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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Nikita strolled into Madeline's office. It was barely dawn and she had been awakened from a sound sleep by an unfamiliar voice telling Josephine to *come in*. Curiosity rippled through Nikita as she wondered why Michael hadn't been the one to call. But she reasoned that he might be gone on a mission. It had happened once before.
Madeline was waiting for Nikita. She was seated behind her desk and she gestured for the younger woman to sit down across from her. "We have a job for you," Madeline said, getting straight down to business.
"Another mission?" Nikita guessed.
"Not exactly," Madeline replied. She smiled. "We need to interrogate someone," she said softly, but there was tempered steel beneath her tone.
Nikita frowned. "Interrogate someone.." she repeated. At Madeline's nod she shook her head. "Why not have Michael do it? That's right up his alley."
Madeline leaned back in her chair, her eyes intent on Nikita's face. "Michael is the one you'll be interrogating," she explained. Then she waited for a reaction. It was instantaneous.
"What's going on?" Nikita hissed, jumping to her feet. "Is this another test?"
"This is about the security and safety of the United States," Madeline replied. Her eyes glimmered like molasses. "We have as a guest, a man by the name of Troy Brundage. Brundage is a buyer. He buys....things...for other people. He's recently purchased heavy arms and artillery. New weaponry that is top secret and very deadly. We need to know who he's buying them for. It's our belief that it's for someone in Iraq, to be used against the US in a future war."
Nikita shrugged. "So? Torture him like you usually do," she suggested. "He'll sing like a bird." It wasn't that she didn't understand the consequences of what Madeline was telling her, she simply didn't understand the part she played in this particular scenario.
Madeline sighed. "That's not an option in this case. Brundage has a heart condition. If we attempt any physical or chemical torture, he'll die. And he'll take the information we need, with him."
"What does interrogating Michael have to do with any of this?" Nikita queried, as her stomach muscles began twisting into knots.
"Michael is already in place with Brundage. They're being locked up together, as we speak, setting up the first stage of the charade."
Nikita nodded. "Go on," she prompted.
Madeline sat forward, forearms resting on her desk, hands clasped together. Her expression mirrored the seriousness of this situation. Michael and Nikita would both suffer, but for different reasons, and all of them neccessary. "Brundage will be led to believe that Michael is a buyer, such as himself. Via video camera, we'll let him watch you...torture...Michael. And understand this, Nikita. It has to be real."
"Why me?" Nikita countered, as the image of Michael battered and bloody filled her mind. She shook it away. "Another test?"
"Everything we do is a test, Nikita," Madeline replied, without really answering the question. "We need this information, and we need to psyche out Brundage to do so. You don't look like a torturer, and that will off-balance him right from the start."
Nikita nodded, seeing the logic in that. But there was still something that she didn't understand. "How is torturing Michael going to help us get a confession from Brundage?"
Madeline was pleased by the question. Nikita was learning to think ahead. "It's our hope that he'll tell Michael the information," she replied.
"Why would he?" Nikita countered.
"That's for Michael to worry about," Madeline said softly. She rose from her chair, a signal that the meeting was over. "Prepare yourself, Nikita. Your first session with Michael begins in one hour." Moving past the younger woman, Madeline glided out of her office. Operations was waiting for her.
Nikita followed Madeline, but at a leisurely pace. Her thoughts were chaotic. She had watched Michael interrogate a few people, but never with the use of violence. Madeline, she knew, had her own varied ways and means. But Nikita had no idea what was expected of her. Madeline's words haunted her. ...it has to be real..."Okay, Madeline," Nikita whispered, a determined expression crossing her face. "I'll give you real." With that, she tossed her head back then strode from the room.
Brundage was propelled along by strong hands locked onto his arms. He couldn't see where he was going since a hood covered his head, but he knew it wasn't to a good place. He had been in a state of terror from the moment two men had appeared beside his car at the resturant he'd had dinner at. They dropped a hood over his head then tossed him into the back of a vehicle. Now they were dragging him someplace else.
"Who are you?" Brundage shouted, as he had for the past several hours. But he received no answer. A moment later he cried out as he was flung forward. He hit the ground but suddenly realized that he was free. Ripping off the hood, Brundage saw that a door was closing. Then it was sealed, the sound of the lock clicking into place was like the sealing of his doom. He ran to the door, pounding on it with both fists. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Save your breath. They won't answer."
Brundage gasped at the sound of a softly, accented voice. He whirled around to see another man sitting on the floor in the corner. It was then that he realized the room he was in had no windows, nor any furniture. "Where the hell are we?" Brundage demanded.
Michael smiled at him, playing a character. "I don't know," he replied, with a shrug.
"How long have you been here?" Brundage asked, as he moved to sit beside the other man.
"Don't know that either," Michael replied. He tapped his left wrist. "They took my watch, and they leave the lights on. I'd guess maybe twenty-four hours. Maybe more."
Brundage swallowed hard, his throat dry. "What do they want from us?" he queried, hearing the quiver in his voice.
Michael didn't get a chance to answer. The door to their chamber opened, and two, muscle-bound me dressed in black, stepped inside. They went to Michael and pulled him to his feet.
"Where are you taking him?" Brundage demanded, from the corner, as he watched the men bind his cellmates wrists behind his back. Then they marched him from the room, sealing the door closed behind them. Brundage pressed his back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them in an attempt to stop the tremors that shook him. He was certain that the other man was going to die, then he would be next. But, even as he cursed his fate, he heard voices.
Brundage's head snapped up to the far corner of the room. There was a video screen attached from the ceiling. He could see and hear what was going on in a chamber similar to the one he was in. The two goons were chaining his cellmates arms over his head, attaching the end to a hook in the ceiling. Brundage moved forward, drawn like a moth to a flame. He swiped at the cold sweat on his face with the sleeve of his shirt and watched, in fascination, as a beautiful blond woman suddenly stepped into view. She walked a circle around the bound man, then she smiled, almost directly into the camera, as if she knew Brundage was watching. A moment later she turned away and he heard her say to his cellmate...
"Let's get acquainted...shall we?"
************
Michael glared at Nikita, keeping in character for the role he was playing. He showed no, outward, sign of the surprise he was feeling at seeing Nikita there. Madeline had told him that she would be interrogating him. Suddenly it all made sense. Yet another test of them both, and Michael wondered if Nikita realized it. Certainly she would have her suspcions, but did she truly understand why she was there? Michael doubted it. But that didn't matter. All Section would care about is Nikita's ability to perform, and Michael would make certain that she was worthy of an academy award nomination.
Nikita smiled in the face of Michael's glare. She knew that he was playing a part, but it never ceased to amaze her how convincing he was. Gone was his characteristic, cold, detachment. Fire blazed in his beautiful eyes, and defiance seemed to ripple off him. It never occurred to Nikita that Michael was a reflection of her self at this moment. "I have a few questions to ask you," she purred, as she paced around him once more. This time she let her hands brush over him. First his buttocks, feeling the hard muscles contract, and enjoying every minute of it. Then, as she was facing him once more, Nikita let her fingers glide over Michael's chest, then up over his face and into his hair. She had always wondered what it would feel like. Instead of being brushed out straight and tucked behind his ears, the cinnamon-colored strands framed his face in soft curls and felt like silk.
"I don't have anything to say to you!" Michael shot back, in response to Nikita's statement. He found his control wavering for a moment, as her free hand lifted and one finger traced the outline of his mouth. Michael couldn't pull his head away for her other hand was still tangled in his hair, holding him trapped. One look into Nikita's eyes and he knew she was enjoying their sudden, unexpected, role-reversal. Michael couldn't blame her, he just hoped that she wouldn't lose sight of the mission.
"I think we can find lots to talk about," Nikita countered, smiling when she felt Michael quiver as her fingers glided down his chest then slipped under his shirt to trace the ridges of muscle that patterned his abdomen. "Hmmmmmmmmm..." she sighed, shifting her eyes to lock on Michael's face. He continued to glare at her, still in character, but she knew that she was affecting him. Turnabout was fair play, Nikita thought. And she let Michael see what she was thinking, her message clearly reflected in her eyes. She knew that he understood and it pleased her that he was helpless to stop her. Nikita possessed all the control and it was a heady sensation to know that Michael was truly vulnerable to her now. That they were role-playing didn't matter, it just added a touch of spice.
Michael was concerned that Nikita would opt to torment him on a personal level as opposed to focusing on the job, and giving Brundage something to think about, so he tried to push Nikita in that direction. "It's been my experience that blondes aren't much for talking," Michael drawled. "They spend most of their time horizontal, and moaning."
"Really?" Nikita countered, her eyes glittering at the blatant insult. It didn't matter that she realized what Michael was doing, she was still angry. In retaliation, she brushed her hand over his crotch and heard Michael catch his breath. "You don't get out much," she hissed, then she let her fingers close over him, kneading his manhood through the material of his jeans. That had been another surprise for Nikita. Michael in blue jeans, and they fit him to perfection, outlining the muscles of his long legs. The denim was surprisingly soft too, as if it were well-worn. A smile quirked her lips. But he wasn't at all soft. "What's a pretty boy like you doing in this line of work?" Nikita questioned, her voice a husky whisper.
"What line of work?" Michael countered, resisting the urge to heave a sigh of relief when Nikita's hands left his body. She backed away and paced around him once more.
"You buy things," Nikita persisted. "Expensive...toys," she drawled. "Boys and their toys," Nikita shook her head as she came back around to face Michael. "Who do you work for?"
Michael laughed. "Myself."
Nikita nodded. "Let's start over," she said, her expression becoming soft and warm. "What's your name?"
"I'm certain you already know!" Michael hissed. He was intrigued by Nikita's abrupt change in tactics. Very clever of her. Michael hoped that Madeline was giving Nikita brownie points.
"Let me explain how things work," Nikita countered, her voice whiskey-smooth and a touch sultry. "I ask the questions and you answer. If you do so in a timely matter, you get to go home. If you give me a hard time, you get punished. I'll demonstrate how this works. For example...you tell me your name and I'll let you go back to your room. For now."
Michael pretended to think about it, then he smiled. "You gonna come back to my room with me?" he questioned, his meaning clear in his tone of voice.
Nikita's hand cracked across Michael's face, and she stared at the imprint on his cheek. Her eyes glittered but her voice remained soft as she repeated, "What's your name."
"Go to hell.." Michael hissed. He glared at Nikita, feeling the heat of her gaze burning into him. She had enjoyed hitting him. Michael could see that in her eyes. Fair enough, he thought. He owed her at least one. And she had a strong right, his cheek still stung.
"Bad boy," Nikita whispered, then she lifted one hand.
Michael watched as one of the muscle-boys, who had dragged him in here, stepped forward. A Section operative, of course. He prepared himself for what was coming. Better that they should work him over than Nikita. Then she wouldn't have to live with it. But the big guy, whose name was Terry, simply stared at Michael. One hand was raised, the fingers clenched into a fist, but he didn't strike. Michael saw the hesitation in the other man's eyes. Understood it. He had trained Terry and the man didn't want to hurt him. But Michael gave a slight nod, and a look. Do the job, was his message.
Terry was good at obeying orders. He drew back his arm then slammed his fist into Michael's midsection. Not once, but three times.
Nikita had to swallow hard against sudden bile as she watched Michael's knees buckle. He was supported only by the chains on his wrists as he coughed and gagged, in his effort to draw in air. She had been in his place in the past. Nikita knew he was in agony. Terry had fists like a sledgehammer and he hadn't pulled his punches. But that was the whole point, Nikita reminded herself, as she stepped forward once more. She curled her fingers in Michael's hair and yanked his head up. Pain shimmered in his silver-green eyes, but Nikita steeled herself against it. "What is your name?" she asked.
"Mister...Ed..." Michael hissed, between gritted teeth.
"You're a slow learner," Nikita replied, releasing him. She looked at Terry, her eyes cold. "Continue," Nikita drawled, then she stepped back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, to watch.
Brundage was pressed into the corner of the chamber when the door opened. He tried to make himself smaller as his cellmate was dragged in by the muscle-bound goons. He shook so hard his teeth nearly chattered as he watched them dump the other man in the other corner, then walk out. The moment the door was sealed, Brundage crawled over to the far corner. He bit his lip as he studied his companion. Bruises mottled the handsome face, there was blood in the corner of his mouth and his skin was sheened with sweat. Brundage had seen the beating and he guessed that the other man was in agony. He raised on hand and touched a finger to a slumped shoulder.
Michael groaned when Brundage touched him, playing into the pain. His body felt as if it were on fire, white-hot agony rippling through his veins. But it was something he could control. Yet, in this particular circumstance, he was not Michael, Section operative. He was a player who had been beaten and he let Brundage see the damage. "Don't..."Michael hissed, when Brundage tried to help him shift positions.
"Sorry," Brundage was quick to apologize. "Damn, man. They almost killed you. Why didn't you tell them your name? Like you said, they already know it anyway."
"All..part of...the game," Michael whispered. He leaned his head back and stared at Brundage. "I give in on my name...then they win."
Brundage shook his head. "Next time you're gonna die, man," he declared.
Michael laid his head back against the wall, his eyes narrowing into slits as he gazed at Brundage. "This is nothing compared to what my...boss..would do to me if I talk," he drawled.
"Yeah.." Brundage replied, leaving it at that. He could relate. The people he worked for were ruthless and deadly. If he ever gave them up, his death would be slow torment. Heaving a sigh, he moved to sit beside his companion, back propped against the wall. "So...tell me something," he said, as he toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "What is your name?" Brundage didn't want to refer to him as *hey you.* When no response was forthcoming, he glanced over at the other man, only to discover that he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Brundage wished he was still awake, cause in the heavy silence that filled the room he was left with nothing but his chaotic thoughts to fill the void.
Nikita stormed into Madeline's office, only to discover that it was empty. She considered leaving and was halfway towards the door when she changed her mind. Plopping down into a nearby chair, Nikita crossed her arms and legs. No matter how long it took, she would wait. She and Madeline needed to talk. And it was imperative that they did so before her next session with Michael.
************
When Madeline entered her office, she wasn't at all surprised to see Nikita there. The beautiful blond was pacing in a half circle. As Madeline moved to sit behind her desk she commented, "You did well."
Nikita stopped pacing to turn and glare at the other woman. "Is Michael all right?" she demanded. That was her first concern.
"You tell me," Madeline countered, a cold smile curving her lips. "You're the one who punished him."
"Did you watch?" Nikita queried, with a morbid sense of curiosity.
Madeline nodded. "You seemed a little hesitant at first, but you carried through," she said softly. Madeline was well aware of the part that Michael had played in egging Nikita on. She knew that this mission would affect him in a way he might not expect. Madeline intended to have a long talk with Michael when it was over, whether he liked it or not. And she knew that he wouldn't.
Nikita went back to pacing. "Is this a test, Madeline?" she blurted out.
"You've already asked me that, Nikita," Madeline reminded her.
"And you never really answered," Nikita shot back. "I wanna know. Are you testing me...or Michael? Or both of us?" Nikita paced over to the desk, laying her palms flat on the surface as she leaned in, a feral smile curving her lips. "You know that I have an emotional bond to Michael. You play on it all the time, and so does he. It's how you're able to manipulate me so easily."
Madeline leanded back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, her expression a mask. "Your point being?" she interjected.
Nikita heaved a sigh. "My point being, is this your way of testing whether or not I'll let my emotions interfere with the job."
"I already know the answer to that," Madeline replied, smiling. "Do you?" When Nikita didn't answer, she prompted, "If Brundage doesn't reveal the names to Michael, you have another session with him in three hours."
"Fine," Nikita hissed. Then she turned and stormed out the door. She found herself heading towards Michael office then stopped dead, reminding herself that he wouldn't be there. Doing an about face, Nikita headed to Walter's station. He was the only person she could talk to in Section. The only one who offered her the truth.
Walter was soddering a circuit board when Nikita strolled into his area. He knew why she was there, for he was fully aware of the mission she and Michael had been assigned to. Walter's heart ached for those two kids. "What's up, sugar?" he offered in greeting, as Nikita perched herself on the stool beside his work station.
"I'm scared, Walter," Nikita confessed, as she blinked back tears. She'd be damded if she'd cry, especially when she didn't know why she was crying.
"Scared about what?" he prompted, setting aside his tools and turning to face her, one hip propped against his table.
Nikita sighed. "Do you know about Brundage?" she queried. At Walter's nod she found herself spilling out all her thoughts and emotions at what had happened during her interrogation of Michael. "I thought it would be hard to do, but it wasn't...not really. I wanted to hurt Michael. And watching Terry beat on him...it was hard at first. But then," Nikita broke off with a shrug. "I don't know...it's like I was watching it from a distance. From a place where it couldn't touch me. Thing is...I don't know if I can do it again. But session two is in three hours, if Brundage doesn't talk."
Walter didn't respond for a moment. He let silence draw out between them as he watched Nikita fidget on the stool. She couldn't meet his gaze and that told him alot. Now it was time to play devil's advocate. "Sugar...maybe you wanted to hurt Michael because you thought he deserved it." Walter paused as Nikita's head shot up, and he could see defiance flashing in her blue eyes. But she remained silent, allowing him to continue. "Michael's hurt you in the past, Nikita. Over and over, it seems."
"Maybe.." Nikita allowed, feeling shame wash over her. She shook her head. "But what does that say about me?" she queried.
"That you're human, sugar," Walter replied, his tone firm. "But so is Michael." Here came the part Nikita might not like, or want to accept. But Walter felt that she needed to hear it. "No matter what you do to him in that room, Michael won't blame you for it. He understands...he knows it's just the job. He won't take it personally."
Nikita laughed, but it lacked any warmth. "But what if it's more than the job, Walter? What if I am making it personal? I know he can see it in my eyes. He knows I wanted to hurt him." What was worse, Nikita knew he had pushed her into hitting him with his *blond* remark. Once again he had known how to push her buttons.
Walter reached out and patted Nikita's hand. "Listen to me, sugar," he beseeched. "Michael has been with Section a long time. He does what he has to do...we all do. He's lied to you and manipulated you, but it's not like he's singling you out. We've all been lied to here. It happens all the time. Michael is higher up on the food chain than the rest of us, discounting Madeline and Operations..of course."
"Of course," Nikita drawled, her eyes now lifting to meet and hold Walter's gaze. He was sharing things she had wondered about since her first day in Section. "Go on," she prompted, not having intended to interrupt him.
"I believe that for all that Michael is told, it doesn't exempt him from the lies," Walter continued. "In fact, I think they lie to him the most. He's tested every minute of everyday..in everyway. Because he knows so much, they can't risk a crack in his loyalty. Not to mention he's the best cold op they've got."
Nikita shook her head. "The perfect killing machine," she whispered.
Walter swallowed back a sigh of frustration. "Sugar, Michael is cold and detached because he has to be. It's how he survives. You can't even imagine the ways he's been used and abused by Section. Lying to him about Simone was nothing. And you saw how he reacted to her dying again. Calm acceptance."
"Why?" Nikita challenged, feeling a cold chill ripple over her. What Walter had said was true. She couldn't imagine what Section had done to Michael to make him the way he was. Nikita felt more guilt wash over her. In many ways she had been selfish and self-absorbed,, unwilling to see past the way she was affected by what Section did to her. Not caring about Michael's feelings, if only because she doubted he had any. "Why doesn't he fight back?" she whispered, her eyes pleading with Walter to explain it.
"Michael doesn't have a guardian angel watching over him, Sugar," Walter said softly, meaningfully. Then he turned away to pick up his tools. "I gotta get back to work.
Nikita knew a dismissal when she heard one, so she rose from the stool and turned away. She felt more confused than ever now. What had Walter meant by a guardian angel, Nikita mused. For she knew that he had intended for his words to mean something to her. But they didn't. Heaving a sigh of frustration, Nikita headed for the exit. She needed to take a walk and clear her head.
Brundage didn't reveal any names to Michael, so Nikita found herself back in the chamber, Michael chained up again. She almost winced at the sight of his bruised face and steeled herself against the pain she saw shimmering in his beautiful eyes. Putting a cold smile on her face she stepped forward, one hand curling in Michael's hair to yank his head back. "Well," she drawled. "You've had a few hours to reconsider my offer. Shall we try again? Tell me your name."
Michael didn't respond, other than to glare at Nikita. He saw something in her eyes that confused him. Coldness, yet...compassion. He didn't understand why.
"You must like pain," Nikita said, as she let one fingertip brush over the bruises on Michael's face. Her hand then moved to his chest and she could feel swelling. Bile rose in Nikita's throat, but she swallowed it back and shrugged. "Let's see how much more pain you can tolerate, shall we?" With that she stepped away from Michael and gestured for Terry and the other operative to take her place. When Terry went to hit Michael, Nikita was surprised to see Michael kick him. But it gained him no respite. The other operative, Doug, stepped forward and kicked Michael in the ribs repetively. On the third kick, Niktia heard a snap. She felt herself grow pale as she realized that Doug had broken Michael's ribs. Pushing away from the wall the took a step forward, intending to stop the beating, but then she froze.
From her office, Madeline was watching the session on a video screen. Her elbows were resting on her desktop and her chin was propped on her interlaced fingers. She saw Nikita step forward, then freeze. "Good girl," Madeline whispered.
"Come on, Michael!" Nikita hissed, after signalling for Terry and Doug to take a break. If they had kept on Michael would either pass out from the pain, or die on her. She gripped his chin in one hand, lifting his head. Nikita tried to ignore the fact that the chains on Michael's wrists were the only thing supporting him. His knees had long ago buckled. "We both know that I can make you suffer for a long time. Tell me what I want to know and this stops." Softening her voice, Nikita brushed her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress. "The pain will stop, Michael. Just tell the name of your buyers."
Michael felt himself shaking as pain rippled through him in unending waves. He heard Nikita's voice as if from a distance, and darkness seemed to be shrouding him. But he clung to consciousness. Swallowing hard against bile and nausea he whispered, "Do your worst, bitch...This is nothing compared to what...my people...will do to me...if I tell you."
Nikita laughed. "You think so?" she countered, releasing his chin and stepping away from Michael once more. She gestured to Terry and Doug. "Take him back to his room." Nikita watched the operatives release Michael then support his dead weight between them. As they dragged him out of the chamber she called after them, "You have one hour to reconsider my offer, Michael. Next session we start with electro shock."
From his room, Brundage heard what the blond said before the video screen went black. About a minute passed before the door opened and Michael was dumped inside. That was one positive note, Brundage told himself as he crawled over to the other man. At least he knew his name. "Michael?" he whispered, as he reached out to touch the hunched shoulders.
"Kill...me.." Michael croaked. He was curled into a ball to support his broken ribs, but nothing seemed to ease the pain. It was white-hot and burned into his flesh and bone. Breathing was agony, but Michael fought to control it.
"What?" Brundage was stunned. "Kill you.." he repeated. At Michael's nod he queried, "But...why?"
Michael laughed, a broken sound. "Don't you get it...Better dead now. I can't break. I can't...tell her."
Brundage remembered what Michael had said to the blond. That what she was inflicting on him was nothing compared to what his own people would do to him. Once again, Brundage could relate. "Who are your people?" he asked, keeping his voice hushed.
"Ex...Mossad," Michael replied.
"Ever hear of a man name Sayhib?" Brundage countered, feeling all the blood drain from his head, as Michael mentioned Mossad.
Michael shook his head. "No...why?"
Brundage found himself shaking as he answered. "Sayhib is Mossad. That's who I work for. He wants arms for Iraq, to use against the US. Man intends to start a war. The war to end all wars."
"Really.." Michael replied, as he suddenly pushed himself upright, then on to his feet. He saw Brundage's stunned look and smiled. Pain still rippled through him, but Michael was in control now. They had what they needed. Section was familiar with Sayhib. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Brundage," Michael said politely, as he moved to the door. From his pocket he withdrew a key. He used it then left the room, sealing the door once again, from the outside.
"What the hell is going on!" Brundage shouted, as he listened to the lock click into place. He ran to the door and pounded on it with both fists. "Who are you people? Let me out of here! I'm dead!! Do you hear me? DEAD!!"
Brundage pounded on the door until he was hoarse and his hands bled, but no came. Finally he slumped into a corner, hugged his knees, and wept.
***********
Madeline was sitting beside Michael's bed in Medlab, when Nikita entered the room. Madeline remained silent, waiting for the younger woman to speak.
"How is he?" Nikita asked, as she stared down at Michael. He looked so young and vulnerable, his dark hair spread out over the pristine, white, pillow.
"He'll recover," Madeline replied, honestly. "He's sedated right now, so he'll rest." A smile curved Madeline's lips as she rose to her feet. "Michael isn't fond of Medlab."
Nikita nodded. "I'm sure he's not," she allowed. She didn't even want to know how many times he had been shot or wounded. They probably had this bed reserved for him. "What kind of damage did I do?" Nikita queried, her eyes locked with Madeline's. She needed to know. It didn't matter that she hadn't, personally, inflicted the injuries. She might as well have.
Madeline understood and she gave Nikita the truth. "Broken ribs, some internal bleeding, a slight concussion and bruising over forty-five percent of his body. You were very thorough." Madeline words weren't meant as a rub, but as a compliment. But she smiled as she saw Nikita's reaction. Anger. "I'll see you later," Madeline whispered, as she stepped around the blond and headed for the door.
For a long moment, Nikita stood frozen. Madeline's comment had hurt. But she could deal with that. She didn't have a choice. Nikita was finally beginning to understand what Walter had been trying to tell her. It was the same lesson Michael had, unsuccessfully, tried to teach her from day one. Section didn't care about the individual, they cared only about the job.
Nikita let her eyes drop to Michael's face and for a long moment she simply stared at him. Smiling at how innocent he looked in slumber. His long eyelashes brushing his cheeks, a cinnamon curl touseled over his forehead, and his sensual lips slightly pouty. "I guess maybe you are human after all," Nikita whispered, as she traced the pattern of bruises on Michael's jawline. When he stirred she pulled back, then turned to leave. But Nikita paused. Turning back, she bent to brush a kiss over his lips, then she breathed, "Thank you for watching over me, Michael." With that Nikita left the room.
Operations helped Madeline on with her coat. They were going out to dinner, his treat, since she had won the bet between them. Operations had conceded defeat, graciously. "I have to admit," he commented, as he pulled Madeline's hair out from beneath the collar, "I didn't think Nikita had it in her to follow through with the mission."
Madeline turned to face him, smiling. "I've told you not to underestimate Nikita."
"I guess maybe Michael was right...Nikita just might make a good operative after all," Operations allowed, albeit with a wince.
"I think Nikita just may surprise us all," Madeline whispered, as she took the arm that Operations offered and let him lead her from the room. At least, that's what Madeline was hoping would happen. The mission was over, but the fallout had just begun. And she sensed that things between Michael and Nikita were about to change. Forever.
THE END
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