Michael was pacing behind Birkhoff's chair. He could feel Sydney's eyes burning into him. The woman was leaning against a console, watching Michael rather than the monitor. He didn't want to know what she saw. Michael knew he was fracturing. Proof was in that fact that after taking a pain pill a few hours ago, he had passed out in his chair. Coming awake in a rush when Birkhoff had called to say that he was needed. The sequence in Cairo was going bad.

Sydney had been passing by when Birkhoff had called Michael. She had decided to remain and watch the mission profile play itself out. There was nothing for them to do but watch. But Michael was the one who held her attention. He wasn't one for pacing, at least not in this agitated style. His clothes were rumpled, his hair a mass of unruly curls and his eyes burned like emerald coals in his pale face. Sydney watched him fuss with his headset, removing the ear piece then sticking it back in. Michael was ready to jump out of his skin. She could feel him clinging to his control, but it was slipping.

"Report!" Michael hissed, his words for the operative on the screen. A six man team had been sent on the mission, three were already dead. There was no chance of escaping with the information they had been sent to receive, so Michael had changed the profile. The information could not fall into enemy hands. Sofer, the team leader, was under orders to blow up the headquarters of the terrorist regime.

Sofer's image faded out then reappeared. He was covered in blood, most of it belonging to the enemy. "Two charges are in place," he replied, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"You need three to demolish the place," Birkhoff interjected.

"Baines was hit!" Sofer hissed. "It's just me and Townsend."

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who's closer?" he asked.

Sofer knew the answer but resisted responding. Yet he was a good operative so he whispered, "Townsend."

"Send her," Michael ordered, as he turned away from the screen. He knew that Sofer and Townsend were a couple. Knew that Section allowed it because the two operatives never let it interfere with the mission. Michael could relate to Sofer's pain, his thoughts automatically going to Nikita. He had watched her get shot more than once. Had thought she had blown up, like Simone. Had ordered her beaten, then felt pride when she hadn't broken.

"What about transport?" Sofer was asking. He had ordered Townsend in. All he could do now was pray she would return and that Section would get them out.

Michael turned back to the screen, his eyes blank. "Nothing is available," he replied. "You have to find your own way home." Michael knew it wouldn't be easy, but Sofer was a good operative. Michael had trained Sofer himself. In a sense, he considered the other man a friend. In the way Chuck had been a friend. A dead friend. They all died eventually. Michael shook his head, realizing that his thoughts were becoming sporadic. :::focus:::: he told himself.

Sofer was listening to his com unit. "Charge is in place," he reported.

"Get out of there," Michael ordered his eyes now glued on the screen.

"Townsend!" Sofer shouted. "Move out!" He listened for a moment then his face turned pale.

Michael frowned. "What is it?" he asked, moving to stand directly behind Birkhoff's chair.

Sofer closed his eyes. "Townsend went down," he whispered.

"Blow the charges," Michael ordered, his voice cold as ice. He waited but Sofer didn't move. Michael knew what he was thinking, and feeling, but now was not the time. "Blow the charges!" he shouted, yet his voice was whisper-soft.

"Yes, sir.." Sofer drawled. He pulled the trigger out of his pocket then smiled, his face filling the monitor screen. "See you on the other side, Michael," Sofer whispered, then he ran towards the compound.

Michael knew what he was doing. Knew he was helpless to stop the other man. Yet rage rippled through him, red-hot like molten lava. Michael shoved Birkhoff aside and his hands clamped on the monitor, as if he would reach inside and pull Sofer out of there. But it was already too late. There was a muffled boom in Michael's ear then the video screen went blank.

"NO!" Michael screamed.

Sydney knew that Michael had lost control. She saw it before she heard it and was by his side. A crack of her palm against his cheek and he fell silent. His eyes locked on hers for a moment then flickered away. Sydney stepped back, allowing Michael to brush past her, then she turned and watched him walk away.

Birkhoff had watched the exchange in stunned disbelief. He looked up at Sydney. "Is he all right?" Birkhoff questioned.

"Michael is fine," Sydney replied, her eyes narrowing as they locked with Birkhoff's. She sent a silent message to him and knew that he had received it by the slight nod of his head. This episode would remain between the three of them.

"Should I do a report?" Birkhoff questioned, as he turned away from the intensity of Sydney's silver gaze. He tapped one key on the keyboard and the blank screen filled with text.

Sydney nodded. "Have it on Michael's desk in one hour," she replied, then she turned and walked away.

Michael glided down the corridor, heading for his office. Eyes focused dead ahead, seeing everything yet looking at nothing. He had shifted into machine mode, it was the only way to maintain control. Yet it was only an illusion. The boom of the charges going off still echoed in his ears. Michael didn't see the blank monitor screen, he saw Sofer expolding into flames and his image melded into Simone. Then Nikita. By then Michael was inside the office. He waited for the door to close behind him then he tapped in the key code to lock it. That done, Michael moved to stand in the center of the room. He looked around and saw so many fragile things. Glass that would shatter, plants that could be crushed. It would be so easy to destroy the room, working his way through it like a cyclone, leaving refuse in his wake. How symbolic it would be, was Michael's idle thought. A reflection of his inner self. The crushed emotions, battered psyche and shattered soul. He recognized that he was damaged, had known it since before Section had recruited him. From the moment the bomb had exploded in Paris and people had died. Michael's innocence had died that day as well.

The intercom on his desk beeped. Michael blinked, then glided across the room. He punched the lighted button on the panel. "Yes?"

"Operations wants to see you in ten minutes," Birkhoff stated.

"Thank you," Michael replied, then he tapped the button again, disconnecting them. He turned to look at the vase that sat upon the corner of his desk. It contained a lavender rose, a gift from Nikita. Michael removed the flower, gentle fingers clasping the fragile stem. He pressed the velvet petals to his lips and thought of Nikita's sweet kisses. A mistake. She was his one, true, weakness.

Laying the rose on the desk, Michael then curled his fingers around the crystal vase. It fit snugly in his palm and felt cool against his heated skin. A smile curved Michael's lips as he turned towards the wall. Drawing back his arm, he closed his eyes then slammed his fist into the plaster. Felt the crystal shatter in his palm, tiny splinters piercing his flesh. But there was no pain. Michael opened his eyes and saw blood dripping off his white hand, splashing onto the floor. He moved to the garbage can and opened his fist. Shaking his hand Michael heard the tinkling of glass fragments, then he reached for the rose. It nestled in his bloody palm, a perfect bloom. A perfect illusion. Michael closed his fingers, crushing the petals. Then he dropped it into the garbage can, where it lay in a pool of crimson tears.

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

Nikita heard about the incident from Birkhoff. Was stunned to learn that Michael had lost control. Was unhappy to hear the Sydney had been there to snap him back into machine mode. Nikita was worried about Michael. Knew she shouldn't be, but couldn't help it. She cared about him. It was that simple. And it was those, complexingly, simple feelings that sent her into a confrontation with Operations. Nikita leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, as she watched him staring out over Section One. Lord and master of his domain.

"I think Michael needs some down time," Nikita declared.

"Why?" Operations countered, turning a bit so he could look at Nikita. It wasn't that he disagreed with her, for he knew what had happened yesterday as well. But he was curious as to what it was that had prompted Nikita to seek him out. Her feelings for Michael? It wouldn't be the first time Nikita had tried to protect her mentor. Operations had warned her not to try it again. No surprise that Nikita hadn't listened.

"He's been stuck in here since Madeline left," Nikita replied, without hesitation. She hadn't thought things through, she was simply answering from the heart. Let Operations chew on the truth. "Michael is trying to be everything you want him to be," Nikita continued, when silence filled the room. She felt Operations watching her, his eyes cold, but had no intention of backing down now. She knew that Michael wouldn't want her to be his champion, but Nikita knew that he needed someone to watch over him for a change. "I'd say he's doing a hell of job, but I'm sure you haven't told him that."

Operations' felt the corner of his mouth twist at Nikita's obvious jibe, but resisted the smile. The young woman would have been surprised to learn that Operations had praised Michael's work.

"Your point being?" he prompted. This exchange with the beautiful blond was intriguing, but he had more important things to focus on.

Nikita's eyes flashed as she locked them on Operations' face. "Michael isn't sleeping or eating. He won't give himself a break. He needs to get away from here for a bit." Nikita paused, offering the head of Section One the chance to rebuff her, but he remained silent. So she continued. "At this point I think a mission would be welcome, if only to get Michael out of the house...so to speak."

"Not going to happen," Operations interjected. "I can't risk losing him."

"Fine..." Nikita drawled. She had expected as much. "Then let me take him away from here for twenty-four hours. Kind of like a weekend pass. Or shore leave."

Operations opened his mouth to refuse Nikita's request, outright, but the image of Madeline filled his head and he could almost hear her quiet voice. She would tell him that Michael did need to get away. Had been telling him that before she left. But he hadn't listened to her then.

"You have twelve hours," Operations barked. Then he tapped his watch. "Clock is ticking."

Nikita watched him turn away from her and knew she was being dismissed. But that was fine. She had gotten what she had wanted. Hadn't expected to get anything, so twelve hours was a true gift. Now all she had to do was convince Michael to go. As Nikita strode down the corridor towards Michael's office, she had the feeling that getting blood out of a stone would be easier. But that was okay. Nikita loved a challenge. And after what had just happened with Operations, she was on a roll.

Almost as if her thoughts of him had conjured him up, Nikita found herself slamming into Michael when she rounded the corner. They were both surprised, but she seemed to recover first.

"Perfect timing!" Nikita exclaimed, a smile curving her lips as her eyes roved over Michael's face. He looked exhausted, yet still beautiful, and Nikita found it difficult not to dip her head and kiss him. His lips looked so soft and warm. She wanted to know if he tasted the way she remembered. Like peppermint.

Michael didn't hear what Nikita had said. He was too busy absorbing the sight of her. Since he know longer worked in the field, Michael had little contact with Nikita now. It was difficult to find reasons to be in the same room with her. He had missed her, more than he had a right too. Without thinking, Michael breathed deeply, inhaling Nikita's scent. She reminded him of wildflowers. His right hand lifted with the intent of brushing her soft skin, but the band of white, circling his palm, jolted Michael back into the moment. He dropped his hand and stepped back, his mask slipping firmly in to place.

"Did you need to see me?" he asked, Nikita's comment finally registering.

"What happened to your hand?" Nikita countered, as she reached out and grasped Michael's wrist. She saw that the backs of his knuckles were bruised and lightly brushed a fingertip over the white bandage that covered his hand all the way to his wrist.

"It's nothing," Michael whispered. He would never tell her about the incident in his office. How he had lost control, how he had shattered the vase and crushed her rose. He had already caused Nikita too much pain.

Nikita let it go, simply because she knew Michael wouldn't tell her. So why bother. As Operations had warned her, the clock was ticking.

"We're going out," Nikita declared, then she waited for a reaction.

Michael blinked at her. "Going out," he repeated, and it was a statement, not a question.

"That's right," Nikita confirmed, her smile back in place. "We're going outside. You remember outside, don't you, Michael?" she teased. "It's a beautiful, sunny day. A perfect spring day. And you and I are going to take a walk, eat pizza. Maybe go to a movie."

"I have work to do," Michael countered, knowing that Nikita was simply indulging in a fantasy. They had never done those things. Never would. He made to step around her.

Nikita grabbed his arm. "I'm not kidding, Michael," she said, firmly. She tightened her fingers when he tried to pull away, then she pushed against Michael's chest till his back slammed against the wall. Nikita then pressed herself against him, pinning him there.

Michael could have broken away from Nikita, they both knew that. But he chose to remain still, his body trembling slightly.

"We can't do this, Nikita," he whispered, and there was regret coloring his tone.

"We have permission," Nikita countered, and was rewarded by seeing an honest reaction from Michael. Surprise flickered in his silver-green gaze. "I just left Operations and he gave me twelve hours to spend with you. Outside...of Section," she emphasized.

"Why?" Michael queried, and the one word asked about a million questions. Why bother? What purpose did it serve? What did she want from him? Why did she care? Did she care?

Nikita tucked a cinnamon curl behind Michael's ear, then she stepped back, freeing him. In the end it would be his decision. "You need a break from here, Michael," she said, giving him the truth. So many times they had to lie to each other, but not this time. "You're pushing yourself too hard. Even you have limits. Operations knows it. I know it. You know it. So I'm taking you out on a twelve hour shore leave. But the clock is ticking."

Michael locked eyes with Nikita and nearly flinched from the sincerity that he saw shining from the blue depths. But there was something else as well.

"Is that the only reason?" he prompted.

"No," Nikita replied, then she smiled. "But...it's the only one I'm going to admit to."

"I can't," Michael began, only to find Nikita's hand pressing over his mouth.

She leaned in close, the smile gone. "You can...if you want to, Michael," Nikita whispered. Then she pulled her hand away, but let one fingertip brush the curve of his lower lip.

Michael caught his breath. He opened his mouth to say *no*. "All right," he breathed.

"Good," Nikita replied, exhaling the breath she had been holding as well. "I have to get my things. Grab your coat and meet me at the south exit." As she spoke, Nikita was already on the move. Over her shoulder she called out, "If you're not there in two minutes, Michael....I'll hunt you down!"

"I'll be there," he whispered. But as he headed for his office, Michael couldn't help but wonder why. Why risk it. :::You know why::::a tiny voice in Michael's head taunted him. He snuffed it out and continued walking. Operations was giving him twelve hours with Nikita, and Michael intended to cherish every minute of it. He would worry about the fall out later. When the time came, Michael would give the devil his due. Twelve hours with Nikita was worth any price.

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

"Which do you like better...the blue or the green?" Nikita asked, her eyes locked on Michael's face.

He stared at the sleevless t-shirts, one sapphire blue the other emerald green, then shook his head. "Nikita...I don't need any clothes," Michael protested.

Nikita waved the shirts in front of Michael like flags. "Here's the deal," she drawled, her eyes alight with mischief. "You have to wear something COLORFUL or I'm dragging you off to see Titantic, over and over and over again. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Michael replied, reaching out to grasp the blue shirt. He and Nikita had just come from seeing the Titanic and his black t-shirt was still damp from her tears. What Michael would never admit to was that his own eyes had shimmered with tears he had refused to let fall. He could relate to loving someone for a heartbeat in time, then losing them forever.

"Go put it on while I pay for it," Nikita ordered, pushing Michael towards the dressing rooms in the back of the store.

Michael dug in his heels. "Nikita..." he began, but broke off at the look on her face. She would make him see Titanic again and Michael didn't want to spend another three hours in the dark with Nikita. Not if all they were going to do was watch a movie. Then he shook his head, chiding himself for such foolish thoughts. Another movie would be a smart move on his part. It was...safe.

Nikita nudged Michael again, then smiled as he moved off. She then went to the check out counter and paid for both shirts. She would suprise him with the green one later. Bag in hand, Nikita then strolled to the back to await Michael's return. She saw his coat lying across one of the chairs in front of the dressing rooms and draped it across her lap as she sat down to wait. Nikita had just gotten comfortable when Michael was standing before her. She caught her breath at the sight of him. The blue t-shirt brought out the green in his eyes and it was molded to his muscular chest. It was also striking in contrast to his black pants, and Nikita realized that she wasn't the only one who had noticed how the dark material molded itself to Michael's long, muscular legs and tight buttocks. Lordy but the man had buns of steel. A grin curved Nikita's lips as she glanced at the drooling sales girl. *Mine* she wanted to shout, but did so only in her head.

"Looks good," Nikita commented to Michael, as he reached for his coat.

"Thank you," he replied, tugging on the garment when Nikita seemed reluctant to relinquish the black leather.

"It's nice out," Nikita countered, yanking the coat away from Michael and stuffing it in the oversized shopping bag, along with her own. "Hungry?" she asked, looping her arm through Michael's and leading him off towards the exit.

Michael considered the question. "A little," he allowed, and was surprised to realize that he did have an appetite. Something he had been lacking for the past few weeks.

"Pizza time!" Nikita sing songed, as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. The air was warm, the sun was bright and she had eight more hours to spend with Michael. Nikita couldn't remember ever being happier. Certainly not since before coming to Section One. Maybe not ever. "What do you like on your pizza, Michael?" she asked.

"Anything but anchovies," he replied, feeling the warm glow of Nikita's high spirits spreading through him. As if the light of her soul was being absorbed into his darkness. And the darkness lightened to gray. Michael found himself leaning over to brush a kiss to Nikita's soft cheek.

She missed a step but caught herself. "What was that for?" Nikita questioned, eyes flickering over Michael's face. His mask was slipping, she could almost see it.

Michael shrugged. "Seemed like the thing to do," he whispered, letting a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You should do it more often," Nikita replied, her eyes locking with Michael's. She stopped walking and tugged on his arm to pull him against her. Then Nikita let her lips brush over his, teasingly. She smiled when she heard Michael moan, deep in his throat. Felt his arm slip around her waist pressing her tight against his hard length. Nikita melted against him. This was where she belonged.

"This is....madness," Michael whispered against Nikita's lips. He should have pulled away, should have been the voice of reason. Knew his protest was weak. Nikita was his weakness.

Nikita threaded her fingers through Michael's hair. "Sweet madness," she breathed, then her tongue slipped between his lips. They kissed as if there was no tomorrow. Tasting and teasing and tempting each other with the promise of something more. Not pulling apart until they heard the giggles of teeanage girls who were passing by.

"Let's go eat," Nikita said, her eyes locked on Michael's. In the silver-green depths she saw passion and desire. The blank stare was gone. "You'll need your strength, Michael," she teased.

He didn't deny it. But neither did he play into his foolish dreams. Michael brushed the pad of his thumb across Nikita's bottom lip. It was rosy and swollen from the kiss.

"I'll never be strong enough, Nikita," he whispered, and he let her hear in his voice the regret that burned deep inside him. He wasn't talking about loving her with his body, but with his heart and soul.

"You're stronger than you know, Michael," Nikita replied, knowing exactly what he meant. "I believe that."

"Nikita..." Michael began, but fell silent when she kissed him. It was a tender kiss. The desire was still present, but the passion had cooled. By neccessity.

Breaking the kiss, Nikita reached for Michael's hand, letting her fingers intertwine with his. "No dark thoughts today, Michael," she chided him. "Not today."

Michael raised Nikita's hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Not today," he repeated, softly. And he was willing to concede to her wishes for Michael sensed that things would never be the same between them. That these twelve hours were all they would have to cherish. Michael would have prayed to be wrong, but he didn't remember how to pray, or who to pray to. So he banished the darkness to the shadowland deep inside him and let Nikita lead him off down the sidewalk. The clock was ticking.

After pizza, mushroom and sausage, Nikita dragged Michael to a toy store. She was in high spirits as they sauntered down the aisle. She had a purpose in mind and she found it in aisle sixteen. A frisbee. Once that was purchased, Nikita headed for the park. For the next hour she and Michael tossed the pink disk back and forth. Nikita discovered that Michael played frisbee like he did everything else, expertly. She didn't mind that she threw badly. It was fun watching Michael chase the frisbee, somehow always managing to snag it before it wobbled to the ground. Every move he made was poetry in motion and Nikita was entranced.

Frisbee time ended and Nikita took Michael to the museum. She knew she had made a good choice when his face lit up like a child's at Christmas. So they spent two hours studying impressionist paintings then commenting on the dinosaur exhibition, before ending the tour in the wax figure section.

There were three hours left when Nikita hailed a cab and they headed for the gourmet ice cream shop. She bought a half gallon of death by chocolate then gave the cab driver her home address. Once inside the apartment Nikita glanced at her watch. Two and a half hours to go. She was tempted to call Operations and beg for more time, but knew that Michael wouldn't allow it. He was watching the clock as closely as Nikita.

"I hope you like chocolate," Nikita commented as she set the ice cream on the counter and opened a drawer to retrieve a spoon. They would only need one.

"I like chocolate," Michael allowed as he followed Nikita into the livingroom. When she sat down on the floor next to the coffee table, Michael sank down beside her before she even asked. He watched her open the lid to the ice cream container then dip the spoon into the cool treat.

"I love chocolate," Nikita whispered, but her eyes were on Michael's face as she spoke. Then she held the spoon to his lips. "Taste it," she entreatied.

Michael opened his mouth and let Nikita feed him. His tongue slid the ice cream off the spoon and he savored it's dark, rich flavor.

"Delicious..." Michael breathed. He snagged the spoon from Nikita and scooped up more. But instead of feeding it to her, he took it into his own mouth, then leaned forward. One hand cupped the back of Nikita's head as Michael fed her the ice cream from his lips.

Nikita moaned as cool chocolate touched her tongue, then shivered as white-heat flared in her groin. She felt desire flood through her veins and shoved the ice cream container aside as she melted into Michael's arms.

"I want you," she whispered against his cool lips. Nikita hands tugged at Michael's shirt, yanking it out of the waistband of his pants. But even as her fingers glided over his warm flesh, the phone rang. "Ignore it!" Nikita hissed, when she felt Michael stiffen against her and pull away.

"You can't," he replied, one hand raking through his hair before setting Nikita from him. Michael locked eyes with her and whispered, "Answer it."

"Michael..." Nikita began, but broke off when she realized that her protests were in vain. The phone was on the kitchen counter and Nikita jumped up and snatched it into her hand. "Yes!" she snarled into the receiver.

Sydney's voice responded. "Josephine."

Nikita was furious. "Operations gave me twelve hours!" she snapped. "We've got two left."

"Something came up," Sydney countered, unresponsive to Nikita's fury. "Come in." That said she broke the connection.

"Dammit.." Nikita whispered, as she hung up on her end. She turned to see Michael standing at the door, shrugging on his coat. "It's not fair," she stated, striding over to him.

Michael sighed, then reached out to tuck a pale lock of hair behind Nikita's ear. "It never will be," he replied.

Nikita didn't want it to end like this. "Michael..." she began, but he silenced her with a kiss. Tears filled her eyes at the tenderness that flowed from Michael. He let his soul touch her, for a heartbeat in time. Then the moment was gone.

"Thank you, Nikita," Michael breathed against her lips. Then he pulled away and dragged his mask back into place.

"You're welcome, Michael," she whispered, after he was gone. And in that moment Nikita had never felt more alone.

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

Nikita's eyes were glued to Sydney's face as the other woman outlined the mission profile. She had been sincere about something coming up, when she had called Nikita in. A part of Nikita was relieved, for she had been certain that Sydney was yanking her chain. But they were in the van and on their way to stop a mule from taking his load to it's destination. Nikita didn't know what the Lode was, and she didn't care. What caught her attention was Sydney's final comments.

Sydney feel the heat of Nikita's intense gaze as she explained to her six man team that there would likely be innocents involved but they were to be considered acceptable collateral. Securing the mule was their prime objective. And it had to be done quickly and efficently with zero margin for error. Too much was at stake. Sydney let her gray eyes flicker over Nikita as she finished with, "Do I make myself clear?" Although the others were listening, both women knew that Sydney was speaking directly to Nikita. The other operatives would obey Sydney without question or hesitation, but Nikita believed in following her own instincts, which translated into...following her heart. That was not acceptable as far as Sydney was concerned.

"Crystal clear," Nikita drawled, in response to Sydney's question. She locked eyes with the other woman for a moment, then let her gaze flicker away, focusing on the clip she was loading into her gun. As she went through the familiar motions, Nikita let her mind wander back over the mission data they had received during the briefing back at Section. Operations had pointedly expressed that the Mule and his lode had to be retrieved. Another faction would be going after him as well and they were to be eliminated. Failure was not an option. When Nikita had asked what the *lode* was and why it was so important, Operations had glared at her and hissed that it was none of her concern.

After the meeting Nikita had tried to talk to Michael, to ask him what was going on. But he had brushed her off as well. However, in the moment before Michael had turned away, Nikita had seen a glimmer in his eyes. A flicker of emotion that she recognized. It was fear. Fear for her. Nikita remembered now how she had felt then. A thrill had raced through her at the realization that Michael had let her see into his soul again. Twice in one day. And she knew that it was honest emotion, that's what made her so happy. Yet, at the same time, she was scared. Not for herself, but for Michael. He was losing his iron-fisted grip on his control. It was what Nikita had been hoping for since first coming to Section. Only now that Michael was unthawing, Nikita was beginning to understand that his control and the mask he wore were his protection. Different from her own defenses, but neccessary to his survival. Nikita wondered what would happen if those shields dropped all the way. Then Michael would be vulnerable. That thou ght terrified her, and she wasn't exactly sure why. An old adage whispered in NIkita's head. ::::::Be careful what you wish for::::::

"Time to go," Sydney announced, as the van rolled to a stop. She opened the door to let the others out but stopped Nikita before the blond could exit. "This mission is important, Nikita," Sydney said, her voice soft but laced with steel. "Don't mess up. You'll regret it."

"You don't scare me!" Nikita shot back, feeling insulted by Sydney's tone of voice. She didn't trust the other woman. Didn't like her attitude. Nikita had often accused Michael of not having a heart, but she knew that wasn't true. In Sydney's case, however, Nikita believed it to be so.

Sydney grinned. "Let me give you a piece of advice, little girl," she drawled, her eyes glinting like chips of ice. "The world doesn't revolve around Nikita. You're just a number to the Section. Just for once, think about the repercussion of your actions. Think about who really suffers the fallout."

Nikita frowned, recognizing that Sydney was trying to warn her in some way. But she didn't understand how...or why. Nor did she really care.

"Excuse me," Nikita muttered, shouldering her way out the door. She was relieved when Sydney let her go. As she moved through the darkness, Nikita focused her attention on the mission at hand. But later she would come to regret not accepting Sydney's advice.

Michael stared at the man strapped to the iron chair. Joey Cardo. He was whimpering in pain and tears streaked down his pale face. Michael listened to him beg for his life. He was a paid assassin. A man who made a living taking lives, had the nerve to beg for his own. Michael felt sick to his stomach. A reaction that had never happened to him before. Always, in the past, he had been able to detach himself from his emotions. But not today. Nikita's fault. She had started stitching the two halves of his soul back together. Closing his eyes, Michael sought to rip apart the seam. It was a mental exercise that should have been easy to perform. He failed. Madeline would have been disappointed in him.

The random thought shook Michael out of his reverie. He had to focus. Had a job to do. THE job. The one he was constantly reminding Nikita about. Michael wiped one hand over his face as if, physically, slipping his mask back into place. Joey Cardo knew a name. Michael needed to learn what that name was. He let a cold smile curve his lips as he glided over to the chair. Michael stood directly in front of the assassin and whispered, "Do you know what pain is?"

"What?" Cardo stopped whimpering long enough to gape at the man in black. A man that terrified him. Shouldn't have done so for he was nothing more than a *pretty boy*. But Joey was afraid. "What do you mean...do I know what pain is?" he countered, almost belligerently.

"Your victims know what pain is, Mister Cardo," Michael replied as he curled his hands over the assassin's forearms and leaned in close. "Have you ever been shot?"

Cardo swallowed hard as he stared into eyes that were cold and empty. "No one can touch me!" he boasted. "I never been shot."

Michael was pleased. He pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, flipped off the safety even as he racked a bullet into the chamber, then he pulled the trigger. His smile faded as he listened to Cardo howl in pain. The bullet had shattered the other man's kneecap.

"Tell me the name of your source, Mister Cardo," Michael beseeched.

"Go to hell!" Cardo snarled, then his voice broke on a sob.

"How much pain can you handle?" Michael drawled as he pointed the gun at the other kneecap. His finger was curled around the trigger when he heard a whisper. He leaned in close to Cardo and listened. "Thank you," Michael said softly as he replaced his gun in the holster and turned towards the door.

Cardo was still weeping but called Michael back. "What happens now?" he questioned.

Michael paused with his hand on the door handle. "You die," he whispered, then he exited the room.

Operations was observing Michael. He was pleased with the young man. His method of interrogation had been crude, but highly effective. Operations approved, and he said as much when Michael joined him.

Michael nodded, uninterested in compliments. "The name is Martin Leeford."

"Pass it along to Birkhoff and lets see what turns up," Operations instructed. He made to leave the room when the phone on the wall rang. Operations snatched it up. "Yes!" he barked into the receiver. He listened for a moment then hung up. When he turned to face Michael, his expression was grim. "Sydney's team has returned."

"They have the lode?" Michael questioned, his voice soft even though he knew that something had gone wrong. Knew by the look on Operations' face.

Pale eyes glared at Michael. "They got the lode," he confirmed. "But the mule is dead. So is Rikert."

Michael blinked, but that was his only reaction. Rikert had been one of their best cold ops. They would feel the loss. He held Operation's gaze then asked, "Nikita?"

"You can't protect her this time, Michael!" Operations hissed, then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Through the two way mirror Michael could see the operative who entered the chamber holding Cardo. He watched as the operative stood before the assassin and pointed a gun at his chest. Michael couldn't hear the sound of the gun as a bullet entered Cardo's flesh. But he closed his eyes and his body jerked in reaction, for the bullet might as well have pierced his own heart.

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

Michael reread the transcript of Nikita's debriefing. He had already been over Sydney's at least a dozen times. Nothing changed when he looked at it, no matter how much he wished it would. Nikita had disobeyed orders and a life had been lost. He knew she had to be feeling the pain at causing the death of a fellow operative. Nikita considered them to be *family*. And he knew that she had liked Rikert. Had considered the man a friend.

The mission had been simple enough and should have gone off without a hitch. Would have, had not Nikita changed the profile. But two teenagers, the *innocents* that Sydney had warned Nikita about, had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps reminding Nikita of herself at that age. Her reasoning didn't matter. Nikita had traded Rikert's life for theirs. And now she had to live with the consequences. Michael wondered if she was strong enough to do so. Wondered if he was strong enough to watch.

"Michael?"

The sound of his name startled him out of his reverie. He had been expecting Nikita, so Michael dragged his mask into place before turning to face her.

"Sit down," he ordered, gliding around his desk to drop into his own chair.

Nikita's first instinct was to protest, but she quelled it. Now was not the time for a show of independence. Michael was not the enemy, she reminded herself. So Nikita stepped forward and sat down in the chair that Michael had indicated.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, just as he was about to speak. Nikita knew why she was here, knew that Michael didn't want to do what had to be done. What Madeline would have done. Nikita was determined not to hold it against him. Not this time.

"It's not enough," Michael countered, in response to Nikita's statement. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, shuttering them so that Nikita wouldn't see the pain he was suffering. Physical pain. His headaches were getting worse. The intensity making it difficult for Michael to detach himself and remain focused. Pain seemed to cloud his awareness, dulling his sharpness. He pressed fingertips to his temples for a moment, then forced his eyes back open. No sense in beating around the bush. Michael had no choice but to inform Nikita of her fate. A fate that he had a hand in. It was part of the job.

"Sydney has requested that you be put in restricted abeyance," Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What does restricted mean?" Nikita queried. She knew what abeyance was, of course.

Michael swallowed hard before answering. "You can't leave Section."

Nikita nodded her eyes were locked on Michael's face, and she noted that his gaze flickered away from her. "You said Sydney requested it," Nikita drawled. "Has a decision been made?" Even as she asked the question, Nikita knew the answer. It was written on Michael's face. His mask was slipping again.

"It's done," Michael whispered. Sydney had been within her rights to ask. Operations expected it as well. There had been no other option.

"Of course," Nikita replied. She found that she was able to smile at him.

Michael felt Nikita's gaze on him, lifted his eyes in time to see her smile at him and his stomach twisted into knots. "Nikita..." he began, not even knowing what he wanted to say.

But she cut him off with a wave of one hand. "No, Michael. Don't say you're sorry," Nikita beseeched, her eyes shining with conviction. "And no making excuses for me either. It was my mistake."

Nikita let her eyes close for a moment, her mind drifting back to the mission. The image of of Rikert shimmered in her head. His eyes open and staring at nothing, a bullet hole burned into the center of his forehead. It had seemed to Nikita that he was looking when she had paused long enough to brush his eyes closed. She couldn't blame him. She had played God, choosing the lives off two teenagers, strangers to her, over Rikert's life. She was his back up, but had left her position. Had left him alone and open to attack. Had chosen to let him die.

Nikita's eyes opened and she forced them to focus on Michael. She saw pain glittering in his silver-green gaze. Pain and sorrow. He understood what she was feeling. Of that Nikita had no doubt. She wondered how he could bear it. She didn't want to add to his pain.

"You can't save me this time, Michael," Nikita whispered, and she saw Michael wince at her words. Had no way of knowing that Operations had told him the same thing just hours ago. All Nikita knew was that she suddenly felt like she was suffocating. She stood up and turned towards the door. "I don't want you to save me," Nikita stated, her voice a husky whisper. "Let me sink or swim on my own, Michael," she beseeched. They both knew that she was asking him to let her die.

Nikita had dealt the play but Section held the winning hand. Nikita was ready to accept the inevitable and she wanted Michael to do the same. But, before he could reply, Nikita ran from the room. Only problem being, there was no where to run.

"I can't," Michael whispered, when Nikita was gone. He would not let her go without a fight. Didn't matter what had to be done. What lies he would have to tell. If lies would save her life, Michael would lie to the devil himself.

Walter had heard all the rumors about the mission. He knew that Nikita was in restricted Abeyance. Knew what that meant and a cold knot had formed in his stomach. He went in search of Michael. He was second in command now. Surely he could perform yet another miracle for Nikita. Yet, at the same time, Walter was worried about Michael as well.

He was striding down the corridor towards Michael's office when he caught sight of his quarry up ahead.

"Michael!" Walter called out, to catch the other man's attention. Michael had been heading in the other direction. Walter quickened his stride to catch up when Michael froze. As he reached him, Walter noticed how pale Michael was and the silver-green eyes were glassy with pain. "Hey, you all right?" Walter asked, concern coloring his voice.

"I'm fine," Michael replied, giving his standard reply automatically. "What is it, Walter?" he countered. Didn't really need to ask though, for Michael knew that the older man was worried about Nikita. She was all they really had in common. The one thing that forged a true bond between them. Years ago there had been something else, but that was in the past. Too much muddied water had passed under the bridge since then.

"You don't look so good, Michael," Walter persisted. He could see that the young man had lost weight. His face was too thin and his clothes hung on him. Funny that he hadn't noticed it before. It was almost as if Michael had lost a part of himself over night. Then the thought occurred to Walter than, in a sense, he had. Michael was losing Nikita. And she was a part of his soul. The best part.

Michael opened his mouth with the intention of snapping at Walter, but a wave of dizziness washed over him and his knees buckled. A buzzing sound filled Michael's ears as he reached out to catch himself against the wall, only to find fingers curling around his bicep.

Walter caught Michael and found himself supporting the other man's weight. He draped the limp arm over his shoulders and locked his knees, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

"I'll call Medlab," Walter stated as he felt Michael pull away from him, making the effort to support his own weight.

"No!" Michael hissed, his eyes cold. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"Bull!" Walter shot back, but then he dropped it. No sense in arguing with Michael. He had learned that lesson, the hard way, a long time ago. So Walter shifted his concern away from Michael and onto Nikita. "What's going to happen to her?" he asked. Mentioning names wasn't neccessary.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with fingers that trembled. "I'll take care of it," he whispered. Then he made to turn and leave.

Walter cut him off. "How?" he prompted, holding his ground. He needed to know. To be certain that Nikita would beat the system yet again. She always did because Michael was always watching over her.

"Trust me," Michael drawled, and one corner of his mouth lifted. It was a cold, cynical, smile. Not waiting for a response, Michael stepped around Walter and glided off down the hallway. But each step was an effort.

"For once...I do trust you, Michael," Walter whispered, as he watched the other man's retreating back. Then he turned away and headed back to his station. But halfway there he made a U-turn. He needed to talk to Nikita.

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

Michael was watching Nikita on his monitor. She was in her quarters, pacing from corner to corner. He could see tension in her limbs and wished that he could reach out and comfort her. Was startled to discover that his fingertips were touching the monitor screen. Just then the door to his office whooshed open and Michael tapped a button to blank out the monitor screen. He swiveled in his chair to face the newcomer.

"Hello, Sydney," Michael whispered.

She smiled at him and moved to the chair across from his desk. "Hello Michael," she said softly. Sydney knew why he had called her to his office. Nikita. She was curious to see what Michael would do. "You look tired," Sydney commented.

"I am," Michael allowed, and almost smiled when he realized he had surprised Sydney by not giving his standard reply. He had confessed to a weakness. His confession had been intentional. Michael had changed and they both knew it. So why pretend otherwise? He was tired of pretending. Locking eyes with Sydney, Michael decided to get straight to the point. "I don't want to lose Nikita."

"Why?" Sydney shot back, her eyes never wavering from Michael's. She wanted to see his reaction.

Rising from his chair, Michael moved to the front of the desk. He used the moment to gather his strength. Sydney could play the game as well as he could only she was in better shape to handle it. But Michael was determined to win this hand. He would not let Nikita die.

"She's a good operative," Michael replied, as he stood in front of Sydney, forcing her to look up at him. It gave him a physical advantage, but that was all.

Sydney let a smile curve her lips. A Madeline smile. One that didn't reach her eyes. "Nikita is no different from the rest of us, Michael. She needs to be punished."

"She will be," Michael whispered. "I'll see to it...personally. I give you my word."

"Why?"Sydney countered, and it was a complex question. She was asking for Michael to trust her with the truth. She already knew it.

Michael couldn't hold her gaze, his eyes flickered about the room. "Section needs Nikita," he replied. It was a partial truth.

Sydney was silent for a moment, her eyes still on Michael. She could see that he was not well. His face was too thin as was his fabulous body. There were shadows in his eyes and smudging his pale skin. He was becoming a shadow of himself.

"You love Nikita," Sydney declared. It was not an accusation, but rather a statement of fact.

And she felt sorry for Michael. He was a good operative, able to detach himself from his emotions to do the job. But unlike most operatives, Michael wasn't able to crush out his feelings. They were there, shimmering just below the surface of his mask. Feelings and emotions that were too deep, too intense.

Michael was good at what he did because he gave one hundred percent of himself. Never settling for less. Be it pushing himself to be the best physically, or with guns, computers, languages. He pushed himself to the breaking point and beyond. He was passionate about everything, but what he showed the world was cold detachment. Couldn't let them see the truth. Especially not Section. Here emotions were considered a weakness. And, that being the case, then Michael was the weakest of them all. Sydney wondered if Nikita realized that fact. Somehow, she doubted it. Nikita wore blinders. It was how she survived. Seeing the truth that she could live with as opposed to the reality. Sydney's eyes flickered over Michael then looked away as she awaited a response. But his silence was an answer. Neither confirmation, nor denial.

"Can we negotiate?" Michael queried, once Sydney's eyes had locked on his and he knew that she understood.

"You tell me, Michael," Sydney countered, and her eyes glimmered a challenge.

Pushing away from the desk, Michael took a step closer to Sydney, one hand reaching out to pull her to her feet. Then he cupped her face between his palms and kissed her. She tasted the way he remembered, like peppermint.

Sydney kissed Michael back, sighing softly as his hands dropped to her shoulders, then slid down her back. They cupped her buttocks and drew her against him. She could feel him stir against her belly. Michael knew how to push her buttons. Sydney had been a good teacher. Maybe too good. She broke the kiss and stepped back. Sydney knew her eyes glowed with desire. Michael's eyes were shuttered, but she knew he didn't desire her in the same way. Not the way he once had, twelve years ago. But that didn't matter. Sydney felt inclined to test him now, as she had then.

"I want Nikita punished," she declared, and her eyes turned cold with her words.

"I know," Michael replied, feeling a knot of fear twist in his stomach. He had failed in his attempt to save Nikita.

"I'm holding you to your word, Michael," Sydney continued. "You punish Nikita, and the punishment needs to fit the crime."

Michael frowned, wondering if he was hearing Sydney correctly. That she was accepting his counter offer. "I can take Nikita out of abeyance?" he questioned.

Sydney leaned forward, kissing Michael this time. Letting him know what she expected from him. Nikita's freedom would come with a price.

"I'm staying at my old place," she whispered against his lips. One hand slid between them, brushing over his crotch, her message very clear. "I'll make dinner, you bring the wine."

"What time?" Michael countered, knowing exactly what she wanted. He would give it to her, willingly. Whatever it took to save Nikita.

"Eight o'clock," Sydney drawled, then she turned and left the office.

The moment the door slid shut behind her, Michael returned to his chair. He tapped the keyboard and Nikita's room appeared on the monitor screen. She had stopped pacing and was lying on her bed. On her back, one arm flung over her face. Michael pressed his palm to the screen and closed his eyes. A single tear leaked out as he whispered her name. "Nikita....."

Walter dropped his soddering iron when he saw the beautiful woman who was approaching his station.

"Nikita!" he exclaimed, ripping off his mask and retrieving the iron and setting it aside, before running forward to embrace her. "You're not in abeyance."

"They let me out a few minutes ago," Nikita replied, hugging Walter back. She could see that he was stunned, but no more than she was. Sydney had been the one to release her but hadn't explained why. And Nikita hadn't asked.

"He did it," Walter muttered beneath his breath.

Nikita frowned, having heard Walter's cryptic remark. "Who did what?" she prompted.

Walter glanced around to see if anyone was listening, then he drew Nikita over to the relative seclusion of his station. Still holding her hand he declared, "Michael told me he would save you, and he did. He always does, Sugar."

"How?" Nikita questioned. She had been thinking along the same lines. That only Michael had the power to extract her from abeyance. She knew it couldn't have been Operations idea. He was still furious with her. To the point where Sydney had cautioned Nikita to stay out of his sight for a day or two.

"How doesn't matter, sugar," Walter responded. "Ignorance is bliss around here. Just accept it."

Nikita smiled at him then dipped her head. "You know I can't do that, Walter," she drawled. "I have to talk to Michael. I'm sure Operations reamed his butt."

Walter shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. Won't be the last."

"I know," Nikita whispered. "But...I need to know the truth."

"You won't find it in Section, sugar," Walter countered, his eyes shading to gray. He felt regret and sadness at his words.

Nikita pressed a kiss to his leather cheek. "The truth is out there, Walter. You just gotta know where to look for it."

Walter shook his head. He knew what Nikita was thinking. But Michael wouldn't tell her what she needed to hear. He couldn't. Walter was beginning to understand that. He wished Nikita would. But there was something else on his mind, since they were referring to Michael. When Walter had gone to talk to Nikita after Michael had nearly collapsed, he had been denied access to her. But it was time for her to know what had happened.

"Don't push Michael too hard," Walter cautioned. "He's...not well."

"What do you mean?" Nikita prompted.

"He's near collapse," Walter replied, then he told her about the incident in the corridor.

Nikita was stunned, then she was angry. Angry at herself for not seeing it when she had been in his office. She had known Michael was pushing himself too hard. That's why she had begged Operations to let her take him out of Section for those twelve hours of down time. Had also known that it wasn't enough. Yet had been blind to Michael's condition when he'd called her to his office. Had only been aware of her own pain and how it had been reflected in Michael's eyes. Wondered now if she was the reason for his decline. Had he sold another part of his soul to save her.

"Where is he?" Nikita asked, her eyes locked on Walter's face.

He forced a smile, offering her his support. "In his office." Walter whispered. He watched as Nikita turned and ran off. "Good luck, sugar," he called out after her. Then Walter put his visor back on and picked up the soddering iron. Time to lose himself in the job. It was how he survived. At least, that was the lie he told himself. Day after day after day.

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

Nikita didn't wait for an invitation into Michael's office. She knew the access code and she punched it in with her middle finger, stabbing viciously at the buttons. When the doors slid open Nikita strode in, eyes flashing. She spotted Michael where she expected him to be, seated behind his desk. He was staring at his computer screen and typing furiously. Nikita grimaced, then strode across the room and over to the desk. She hit the power button and watched the screen fade to black.

"We need to talk, Michael," she stated, as she locked her eyes on his face. And in that moment Nikita knew that Walter had been right to be concerned. Michael was a shadow of his former self.

Pale, thinner, eyes rimmed with black attesting to lack of sleep. Nikita fought not to let her horror show. She wasn't used to seeing Michael looking fragile and it scared the hell out of her. Being tortured by Red Cell hadn't done this to him, nor being left behind in Russia with two bullets in him. Not even the fiasco with Jurgen had taken it's toll on Michael. Or so Nikita believed.

"You're not well, Michael," she whispered now.

"Well enough," he replied. Swiveling his chair around, Michael stood up and walked away from Nikita. Couldn't bear to be so close to her. But he carried her scent with him, a natural earthy aroma mixed with wildflowers. That was Nikita. Once he had put the space of the room between them, Michael turned to face her. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to know how you saved me this time, Michael," Nikita countered. She closed the space between them and watched as Michael backpedalled, stopping just short of hitting the wall behind him. He was afraid to be close to her and she wondered why. Michael wasn't afraid of anything. Had never feared her. Not in the way that she had feared him. Still feared him. Fear of the unknown. But Michael knew her. Too well, Nikita thought.

"I want to know why you saved me," she stated, when Michael didn't respond to her first comment.

He didn't want to answer her but the words were out before he could stop them. "I had to," Michael whispered. He was surprised that Nikita didn't undertand that. He shouldn't have to explain it to her. Everyone else knew. Could see how Michael felt about her. Why not Nikita? Was she really so blind? Like chaos run amuck, Michael's mind filled with questions that tumbled over each other and echoed so loudly that he thought he would go deaf. Pain pounded in his temples and he closed his eyes. The voices faded and he almost sighed with relief.

Nikita was watching Michael closely. She saw him sway for a moment then stiffen. Watched his eyes close, shuttering the glitter of pain. When he opened them again his mask was in place. Nikita blinked back sudden tears as she finally heard what he had said.

"Why...why did you have to save me?" she prompted.

"Nikita..." Michael began, but then he fell silent. He couldn't give her the answer she wanted to hear. Couldn't tell her the truth. So he ignored the question, shifting focus to another avenue of the topic at hand. "What you did...it can't go...unpunished," Michael stated, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know," she replied, as her eyes locked with Michael's. Nikita had been dreading this moment, but would face it with her eyes wide open. "So...what happens, Michael?" she prompted. "What's it gonna be? Transfer to another Section?"

He shook his head, wishing it was something so simple. Michael had only just cleared things with Operations a few hours ago. Had made a bargain with the devil. But it wasn't his soul he was trading. It was Nikita's. If she did as he asked, Michael knew he would lose her. Then reminded himself that he had lost her either way. If she didn't do it she would be cancelled. Should it come to that, Operations expected Michael to carry out that particular sentence himself. He had agreed. Didn't have a choice. As Michael lifted his eyes to Nikita's he reminded himself that he couldn't lose what had never been his to begin with. Nikita's words.

"Come with me," Michael whispered.

Nikita remained silent as she followed Michael out the door. But inside she was screaming at him. Screams of fear and frustration making her want to choke. Screams that Nikita would never give voice to. No point in doing so. They were her demons and she would face them alone. Michael had enough of his own to contend with.

Nikita walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing about her, making her want to jump. She had made this walk once before, when Operations had been shot and Petrosian was in control of Section One. He had ordered her to cancel a fellow operative. Nikita had tried to convince herself that she could do the job, but in the end Madeline had intervened, so Nikita was saved from facing that particular demon.

This time Michael was sending her to face herself. Nikita's fingers curled around the handle of the gun in her hand as she continued walking. At the end of the corridor a young woman waited, strapped in a chair. Nikita didn't know her name. Didn't want to know.

She understood why she was here and, for once, she didn't blame Michael. She had forced him to make a choice. A year ago she had forced him into a different choice and he had given her her freedom. That it hadn't been what she had expected wasn't Michael's fault, yet Nikita had blamed him. Hadn't realized, at the time, that she was doing so. Realized it now. Too late for them both, she thought, as she moved to stand before the chair. Nikita saw fear in the other woman's eyes, but she didn't make a sound. Not even when Nikita raised the gun and pointed at her. Their eyes locked and Nikita felt sweat roll down her face like a tear drop. But there were no tears.

Nikita understood the choice Michael had made this time. Her life. He valued it, sometimes more than she did. But she valued his life and Nikita knew that what happened in this moment would reflect upon Michael. If she failed, he failed. His penance would be to take that life that mattered to him. Her life. He hadn't told her that, but she knew it.

"I'm sorry," Nikita whispered, as her finger curled around the trigger. She had made her choice. She chose Michael.

Michael stood in the shadows, watching Nikita. Watched as she pulled the trigger and he was the one who flinched at the sound of the bullet leaving the gun. Found that he was paralyzed unable to fade away when Nikita turned around.

She saw Michael standing with his back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. A familiar stance. But his quiet strength was gone. Nikita could feel him trembling even from a distance. She closed the space between them and saw the tears that shimmered in his beautiful eyes. It broke Nikita's heart that he would weep for her. She smiled and lifted one hand, letting her fingertips brush his cheek.

"It's all right, Michael," Nikita whispered. "I'm okay." And it happened to be the truth. The demon she had carried inside her for four years had been laid to rest. Nikita finally understood what Madeline had been trying to tell her. She did belong here. Section was her family. Leaning forward, Nikita brushed a kiss to Michael's lips then turned and walked away.

He didn't move, didn't watch her go. Michael closed his eyes to hold back the tears he couldn't let fall. For fourteen years he had believed himself to be dead. He had been wrong. There had been a tiny ember inside him that had kept burning. A spark of hope. When Nikita had come to Section the light of her soul had been reflected onto him. Like the radiance of a beam of sunlight. But the moment she had pulled the trigger the light of her soul had been extinguished, plunging Michael into darkness.

In the past fourteen years, Michael had killed in the name of Section. Right or wrong hadn't mattered. Innocent or guilty. The blood had never touched him. But now it stained his hands, imprinting itself in his skin like a tattoo. The blood of the innocent. Nikita's blood. Michael stared at the operative slumped in the chair and her sightless eyes stared back at him. He felt nothing. He was dead.