't want that. Licking dry lips, he answered, trying to make his voice loud and clear.

"Good. And who is the president?"

Michael was concerned this time. Which country was she referring to? He shifted slightly, frustrated with this stupid game. His agitation must have shown because Pam quickly corrected herself.

"Oh, sorry. The President of the United States?"

Growing more weary of this by the second, Michael answered as calmly as he could, barely managing to hold on to his control. Only years of practice kept his voice even. Finally, she left and he closed his eyes against the unwelcome darkness that now ruled his world. The silence of the room was loud, making the gray hum that filled his head even stronger. Shifting slightly, he tried to ignore it and relax. Eventually, he found himself, once again, somewhere between sleep and consciousness. With drab resignation, Michael let the images flow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He looked hard at her, noting that her face had a fine sheen of sweat coating it. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and glassy and the hand holding the gun trembled slightly. He lowered his own gun as he took a step toward her.

"Nikita," he said, deliberately making his voice soft and letting more of his accent come through. "Nikita, put the gun down. I'm not going to hurt you. Let's talk about this on the way to the van." He took two more steps, his eyes never leaving Nikita's face. He could read her confusion. Another step, then another.

"Nikita. Listen to me. Put the gun down. Give it to me, Nikita. Nikita…", he paused, letting his voice trail off into the night as Nikita stepped forward, placing the gun under his chin. He held his breath, waiting for her to pull the trigger, thinking it would be a sort of poetic justice if she were to kill him.

He watched as Nikita seemed to drift off somewhere, her mind occupied by other thoughts, her hand resting over his heart. He was no fool. He saw his chance and took it, grabbing her wrist and gun and knocking her unconscious. He could be gentle with her later. Right now, he had to get back to the van and finish the mission. He let her crumple across his shoulders, then headed back to the van.

Gun ready, he opened the door of the van, then braved a look inside. Birkoff was sitting at the computer console, muttering to himself. He cautiously entered the van, his eyes roving to every corner to make certain there were no hidden threats. Satisfied that there were none, he laid a hand on Birkoff's shoulder to get his attention. He pulled back when the young man jumped.

"Jeez, Michael! What are trying to do, kill me!" Birkoff began tugging at his short hair with one hand while the other frantically scrambled to push his tinted glasses back into their proper place.

He gave Birkoff a long look as he studied the younger man's face. He kept his face carefully neutral, waiting for Birkoff to break eye contact. He didn't have to wait long. He watched as Birkoff's eyes darted to the computer then back. Finally, Birkoff turned all the way around to face the screen. He waited until the computer genius was turned away before speaking.

"You didn't answer me through the comm unit. Is everything OK?" He was careful to keep his voice even.

"Yeah! I was just busy!" Birkoff refused to meet his eyes again.

Ignoring the attitude Birkoff was projecting, he narrowed his eyes and looked at the computer screen. "Do we have confirmation?"

He was almost shocked when the computer genius blatantly ignored his question. He clenched his jaw and then made himself relax, counting to ten before making his next move. He didn't want kill Birkoff by mistake, although the thought was very tempting at this moment. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed Birkoff's chair and whirled him around, bringing them face to face. Gripping Birkoff's T-shirt tightly in one hand, he drew his gun and pointed it to the young man's temple. Then very slowly, he repeated his question.

"Do…We…Have…It?" He held Birkoff so close that they were almost touching noses. He watched in supreme satisfaction as Birkoff's eye's widened in fear before he stuttered out his answer.

"Uh, yea, Yes. We've got it," all attitude was gone from Birkoff's stammering reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello, Michael."

The cheery voice cut into his half-dreams with ruthless happiness. He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth as the somber buzz in his head returned and the stupid questions began again.

"Squeeze my hand, please. And this side? And now your toes. Good. And this side? How many fingers am I holding up? Hmm. "

Michael clenched his jaw but released it quickly when his injured temple flared with pain. The pain moved down his neck and shoulders to rest in a throbbing mass on his side. The Demerol was wearing thin.

"Here's an ice pack for your eye. Don't worry, you won't even have a scar."

As if he cared about a scar. All he wanted was sleep. He would gladly betray Section and everyone in it if they promised to let him sleep undisturbed.

"Who's the President of the United States?"

He sighed. The night was growing longer. After an eternity, Pam left him alone. He tried to relax again, to drift off into the void of nothing but his aching body and ringing head protested. Uncomfortable, Michael continued his mental review.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he heard the yes, he released Birkoff, pushing him back into the swivel chair as he straightened. He nodded. "Good. All teams converge. The disk is ours." He put his gun away as he watched Birkoff stare at the screen. This type of attitude was over the edge for the young man. Always demanding in his replies, he had never been this bad before. But right now, he had to get Nikita….his thoughts were interrupted by the van door slamming shut behind him. He turned, finding Nikita standing behind him, tears streaming down her face.

He froze, his eyes locked onto Nikita's face. She stood there in silence for a moment and he determined that her tears were those of anger, rather than those of hurt. Cautiously, he softly spoke her name, "Nikita?"

Nikita lost the tenuous control over her emotions. The words began to flow from her in an uncontrollable torrent. He was speechless, unsure why she was bringing all this up again.

"I came back for you", she began through clenched teeth. "I gave up my freedom, Michael, to be with you. And you! Get over it, you said. Get over it! And when I did, when I found someone to finally be with, someone I could be with, you ruined it. Just like everything else in my life, you stepped in and ruined it!"

Her voice trembled with emotion, echoing as she made herself louder. "But even that wasn't enough, was it Michael? Using me, betraying me again, just wasn't enough for you or Section! You wouldn't be happy until there was death. So you pushed and pushed and made him kill himself, didn't you Michael! DIDN'T YOU!!!" Nikita screamed the last at him, his silence seeming to enrage her further.

"You did to me, brought me in! Am I a plaything to you, Michael? AM I ?", Nikita lowered her voice and fairly hissed, "This is all your fault. All of it! You are the only reason I'm here, the only reason I'm not free! You made me into a murderer, Michael. Someone as evil and uncaring as you. Is that what you want? A copy of yourself for Section? You set me free once Michael. Warned me of the suicide mission and let me escape. You even lied to Section about me being held prisoner by the Freedom League. I want to know why! So you could use me again and again? You've never told me why. . ."

His breathe caught at her words. He let them pierce him, sinking into him like daggers. He didn't respond.. It didn't matter if it were true, all that she was saying. She believed it. So be it. For a moment, he let himself feel her rage, her sense of betrayal. Then he ruthlessly began to crush his emotions out, grinding them into nothing as he made himself concentrate on the next move he needed to make to complete the mission. He didn't know why she was saying this here and now, but he still had to get them all back to Section in one piece. He was shocked, though, when she spoke of her escape from the suicide mission. He couldn't stop the icy fear that ripped across his body. Blinking, he tore his gaze from Nikita's back to see Birkoff's reaction to this new intel. The computer genius sat staring at his screen, his hands frozen over the keys. He would have to do as much damage control as he could and then hope for the best. He would talk to Birkoff later. He turned and looked at Nikita, her shoulders shaking from silent sobs. Still unsure, he stepped towards her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder.

"Nikita. It's OK. It's going be…", his words were cut short as Nikita whirled around to face him. Her eyes flashed as she threw his hand from her body.

"You're RIGHT, Michael. It's going to be JUST fine! As soon as I'm GONE!" the words came out in fevered growl. Nikita turned and left the van, running blindly to the woods. He was after her in a flash. He couldn't let her go but he didn't have much time. The teams should be reporting back soon. Unwilling to argue with Nikita any longer, he ended her flight with a tackle. They tumbled to ground, rolling together until he pinned her beneath him. She struggled against him for a moment, but he held her firmly, arms down to each side of her head as he straddled her.

"Enough!", his voice was steely and softly firm. "Focus Nikita! We don't have time for this! Stop fighting me!" He looked at the beautiful operative he held, wondering how she been drugged. He was certain now that she had been. She turned her head away from him, looking toward the van. She smiled, then laughed.

"Oh, that's classic", she said.

Confused at this sudden twist, he tore his eyes away from Nikita's face and looked at the van. Birkoff was standing in front of the van door with a gun. The young man was shaking, clutching the gun with both hands, but clearly had the gun aimed at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The image of Birkoff holding the gun on him had just faded, leading him into a deeper sleep when a hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes. He tensed, arms meeting the resistance of the restraints before he realized where he was. Darkness still shrouded his eyes and for the first time he was glad he couldn't see. This way, he wouldn't be able to kill Pam on sight.

"What's your name? What's your favorite colour? Squeeze my hand, please. And this one?"

Michael was in hell. He knew he deserved it for all the sins he had committed in Section's name, but this was even worse than he thought he deserved. His body ached dully, and his head buzzed. He wished he could ask questions of his own. How was Nikita? Was she all right? In surgery? What should he say in his debrief? He groaned inwardly, still following Pam's simple commands and answering her questions. Look! He wanted to shout. I'm fine! I can think coherently! I'm already working on the debrief! Leave me alone and let me sleep, for God's sake!!!

Pam suddenly stopped chattering. Michael blinked against the darkness as he realized he had spoken the last sentence out loud. He closed his eyes, wishing she would disappear. Gentle hands moved his head and replaced the warm ice pack on his temple with a fresh one. He turned his head into it, pinning it between the pillow and his temple, wishing the coldness would freeze him solid. He began to drift again, when he felt her fingers touch his hair.

"Your friend Nikita is fine, Michael. She's resting now."

His guilt was complete and he felt Pam leave the room. There would be no sleep this time. Mentally, he worked on the debrief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inwardly, he groaned. Even from where he was, about fifteen feet from the van, he could see that Birkoff had the same glassy eyed expression as Nikita. What the hell was going on here? Nikita squirmed beneath him, pulling his attention away from the young man with the gun. She moaned and twisted against his hands. "Be still", he kept the anger out of his voice only from practice. Nikita laughed softly as she turned her head to look at Birkoff again. "He'll hurt me Birkoff", she whispered, her soft voice drawing the computer genius closer. "You've seen him do it. Look at how he holds me down. Always hurting me."

He looked at Nikita in calm amazement as her blue eyes filled with tears. "Please", she said. "Please HELP me Birkoff!" At her raised voice he turned his gaze back to the young man. Nikita began to sob.

"G-g-get off of her!" Birkoff's voice was as shaky as his hands. Wild eyes darted wildly back and forth between the two operatives before focusing on him again. "I'll…", Birkoff swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat. "I'll shoot you Michael. I will. I won't be helpless ever again! I can…I can take care of me and Nikita."

He slowly stood, releasing Nikita from his hold. She curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her waist as she looked up at Birkoff. He glanced down at her, thankful that she hadn't tried to take him down. He wanted to have her unconscious, but he knew that Birkoff would indeed shoot him if he made any kind of violent movement toward Nikita. Instead, he stepped toward the younger man. Locking eyes with the computer whiz, he slowly closed half the distance between them. He could tell from the younger man's face that he was confused and unsure of his next move. If he could get close enough…

Nikita's voice broke the silence. "Don't let him any closer, Birkoff! He's trying to get the gun from you! Shoot him! Shoot him now!!!" she wailed.

He turned his head slightly, eyes never leaving Birkoff's face as he warned her with a simple word. "Nikita!"

"LISTEN to me, Seymour! All he ever does is hurt people! You think you'll be any different? Kill him!!", Nikita was crying again, blue eyes pleading with Birkoff. Her voice dropped, becoming small and desperate. "Please. Help me Birkoff…help me…PLEASE!!!!!!!"

He froze as he watched Birkoff blink rapidly, then take a better grip on the gun. His attention was focused solely on the young man now. He didn't like what he saw crossing the young man's face. Hesitating, he took another step forward, extending his hand for the gun. Immediately, he knew he had made a mistake when Birkoff took a deep breath and his face hardened. He took evasive action then, trying to drop and roll to his right. His movement was interrupted as Birkoff opened fired.

The first bullet hit him in the left shoulder, spinning him as he continued to fall to his right. Exposed, his chest became Birkoff's target and the young man didn't waste any bullets. He felt the impact of the bullets slam into him like a train, jerking him about like a doll as the bullets continued to pound into him. His ribs cracked from the assault but he continued to twist trying to avoid further injury. Birkoff continued to fire and then he felt a hot iron hit his hip bone and slide deep along his side, under the vest he wore. He finally hit the ground clasping both hands over the wound and trying to breathe through fractured ribs. The only sound was the click of an empty gun. An eternity passed until he managed to take a small breath, damaged bones protesting the constriction of the kevlar vest. Gasping, unable to draw in enough air, he felt as if he were drowning on dry land. He looked at Birkoff, the young man's face blurring and somehow far away. As the first wave of agony danced along his ribs and the blood began to rage through his fingers, darkness tiptoed along the edges of his sight and then his world went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was surprised to hear Pam's voice again, to feel her shaking his shoulders once more. Surprised even more to realize he had been asleep. Gently, she began her questions. This time, he answered clearly and patiently. He blinked against the darkness that shrouded his sight. It shimmered.

"I think my sight is getting better."

Pam paused and he heard her smile. "Good! It'll be back before you know it, Michael. Just wait."

Michael could tell that she hadn't left the room. He flinched slightly as her hands brushed his chest, smoothing the blanket. She noticed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You've got some nasty bruises on your chest. What happened?"

Michael blinked, unwilling to answer her probing question. He was spared from trying to formulate an evasive answer as a deep male voice echoed across the room.

"Pam, may I see you, please?"

Michael followed the conversation as best he could. They may be standing far from the bed but their voices carried.

"It's best not to ask questions, Pam. You'll learn that soon enough."

"I know that, but . . . do you know what happened to him?"

Michael swallowed against a dry throat and closed his eyes as he waited for the response. This might be interesting. He wondered if they had any idea.

Finally, the answer came floating through the room, "No. And I don't want to know, either. I learned my lesson the hard way a long time ago. These guys go through Hell. I've seen Michael in here more times than I can count. You're fairly new, but you'll see it all here. And some things you never thought you'd see."

"Oh . . ."

"Give him another shot of Demerol and . . ." The voices faded away and Michael drifted once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Run, Birkoff! Run! They WILL cancel you" The voice that welcomed him from the darkness was Nikita's. He opened his eyes in time to see Birkoff stumble and look back at them. He noted the direction Birkoff had taken, then looked to Nikita. She sat next to him rocking and crying, her eyes closed. Taking a deep silent breath, he prepared himself for his next move. His timing was off, due to his injury, but he had the element of surprise on his side as he knocked Nikita over with his feet. Moving as quickly as he could, he moved over her then rendered her unconscious as gently as he could and carefully rested her prone form on the ground. Staggering slightly and working against the pain, he stood. With trembling hands, he removed the black jacket he wore over the heavy vest. Quickly opening velcro straps, he shed the protective vest, then donned the jacket again, zipping it closed.

"Report", his voice was husky with pain and he held his right side tightly, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"Team one, here. We're about halfway home. We're being followed. What's our next move?"

Michael desperately tried to assess the situation, deciding between Birkoff and the rest of the teams. Only one viable solution presented itself. He sighed, careful not aggravate his ribs, then quickly issued the order. "Come in. Nikita is here, unconscious. Recover her and get back to Section. Meet me at the second exit point. No communication, my comm unit is here with her. If we're not there in thirty, go home without us." He dropped his comm unit onto the vest next to Nikita as he spoke. He stroked her face, leaving a streak of his own blood on her cheek. She looked peaceful, he thought. The light of Section. He turned then, and went after Birkoff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There's someone here to see you."

He opened his eyes and blinked as the darkness filled with more spots of light. The buzzing in his head dulled and the spots grew bigger and closer together. He blinked and they merged. Distantly, he could make out the sound of a door sliding shut.

"Michael?"

Gingerly, he turned his head to the source. He watched in amazement as the darkness fled before the onslaught of light and Nikita's face materialized before him. She smiled.

"Hey."

He marveled at the lovely visage before him. He licked his lips, suddenly aware they were dry. "I can see." His voice was soft.

"That's good but don't try to talk, Michael. You've had a long night. I just . . . ", Nikita's voice trailed into silence.

He waited.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He could feel himself fading again but he fought against it, trying to make sure Nikita was fine as well. He shifted and inhaled sharply as his side protested. He waited for the pain to dull then turned to her again. "Untie me."

Nikita looked uncertain.

"Please?" he barely managed to keep from begging.

Nodding slightly, Nikita released the restraints closest to her.

Raising a hand to her face, he questioned, "You?"

She looked at his freed hand for a moment, then captured it with her own. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I just couldn't rest until I knew for sure how you were."

Michael nodded and felt his eyes begin to close. He felt heavy and he recognized the dopey sensation that signaled a stronger dose of Demerol. He wanted to stay awake now, to tell her how happy he was she was okay, to look at her beautiful smile and loose himself in her blue eyes. He couldn't say that, he knew. He couldn't ever say all those things. His eyes closed and he finally fell into sleep, taking Nikita's touch with him.

Nikita sat on Michael's bed watching him sleep. Her bandaged leg was propped on his bed and she moved as she adjusting the aching limb. Settled once more, she smiled at Michael's still form and brushed a stray curl from his face, hands lightly skimming over swollen eye and bruised flesh. He shifted slightly at her touch and she withdrew her hand quickly. Carefully, she placed his hand back on the bed, leaving it unrestrained, then turned to retrieve her crutches and left, satisfied that he would recover.

The doors had just closed behind her when she realized she didn't have enough energy to make it back to her own room. She paused, letting her head fall back as she propped herself against the wall. She hated being this vulnerable and if she didn't get back to her room soon, the medical staff would be really angry with her. That nurse, Pam, had been nice enough to give them a few moments, but the rest of Section wouldn't be so kind. Hearing the soft squeak of wheels, Nikita raised her head and looked down the hall. She smiled in relief, uncertain if it was the person or the wheelchair she was happy to see.

"Hey, Sugar. I see you're feeling better today."

"Hey Walter," she couldn't keep the exhaustion out of her voice.

Walter studied the blonde beauty, noting the door behind her. He stopped beside her, helping her into the wheelchair he had been pushing in front of him. "I take it you just had to see for yourself that Michael was okay, right? Just couldn't wait for me, could you?"

Nikita gave a weak smile. Leave it to Walter to come to her rescue. "Take me back to bed, Walter?"

Walter raised his eyebrows and began to push her wheelchair down the hallway. "I'd love to, Sugar. But I have feeling you just couldn't handle it right now, you know?"

Nikita laughed softly. "I have a feeling you're right. You know, you're a godsend, Walter. Anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh yeah. Every time, Sugar. Every time."

Nikita groaned and shook her head.

**********************

It had been a busy morning for Madeline. She had many prisoners to interrogate as well as her own people to reassure. She paused outside of Michael's room. Things had gone rather smoothly so far. With so many people captured, it had been almost easy to find the source of their problems. Even now, that source was being eliminated. Measures were being taken to ensure that this particular scenario would never occur again. Surprisingly, it had only taken two days to reach the end game. Which brought her back to Michael's room. She had received word earlier that he was recovered enough to talk.

Madeline smiled as soon as the door opened. Michael was sitting up in bed, his green eyes clear and focused. Clearly, he had regained his sight. She approached him slowly, taking in the bruised face and tired circles under his eyes. This debrief might take several sessions.

She reached out a hand to gingerly touch the left side of his face. "It's a lovely black eye. It looks as if you're wearing eyeliner along the bottom." Madeline smiled, knowing that remark would unsettle him, then continued. "You've gotten your sight back. You must be relieved." Michael didn't reply. She dropped her hand and walked around the bed. "Birkoff has recovered, although he only seemed to need about twenty-four hours of sleep to do so. Nikita is still here, but she'll be released later today." Madeline paused and looked at Michael again. "Birkoff has already told us all he can remember. He had a few interesting things to say about a barn."

Michael met her gaze slowly. He almost smiled as he remembered Birkoff's disgust at the hay, but managed to control his amusement. Until he met Madeline's almond eyes. The sparkle of humor was evident and Michael relented somewhat, smiling a little at the thought of the computer genius hanging out in a barn. The moment faded quickly and Michael got right to the point.

"Where do you want me to begin?"

Madeline let her own smile fade. "At the beginning, Michael. From the initial mission where Nikita was drugged, up to the present. I want to know everything."

Michael sighed. Then leaned back and began. "The mission went as planned. Nikita retrieved the disk with no problems. There were no anomalies until Nikita's comm unit went down."

"And you went to find her," Madeline stated.

Michael met her eyes. "Yes. Birkoff said she was at the van, but I felt something was off."

Madeline tilted her head, carefully studying Michael's face. She suspected he was keeping things from her. "Continue, please."

Michael moved his gaze to the wall. "I found her halfway back to the van. She wasn't acting like herself. Her eyes were glassy. I thought she may have been drugged but I wasn't certain. I knocked her out and carried her back to the van. Birkoff wasn't responding. I left Nikita outside while I checked on him."

"You thought the integrity of the mission had been compromised," Madeline questioned softly.

"Yes. "

" How did Birkoff react?"

Michael blinked. "Arrogantly." He was very careful to keep the amusement out of his voice. He liked Birkoff, but he wouldn't lie about his attitude.

Madeline, however, smiled at his assessment. "Yes. Birkoff can seem overconfident occasionally." Her smile faded and she met his eyes again. "What about Nikita?"

Michael dropped his eyes before he answered Madeline's question. "She was angry. She had regained consciousness and was arguing with me. I pinned her down, trying to calm her."

"You were outside the van, now?" Madeline tilted her head.

He looked up her again. "Yes."

"And Birkoff?"

Michael held Madeline's gaze as he answered this time. "Birkoff came out of the van, holding a gun on me. I could tell, then that he had been drugged. When I tried to get the gun away from him, he shot me."

Silence filled the room and Madeline let it stretch out for a long moment. Michael answered her with a blank stare. She smiled at him. "What then?"

Michael took a breath, "I ordered the teams in. Then I went after Birkoff."

Madeline walked to the end of the bed as she spoke. "You left Nikita, unconscious, at the van and went after Birkoff." She stopped and faced him. "Why?"

Michael met her eyes, "He wasn't an acceptable loss."

"And Nikita was?"

Michael didn't answer, only blinked.

Madeline rested her hands on the end of the bed. "Why did you go to the warehouse instead of contacting us?"

Michael chose his words carefully. "I realized at the barn that Birkoff and Nikita had been drugged from the disk. It was the only possible source. It followed that the intel could be a set up. I wanted to know for certain."

Madeline waited, her countenance serene.

Michael blinked and kept his own face blank, letting the silence grow once more.

After a moment, Madeline smiled. "And I suppose we know the rest. You rescued Nikita from the warehouse and came back just in time to help save Section."

"Yes."

Madeline looked down at the bed for a moment, then back at Michael. He would never admit it, but she could tell he was tired. "You came very close this time, Michael. The doctors were impressed by the cleanliness of the wound in your side. Although the torn stitches were quite a mess, there was no sign of infection. What did you use?"

Michael blinked, hiding his surprise at the question with a blank stare before answering. "Kerosene."

It was Madeline's turn to be surprised. She smiled and nodded her approval. "Good choice." She let her smile fade as she studied his exhausted form. "Get some rest, Michael. We'll finish this later." Her heels echoed against the sterile white of the room as she left.

Michael wasn't sorry to see her leave. He was tired, more so than he would have thought. He leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. It had been a long week. He was thankful it was finally over. Another ordeal to put behind him. He smiled inwardly as he thought of Nikita. He relaxed against he pillows and closed his eyes with her image still in his mind. Sleep wrapped around him in a thick fold, carrying him to sweeter places. He dreamed of Nikita and her strong fingers as she held his hand and whispered to him.

finis

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