---

This is the sequel TOTAL ECLIPSE!! It takes place about six months later.

Michael watched Nikita at the Black Jack table. She was wearing a black, skin-tight, halter dress with an emerald and gold choker around her lovely neck, a red wig, black stiletto heels and green contacts. She was pretending to be a dead woman by the name of Laurel Lee Sykes. With the wig and contacts, Nikita bore an uncanny resemblence to the deceased. She had the attitude down pat as well. Loud, flirtatious and tacky. Michael almost cringed to watch her. Yet that fit in well with his cover as her fiancee. A wealthy entrepreneur from Quebec who wasn't exactly meek, but decidedly forgiving in nature, being as he was hopelessly smitten with his soon to be bride. And Nikita, as Laurel Lee, was having a ball spending his money, while basically drinking and smoking too much, gambling too insouciantly, and flirting too boldly with the bevy of men that were hovering around her like moths drawn to a flame. All in all, Michael was pleased.

The mission was going as planned. All they had to do now was wait for Laurel Lee's brother to appear.

Martin Sykes was a gifted plastic surgeon born in Haven, North Carolina. A very small town. He was older than Laurel Lee by fifteen years. Their parents had died when he was twenty-nine, so Martin had taken care his fourteen year old sister from that moment on. Not that he hadn't before. Despite the fact that he had won a scholarship to med school in Los Angelos and had to work hard at studying and a job in order to make ends meet, Martin had managed to send things to Laurel Lee. When his parents died, he moved her to LA with him. She loved it. Did some part time modelling, then married an actor whom she divorced a year later. Didn't matter what she did or didn't do. Martin loved her. After her death, by shooting, two years ago, Martin had gone into exile. Disappearing without a trace.

But Section needed to find Martin Sykes, hence the resurrection of his sister by Nikita. Section One had been asked to tie up a loose end for the government. An Interpol agent had stolen Top Secret blue prints to an American laser weapons system that was experimental at best. It was believed that this agent was going to sell the blue prints to the highest bidder at an upcoming auction. Bidders would include terrorists, IRA members, Mossad representatives. The creme de la creme of evil.

Intel gathered by Birkhoff led Section to believe that Martin Sykes had given the Interpol agent a *new* face. So they needed to capture Sykes so that he could identify the agent. At the start of the mission Michael and Nikita had had a three week window. They were down to fourteen days.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Michael turned in a slow circle, smiling at a waitress who was giving him the eye, but sticking to character. He was interested only in Nikita. Rather, Laurel Lee. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Michael spotted a figure. A man who was weaving through the crowds of people, slowly making his way towards the Black Jack table. Stopping just a few feet away. Michael smiled to himself. It was Sykes.

"We have him, Nikita," Michael whispered, knowing she could hear him on her comlink. "Your position, five o'clock, black suit."

"Kewl," Nikita replied, making it sound as if she were responding to something the dealer had said. Casually she turned to her right, sipping at her drink, and located Sykes. "Black is beautiful," Nikita whispered, feeling relief that the mission would soon be over. Playing Laurel Lee was exhausting.

Michael knew that Nikita wasn't in a position to respond further, so he told her the game plan. "I'll grab him and deliver him to transport. Return to the room in twenty minutes." Michael watched as Nikita turned to her left this time, location his position, and raised her glass in a salute.

"I'm winning big, honey!" she drawled in a loud and syrupy accent. Playing her part while letting Michael know she had received the message and it was copy.

Turning away, Michael glided towards Sykes. A moment later he had a gun in the other man's back and politely asked that Sykes walk with him. Five minutes later transport took off, with Sykes sandwiched between two Section, cold ops. Michael headed back inside the Casino, reaching for the cellular phone in his pocket. He contacted Madeline, informing her that the *material* was on his way.

"Good job, Michael," Madeline praised. Sykes had appeared even sooner than she had expected. "I'll take care of things from here."

"Do you want us back tonight?" Michael queried, in regards to himself and Nikita.

Madeline was silent for a moment, then replied. "No. I want you and Nikita to take a two day break." Sensing that Michael was stunned by her words, by the quality of his silence, Madeline clarified her reasoning. "The two of you have been on three back to back missions. You're no good to me if you're exhausted. Two days, Michael. Then I have a new assignment for you."

Michael didn't respond for a moment. Wasn't sure what to say. Settled for his stand by. "Of course." Then broke the connection. He couldn't shake the feeling that Madeline was up to something. But there was another feeling that riddled Michael. The sense of being watched. He put on his mirrored sunglasses, despite being inside, and studied the people he passed on his way back to Nikita.

******

A man stood in the shadows between two rows of slot machines. He had been lurking there for hours. Watching and waiting. But now he faded back into the darkness, and smiled.

******

Brad Kinley stood on the balcony of his hotel suite. He was wearing a silk shirt, cream linen pants and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. In one hand was a glass of champagne, bubbling in an expensive crystal glass. The other hand held a cell phone to his ear.

"Keep an eye on the target," he ordered the person on the other end. "I'll be in touch." That said, Brad broke the connection then pocketed the phone.

He stared up at the gorgeous night sky, black velvet shimmering with diamond-like stars, and raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to you, Michael," Brad drawled. " And to Lady Luck. May she always smile upon me." He drained his glass then laughed. Life was good.

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

Michael met up with Nikita in the elevator that led to their penthouse suite. Part of the lavish cover, of course. Stepping out of her high heels, Nikita wriggled her toes and sighed with relief. Then she looked at Michael and caught him looking at her. The heat in his gaze flushed over Nikita like a warm wave.

"Um...I suppose we head back now," she commented, wishing that things were different. That they really belonged here. Really were a couple, an engaged couple, no less. Nikita wanted nothing more than to press her body against Michael's and feel his strong hands caressing her while his sensual mouth tasted her. A fantasy to be sure, but a good one.

"We're staying," Michael replied shortly, trying not to let his throughts run the same course as Nikita's. He could feel the heat of her gaze upon him as well. Knew that she wanted what he wanted...but could never have. But wanted it anyway. Wanted to unhook her dress and let it fall to a puddle at her feet. Knowing that the only thing Nikita was wearing beneath it was a thong. Had watched her get dressed earlier, mainly because Nikita had made it a point to do so in the bedroom where Michael had been trying to get some work done on the laptop. Needless to say he had been distracted then, fingers almost trembling when Nikita had asked him to hook the dress for her. Michael balled his hands into fists then shoved them into his jacket pockets. He couldn't touch her. Didn't have the right.

"What do you mean we're staying?" Nikita countered, all thoughts of seduction going on hold while she tried to comprehend Michael's declaration. "Are we still on the mission?"

Michael shook his head. "No...the mission is completed. But Madeline feels that we need a short break," he explained. But for some reason the explanation sounded lame to Michael. He decided that he was just tired and so his mind was in a fog.

Nikita was feeling sharp however and responded accordingly. "Another test?"

"No doubt," Michael allowed. That had been his thought too, he just hadn't wanted to give it voice. He was so tired of being tested all the time. Having to be careful of every word, every nuance, every glance or gesture.

"So what do we do for the next two days?" Nikita queried, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. She knew that Michael was exhausted. She was tired too from three missions in a row without even a full twenty-four hour rest in between. And Nikita knew that Michael pushed himself harder than anyone. Doubted that he had slept hardly at all in the past month. She wanted to help him to relax and knew just how to do it. A hot shower followed by a full body massage....The mental image of Michael lying nude on satin sheets while her hands glided over the hard muscles that bulged beneath smooth skin, sent liquid heat flooding through Nikita's veins to pool between her legs. She wanted him. It was that simple and that complicated.

Michael considered Nikita's question. He knew what he wanted to do. One hand left his pocket, reaching for Nikita's. Michael encircled her wrist with his fingers, drawing her hand to his lips, then he pressed a kiss to her palm, letting the tip of his tongue flicker over the sensitive skin before pulling back to give her an answer. Eyes locked on Nikita's, Michael whispered, "We do what we feel."

To say that Nikita was stunned was an understatement, but she recovered quickly and offered a sexy smile. "What do you feel, Michael?" she countered, her voice husky with passion. "Show me."

"As you wish," Michael replied. And since it was a private elevator, Michael reached out and hit the stop button. They didn't even feel the car roll to a smooth halt. Eyes glowing with desire, Michael drew Nikita to him. He cradled her face in his palms then traced the outline of her sweet mouth with the tip of his tongue. When he heard her moan, Michael smiled to himself, then he claimed her mouth.

Nikita wanted more. It was too much, yet not enough. Michael's tongue danced in her mouth, tasting and teasing and Nikita matched his hunger. But she lacked Michael's patience. Her fingers curled in his jacket, yanking it off his broad shoulders. Then they tugged at the waistband of his t-shirt, emerald green rather than black, in keeping with the character he had been playing.

Michael allowed the kiss to be broken so that Nikita could pull the t-shirt over his head. Took the opportunity to unhook the back of the halter and tugged the dress down. It pooled at Nikita's feet and she stepped out of it. Michael felt Nikita's fingers in his hair as his own fingers glided over her perfect breasts. The coral tips enticed him and he bent his head, uncaring of the pain in his scalp, as his lips enclosed one nipple and suckled it to hardness.

"Michael..." Nikita whispered, feeling her knees go weak. She loved his slow, sweet torture. Loved how he paid homage to her body. But couldn't wait any longer. They could be slow and gentle later. Had two days for slow and sweet. Nikita wanted him in her, filling her, taking her to heaven and beyond...right now. So she tugged hard on his hair, forcing Michael's head up. Locked eyes with him and whispered, "Please."

Michael blinked then watched as Nikita slipped off her thong. Didn't take his eyes off her face as she undid his pants and pushed them down to just below his buttocks. Felt himself blink again as her cool fingers closed over him, stroking his hardness till it throbbed painfully. Only then did he move, fingers curling around Nikita's waist, lifting her so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, then pressing up and sliding in to her wet heat.

Nikita sighed with pleasure as Michael entered her. She felt him walk move so that her back came up against one wall. Then felt him suckle at her breast again and moaned deep in her throat. Put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself, then began the rhythm that would send them to paradise. Loved the fact that Michael let her set the pace. Nikita's eyes closed and her head rolled from side to side as Michael matched her rythmn, thrusting into her deep and hard. Filling her to overflowing. Filling her as no other man could.

Michael felt Nikita's heartbeat. Not against his skin but inside him. It pounded fast and strong. He heard it too, echoing in his head. But there was more. The sound of her voice, yet she spoke not a word out loud. Yet in his mind Michael heard her. Heard Nikita whisper his name. Whisper...*I love you, Michael*. Felt her love as well, wrapping around him like warm velvet. Knew that his powers were enhancing his senses. Magnifying the power of their love. A forbidden love that was forever breaking boundaries, and rules. Whispered back, in his heart, *I love you, Nikita*. Then Michael moaned deep in his throat as he felt the heat of his impending eruption burn white-hot inside him.

Nikita came first, body shuddering as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Forced her quivering leg muscles to tighten as she felt Michael continue to thrust towards his release. Felt him explode and flex inside her. Body trembling yet never once losing his grip.

Michael was like a rock. Strong and solid. Yet like a rock in a river, Nikita knew he could be damaged. Water washing over him, eroding his layers till he was merely a pebble in the wet sand. But Nikita wouldn't let him be washed away. She clung to Michael, body and soul.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered. Not for any reason, but because he wanted to hear her name.

"Michael.." Nikita replied, for she felt the same way. Then she smoothed a damp curl off his forehead and said, "Shall we go to bed now?" Her reward was a smile that seemed brighter than the sun.

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

The moment they entered the suite, Michael knew that something was wrong. His gun was in his jacket pocket and he pulled it out, signalling for Nikita to fall back. He nodded as she pulled her gun from her purse and shifted into cold op mode.

A quick sweep of the suite and Michael saw that only one thing was out of place. On the huge bed lay a bible. A page was marked by a red satin ribbon and Michael flipped it open. No verse had been highlighted in any way but scrolled across the pages in red were the words

MICHAEL...YOU WILL BE SAVED

Nikita frowned. It bothered her that someone had been in the room, but what bothered her more was the fact that the scenario seemed familiar somehow. Then it hit her.

"The news," Nikita hissed, her eyes on Michael's face.

He shook his head. "What news?" Michael didn't watch TV but Nikita had been playing it on occassion.

"About the serial killer that's terrorizing Vegas," Nikita replied, tugging off the red wig and tossing it onto the night stand. "I think he's called....The Savior."

"What else?" Michael prompted. He knew they had been breached and the consequences could be serious.

Nikita shrugged. "That's it. I turned the channel." She offered an apologetic smile.

Michael was reaching for his cell phone. "That's okay, I'll put Birkhoff on it," he replied, trying not to give in to the sense of unease that was trying to twist the muscles in his stomach into knots.

The first person Michael spoke to was Madeline. While still on the phone, she then ordered Birkhoff to tap into the Vegas PD computer files and snag any and all intel on the *Savior* murders. He worked on getting that and any newspaper articles.

"Do you want us to come in?" Michael asked.

"No," Madeline replied. "You've been compromised but we don't know the extent. "Stay where you are until I get back to you with an update. Give me two hours."

Michael didn't respond immediately for he felt a sudden wave of dizziness and had to lock his knees against it. Heard Madeline say his name and whispered, "I'm here. We'll wait." With that Michael disconnected the line.

Nikita had been watching Michael, had seen him grow pale. "You okay?" she asked, moving to his side. But when she would have touched him he stepped away. A smooth move and one that irritated Nikita. Ten minutes ago they had been intimate together, dropping all barriers. But now she could almost hear the shields slamming into place. One step forward, ten steps back. Such was the way with Michael.

"We wait for a call back," Michael replied, moving over to the dresser to retrieve his laptop. He set it up on the desk in the corner and brought himself online. "I'll see what I can dig up from here," he announced.

"Great," Nikita drawled. "I'll go take a shower." Since she couldn't think of any other way to be useful, she figured it wouldn't hurt to wash away the scent of sweet perfume and hot sex.

***********

Madeline called back sooner than expected. She gave Michael and Nikita, both of whom were on the line, a quick run down of the intel Birkhoff had gathered, while letting Michael know that Birkhoff was sending him the files for further study. Basically the story was that four murders had occurred in Las Vegas in the past six weeks.

The killer had mutilated his victims, all women, none of whom resembled each other in appearance, age or station. The only common denominator being that the killer had seen each victim's significant other, be he husband, boyfriend or fiancee, as an abused male. At each murder site he would leave a bloodstained message to the man, written in a bible. In the same manner as the message written to Michael. But, for some reason, The Savior had chosen to send Michael his message before murdering his victim.

Nikita felt a chill run through her. "So this guy has targeted me," she said softly.

Michael didn't listen for a response. He had moved over to the bed and let his fingertips brush over the message in the bible. Immediately he was bombarded with images of dead bodies and a pale face. Turned pale and nearly dropped the phone. Snatched his hand away but the images remained.

"Michael?" Nikita had been watching him and she moved to his side.

"What's going on?" Madeline queried.

Nikita wondered that herself. Stood in front of Michael and saw that his eyes were glazed and unfocused. Touched him and his skin was like ice. "Something's wrong with Michael!" Nikita hissed.

Madeline made a guess. "Is he having a vision?"

"I..." Nikita's first instinct was to deny it, but she couldn't deny Michael's empathic powers. Had seen them first hand, twice. Recognized the look on his face and was frightened. "I think so.." Nikita whispered, not wanting to startle Michael.

"Don't interfere," Madeline cautioned. "Let Michael work through it."

Michael didn't hear the conversation going on around him. He was locked into the images. More dead bodies cut to ribbons. Blood flowing like a river leaving puddles that people stepped in. Saw tracks of bloody footprints and felt a wave of pain. The women had been alive when the mutilation had started. Had smelled their own blood as it gushed out of them, had tasted their own fear. Had been gagged so that they had to swallow their own screams. Michael heard the screams echoing in his head, then he saw the face again. A man's face but the features were clear. More like shadows that danced together to form a silhouette. Heard the sound of laughter, soft and lyrical and then blackness rushed over him.

Nikita dropped the phone in her haste to catch Michael and ease him onto the bed. She made him lie back against the pillows, scooping the bible out of reach. "Stay there!" Nikita ordered, when Michael made an another attempt to rise.

"Madeline.." Michael spoke into the phone that was still clutched in his hand. His grip was so tight that his knuckles were dead white.

"Yes, Michael," she replied. When he didn't respond, Madeline prompted, "What did you see?"

He had to swallow hard before he could force the words out. "Bodies...the victims. And a face," Michael whispered.

"The killer?" Madeline queried, hopefully.

"Yes, but it wasn't clear," Michael replied. He knew that Madeline would be disappointed.

She was, but she hid it. "Can you try again?" she beseeched. Madeline knew how difficult these visions were for Michael, but they needed to find the killer. She hadn't expected this to happen. Ever since Section had retrieved Michael from Lynx, his powers had seem to go dormant. Madeline could only hoped that they were back in full force. Once the Savior was in Section hands, or dead, then Michael and Nikita could return. They couldn't risk exposure if the killer was stalking them.

Michael had known what was coming and was ready for it. "Yes," he said quietly, holding out one hand to Nikita. For the bible. "I can try again."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Nikita countered, even as she handed over the book. Knew it was no use arguing with Michael or Madeline. But she perched on the side of the bed to keep a close watch over Michael. At the first sign that he was in distress, she was trashing the bible.

"Are you ready?" Madeline prompted, her voice soft but reverberating with a sense of urgency.

Michael didn't respond. He couldn't. All outside forces had faded away. He was standing on a precipice and all about him darkness fell like black rain.

**********

The rain stopped and Michael could see a brightness. Not white but red, glowing softly. He realized that this vision was different than the others he'd had. This was like walking through a dream. The darkness continued to fade, but the shadows lingered, and from the shadows emerged the images. The faces of the victims. Michael could see them clearly where they lay in pools of blood, as if he were a witness to the scene. Saw the killer's face again, still pale. Features no longer shadowed, yet blurred and indistinct. He tried to concentrate harder, to bring the image into sharper focus, but failed. So Michael continued on his journey, unaware of the effect it was having on him.

But Nikita was aware. She bit her lip and was hard put not to snatch the bible out of Michael's hands. Not that she could have, for he clutched it so tightly his knuckles showed white. His skin was ashen and shimmered with sweat, his eyes wide-open but glazed and unfocused. His body trembled violently and Nikita feared he was heading for a seizure. She said as much into the phone so that Madeline could hear her.

"Don't interfere, Nikita," Madeline warned. "You'll do more harm than good. Michael can do this."

"Easy for you to say!" Nikita hissed, then she fell silent again.

Michael didn't hear her. He was too wrapped up in what he was seeing. And then he felt it. Joy. It hit him like a slap in the face and with the feeling came the sound of laughter. Cold but bright. It echoed in his head, painfully loud, pounding in his ears like a bass drum. Michael moaned.

Nikita jumped. "Dammit.." she whispered, for if possible, Michael had just turned a shade paler. She knew he was in pain. It shimmered in his eyes and was reflected in the way his body spasmed. "Madeline..." Nikita began.

"No," Madeline replied, tersely. Nikita said nothing more.

Michael worked past the pain, focusing on what he was feeling rather that what he was hearing. Gradually the laughter faded but not the sense of joy. Yet there was a darkness rippling through the blissfulness. Extreme pleasure tinged with sadness. Michael knew what he was feeling. Whose emotions he was absorbing. The killer's.

And then he heard a whisper. A name. Jonah. Michael called out the name, seeking the other man. Wanting the killer to answer him.

"He said a name," Nikita breathed into the phone.

"What is it?" Madeline prompted.

Nikita hesitated a moment, for it seemed as if Michael were going to speak again. She was thrilled about one thing, he had stopped trembling. When Michael remained silent, Nikita whispered, "Jonah."

Madeline was disappointed. "No last name?"

"No," Nikita replied. "Can we stop this now?"

"Not yet," Madeline ordered. She knew Nikita was worried and didn't blame her. She was worried too. But Madeline had faith in Michael's strength. It had pulled him back from hell more than once. It would do so again.

Michael sent out an invitation to the killer, and in response he got an image. A house. Michael concentrated on expanding the image. Saw street signs that he would be able to give to Madeline, and memorized the number on the house and what it looked like. Then the image was gone. Michael knew he would get nothing more and he was ready to go back now, only then Jonah was ready to let him go. Michael gasped as he felt the touch of a hand on his face. A cold hand something warm touched his cheek. Blood. The scent of it was sharp in his nostrils.

The touch faded and Michael raised one hand to his cheek. The moment he felt the blood the image of Nikita danced in his head. Her blood. The scent of her death. Michael felt his body tremble, then he screamed.

Nikita dropped the phone when Michael's body started to convulse. Only one hand remained on the bible, the other was pressed to his face, so Nikita was able to shove the book off him then drape herself over Michael to hold him still. To her relief, the moment the bible was out of Michael's hands, he went limp. Nikita lay still over him, unwilling to move in case he started up again. She stared at him, seeing the shadows smudged beneath his eyes, eyes that were wide-open and glazed. Nikita found it odd that Michael still had one hand pressed to his face. She reached for his hand and discovered it was ice cold and sheened in sweat. Gently she pulled it away from his cheek then gasped.

"My god..." Nikita whispered.

Michael heard Nikita's voice and it brought him back to himself in a rush. He blinked and felt his eyes refocus, then looked down to see his hand in Nikita's. Saw blood staining his palm. Watched Nikita reach out and felt her touch his cheek. Draw her hand back and her skin was stained red. Blood. Her blood. Michael shivered at the memory.

"It's all right, Michael," Nikita said softly, trying to sooth him even though she was terrified. When she touched his face, Nikita had expected to find a cut or something on his cheek. But Michael's skin was unblemished. She sat up, still straddling his thighs and used the tail end of her shirt to wipe his palm. No cuts there, either. Lifted her eyes to lock on his face and whispered his name. "Michael...?"

"The phone," he replied, unable to hold Nikita's gaze. Unable to face the truth and to have her see it. Had to tell Madeline what he had learned. They had to stop Jonah. Had to protect Nikita.

Nikita didn't argue with Michael. He was trembling again and too pale. She wouldn't make this harder on him. They could talk when he was ready. Or when she was ready. She picked up the phone and handed it to him.

Michael had to swallow hard before he could control himself enough to speak. His mask was tattered but he pulled down what he could and told Madeline about the house.

"A team is on its way," Madeline stated. She was pleased with Michael's work, but could hear the tension in his voice and knew he was exhausted. Knew this vision had pushed him almost passed his limits. "Get some rest," she ordered. "I'll be in touch." With that Madeline broke the connection.

"A team is on it's way," Michael whispered as Nikita took the phone from him. He was shaking badly and couldn't seem to stop. Cold and fear had wrapped themselves about him like a blanket. Stared down at the blood in his palm and trembled harder.

Nikita knew Michael was slipping into shock and she wasn't going to let that happen. She slid off the bed then reached for his arm. "Come on, Michael....we need to get you warm. A hot shower should do that trick, followed by a gallon of coffee."

Michael didn't want to go, yet didn't want to stay. He slid off the bed and let Nikita lead him into the bathroom. But once there it was as if he couldn't remember what to do.

"Let's get you undressed," Nikita stated, matter-of-factly once she realized that Michael was in a dazed state. She dropped the lid on the toilet seat and made him sit down while she removed his shoes and socks. Next came his t-shirt, then Nikita pulled Michael back to his feet to shove down pants and briefs. He allowed her ministrations like a child would. Trusting her to take care of him. Nikita realized that Michael was letting go of his control, in front of her. Knew how hard that was for him and tears prickled in her eyes. She turned away on the pretext of starting the shower, then turned back to smile at Michael. He stood before her naked, shivering, vulnerable...and beautiful.

"Don't...don't leave me.." Michael whispered, one hand reaching out to Nikita. He couldn't bear to let her out of his sight.

Nikita shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere, Michael," she assured him.

It took only a moment for Nikita to shed her jeans, shirt and panties, then she took Michael's hand and led him into the shower stall. Closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world, then pushed him under the warm spray, facing her. She reached for the shower gel and squirted some in her hands, rubbed them to form a lather, then worked it over Michael's chest. Added some more and combed it through his hair then letting the water rinse it away. Michael stood still beneath Nikita's hands, eyes locked on her face, loving the way she bit her lower lip as she worked over him. Made himself memorize every feature as if he were seeing her for the first time. He had to imprint her image in his mind. It was already branded into his heart, but if the image were to fade, then he would lose her. Michael drew a shaky breath as pain rippled through him at the thought. He would die without Nikita.

"It's all right, Michael," Nikita whispered, as she felt him tremble harder. It was hard running her hands over his beautiful body, feeling smooth, slick skin over hard, sculptured muscle, and not give in to her desires. But now was not the time for sex. Michael was too vulnerable. Nikita wouldn't use him the way everyone else did. But she afraid at the way he trembled. Afraid of what she saw reflected in his eyes. A pain so dark and terrible that it made her heart ache for him. Without thinking Nikita rose on tip toe and kissed him. A gentle kiss meant to comfort.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered against her sweet lips. And then his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her hard against him. "I need you.." he breathed into her mouth.

Nikita felt her knees buckle at Michael's confession. He had said it once before, on the mission where she had found Simone. Had meant it then but in a slightly different context. This time Michael was baring his soul. He needed her just as much as she needed him.

"I'm right here, Michael," Nikita whispered, then she kissed him with all the passion and love that flowed through her. And when Nikita felt Michael join their bodies, she realized that it was a symbolic act. For what they were truly uniting were their hearts and their souls.

******

Brad had been soundly asleep when he felt icy coldness seeping through him. Then heard the sound of laughter and felt a piercing pain. It shook him away and Brad shuddered for a moment, sitting up and trying to regulate his breathing to slow the sudden rapid beat of his heart. But then he recognized what he was feeling and the fear faded. He had tuned himself into Michael on a subconscious level in the hopes that he could reach the other man. The subconcious mind could often connect more strongly because there were no barriers impeding it. Barriers that humans evoked when conscious in order to protect themselves. Usually done on a subconscious level. But all barriers were dropped and Brad realized he was feeling the residual effects of what Michael had recently experienced. The other man was getting stronger. Much stronger. And he was pleased.

"Bingo," Brad whispered, then he curled up on his side and drifted back to sleep.

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

Nikita sat with her back propped up against the head board, a pillow behind her, while Michael lay with his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her waist. Both were wearing tank tops and shorts, neither of them had slept. Michael didn't want to talk either.

After making love in the shower, they had dressed each other, then Nikita had insisted that Michael lay down. She knew he was exhausted, yet sleep would not come to him. The suggestion that he take a sleeping pill, which Nikita just happened to have with her, didn't go over well at all. So they lay there in silence. Strangely enough, Nikita was content.

Michael was afraid. He clung to Nikita, afraid that if he let her go she would disappear for good. A childish and unwarranted fear, but one that he couldn't shake. And so Michael was content to lay with his head in Nikita's lap, feeling her fingers combing through his hair.

He didn't know how many hours had passed. Didn't care. The *job* would come between them soon enough. The job, the darkness, his secrets. Michael had nothing to offer Nikita, no words or promises. Yet she gave him everything. Body, heart and soul. He loved her. But that was one of his secrets. One that he would never speak out loud.

The phone rang and Nikita jumped. It was lying beside her and she handed it to Michael. He was sitting up and pulling away from her even as he reached for it. Nikita felt regret and a glimmer of pain. Michael was always pulling away. Always distancing himself from her. Separating them, physically and emotionally. She hated it, yet understood it now. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Yes?" Michael said into the phone. He felt Nikita's eyes upon him and rose from the bed. Needed to put distance between them in order to keep focused.

Madeline got straight to the point. "We didn't find Jonah," she stated, bluntly.

Michael felt a cold chill ripple through him and couldn't suppress a shiver. "He wasn't at the house?"

"No," Madeline replied. She paused for a moment, uncertain how to continue. She could hear the tension in Michael's voice, even though he made the effort to hide it. What she had to tell him was difficult. "Jonah must have known we were coming."

"He felt me," Michael whispered.

Madeline had made the same assumption. "There's more. He must have been watching you since your arrival in Las Vegas, Michael. He's created a shrine to you. I think he sees you as a symbol."

Michael felt nausea rise up in him and swallowed down bile. "A symbol of what?" he asked, and managed to keep his tone level.

"I'm not sure," Madeline confessed. "Birkhoff is checking into what background information we can find on Jonah. We still don't have a last name. We're not even sure about his first name. He bought the house and paid cash. The name he used was John White. I'm working on a profile."

"What do you want me and Nikita to do?" Michael questioned, as his free hand lifted and he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he closed his eyes he could see the image of Jonah. Could hear the man whispering to him. Feel the touch of a cold hand warmed by blood. Nikita's blood. The hand holding the phone shook and Michael nearly dropped it.

Madeline resisted the urge to sigh. She wished that she could tell Michael to come in, but it wasn't safe. For Section. Basically, for the time being, they were on their own. "Stay put," she replied. "Make another attempt to reach Jonah. See if you can draw him out into the open, Michael. It's our best chance to catch him."

Michael knew that Madeline was right, but he didn't want to go that route. Didn't want to go back inside the red darkness of Jonah's twisted mind. Didn't want to feel the black rain fall. "I'll do what I can," he said softly, then he hung up the phone.

"So...what's the deal?" Nikita asked, from where she sat on the end of the bend. He eyes locked on Michael's face. He was still too pale and Nikita could see that he was trembling again.

"We stay here," Michael replied, and he found that he couldn't meet Nikita's gaze. "They didn't catch him," he stated, almost too softly for her to hear.

But Nikita did hear him. "Why not?" she asked, rising from the bed and gliding over to Michael, taking the phone from him then cradling his hand in both her own. She was pleased when he didn't pull away, yet worried. This behavior wasn't like Michael.

Michael curled his fingers around Nikita's then drew her hands to his lips. He kissed her knuckles then pulled her into his arms. The need to touch her and hold her overwhelmed him and Michael gave into it. It was the only way to keep from losing his grip on his sanity. To keep from stepping over the precipice into the dark void. If he fell he would never reach bottom. Lips pressed against Nikita's pale hair, Michael told her what Madeline had said.

"You're going to try and reach Jonah again?" Nikita countered, pulling away from Michael far enough so that she could stare into his face. A cinnamon curl had tumbled over his forhead and Nikita smoothed it back. Then she brushed a his to the tip of his nose. "I don't think you should do that, Michael," she stated with a touch of anger, when he remained silent.

"I have to," he whispered. Michael did meet Nikita's gaze now and saw concern..for him..in the sky-blue depths. "I'll be fine," he stated, but knew it was a lie.

Nikita knew it as well, but she also knew that Michael did have to try. They had to seal the breach. And at least this time she was with him. She could help him through it. "When?" she asked.

Michael pulled away and moved towards the bed. The bible was still on the floor where Nikita had tossed it from the last time. Michael knelt down and reached out for it, yet was reluctant to touch it. Watched his hand trembled and curled his fingers into a fist as he willed his mind to take control back over his body. The trembling eased and Michael picked up the bible. To his surprise he felt nothing. Moved to the bed to lie down and closed his eyes.

"I'm right here with you, Michael," Nikita reminded him as she moved to sit on the other side of the bed. She kept her eyes locked on his face and waited, taking a breath and holding it. Nikita kept seeing the blood on Michael's face and hand. Blood that he couldn't explain. Nikita wasn't so sure she wanted to understand. All she really wanted was for Michael to be all right.

Michael tapped into the vibrations of his mind, then sent them outward. Knew that Jonah was out there and searched for him. But there was nothing. No darkness, no rain. Just emptiness. Michael opened his eyes and stared down at the message in the bible. The words written to him in blood. He knew that it was Jonah's blood. Brushed his fingers over it and his skin tingled. Michael felt fear wash over him. He had touched evil. Pure and malignant. Cold and black and without a soul.

"No.." Michael whispered and felt tears burn in his eyes. For he saw the image of Nikita, her eyes wide-open yet vacant, blood smearing her pale skin. Anger replaced the fear and Michael wanted to punish Jonah. Lashed out at him with his mind but the connection faded. Jonah pulled away. He was laughing. The sound echoed in Michael's head. Then he heard the whisper in his mind.

Nikita watched a tear roll down Michael's cheek. It was blood red.

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

Madeline was in her office, poring over the pictures from Jonah's house. His *shrine* to Michael. She knew that Jonah had a mission that he was determined to keep, and that mission was to save Michael.

"Anything?" Operations asked, as he entered the room. His expression was grim. He didn't like his people being breached, especially when one of them was Michael.

"Nothing concrete," Madeline replied, one hand lifting to massage the muscles at the nape of her neck, but dropped the hand when Operations moved to stand behind her and took over. "He's broken his pattern to concentrate on Michael," she stated.

Operations did not like the sound of that. "Why?" he prompted, even as he continued his massage, fingers spreading over Madeline's shoulders. He could feel the knots of tension beneath her flesh. Knew that she was worried too. Michael was important to them both. Some of the reasons were the same, some weren't.

Madeline allowed a soft sigh to escape her. "I wish I knew," she conceded. "Jonah sees Michael as a symbol."

"A symbol of what?" Operations queried. He left off his massage to move around to the side of the desk so he could see Madeline's face. "What would Michael symbolize to him? Do you think he sees him as a killer too and relates?"

"No." Madeline shook her head. "I think he sees Michael as a man who has been wronged by a woman, and needs to be saved from her sins. I think it's the Adam and Eve theory. Jonah sees women as the root of all evil. Eve set the ball in motion by eating the apple."

Operations pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the burn of exhaustion. "But why Michael? Why separate him from the other men? Why single him out?"

Madeline looked back at the pictures on her desk. "I don't know," she confessed. "I'm hoping Michael can tap into Jonah and find out."

"Don't you have a theory?" Operations challenged. He knew Madeline's skills, knew she would have an educated guess. At least it would be something to go on.

"My...guess..is that Jonah sees Michael as...pure," Madeline replied, her eyes flickering over to Operations' face.

He frowned at her. "What do you mean...pure?"

Madeline shrugged, then rubbed at the back of her neck again. "I think he can feel Michael...his powers. Michael would like to believe otherwise, but he has a pure soul. Yet he would understand Jonah, on some level. Understand what it feels like to kill. Michael has blood on his hands. He's walked on the dark side of his soul."

"And you think Jonah knows all of that?" Operations countered.

"I do," Madeline confirmed.

Operations heaved a sigh. "What about Nikita. Her soul is as pure as it gets around here. Doesn't Jonah...feel...her?"

Madeline let a smile curve her lips. "If Jonah can feel her, and I think he might...if only through Michael, I think he would feel the truth about Nikita. A distorted truth."

"Which is?" Operations beseeched. He was totally confused at this point.

"Michael doesn't kill out of revenge or anger...or desire," Madeline replied. "He kills because it's the job. It gives him no pleasure."

Operations pinched the bridge of his nose again, the pounding in his head was like a sledgehammer, each blow leaving a wave of pain behind it. "And you're saying that Nikita does kill for the thrill of it?"

Madeline shook her head. "No..but she has killed out of anger and revenge. She's derived satisfaction from doing so. If Jonah can feel her, he would know that. Most killers have a sixth sense. That's what makes them so dangerous. They're more attuned to detail and emotion than the people trying to catch them."

"So where does that leave us?" Operations hissed. He wanted this whole damn thing to end.

"Waiting," Madeline replied. Then she returned her attention to the photos, effectively dismissing Operations, who took the hint and left.

******

The moment Nikita saw the blood tear, she yanked the bible out of Michael's hand and hurled it across the room. Then she wiped the tear off Michael's cheek with the pad of her thumb, her hands then cupping his face. He was trembling again and his eyes were glazed.

"Come back to me, Michael!" Nikita beseeched.

He heard her voice and reached out for it. Arms reaching out as well, wrapping around Nikita and Michael pulled her tightly against him. Needed to feel her soft warmth and feel the beating of her heart against his chest. Pressed his lips to the pulse in her throat as well to assure himself that she was alive and well.

"Nikita.." Michael whispered, unaware of how anxious he sounded.

"It's all right, Michael," Nikita whispered, pulling back just far enough so she could kiss his soft lips. Felt him deepen the kiss, yet it wasn't passion that Nikita felt, nor the hunger of desire. It was desperation. And Nikita could almost taste Michael's fear.

"What did you see?" she prompted, breaking the kiss so that she could look into his eyes. They shimmered dark as emeralds. "Talk to me, Michael?" Nikita begged.

"I saw nothing.." he lied. Michael's arms tightened about Nikita. He couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't say the words out loud. Didn't want her to know he had foreseen her death.

Nikita knew that Michael was lying, could feel it in the way his body trembled, as well as by the tremor in his voice. The threads of his control were unravelling from the inside out. "Whatever it is, Michael...you can trust me," Nikita was quick to assure him. She thought, perhaps, that he might not be willing to tell her because he feared her reaction.

Michael said nothing for a long moment, then he offered a version of the truth. "I can feel him...inside me," Michael whispered. "It's cold...and dark. Wet. Like blood....or rain. Black rain."

"It can't hurt you, Michael," Nikita replied, one hand stroking through his soft curls in a soothing caress. "You're too strong." Nikita made the statement with conviction, for she believed it to be true. Michael was stronger than anyone she knew. Not physically, but emotionally. Not that he wasn't damaged, but inspite of the wounds he suffered, Michael found the strength to go on. To live. Nikita respected that.

"Not strong enough," Michael breathed against her hair, as he pulled Nikita hard against him. He was so afraid for her and the fear was like a live thing, twisting and clawing inside of him.

Nikita could feel Michael's fear and she held him tight. "You're not alone, Michael," she promised. "I'm right here."

Michael simply held Nikita tighter, knowing that his grip was almost painful, but she bore his embrace without complaint. She was the strong one. He let her words echo in his head. ::::I'm right here:::: But Michael couldn't help but wonder, for how long?

******

It took Nikita the better part of two hours to convince Michael to lie back and rest. She forced three Ibuprofens down him, for she could see pain shimmering in his silver-green eyes, then she tucked him in under the fluffy comforter. It took twenty minutes and her body curled up beside him before Michael allowed sleep to claim him.

Nikita had promised Michael that she would stay close, so she closed her eyes as well. Three hours later she woke up with a craving for ice cream. Rising from the bed, Nikita slipped on a sweater and sneakers, along with her jeans and left the room. Three blocks from the hotel was an all night grocery store. Nikita believed it would do Michael some good to indulge in some serious munchies. So she let herself out of the room, not bothering to leave a note. She would be back long before he would miss her.

Heading back from the store, twenty minutes later, Nikita bumped into a homeless man. He was wearing ragged clothing and his breath reeked of cheap whiskey. Nikita had been a street person long enough to recognize her kin.

"Here.." she said, offering him a ten dollar bill.

She felt the brush of his fingers against hers and he accepted the money, then a prickle of sensation. Nikita felt her body go numb, then darkness took her.

******

Michael awoke from a nightmare. He heard Nikita call his name. The bond that connected them, that warm hum that was always present deep inside of Michael, faded abruptly. The sound of her voice in his head went silent. There was only stillness. And it was in that moment that Michael knew. Jonah had taken her. Somehow, someway, he had gotten to Nikita.

Flinging aside the covers, Michael rolled from the bed. He dressed quickly, tucking his gun at the small of his back. Gave no thought to calling Madeline and letting her know what had happened. He had nothing concrete to tell her. It was just a feeling. The only evidence was the fact that Nikita was no longer in the suite. She could have been down stairs gambling, or taking a walk. But Michael knew that was not the case. She was with Jonah. Nikita was in darkness.

Moving to the door, Michael flung it open. He was so focused inward that he didn't even register the presence of the man on the the other side of the door until it was too late. Hands grabbed him as a cloth was pressed over his face. Chloroform. Desperation gave Michael the strength to free one arm and slam the heel of his hand into a crooked nose, shattering the cartiledge. He heard a howl of pain then felt a heavy weight pressing down on him. A pin prick in his neck and the darkness absorbed him. There was nothing but the void.

Stepping over to the limp body, Brad smiled down at Michael. "Let's go home," he said softly, gesturing for one of the muscle men to carry Michael. The one without the broken nose. Brad let his fingers ruffle Michael's cinnamon curls, then he turned on his heel and led the way out.

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

Madeline was in her office when the phone rang. "Yes?" she said, then waited.

"Hello, Madeline," drawled a soft voice. "Long time no see."

"Brad," she countered, not revealing by her tone the anger she was feeling.

He could feel it though, and chuckled. "Check mate," Brad replied. He was enjoying himself immensely.

Anxiety rippled through Madeline. "Check mate?" she echoed, but she could guess that this had to do with Michael. LYNX hadn't given up on wanting him. Brad in particular was as tenacious as a pitbull. When he remained silent, Madeline whispered, "You have Michael..."

"And I'm keeping him this time," Brad confirmed.

"We'll see about that," Madeline warned him. "What about Nikita?" she prompted. It made sense now why Michael hadn't answered her calls for the past twelve hours. In fact, Madeline had a team on standby, ready to go in. It would mean risking another breach, but she had been willing to take that chance. She didn't want to lose either operative, especially not Michael.

Brad sighed. "What about Nikita?" he countered, giving nothing away. He could play Madeline's mind games with the best of them. Brad was the master of mind control. Everyone's mind, but Michael's. But he intended to remedy that fact. Very soon.

Madeline took a deep breath, using it to maintain her calm serenity. She would not let Brad push her buttons. Not him of all people. Not when the best had tried and failed. "Why did you take Nikita?" Madeline prompted. "To keep Michael in line?"

"I don't have Nikita," Brad replied, then he laughed. "She was gone before I retrieved Michael.

"Gone where?" Madeline snapped, in spite of her good intentions. Bad enough to lose Michael to LYNX, but to lose Nikita and not know where was unnacceptable.

Brad was quiet for a moment, wondering if he should clue Madeline in. Then he decided he would, simply because it would help distract her attention away from Michael. As least temporarily. "My guess it that the killer has her," Brad stated.

Madeline caught her breath then released it slowly. Thought to pretend ignorance, but knew it was a waste of time. Of course Brad would know about Jonah. He would have been watching Michael in order to trap him and Brad was able to lock into Michael's thoughts. Would have felt and seen what Michael had experienced.

"Do you know where she is?" Madeline asked. She needed all the help she could get.

"No," Brad replied, honestly.

"Does Michael know?" Madeline persisted.

Brad sighed. "Michael is still....sleeping," he confessed. "I don't know what he knows. Yet."

Madeline swallowed back the acrid bile of fury. "If he does know, we'll him to save Nikita."

"I have no interest in Nikita, Madeline," Brad stated, his tone now cold. "I have what I want. It's been nice chatting with you. We'll do lunch sometime." With that final taunt, Brad broke the connection.

"Damn.." Madeline whispered. She replaced the phone in it's cradle then punched on button on the panel inset into her desk. "I need to see you," she said, betraying a note of urgency in her tone.

Operations voice responded. "Is it about Michael and Nikita?"

Madeline sighed. "Yes. We have....a problem."

"I'm on my way," Operations stated.

"Don't disappoint me, Michael," Madeline whispered, as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. But the darkness offered no comfort.

*****

Michael studied his surroundings. A windowless room, very sparse. The only furniture being a bed that was attached to the floor and bookcase like shelfing built in to the wall that held an assortment of clothing. Jeans, t-shirts, two sweaters, socks and briefs. Also two pairs of sweat pants and two white tank tops. Michael was wearing a pair of jeans, a tank top and sneakers with velcro closures. No laces. No laces in the sweat pants either. Michael felt as if her were on suicide watch. He didn't know where he was, but he knew who had taken him. LYNX.

Specifically, Brad Kinley. The man had yet to put in an appearance. Since his watch had been taken from him and there were no windows, Michael couldn't even make a guess as to how much time had passed. Seconds, minutes and hours were insignificant to him anyway. How long was a moot point. Distance was more Michael's concern. He had no idea if he was still in Las Vegas or not. Didn't know how far away he had been taken from Nikita. She was all he could think about.

Jonah had Nikita. That fact screamed in Michael's head. He had tried to tap into her but was greeted by darkness. Michael's instincts told him that Nikita was unconscious. He refused to even consider the fact that she might be dead. He would have felt that. Would have been dead and empty inside. But Michael still felt hope. Knew that Jonah wouldn't kill her. Not yet. Not until he and Michael could meet...face to face.

Tapping into Jonah had been Michael's next attempt. Nothing there either. He believed that the other man was shielding his thoughts from Michael. Not wanting him to see him yet. Biding his time.

Michael wondered if Jonah knew that he had been taken. Wondered if that would change things. Knew that it could. He had to get out.

"Focus.." Michael whispered to himself as he sat down on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. He made yet another attempt to reach Nikita. Felt something this time. A tingling in his senses. Reached out with all he had in him yet the sense of Nikita faded away. Michael pulled back yet felt something grab him, almost physically, like a hand on his wrist. So he remained, wondering...hoping...that it might be Jonah. But all he saw was darkness. Then he felt it. A brush of a hand against his cheek. Cold skin. Michael touched his face and felt wetness. Shivered as he stared down at his fingertips. They were stained with blood. Heard the echo of laughter in his head and had to swallow a cry of pain and fear.

"Michael?"

Turning towards the door, Michael curled his fingers into a fist, hiding the blood. Forgetting that it stained his face. He blinked at Brad Kinley who stood there, smiling at him.

"Why?" Michael challenged.

Brad knew what he was asking. "You belong here, with us, Michael," he replied.

"I belong in Section," Michael whispered.

"No!" Brad hissed, then he entered the room. Saw the blood on Michael's face and caught his breath. Closed his eyes for a moment to see if he could feel the aura of the presence that would have touched Michael. Felt nothing. But this room was videotaped, so Brad would watch it later. He wondered if Michael understood what was happening to him. Doubted it. His powers were unique. "I'll help you to adjust," Brad said gently, forcing his smile back in to place.

Michael said nothing. He closed his eyes for a minute then he exploded off the bed. His fingers closed about Brad's throat, squeezing with the intent to crush the life out of the other man. But in that moment, when he was so close, Michael felt a prick of pain in his thigh, then his shoulder. Tranq darts. He had to make a choice. He would pass out soon if he didn't pull them out. But to remove them meant releasing Brad and the man would run. The decision was taken out of Michael's hands. Even as his fingers flexed, darkness claimed him.

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

Michael felt the restraints on his wrists, didn't need to open his eyes. The darkness was rather comforting, yet cold. He shivered as the cold brushed over his exposed skin. Then stiffened as he recognized it for what it was. A knife blade. Bit his lip against a whimper of pain and fear as the razor-sharp edged sliced across his chest. Then a scream erupted, but not from his throat. Nikita was screaming. Screaming his name. Michael was neither dreaming, nor truly awake, he was linked with Nikita. This was a vision, yet her couldn't see her. Only feel her. She was wrapped in darkness but not alone. Jonah was with her. The screams faded and then there was Jonah's voice whispering.

Body jerking, Michael severed the link. He couldn't reach Nikita to comfort her. Couldn't tap in to her location. Jonah wouldn't allow it. Not yet. And he was afraid that Nikita might feel his fear and the backlash of her own pain. So Michael forced himself to full consciousness and made to sit up. Found that he couldn't. He was lying on a bed, in restraints. Should have expected it. After all, he had tried to kill Brad. Still would, given another chance and no doubt the other man had read that intent in his mind.

"How do you feel?" ask a quiet voice.

Michael didn't answer. He turned his head on the pillow to see a woman standing beside the bed. She was somewhere around forty, he guessed. Dark hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing a beige, linen suit with a jade green blouse. Attractive. The enemy. The woman smiled. Brad had warned her about Michael, but hadn't bothered to mention how beautiful he was. A nice surprise.

"I'm Lesley," she announced, then waited. Michael did not respond. Brad had warned her about this too. "Can I get you some water?" Lesley queried, knowing that he had to be thirsty. One of the side effects of the drug he had been given. She was still amazed by the fact that Michael was responsive after only six hours. He had taken two hits. Should have been out for a day. Michael would prove to be a fascinating subject, of that Lesley was certain. She was rather glad that he had tried to kill Brad. It was for that reason the she had been assigned to him. Brad was now afraid.

"Yes," Michael replied, in answer to Lesley's question. He was thirsty and didn't want to run the risk of dehydration. He needed to be clearheaded and cognizant, for Nikita's sake. As Lesley held a straw to his lips and Michael drew in mouthfuls of cool water, he studied her. Needed to find away around her defenses. Needed to be free, to go to Nikita. Decided his best bet would be the truth.

"I hope we can come to some understanding soon, Michael," Lesley stated, as she set aside the water glass then reached out to smooth a lock of cinnamon hair off his forehead. With the touch game a myriad of sensations. Lesley was a touch empath and she knew Michael was as well. But even as images started to form she felt his shields slam down, blocking her out. Michael was as powerful as Brad had said. The prospect of breaching his defenses excited Lesley. She pulled back and smiled, pretending as if nothing had happened. They would both pretend.

"I'm sure you don't want to remain in restraints forever," she drawled.

Michael had formulated his profile. He would go with the truth. "I can't stay here," announced.

Lesley was amused. "This is your home now, Michael," she replied, dark eyes glinting. "You'll have to adjust."

"You can't force me to work with you," Michael stated simply, and his eyes were blank. "But...I might be willing to come to an agreement."

"An agreement..." Lesley echoed, and she was intrigued. She sensed that Michael was being honest with her and so she was willing to at least listen to him. "What is it you want, Michael?" Lesley queried.

Michael chose his words carefully. "I want to save Nikita." It was that simple.

Lesley was surprised. "Who is Nikita?" she countered, wondering what it was that Brad had left out of Michael's profile. There had been no mention of anyone named Nikita. But, before Michael could respond, Brad's voice came over the intercom.

"Lesley, I want to see you in my office."

"Coming," she replied, knowing that he had been monitoring them all along. Lesley reached out to pat Michael's arm, fingertips brushing over the padded restraints on his wrists. "I'll be back soon," she promised, then turned and glided out of the room.

Michael didn't watch her go. He didn't care about Lesley or Brad. Knew that Brad would now tell Lesley about Nikita in the hope that they could use her to force him to cooperate. Yet Michael would be the one to manipulate them. He had no choice. Nikita's life was at stake. His life.

Darkness suddenly descended over Michael, pressing him down like a dozen pairs of hands. Cold hands. He fought against it for a moment, then gave in. The darkness might lead him to Nikita. Images formed in the darkness. Faces of women he didn't know. Victims of Jonah's, Michael knew. Eyes open yet dead, bodies naked and covered in blood. He could hear their screams, feel their pain.

Michael tried to break contact and had nearly succeeded when she appeared. Nikita in the guise of an angel. Pale hair framing her beautiful face and she seemed to be floating before him. Dressed in diaphanous white robes that shimmered like starlight. She had wings, Michael noted, and even as he reached out for her she plummeted to the ground. *NO* Michael shouted in his mind, running to Nikita.

She lay on her side, one wing at an odd angle. Broken, Michael's mind registered. He reached out to touch her sweet face and felt something warm and wet. Drew back his hand and gasped at the sight of blood. Gazed back down at Nikita to see that she was covered in it. Her eyes stared up at him now and a smile curved her lips. But Michael knew she didn't see him. Nikita was dead.

"NO!" The scream was torn from Michael's throat.

Lesley stood beside Brad's desk, watching the video screen. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and a frown furrowed her brow. They were watching Michael, who was obviously trapped in a nightmare. Brad was able to tap into it, just on the edges of it. Enough to tell her what Michael was feeling.

"He loves her," Lesley stated. "He's in love with Nikita."

Brad nodded. "Very much so. And it's a forbidden love as far as Section One is concerned. So Michael keeps it hidden. Or so he believes."

"We can use Nikita to manipulate Michael," Lesley stated, matter of factly.

"No," Brad replied. "Section One knows that Nikita is Michael's one, true, weakness. They're right. I don't want her here."

Lesley considered Brad's words then nodded. LYNX could offer Michael much more than Section would allow, in regards to having a *normal* life. But bringing Nikita into the equation would be dangerous. Michael would put her before everyone, and everything, else.

"So....what do we do?" Lesley queried.

Brad sighed, rising from his chair to pace. "We wait for Michael to bargain with us," he replied. "If we can get him to agree to stay with us, then we have him. Michael will not break his word."

"He escaped you before," Lesley reminded Brad.

"No...he was taken before," Brad shot back. It still irritated him that Section had managed to grab Michael back from him so easily. But not this time. "Michael is a prize worth keeping."

Lesley couldn't have agreed more. "Do you want me to talk to him now?" she asked, rather hopefully. Michael fascinated her on many levels.

Brad shook his head. "No...not yet. I want to see where his dreams take him. If they leave him unbalanced then the odds tip in our favor." As he spoke Brad's eyes were on the vidscreen. Locked on the image of Michael who lay on the bed, fighting the restraints, and screaming Nikita's name. Over and over and over again.

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

The vision had been a bad one, sending Michael into unconsciousness only once a med tech had entered and sedated him. But the darkness he fell into was not empty. It was filled with dreams, dark and cold. Michael awoke trembling, skin sheened in sweat. Opened his eyes when he felt a hand touch his face.

Brad smiled at Michael. The other man was still in restraints, so he didn't fear him at the moment. He felt it was time to shake Michael up a bit more, since it was obvious that Michael was off balance. He was no longer in control. That's what Brad had been waiting for. The chance to break down Michael's shields, his defenses. To shatter the distrust and rebuild harmony. He wanted to mold Michael into the image of the perfect, LYNX, operative.

"How do you feel?" Brad asked, as he stroked warm fingers over Michael's cheek. He knew his touch would further unnerve the other man.

But Brad hadn't counted on Michael's inner reserve. When it came to Nikita, Michael was invincible. He had to be. He was the only one who could save her. He had kept her alive for the past five years in Section, in spite of her attitude and the stunts she had pulled. Operations did have a sense of humor, but it didn't extend very far, and Nikita pushed his buttons every day. From day one, Michael had shielded Nikita from Operations, buffering the other man's rage. For Nikita, Michael had lied to his superior. Something he had never done for anyone else. Not even himself. But now Michael wondered if he could save Nikita from Hell. The one place he had tried so hard to keep her from. Had been successful too, until Jacob.

"Can I get you anything?" Brad prompted, fingers now smoothing damp, cinnamon, curls. He felt Michael shudder and sensation washed over him for a moment. As quick and fleeting as a heartbeat. Fear, hate and confusion. Brad was pleased.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, and the effort to speak her name softly, to not scream it as he had before, was trying. Michael trembled harder but forced out more words past an aching throat. Needed water but would not ask for it. Not because he was stubborn, but because he didn't think of it. His needs were not important. Only Nikita mattered. "A bargain..." Michael hissed.

Brad was intrigued. "A bargain," he repeated, plastering a fake smile on his face. "You want to bargain with me, Michael?" he prompted. "About Nikita?"

Michael closed his eyes for a minute, swallowing a sigh. It was obvious that Brad wanted to play his stupid games, and that he expected Michael to go along with them. But there was no time for this. Yet he had no choice, Michael reminded himself, tugging lightly at the restraints that bound his wrists. He had no control right now. Had to get it back. "I want to save..Nikita," Michael stated, his tone quiet but the words more sure. "Give me what I want, and I will give you what you want."

"And what is it that you think I want, Michael?" Brad countered, his eyes gleaming. He was still touching Michael but neither felt, nor saw, anything. The other man's shields were firmly in place.

"You want me," Michael replied, without artifice. "I'll be what you want if you let me to go to Nikita." It was a surprisingly easy offer to make.

Brad stepped away from the bed, one finger tapping his chin as he studied Michael. "And...if I allow this," he drawled. "What then? Are you willing to abide by my rules?"

Michael nodded. "Yes."

"Are you so sure?" Brad challenged, his smile fading. "I don't want Nikita here, Michael. You do know that."

"I know," Michael acknowledged. He even knew why. Brad didn't want Nikita to be his weakness. If he was able to rescue her from Jacob, Michael knew he would have to send Nikita back to Section. Alone. He would do that and she would survive. Somehow he would find a way to watch over her.

Brad paced around the bed. "What do you need to save Nikita from?" he queried, even though he knew. Had seen the images of death and pain that Michael had experienced. Had tapped into the intel that Section had scrounged. But he wanted to hear it from Michael.

Michael considered his answer before replying. "Death," he whispered. "I want to save her from...death."

"We can't cheat death, Michael," Brad drawled, and his smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "It happens to us all."

"It's not her time!" Michael replied. He wanted to scream the words at Brad but refrained. The effort to do so exhausted him. Warm darkness beckoned to Michael, but he held it back. Just as he held a tight rein over the emotions that threatened to spill out of him. All the fear and pain that he was feeling. His fear and Nikita's. Their pain.

Brad heaved a sigh of contemplation. "If I let you go to her...to Nikita. If I let you save her....then you will come back to me?" he prompted.

Michael wanted to lie but didn't. "Yes," he whispered.

"Where is Nikita?" Brad questioned. He was testing Michael.

"With Jacob," Michael replied, without hesitation. Time was running out. Tick tock...tick tock. He closed his eyes against a sudden wave of pain and pressed his lips together to hold back a scream. Nikita's pain. Nikita's fear. Jacob was calling him.

Brad pressed one hand to Michael's forehead and felt a tingle of sensation. Michael was suppressing most of it, but he was weakening. "Jacob is The Savior," Brad whispered.

Michael wasn't surprised that he knew. Could guess how he knew. "Yes," he replied, then he swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. Jacob was calling his name.

::::::Michael::::::::

He wanted to reach out to Nikita, but didn't dare. "I can save her," Michael whispered, and tears slid down his face. He didn't care.

"Promise me you will be mine," Brad stated, his eyes suddenly cold and glittering as he cupped Michael's face in both hands. "Swear to me and I'll let you go to Nikita."

"I...swear..." Michael whispered, and it was an easy promise to make. Nothing mattered, not himself or Section. Nothing but Nikita.

Brad was pleased. He stepped away from Michael and his smile was back, and genuine. "Good," he replied. "I'm having a tracker implanted, Michael. It won't take long. Then I'll free you and you can shower, dress and be on your way. I'll provide you with a vehicle."

Michael closed his eyes, stemming a rush of tears. Relief flooded through him, easing the pain for a moment. "Thank you," he breathed.

"Don't thank me yet," Brad replied. "One thing. Understand that if you fail to save Nikita....you still belong to me, Michael."

"I know," Michael whispered, eyes fluttering open again. "We have to hurry," he beseeched.

Brad moved to an intercom on the wall. "Send in Dr. Jensen," he ordered. Then he left the room. It was time to find Lesley and celebrate.

Michael inhaled a shuddering breath, then released it. "Nikita..." he whispered. "I'm coming for you."

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

Michael was free. As free as he needed, anyway. One hand lifted and he brushed a fingertip over the skin at the nape of his neck, beneath his hair. Couldn't feel the tracker that had been implanted just a few hours ago, but could feel the slid ridge of the plasti-skin used to seal the incisioin. And there was a slight soreness, easily dismissed.

::::::::Nikita::::::::: his mind whispered, as Michael stared out the window of the plane. The Cessna Brad had promised him. Three more hours and he would be back in Las Vegas. Back where Nikita was waiting for him. Waiting to be rescued. Michael set the controls on auto pilot and let his mind reach out to her. Wanted to feel her warmth, to let her know that he was coming for her. But Michael felt only cold darkness. Nikita was unconscious. Not dead, Michael reminded himself. He would have felt her die. Knew, anyway, that Jacob wouldn't make it that simple. He was waiting for Michael as well. Watching and waiting.

His name whispered in his ear and Michael started violently. He shivered as he felt something brush his face. Jacob's touch, cold and evil. Michael raised his hand and expected to see blood on his fingertips, but they were dry and clean. The touch came again, this time ruffling his hair. A gentle caress. Michael felt fear ripple through him and he wanted to slam his shields into place, but he would only be shutting himself out. Had finally come to realize that it was the power of his own mind that touched him. Jacob fed into that power and Michael allowed it. Out of fear and desperation. Fear for Nikita. He whispered her name and the touch vanished. Nikita was the light.

*********

When Michael landed at the private airstrip in Vegas, a four wheel drive explorer was waiting for him. Brad was keeping his word. For that Michael was grateful. Nothing mattered to him now except for reaching Nikita. She was close. Michael could feel her. Feel the beating of her heart. It was strong but a bit sluggish and Michael sensed that she had been drugged.

The voice whispered again and Michael listened. Then he responded, in his head. ::::::I'm here, Jacob::::::::

Michael said nothing. An image flashed in his mind. Nikita, handcuffed to a metal bed. She was wearing jeans and a dirty tank top. Her hair was matted and her pale skin was sheened with sweat. Her eyes were closed. Michael closed his own eyes and expanded the image. Saw the room. A basement. Dank and dingy. Water markings on the cement walls. Trembling at the effort involved, Michael expanded the image even further, travelling up the stairs and entering a kitchen. The image almost dissolved as Micahel realized where he was. Not inside the kitchen of an average home, but that of a mansion. Spacious and ornate. But there was no time to ponder his thoughts. Michael moved through the kitchen and out the door to study the mansion and the landmarks. Memorized the name on the mailbox, and the number. Kahler....6606.

Shattering the image, Michael snapped back to himself. With a hand that shook he turned the key in the ignition of the ranger then stamped on the gas pedal. In a squeal of tires he headed south east. To Nikita.

*******

Brad sat in his office, behind his desk, watching the blip on his computer screen. Michael. The phone rang and he scooped it up casually, not in any rush. "Yes," Brad drawled.

"Your plane is ready, Mr. Kinley," said the disembodied voice on the other end of the line.

"Thank you," Brad replied, then he hung up. Reaching out he turned off his computer, then he stood up and shrugged into his jacket. He was heading for Vegas. Wanted to see, first hand, Michael's confrontation with the Savior. The outcome was a given, of course.

The killer and Nikita would both die and Michael would return to LYNX. But seeing Michael face the mind of a serial killer would give Brad insight to the scope of the other man's true powers.

"Life is good," Brad reminded himself. as he headed out the door.

*********

"Any word on Michael or Nikita?" Operations asked, eyes locking on Madeline's face as she swivelled in her chair to face him.

"Nothing," she said quietly, her expression masked. But her eyes were dark with weariness and concern. "Birkhoff has been scanning the Vegas PD. There's been no sign of The Savior. No more victims."

Operations sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't slept in over 48 hours. "So your theory that The Savior took Nikita was wrong?" he stated flatly.

Madeline shook her head, unwilling to accept that. "Not necessarily," she countered. "I think that he's gone underground. Michael is special to him."

"I want something done!" Operations spat, his patience worn thin and threadbare.

"We're doing all we can," Madeline replied, her tone soft and soothing. "Trust Michael."

Operations glared at her. "Michael is with LYNX!" he hissed. "You've had even less luck trying to locate him than you have Nikita." His words were an enveiled accusation.

Madeline managed a smile before turning back to her computer screen. "Don't worry," she whispered, more to herself than to Operations. "Michael will find his way home." And Madeline was certain that he would bring Nikita with him.

******

Michael knocked on the front door. The mansion was huge, almost too big. But well kept. It seemed to sparkle and shine in the hot sun.

In concession to the heat, Micahel wore only jeans, boots and a red tank top. Blood red. The color seemed appropriate some how.

The door swung open, silently, to reveal a man perhaps a few years older than Michael. He was the same height but had a slighter build, light brown hair, hazel eyes and wore gold-rimmed glasses. He looked scholarly and pleasant, dressed in a white oxford shirt and pleated gray pants.

He smiled, stepping back from the door then whispered, "Welcome home, Michael."