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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 was making the rounds of the ball room. She and Michael were at a black-tie, charity event searching for a man named Joseph Hearht. He was the target that she was supposed to take out. Operations hadn't gone into details about why in the briefing earlier, and Nikita had learned not to ask. Sometimes oblivion was bliss. Odds were he was some kind of assassin, or a threat to some government because he was a fanatic. If he was here at the gala, he was obviously rich and powerful...a dangerous combination.
"I don't see him," Nikita reported, knowing that Michael was listening to her, as well as Birkhoff, who was outside in the van.
"Keep looking," Michael ordered as he, too, circuited the room. He was there to back up Nikita. She would be the one to pull the trigger. Suddenly Michael spotted Hearht, but he didn't report it. He simply waited.
Nikita continued about the room. She accepted a glass of champagne and took a sip. All the while her eyes continued tracking, but she was beginning to think that Hearht hadn't shown up, when she spotted him. "Northwest corner," she said softly. "I've got him."
Michael was already there, but keeping out of Nikita's line of sight. "You know what you have to do," he told her.
"In five," Nikita said, reaching into her purse for her gun, even as she crossed the room. "Four..." she was about twenty yards from Hearht now. "Three..." The plan was for Nikita to take him out at close range. "Two..." Nikita had the gun raised. "One!" Even as she pulled the trigger, Nikita spotted Michael. He had stepped in front of Hearht and was in direct line of the bullet. Nikita gasped as she watched him take the hit and fall. In her ear she heard Birkhoff's voice.
"Come in, Nikita! Now!" the young man ordered. He was relaying the command from Operations.
Nikita was frozen to the spot. People were already beginning to gather around, several were converged around Joseph Hearht, whom Michael had pushed out of the way.
"Nikita!" Birkhoff hissed.
"Coming," she replied, but only after Michael's eyes had locked with hers and he nodded. In that moment Nikita knew that the hit had been a set up. For whatever reason, Michael had been ordered to tak the bullet for Joseph Hearht. She turned on her heel and ran out of the room.
When he was back on his feet, Joseph Hearht searched for the young man who had shielded him. He knew that the man was hurt, if for no other reason than the fact that there was blood on the floor. "Where is he?" Hearht asked the man standing next to him.
"Who?" the man countered.
"The young man who was shot," Hearht replied.
The other man shook his head. "I don't know. He was here a minute ago."
Hearht realized that his *guardian angel* must have slipped away in the midst of the chaos and confusion. "I'm fine," Joseph was quick to assure those who questioned him, even as he made his way through the crowded room. He was following the trail of blood that the young man had left behind. Droplets had fallen on the floor and were smeared by the footsteps of others. The trail ended at a door, that led to the pool. It was in one of the cabanas that Hearht found who he was looking for.
The young man was slumped on the floor. But when Hearht knelt beside him, he suddenly found himself staring into the end of a gun. "I just want to help you," Hearht said softly, holding up his hands to show that he was weaponless.
"Why?" Michael questioned, the gun never wavering off his target, despite the fact that he was shaking.
"You saved my life," Hearht replied. "Now let me save yours," he beseeched. "I'm a doctor. I can stop the bleeding till we can get you to a hospital."
Michael shook his head. "No hospital. No cops." He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and he fought against it. "Get out of here," he ordered, but his voice was barely a whisper. The bullet was lodged in the fleshy part of his left shoulder. Michael had rather hoped it would have passed through, being at such close range. The image of Nikita's face suddenly flashed before him. She had been horrified when she realized she had shot him. But now was not the time for that. Michael refocused his attention on the other man.
Hearht shook his head. "I'm not leaving you to die," he stated, adamantly, even as he reached out to press his fingertips against the wound. "What's your name?" he asked gently.
"Michael." There was no reason not to tell him.
"I'm doctor, Joseph Hearht. You're bleeding heavily and slipping into shock, Michael," he explained. But when he tried to open the young man's shirt, his hand was shoved away.
Michael glared at him. "I'll be fine," he hissed.
Hearht shook his head. "If you don't let me help you, you're gonna die. Please, let me help you," he beseeched. And it was suddenly, very important, that he do so.
"No..." Michael replied, his voice betraying his weakness. Holding on to consciousness was becoming difficult.
"Michael, listen to me." Hearht locked eyes with the younger man. "I have a small office in my home, with everything I need to help you. I promise not to contact the police. Let me call my driver and I'll take you home with me. I'll take care of you. You can trust me."
Michael laughed, a hoarse sound, lacking humor. "I don't even trust myself," he shot back, but he lowered the gun to his lap. "All right. Call your driver."
Hearht reached for his cellular phone, tapped the buttons and gave the order for his car to brought around to the gate entrance of the estate. He then reached out to help Michael to his feet, but the gun was raised again, so he stepped back.
"I will kill you if you betray me," Michael whispered, as he rose, slowly and painfully, to his feet.
"I believe you," Hearht replied, locking eyes with the younger man. He saw pain that went beyond the physcial in the silver-green gaze. "I won't betray you," he promised, as he reached out and let his fingers close over the gun. A smile curved his lips as Michael released the weapon. Hearht tucked it in his pocket, then reached out once more to take Michael's arm. Once again he was rebuffed, and he accepted it. But his eyes kept watch on Michael as they waited for the car to reach them. When it pulled up beside them, Hearht gestured for Michael to procede him into the limosine.
Michael shook his head as he let himself sink down into the soft, gray leather seat. "Are you a plastic surgeon?" he questioned, tongue in cheek.
Hearht laughed. "No. I am a surgeon, but I'm a specialist."
"Meaning what?" Michael inquired. He already knew, thanks to the intel from Section, but it was part of his job to draw Hearht out.
"Meaning I do research related work, among other things." He was reaching in a drawer and removing some squares of white linen, then he moved to kneel beside the other man. "I need to stop the bleeding," he said, reaching out to unbutton Michael's shirt. He was relieved when Michael merely nodded, then closed his eyes. Hearht pressed the linen against the wound, then stared down at the blood that covered his hands. An image flashed in his head of another young man, wounded and bleeding in his arms. His brother, Thomas. Only Tommy was dead. Two years now. "I won't let you die," Hearht whispered fiercely. Then he ordered his driver to step on it.
************
Nikita entered Madeline's office in a flurry. She slammed her purse down on the other woman's desk and her eyes were flashing. "I shot Michael!" she shouted.
Madeline remained seated behind her desk, her hands clasped before her, and smiled. "Yes...I know," she replied, softly. "It was part of the mission profile."
"So I figured," Nikita shot back. "AFTER...I shot him. Did he know it was coming?"
"He knew." Madeline gestured for Nikita to sit down. "Michael was under orders to make certain he got hit."
Nikita plopped into the chair, feeling defeated. Not so much by the fact that Section would order Michael to do such a thing, but by the fact that he so willingly complied. It reminded her of their capture by Red Cell. Michael had...allowed...himself to be captured. He was obeying *orders*, all the while knowing that he would be tortured. Nikita had wanted to weep when he had been brought back to his cage, bleeding from nose and ears. So pale, and in such obvious pain. His words might have been lies and manipulations, but his body had suffered, of that Nikita had no doubt. But that was another time, another place. And it was something she didn't want to think about. "I could have killed him," Nikita declared, carefully watching Madeline's face for some genuine reaction.
The other woman didn't even blink. "If Michael had died, it would have been his own fault," she replied, calmy.
"For jumping in front of the bullet wrong," Nikita countered, facetiously.
"That's right," Madeline confirmed, knowing that her response would infurtiate Nikita. The young woman had yet to understand the scope of what they did. That all their lives were forfeit in the cause for the greater good. She didn't know about the eminent cancellation of Section that had come close to occurring. WOULD have occurred, had Michael not done his job. Nikita refused to see the big picture. She responded only to what affected her directly.
"Unbelievable," Nikita muttered. She decided to speak her mind. "Michael is an intelligent man. He's not a fool...so you tell me. What have you done to him to make him such an obedient puppet? Hmmmm? How have you brainwashed him? Some funky drugs?" Nikita leaned forward as she fired the questions at Madeline. Then she waited for answers, but received only a cold smile. Nikita nodded and was wise enough to move on. Madeline would never reveal any information about Michael to her. And since he wouldn't either, Nikita knew she would remain in the dark. So she shifted gears. "What happens now?" she demanded.
Madeline considered just how much to tell her about the mission. Then decided that it wouldn't hurt for Nikita to know the truth. "Michael is with Joseph Hearht, who just happens to be a surgeon, so he's in excellent hands. It's Michael *job* to get close to the doctor."
"For what purpose?" Nikita asked, curious in spite of herself.
"Dr. Hearht has created the antidote, if you will, for the El Virus," Madeline replied, then she watched for Nikita's reaction. It was swift in coming.
Jumping out of the chair, Nikita challenged, "Bauer's El Virus?" Her eyes flashed crystal-blue sparks.
With a nod, Madeline confirmed. "Yes. Mr. Bauer had a fail safe. So when we...procured...him, he managed to sell the virus on the black market, in spite of our warnings to him. We've located some, but not all, of it. So an antidote would come in handy."
"How did this Joseph Hearht come up with the antidote?" Nikita inquired, dropping back down into the chair. Her rage at the mention of Bauer's name had faded quickly. She hated him, but he was just one of the names on her list of scumbags.
"How...or why...isn't important," Madeline countered. There were somethings that Nikita didn't need to be privvy to. "He has it, and it's up to Michael to get it and all the research, and to determine Dr. Hearht's intention's for it. And his willingness to share it with us."
Nikita twisted a lock of hair and her eyes locked with Madeline's. "And...if he's not willing to play nice? Then what?" Before the other woman could respond, Nikita held up a hand. "Wait...let me guess," she drawled, sarcasm oozing from her tone. "Then Michael is under orders to cancel the good doctor. Yes?"
Madeline simply smiled. "Good night, Nikita," she said softly, her dismissal obvious.
"Goodnight, Madeline," NIkita replied. But as she moved towards the doors she threw a question over her shoulder. "What happened to Bauer?"
"He's no longer with us," Madeline admitted, her attention already back on her reports.
Nikita grinned. "Good!" she hissed, striding out as the doors open. "Rot in hell you pig!" But her smile soon faded as thoughts of Michael filled her head once more. Nikita sighed. She wasn't used to being on this side of the fence. Of waiting, while Michael worked the mark. Even with Lisa she had been more involved. This time Nikita was on the outside looking in, and she discovered that she didn't like it. Not one bit.
Joseph Hearht moved towards Michael with a large syringe. Only to meet the young man's cold glare of suscpicion. "It's a sedative, Michael," he explained. "I need to put you under while I remove the bullet."
Michael shook his head. "Use a local," he directed, but there wasn't much force behind his words. Fighting off shock was becoming a losing battle. The pain was managable, but the blood loss had been great and Michael cursed his weakness.
"That's not a good idea," Hearht protested. "Michael....this going to hurt like hell."
"It already hurts like hell," Michael countered with a grim smile. "Just do it."
Hearht shook his head. He was determined not to give in on this one. Michael was lying on the examining table in his office, his shirt and jacket on the floor. His bare chest was sheened with sweat and covered in blood. Hearht knew that he was slipping into shock, a condition that would make the surgery that much more of a risk. "You have to trust me, Michael," he entreatied.
Michael almost laughed, but it turned into a cough that he fought to supress. He managed to focus enough to glare at the doctor. "If I didn't trust you, you'd be dead by now!" he hissed.
"Fair enough," Hearht allowed, a part of him believing Michael. The other part of him not caring. All he wanted to do was save his life. "Please let me help you, Michael. My way." He held his breath during a long moment of silence, then expelled it with relief when Michael gave a weary nod. "You're going to be all right," Hearht whispered, as he slid the needle into Michael's vein. It didn't take long for the potent drug to take effect. When he was certain that Michael was under, Hearht went to work.
Hearht sat beside Michael's bedside. He had put the young man in Tommy's old room. Why? Hearht didn't want to think about that. He was content that it felt right. And he was relieved that Michael had pulled through the surgery so well. He was an incredibly resilient young man. He was also an enigma. Michael was obviously in some kind of trouble with the law, hence his reluctance to go to a hospital, or have the police involved, yet Hearht knew that this young man was no ordinary criminal. He was too refined, intelligent and beautiful. There was something more to Michael than the eye could see. Much more.
Michael sensed Hearht's presence, even as he opened his eyes to find the other man smiling at him. He shifted in the bed and pain lanced through him, but Michael didn't respond to it. He looked at Hearht. "How long was I out?"
"About six hours," Hearht replied. He shook his head. "Should have been at least twice that, seeing as how I gave you two injections. But, somehow, I'm not surprised." He pressed his palm to Michael's forehead and felt the start of a fever. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," Michael replied, his standard answer to almost everything. He started to sit up, but Hearht's strong hand pressed him back down. "I have to go," Michael protested.
Hearht shook his head. "Not a chance. All you're going to do is lie there and heal, Michael. Don't worry about anything, just rest. I'll take good care of you."
Michael knew that he was only playing a part, but he found himself sincerely curious as he asked, "Why?"
"I don't know," Hearht replied, honestly. But even as he spoke he could see that the second injection had taken effect and Michael had drifted back into unconsciousness. Hearht smiled to himself as he readusted the covers, then he smoothed back an errant lock of brown hair from Michael's brow. It was an oddly familiar gesture and Hearht found himself blinking back tears. Memories rushed at him but he pushed them back as he sat down in the chair and picked up the book he had been reading. He would keep vigil over Michael. But Hearht found he couldn't concentrate on reading, because Michael's question continued to haunt him. 'Why?'
************
Two days had passed and Michael was up and dressed in the clothes that Hearht had provided for him. Black jeans and a teal-colored shirt. Since he had left the top few buttons open, part of the bandage on his shoulder could be seen. He made his way down the curved staircase and outside to the terrace where Hearht was having breakfast.
The doctor was surprised to see Michael on his feet and said so. "You should be in bed, Michael. You still have a fever," he chastised the young man, even as he jumped up to help Michael to a chair. Help that wasn't needed, but accepted, and Hearht was grateful. Once Michael was seated, Hearht took a moment to study him. He was dressed in Tommy's clothes. Hearht had never gotten rid of them. Of course, to his mind, it had only been two years. He was still in mourning.
"I'm fine," Michael said softly, allowing the other man's intense gaze to move over him without reacting to it. "We need to talk," he announced.
"About what?" Hearht countered, returning to his own chair. He was worried about Michael. He was pale and his eyes were somewhat glassy. He really needed to be back in bed, but Hearht knew his advice would be rebuffed. The young man had a strong will and a fierce determination. Just like Tommy. Only His brother was dead now. Hearht shook the memories away.
Michael could guess what the other man was thinking about. Madeline had briefed him on Hearht's close ties to his younger brother. Tommy had died two years ago, a gun shot wound to the heart. He had died in Hearht's arms. A drug dealer had killed Tommy. The young man hadn't been a user, but a player. Not because he had needed the money, for Hearht had provided for him, but because of the thrill. The rush. So, in the end, he had died for no reason. It was a tragedy and Michael felt sympathy towards Hearht. He was not happy having to play this role. But he would do his job, as always. He locked eyes with Hearht. "I can't stay here," Michael said, bluntly. "It's not safe."
"For who?" Hearht countered. "You...or me?" He paused to pour orange juice into a glass and handed it to Michael. "Drink it," he ordered. Only when Michael had obeyed did he continue. "I know you're in some kind of trouble, Michael. I can help you."
"Why?" Michael was quick to interject. He offered a cold smile. "You don't know me. Who...or what...I am. I could be a killer."
Hearht nodded. "I think you have killed," he acknowledged, without a hint of fear or concern. "If I had betrayed you I think you would have killed me, and still could, without blinking an eye."
Michael was genuinely surprised by Hearht's words. "Then why help me?" he asked.
"I'm no angel," Hearht replied, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "I've done things that I'm not proud of. Things that I would do again, with hesitation. I like money. I like living this life-style." He paused to gesture about him. His home was grand. A huge estate with stables, tennis courts, a ten-stall garage, pool, gardens and a thirty-two room mansion. "I have everything, material, that money can buy. And I like it that way."
"You still haven't explained why you want to help me," Michael prompted. He knew what he was digging for. A connection to Tommy.
Hearht was quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say. How much of himself he was willing to reveal. To buy some time, he filled a plate with fruit and a croissant and set it before Michael. "Eat," he ordered. When Michael tried to push the plate away, Hearht grabbed his wrist. His eyes were flashing as he snarled, "Eat it or I'll put you back to bed and hook you up to an IV. And, for the record, I have restraints."
Michael believed that Hearht would do as he threatened, and he wasn't feeling up to par yet, so he took a bite of the croissant. After swallowing he said, "I appreciate all that you've done for me, but I really can't stay."
"Why not?" Hearht countered, his eyes boring into Michael's. "You'll be safe here. Besides which, do you really have any place else you have to be? I get the impression that you don't have a family." It was a statement, but also a question.
"Not anymore," Michael allowed, and it was a painful truth that hit too close to home.
Hearht nodded. He could relate to that. "I don't know what kind of trouble that you're in, Michael. I don't care," he admitted. "I want you to stay here. Stay with me. Make my home your home. I'll give you a job, if you want to be self-sufficient." Hearht grinned. "I have a feeling that you are diversely skilled, so I'm sure we'll find you a job to suit you and whatever needs you might have. Or don't work, if you like. I have more than enough money to take care of you."
Michael almost smiled at Hearht's enthusiasm. "I'm not used to being taken care of," he confessed, revealing yet another truth. "And I'm not so sure that my particular skills would be of any use to you."
"I disagree," Hearht countered, firmly. "But we don't have to get into that now. I want you to rest for the next few days. Learn your way around the estate. There's alot to see."
"You still haven't told me why you want to do this for me," Michael reminded Hearht. He wanted an answer more for himself at this point, than for any other reason.
Hearht fell silent again, the fingers of one hand stroking across his forehead, to relieve the tension. He hadn't shared his feelings about Tommy's death, and his sense of loss with anyone. But he wanted to share them with Michael, so he decided to tell the truth. "My younger brother, Tommy, he died to years ago. He was shot and he died in my arms. I couldn't save him." Tears welled up and Hearht paused to blink them back, and swallow the lump in his throat. "Tommy was my life. Our parents died when I was twenty-one. Tommy was ten. You're about his age, Michae...a little younger. Anyway...my folks had enough money for Tommy and I to live on and to help me finish med school. But I wanted something more for us. So I did what I had to do. And Tommy reaped the benefits of my hard work. I gave him everything...but it wasn't enough. He got bored easily...and lived for excitement. Danger excited him. He was smart and savvy...but reckless. And it got him killed." Hearht didn't go into details, they didn't seem neccessary.
Michael, of course, knew all the details, but he simply listened as Hearht spoke. He could see the pain that glimmered in the other man's eyes. He had loved his brother deeply. Michael knew that kind of love and loss. Knew the depths of the pain that Hearht was suffering, but he didn't let it show. He simply waited.
"I'm sorry," Hearht apologized, wiping at his eyes with a napkin. "Why should you care about my past...or my pain."
"I care," MIchael said softly, and it was a surprising truth. "I'm sorry about your brother."
Hearht nodded. "So am I. But that was two years ago. We all have to get on our lives." He offered a wry grin. "The living have to go on living."
Michael found himself wanting to contradict Hearht. To ammend that the living sometimes simply survived. Michael was honest enough with himself to admit that was what he was doing. Surviving. He had stopped living a long time ago. But all he said was, "It's not that easy."
"No...it's not," Hearht confirmed. He smiled then, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off him by confessing his sorrow to Michael. "I want you to stay, no strings attached. You have the run of the house, use of any of the cars. What ever you want, or need, simply ask for it."
"You must want something in return," Michael countered, finding it hard to believe that Hearht would make so generous an offer. And his feelings on this matter had nothing to do with the role he was playing. He didn't understand why the other man was doing this. And he wanted to understand.
Hearht shook his head. He realized that Michael didn't trust easily, and that he was familiar with pain. They had that in common at least. "I want you to be safe, Micahel," he said sofly. "And I want your companionship."
Michael was thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not your brother," he countered, his eyes locked on Hearht's face, waiting for a reaction to his words.
"I know," Hearht began, but was interrupted by his beeper. He glanced at the number then jumped to his feet. "I have to go. Call the hospital if you need me. Make yourself at home, Michael. All that I have is yours." With that, Hearht ran off.
Michael sat in front of the computer that was in Tommy's room. His room now. He had tapped into Hearht's files and they made for interesting reading. All the data on the antidote was there. The man didn't bother to hide it. Didn't have a complicated password either. Tommy. Michael downloaded the data then sent it to Birkhoff. He also sent a message to the computer whiz, via IRC. Michael had told Birkhoff to stay connected to IRC at all times so they could communicate in real time over the PC.
Operations was standing over Birkhoff's shoulder as he and Michael chatted. He was pleased with what Michael had accomplished. Birkhoff had inquired as to Michael's physical well-being, and Ops was replieved that the young operative was all right. He tapped Birkhoff on the shoulder. "Tell him to find out what Hearht intends to do with the antidote, and proceed from there. Also, make sure he deletes all the files."
Birkhoff did so and watched as Michael typed back that it was already done. "He's good to go," Birkhoff announced. At Operations' nod, Birkhoff informed Michael that he would continue to keep the channel open.
Michael signed off, then turned off the computer. He then walked out onto the balcony, which had a view of the gardens. Hearht had created a paradise for himself, but Michael wondered if he had sold his soul to the devil to do it. A part of him hoped not. Going back into the room, Michael slipped out of the teal shirt, rummaging through the dressers till he found a black t-shirt. From the closet he removed a black blazer and slipped it on. It was eerie how well the clothes fit him. But Michael shrugged off such notions as he retrieved his gun and the clip from the beside table, where Hearht had left them. Michael shook his head. The man had blind faith in him....had to, to do such a thing. In his place, Michael wouldn't have.
Tucking the gun inside his waistband of his jeans, at the small of his back, Michael left the room. From now on he would keep the gun with him. Right now he was going to borrow one of the cars. He needed to pick up some more ammunition. Instinct told Michael he would need it. And the thought left him feeling strangely....regretful.
************
Two days passed. Hearht revealed more of his heart and soul to Michael, and felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted off his shoulders. He knew little more about the young man, for Michael listened far more than he talked, but Hearht was content...for now. He was also pleased by Michael's progress, he was a fast healer. They had just finished dinner when Hearht announced that he had to go out for the evening, on business.
"So...what are your plans for this evening, Michael?" Hearht inquired.
"I thought I'd go see a movie," Michael replied. He could sense Hearht's uneasiness, so he knew that something was up and he intended to follow the other man to his...meeting.
Hearht poured himself another drink. He was nervous and trying not to let it show. Tonight he had a meeting with some very powerful people. People who were on the wrong side of the law, but who were very rich. And they were interested in an item he had for sale. "What movie?" Hearht asked, more to distract himself than Michael.
Michael shrugged. "I'll decide when I get there." He finished the wine in his glass then stood up. "I should go. See you in the morning?"
"Yes, in the morning," Hearht replied. "Enjoy the movie."
"I will," Michael replied. He headed for the stairs, ostensibly to get his coat. He wanted to retrieve his gun, as well as send a quick message to Birkhoff. Michael sensed that tonight would be the conclusion of his mission with Hearht, and he wanted to be ready for anything.
Hearht met with a man named Tango. Not his real name, but that's what he went by. Michael watched the action from the rafters of the warehouse. He knew Tango. The man was on Section's hitlist. Michael smiled to himself. Killing Tango would be a freebie. The man was responsible for the deaths of several operatives in the past.
From down below, Hearht was explaining about his antidote to Tango. "It will neutralize the El Virus, within ten seconds."
Tango was duly impressed. He had seen how effective the El Virus was. Now he smiled at Hearht. "So...twenty million, right? That's your asking price?"
"That's right," Hearht confirmed. He had to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn't like Tango. Didn't trust him. His right hand was in his coat pocket, fingering the snub pistol he had with him. Hearht had never killed anyone. He was a surgeon. His calling was to save lives, but he had the feeling he might have to kill, to save his own life. There was one person that Hearht desired to kill. The drug dealer who had murdered his brother. But Tommy's killer had met his demise in an automobile accident, six weeks after Tommy's funeral.
"Tell you what," Tango said, as he zipped up the case holding the vials of the antidote. "I'll just take this and we'll call it even. After all...dead men don't need millions." As he spoke, Tango signalled his three body guards and they pulled out guns and pointed them at Hearht. "It was nice doing business with you, Doc," Tango drawled, turning to walk back to his car. But he only took two steps when he cried out and fell to his knees. A moment later he was dead.
The guards forgot about Hearht. They searched about even as the first one dropped. The other two fired their rifles, shooting about in a semi circle. But one cried out as he fell, soon to be followed by the other. An eerie silence echoed in the warehouse.
Hearht gazed at the dead men around him, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers closed about the gun in his pocket, but he felt relief wash over him as he recognized the man walking towards him. "Michael," he whispered. Hearht smiled at the young man, but a part of him that was terrified, recognized that the Michael he was seeing now was a stranger. He was dressed in the black that Hearht was familiar with, but now he wore a long, leather coat and gloves as well. In his right hand was the gun that had once been pointed at Hearht's chest. It was pointed there now.
Michael's eyes were cold, his face expressionless as he came to stand before Hearht. "You all right?" he asked, his voice neutral.
"I'm...alive," Hearht replied. "You followed me," he guessed. At Micahel's nod he continued. "You saved my life...again. Why? What's going on, Michael? Who are you?"
"I'm not who you want me to be," Michael replied, almost gently. He was referring to Tommy and they both knew it. Michael felt regret at what was to come, but the gun in his hand never wavered.
Hearht felt his mouth go dry. He had no doubt that Michael could kill him. Especially given the way he had so coldly, and efficiently, killed Tango and his goons. "What do you want from me?"
Michael didn't blink. "I want the antidote," he replied, reaching for the case that Tango had dropped. Michael put it in his pocket, then he opened the briefcase that Tango had brought with him. It was filled with hundred dollar bills. "I'll take this too," he said. Then he saw the confusion on Hearht's face. "I have your research," Michael explained. "I downloaded it from your database. It's been deleted, permanently."
"You can't delete it from my head," Hearht shot back, feeling the need to show that he still had some power here. Some control. But he saw that Michael was not impressed. "So...what now? Do you kill me?" Hearht questioned. He tried not to let his fear show.
"That's up to you," MIchael replied, softly. He could feel Hearht's fear, but he offered no compassion. Sympathy wouldn't make this easier on the man. "Why did you create the virus?" Michael asked. It was a very important question.
Hearht shrugged. "Simply to see if I could," he admitted, and it was the truth. "And, to answer your next question, I was selling it because it's good business. Plain and simple."
Michael believed him, but now he had a decision to make.
"What now?" Hearht queried. "Did I give the right answer?" He sensed that his life rested in Michael's hands.
"Do you want to live?" Michael asked. His eyes bore into Hearht's. The other man's answer would determine his fate.
Hearht was silent for a moment, debating. But the answer was simple. "Yes."
Michael looked away for a moment. He had a life or death decision to make, and only a moment to make it. He looked back at Hearht and said, "Come with me now, no questions asked."
"Where?" Hearht countered, ignoring Michael's instructions. "For how long? I have to make arrangements for the house, and my practice."
"That part of your life is over," Michael interjected. He knew that Section had a team on it's way to Hearht's estate as they spoke. Within twenty-four hours all proof of his past existance would be gone. "Either you come with me now or..."
Hearht knew the choice, "Or you kill me," he replied.
Michael nodded. "Yes." He didn't want to have to do that, but he would.
"Yes..." Hearht repeated. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and he was holding the gun. But all he did was hold it out to Michael. When the young man took it, Hearht smiled at him. He was ready for whatever awaited him. "Let's go," he said softly.
"I'm sorry," Michael said, as he led Hearht away. And he meant it.
Michael was in his office when Nikita came breezing in. She smiled at him as she plopped into the chair across from his desk. "Can I ask you a question?" Nikita entreatied.
"You can ask," Michael replied, his fingers still tapping at his keyboard.
"How many times have you been shot?" Nikita grinned as Michael suddenly froze.
His head came up and he locked eyes with Nikita. "Maybe a dozen times," he replied. "Why?"
Nikita sighed. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Michael countered, frowning. He wondered if he would ever truly understand Nikita.
"For adding to the number," she replied.
Suddenly, Michael understood and offered a smile. "You did your job," he told her. He had no ill will. Michael understood Section's methods better than anyone.
Nikita nodded. "Yes...and you did yours. And everybody's happy," she drawled. Everybody but Michael. Nikita could see sadness shimmering in his silver-green gaze. She wondered what caused it, but was smart enough not to ask. He wouldn't tell her. So she stood up and headed for the door.
"Nikita.." Michael said her name, almost without realizing it.
"Yes?" She turned back to face him.
Michael stood up, his hand reaching out to shut down his computer. "Would you like to go out?" he asked. "For a drink?"
Nikita was stunned by the invitation, although she didn't let Michael see it. Rather, she smiled at him then moved forward to take his hand. "I would love too," she said, drawing Michael towards the door. "How about my place? I have a bottle of wine in the fridge."
"Perfect," Michael replied, his fingers tightening over Nikita's. He had a feeling that she was up to something, but Michael didn't care. He knew only that he didn't want to be alone, and that the only person he felt at peace with, was Nikita.
THE END
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