Michael didn't respond to Jonah's welcome. Not verbally anyway. But he did enter the house and allowed the other man to close the door behind him. Heard the lock click into place. Waited for Jonah to step around him so they were facing each other again.

"Where is she?" Michael asked, softly.

"Nikita is fine," Jonah replied, a smile curving his lips. "She's no good for you, Michael. But I will save you."

"I don't want to be saved," Michael whispered. "I am a sinner." What he wanted was to see Nikita. To hold her in his arms. To assure himself that she was alive and well. But what Michael wanted even more was to wrap his fingers around Jonah's neck and choke the life out of him. But he couldn't do that. Couldn't risk killing Jonah until he had seen Nikita.

Jonah took Michael's arm and pulled him forward, into the massive livingroom. It was richly furnished with wood, glass and brass and the furniture was a deep maroon color. "Would you like a drink?" Jonah offered as he pulled across the maroon and gray carpet. "A glass of wine perhaps?"

Michael shook his head. "No." He tugged his arm from Jonah's grasp and moved to stand before the fireplace. "Why have you brought me here?" Michael queried. "This is not my home."

"It is now," Jonah replied, moving to the side bar to pour red wine into crystal glasses. The smile on his face seemed frozen. "This is where you belong, Michael. This is a safe place."

"Why?" Michael prompted, growing tired of this verbal sparring. "Why do you think that I belong here.?"

Jonah's smile thawed as he crossed the room and offered Michael a glass. He sighed when it was ignored. "Drink," he beseeched. "If you want to see Nikita."

Michael took the glass but still did not drink. He locked eyes with Jonah and let tendrils of his mind drift out. Wanting to know what Jonah was thinking and feeling. Wondering if the wine was drugged. Had watched Jonah pour from the same bottle and take a sip now. But that didn't mean it was safe. The drug could be in the glass. Slipped all the way into Jonah's mind, but carefully, wanting to remain undetected. But he saw nothing but darkness. Cold and empty. Jonah was not ready for Michael to see the truth.

"Don't you trust me, Michael," Jonah questioned, a hurt look coming into his eyes.

"No," Michael replied, deciding that there was no sense in lying. "What do you want from me?"

Jonah gestured to the glass in Michael's hand. "Drink then we'll talk. Otherwise I can't let you see Nikita."

Michael took a sip and held it on his tongue. No bitter taste, but it could still be drugged. Didn't matter now. He had to see Nikita so he swallowed it. Felt Jonah's eyes burning into him and drained the glass. "Take me to her," he stated, setting the glass on a nearby end table.

"Why do you love her?" Jonah countered, his eyes turning cold now. He had set his own glass aside, virtually untouched. "She's not worthy of your love, Michael. She is just like the others. A whore. The whore of Babylon."

"I'm the one who's not worthy," Michael countered, his own eyes glittering. "I'm the one who's the whore. I use sex to get what I want. I sleep with other women. I lie to Nikita and betray her."

Michael was surprised at himself at making the confession, yet understood why he had done so. To defend Nikita and to rattle Jonah. By the look on the other man's face, Michael had succeeded only in infuriating Jonah.

Jonah stepped forward and, without warning, cracked his palm against Michael's cheek. "Blasphemy!" he shouted. "She has told you these lies!"

Michael abruptly changed tactics. Best to keep Jonah off center. "You said that this was a safe place," he whispered. "Why? Safe from what?"

"From the sinners who would drag you down into their light," Jonah replied. He recovered from his outburst and was calm again. Obscenely so. "It is a false light that envelopes them, Michael. It does not shine from within."

"How do you know?" Michael challenged.

Jonah reached out again, only this time his palm pressed gently against Michael's cheek, then his fingertips brushed the angry, red, imprint he had left on the smooth flesh. "I can see it," he whispered. "So can you."

Michael stepped back, away from Jonah's touch. It was icy cold and brought to mind quick-silver flashes of images. Dead women and a river of blood. There was pain as well. Agony. The women had been tortured unbearably for days before finally being allowed to die.

"Who gave you the right to play God?" Michael hissed. He felt sickened by what he had seen. By what he felt. Death was no stranger to him, but now it's cold, grisly hand had touched him. Intimately. Now he was stained by the blood and tainted by the stench. Michael knew that it would never leave him. But he would not allow it to touch Nikita. He had to protect her from Jonah.

"God is not what he seems," Jonah drawled, allowing Michael to draw away from him, stepping back himself to give him more space. Knew that he could afford to be patient. Michael was here now and would never leave him.

"What is God to you?" Michael questioned, his mind suddenly going blank. He felt himself sway and grabbed the back of a chair. Drugged...Michael realized. The wine had been drugged. But he had been trained to fight against chemicals in his system. He would fight them now, for Nikita's sake.

Jonah stared into Michael's green eyes, seeing a luminescent glow that he perceived as the other man's spirit. "God is a watcher," Jonah replied. "I am a doer. I do what must be done."

Michael took a deep breath to steady his pulse. Felt it begin to race and exerted his force of will. Mind over matter. "I drank the wine," he said softly. "Take me to Nikita."

"First you must understand something, Michael," Jonah replied, moving closer to him again. "Nikita must die."

"I won't let you kill her!" Michael hissed.

Jonah laughed. A sound that was soft and cold. It lingered in the air like a fine mist. "You will be the one to kill her, Michael," he whispered. "You will be the one."

Michael opened his mouth to protest but in that moment he was swallowed by the darkness.

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

Michael awoke to the sensation of softness, warm and floating. Serene darkness.

whispered a voice in his head. Not his own mind voice, however. "Jonah...." Michael hissed, opening his eyes and sitting up to gaze about him.

He was lying on a huge bed, a canopied bed draped with guazy white lace and red satin. The comforter, sheets and blanket were all white satin. The walls were some shade of white and there was no furniture in the room but the bed. The place was lit entirely by candles placed in sconces on the walls or in candleabras that rested on the floor. Their soft, golden, light cast an eerie glow upon the pale walls. Macabre shadows flickered and danced.

Michael slid off the bed and only then noticed his own attire. While he was unconscious, Jonah had stripped Michael and dressed him in white pants and a soft, white, sweater. Dangling around his neck, from a gold chain, was a ruby teardrop pendant. At a glance, Michael knew it was worth a fortune. He made to take it off but a shadow detached itself from the wall and moved forward.

Jonah, dressed in shades of gray, came to stand before Michael. He reached out for the pendant, freeing it from the other man's grasp.

"This is the symbol of life, Michael. Pure and sanctified. Your blood," Jonah whispered.

"My blood is tainted," Michael replied, his eyes locking on Jonah's as he attempted to assess the other man's level of sanity. It was eerie to Michael how sane Jonah appeared. He was educated, rich and the epitome of evil.

"You understand the darkness, Michael," Jonah whispered. "But you're not a part of it. It can't touch you. I know. I understand it better than anyone. I understand you. You are the chosen one."

Michael decided to test Jonah's limits. "Chosen by God?" he countered.

Jonah smiled, knowing what Michael was doing and accepting his need to do so. He expected to be tested. Would have been disappointed if Michael had accepted him blindly. The Chosen one was wise, as it was written. "God is a watcher, as I've told you before," Jonah answered. "We all know that to be true."

"I don't believe that," Michael replied. "I don't believe in God."

He said that to shake Jonah up more than because it was true. Michael had not, actively, thought about the role that god played in his life in years. His first years in Section, to be exact.

"You will believe," Jonah said softly, and one hand lifted to tuck a cinnamon curl behind Michael's ear. "God called me into his service when I was a child. I've had years to come to know him. To understand him and his ways. That is why he chose me...to do what must be done. And that is why I chose you."

Michael let a smile curve his lips. "I won't believe anything you tell me," he whispered. "You're unworthy of my trust." The moment the words were out, Michael knew he had scored a direct hit.

Jonah reacted as if Michael had struck him. "I have done nothing to betray you!" he hissed, his eyes glowing with rage. "You will believe in me!"

"You lied to me already," Michael countered, the softness of his tone cutting through Jonah's anger. "You said if I drank the wine I could see Nikita. You lied."

"You may see her," Jonah announced, turning to glide towards the door. He pulled a key from his pocket, but paused to face Michael again. "I didn't lie," Jonah whispered. "I just needed to prepare you."

Michael felt a chill ripple through him. "Prepare me for what?" he beseeched. As he asked the question, Michael let the tendrils of his mind seep outward. Once again seeking the truth that was trapped in Jonah's mind. But as before, he found only darkness. Cold and black.

Jonah held out one hand, a gesture for Michael to join him. He waited until the other man was beside him before he continued. "Nikita must be purified of her sins before she dies, Michael," Jonah drawled, his voice husky. "She must be clean so that you are sanctified before you take your place before God. She is your blood sacrifice, Michael."

"I told you...I will not kill Nikita!" Michael hissed, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to snap Jonah's neck but could not risk it. Not yet. Not until he could see Nikita.

"She is already dead," Jonah replied. "Her soul has died, Michael. Her body will soon follow. You cannot stop it."

Michael felt his heart skip a beat, then thud against his chest as if it would pound free of his flesh. "What have you done to her?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Jonah placed the key in the lock and turned it. The click seemed to echo in the silence that hung between him and Michael. Opening the door, Jonah gestured for the other man to precede him. He was surprised when Michael remained rooted to the spot just inside the room. "I'll take you to Nikita," he said softly. "Come, Michael." Once again Jonah held out one hand.

"I want to know what you have done to her," Michael stated, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. Suppressed fear.

"I have given her redemption," Jonah replied, walking back over to Michael and taking him by the hand. As a parent would a child.

The moment Jonah touched him, images flashed in Michael's head. He was Jonah kneeling beside Nikita and holding a syringe. Saw, as well as felt, the needle pierce her skin. Felt the icy-cold liquid hit her veins then turn to fire. Then there was cool darkness as Nikita lost consciousness. In that moment Michael tried to free his hand, but Jonah tightened his grip. Michael closed his eyes for he knew the truth. "Poison.." he whispered.

Jonah smiled and nodded, knowing that Michael didn't need to open his eyes to see him. "She has six days to live, Michael. Six days before the sacrifice must be made. Six days before you take your place beside me. Before God."

"In six days....you die," Michael whispered. Then he opened his eyes and allowed Jonah to lead him off. To Nikita.

*********

She was still lying on the cot, wrists handcuffed to the bars of the headboard. Pale hair matted with sweat and grime, skin pale yet streaked with dirt. Michael could smell her body odor and the scent of urine. His rage threatened to blind him, but he held himself in check. He knew that Jonah had poisoned Nikita and that it was slow acting. Six days and counting. But he needed to learn what the poison was. And if there was an antidote, before he could kill the other man. Michael turned to face Jonah, his eyes burning.

"Free her," he demanded, his tone soft but laced with steel.

"I don't think I should," Jonah replied, his eyes flickering to Nikita then back to Michael's face.

"I'll do whatever you want," Michael promised, and his words were sincere. For the moment, anyway. He wanted Nikita free and in his arms. He would pay any price for that. "Free her and let me take her upstairs. She needs a shower and food. Grant me this and I will do your bidding."

Jonah stroked his chin as he considered Michael's proposition. He knew that the other man would not leave him so he saw no reason not to agree. "As you wish," Jonah replied, fishing the key to the cuffs out of his pocket. He held it out to Michael.

It took all of Michael's will power not to snatch the key from Jonah's hand. He took it gently then went to the bed. It took only a moment to free Nikita, then she was in his arms. Michael pressed his face into her pale hair and whispered, "I'm sorry."

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

Michael took care of Nikita. Jonah allowed him to use a bedroom down the hall. He was not to bring Nikita into *his* room. The white room. Where everything was pure. She was tainted. But Jonah did give Michael some clothes for Nikita to wear and he dressed her in the simple sweater and jeans once he had cleaned her up.

A shower took care of the dirt and grime and cleansed the raw skin of bruises and chafed wrists. Michael undressed along with Nikita and held her under the warm spray as he washed away the stench of her confinement. She was still unconscious but started coming around as he dressed her. In fact, by the time Michael had put his own pants back on, he saw that Nikita was sitting up on the bed. He abandoned his sweater and crossed the room, hairbrush in hand. "How do you feel?" Michael asked softly, one hand reaching out to touch her face.

Nikita felt the pad of Michael's thumb gently brush over her cheek and knew there was bruising by the soreness. But it was bearable.

"I'm...not sure," she replied her eyes flickering from his face, to his naked chest which was still damp with water, then about the room. Lavish and richly decorated in autumn colors. Forest greens, ambers, browns. "Where are we?" Nikita asked, her eyes settling once again on Michael's chest. The ruby pendant glittered against his pale skin.

"Jonah's place," Michael whispered, moving to sit behind Nikita on the bed. He then began brushing her damp hair, leaving his own to form wild curls about his face.

"Jonah..." Nikita hissed. She flashed back on memories of a gentle looking man with a fist of iron and a cold smile. His eyes were what scared her the most. So empty. No life, no compassion. Nothing.

Nikita sighed, closing her eyes and letting the gentle strokes of the brush through her hair calm her. Michael's touch chased away the fear. It lingered, but only on the edges of her consciousness.

"What happens now?" she queried, knowing that Michael had come to rescue her, but also knowing that it wouldn't be as simple as killing Jonah and walking away. If it were, Michael would have done that by now.

Michael didn't answer for a moment. He wasn't sure what to tell Nikita. Or how to say it. She was dying and he was helpless. Two things Michael didn't deal with well. "There's something you should know," he began, starting with what was easier.

Nikita nodded. "Go on." She could hear a fine tremor in Michael's tone and it chilled her.

"I've been implanted with a tracker," Michael stated, his hand never ceasing the smooth strokes through Nikita's pale hair. It calmed him as much as it did her.

"Section," Nikita guessed.

Michael sighed. "LYNX," he countered, and his hand went still as he felt Nikita turn to face him. Michael held the intensity of her blue gaze. "They grabbed me after Jonah took you. I was distracted. I didn't feel them."

Nikita knew why. "You were tapped into me."

"And to Jonah," Michael allowed.

"Why a tracker?" Nikita questioned. "I'm surprised Kinley let you go."

Michael blinked then slid off the bed. He was silent as he retrieved his sweater and pulled it over his head. His skin was chilled, but he knew it ran deeper than that. "I made a deal," Michael whispered, turning back to Nikita who was standing as well. He was proud of her strength for he knew that she was feeling weak. Jonah had promised to bring her some food. Michael reminded himself to check on that. "Kinley allowed me to find you if I would promise to return to LYNX. To join them...willingly."

Nikita nodded, sinking back down on the bed as her knees buckled. She knew Michael well. "And you made that promise," she whispered. "For me."

"Yes," Michael replied. "For you." Nikita had very little time left. From this moment on, he would give her nothing but the truth. All of it. "Jonah injected you with a slow poison, Nikita. I don't know what it is, or if there is an antidote. I can't kill him until I know for sure."

"He won't tell you," Nikita countered, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. She was going to die. "How much time do I have?"

Nikita needed to know. She would spend every last second with Michael. Section, LYNX and Jonah be dammed. Once she had told Michael that she would die, willingly, for a day of happiness with him. Nikita had meant it then, and her feelings hadn't changed.

Michael saw fear shimmer in Nikita's eyes and he went to her, one hand cupping the back of her head as he pressed his lips to her cheek.

"We'll find away, Nikita," Michael whispered.

Nikita wanted to believe. She had seen Michael perform miracles and she was desperate for one now. "What are our options?" she prompted, forcing herself not to give in to the fear, but allowing herself to expect Michael's comfort. She took his hand and brought it to her lips, brushing a kiss to his calloused palm. Such a strong hand, and one that had protected her often. He would protect her now, Nikita firmly believed that.

"We could run," Michael stated, but Brad would track us. "I don't know if LYNX could...or would...help us with the poison. He doesn't want us together, Nikita."

"We could return to Section," Nikita countered, thinking ahead. "They could find the antidote. I'm sure of it. How much time do I have?" She only now realized that Michael hadn't answered her before.

He blinked back tears yet didn't turn away from her. "Less than six days," Michael whispered. He blamed himself and let her see the truth in his eyes. Only the truth from now on. That was all he had to offer Nikita. He closed his eyes.

Nikita found herself wanting to comfort Michael. He had known too much pain and sorrow in his life. Had lost too many. No wonder he was afraid to love. "Whatever it takes, Michael," Nikita said firmly, cupping one hand beneath his chin so that he would look at her. "We'll find a way."

"I want to believe that," Michael whispered.

"Then believe it," Nikita entreatied and a soft smile curved her lips. She did believe it. Had to.

Michael could feel her fear when she touched him. It vibrated over his skin and seeped into his soul. Nikita wanted to live.

"We'll find a way," he echoed, then he bent his head and claimed a kiss.

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

Nikita tasted hunger in Michael's kiss, yet she tasted fear as well. He was terrified of losing her and she knew it. The depth of that fear, however, shook her. She tangled her fingers in Michael's hair and kissed him back. Wanted him to feel her love and her warmth. Wanting him to know that she had faith in him.

Michael felt Nikita's love like a flow of warm liquid in his veins. She wanted him to feel safe. To feel loved. She was dying and she was trying to protect him. Michael wanted to cry, but he didn't.

Instead he broke the kiss and stepped back, but one hand lifted to cup her face. "We'll have to run," he said softly, knowing that it was the only way.

"What about Brad and LYNX?" Nikita countered, playing devil's advocate. She leaned her cheek into Michael's palm for a moment, but didn't protest when he pulled away. Nikita understood that Michael needed to concentrate, and to do that he had to separate his emotions.

"I won't let them stop us," Michael said softly, not willing to go into details at the moment. He wasn't sure what he would do, but he knew what the outcome was liable to be. More death and blood. But he was willing to kill, or to die...for Nikita.

Nikita began pacing. It served to work out the kinks and strengthen her balance. She had been dormant too long. If they were going to be on the run, she needed to be stronger. Nikita knew she needed food for fuel and said as much. "Is there any food around this place?" she queried.

As if on cue the door opened and Jonah entered bearing a tray. He smiled at Michael but didn't look at Nikita as he placed the tray on one dresser top. "Here's the dinner I promised to bring," he said to Michael.

"Thank you," Michael replied, hands clasped in front of him. He studied the contents of the tray. A glass of milk and two chicken sandwiches along with an apple and several cookies. It would serve Nikita well if she could force it all down. Michael shot her a look and saw that she was thinking along the same lines.

"Looks good," Nikita commented, then winked slightly to let Michael know that she would do her best to eat as much as possible. But they still needed to talk right now, so she turned to Jonah, waiting for him to leave them again.

Jonah saw the exchange between Michael and Nikita, could feel it as well, just as Michael could. It made him angry. He moved back to the door. "Come, Michael," Jonah stated, imperiously. "Our dinner is waiting down stairs."

Michael remained frozen to the spot. "I'm not hungry," he said softly, his eyes issuing a challenge.

"You will do as I say!" Jonah hissed, taking a step towards Michael but almost skidding to a halt as he realized he was losing control. It wasn't supposed to be like this between them. Nikita's fault. But she would be dead soon enough. Dead by Michael's hand. Then he and Michael would be united in the face of God. As it was meant to be. The darkness merging with the light.

"I'm staying with Nikita," Michael replied, seeing Jonah struggling to maintain his calm, but the other man trembled with the effort.

Michael then closed his eyes and let tendrils of his mind snake out, entering the cold darkness of Jonah's consciousness. Using his own force of will, Michael attemtped to bend Jonah to compliance. It was more a test than anything, but he felt it was time to try. To see where he stood. The other man did not possess Michael's powers, but the emptiness of his soul, his lack of compassion was a power in itself.

Jonah gasped as he felt Michael's thoughts touch his. He heard the other man speaking to him, only using his emotions rather than words. Jonah wondered if Michael realized how much he was revealing to him. The pain, the fear, the love he had for the woman. For the whore, Nikita. She was the sin and the sinner. She had to be sacrificed.

Jonah opened his mind to Michael and let him see the future. The river of blood shrouded by the black rain. And standing in the middle of it all...Michael. Dressed in white and glowing, a blood-stained knife in his hand. Nikita lying lifeless at his feet. Michael doubled over as the image struck him with the force of a blow.

"No!" he gasped, falling to his knees. He pressed his hands to the floor and half expected to feel the warm wetness of blood. He could feel the black rain on his face and running in rivulets down his face like cold tears. Lifted one hand to his face and felt slippery wetness. Michael drew his hand away and stared at it. Blood. Nikita was horrified and she fell to the floor beside Michael.

"What have you done to him?" she screamed at Jonah, and received a slap across the face that tumbled her to the floor.

"Silence whore!" Jonah roared at Nikita, one foot lifting to kick her viciously in the ribs, but an unseen force stopped him. Held his leg still. Jonah looked at Michael and saw that the young man's eyes glowed like emerald flames. It was the force of Michael's will that held Jonah captive.

"Bastard!" Michael snarled and he used his mind to hurl Jonah across the room. But the effort cause blinding pain and left him weak. Michael slumped to the floor, darkness hovering over him. But the darkness terrified him and he fought against it. He couldn't leave Nikita alone with Jonah.

Nikita pulled Michael up so that his head rested in her lap. His skin was sheened with sweat, his color pale and his eyes glassy. His breathing was ragged as well and she was afraid for him. "Michael..." Nikita whispered, her fingers combing through his damp curls.

Michael forced himself to reach for Nikita's hand. Her touch would give him strength. The moment their fingers touched, Michael felt Nikita's light. The power of her soul and it flowed through him like liquid fire. It warmed him and his breathing eased, as did the pain.

"I'm...all right," Michael whispered, forcing his muscles to contract so that he could sit up.

"You scared the hell out of me!" Nikita hissed. She wasn't angry at Michael, she was just reacting to her fear. Glancing over at the far wall, she saw that Jonah was still hunched on the floor, as limp as a rag doll. He had hit the wall hard. "How did you do that?" Nikita asked, as she watched Michael crawl over to the other man.

"I don't know how," Michael replied, feeling for a pulse and finding one that was a bit thready but otherwise strong. Jonah would live. Michael was of two minds as to whether or not he should, but knew that he couldn't kill Jonah. Couldn't take the risk. Not until Nikita was out of danger. Yet, at the same time, they couldn't stay here. "Come on," Michael stated, rising to his feet and reaching for Nikita's hand.

She pulled back. "Where are we going?" Nikita demanded, eyes still locked on Jonah. "Is he dead?"

Michael shook his head, then released Nikita's hand long enough to grab a pillow case and stuff it with the food off the tray. Nikita could eat on the way. He handed her the glass of milk. "Drink it as we gather the rest of the supplies we'll need." That said, Michael headed out the door.

"What supplies?" Nikita countered, but she did take a swallow of the milk, a long pull to ease the gurgling in her empty stomach. It tasted like ambrosia. Then she ran after Michael, reaching for his arm. "You said that Jonah is still alive."

"Yes," Michael replied, then he turned to face Nikita, locking eyes with. "We have to make a run for it back to Section." As he spoke, Michael tried the phone on the hall table. It was dead. He wasn't surprised. "We need matches and flashlights and jackets," Michael stated, heading for the stairs now.

Nikita ran to cut him off. "Why not kill Jonah?" she challenged, her eyes flashing.

Michael sighed. "Because...if Section can't find a cure for the poison, then Jonah is our only hope. The moment you're back and safe, I'll come back for him."

"What if it's too late?" Nikita asked, a cold chill rippling through her.

"It won't be," Michael promised. And if he was wrong then it wouldn't matter in the end. Nikita would not die alone.

***********

Michael headed for the kitchen. He didn't know how long it would take to contact civilization, but guessed they would be on the move for a time, so he wanted to gather supplies. That included food, flashlights, ropes, water, warm clothing and weapons. He got lucky in all departments, including the weapon. Jonah kept a loaded gun in one of the kitchen drawers. Michael tucked it into the small of his back then put Nikita to work stuffing food into the knapsack he discovered in the hall closet. He then added rope and two knives, flashlights and matches. From the hall closet Michael also retrieved two jackets, lightweight and filled with down. It would get cold at night if they were trapped in the desert.

"Ready?" he asked Nikita, returning to the kitchen.

She nodded. "Ready." Nikita was munching on cookies and felt much better having gotten some food down her. She pulled on the flannel shirt Michael had found and reached for the back pack.

"I'll take that," Michael countered, jerking it out of Nikita's reach. "Come on." He led the way through the side door that led to the garage. There were two vehicles parked there, a jeep and a car. Neither would run for the engines were missing vital parts. Jonah was no fool. Leading Nikita outside, Michael checked the vehicle he had driven up in and it was in the same condition. "We have to walk," he said calmly, but his guts twisted at the thought. Most slow acting poisons were affected by motion. The more Nikita moved the faster it would work through her system. Time was ticking down fast.

"Which way?" Nikita asked, plopping a baseball cap on her head. She had found that herself and was glad to have it. Along with the sunglasses that Michael had retrieved from his vehicle. He had a pair as well. That was Michael, always thinking in advance.

"South," Michael replied, knowing which way was closest to civilization, but it was still a long walk and he wanted to get started. Jonah would wake up soon.

They turned in unison and headed down the driveway. Once they reached the road, they turned left. Nikita fell into stride next to Michael and studied his profile. He looked calm, but she could feel his tension. "What you did to Jonah was incredible," Nikita commented. "But it took alot out of you."

Michael nodded. "I'm not really sure how it works." He didn't really want to talk about it, but sensed that Nikita needed the distraction. Needed to think about something other than the six days she had left to live and the vague hope that they could reach Section in time to save her.

"Can you feel Jonah now?" Nikita prompted.

"No," Michael replied, even as he made the attempt. There was only darkness and he hoped that it was a sign that Jonah was still unconscious.

Nikita was silent for a time, wondering how to phrase her next question. "If we make it to Section and they're able to find the antidote for the poison....will you return to LYNX, Michael?"

He turned to study Nikita, drinking in the sight of her pale face. She was worn out and exhausted, but still beautiful. "I have to return," he said bluntly. "I gave my word."

"You've broken your word before," Nikita pointed out, wincing as she did so. It was painful to remember the lies Michael had told. Not just to her either. Even though she understood them, that didn't make them hurt any less.

"I'll do what it takes to save you, Nikita," Michael whispered. He wondered if she could understand the difference and hoped so, for he wouldn't be able to explain to her.

Nikita thought she did understand so she simply smiled at Michael. They walked in silence for a time and then Nikita stopped. She heard a sound. A vehicle was approaching. "There's our ride!" she exclaimed, excitedly.

Michael was not so enthused. He was reaching out with his mind and he knew who approached them. Brad. Michael grabbed Nikita's arm and pulled her off to the side of the rode. He gazed about but their was no where to run, no place to hide.

"Nikita," Michael said quietly.

"Brad?" she guessed, accurately reading the expression on Michael's face, but Nikita didn't need him to reply for in that moment a black truck appeared.

"Need a lift?" Brad queried, leaning across the seat. He had rolled down the passenger window.

Michael knew he couldn't trust the other man, yet they had no choice. "We need to get Nikita back to Section," he stated.

Brad put the truck in park and turned off the engine. Then he slipped out the drivers side and moved around the front of the vehicle to face Michael and Nikita. "I don't think so," he drawled. "That's not part of my plans, Michael."

"You said that I could save her!" Michael hissed. His eyes flashed jade sparks at Brad.

"You tried and failed," Brad countered, a cold smile curving his lips as his eyes flickered over Nikita. "You understand, don't you?" he whispered.

Nikita glared at Brad. "You're a bastard," she announced, feeling surprisingly calm.

Michael's hand slipped behind his back and his fingers closed over his gun. He kept his mind carefully blank as he trained the weapon on Brad. "We're taking your vehicle," Michael stated quietly.

"I don't think so," Brad countered, with eerie calm. And in that moment he struck out at Michael with the power of his mind.

"MICHAEL!" Nikita screamed his name as she heard him cry out then fall to his knees. It was obvious that he was in agony.

Michael didn't hear Nikita's cry. He heard nothing but the sound of his pain. It echoed in his head till he was certain he would go deaf and agony rippled through his nerve endings till Michael was certain he was on fire. Then, when he was certain he could no longer stand it, it stopped. The pain was gone and Michael slumped over, bracing himself on hands and knees.

Brad hadn't moved. The gun was lying on the ground next to Michael and he made no move towards it.

He sent the command silently, in his mind. Knew that the other man would have no choice but to obey. What Michael didn't know was that when the tracker had been implanted, it had been placed at the base of his brain stem, with a dual purpose in mind. Brad had the ability to use his mind to short out Michael's neuro-synapses. Only for a second, but it was enough to control him, as he had just demonstrated.

"The...gun," Michael whispered, echoing the voice in his head. He forced his eyes opened and reached for the weapon. Picked it up in his left hand and thought nothing of it.

Brad commanded. He had nothing personal against the blond. This was simply a test, to see how strong his control of Michael was in this manner. Not that Brad didn't want Nikita out of the way.

Michael rose to his feet, pulling away from Nikita's hands, and turned to face her. "Shoot Nikita," he repeated, out loud.

"Michael..." Nikita was stunned and backed away from him. She could see that his eyes were glassy and could guess that Brad was controlling him in some way. A fact that she confirmed by the smirk of satisfaction on the other man's face. "Don't...Michael. You don't want to shoot me," Nikita pleaded.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, then his arm began to shake. He could here the scream of Brad's voice in his mind and had to fight against the urge to obey. His finger curled around the trigger, but Michael wouldn't let it close. He fought against his own body with every fiber of his being and felt sweat drip down his face. But the tide of the battle began to change.

Brad could see it, so could Nikita. Michael was turning the gun on himself. The muzzle was pressed to Michael's temple and Brad felt rage rush through him.

"NO!" he screamed.

Nikita wanted to scream as well but she was paralyzed. Then her body jerked at the sound of a gunshot and her eyes closed.

"Michael..." she breathed, and fell to her knees. But then she heard a second shot. It echoed in her mind and her eyes fluttered open.

Michael was still standing, Brad was not. As Nikita rose to her feet she saw the second body.

"Jonah," Michael announced, reaching for Nikita's arm and guiding her over to the truck. He placed her in the passenger seat then handed over the back pack and the gun.

"You killed Jonah?" Nikita queried, feeling confused. She was still reeling at the fact that Michael was alive.

He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. "Yes," Michael replied, in answer to Nikita's question, then he made a three point turn to head them back the other way before he explained. "Jonah shot Brad, I shot Jonah."

Nikita shook her head. "Where did Jonah come from?" She didn't remember hearing another vehicle approach, but then Nikita reminded herself that she had been wrapped up in the moment. First fearing that she would die at Michael's hand, then certain that he had killed himself. She took the clip out of the gun and stuffed both pieces in the duffle bag.

"I felt him coming," Michael said softly. "I was hoping he would kill Brad. I sent him the idea."

"I'm glad it worked," Nikita stated, then she studied Michael's profile. "Were you going to kill yourself, Michael?" she asked, bluntly.

Michael glanced over at Nikita and blinked. "If I had to," he whispered, then he looked straight ahead and fell silent. All that mattered now was getting Nikita back to Section.

*****

Madeline looked up as Operations entered her office. She knew she wouldn't like what she was about to hear, by the expression on his face. Grim, but determined. "Yes?" Madeline prompted.

Operations stood before her desk and scowled. "You've heard nothing about Michael and Nikita," he stated. "Time's up. I've sent out the Erasure team."

"Of course," Madeline commented, knowing that it was proper procedure. Section's anonymity had to be protected at all cost. Leaving Michael and Nikita out there, alive, was a breach of security. "You made the right decision," she stated.

"I made the only decision!" Operations hissed, then he turned and strode out of the room. Right or not, he didn't have to like it.

Madeline waited for the doors to close then she buried her face in her hands. She would miss Michael and Nikita. But it was for the best, or so she tried to convince herself. It was out of her hands.

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

Nikita studied Michael as he drove. They were in the heart of Las Vegas now, driving past the casinos. Earlier he had said that they would stop for food and rest. Nikita was ready for both. She felt exhausted mentally and physically. She knew Michael had to be feeling the same way but, of course, he didn't show it. But he was emoting something. Anxiety. Michael was afraid. Once again, Nikita was certain it wasn't for himself, but for her. He was afraid he couldn't save her. That she would die. Nikita shared that fear. There had been times when she had wanted to die. Once she had even held a gun to her own head. But this moment in time, she wanted to live.

"We'll stay here," Michael commented, pulling into an underground garage.

"Nice," Nikita drawled, noting that it was a rather luxurious hotel. "Are you sure we can afford it?"

Michael pulled a wad of bills out of back pocket. One of the things he had found while looting Jonah's house. They were all one hundred dollar bills. "We can afford it," he said softly.

Nikita whistled. "I guess so," she allowed. "Maybe we can afford a change of clothing too?" she questioned, hopefully. She wanted to wear something soft and pretty. Wanted to feel human again.

"We can do that," Michael replied, after parking the truck and pocketing the ticket stub. "There's a store in the hotel. A nice resturant too...and a club. Would you like to go dancing?"

"Aren't we going to contact Section and head for home?" Nikita countered, a frown marring her face. She was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong.

Michael took Nikita's hand and led her towards the elevator. "We'll talk about it in the room," he said softly, and the look in his eye brooked no argument.

So Nikita gave him none. She was too tired to argue anyway.

*******

After a long, hot, bubble bath, Nikita dressed in a black satin skirt and a sapphire velvet top. She had pulled her hair up and secured it in a loose topknot, letting pale strands fall about her throat. On her feet were black velvet pumps. She turned in a circle in front of Michael. "How do I look?" she queried, a smile lighting her face.

"Beautiful," Michael whispered, and he thought his heart would break at the sight of her. She was more beautiful than any angel had a right to be. His Nikita.

"I could say the same about you," Nikita drawled, falling still to gaze at Michael. "You look exquisite," she breathed, and it was the simple truth. Michael was dressed in black pants and blazer, along with a black, banded collared shirt, but had given in to Nikita's request and was also wearing a teal colored vest. It brought out the green in his eyes and Nikita wanted to drown in the sight of him.

Michael glided over to Nikita, took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. "Thank you," he said softly, his eyes glowing. "Would you like to go to dinner? I've made reservations."

Nikita curtsied and her eyes twinkled. "I would love to," she whispered, then let Michael lead her over to the door and out of the room.

They dined upon the best cuisine. Prime rib and pasta, with cheese cake for dessert. Nikita had picked the menu, leaving Michael to order the wine. After the meal they headed for the lounge and Nikita was delighted when Michael immediately led her to the dance floor and wrapped his arms around her. The music was soft and bluesy, a touch sad yet sexy. It suited her mood. "Michael.." Nikita whispered against his neck.

"Yes?" he replied, one hand glided up and down Nikita's back in a sensual caress. He knew that beneath the velvet shirt, her skin would be as soft.

"Why haven't you contacted Section?" NIkita was blunt, for she had been swallowing the question for the past four six hours.

Michael stifled a sigh. He didn't want to talk about it now. Not ever really, but he couldn't afford that luxury and they both knew it. "We can't go back, Nikita," he said softly.

Nikita stopped moving, not caring that they were in the middle of the dance floor. "What do you mean?" she hissed, as the implication became all too clear. If they didn't return to Section, she would die. "You said we had to go back, Michael. That it was my only hope."

"It is," Michael confirmed, and he used his greater strength to nudge Nikita back into motion. He pressed his mouth to her ear and said, "It's just not going to be easy."

"Meaning what?" Nikita prompted as she tried not to shiver. Michael's breath in her ear was making her weak at the knees.

Michael felt Nikita's reaction as was tempted to continue to distract her, but he knew that it wouldn't be fair to her to do that. She deserved to know the truth. "We've been gone too long, Nikita," he whispered. "Section will have sent the Erasure team."

Pulling away from Michael, Nikita took his hand and led him off the dance floor. She didn't stop walking till they were outside the lounge and ensconsed in one of the elevators. As they rode upwards towards the floor their suite was located on, Nikita leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Michael.

"Explain," she demanded. "What the hell is the Erasure team?"

"Just what it sounds like, Nikita," Michael replied, his eyes masked, expression blank. "A team sent by Section to wipe us out."

"We've done nothing wrong, Michael!" Nikita protested, the knots in her stomach twisting more tightly.

Michael blinked then reached for Nikita, pulling her into his embrace. He felt her tremble and would have given anything to be able to wipe away her fears. "I know," he whispered against the softness of her pale hair.

Nikita felt Michael's lips press against her temples and had a sudden sense of deja vu. Not long ago they had made love in an elevator and the memory made her smile. It also gave her the courage to ask. "So what happens now?"

"We still go home," Michael replied, his eyes glowing once again as he saw the determination that glimmered in Nikita's bright gaze. "We just go in the back door...and take no prisoners." Michael paused, considered for a moment, then amended, "Maybe....one." He saw the question written on Nikita's face but didn't answer it. Instead he claimed a kiss.

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

The moment they entered the privacy of their suite, Nikita had a million questions, but was not allowed to ask any of them. Michael silenced her with a kiss. And Nikita let him. Let herself melt againt Michael's strong body as his tongue stroked into her mouth and tasted her. His strong hands glided beneath her velvet shirt and caressed her soft skin. Nikita wanted to make love to him. To forget about the clock that was ticking. Forget about Section. It couldn't be forever, but it could be for this moment in time.

Michael wanted the same thing. For himself, but mostly for Nikita. He couldn't forget the fact that she was dying, couldn't forget that Section would be hunting for them. But Nikita mattered most. She needed to love and be loved. Michael couldn't say the words with his lips, but he could tell her the truth with his body...his touch. This one night could be theirs. To remember.

"Michael..." Nikita breathed against his lips, then his hot mouth was gliding down her throat before nibbling at her ear. Then Michael's hands were pulling at her shirt, lifting it over her head, baring her breasts to his intense gaze before he bent his head and lavished attention to them. Nikita tangled her fingers in Michael's soft hair, using him support when her knees went weak. Then his tongue was gliding over her belly, his fingers unfastening her skirt. It dropped to the floor, pooling around her feet. Nikita remained still as her lacy panties soon followed, then Michael's hands were gripping her ribcage as he lifted her free of the discarded material. Nikita had discarded her pumps the moment they had entered the room, so now she was completely nude and revelled in the sensation of freedom. She wasn't cold, for Michael's touch and the heat of his passionate gaze warmed her.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, as he laid her down on the bed. He moved over her to kiss her, then nibbled his way down her body, stopping to lavish attention to her breasts before making his way lower. His fingers were on her thighs, kneading the lean muscles, then brushing the softness of her sensitive skin.

Nikita held her breath as Michael's fingers brushed over her feminine curls. Then they tangled in the blond strands, tickling her sensitive nether lips. A moment later one finger entered her, sliding in slow and deep and Nikita sighed with pleasure. She closed her eyes and her head rocked as Michael stroked her to orgasm, but even as she was floating down from the bliss, he was there again. This time with his lips and tongue. Tasting her, loving her. Giving her pleasure to erase all the pain. And as she climaxed again, all the pain vanished.

Tears rolled down Nikita's face as she sat up then slid off the bed. She pushed Michael back and studied him, a smile curving her lips. Then she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. "Thank you," Nikita whispered.

"My pleasure," Michael replied.

"Now...mine," Nikita countered, and she reached for him. In the blink of an eye, Michael's jacket was on the floor. The vest and shirt soon followed and Nikita smile grew soft and sensuous as she bent her head and licked his chest, loving the texture of smooth skin over hard muscle. She nipped at his flat nipples then nibbled her way down to his navel. As she teased it her fingers undid Michael's belt and trousers. Before tugging them down, Nikita fell to her knees and removed Michael's shoes and socks, one at a time. Then she tugged down his pants and briefs, tapping his leg so that he would step out of them. Now he was as naked as she was and so beautiful that Nikita felt fresh tears fill her eyes. Blinked them away when they blurred her vision of him. "Beautiful..." she whispered.

Michael closed his eyes. The look on Nikita's face was one of reverence and innocence. A reflection of how she saw him in this moment. Blue eyes shimmering with love. Michael couldn't face that look, but he still felt it. Felt it in his heart, and in his mind. Could hear her whisper...*I love you, Michael* and wondered if she knew he could hear her. ::::::I love you too, Nikita::::::: his mind echoed back.

Nikita stood up then took Michael's hand. She led him over to the bed and pushed him down onto his back. A seductive smile curved her lips as she straddled his muscled thighs. Then her fingers curled over him. He was already hard and pulsing, but she stroked him anyway, loving the feel of velvet heat in her palm.

"Mmmmmmm..." Michael murmmured, when Nikita's lips closed over his engorged tip. She licked and suckled him till he was ready to explode, but he wanted to be inside her wet heat and so he cupped Nikita's head, tugging gently at her hair until she looked at him.

Then Michael rolled them over, so that Nikita was beneath him, her long legs opened wide to let him in and Michael locked eyes with Nikita as he entered her. Slowly...letting her adjust to his thickness.

"Please.." Nikita begged, once Michael was buried all the way inside her. He was hard and filled her almost too full, but she loved that about him. Loved that he could fill her as no other man could. "Michael..." It was a plea to become one with him. Body and soul. To reach ecstasy together.

Michael obeyed her silent request. He began to move within Nikita, his rhythm sure and deep. Felt her legs wrap around his waist as she moved with him, their bodies becoming slick with sweat, the heat intense and combustible. And all too soon Michael felt it wash over him. The fire that was Nikita, white-hot and burning as he exploded into sensation and spiralled into the abyss. But he did not go alone. Nikita went with him. He felt her body and her mind. They were one. But only for this moment in time.

Nikita held tight to Michael as she floated back into her body. He had rolled them back over again so that she was draped over him now, but their bodies were still joined. Nikita felt Michael press a kiss to her damp temple and the tenderness of it brought yet more tears.

"I wish it could be like this always," she whispered.

"Me too," Michael replied. "Sleep," he bid her, one hand stroking her pale hair.

"You won't leave me, Michael..." Nikita begged. She didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not when there was so little time left.

Michael kissed her temple again, then pressed his lips to Nikita's ear. "I won't leave you," he promised, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that called him liar. He would not leave her at this moment. But the time would come. They both knew it.

Nikita knew that Michael meant the promise, and it didn't matter that he wouldn't be able to keep it. She knew how things worked. Time was against them. But she had this moment and would cling to it with both hands. Still wrapped in the blissful warmth of their lovemaking, Nikita let dark velvet slumber claim her.

"Mon coeur," Michael whispered, once he was certain Nikita was asleep. And for the remainder of the night he held her and kept vigil. The dark angel watching over the light.

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

Birkhoff tossed and turned on the futon bed. He was locked in a nightmare where he was entangled in a spiderweb. The silky strands of the gossamer web looked so fragile. He felt certain he could break free. But they were strong, too strong, and wouldn't tear. Birhkoff felt panic wash over him and then he saw a shadow loom over him. Looked up and cried out in terror as a giant black widow spider descended from above. It would eat him alive. "NO!" Birkhoff screamed, hands flailing to ward it off. And in that moment he sensed another presence. Stronger than the dream images. It shook him out of the nightmare and left him flopping on the bed. "Weird..." Birkhoff whispered to himself as he sat up and used the end of his t-shirt to wipe his face.

He was drenched in a cold sweat and his heart thudded in his chest. But he felt himself become calm. Because of the presence. The voice...that whispered in his head yet couldn't be heard. "Michael..." he breathed and rolled to his feet. Birkhoff reached for his glasses and set them on his face, then he moved to the computer terminal in the corner of the room. Sat down and booted up. A moment later he was typing away. There was something he had to do. Something very important. As Birkhoff typed, he strained to hear the whisper.

*****

Michael opened his eyes when he heard the sound of his name. Saw Nikita kneeling by his chair, her eyes shining with worry. Felt her fingers clutching his and only then realized that he was in pain. It rippled through him like a thread of white-fire, making his body tremble. Yet Michael felt cold and raised a hand to touch his face.

Cold sweat glistened on his skin. "Nikita..." he breathed.

She felt relief wash over her when Michael spoke. Yet she was still afraid for his eyes were glassy and he trembled violently. "What happened?" Nikita beseeched, reaching out to smooth a tumbled curl off his forehead. It was damp with his sweat. "Is it Jonah?"

"No," Michael whispered, quick to reassure her.

"But...you were in contact with someone," Nikita stated flatly.

Michael sighed and closed his eyes. He felt a hundred years old in this moment. What he had done he had never attempted before. Hadn't known if he could do it. Still didn't know if he had been successful. Hoped that he had been, or all would be lost. "I was attempting to contact Birkhoff," Michael replied. He would be nothing less than honest with Nikita now. She had so little time.

Nikita was stunned. "Birkhoff..." she echoed, then shook her head. "I don't understand. Why? What can he do?"

"Get us in to Section through the back door," Michael answered. His pulse was slowing down, his breathing becoming more even. The pain was receding like the tide retreating from a beach. "We have to get inside, Nikita," Michael stated, emphatically. "It's your only hope for an antidote for the poison." As he spoke, Michael studied Nikita.

She had five days left and he could see that the poison was already leaving its mark on her. Her eyes were glazed and he knew she was in pain. Not sharp or harsh, just there on the surface. Annoying but tolerable, for now. He knew because he could feel it, with each breath she took. Breaths that would become labored as the days, the hours, passed.

"Why don't we just sneak in the front door?" Nikita suggested, forcing a smile. She wanted to chase away the shadows that danced in Michael's beautiful eyes. "Once Section, or should I say Madeline and Operations, see that we've come back willingly..."

Michael cut her off with the wave of one hand. "It doesn't work that way, Nikita," he replied. "Once the Erasure team has been dispatched, any operative that sees us will shoot to kill. They won't care about asking questions. That's just way it is," Michael explained, before Nikita could ask.

Nikita heaved a sigh. "It's not fair," she whispered, then pressed two fingers to Michael's lips to forestall the comment she knew he would make. "I know...Section isn't about fairness," Nikita quoted, blithely. Then she continued. "Supposing we do get inside...what then? What makes you think Section will listen? You said yourself they'll shoot to kill."

"I have a plan," Michael announced.

"Care to share it?" Nikita demanded, her eyes flashing. When Michael didn't answer she hissed, "You intend to take responsibility, ie..the blame, for whatever happens."

Michael nodded then whispered, "Yes."

Nikita was stunned by his honesty. Then touched by it. "For once, we're in this together, Michael," she argued, her fingertips brushing the sculptured curve of his cheek.

"I know," he conceded, pressing his face into her hand for one moment. Michael wanted to let Nikita be his strength, but could not afford even a moment of weakness. "But it has to be this way, Nikita. Trust me." The words hung between them and Michael knew he was asking too much.

"With my life," Nikita whispered agaisnt his lips as she pressed herself between Michael's legs. Her arms slipped around his waist. Michael kissed her then folded Nikita into his embrace. His mouth nuzzled the soft hairs at her temple and he closed his eyes against the burn of tears and the aching truth. Nikita trusted him with her life, but not her heart. Michael didn't blame her, but it still hurt.

Nikita wished that she could read Michael's mind at that moment. Wondered if he was reading hers. Wanted him to. In her thoughts she could say the things she was afraid to speak aloud. She could tell him that she loved him, that she wanted them to be together no matter what the sacrifice. She could be honest and let him know that she was afraid to trust sometimes, afraid that he would shatter her heart. Yet, at the same time, she was willing to take that chance. She could scream it all in her mind, but couldn't even whisper it out loud. So she simply knelt before Michael, holding him as tightly as he held her. And the seconds ticked by slowly.

"Nikita.." Michael breathed her name like a caress.

"Yes," she replied, pulling back from him. Nikita wanted to see his face.

Michael locked eyes with Nikita. "I need you to do something," he stated, his eyes suddenly shuttered.

Nikita felt a ripple of fear, but faced it head on. "What is it?" she queried, rising to her feet. She watched Michael stand as well, noting that he swayed a bit. He hadn't slept in god knew how long. Nikita knew he wouldn't sleep until she was safe. Michael showed his feelings for her through his actions, not his words.

"I need you to remove the tracker," Michael stated, matter of factly, then he turned and glided off towards the bathroom.

"What?" Nikita whispered, trailing after him. She stood in the doorway, watching as Michael took rubbing alcohol and sterile pads out of the medicine cabinet. "The tracker in your neck?" she prompted.

Michael nodded without looking at Nikita. "Yes. I have a knife."

From his pants pocket, Michael withdrew a switchblade which he snapped open. "It's sharp enough." Feeling the intensity of her gaze upon him, Michael saturated the blade with the alcohol. It would have to do.

Nikita felt her breath catch in her throat. "You want me to cut you open...without any way to numb the area? Are you crazy?" When he simply turned to look at her she shook her head. "I'm neither a surgeon or a butcher. I can't do it, Michael. Don't ask me to."

"You can do it," he countered, his voice whisper-soft. Michael held Nikita's gaze. "I'm asking," he breathed, and held out the knife.

"Of course you are," Nikita drawled. But she stepped forward and took the blade. Knew that Michael wouldn't ask her to do this if he didn't think it was necessary. Bit her lip as he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet seat, facing away from her. One hand lifting his hair off the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Michael," Nikita whispered, then she felt for the tracker, seeing the pale red lines of the other surgery, then the pressed the tip of the blade to his skin and dug in.

***********

Nikita studied the bandage at the nape of Michael's neck. It as already spotted with blood. They had no way to stitch the wound closed so she had used two butterfly bandages then covered them with sterile gauze. "It's bleeding," she announced.

"It will be fine," Michael replied, untangling Nikita's fingers from his hair then rising to his feet to face her. "You did a good job."

He stared at the tracker that lay on a bloody towel in the sink. Michael sighed then reached for it. A moment later he flushed it down the toilet.

"Why couldn't we wait for Section to remove it?" Nikita queried, her eyes locked on Michael's face as he turned back towards her. He was too pale and his eyes were glassy with pain. She knew his level of tolerance was inhuman, but even Michael had his limits. Nikita knew he had passed them long ago. A soft smile curved her lips as an idle thought occurred of who he reminded her of. Mr. Spock of Star Trek. Michael was Vulcanoid in many ways, including the powers of his mind.

Michael closed his eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness, locking his knees against it while hoping Nikita wouldn't notice. Saw that she did when he opened his eyes a moment later and was grateful that she didn't comment on it. "Brad may be dead, but LYNX will still come after me," Michael replied, in answer to Nikita's question.

She nodded. "But...that's not the only reason, is it?" Nikita was beginning to read Michael's body language. Just a little.

"No," he allowed, and almost smiled. Michael was pleased that Nikita was learning to undertand him. To hear the words he could not say. "Section has the capabilities to locate the frequency of the tracker and use it to find us as well."

"Why am I not surprised," Nikita drawled, heaving a weary sigh. Then she did an about face and strode out of the bathroom. Heard Michael following her as she reached for the phone. "Roomservice," Nikita said, then waited.

Michael leaned against the doorjamb and listened as Nikita ordered soup, sandwiches and orange juice. Waited till she had hung up to say. "After you eat, we have to go."

Nikita faced him and shook her head. "After WE eat...you rest, Michael," she stated firmly. And her eyes pinned him with a look that brooked no argument. She knew that they would be figting for their lives once they infiltrated Section. Knew that whatever Michael's plan was, it would be dangerous. He needed to be rested and to reserve his strength. Nikita glided over to him and took Michael's hand. "Lay down while we wait," she entreatied.

"No," Michael countered, firmly, even though his body screamed at him to comply. He knew that once he closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness, he would be lost.

"Yes," Nikita countered, equally firm. She pulled at Michael's hand and felt his knees buckle. It frightened her even as she reacted by slinging his arm over her shoulders while her arm went about his waist. Nikita guided Michael to the bed, feeling him sag against her. Also feeling him try to fight his weakness, to regain control and force of will over his own body. But matter won over mind.

Michael sank down on the bed and felt like weeping. He was losing his tenuous hold on his control. But he couldn't afford to be weak. Not now. Nikita's life hung in the balance. "I'm...sorry..." he whispered.

Nikita pushed Michael back against the pillows then drew a blanket over him. "There nothing to be sorry for," she countered, one hand reaching out to touch his face. "You're exhausted, Michael. And in pain. You just need some food and rest. We have time for that."

"No..we don't!" Michael hissed, his tone sharp. But even that weakened him and tears burned in his eyes. "Nikita...we don't know if Jonah told the truth about the poison. About...how much time you have."

"For that matter...we don't know if he poisoned me at all," Nikita shot back. The thought had been tickling the back of her mind for a while now. She had only a vague memory of Jonah and a needle. Wasn't even sure it was real. Nikita discounted the fact that she felt tired and that pain rippled on the surface of her awareness. She had been through hell and was exhausted herself. It didn't mean she was dying.

Michael wanted to give Nikita that one hope, but couldn't. "I saw it in his mind," he replied, softly. "And I feel it in you, Nikita. I feel the poison."

Nikita caught her breath, not realizing till now that what Michael suffered from was not only his own weakness, but her own as well. It wasn't fair to him. "I'm sorry," she breathed, leaning forward to kiss him gently. "I wish I could protect you from this."

"I'm glad you can't," Michael whispered, one fingertip tracing the curve of Nikita's cheek. His hand fell when she pulled away.

"Be right back," Nikita stated, heading for the bathroom. She returned a moment later with a glass of water and three, white, tablets. "Aspirin," she said, holding them out to Michael. "They'll help the pain a little, and maybe help against infection." She knew that their little surgical procedure had not been particular sanitary.

Michael considered arguing but thought better of it. Nikita was stronger than he was in this moment, and he saw by the determined light in her blue eyes, that she would force the pills down his throat if neccessary. So Michael accepted them and tossed them down. "Thank you," he said, relaxing back against the pillows once more.

There was a knock on the door and a voice announced *room service*.

"Coming!" Nikita shouted, then she held out her hand. "I need money."

"Of course," Michael replied, fishing in his pants pocket. He handed over a twenty then watched Nikita head for the door. She was back shortly with a small push cart laden with trays of food. He wasn't hungry, but Michael wanted Nikita to eat. She would need what strength she could garner.

"Smells good," Nikita stated as she uncovered the trays. First thing she did was grab the huge glass of orange juice and brought it over to the bed. "Drink it," she ordered, Michael. "Every drop."

Michael shook his head. "Later."

Nikita stood her ground. "Now. Don't make me pour it down your throat, Michael. You know I'll do it." A smirk curved Nikita's lips as she amended. "Well...you know I'll at least try."

"I know," Michael allowed, accepting the juice and taking a swallow. It was all he could manage right now.

"Soup first," Nikita announced, heading back to the cart. She picked up a bowl and a spoon then returned to the bed. Sat down beside Michael and scooped up the rich broth. "You don't mind sharing silverware..do you?" she questioned, before blowing on the steaming liquid to cool it.

Michael sighed. "Nikita...I'm not hungry," he reminded her.

Nikita grinned. "I don't care. You need to eat. You will eat." She moved the spoon towards Michael's mouth, holding the bowl under it in case it dripped. "Now....are we going to do this the hard way...or the easy way?"

"Is there a third choice?" Michael queried. "A...compromise?"

"No...I don't think there is, Michael," Nikita whispered, and sadness shadowed her eyes. "Not for us." It was simple truth that she was finally beginning to accept.

Michael conceded to the truth. He locked eyes with Nikita, then opened his mouth.

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

Michael felt Nikita's thoughts. At first he believed it was just a dream, yet he knew he was awake. Had awoken before first light and lain still in the bed so as not to disturb Nikita. She was lying next to him, tucked against his back, one arm over his waist. It felt right.

She was thinking about him. About *them*. Michael felt the ache of unshed tears in his throat at the pure simplicity of those thoughts. She wanted so little, yet it was too much to ask. Nikita didn't want to change Michael. She didn't even expect him to love her. He had told her once that he didn't know what love was anymore. Nikita had believed him then. After he had betrayed her. But she didn't believe that now. Yet she felt that he was afraid to love. And she was right. Michael knew that his love was poison. Poison! With an effort of will, Michael closed down his mind, shutting out Nikita's thoughts. She had been, and would always be, his weakness. But she was dying, and Michael had let himself forget. Only for a moment. Even though he could feel it. Feel Nikita slipping away. They had to go.

Slipping out of bed, Michael dressed quickly and made some preparations. What he was going to do would not be easy. But it had to be done. He would, willingly, suffer the consequences of his actions. So long as Nikita would live. Went to her now and touched her face. "Nikita."

"Mmmm..." Nikita murmured in her sleep. Then she opened her eyes and blinked away sleep. Saw Michael over her and sat up. "What time is it." The room was in shadows. Gray, not black.

"Time to go," Michael replied, tossing Nikita her pants. "We have to hurry."

Sliding off the bed, Nikita stepped into jeans and sneakers. "Back to Section?"

Michael nodded. "Yes. There's a plane waiting for us."

"How do you feel?" Nikita queried, moving to stand before Michael. He was pale and his eyes were still glazed. Nikita was worried about him.

"I'm...okay," Michael answered, his hesitation born of not wanting to lie to her. To himself. He hadn't said *fine* because he wasn't.

Nikita smiled. She understood what had just happened. "Me too," she replied, answering Michael's question before he could ask. She had lied to him in the past, but no reason to now. Nikita knew he could feel her pain. She was hurting a bit and felt tired. But she trusted Michael to bring her back. As much as she hated Section, Nikita knew they could save her. "It's going to be allright, Michael," she whispered, tucking a cinnamon curl behind his ear.

He nodded. "It has to be," Michael breathed. He couldn't lose her.

No matter what happened, Nikita had to survive. Michael's only fear was that they would run out of time. Only four days left. One day would be lost flying back to Section and getting inside. Leaving three days to identify the toxin in Nikita's system and make the cure. Three days. And during that time, Michael knew she would become weak and ill. That hurt him. He wished he could protect from that.

"Let's go," he said, having packed up the rest of their belongings.

Without a word, Nikita followed Michael out of the suite. Closing the door on the past. It was time to face the present once again. And even though she feared it, Nikita walked beside Michael without hesitation. It was where she belonged. By his side.

*****

Birkhoff shook his head. He was hearing voices again. Michael's voice. It whispered in his head. Even as he tried to pretend it wasn't there, he found himself sitting at his terminal, fingers flying over the keyboard. Saw what he was doing but, somehow, it didn't really register. Waited, as instructed, then smiled to himself as he wiped away all traces of what he had just done. Poof...it was gone. Went back to what he had been doing and forgot all about the voices.

Michael leaned against the wall, letting Nikita support him for a moment. They had made it in to Section. To an area that few knew about. Only himself, Madeline and Operations. Up until a moment ago, Michael had made Nikita wear a blindfold so that she would not be able to locate the entrance. But the rest didn't matter. This area was like a maze. Nikita would soon be lost.

"Follow me," Michael said as he pushed away from the wall and began to glide down the hallway. No time for weakness now. Nikita was in pain and growing weak herself. Michael had to be strong for her. "Follow me," Michael said softly, reaching for Nikita's hand.

"Where are we?" Nikita asked, as she let Michael lead her down a shadowy corridor. She knew it was Section, but she had never been here. Didn't want to be here now.

"Wait," Michael cautioned, pushing Nikita into an alcove. He had opened his mind to her and knew she was on the verge of collapse. Could feel the weakness wash over her like a wave and made her sit before she fell.

Nikita closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as pain lanced through her. "I'm okay," she whispered, a long moment later. Opened her eyes to see Michael kneeling beside her.

He reached out to touch her face, then his hand fell to his side. Michael almost managed a smile. "Stay here, Nikita," he told her. "I'm going to get help."

"I'll come with you," she countered, making to rise. But found that she couldn't. With a soft moan, Nikita slumped to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Michael breathed, as he eased Nikita into a more comfortable position. He was sorry for all the pain he had caused her, past and present. Yet was grateful for this moment. Unconscious, Nikita would not feel the pain. Yet, it boded ill for her condition. The poison was circulating fast. Michael judged that they had less than three days. Maybe two. Maybe less. He knew what he had to do.

******

Operations was not pleased to be summoned to Madeline's office. It wasn't like her to interrupt him, yet she had been insistent. He keyed open the door and strode into the room, mouth open, preparing to release a tirade. But he fell silent as he sensed a presence.

As the door whooshed closed and he heard the lock click on, Operations whirled. "Michael!" he hissed, staring at the young man who was holding a gun.

Michael nodded. "Please sit down," he requested, politely, gesturing to a chair with his gun.

"What's going on?" Operations demanded, even as he obeyed. He knew how deadly Michael was. "How did you get in Section?"

"I have my ways," Michael replied, wearily. His way had been to make mental contact with Birkhoff and the effort had exhausted him. "I brought Nikita," Michael announced. He had already explained to Madeline what had happened and what his intentions were. Had made a deal with her, of sorts. Convincing Operations to go along with it was now up to her. If she was unsuccessful, she would die. Michael would see to it. They both knew he could. And would. Nikita's life was at stake.

Madeline smiled at Operations. She was seated behind her desk and quite calm. She wanted to help Michael, and Nikita. So she began to speak. Telling Operations what needed to be done. That Nikita needed treatment. She countered all arguments, when Operations challenged Michael that he could have simply *come in*. Reminding her superior that he had sent the Erasure team after Michael. "I've offered Michael help for Nikita. We've come to an agreement, one that I think will satisfy you."

Operations glared at Michael, then locked eyes with Madeline. He was not a happy man at the moment. He didn't like being put in this position. "What agreement?" he barked.

"We help Nikita and Michael agrees to reprogramming," Madeline stated.

"That would happen regardless!" Operations shot back, turning to face Michael once again. "You've crossed the line this time," he announced to the other man.

Michael nodded. "I know. I'd do it again," he confessed. Then he closed his eyes and fought off a wave of pain and dizziness. "Nikita..." Michael whispered, and he looked at Madeline, his eyes shimmering with a silent plea.

Madeline understood. "I think we should accept his offer," she said, smiling at Operations.

"Fine!" he hissed, rising to his feet. Operations strode over to the door and was relieved when the lock clicked open. "Do what you have to do...keep me informed." With one, final, icy glare at Michael, Operations strode out of the room.

"Thank you," Michael whispered, and it was only then that he gave in to the darkness and crumpled to the floor.

Madeline pushed a button on the control panel on her desk. "Medlab, I need techs in my office and a team sent to gray level, section B. ASAP. Dr. Bengel is needed for a Toxicology work up." She paused for a reply then broke the connection. That done, Madeline moved to Michael's side. She relieved him of the gun then smoothed a cinnamon curl off his face. "I hope Nikita is worth the sacrifice," Madeline whispered. Then she returned to her desk to wait.

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

Michael sat beside Nikita's bed. She had been unconscious for the past seven days. For six of them she had been in a coma, the poison working quickly, suffocating the life out of her. But Doctor Bengel had worked hard and fast and had found the anti toxin. Nikita would live. But it had been too close.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, as he reached for Nikita's hand. There was an IV strapped to the back of the other one, dripping life-giving fluid into Nikita's veins. She would be out for a few more days, according to Bengel, and a full recovery would take about a week. But time no longer mattered.

Rising from his chair, Michael stretched cramped muscles then began to pace the confines of the room. He had taken a risk in coming back and soon would have to pay the consequences of his actions. But he would do it again, in a heartbeat. Nikita was worth any risk. She was the only good thing in Michael's life. She was the *gift* he had never expected. He could not lose her. Would not. And yet he knew that their future would be difficult. Things would change. Operations would see to it. Michael's retraining would be long and difficult. He could guess that he would be expected to prove himself, so he would be watched like a rat in a glass cage. The freedom he had earned, hard won freedom to do his own thing within reason, would become a memory.

"I hope I'm strong enough, Nikita," Michael whispered, as he stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. He was exhausted, having slept in short dozes only since Nikita had collapsed. A cot had been placed in the room, at Madeline's suggestion, but Michael had ignored it.

He was exhausted, yet too wound up to sleep. Too much was uncertain. Michael knew that the changes to come would come mostly from deep inside him. The way he had lived his life in Section. The things he had done to survive. The way he had tried to compartmentalize his emotions from his actions. All that had faded away. In the face of his powers. In the face of his love for Nikita. But he could not openly love her. And if he could not, then he would hurt her. Nikita was an emotional being. She thrived on feelings. Good and bad. Happy or sad. She needed to touch and to feel to live. Michael wanted that for her. But it would be difficult.

"Nikita..." Michael breathed, as he returned to her side. There wasn't much time and what he was about to attempt could ultimately fail. But he had to try. So he took her hand and closed his eyes.

Gently, Michael threaded his way into Nikita's subconscious mind. He felt love and warmth greet him. On this level she was aware of him. Of his presence. And she welcomed him. Michael felt rocked by Nikita's trust. She could not show it to him openly, but here, in this place, there were no barriers between them.

Moving through Nikita's mind, Michael wrapped his thoughts around her emotions. He had to take control of them. To make her forget them. Forget the love between them. Forget their lovemaking. It would be easier for Nikita this way, and harder for Michael. For he would always remember. The memories of what had been and would never again be would haunt him night and day. But it was a fair trade. Michael was used to ghosts, but for Nikita he wanted peace and serenity. So he attempted to erase his image from her mind. Not that she would forget him, but her memories of him would be different. She would no longer love him. They would be working companions. Partners...nothing more.

When he was through, Michael slipped away. He felt regret that Nikita let him go so easily, but that was what he had wanted. Whether or not it would work, he wouldn't know for a time. Michael could only pray for success, yet he barely remembered how to pray.

"Michael."

He closed his eyes at the sound of the voice and released Nikita's hand. It took a moment for Michael to compose himself, but he slipped his mask into place and turned to smile at Madeline. "Yes?"

She studied his face for a moment, seeing the shadows smudged beneath his beautiful eyes, then she stated, "It's time."

"Of course," Michael replied, but he didn't move. His eyes flickered back to Nikita and he allowed himself to reach out and touch a thumb to one pale eyebrow. A familiar gesture he had done once before.

*Goodbye* Michael whispered in his mind.

"Training begins immediately," Madeline said softly, watching as Michael turned back to face her. "I'll be in control of it all."

That said she held out one hand. It was an odd gesture for her. For them. They never touched idly.

Michael nodded, then took a step forward, accepting Madeline's hand. Felt her fingers close over his then pull him towards the door. Remembered another time she had taken him by the hand. It seemed a million years ago. When Michael had undergone Valentine Ops training. He had fallen in love with her then. A phase. But it had burned out quickly. This training would be different. Michael didn't know what to expect, but a ripple of fear made him tremble. He knew that Madeline felt it.

She squeezed his hand. "It will be all right, Michael," Madeline whispered. But she doubted he would believe her. And why should he. Section had lied to Michael, had betrayed him, more than anyone. He had a right to be afraid. But she paused to smile at him anyway, then led him away from the light that was Nikita. Not into the darkness, but to the place in between. The shadows. The gray.

THE END