Two months passed.

Operations called Michael into his office. He was smiling, but the smile faded as he took a good look at the young man standing before him. Michael looked like hell.

"You wanted to see me?" Michael queried, doing his best not to flinch beneath the intensity of Operations regard. He knew what the other man was seeing. Knew he was death warmed over. Too thin, too pale. Face made thinner by hair scraped back into a severe pony tail. Michael had let it grow. Saw no reason to bother with it. No reason to concern himself with his appearance. He didn't do field work any more. No one from the outside world would see him. He was dead to them anyway.

"I did want to see you, Michael," Operations confirmed, as he turned away and paced over to his death. Looking at the young man was painful. "I wanted you to know how pleased I am with your work," he continued. "Especially in regards to Nikita. She's become the operative you always insisted she could be."

Michael nodded, his gaze flickering downward so that Operations couldn't see the glimmer of pain his words caused.

Nikita had changed. From the moment she had cancelled the other operative, she had become the perfect machine. A clone of himself. Sydney delighted in telling Michael of how efficient and effective Nikita had become on missions. Michael tried to tune her out, but he absorbed every word. Saw it for himself anyway. But from a distance. Work kept them apart. His and hers. Both of them doing the job, but for Michael it was becoming more and more difficult. Nikita was the one who was focused on the end result. The means no longer mattered to her. But it mattered to Michael. She was his creation. Created in his own image.

The irony did not escape Michael. He opened his mouth to form a response, knowing that Operations expected him to say something. But no words would come out. Instead there was a roaring in Michael's ears and a wave of pain washed over him. He felt himself sway, but locked his knees. Steeled himself against the pain and nearly sighed with relief when the din in his ears faded to silence. But with the silence came darkness. Warm black velvet.

Operations caught Michael before he hit the floor.

When Nikita left transport, she headed straight for Walter's station. Knew she had to drop off her hardware before she could debrief. Had done some thinking on the plane ride back. She wanted to talk to Michael.

"Hello Walter," Nikita said, greeting the old man with a smile. "Is Michael in his office?"

Walter heaved a sigh and found it hard to hold Nikita's gaze. His *sugar* had changed. She was still Nikita, but not the Nikita he wanted her to be. That Nikita was gone. Walter knew that Operations was pleased. Seemed to him that Nikita was content with the change herself. But he wasn't. Walter sighed again then answered her question.

"Michael's in Medlab."

"What?" Nikita caught her breath as Walter's words sunk in. "Why?" She knew he didn't work in the field, so no reason to believe he had been wounded in some way.

"He collapsed," Walter whispered. "Four days ago."

Nikita counted backwards. It would have been on the day after she had left on the mission she was now returning from.

"Thank you, Walter," she whispered, then she turned and ran down the corridor. Debriefing could wait.

Operations was expecting Nikita so he said nothing when she came barreling into Michael's room. He simply turned his head and looked at her. Watched as she felt his gaze and stiffened, then re-schooled her features into the mask that she had borrowed from Michael. Operations smiled.

"Hello, Nikita," he said softly.

Nikita nodded at him, then turned her attention to the figure in the bed. Michael lay still and silent. Eyes closed and long lashing fanning over his pale cheeks. She heard the beep of monitors and saw the IV taped to the back of his hand. Three tubings dripping fluids into him. She recognized them from personal experience. One bag was saline with electrolytes, one was liquid fat and the other, a smaller bag than the others, Nikita guessed contained a sedative of some sort.

"What happened?" she asked, moving closer to the bed. Nikita wanted to smooth back the cinnamon curl that clung to Michael's forehead but clenched her hands into fists at her sides.

"Michael collapsed," Operations replied. He decided that Nikita deserved to know so he gave her a summary of Michael's current condition. "He's suffering from exhaustion and stress." Operations was putting things in simplified terms. "Michael is dehydrated and malnourished, factors that are being rectified as we speak."

"I see that," Nikita replied, eyes flickering over to the IV bags. "So...he'll be all right?" she prompted, needing to hear Operations say the words. He had never lied to her about Michael.

Operations nodded. "He'll recover. Michael is strong."

Nikita let a smile curve her lips and turned her head to lock eyes with the head of Section One. "Of course he's strong," she drawled. "You won't allow him to be anything else."

"We all make our own choices, Nikita," Operations countered, his pale eyes glittering like shards of ice. "You should understand that now. You're one of us." He smiled as he watched her fight to control her reaction. Knew that she wanted to snarl a denial at him, as the old Nikita would have done. "I've been wanting to tell you how pleased I am with your work. You've become one of our best operatives. You should be proud."

"I am," Nikita drawled, her eyes locking into Operations' gaze and never once wavering. "But Michael is the one you should be congratulating. He trained me."

A cold smile curved Operations thin lips. "I have congratulated Michael," he replied. But didn't add that he had done so just before the young man had collapsed. Or that he had been wondering, ever since, if his talk with Michael had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back

Nikita glanced away, eyes flickering back over to Michael. "Can I stay with him?" she requested. Her tone was flat and neutral. She wouldn't beg.

"For now," Operations allowed. "Don't forget to debrief." With that he turned and left the room.

The moment she was alone with Michael, Nikita reached for his hand. She curled her fingers over his and felt the heat of his skin. Too warm, his flesh too pliant. Nikita found herself wishing for her *Machine man* to come back. A crazy wish. She shook it away as she dropped down into the chair next to the bed and spared a moment to wonder who had been keeping vigil over Michael. Guessed that it would be Walter and made a mental note to thank him.

Nikita had been anxious to speak with Michael, because she had a confession to make. Had hoped he would have been awake to hear it, but decided that maybe it was better this way. She wet her lips then began.

"Michael....." Nikita paused when her voice cracked. Swallowed hard and tried again. "You've spent the last four years of your life trying to make me into your own image. I fought against it with every fiber of my being, because I thought you were dead inside. I used to liken you to a vampire in my mind. Flesh and blood, but no heart beat in your chest. Cold...ruthless. Silent death. God you frightened me." Nikita laughed softly at the memory of her past fears. They had faded and drifted away, like autumn leaves scattered in the wind. "I had to hate somebody and you were the only one who would let me. I said things to hurt you and I'd see you flinch, like I'd punched you...or kicked you. Yet you never once struck back. I sometimes wished that you would. But you don't push away the pain, or try to block it. Not you, Michael. You absorb it into you, like sponge. You feed off of it. I finally figured that out. I just don't understand why."

Tears burned in Nikita's eyes and swiped them away with her shirtsleeve before continuing. There wasn't much left to say. "For four years you've been fighting to keep me alive. Sometimes I hated you for it. But...I don't hate you anymore. I made the choice to live. And I know what that means. Following the rules. Section rules. The rules you tried so hard to teach me. I've finally learned, Michael." As she spoke, Nikita lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "I guess...what I've been trying to tell you is that you don't have to protect me anymore. You can turn in your halo. I'm everything you wanted me to be." Nikita's words were a statement of fact. A verbal acceptance of the inevitable. Not an accusation as they would have been, in the past. Nikita was letting go.

"Sugar?"

Nikita turned to see Walter standing in the doorway, his expression grim. "Yes?" she questioned, irritated by the interruption.

Walter took a step closer. "Emergency briefing, Nikita. Sydney is waiting for you in transport. You leave in twenty minutes for Afghanistan."

"I'll be right there," Nikita replied, turning back to Michael. She released his hand then stood up. Time was up. Reaching out with one hand, Nikita smoothed the cinnamon curl off his forehead, then turned and walked away. She didn't look back.

The moment she was gone, Michael opened his eyes. "I'm sorry, Nikita," he whispered, and a single tear rolled down his face.

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

Since leaving Michael in MedLab, and making her confession to him, Nikita's thoughts had been chaotic. As she sat on the transport to Afghanistan, Nikita tried to sort them out. She had told Michael that she had changed, had accepted the way things had to be. Had insisted that he didn't have to watch over her anymore. Didn't have to be her guardian angel, protecting her. Nikita wondered if Michael didn't spend more time protecting her from himself, rather than Section. But she had said all of those things to Michael while he was unconscious. A part of her wondered why she had chosen to do so. Why she had been unwilling to say those things while he was awake and listening. Maybe she was afraid of what his response might have been. Or maybe that Michael would not have responded at all. Sometimes it was the things that Michael didn't say that frightened Nikita the most.

So many times in the past she had accused him of so many things. Lies, betrayals, ruthlessness and a cold heart. And the few times that Michael had tried to explain things to her, Nikita had pushed him away. Telling him...*too little, too late*. Anyone else, any other man, would have walked away from her. But not Michael. A memory flickered in Nikita's mind. The time when Michael had crossed paths with his past. With Rene Dion. Michael had put himself at risk to protect the other man. Nikita had wanted to know why. Had gone to Michael to ask for the truth but he hadn't trusted her enough to give. Or so she had thought at the time. In the end, he had come to her. Wanting her to understand. Even then Nikita hadn't realized that he was doing so to protect. Understood it now, when it was too late.

Nikita blinked back a tear. She finally did understand Michael. Understood his strength and it awed her. When he had been forced to betray Rene, Michael had been ready to die. Believing himself deserving of death. Seeking it, even. Rene had shouted that Michael would die because he had no beliefs. Nikita had watched from the doorway as Michael had simply stood there, waiting to die. She shot Rene, no hesitation, no regrets. Would never forget the sound of Michael's voice as he had whispered to her '...you should have let him do it...' And yet he had walked away and gone on...living.

It was in that moment that Nikita finally understood that Michael no longer valued his life. Never really had, in all the time she had known him. He lived only to serve Section, as punishment for his sins. But Michael was no more a sinner than the rest of them. No more of a sinner than she was, Nikita knew. Unlike Rene, Michael hadn't killed for his beliefs fifteen years ago. But people had died because of them. Nikita could understand that now. She was also beginning to understand Michael's code of loyalty to Section. Wondered now, how many times he had broken it on her behalf. She had done it for him on a few occasions, but that was no surprise to anyone. Nikita had, flagrantly, broken Section One rules from day one. But for Michael to do so was different. She remembered what the Red Cell leader had said about Michael. About his greatest fear being that of dishonoring himself. Nikita knew he had dishonored himself for her. But wondered if she would ever understand why.

Nikita buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her tired eyes with her palms. She should have been trying to rest, but was too restless. Shouldn't even be on this mission, by rights. She was too exhausted. But Section expected their cold Ops to be machines. To be Michael clones. Nikita could do that, at least on the surface.

"Drink this."

At the sound of the voice close beside her, Nikita's head shot up and she found Sydney standing before her, holding out a styro-foam cup of steaming coffee.

"Thanks," Nikita replied, accepting it. She didn't like Sydney, but had formed a comfortable working relationship with her. As Sydney was about to walk away, Nikita called her back. "Can we talk?"

Sydney turned and smiled. She could guess *who* about. "We can," she allowed, taking the seat across from Nikita. "How is Michael?" she asked, deciding that it would be best to get to the point.

"He'll survive," Nikita responded, then paused for a sip of the fragrant coffee. She wasn't surprised that Sydney had guessed her motives. Michael had been between them from the beginning. Mostly because Nikita had put him there, but that didn't change the facts. Michael had a history with Sydney and Nikita wanted to know about it. Another sip of coffee, and Nikita began. "Michael always gets the job done, doesn't he?"

"He does," Sydney confirmed. "Michael is a perfectionist in many ways, and he feels the need to finish whatever he starts. To accept responsibility for people and circumstances."

Nikita nodded. "He's a control freak," she stated bluntly, confessing a belief she had always kept to herself. Till now.

Sydney laughed, her gray eyes shimmering like ice. "We have that in common, but for different reasons," she allowed. "Michael is more concerned with controlling himself, than others. Me...I want to control everything. But so do you, Nikita. You want to be in control of your destiny."

"I've given that up," Nikita shot back, her own eyes flashing. But then she realized that Sydney had been trying to goad her into anger, so she let it slide from her, like rain rolling off a duck's back. Another sip of coffee calmed her, and she turned the conversation down a different track. "How well do you know Michael?"

"We were lovers once." Sydney made the declaration without fuss or circumstance. Saw no reason to pretend otherwise since that was the answer Nikita had been looking for. But Sydney had more to tell. A confession of her own. "I seduced him."

Nikita hadn't expected to hear that. Was accustomed to Michael being the seducer not the seducee. So he had been on the receiving end. Nikita wanted to know more. "Why?" she asked, bluntly, her eyes locked Sydney's face.

Sydney shrugged. "What reason would you prefer?" she challenged, knowing that Nikita didn't want the truth. Not really. "Michael was beautiful, sexy...eager. Or do you want me to say that it was part of my job? It was. But I enjoyed it."

"I'll bet you did," Nikita hissed, unable to hold back a sudden flash of anger. And was surprised to realize that it wasn't jealousy she was feeling, but outrage. On Michael's behalf. For the fact that he had been used. Betrayed. Lied to. And on the heels of her anger came laughter. At herself. Nikita had seen it all before. Section lied to Michael and betrayed him, over and over again. Why was she surprised?

"Didn't you?" Sydney countered, a sly smile curving her lips.

Nikita had no intention of responding to Sydney's comment. No sense in denying what they both knew to be the truth. But then a sudden thought occurred.

"You let me out of abeyance," Nikita whispered. "Did Michael sleep with you again? Is that why?"

Sydney was proud of Nikita. She was finally learning how the game was played. "Yes...to both questions," Sydney confirmed. "He would have done anything."

"To save me," Nikita breathed.

"To save you," Sydney agreed, then her eyes hardened. "But I wonder if you're worth the sacrifices that Michael has made?" she drawled.

Nikita closed her eyes sudden tears. "So do I," she whispered brokenly. "So do I."

Michael had released himself from MedLab. The doctors had tried to stop him, but one look at the cold fire in his eyes and they'd let him go. Of course they had made a phone call to Operations, who had called Michael into his office. It had taken Michael almost an hour to convince his superior that he was well enough to resume his duties. Operations had allowed it, only after Michael had given his word that he would report to MedLab for daily check ups, with the understanding that if the doctors deemed him unfit, he would be put to bed and restrained, if necessary. Michael had agreed to those terms. And so it was that he was now at Birkhoff's station, keeping tabs on Nikita's mission in Afghanistan.

All appeared to be going well. The six man cell had what they came for and Sydney called everyone back in. She was back in the van and reporting to Michael when an explosion could be heard. Communications were cut for a moment.

"Get them back online, Birkhoff," Michael ordered, his tone of voice soft but laced with steel.

"I'm trying," Birkhoff replied, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "Got it!" he enthused as the screen came back up and static filled their headsets.

Michael felt relief wash over him. "Sydney....report."

Her face filled the screen and her expression was grim. "One of the charges detonated prematurely in the compound."

"Damage report," Michael prompted. He was asking for casualties.

"Nikita was inside," Sydney replied.

Her words seemed to echo in Michael's head. He could feel the heat of Birkhoff's gaze upon, and the way his heart seemed to skip a beat in his chest. Breathing became an effort, but Michael forced his lungs to fill then exhaled slowly.

"Come in," he whispered, to Sydney. Then he removed his comm-unit and walked away. Didn't know where he was going. Didn't care. He just kept walking.

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

Without realizing it, Michael found himself at his old office. It seemed too familiar somehow, yet strange. He walked in and felt as if he were trapped in a glass dome, watching himself from a distance. Nothing had changed. Sydney had left everything the same.

Michael walked towards the chair behind the desk but stopped short of sitting in it. It wasn't his chair, or his desk, any longer. He had no rights to it. So he moved back towards the door and stared down at the other chair. The one he considered to be Nikita's place. She was the only one who sat in it. The only one who had bothered to intrude upon his sanctuary. Operations and Madeline had entered on occasion, but never to talk or argue with him. Only to discuss the business at hand then they left. Never leaving their mark. But Nikita had been different.

The chair seemed too empty without her in it. The thought came to Michael unbidden and he willed it away. But it wouldn't leave him. He felt a tightness in his chest and his throat felt swollen. As if he would suffocate. But the feeling passed as time marched on, its gait ponderous. Michael wanted to stop time and back it up. Not seconds or minutes or hours, but years. Six years at least, to a time before Nikita had come to Section. Wished he could have scooped her up and put her back where she belonged. In the real world. But such thoughts were foolishness, Michael told himself.

He took another step towards the door but his legs wouldn't hold him. Knees buckled and he caught himself on the edge of the desk. Knew he had to sit down or fall down and collapsed into the chair. Felt his breath catch as Nikita's presence wrapped around him. Michael could almost feel her embrace and he closed his eyes against hot tears. She couldn't be gone, argued a voice in his head. Because her heart wouldn't let her go.

Walter found Michael in his old office, after searching everywhere else for the young man. Twenty-four hours had passed since they had gotten the news of the explosion. Twenty-four hours that seemed to last twenty-four days. But then Operations had gotten word from Sydney and Walter was anxious to share it.

"Michael!" he whispered, moving to stand before the young man who sat rigid in the chair by the door. Nikita's chair, Walter thought idly. Then he brushed the thought away.

"Yes," Michael replied, not looking up at the other man. He hadn't moved from this office, or stirred from this chair since he'd learned of Nikita's demise. Knew that his presence would be required for some emergency, but didn't care. Still, he did respond for he had been well trained. Like a circus seal, Michael pondered.

"Nikita is alive!" Walter announced, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Those same eyes locked on Michael's face, seeing the pallor of the young man's skin suddenly flush. Saw too, a flicker of response, in the silver-green gaze. Like blinds that had been closed opening a crack to let a beam of sunshine in.

Michael heard Walter's words, but they were slow to penetrate. Or so it seemed. "Alive?" he echoed, as every nerve ending in his body seemed to spark to life as if given a sudden, high voltage, jolt of electricity.

Walter nodded. "That's right. She's in bad shape, but medivac unit is on it's way here. "She's alive, Michael," Walter repeated, simply because he liked hearing it.

"Thank you," Michael whispered, as he rose from the chair. He slipped past Walter and glided down the corridor. His supple, graceful, stride was back for it felt as if the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. Michael had heard every word Walter had said. That Nikita was badly injured. But that didn't matter. She was alive. Now Michael could go on living.

Nikita's injuries were severe. She had suffered a spinal injury and there was swelling, with no way of telling whether or not outside stimuli affected her, for she had suffered head trauma as well and was in a coma. From the day she had been brought in, two weeks ago, Nikita had been unresponsive.

Michael had been her guardian angel, but Walter likened him more as a guardian ghost, for the young man slipped in and out of Nikita's room with silent stealth. There one moment, eyes locked on the beautiful, pale, face...gone the next. Had duties to attend to and did so flawlessly, which meant not sleeping. Wouldn't have eaten if Walter hadn't brought him food and stood over him like a mother hen. Constantly reminding Michael that he would end up in Medlab himself if he wasn't careful. Remembering his promise to Operations about daily check ups was the only thing that made Michael accept sustenance and occasional rest. His body seemed to thrive when pushed past its limits. Michael wished he could give his strength to Nikita.

And from his ivory tower, Operations watched Michael. Searching for weakness and finding none. And so he allowed Michael his routine. Five days later he went to Michael's office. Eyes locked on the other man's face as Michael turned away from his computer. It was the first time Operations' had been in the room since Madeline had left. Michael had changed nothing. Operations found a strange comfort in that fact. He moved to stand before the desk and saw, by the look in the silver-green eyes, that Michael had been expecting him.

"It's been twenty days," Operations announced.

"I know," Michael replied, and it took a supreme effort of will to force out the words. They threatened to choke him.

"I have the doctor's report," Operations continued, even though they both knew what he was about to say. He still felt the need to explain. "They don't believe Nikita will come out of the coma. She'll be terminated in the morning. Standard procedure is two weeks. Fourteen days. I've been...generous."

Michael nodded. "Thank you." He said nothing more. Knew that any argument he might give would be overruled. There was nothing he could do. He was helpless. He had failed Nikita. Failed them both. Waited, eyes carefully blank, for Operations to speak. But there was only silence.

When the stillness became claustrophobic, Operations turned and walked towards the door. He had done all he could do. Had given Nikita extra time. Wasted time. But as he reached the door he turned for one last look at Michael and saw a man who reflected pain. But he would not let that pain break him. Michael was too strong for that. He had gotten over losing Simone, he would get over losing Nikita.

"I'm...sorry," Operations whispered, feeling compelled to do so, but unwilling to ask himself why.

"So am I," Michael replied, then he swivelled his chair back around and locked his eyes on the computer screen. It was a dismissal. And he was relieved when Operations accepted it as one and walked out, leaving him alone. Trapped in the darkness of his soul.

It was almost midnight when Michael went to see Nikita. He had to go yet had found ways to avoid it till now. Not because he didn't want to say goodbye, but because he lacked the courage to face her. She would die because he had not been strong enough.

Michael stood in the doorway of Nikita's room, staring at her still figure in the bed for a long time. Hours it seemed, yet only minutes ticked by. Machines beeped and hissed, but Michael saw only Nikita. She was pale and thin, but she had never been more beautiful. He moved forward, reaching the bed, then took her hand between his own. Raising it to his lips, Michael pressed a kiss to Nikita's palm. It said more than any words he could think of. Yet there was something he wanted to say.

"I wanted to save you, Nikita," Michael whispered. "From the moment I first saw you...it was what I lived for. The reason why I tried so hard to change you. But I had no right to do that...to make you into my own image." Michael paused for a moment, having to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could continue.

More seconds ticked by and Michael counted them up as the last moments of his own life. Then he took a deep breath and said what she deserved to hear. He told himself that she would not die without knowing the truth.

"You tried so hard to convince me that you were innocent, Nikita," Michael breathed. "But...I always knew that you were. Knew also that your innocence could kill you. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. Thank you, Nikita...for trying to save me."

That said, Michael placed her hand back on the covers then turned and glided from the room. He couldn't say the words he needed to hear. Goodbye.

Michael stood before the grave stone. Row seventeen, plot six. His grave. It was nearing dawn and a silver fog danced in the cool night air. Michael didn't feel the cold. Felt nothing at all. In his right hand he held his gun. The safety was off and a bullet was already racked into the chamber. There was no reason to wait. So Michael lifted his arm until the muzzle was pressed into the soft flesh under his chin. His finger was poised over the trigger and he closed his eyes. Silently he whispered the words he had never dared to say out loud. I love you Nikita. Closed his finger and held his breath, then froze at the sound of his name.

"Michael."

He turned to see a familiar figure standing before him, shrouded by the mist. Michael trembled with the effort not to pull the trigger. The voice in his head cried out for him to do it, but he couldn't listen to it. Not yet. Michael lowered the gun to his side and whispered, "Madeline..."

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

"Hello, Michael," Madeline said softly, in the tone and manner of someone suddenly confronted with a wild animal that didn't want to spook, nor startle into running away. She took another step closer, then another, her eyes locked on Michael's face. Madeline saw that he was trembling with the effort to control himself. To not raise the gun to his head and fire. She admired his restraint.

Michael blinked, as if to refocus his vision. Knew that he was seeing a ghost for, dead or alive, that's what he and Madeline were...ghosts.

"Why are you here?" he asked, and it was an accusation. Michael resented Madeline's presence. Could guess that she wanted to stop him from doing what he yearned to do. End the pain.

Two more steps and Madeline was standing before Michael, close enough that she could reach out and close her hand over his. She took the gun from his cold fingers and slipped it in the pocket of her overcoat.

"It's not that easy, Michael," Madeline whispered.

"Yes it is," he shot back, but there was no impact behind Michael's words. He didn't have the energy for it. Didn't have his gun.

"Things are different for us, Michael," Madeline replied, and a smile curved her lips. Not the cold smile she had worn in Section, the one that could make an operative quiver, but a smile warm and worn, reflection sadness. "For you and me," she continued. "No easy out."

Michael didn't believe her. "You got out," he whispered, but it was a shot in the dark. Madeline had left Section One, but Michael had no idea where she had been since then. He didn't ask either. A part of him didn't want to know.

But Madeline felt the need to explain. And, for once, she wanted Michael to understand that she was not here as a profiler or psychologist. She had come because he needed her. It was that simple, and that complicated. But the relationship between them had always been complex. Michael was the one person whom Madeline had never been able to figure out. He wouldn't let her inside his head. It had always intrigued Madeline, and challenged her as well, that Michael could play the game as well as she did. Maybe better. She had come to realize, long ago, that whenever Michael did the things that Madeline expected of him, that Section demanded of him, it was only to throw them off track. In the end Michael did things his own way. An irony that Nikita had never figured out, Madeline knew.

"There's no place to go, Michael," Madeline said, her eyes still on his face and noting how thin he had become. Too thin, too pale. Not her Michael any longer but a reflection of what he had been. A reflection that could so easily shatter. "I didn't run away," she continued, one hand reaching out to tuck a cinnamon curl behind his ear. Then she sighed, for her words were a lie. She had tried to run, but not from Section.

"Where were you?" Michael challenged, as he took a step back. Even in the openness of the cemetery, no walls to confine him, Michael felt suffocated. Madeline was too close.

She allowed him his space, understood his need for it. "I've been working within the agency," Madeline replied, and her eyes tracked Michael as he started to pace around his grave site. The analytical part of her mind, which was always working, noted that Michael seemed reluctant to distance himself from the grave. As if it were his lifeline. His connection to oblivion. Madeline felt regret. She could not allow Michael his escape.

He stopped pacing. Michael closed his eyes, reaching for his mask and made the attempt to draw it back into place. But the mask was tattered. Opened his eyes and locked them on Madeline's face.

"Operations doesn't know where you are," he stated, the realization coming slowly. But it made sense. Explained the other man's moody temperament since Madeline had left.

"No...he doesn't," Madeline confirmed. "My choice."

"Why?" Michael prompted, feeling a sudden, and desperate, need to know. To understand. To understand something in his world which had turned upside down without warning. Michael had always been firmly rooted in his existence within Section. Understood and accepted his lot in life. Had been able to weather any storm and battle the elements. But like a rock in a river, he had been shifted by the relentless flow of time. He was lost.

Madeline knew it was time to confess. To Michael if to no one else. He would understand, and his understanding would help them both to accept what they couldn't change. "Operations and I have a...history...Michael. We were together once. A long time ago. Before I came to Section One."

Michael nodded. "I often wondered," he conceded.

"We were good for each other, for a time," Madeline continued. "That's one of the reasons why we allowed you to marry Simone, Michael. The two of you were gifted operatives in your own right, as individuals. But as a team you were flawless."

"Until I killed her," Michael whispered.

Madeline could almost feel his pain. She knew the guilt Michael had burdened himself with. Knew it was unwarranted. But would never let him know the truth. That Section had never planned for them to stay together. Two cold ops in a relationship was the equivalent of playing Russian Roulette. The bullet was always in the chamber. It was only a matter of time before it hit it's mark.

"Simone died, Michael," Madeline said softly. "We all accept the risk."

Michael wanted to laugh but had forgotten how. His eyes glittered like chips of jade ice as he whispered, "It's my turn now."

"No," Madeline replied and her smile was still in place, but had lost its warmth. "I left Section One because Operations lost focus. He couldn't do the job anymore. When you went into Mandatory Refusal, he chose me over the mission. He was wrong. I accepted it, but he didn't. That's why I had to leave." Madeline moved closer to Michael again, wanting to see his face more clearly. Hoping that he might reveal his thoughts. He didn't. The mask was firmly in place now. Madeline could accept that, but she wasn't about to walk away. Not yet. "Michael...do you know why Operations is so hard on you? So demanding."

"It doesn't matter," Michael breathed.

Madeline knew he was lying. It did matter. "Operations doesn't want to lose you, Michael. He cares...too much. So he pushes you away, trying to convince himself that should you die...or leave...it won't matter."

Michael's hands clenched into fists as memories washed over him. Of the time when Operations had been shot, inside of the Section. Michael had thought for sure he would die. Hadn't been ready to face that possibility. Couldn't explain why. Didn't want to understand. Not now. He meant what he had said. It didn't matter. Staring down at his grave, Michael whispered, "Operations and Nikita...they're a lot alike."

"Yes, they are," Madeline allowed. "And deep down inside, they both know it. It frightens them. They have to face their weakness."

"What weakness?" Michael challenged for as far as Nikita was concerned, Michael saw within her only strength. His strength. Saw only that Operations wanted to take that from him.

Madeline smiled and took another step closer to Michael, forcing him to face her. "Compassion," she whispered.

Michael almost laughed. "He would deny it," he hissed. Operations had ordered Michael to crush out Nikita's compassion, but he hadn't been able to do it. Hadn't really tried. Another failure he didn't have the strength to bear any longer.

"You've done well in my position," Madeline said softly, changing the direction of the conversation. No sense in reiterating the truth. Operations would deny his own compassion. Case closed.

"I wasn't ready," Michael protested. He still wasn't.

Madeline sighed. "We never are," she replied. "You trained Nikita well. She became what we knew she could be."

Michael closed his eyes, but couldn't shut out the sound of Madeline's words. They cut through him like a knife. "I failed her," he whispered, and he felt the burn of tears behind his lashes. "Nikita will be terminated in the morning."

"I know," Madeline said softly. She did not offer her sympathy, knew that it was not wanted. "You have to go back, Michael."

"I can't do this anymore," he breathed, a desperate plea. Michael hated his weakness but could not deny it. Would not.

Madeline understood him better than he would ever know. "You have to go back," she repeated. "For Nikita." As she spoke, Madeline reached in her pocket and retrieved his gun, holding it out to him. "We both do what we have to do, Michael," she whispered.

Michael stretched out one hand, accepting the gun, curling his fingers around the grip. He watched as Madeline turned and glided away, fading into the mist. Then he looked down at the gun in his hand. Stared at it hard before eyes flickered over to his grave. Michael raised the hand holding the gun and wiped a lone tear off his cheek. Then he returned the weapon to his shoulder holster. Time ticked along, matching the staccato beat of his heart. Michael made his decision. Hands stuffed in coat pockets, he turned and walked away.

Walter was waiting for Michael outside his office. When he saw the other man striding towards him he ran forward to meet him, eyes shining. Then he did something he'd never done before. Walter grabbed Michael's shoulders in both hands as he exclaimed,

"Nikita's back! She's asking for you, Michael."

Michael never felt the darkness hit him.

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

When Michael awakened it was to find Walter sitting beside his bed. "How long?" Michael asked, wanting to know how much time he had lost with Nikita. How long she had been waiting for him.

"About an hour," Walter replied. "You scared me, Michael," he confessed. Walter didn't add that Michael had turned pale as alabaster and his skin had gone clammy when he collapsed.

"You said that Nikita...she asked for me," Michael whispered.

Walter nodded, a smile lighting up his face. "She did. She's asleep again now. But she came back to us, Michael. Nikita came back." Walter knew the rules. Knew that it had been more than two weeks and that it was only a matter of time before his sugar would have been terminated. But Nikita had fooled them all.

Michael took a deep breath then sat up. Shook his head when Walter would have tried to stop him, then tossed aside the white blankets and slid off the bed.

"I have to see her," he said softly.

His boots were in the corner and Michael scooped them up on his way out the door. A moment later he was in Nikita's room. The monitors were still attached and beeping, but Michael was oblivious to them. He strode forward and one hand reaching out, fingertips lightly brushing her face. Didn't matter that she couldn't feel him, that her eyes were closed and she was unaware of his presence. Michael could feel her again, could almost absorb each breath that Nikita took.

"Michael."

At the sound of his name he turned to find Doctor Flannery staring at him. "Yes?" Michael whispered.

Dr. Flannery forced a smile. What she had to report was not particularly good news. Not by Section standards, anyway. Definitely was not in Nikita's favor. And she knew that Michael would not be pleased.

"I thought you would like an update on Nikita's condition," she stated.

"I would," Michael allowed, and steeled himself for bad news. He had long ago learned how to read Dr. Flannery's face.

"There is still swelling in Nikita's spine," Flannery announced. "We were able to do some do fairly extensive rotary testing while she was awake. Nikita is experiencing paralysis from the waist down."

Michael blinked. "Prognosis?" he requested.

Flannery shrugged, resisting the urge to heave a giant sigh. She liked Michael and wished she could be more positive. She had been with Section for sixteen years. She knew what Nikita's chances were giving the time frame on her recovery. Especially when it was by, no means, guaranteed.

"When the swelling goes down it looks hopeful that feeling will return. But I can't state that with any certainty."

"I understand," Michael replied. "How long before the swelling goes down?" he queried.

"I can't be sure about that either," Dr. Flannery confessed. "I'm hoping there will be some sign of improvement within the next few days, but it could take weeks. Maybe longer. And the longer it takes the likelihood of Nikita regaining full use of her legs is reduced."

Michael didn't want to hear that, but the words echoed in his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting off a wave of hopelessness. He had failed Nikita from the moment she had arrived in Section. He would not fail her now.

"When will she awaken?" Michael asked, as his eyes opened and darted over at Nikita.

Flannery grimaced. "Hard to say."

"Contact me immediately when she does," Michael instructed, then he turned to go.

"You should be in bed yourself, Michael," Flannery countered, grabbing his arm. She felt the muscles tense beneath her fingers but didn't let go.

He smiled at her. It didn't reach his eyes, yet it wasn't cold either. "I should do a lot of things," Michael whispered, meaningfully. He knew that Flannery wouldn't know what he was alluding to, but that didn't matter. "Page me," he reiterated, then he pulled free of Flannery's grasp and glided out of the room.

Michael had known that his request to Operations would not be well received, but he had made it none the less. And, in the end, the head of Section One had given in. Knew he didn't really have a choice. And so it was that Michael found himself sitting in a chair next to Nikita's bed. He was *on call* per se, but to be disturbed only if it was a true emergency. So far no one had bothered him.

"Michael..."

"I'm here," he whispered, rising from the chair to stand beside the bed as Nikita stirred. He held his breath as he watched her eyes flutter open. Released it when the beautiful, blue gaze, focused on him. "How do feel?" Michael asked.

Nikita remembered waking up before and coming to the realization that she was numb from the waist down. Had wanted to scream and yell even after Flannery explained that it was, most likely, a temporary condition. Nikita shifted a bit to see if it had only been a dream. But her legs were still dead. Locking her eyes on Michael's face and seeing the shadows that darkened jade eyes to smokey-emerald, Nikita replied, "I'm okay."

Michael felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile. Nikita was strong. Stronger than she knew. "You're going to get better," he stated, firmly.

"I hope so," Nikita whispered, blinking back tears. She was terrified.

"I'll help you," Michael announced, wanting to bend and kiss away the lone tear that rolled down Nikita's face. But he settled for brushing it away with the pad of his thumb. Then he cupped her chin in his hand and stated, "You can do this, Nikita."

She wanted to believe him, but Dr. Flannery hadn't pulled any punches, and Nikita knew the rules. If she didn't regain the use of her legs, Section would cancel her. She knew Michael knew it as well and Nikita wanted to make certain that he accepted it. Not that he was one to indulge in hope, false or otherwise.

"I have to be realistic, Michael," Nikita countered, lifting her chin out of his palm. "I may never walk again."

Michael let the back of his knuckles brush her soft cheek. "You will," he stated firmly. "I told you...I'll help you."

"Why bother?" Nikita whispered, and another tear fell.

"Because I have to," Michael replied, and this time he bent and kissed away her fears.

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

"I can't do it!" Nikita hissed. She was lying on the mat where she had collapsed in an awkward heap and glared up at Michael who stood over her. Strands of hair had fallen out of Nikita's ponytail and she shoved them back from her sweaty face. Felt her tank top clinging to her as well. She was drenched in sweat brought on by her exertions, and pain.

Michael let Nikita's words roll off him like water off a duck's back. He crouched down beside her, eyes carefully shuttered, not allowing her to see that her pain was his pain. Wished he could take it from her. Wanted to give her his strength. But all he could do was support her, push her, bully her if neccessary. Michael slid his arms beneath Nikita then rose to his feet with her cradled against his chest. He was dressed in a similar outfit as hers, only in black. Tank top and loose sweats. Moving over to the parallel bars in the corner, Michael set Nikita down as one end. Placed her hands on the bars, curling her fingers around them when she would have resisted, then stepped back.

"Again," he whispered.

Nikita wanted to curse at him but all her energy was used up in keeping herself up right. The moment Michael had stepped away and was no longer supporting her, Nikita's legs had buckled. She gripped the bars hard and struggled to remain upright.

"Bastard!" she hissed, when she found the breath. A tear rolled down her cheek. Nikita knew what Michael was doing. Why he was being so hard on her. Time was running out.

It had taken two months for the swelling in Nikita's spine to go down completely and for feeling to return in her legs. Only then would Dr. Flannery allow Michael to begin physical therapy with Nikita. That had surprised Nikita in itself. That Michael was the one who put her through the paces twice a day. He would come and carry her to the PT room and lay her down on the matt while he did the exercises, forcing her legs to move. Making the atrophied muscles work. It was a painful experience, but Michael had found ways to help her through it. He would ask her questions that would distract her from the pain, or play music in the background. Nikita's favorite artists no less. She never asked how he knew.

It took a full month of static therapy before Nikita was ready to stand. It had been two weeks since her first attempt. They were making progress. But it was slow and painful and Michael cut her no slack. She wanted to walk for him, but couldn't. Her legs were useless, the muscles to weak. Tears spilled from Nikita's eyes and she gave up the fight, letting herself collapse to the matt.

Michael was by her side in an instant. He lifted Nikita out from the bars then carried her back to her wheelchair. Once he had her settled in it he moved away and said nothing. He waited.

"Why bother?" Nikita questioned, once her tears had stopped. She scrubbed at her face with the hem of her tank top, but her eyes were red and blurred as she glared at Michael's back. "Let them cancel me now."

"We have two and a half months left, Nikita," Michael said softly. That was the deal he had made with Operations. He had six months from the time Nikita had regained consciousness to get her walking under her own power. By that Operations meant no crutches or other means of support. He didn't expect her to be able to run and perform. But walking unaided would be the proof he needed, along with Dr. Flannery's medical report, that Nikita could be a cold Op again. That she could contribute to Section One.

Heaving a sigh, Nikita shook her head. Didn't matter that Michael couldn't see it with his back to her. "I can't do it, Michael," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

He turned to Nikita and glided forward so that he was kneeling beside her chair. Michael cupped her chin in one hand, locking eyes with Nikita.

"So am I," he breathed, his voice suddenly husky with emotion. "I'm sorry that I failed you, Nikita. That I wasn't strong enough."

"Michael..." Nikita was stunned by his words. "You didn't fail me," she protested.

"Yes, I did," he replied. Leaning in, Michael brushed a kiss to Nikita's soft mouth. "I know you can do this," he said gently. "You can work through the pain. You know you can."

Nikita blinked back tears. She had fought so hard in the past to survive. To endure the pain of both her heart and her body. Now she saw her pain reflected in Michael's beautiful eyes and it broke her heart. She knew that helping her was taking alot out of Michael. He still had his duties to attend to and Nikita could guess that he gave up sleeping to spend time with her. She just didn't understand why. So she asked him.

"Why are you helping me, Michael? What do you want?" It was a painful question to ask, for both of them. But Nikita knew that Michael had a reason for everything he did.

Locking eyes with Nikita, Michael gave her the answer she needed to hear. But in his own way. "Will you do something for me, Nikita?" he countered, as his fingertips brushed her cheek.

"If I can," Nikita replied, throwing Michael's own words back at him.

"Will you remember who you used to be," Michael whispered. "Never forget...and never let go."

Nikita frowned, knowing that there was a message in his words, but not understanding it. That was Michael. He never spoke plainly. Section had taught him well.

"Why?" she challenged.

Rising to his feet, Michael still held Nikita's gaze. He saw confusion in her eyes, as well as pain. He wanted to hold her in his arms and make the pain go away. But he did not have that power, nor that right. Drawing his mask back over his face, Michael replied,

"Because that's who I need you to be, Nikita." He might have said more, there was certainly more that Michael wanted to say, but his pager went off. "I'll see you later," Michael whispered to Nikita. Then he was gone.

"Later, Michael," she replied. Nikita sat where she was for a time, then turned her chair to face the parallel bars once more. She rolled the chair over to them, eyes glaring at them. Something so simple had managed to defeat her. "I'm sorry, Michael," Nikita whispered, tears burning in her eyes again. She let them fall as she rolled out of the room.

Birkhoff had been the one to page Michael. He had an odd expression on his face and Michael felt his stomach muscles twist into knots. But his expression was blank as he asked, "What is it?"

"Um...," Birkhoff mumbled, then he cleared his throat. "There's someone waiting for you in your office, Michael," he declared, then his eyes flickered to the second level. "They want to see you and Operations."

"Has Operations been told?" Michael countered.

Birkhoff shook his head. "No...I thought you should know first. It's your office."

Michael nodded. "Thank you," he whispered, then he turned and headed for the Lion's den.

Operations hadn't appreciated Michael's interruption, but he was intrigued enough to follow the young man to the office. He waited as Michael punched in the entry code, the strode in first once the doors whooshed open. Seeing the person in the room, Operations stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hello," Madeline said softly, as she swiveled in her chair to face the two men. Her eyes flickered over to Michael, who was standing behind Operations. She saw that he was still too thin and exhausted, but that he was stronger than he had been at the grave site. That pleased her and she let him know it with a smile. But then she gave a nod of her head that was a signal for Michael to leave the room. He nodded in return then glided away.

"Madeline.." Operations whispered her name, just to hear the sound of it. His eyes roved over her face and she was more beautiful than he had remembered. "You're back." He made it a statement more than a question, as if telling her she had to stay.

Madeline smiled at him, her eyes shading to black. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm back."

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

"You came back," Operations repeated himself, and her, as he glided towards Madeline. He wanted to touch her, as if to reassure himself she was real, flesh and blood. But he knew better. Knew she wouldn't allow it.

Madeline sighed. "I didn't come back for you," she whispered, and saw pain flicker in his pale eyes.

Operations was not happy to hear that, yet had expected as much. Should have known. Did know.

"I see," he replied.

"Nothing has changed between us," Madeline explained. She knew that he didn't understand, mainly because he didn't want to. That was why she had left in the first place. "We can't go back," she said softly.

"You're right," Operations acknowledged, reluctantly. He told himself that it was enough that she was here, standing before him. "You'll stay?" he queried, unaware of how hopeful he sounded.

Madeline nodded. " Yes."

Operations felt relief flood through him. That's all he needed to hear, for now. It was a beginning.

"Welcome back," he offered, with a smile.

"Thank you," Madeline replied. Then she held his gaze until he turned and left the room. Then she swiveled her chair back around and gazed at her Bonsai trees. Michael had taken good care of them. Now it was time to take care of Michael.

Nikita was more than a little surprised when Madeline entered her room. She had been thumbing through a magazine, waiting for Michael to arrive. He was late for her therapy session and that wasn't like him. Nikita supposed he was still angry with her for giving up. But she couldn't help feeling like she was simply killing time. The inevitable would not change. Her life sentence was almost up and she was almost relieved.

"Hello Nikita," Madeline said from the doorway. She had studied Nikita's file, bringing herself up to date, although she pretty much had been up to speed already. She'd had her resources for keeping track of things here in Section One. "How are you feeling?"

"Stunned," Nikita confessed. "What are you doing here, Madeline?" she countered.

Madeline entered the room, gliding forward until she was standing beside Nikita's bed. The young woman looked good. Strong and healthy, all things considered. All she was lacking was the will to fight. But that's why Madeline was here. To motivate her.

"I decided to come back," she said, in response to Nikita's question.

Nikita didn't know what to say. She gaped at Madeline for a moment then asked, "Where were you?"

"Some place else," Madeline replied, enigmatically. "Where doesn't matter."

"How about why then?" Nikita challenged, and her blue eyes flashed, daring Madeline to give an honest answer. "Why did you go?"

Madeline wasn't in the mood to play the game today. "I had my reasons," she countered, and that was the truth. Madeline was smiling as she replied, but now the smile faded. "You're running out of time, Nikita," she said, bluntly.

Nikita didn't deny it. "There's not enough time," she countered, and her eyes flickered away from the intensity of Madeline's gaze.

"You're not a quitter," Madeline shot back, then she waited for a reaction.

"I'm not an idiot either!" Nikita hissed. "I'm not going to walk again, Madeline. Not well enough to go back in the field. I'm useless to Section."

Madeline sighed, then folded her hands in front of her. "Why have you decided to give up?" she challenged.

Nikita felt anger spark into a flame. She wasn't up to mind games with Madeline. Nor parrying words with hidden meanings. "I've got no reason to bother," Nikita drawled, and realized that she was finally admitting the truth to herself.

"What about Michael?" Madeline countered. It was a question she had asked Nikita once before, but she expected a different answer this time.

"What about him?" Nikita whispered, but she knew what Madeline was asking. She just didn't have an answer.

Madeline turned and paced around the bed, but her eyes never left Nikita. "He's fighting for your life," she said softly.

Nikita felt tears fill her eyes, hot tears, and she blinked them back. She wouldn't cry in front of Madeline. Not over Michael anyway. "He shouldn't bother," she hissed.

"Ever since you met Michael, no matter how hard you tried to hate him, Nikita....you always found a way to save him," Madeline stated. "You fought for him like a mother bear protecting her cub."

"So?" Nikita shot back, defensively. She felt utterly weary all of the sudden. Madeline always had that effect on her. Draining her strength like a leech.

Madeline paced back to the other side of the bed. Back where she had started from. "If you die, Nikita, Michael will die soon after," she announced.

Nikita sucked in a breath, as if she had been kicked in the gut. "If I'm terminated it's my failure...not Michael's!" she protested. "You have no right to cancel him!"

"You're Michael's material," Madeline countered, her eyes dark and glowing. "Your failures have always been his failures, Nikita. From day one."

"Yet we're both still here!" Nikita challenged, knowing that she had failed often in Section's eyes.

Madeline let a smile curve her lips. A smile devoid of warmth. "Have you ever wondered why?" she queried, knowing the answer already. Nikita seldom looked beyond the visible. Was afraid to question Michael's motives. Afraid to see the truth.

Nikita shook her head. It wasn't really a response, more a reaction. "What do you want from me, Madeline?" she beseeched. Nikita was tired of the fight. Tired of the games and the lies and the justifications that were simply more lies.

"If you give up, Nikita, and are terminated...we lose Michael," Madeline replied. She saw the confusion that shimmered in the other woman's sky-blue eyes and clarified. "Michael will cancel himself once you're gone. And no one will be able to stop him."

That said, Madeline left the room, as silently as she had come. A ghost gliding through the abyss that was known as Section One.

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

Sydney was leaving Section One. Three months had passed since Madeline had returned to stay, which meant Michael took his old job back. The transition had been made smoothly and Sydney had no regrets. She didn't belong here. It had been an interesting stay, but Sydney was ready to move on. She had a knapsack slung over one shoulder and was heading towards transport when she saw Nikita moving towards her. Moving slowly to be sure, but under her own power. Wheelchair, braces and crutches had all been cast aside.

"On your way out?" Nikita asked, as she neared Sydney. She was both amused, and irritated, by the fact that the other woman didn't bother to meet her half way. That was Sydney.

"Going to Europe for a bit," Sydney replied. "You look good, Nikita." The compliment was sincere.

Nikita smiled. "I feel pretty good. Won't be back on active status for about six months," she allowed. "But Dr. Flannery assures me I will be up to par again."

Sydney was pleased. She and Nikita would never be friends, but she had come to respect the other woman. "I'm glad. You're a good operative...when you want to be, Nikita."

"So I've been told," Nikita drawled. "Safe trip," she offered, along with her hand.

"Thanks," Sydney replied, shaking the hand. Then she turned to go, calling over her shoulder, "Tell Michael goodbye for me!"

Nikita didn't respond out loud. To herself she whispered, "I will." It was only as she was making her way towards Michael's office that Nikita realized she hadn't said what she'd intended to say. Nikita had tracked Sydney down in order to thank her. For shaking her up a bit when she'd needed it. But a smile curved Nikita's mouth, for she had the feeling that Sydney already knew.

Operations entered Madeline's office bearing a gift. A single, white, rose. He laid it on her desk then waited for her to look up at him.

Madeline turned away from the monitor screen, glanced down at the rose, then locked eyes with Operations.

"It's lovely," she said, but didn't touch it.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight?" he asked, unaware of the glimmer of hope shining from his eyes.

"I don't think so," Madeline replied, softening her refusal with a smile. "But thank you."

Operations accepted her refusal with surprising grace. "I'm glad you're back," he said softly. He had said that often in the past few months.

Madeline sighed. "So am I," she whispered, then she dismissed him by turning her attention back to the monitor screen and the psyche profile she had been updating. Michael's profile.

"I'll see you later," Operations stated, his eyes locked on Madeline's profile. But when it became clear that she would not look at him again, he turned and exited the room. All the while telling himself that the only thing that mattered was that she was back. Madeline was home.

Walter sat dropped into an empty chair at Birkhoff's station, grinning as he watched the whiz kid playing with the new *toy* Walter had gotten him. Some interactive game Birkhoff had been dying for. The kid was easy to please. So was Walter. He found that he was content. Madeline was back, Nikita was walking again, and Michael was Michael again. Yet not the same. The young man had changed. Walter couldn't put a finger on the changes, for they were subtle. But it was a good change, of that he was certain. Yet, for all that, Walter was glad that things were back to normal. Well...normal for Section anyway. And that was good enough for him.

Nikita knocked on Michael's door. Without waiting for an answer she stepped inside, closed the door behind her, then dropped into *her* chair. Michael was back where he belonged. Behind his desk, typing at his computer. It felt right. A smiled played across Nikita's lips as she studied him. He looked good. Beautiful. Strong. Michael still had about ten pounds to go to get back to his fighting weight, but his skintone was good, his eyes clear and the shadows that had been imprinted beneath them were gone. Tears blurred Nikita's vision for a moment and she blinked them away. Her Michael was back and she couldn't be happier.

Feeling the heat of Nikita's gaze burning into him, Michael looked up, eyes locking on her sweet face.

"Yes?" he challenged, his eyes carefully void of any expression. Michael had his mask clamped firmly into place.

"Nothing," Nikita drawled, her smile widening. "I'm just enjoying the view."

Michael felt one corner of his mouth tug upward and he almost allowed the smile. Almost. Getting back his control hadn't been easy, so he had to be careful. Yet, he was glad Nikita was there. Her presence was like a warm glow.

Feeling at peace and strangely content, Nikita let her head fall back and closed her eyes. For the past year, she and Michael had been adrift on an emotional sea of chaos and darkness. A few times they had run aground on different shores. But in the end the changing tides had washed them back out to sea, setting them back on course.

Nikita knew that there was no smooth sailing in Section waters. But somehow that didn't matter anymore. This wasn't where she belonged, yet it was where she wanted to be.

THE END