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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Nikita heaved a sigh of frustration as she stood behind Birkhoff, watching the monitor screen. They were in the van and parked on a side road near a college University. A six man team, lead by Michael, was making their way inside, with silent stealth. Their goal was to reach the Chem lab and retrieve the formula for a new chemical that could eat through steel. A chemistry/physics professor, named Arthur Thompson, had created it. He was presently residing at Section and had informed Madeline that the formula and test matter was stashed in his desk in room three oh eight. He had also confessed that he had made a deal to sell the formula to Legion.
Retrieving the formula should be simple enough. Intel from Thompson declared that the lab would be empty, he held his labs on the following night. Nikita's problem was that she was bored. She would have preferred to be a part of the field team, but Operations still considered her a *Team Leader in training*. So Michael was on point with the cold ops, and she was left behind with Birkhoff. After spending a few minutes pacing, for she knew that it would take some time for the team to infiltrate the building, Nikita began to feel as if she were suffocating. So she slid open the van door and stepped out into the fresh air. Her eyes lifted to the fourth row of windows, which would be the third floor of the university. The section to the left was the lab, Nikita knew that from the schematics Birkhoff had found. To her amazement, the lights were on. In that moment, Nikita knew that something was terribly wrong.
Michael led his team through dark corridors, leading to the lab at the end of the west wing. He held up a hand when he noticed a the darkness growing light. Removing his night vision goggles, Michael grimaced as he realized that a beam of light was coming from beneath the door of the Chem lab. Someone was in there. "Hold fast," he ordered his team. Moving forward on his own, Michael continued down the corridor. He reached the lab and peered in through the window. What he saw was that the classroom section of the lab was empty, but there was light shining from the lab section. The two were seprated by and open door.
Moving with the stealth of a shadow, Michael entered the classroom. He made his way to the desk and pulled out a heat sensitive scanner. Switching it on, Michael ran it over the desk. Thompson hadn't been willing to reveal what drawer the chemical and formula were in, so the scanner should transmit the data to Birkhoff in the van.
Birkhoff was so focused on his monitor screen that he wasn't aware that Nikita had left the van. He grinned when data began scrolling across his screen. "Good work, Michael," he muttered beneath his breath, as he began typing. "Bottom, left drawer," he said, a moment later, for Michael's benefit.
NIkita heard Birkhoff in her ear, but wasn't listening to what he said. She knew that something was terribly wrong. The lab wasn't empty. But, remembering Michael's instructions not to jump to conclusions, or make rash decisions, without having all the facts, Nikita was determined to verify her fears before odering the mission aborted. Yanking off her headset she tossed it inside the van and shouted to Birkhoff, "I'm going in!"
He heard her with only half and ear, for he had just detected something based on the scanner data that Michael had sent him. "Michael, go to channel two," he ordered, knowing that Michael would actually go to channel four. It was a code they had worked out long ago, in case Birkhoff needed to discuss something classified, or such.
"I'm here," Michael replied, a moment later.
"We've got a problem," Birkhoff told him.
Michael was silent a moment, then asked. "What is it?"
Birkhoff's fingers continued flying over his keyboard as he answered, "Actually, we've got two problems. First one is the desk. It's rigged with plastique. If you try and retrieve the formula, it's gonna blow. And there's enough explosive to take out the entire lab."
"What about counter explosives?" Michael asked. He had C4 caps in his vest.
"Worth a try," Birkhoff replied. "Place it under the desk," he instructed. As Michael did so he asked, "What's the other problem?"
Birkhoff grimaced. "Nikita. She's headed your way."
"Why?" Michael questioned, as he stood up and moved to the window. Slipping on his goggles, it took only a moment to track down Nikita.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Birkhoff replied. "What do you want to do?"
Michael took only a moment to decide. "Call the team back to the van, I'll deal with Nikita."
Birkhoff was relieved. "What about the explosive?"
"Your call," Michael replied, even as he glided out of the room. When he reached the corridor he began running. When he was back at the place where he had left the team, it was to discover they were gone. Birkhoff had switched channels and called them in as ordered. Knowing that the computer genius could handle things for the moment, Michael headed out to intercept Nikita.
Birkhoff kept tabs on his monitor, using the remote camera outside the van to keep an eye on the lighted wing of the building. Now came the waiting period. Once Lab class was over and the students had left for the night, then they would blow the lab. Birkhoff reached for an oreo cookie and was about to bite into it when a beep issued from his com unit. Changing channels he said, "Yes, sir?"
Operations' voice cut through the van. "We have a situation, Birkhoff!" he hissed. "We've received intel that Legion is aware of our movements and are presently at your location. Do you have the formula?"
"Not exactly," Birkhoff replied, then he explained the situation, including the fact that Nikita had deserted her post. But he made it sound as if she were doing recon.
"Where's Michael?" Operations demanded.
Birkhoff grimaced and told another lie. "He's in transit. The team is on their way in."
Operations was silent for a moment. "Any sign of Legion?"
"No," Birkhoff replied, scanning the area with the remote.
"Let the team know about Legion," Operations ordered. "Just because you don't see the enemy, doesn't mean they're not there. If you detect infiltration, blow the lab."
Birkhoff bit his lip. Blowing the lab now meant that the people inside would die. "Yes, sir," he replied. A moment later he heard a click. Operations had signed off. Tapping into channel six, Birkhoff informed the team to be on the lookout for legion. Then he tapped into channel two, to contact Michael. He had just explained about Legion when he was beeped. "Hold on," Birkhoff told Michael. He switched channels again to the team and said, "Go."
An operative replied, "I've spotted the enemy. They're about twenty yards from the building and moving fast."
"Come in," Birkhoff ordered, knowing what he would have to do.
Michael waited for Birkhoff to beep him, but his focus was diverted by the presence of Nikita. He intercepted her about ten yards from the building and in that moment he spotted a figure moving through the darkness behind her. Grabbing Nikita around the waist, Michael hauled her behind a tree. When she would have yelled at him, he covered her mouth with one hand. Michael was just about to update her when the stillness of the night was shattered.
Both Michael and Nikita were stunned as an explosion rocked the university. Michael released her as they turned to stare at the smoke, rubble and flames that billowed out the the west wing.
"My god!" Nikita hissed. "The lab..." She felt nausea wash over her as she turned to face Michael. "The lights were on," Nikita whispered. "I think there were people in there, Michael."
"There were," he said softly. Michael stared at the burning building for a moment, then he took Nikita's arm and pulled her towards the van, still keeping to the shadows. His instincts told him that the enemy was lurking in the darkness.
Nikita was so stunned by Michael's confession, that she allowed herself to be led like a blind person. And so she was, for her visioin was blurred by hot tears.
Back at Section, Nikita went to Madeline's office to debrief, but she was unable to focus. All she could see in her mind's eye were the flames and the rubble. Madeline had confirmed that there had been twelve, seniors, inside. All dead. But that was all she had told Nikita. She did not mention Legion.
The moment Nikita was excused from Madeline's office, she went in search of Michael. He wasn't in his office, but Walter informed her that he was at Birkhoff's station. The moment the words were out, Walter regretted telling her, for he could see that Nikita was in a rage, and he knew that Michael would be on the receiving end of her tirade. Then he shrugged. Michael could handle Nikita.
Michael and Birkhoff were side by side, with Birkhoff seated and Michael bending over to stare at a monitor screen. Both men were totally engrossed in what they were looking at. Niether one heard Nikita's approach.
She stomped over to Michael and grabbed his arm, swing him around to face her. Then, without warning, Nikita drew back her right arm and slapped him as hard as she could. She felt a moment of satisfaction as the imprint of her hand stained his cheek red. But the satisfaction didn't last, Nikita was too furious. Her eyes flashing she demanded, "How could you?"
"How could I what?" Michael queried, betraying to reaction to the slap. He simply held Nikita's furious gaze. But Michael could guess why she was so angry.
"You killed twelve, innocent, people, Michael. Students!" Nikita hissed. "Twelve young people who, in one minute, had a future. But now it's gone. Buried beneath the rubble." Nikita stepped forward so that she and Michael were toe to toe. "Quite a few notches to add to your belt!" The insult was blantant, and Nikita waited for a response. To her surprise, it came from Birkhoff.
The computer whiz pushed back his chair so that he drew Nikita's attention. "Michael didn't kill anyone," he said softly. "I did. I'm the one who triggered the explosion." Birkhoff didn't bother to add that it was at Operations' orders. Nikita already knew that, so it was a mute point.
Nikita whirled away from Michael to gaze down at Birkhoff. She shook her head, unwilling to believe what she was hearing. "But...Michael was coming to stop me," Nikita whispered, in defense of Birkhoff. It didn't matter to her that he didn't ask to be defended. Nikita only knew that he couldn't be responsible for twelve, dead, students. That would suggest a facet to Birkhoff that Nikita refused to accept. Now Michael...that was a different story. He killed without remorse.
"I did what had to be done," Birkhoff replied, with a shrug of indifference. He had no qualms about accepting responsibility for his actions.
"Let it go, Nikita," Michael interjected, when she would have continued to argue the point. He knew that Birkhoff wouldn't back down on his position, nor would Nikita. But she wasn't ready to face the truth.
Nikita fell silent, turning to stare at Michael. She didn't understand, and she needed to. Her eyes pleaded with him to help her. So when he took her hand, Nikita let Michael lead her off.
They went to his office, and Michael shut the door behind them. He watched Nikita drop into the chair in front of his desk, then he moved to stand at the window. But he looked out without seeing. Michael was totally attuned to Nikita and he could almost feel her confusion. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, softly, when the silence that filled the room became suffocating.
"Tell me why," Nikita whispered. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as if to ward off a chill. And, deep inside, she felt icy-cold, yet numb. "Why did those twelve, young, people have to die?"
"You know the code, Nikita," Michael replied, turning to look at her. "The one is sacrificed for the many. Twelve students versus hundreds of thousand innocent lives."
Nikita shook her head. Those numbers never seemed to add up to her, yet that wasn't the issue that mattered right now. It was Birkhoff that had her twisted inside out. "He must be in shock," she said, more to herself.
Michael knew she was referring to Birkhoff. "He did what had to be done, Nikita," he said softly. Then Michael explained about Legion showing up. Just as Birkhoff hadn't, he didn't mention that Operations had ordered the bombing. That the Section head always made those decisions had never mattered to Nikita. Her tendency was to blame the individual who carried out those orders. For the most part, that was Michael. He could accept that.
"This has to be difficult for Birkhoff," Nikita insisted, hearing what Michael had told her, but it simply didn't register. She knew Birkhoff, had gotten close to him. Thought of him as a *little brother*. Nikita had killed dozens of people in the past three years, but only one innocent, to her mind. A man who had tried to defend his daughter's rape and torture. A man she had been forced to kill in order to keep the man responsible for the young woman's torment...alive. Birkhoff was responsible for the deaths of twelve innocents. This had to be difficult for him, and Nikita said as much to Michael.
"I can't speak for Birkhoff," he said softly, although he knew that Nikita was unwilling to see past the illusion she had created. She wore blinders to shield her from a truth that her sensibilites refused to acknowledge. Michael understood why but didn't bother trying to explain it to Nikita. He knew that she would not believe him.
"You're right," Nikita replied, agreeing with Michael. No one could speak for Birkhoff. "I'm going to talk to him," she declared, rising to her feet. Nikita turned her back to Michael, closing out his beautiful image. For he was the angel of darkness, and death.
Michael didn't try to stop Nikita. He simply watched her pass by his window, then he sat down at his computer to type up his report.
Nikita tracked down Birkhoff in his room. Several hours had passed since her talk with Michael. Nikita had needed some time alone, to think, before facing the computer genuies. But now her eyes glimmered with determination as she rapped on Birkhoff's door.
"Come in!" he called out, sounding distracted.
"Hey, Birkhoff," Nikita offered in greeting, as she stepped inside. She closed the door behind her, then moved to where he was sitting in front of a computer screen. "Don't you ever get tired of computers?" Nikita questioned, curiously. Birkhoff shrugged. He was engrossed in a game and unwilling to refocus his attention until he had won. "It's what I do," he replied, offhandedly.
Nikita nodded, even though she knew he wasn't looking at her. "That's right, Birkhoff," she said softly. "You work on computers. You don't kill people." Nikita felt that this was a good way to introduce the subject matter she had come to discuss.
"I knew it," Birkhoff muttered, throwing up in hands and accepting a loss in the game as he turned to face the beautiful blond operative. "Let me explain something to you, Nikita," he said, with a tinge of coolness in his voice. "If you've come here to comfort me...don't bother. I don't need comforting. I'm okay with the fact that those twelve students are dead. I didn't have any qualms about pushing the button." As Birkhoff spoke, he saw shock register in Nikita's blue eyes. He stood up to confront her, wanting to make his point clear. "First off, I followed orders," he said firmly. "Secondly....I ran the sequence, Nikita. I knew the numbers. We couldn't allow the formula to fall into enemy hands. Particularly Legion hands. The loss of life would have been unacceptable."
"By who's standards?" Nikita shot back, her eyes flashing. "Sections?"
Birkhoff rebuffed her challenge. "By my standards," he said softly. "The twelve students were an acceptable loss." Locking eyes with Nikita, Birkhoff laid down the truth. "I've done it before, and I'd do it again."
Nikita was stunned by his declaration. "You've done it before?" she countered, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
"That's right," Birkhoff replied, offering a cold smile. "You think that guy I shot, who came after me in the van all those months ago, was the first person I had ever killed. And it was, directly. But not technically. I've triggered explosions that have resulted in casualties many times over the past seven years, Nikita. Deal with it." Birkhoff was tired of the subject matter and wanted to return to his game. To that end he sat back down and turned away from Nikita.
"I'm sorry," Nikita whispered, uncertain as to who, or what, she was sorry for. She stared at the back of Birkhoff's head for a moment, finding it hard to believe that he was already engrossed in his game, as if their conversation had never taken place. Blinking back tears, Nikita ran from the room.
Michael didn't call in her to Section for a week, so Nikita stayed at home, soul searching. But she didn't find the answers that she sought. Although she wasn't needed, Nikita finally returned to Section and sought out Madeline. She sat on the couch in the older woman's office and explained about her visit to Birkhoff.
Madeline listened, attentively, and when Nikita was through she asked, "What is your point?"
"My point being...Birkhoff is in denial," Nikita hissed, more than a little surprised that Madeline didn't seem to share her concerns. "He doesn't want to face what happened, but I think that he needs to. And soon. I tried to help.."
"Why?" Madeline interjected, a smile on her face. "Birkhoff didn't ask for your help."
Nikita shook her head in disgust. "People don't always seek out the help they need, Madeline," she shot back, her eyes flashing. "Take Michael, for example. He's an emotional cripple. A psychiatrists dream. We both know that. I'm sure he does too. But he will never ask anyone to help him deal with his demons. And lord knows you won't offer."
Madeline sighed. "What makes you think I haven't....or he hasn't, for that matter?"
"Let's not leave the main road here, Madeline," Nikita countered, firmly. "You're not going to turn this into a 'let's mess with Nikita's head' session. I came here to talk about Birkhoff."
"And you've done that," Madeline reminded her. "He told you the facts, Nikita. I think that you're the one in denial."
Nikita was stunned. "About what?" she demanded, rising to her feet and assuming a defensive posture, with her hands perched on her hips.
Madeline remained seated, and serenly calm. "You're projecting your emotions onto Birkhoff," she said softly. "If you had been the one to push the trigger that killed those students, you would have been devasted. You can't understand, or accept, that Birkhoff is unaffected by the incident. You perceive as an innocent, instead of seeing who he really is."
"And who is he ....really?" Nikita prompted, as she forced back the fury that threatened to erupt from deep within her. Madeline was wrong, dead wrong, and it frustrated Nikita that the other woman was unwilling to see the truth. The people outside the Section weren't the true enemies...it was the people within who were heartless and cruel.
"You'll have to take off your rose-colored glasses, Nikita," Madeline replied. "And take a look for yourself. If you have the courage." With that, Madeline put an end to their session. "We have a briefing in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."
Nikita was surprised. "Michael didn't call me in," she stated, bluntly.
Madeline nodded. "It just came up," she explained, then she exited the room.
Michael and Nikita flew to Russia for the newest mission. They played a couple who dealt in diplomatic espionage, and Nikita felt like a third wheel. Most of the meetings were exchanged in Russian, of which she didn't understand a word, so Michael handled everything. By the time they had closure, two people were dead. Michael had killed them both without blinking.
Nikita didn't speak to him on the flight home, and was relieved when Michael didn't push the issue. He simply gave her her space. Two days later they were on the job again. This time playing bodyguard for a federal witness. The FBI were uncertain of their ability to keep the man alive, so Section was called in as a favor. It was up to Michael and Nikita to deliver Carlton Dobbs to the DC courthouse in three days. Making a cross country trip from Nevada. Nikita lost track of the body count during those three days. The memory that lingered was the car Michael had shot full of holes, causing the gas tank to explode. At least three people had died in the flames. That they were the bad guys didn't matter. They were dead and Michael felt no remorse. He would have felt the same had he blown up a bus load of kindergarten children.
Her belief of this fact, Nikita's certainty that Michael was truly the grim reaper with good fashion sense, came exploding out of her once they had returned to Section. They were at Walter's station, handing in their guns, when Nikita let Michael have it.
"You really like killing, don't you!" she hissed, stepping in Michael's face. "Maybe you'd like to go to the park and target practice with the joggers who pass by. Yeah...you can pick them off, one by one. That would be fun!" That Nikita was out of control and rambling on like a madwoman was of no concern to her. She couldn't stop the words...the accusations....and emotions from coming out to save her life. And she flung them all at Michael, like an archer firing off arrows.
Walter listened to Nikita's tirade, frozen by stunned disbelief. But then the shock wore off and he stepped forward to intervene, since Michael seemed unwilling to defend himself. But Walter caught Michael's eye and the young man shook his head. With a sigh of regret, Walter backed off. But as he listened to the emotional abuse, the heinous accusations that Nikita flung at Michael, all of which were untrue and unwarranted, Walter felt his own rage ignited. But he obeyed Michael's wishes and stayed out of it. However, he was concerned as he studied the young man's pallor. Michael had looked pale on his arrival and now he was ghostly white, turning alabaster as Nikita shoved him back against the wall, her hand slamming into his chest, repeatedly. Once Michael's was cornered, Nikita backed off, content simply to rage on, since she knew he wouldn't escape her. Walter's sharp eyes caught Michael's subtle movement. The placement of one hand against his ribs. In that moment Walter knew that Michael had been hurt.
"That's it," he muttered beneath his breath, moving forward, determined to stop Nikita, once and for all. But he didn't have too. She had run out of wind and was turning away from Michael. A toss of her pale head then she ran down the corridor. Walter went to Michael, his eyes shining with concern. "You all right?" he asked, already knowing what answer he would receive. And he wasn't disappointed .
"I'm fine," Michael replied, pushing away from the wall. He turned to go but felt a hand on his arm.
Walter's grip was firm. "I'll give you five minutes to make it to Medlab, Michael. If you're not there when I call, then I'm contacting Madeline. Understand?" Walter knew Michael hated Medlab and would avoid it like the plague, if he could get away with it. And he very often did, for Michael was trained to take care of his own injuries, and he had a tolerance for pain that was matched by no one. It was almost inhuman.
Michael considered arguing, but gave in with a nod of his head. He knew that Walter wasn't making a threat, but a promise. "Five minutes," he repeated, then he offered a smile and walked away. Michael was grateful, at least, that Walter hadn't questioned him about Nikita's outburst. Michael believed that he understood it, but there was no way in hell that he could have explained it.
Nikita was lying on the floor, listening to some music and thumbing through a magazine, when a knock sounded at her door. She stiffened, half wondering if it might be Michael, but quickly dismissing the possibility. He wouldn't come here after her tirade against him. Besides which, she didn't want to see him. Rising to her feet, Nikita went to the door and glanced through the peep hole. She was expecting Carla, or a salesman. Not the man who was standing there. Opening the door she whispered, "Walter..."
He pushed past Nikita without preamble, and his pale eyes were flashing. Turning to face her Walter declared, "You and I need to talk, Sugar. Right now."
Nikita studied Walter for a moment, seeing anger in his pale gaze, anger held in check, but directed at her. She wondered what was up. "It's one am, Walter," Nikita pointed out.
Walter shrugged. "You're up, I'm up. Works for me." He wasn't going to let her off the hook.
"You've never come here before," Nikita countered, moving into the kitchen area to get a glass of water. "Want some?" she offered, holding a bottle out to Walter.
"No thanks," he replied, then he responded to her comment. "I've never been invited," Walter said softly, but meaningfully. "Nor have I had a reason too."
Nikita took a swig of water then wiped her mouth on her shirtsleeve. "So why now?" she questioned, with idle curiosity.
Walter moved to confront her. "Because of Michael," he declared.
"I don't want to talk about Michael," Nikita shot back, moving to step past him but finding her arm grasped by iron fingers.
"Fine!" Walter hissed, shoving Nikita back against the fridge. His eyes shimmered as he stepped in her face. "If you don't talk you'll be able to listen"
Nikita grimaced. "Listen to what? More lies?"
Walter waved one hand sharply, a warning for NIkita to be silent. "Just listen for a minute," he instructed. "You might learn something. Walter saw that his words hurt Nikita but he was immune to her pain this time. "That little scenario earlier," he began, stepping back to lean against the counter. "It hurt Michael, in more ways than one. Did you know that he was injured on the mission?" Walter fired the question at Nikita like a bullet from a gun.
"Injured?" she repeated, shaking her head. "No. He didn't say anything." Nikita wasn't concerned. Michael was superman anyway.
"He got hit by a jeep saving your butt," Walter hissed. "Or has that fact slipped your mind? You saw it happen."
Nikita nodded. "Yeah...I saw it," she allowed. "I even asked if he was allright. Don't know why I bothered, though. He never stopped firing bullets till the gas tank blew up. That's our Michael." Locking eyes with Walter, Nikita defended her actions, feeling angry that she even felt the need to do so. "He said he was fine."
Walter laughed, a sound without humor. "Michael always says that, Nikita," he countered, anger tinging his tone. "He suffered broken ribs and a sprained shoulder. A condition not improved by your shoving him around."
"I didn't know," Nikita shot back, feeling herself grow pale as she remembered how she had poked Michael in the chest. He must have been in agony. "Is he all right?"
"Of course," Walter drawled. "Michael's always all right...isn't he? I mean, no matter what you do or say to him...he just keeps going...like that damn, energizer bunny."
Nikita was becoming annoyed by Walter's attitude. "What do you want from me?" she prompted, urging him to come to the point.
Walter sighed. "I want you to stop blaming Michael for all the evil in Section one. No matter what happens, or who's to blame, you dump it all on him. And it's not fair...and you know it. Michael has lied to you, and he's betrayed your trust. He did what he had to do. I know you've heard the speech before, but it's what we all do."
"Not all," Nikita argued.
"YES...all!" Walter insisted. "That includes me...and you. I've lied to you, Nikita. I've manipulated you. Maybe you didn't realize it...maybe you did, but you've never held it against me. And think of the lies that you've told, Michael. In spite of the fact that he's always there for you. Always protecting you. And he risks everything to do so."
Nikita gave an unladylike snort of disgust. "That's on him. I've never asked Michael to protect me."
Walter heaved a sigh of frustration, then he took a moment to consider his next words. He wanted Nikita to understand where he was coming from, and why. "You do things for people all the time, Nikita. Things that they don't ask you to do. And you don't expect anything in return. That's very commendable. But....How would you feel if those people just blew you off? Wouldn't that hurt? Isn't that a betrayal?"
"I guess..." Nikita whispered, as a ripple of light dawned.
"You've lied to Michael, he's lied to you," Walter continued. "The difference being that he's never lied for his own self gain. It's never been personal, Nikita. He's always done it to get the job done. But you've lied to him because it was personal to you. Or to hurt him. So what does that make you?"
Nikita felt tears glimmer in her eyes. Walter's words pierced her like a knife. "You're not being fair," she countered, biting her lower lip.
He nodded. "I know...but life isn't fair, Sugar. Neither are you. Michael accepts what he can't change...so do I. You don't. You won't. So Michael jumps in between you and Section, acting as a buffer, so that you can keep your soul intact. And he doesn't expect your gratitude. He would die for you, Nikita."
"Would he?" she countered, wiping away a tear that rolled down her cheek. Nikita closed her eyes for a moment and let herself remember all the times that Michael had been there for her...lied for her...protected her. Her six months of freedom had given her time to flashback over their three years together, and she had forced herself to look at things differently. Only now that she had returned to Section, those memories had blurred.
"You know the answer to that, Sugar," Walter replied, gently. It hadn't been his intention to make Nikita cry, but it couldn't be helped. "Section One plays hardball. You know that. You know that Operations and Madeline make all the decisions regarding life and death. Who's expendable and why. But no matter what the scenario, you place all the blame on Michael. That's not fair, and you know that as well. If you wanna be angry and pretend that you can do things your own way...fine. Go for it. But start placing the blame where it belongs." Walter paused for a moment to study Nikita's face. He saw sorrow and pain, but wasn't ready to walk away. "Those twelve students died because Operations made a decision. Birkhoff followed orders and..boom. It's over. Maybe you can't understand that he's just like Michael. Or like me. Maybe you don't want to understand. But we all do what we have to do, sugar," Walter reiterated. "All of us. None of us are innocent anymore. There's a darkness inside us all. It's inside you"
Nikita almost flinched for Walter's words were an echo of Michael's, only this time she heard what was being said. "You're right, Walter," Nikita said softly. When he simply looked at her she added, "I'm sorry."
Walter gave her a sad smile. He could see the truth in Nikita's eyes. "I'm not the one you should be saying that too, sugar," he chided, gently.
"I know," Nikita replied. First thing in the morning, she would go and talk to Michael. "I'll apologize," she confirmed.
"One more thing," Walter countered. "If you don't mind a piece of advice." Nikita grinned. "Why stop now?" she teased.
Walter smiled back, genuinely. "Don't forget that Michael does have a soul, sugar. He feels things more deeply than anyone I know...including you. To deal with it, he shuts himself off from everything, and everyone. Except you. You gave him a reason to live after he lost his son and Simone. And those six months you were gone...he shut back down again. Worse than before. Michael isn't afraid to die, sugar...he's afraid to live. But I think that he would take that chance....for you. Only for you." With that, Walter headed for the door and walked out.
When he was gone Nikita whispered, "Thanks, Walter." Then she turned off the lights and curled up in a chair, listening to the sound of silence.
Nikita was waiting for Michael in his office. Walter told her he had a meeting with Madeline, but should be back soon. So Nikita waited. About an hour passed and she was ready to give up, when Michael was suddenly in the doorway. "Hey," Nikita offered in greeting, along with a smile.
"Is something wrong?" Michael queried, as he moved to sit behind his desk. He was surprised to see Nikita, especially after her tirade yesterday.
"Nothing's wrong," Nikita replied, her eyes locking on Michael's face. He moved with his usual grace, but she could see pain shimmering in his beautiful eyes, and his face was pale. "How are your ribs?" she questioned, meaningfully.
Michael was surpised again, but revealed nothing by his expression. "They're fine," he said softly. "Did you want something, Nikita?" he asked, pointedly.
She nodded. "To apologize." Standing up, Nikita moved around Michael's desk, so that she was standing beside him. When he swiveled his chair around to face her, she knelt down at his feet. "What I said to you yesterday was wrong. And I'm very sorry."
"Don't apologize for the truth, Nikita," Michael said, soflty. "I am a killer."
"So am I," Nikita countered, firmly. "And the first time I killed, it was by choice. I killed a man to save your life, Michael. And I'd do it again, without remorse. I think that's what frightens me so much."
Michael frowned, even as he reached out to finger a lock of Nikita's pale hair. An action he wasn't even aware of doing. "What frightens you?" he prompted, wanting only to dissolve her fears, yet knowing that he didn't have that power.
Nikita wasn't sure she could explain, but felt that Michael derserved an explanation. "Remember Helen?" At Michael's nod she continued. "She accused you of killing her husband, yet I was the one who shot him. And it wasn't in self-defense, even though he had a gun. I did it because I wanted revenge...for Chuck's death. I enjoyed killing him. And then there was Mijovich. I wanted to kill him, but instead I killed an innocent man. I got over it pretty quick. And let's not forget Fanning. At the wedding, when we were scoping him out, I was eager to kill him."
"To protect an innocent," Michael interjected.
"Sometimes," Nikita allowed. "I look at you and see how efficiently you kill, Michael. You don't even blink. I can't do that. A part of me wishes I could. So I feel as if you have no feelings. No remorse. How could you?" Nikita paused and heaved a sigh. She took Michael's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "You told me once that I was the only one in Section who still had a soul. And that you didn't know what love is anymore. A part of me believed you, and the other of me was terrified that you were telling the truth."
Michael closed his eyes then asked, "Why?"
Nikita reached out and touched his face, waiting for Michael to look at her before replying, "Because I want you to have a heart. A heart that can.....love me."
"Nikita..." Michael began, only to be silenced by her fingers pressed to his lips.
"I know, Michael," she replied. "I know it's not the time, or the place, for these words or feelings to said, or felt. But I don't know how else to explain. I don't always like what you do, but I think I'm starting to understand it...and accept it. It scares the hell out of me...but a part of me knows that you'll be here to help me through it. Maybe not in a way that I would like. Not with kind words, or a hug when I feel lost or alone. But you comfort me in your own way, simply by being a punching bag for my chaotic emotions to batter against. You let me hate you instead of hating myself." Nikita stood up then bent to press a kiss to Michael's lips. "Thank you," she whispered, then she turned to walk to the door.
Michael watched her, but called her back before she could go. "What about Birkhoff?" he queried.
Nikita turned back, knowing what Michael was asking. "I took my blinders off," she said softly, knowing that he would understand. At Michael's slight nod, Nikita turned back towards the door. She reached the corridor and headed in the direction of Madeline's office. And all the way there she could the imprint of his lips on her own.
THE END
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