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 felt like running away. She stood looking down at the dead bodies of four, fellow, Section One operatives. They had been murdered. Coldly, brutally, expertly. Their mission had been simple. They were team two and were sent to secure the perimeter. But multiple explosions had sent them running into the warehouse, believing that team one, consisting of which Michael and Nikita, were in trouble. But it was death who had been waiting to greet them. Nikita turned away from the bodies, her eyes instinctively searching for Michael. She saw him on his knees, palms pressed to his temples. Calling his name, Nikita ran over to him. "Michael!" She fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grasp his shoulders. "What's wrong?" she beseeched. His pallor frightened her for he was white as alabaster. Michael heard Nikita's voice, as if coming from a great distance. He tried to focus on her instead of on the images that flashed, unbidden, in his head. But he lost the battle, then the war. Darkness claimed Michael and he sank into it willingly. "Michael's down!" Nikita shouted, as she wrapped her arms around him and eased him down to the ground. Sitting down, Nikita eased Michael's head onto her lap and pulled off her gloves, using her teeth, so that she could check him for injuries. There were none. But she was still checking when the van pulled up and Birkhoff jumped out. He had been informed of the dead bodies, by Michael, and had relayed the news to Section. But he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him and his stomach twisted into knots as he swallowed back bile. Running over to Michael and Nikita he asked, "What happened?" Nikita shook her head. "I don't know. He...he just collapsed. He wasn't shot, there's no other injuries....but I can't wake him up." "I've informed Section," Birkhoff said, laying a hand on Nikita's shoulder. "Madeline has a Medteam waiting for us. Let's get Michael home." He gestured for two, male, operatives to join them and they lifted Michael into the van. "It's going to be all right, Michael," Nikita whispered, as she sat beside him and smoothed his hair. "You're going to be fine." She repeated those words over and over again all the way to Section. ~*~ "Tell me what happened," Madeline requested, as she smiled at Nikita from behind her desk. The beautiful blond was pacing in an agitated circle, her concern for Michael apparent in her every look and gesture. Nikita shrugged. "There's not much to tell," she replied, wearily pushing a stray lock of pale hair out of her eyes. "We heard some explosions, but we were on the other side of the compound. Birkhoff told us that communications with team two had gone down, so Michael ordered us to abort the mission and we went in search of the other team. We found them in the warehouse...dead." Nikita paused and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the horrible images. Madeline nodded. "What about Michael?" she prompted. "How he did he react when he saw the bodies?" "Like Michael," Nikita replied, frustration coloring her voice. Madeline had brought her to her office so that she wouldn't get in the way as the Medlab doctors examined Michael, and Nikita understood that, but she was anxious to see if he were all right. "Details, Nikita," Madeline prompted. She understood the young woman's frustration, she even shared it, but right now she needed answers. And she couldn't get them from Michael. Not yet. "What did he do?" Releasing a sigh, Nikita stopped pacing and tried to remember. "He went in first, saw the bodies and just...froze. We all did. Then he told Birkhoff what we'd found and told him to contact Section, and to have you send housekeeping." Madeline scribbled a few notes then said, "What else?" "I'm not sure," Nikita admitted. She felt like she could fall over any minute, so she dropped into a chair. "I was stunned by the violence of it all. Blood everywhere...and it looked like they never had time to fight back. So I didn't really pay attention to Michael at first. He wandered off, maybe looking for some sign of the killer, then I noticed that he was on his knees....holding his head....like he was pain. Agony." "What did you do then?" Madeline queried, her dark eyes locked on Nikita's face. She was absorbing every detail and filing it away for later use. For when she was able to speak with Michael. Nikita didn't answer for a moment, she was remembering. "I went to him, asked him what was wrong. He didn't answer me, then he collapsed. That was it. I told Birkhoff that Michael was down and he called you then arrived in the van. Michael never woke up." Nikita shrugged as she held Madeline's intense gaze. "You know the rest." Jumping out of her chair she asked, "Can I check on Michael now?" Madeline nodded, rising to her feet as well. "Come on, I'll go with you." Side by side the two women exited the office. ~*~ Michael was aware of fingers combing through his hair in a soothing caress, but it didn't ease his anxiety any. If anything, the unexpected intimacy made him more jumpy. He raised a hand to brush the fingers away but his wrist was caught in a strong grip. Michael opened his eyes to find Madeline smiling at him. He didn't speak, but his eyes asked a question. "It's been almost twenty-four hours," Madeline replied, reading him accurately. "How do you feel, Michael?" "Fine," he replied, automatically. He freed his wrist then made a move to sit up, but Madeline pressed one hand to his chest. She smiled again. "Rest," Madeline said softly. "Feel up to a few questions?" Michael didn't answer right away. He was suddenly lost in the images of the dead operatives in the warehouse. Blood and death didn't frighten him, but he felt a cold chill ripple through him at the memories. Then he felt Madeline's fingers glide over his face and it jolted him back to reality. Michael blinked then replied, "What do you want to know?" "Tell me what happened in the warehouse," Madeline prompted. "What did you see?" "Four, dead, operatives," Michael replied, readily enough. But even as he spoke he felt his hear trate quicken, and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing even. Michael didn't want Madeline to see his reaction. Madeline saw a flicker of reaction in Michael's beautfiul eyes and she sensed he was frightened. She could almost feel it. And there was only one thing, that she knew of, that frightened Michael. But she didn't mention it...not yet. Instead she let her fingers comb through his hair, hoping that the motherly caress would sooth him. "Go on," she entreated, softly. Michael swallowed hard, then continued. "I checked the area for signs of an intruder." "You saw no one?" Madeline interjected. "Not at...first," MIchael allowed. He turned his head away from Madeline, away from her touch. It was making it difficult for him to concentrate. Madeline pulled her hand away, realizing that Michael was annoyed by her caress. Sensing that it was making it difficult for him to concentrate and suddenly understanding why. "What did you see, Michael?" she prompted him again, this time her voice turning cold. He looked at her again, his own eyes glittering with shadows. "Galen....." Michael whispered. His heart was pounding in his chest now and his breathing became labored. "She was there?" Madeline questioned, unable to hide her surprise. She reached out with one hand to touch Michael's arm. His skin was sheened with a cold sweat. "Not then," he replied, his voice barely audible. Michael had to concentrate on breathing. Slow breaths, in and out, to calm his racing pulse. But it was difficult as the images from the warehouse returned. Madeline's expression was grim. "Galen killed our operatives?" she asked, firing the question at Michael like a bullet from a gun. He nodded. "Yes." Michael closed his eyes, but that only intensified the images. Nightmarish flashbacks of a woman with a gun. Standing on the second level, picking off the operatives below, one by one. A shotgun, blowing holes through flesh the size of a fist. Blood spattering against the walls and the floor, and the sound of laughter. "She killed them," Michael confirmed, his eyes wide open once more. "I knew she was alive!" Madeline hissed. She was anxious to tell Operations the news, but her first concern was Michael. She needed him to be strong, to face his greatest fear. Madeline calmed her own ragged nerves, then smiled at the young man. She could see him struggling to hold on to his iron control. "Do you know where she is?" Madeline asked, her hand once more reaching out to touch Michael's face. She could feel him trembling. "No.." he breathed, raising one hand to push hers away, but she curled her fingers in his hair, forcing him to look at her. Michael locked eyes with Madeline, knowing she could see his fear, yet knowing he had to face it. She would not allow him to do otherwise. "I can't...find her," he said, willing it to be the truth. But Madeline knew that it wasn't. "You're not trying," she shot back, bluntly, her eyes cold as her voice. "You have to try, Michael. The killing has just begun, and you know it. Galen can destroy Section, and she will....if you let her." Michael nodded. He wouldn't deny the truth. "I can't get past the warehouse," he confessed, his gaze never wavering from Madeline's. "All right," she replied, her fingers relaxing in his hair. "I'll talk to Operations, fill him in on Galen." Letting her fingertips glide over Michael's face once more, Madeline smiled again, warmly. "It's going to be all right, Michael," she told him. "We'll get through this." "Of course," Michael replied, only now breaking their eye contact. He knew what Madeline intended to do. Knew there was no escape. So he accepted it, as he did all things inevitable. That was how he survived the Section. Madeline moved towards the door but called over her shoulder, "Nikita is here to see you." Michael was surprised, and was barely able to hide it, when Nikita was suddenly there, standing in the doorway, smiling at him. He didn't smile back. "Nikita," Michael whispered. That was all. "Hello, Michael," she replied, moving over to the bed. It was strange to see him lying there, Nikita thougth to herself. She had never seen Michael, physically, defenseless before. Two bullets hadn't put him to bed. Nor had the torture by Red Cell, at least not that Nikita had been aware of. And, to the best of her knowledge, Michael hadn't sustained any physical injury at the warehouse, yet he was lying in bed, looking pale and vulnerable. Not the Michael she was accustomed to. "How do you feel?" Nikita asked, wondering if she would get the truth. "I've been better," Michael replied, a little surprised by his own answer. So was Nikita, but she recovered first. "What happened back there?" she entreated. "At the warehouse? You scared the hell out of me." Michael nodded. He could see the concern shimmering in Nikita's beautiful eyes. It amazed him that she was worried about him. Why should she care, after all he had put her through in the past? But Michael didn't let himself consider the reasons, he simply answered her question. She deserved that much. "I saw something," Michael confessed. "Saw what?" Nikita prompted, a frown furrowing her brow. "You're accustomed to death, Michael. Your reaction was...out of character...to say the least." "I know," Michael whispered. He looked away from Nikita for a moment, then back again. Something prompted him to tell her the truth. "I saw the killer, Nikita." And he stunned gasp he continued. "I saw her in my mind." ************ Nikita was stunned by Michael's confession. "What do you mean...you saw the killer in your mind? Like a psychic vision..or something?" Michael nodded. "Yes." A voice in his head warned him not to be quiet, that Madeline would not approve of him telling Nikita about this. But Michael didn't care. He wanted her to know. "You're psychic?" Nikita persisted, shaking her head. She found this train of thought unsettling. As well as unrealistic. "Come on, Michael. What's going on?" "It's hard to explain," he countered, moving suddenly to throw back the covers. Michael didn't want to lie there any longer. He felt too vulnerable, as if he were giving in to his weakness, and that he could not allow. Nikita stepped forward, to block Michael when he swung his legs off the bed and moved to stand. "I think you should rest," she entreatied, even though she was distracted by the sight of him in white, pajama bottoms and a muscle tank top. Also white. It bared Michael's arms and shoulders, and most of his chest. He was like a statue, all smooth skin over sculptured muscle. Beautiful. Michael pushed Nikita to one side, gently but firmly. "I'm okay," he insisted, rising to his feet and moving to the small closet in the corner where he knew his clothes would be. He was aware of Nikita's eyes following him, almost burning him with the intensity of her gaze, but that didn't deter him from pulling off the tank top, then stepping out of the trousers. It startled Nikita for a moment, when Michael stripped in front of her, but then she realized that he long ago learned to be detached from his physicality. Being naked in front of her wasn't sexual to Michael, because he wasn't interested in her as a woman. She was simply his...material...Nikita reminded herself. The thought hurt, but she shoved it away, taking advantage of the moment, and allowing herself to admire Michael's physique. His long, muscled legs and tight buttocks, not to mention his well-defined back. A wicked thought occurred, and she wished that he would turn around, but he was already pulling on his, familiar, black pants. Nikita schooled her expression. She was affected by Michael, but damned if she would show it. She could be as detached as he was. After all, he was her trainer, and she was a quick learner. "Where are you going?" Nikita questioned, when Michael turned back to face her, pulling a turtleneck over his head. "To my office," he replied. He bent to retrieve his boots, then sat on the bed to lace them on. "You said that it's hard to explain about what you saw," Nikita said, suddenly remembering what they had been discussing. She moved around the bed to face Michael. At his nod she prompted, "Try. I want to understand. You saw the killer...who is it?" Michael finished lacing on his boots, but didn't stand up. He looked at Nikita, locking eyes with her. "Her name is Galen," he replied. "She was a Section operative." Nikita was stunned. "What?" "Over ten years ago," Michael explained, without further prompting. He suddenly wanted to tell all. To share his fears with someone who wouldn't judge him. Madeline and Operations be damned. "When I first came to Section One, Galen was my trainer. Three months later she went on a mission and was grabbed by Legion. Section went after her, with the intention of canceling her. And they were successful. She was dead." "But you just said she was the killer," Nikita interjected. She sank down on the bed beside Michael, feeling too dazed to remain standing. "What happened?" Michael paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was wondering, himself, what had happened. "We were wrong," he whispered. "Galen survived the explosion." Nikita shook her head. "Wait a minute, you're leaving out alot of details. First off, how do know it was Galen? Are you psychic or not?" "I don't know what I am," Michael replied, honestly. "From the moment I met Galen, eleven years ago, I've had this...connection...to her. Some kind of...bonding. It's not like what you've read. It's not really psychic. More empathic by definition. I don't need to be near her to feel her. Nor touch something of hers, although that does intensify the sensation." "You're losing me," Nikita admitted. She buried her face in her hands for a minute, trying to sort out the chaos that rippled in her mind. "What did you see at the warehouse?" Michael winced. He didn't want to remember that again. But the moment Nikita mentioned it, the images flashed in his head. Galen on the catwalk. He could see her more clearly this time, a close-up image of her. Dark hair, cold eyes, a feral smile curving red lips. Michael didn't realize that he was gasping for breath until he felt Nikita's hands on his face. Heard her calling his name. "I'm...okay," Michael whispered, focusing on his breathing. Slow and deep, in and out, till his racing pulse had calmed. "I could feel her there," he explained, as he gripped Nikita's wrists to pull her hands from his face. He released her as she stepped back, her eyes glimmering with concern. "I saw Galen on the catwalk, with a shotgun," Michael continued, rising from the bed and beginning to pace. He wasn't even aware of his actions. Nikita watched him, and felt a ripple of fear. Michael's anxiety was almost tangible. His iron control was slipping. Nikita had never seen him like this before. She wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. At the same time she wanted answers, especially since Michael was willing to talk, for once. "Why did she kill our people?" Nikita questioned. Michael shook his head, freezing in midstep. "I don't know. It must be connected to Legion," he guessed, knowing that Madeline was thinking along those lines. She would be sharing her thoughts with Operations right now. And Michael knew what would be expected of him. The thought of it made him break out in a cold sweat. "You said Galen was grabbed by Legion ten years ago, but Section thought she died in an explosion," Nikita stated. She saw Michael shiver, and grow pale. His eyes were glassy. "Did Section set the explosion?" Nikita remembered how Michael had said Section had wanted Galen cancelled after being grabbed. "Yes," Michael replied, as he resumed pacing. All of the sudden it felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on him. He wanted to escape, but there was no place to run to. The images would follow, as would the fear. So he fought to control them. Focusing on Nikita helped. She was a glimmer of light in the shadows. Now Michael attempted to explain his fears away. And his guilt, for he blamed himself for the deaths of the four operatives. "Operations went after Galen, personally," Michael stated, noting Nikita's surprise. "He didn't want to take any chances. She was the best, and she knew too much. She could destroy Section if Legion was able to break her." Nikita found irony in that statement. "I guess you stepped into her shoes, Michael," she drawled. For although Nikita had seen proof that Michael was as expendable as she was in Section's eyes, she also knew that he was higher up in the hierarchy than Operations or Madeline, or even Michael himself, wanted her to believe. Michael stopped pacing and turned to glare at Nikita. "I'm not like Galen!" he hissed, his eyes flashing. "Whoa.." Nikita threw up her hands, warding off his anger as if it were a physical blow. "Chill out, Michael. It was just an observation. Why are you so freaked out by all this?" Nikita understood that it was a bad situation, but Michael was out of control, and that scared her more than anything. "It's my fault," Michael whispered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, as he fought to regain mastery over his emotions. Nikita moved to confront him. "What's your fault," she queried, as she lifted one hand and tucked a cinnamon colored curl behind his ear. Michael flinched at Nikita's touch, but didn't pull away. He locked eyes with her, wanting to lose himself in her crystal-blue gaze. He swallowed hard, then tried to explain. "Operations returned to Section after the explosion. He told us that Galen was dead. He saw her in the bunker when it exploded. There was no way out. It was over." "But?" Nikita prompted, knowing there was more that Michael needed to tell. "But I knew she wasn't dead," he breathed, closing his eyes as his heart seemed to skip a beat in his chest. Michael let himself remember back. "I would have felt her die." Nikita wanted to comprehend what Michael was telling her, for she could see in his eyes his desperate need for her understanding. But she couldn't relate to what he was saying. To what it meant to him. "If you...why didn't you tell them?" Nikita queried, with a touch of hesitation. She didn't want to say the wrong thing. Michael almost laughed, for his reasons were beyond his own comprehension. So how could he possibly explain it to Nikita? Still, he gave her the excuse he had given himself. "Because I wanted her to be dead," Michael replied. "I needed to believe that...so I did." "Why?" Nikita prompted, seeing shadows darken Michael's silver-green eyes to emerald. "What are you afraid of?" Nikita was desperate for an answer, but it was not forthcoming. She saw Michael stiffen, then his eyes flickered over her shoulder. Spinning around, Nikita saw Madeline standing in the doorway. "It's time, Michael," Madeline said softly, her dark eyes gleaming as they locked on his face. She held up a slim, black case. Nikita turned back to Michael and saw him turn deathly pale. In defiance, as well as in Michael's defense, she confronted Madeline. "Time for what?" Nikita demanded. Madeline smiled. A cold, symbolic, gesture. Then she whispered, "To find the enemy." ************ Michael heard Madeline's words. 'Find the enemy..'. His pulse began racing and his head filled with pressure...as if all the blood in his vein had converged there...and his heart pounded in his chest so fiercely and loudly that it made his ears rings. Breathing became an effort of will, and Michael focused on it with single-minded intensity. He could not let the fear defeat him. Nikita was still glaring at Madeline, but she sensed a change in Michael. It was like a cold ripple down her spine. She turned to look at him and the glazed look in his eyes terrified her. Nikita took a step towards him, but felt a hand grab her arm and pull her back. Madeline yanked Nikita around to face her, her own expression grim. "Don't interfere in something that you know nothing about," Madeline cautioned. "Michael told me about Galen," Nikita shot back, defensively. "What did he tell you?" Madeline prompted, her grip on Nikita's arm tightening. She hadn't expected Michael to share any of that information with the young woman. But, then again, Michael was always surprising her. Especially when it came to Nikita. Pulling hard on her arm, Nikita broke Madeline's hold, then she looked back over at Michael before answering the question. He was watching her and Madeline, his eyes still glazed but his expression schooled into his usual mask of detachment. Yet Nikita could feel him shaking. She glared at Madeline again. "Michael told me that Galen was an operative whom Legion kidnapped over ten years ago. And that, up until today, Section believed she was dead." Madeline nodded. "That's right. But since Galen is alive, we have her...and fast. She'll take us out, one by one. And she can do it." "You're afraid of her," Nikita challenged, as the realization dawned on her. Fear shadowed Madeline's dark eyes. "Yes, I am," Madeline allowed, not caring that it showed. Nikita shook her head. Today was a day of wonders. First Michael showing his fear, now Madeline. But Nikita still had questions. "What do you expect Michael to do?" Madeline scowled at the beautiful blond. "I told you, he has find Galen." "And how, exactly, do you expect him to do that?" Nikita persisted. She stared at the black case in Madeline's hand, then over the other woman's shoulder to where two orderlies were lurking in the doorway. "That doesn't concern you," Madeline countered, her voice soft yet cold as ice. Nikita almost laughed. "Well it sure as hell should conern you!" she hissed. "Look at Michael. He's terrified. How can he help?" Madeline smiled then, her eyes shading to black. "Do you understand his fear, Nikita?" she countered. Madeline was well aware of Michael's, present, emotional and psychological state. She was afraid for him, but she was more afraid for Section. "What do you mean...understand his fear?" Nikita shot back. She was never sure what to think when Madeline asked questions. "Do you remember Kessler, and how you and I talked about my sister?" Madeline queried. She could see by the look in Nikita's eyes that the younger woman was thrown off-guard by what appeared to be a sudden change of direction. Shifting the topic from Michael to herself. Nikita nodded, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "I remember," she allowed. "You told me that you pushed your sister down the stairs and she died." Madeline's smile faded. "That's right. And I did it because I wanted the doll. When I told you that, you tried to make excuses for me, Nikita. You didn't want to see the truth." "Your point being?" Nikita prompted, wondering where this was leading to. First they were talking about catching some psychotic, ex-operative, now they were delving into Madeline's past. Nikita didn't see the connection. "My point being this," Madeline explained. "You've asked me about Michael, on occasion. You're curious about him, about his past...about what makes him tick. Yet you refuse to try to sympathize with him. Or to understand why he does what he does. You're afraid." Nikita scowled. "What am I afraid of?" she challenged, defensively. Madeline was silent for a moment. She looked over at Michael who was watching them closely. For the moment he had gained control of his fear. But she knew it wouldn't last. A part of Madeline wondered if Nikita might be able to help him. But only if the beautiful blond had the courage to face the truth. Suppressing a sigh, Madeline answered Nikita's question. "No matter what darkness you might imagine lurks in Michael's heart and soul, it can't compare to what you might really see, should he ever let you in. Maybe, just maybe, you would see yourself reflected there. And that thought terrifies you. It's the same for Michael." Now was the time for Madeline to explain to Nikita about understanding Michael's fears. "How so?" Nikita queried, not bothering to deny Madeline's words. But she was not quite willing to accept them. Not yet. "Michael is afraid that if he looks into Galen's mind, he'll see the reflection of his soul," Madeline said soflty. And as she spoke her eyes were on the Michael. He met and held her gaze, revealing nothing. "In Section, we learn to kill, but we do so discriminately. All the while knowing the difference between good and evil. But Galen doesn't acknowledge such a distinction. She plays God, but without the liability. She doesn't hold herself accountable for the blood on her hands. She has no compassion, or respect for life. Galen is cold and empty inside, she lacks humanity. And that is what terrifies Michael." As Madeline spoke, she saw Michael close his eyes as if in brief acknowledgement of her words. Nikita turned to look at Michael and he stared back at her, expressionless. She shook her head. "Michael isn't like that," Nikita whispered. Madeline smiled, reaching out to tap Nikita's arm to regain her attention. "How would you know?" she challenged. When the beautiful blond didn't respond, Madeline continued with her discourse. "Nothing scares us more than the truth, Nikita. It makes us reflective. Makes us question our motives. But not in Galen's case. She's not insane, or mad. She knows exactly what she does and she understands why. That's what makes her so dangerous." "I'm not sure I understand," Nikita admitted. Although she wanted to, and she let Madeline see that in her eyes. "You will," Madeline said softly, as she stepped around Nikita. Time was running out. She moved to stand before Michael. "Let's get started." Madeline didn't bother to ask if he was ready for what was to come. They had no other options, and Michael knew that as well as she did. Glancing over at Nikita, Michael nodded. "Where?" Madeline pointed to the bed. She watched Michael lay down, then she gestured to the orderlies who were still lurking in the doorway. They entered and moved to the bed. In their hands were restraints, which they attached to the sides of the bed, then fastened about Michael's wrists. "Wait outside," Madeline ordered, when they were finished. Nikita was horrified, all the more so by the fact that Michael hadn't protested. "What the hell are you doing?" she shouted, stomping over to get in Madeline's face. "It's for Michael's safety," Madeline replied, as she calmly checked the restraints. They would hold Michael secure. She remembered what had happened the last time they had attempted what she intended to do. Ignoring Nikita's glare, and refusing to explain further, Madeline unzippered the black case she had been holding and removed a syringe. It was filled with an amber colored liquid and Madeline tapped it with her fingernail, to insure it was clear of bubbles. Then she reached for Michael's arm. "It's strong," she warned him. When he nodded, she used two fingers to tap for a vein, then she slid the needle into his skin. The moment it hit his bloodstream, Michael felt the drug take effect. Liquid heat rushed over him, but couldn't flush away the icy-cold that seemed to have seeped into his bones. Shadows seemed to fill his mind, twisting and swirling, and Michael closed his eyes. But he did not find darkness to hide in. Rather the shadows shaded to blood-red, and he could feel it touch his skin, wet and warm. Then there was a flash of light and a heartbeat later...Michael entered hell. ************ If anyone had asked Michael to explain what it was like..his connection...to Galen, he would not have been able to explain it. It was many things all at once. Sensations, emotions....thoughts and feelings...a ripple of sound and flashes of light. Sometimes he could almost smell her scent. The jasmine perfume that she wore. But now he felt her, slipping into his mind like icy tendrils of darkness. Michael's first instinct was to block her out, but Galen wouldn't let him do that. She pushed her way into his soul and let him see her in his mind's eye, as clearly as if she, physically, stood before him. No words passed between them. That never happened. It was thoughts and feelings that they exchanged. Images mostly...dark and twisted. As if Galen's thoughts were a warped reflection of the truth. Once again, Michael tried to pull back. To escape the nightmare images. Blood and death surrounded him, tainted with evil. He walked through the shadows of Galen's mind, feeling lost and afraid. But that was what she wanted. For Michael to be afraid. He didn't know that he reacted to the fear. That he pulled at the restraints that held him. That his breathing was harsh, his eyes open and glazed. Michael didn't feel Madeline's fingers pressed against his neck, checking his racing pulse. He was gripped by madness and rage, and wrapped in cold death. Michael gasped suddenly, as he felt himself falling. But then a hand caught him. He didn't know that Nikita had twined her fingers with his. That she was mentally, and verbally, willing him to return to her. Had no idea that his heart had skipped a beat, or that Madeline had called for a doctor. He didn't feel the pillows yanked out from behind his head, or strong hands pumping his chest, nor hot breath forced into his lungs. Nikita watched in horror, as a med team worked over Michael. She found herself pushed into the background, her grip on Michael's hand broken. And it was then that she heard him scream. Not a sound, or even a word, but her name. White light flashed in Michael's mind, blinding him. He felt himself tremble for his blood felt like ice in his veins. He heard the harsh rasp of his breath in his ears, echoing painfully, then he heard someone call his name. A familiar voice. Madeline. Michael opened his eyes, then blinked, to bring her face into focus. It was only then that he realized the room was filled with doctors and nurses. "What...happened?" he whispered. "I'm not sure," Madeline replied, as she reached out to smooth back a damp, cinnamon-colored curl. Michael's skin was sheened in a cold sweat and she felt him quiver at her touch. "What do you remember?" "Nothing.." Michael whispered. He felt Madeline's hand in his hair and he tried to push it away, only his hands were still bound. Michael turned his head away, and it was then that he saw Nikita. Her eyes reflected concern. Michael didn't realize that she was terrified for him. Nikita saw pain and fear in Michael's silver-green gaze, and she glided over to the bed to take his hand again. The moment their fingers intertwined, Nikita felt him relax. The shivers that rippled through him, eased. She smiled at him for a moment, then shifted her gaze to Madeline. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" she requested. Madeline saw anger smouldering in Nikita's eyes, but she nodded. "In a minute." Turning her attention back to Michael, Madeline asked, "Did you connect to Galen?" "Yes," he whispered. That was all, and even that was an effort. "Do you know where she is?" Madeline queried, her eyes glimmering with expectation. Michael swallowed hard, then closed his eyes. He shook his head, ignoring the stabbing pain the motion caused. "She wouldn't let me...I could only see her thoughts." Michael broke off, finding it difficult to explain. Nikita had had enough. "Rest, Michael," she beseeched him, all the while glaring at Madeline. "Nikita's right," Madeline concurred, her hand slipping to Michael's shoulder. "Rest for while, we'll talk later." "I..I'd like to take a shower," Michael requested. He pulled at his restraints as a mute plea to be released. Madeline nodded. Gesturing to one of the orderlies, she ordered Michael released. She also gave instructions for someone to stay close to him, not leaving him alone for one minute. And she let Michael hear her. Offering a cold smile, Madeline said, "When your finished, Michael, I want you back here, under observation. We'll try again in the morning." Michael nodded. "Of course." "I'll see you later, Michael," Nikita said softly, drawing his attention back over to her for a moment. She had to swallow hard against sudden tears. Never, in the three years that she had known Michael, had Nikita ever seen him look so vulnerable. Not even when he had found, then lost, Simone. Her hand shook as she uncurled her fingers from Michael's, then Nikita turned away and walked out of the room. "What is it, Nikita?" Madeline asked, once they were both on the other side of the door. Nikita glared at the dark-haired woman, her eyes full of accusation. "Michael almost died in there!" she hissed. "He stopped breathing, Madeline!" Crossing her arms across her chest, and letting a mask close over her face, Madeline nodded. "Yes, I know," she said softly. "Yet you want to try that again?" Nikita challenged. Her rage was such that it threatened to choke her. "If you give Michael another injection, he'll die!" "It wasn't the drug that affected Michael," Madeline countered, her eyes locking with Nikita's in a battle of wills. She was rather pleased when the beautiful blond held her ground. Nikita found herself having to resist the urge not to slap, what she perceived as a smirk, off Madeline's face. "What then?" she challenged. Madeline could read Nikita's body language clearly. The younger woman wanted to hit her and the thought amused her to no end. She would have tested Nikita's resolve, but now was not the time. Madeline knew that Operations would be waiting for a report, she only wished that she had something positive to tell him. But, first, she would answer Nikita's question. "I think that Michael was scared...nearly to death..." Madeline replied, her eyes watching Nikita closely, for a reaction. "That's ridiculous!" Nikita spat. She shook her head. "You must be getting desperate, Madeline. You're wandering into horror-movie territory." "Mind over matter, Nikita," Madeline replied, a smile curving her lips. She knew that the younger woman was trying to explain away what she couldn't understand. As most people did, when confronted with the unknown, or that which they found to be unacceptable. Michael had learned to accept long ago. Just as he had learned how to put mind over matter. He was able to apply it, in particular, in regards to physical pain and injury. It was that ability which had allowed him to escape from the chemical plant with two bullets in him. And to lead Nikita to freedom after being captured and, brutally, tortured by Red Cell during the war. It was something that Nikita refused to learn. Something she wasn't ready for. Nikita heaved a sigh of frustration. Trying to reason with Madeline was equivalent to banging her head against a brick wall. All she got for her troubles was a headache. So Nikita decided to change directions. "I want to be with Michael," she stated, with a touch of defiance. Madeline nodded. "I think that's a good idea," she allowed, hiding a smile at the look of stunned disbelief on Nikita's face. "Michael seems to respond to your presence," Madeline continued. She had noted how it was Nikita's touch that, apparently, had yanked him out of whatever nightmare had gripped him. Quite literally, Nikita had brought Michael back from the brink of death. "Give Medlab an hour to settle Michael for the night, then you can sit with him. All right?" "Yeah...all right," Nikita drawled, as she tried not to let her surprise show. Not for one minute had she expected Madeline to be so agreeable. Even though she was pleased, Nikita heard warning bells go off in her head. She would have to watch her step. No doubt Madeline was testing her, someway...somehow, yet again. "One hour," Nikita repeated, then she turned and strode off down the corridor. ~*~ Michael stood beneath the hot spray of water, letting it pour over his face for a moment before dropping his head down so that it pounded into his back. It was nearly too hot to bear, but even so it wasn't enough to warm him. Tremors still wracked his body, making his teeth chatter. The drug that Madeline had given him still coursed through Michael's veins as well, and he had to prop his hands against the tiled walls to keep upright as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Within the blackness, shadows danced. Images that were blood-red and the voices of his own ghosts, echoing in his ears. "No..." Michael breathed, as he turned to press his back into the corner of the stall. Blinking back tears, that mingled with the water that trickled down his face, Michael sank into a crouch, his arms wrapping around his knees. Time seemed to be frozen, as Michael battled his demons. But, in the end, he found the strength to shatter them. He did so by focusing on the glimmer of light that shimmered in the darkness of his soul. The image of Nikita. Michael stood up beneath the spray once more, his knees locked to hold him, his force of will calming the tremors till they faded away. And all the while he could feel the imprint of her hand. The way her fingers had fit to his perfectly. Unconsciously, Michael's fingers curled into a fist, as if he would trap the memory of Nikita's touch inside his palm. Then he pressed his hand to his chest, over his heart. And in that moment time moved forward once again, and Michael ticked off a second with every breath he took. Nikita came awake with a start, and it took her a moment to remember that she was curled up in a chair beside Michael's bed. And they were in Medlab. But it wasn't the crick in her back that had awoken her, it was Michael. He had cried out. Nikita scrambled out of the chair and reached for the bedside lamp. In it's soft, golden, glow, she could see that Michael was sitting up in the bed, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. Nikita whispered his name as she reached for his hand. "Michael....I'm right here." When he didn't respond, Nikita was ready to call for a doctor. He hand reached for the call button, but Michael's fingers closed over her arm. "No.." he whispered. "What's wrong?" Nikita queried, unable to resist smoothing back the soft curl that had fallen over Michael's forehead. He hadn't bothered to smooth out the waves into his usual, severe, style. Cinnamon curls haloed his pale face. Michael shook his head, his fingers tightening about Nikita's and he felt hers respond in kind. Her touch soothed him, chasing away the images that rippled in his mind. They couldn't touch him, so long as Nikita was near. "I have to see Madeline," Michael stated, as he pushed back the covers and moved to slide out of the bed. Nikita stopped him by pressing her free hand against his hard chest. "What happened, Michael?" she entreatied, for she saw a glimmer in his eyes that frightened her. It wasn't fear, nor pain. Not even anger or cool detachment. What glimmered in Michael's silver-green gaze was cold fire. Like the reflection of someone elses soul. "I know where to look for Galen," Michael whispered. He waited for a moment, then felt Nikita's hand slip from his chest. But her other hand still clung to his as he rose to his feet. Together, they left the room. ************ Nikita sat perched on the corner of Madeline's desk, chewing on a fingernail as she watched the other woman descend the stairs from the second level. She was about to ask a question when Michael appeared, stepping out from behind the dressing room curtain. He had changed from Medlab whites into his usual black pants and a black sweater. Nikita was surprised by the sweater. She had never seen Michael wear one before. It was either turtlenecks, t-shirts or button shirt. All black, of course. And field gear. She liked the sweater, it made him seem...warmer. Not in a bio-temperal sense, but in regards to his usual, cool, detachment. Madeline reached Michael as he was about to join Nikita. "How do you feel?" she queried, her dark eyes studying his face. He was pale, and she could see that his own gaze was still glassy, which meant the drug she had given him was not yet out of his system. Not surprising, for it was highly concentrated. "I'm okay," Michael replied, a variation of his standard reply. "You've contacted Operations?" "He'll be here any minute," Madeline replied. She smiled as she lifted one hand to tuck a silky lock of cinnamon hair behind Michael's ear. She could see that he had tried to brush it straight, into his usual style, but the thick curls had been resistant. Madeline knew that it was an attempt on Michael's part to regulate his control by slipping back into his mode of cool detachment. His machine mode. He was only partially successful, but it would be enough. Madeline was pleased that Michael had conquered his demons. Section needed his strength and control to find and defeat the enemy. Galen. Turning away from Michael, Madeline looked at Nikita. She was certain that the beautiful blond was the source that Michael had tapped into to...re-engergize...himself, as it were. Nikita felt Madeline's gaze upon her and returned it, with a glare of defiance. She wished she could read Madeline's thoughts, then decided it was better to remain in the dark. She was about to ask her earlier question, but just then the double doors opened and Operations came striding into the room. The silver-haired man came to a halt in front of Michael. "You know where Galen is?" he demanded, making it more a statement than a question. Michael blinked in response. "I don't know if she's there yet, but I saw a place that I recognize. It's a museum, in Paris." "You've been there?" Madeline queried, with more than a touch of curiosity. "When I was sixteen," Michael replied. He turned to look at her. "I think that Galen wants me to go there." Nikita was confused. "How would she know that you know about the museum?" Michael's glance now flickered to Nikita. He could almost feel her warmth and he wrapped it around him like a blanket. She was the center of his strength right now. Without her to focus on, Michael knew he would be lost in madness. "Galen tapped in to my memories," he said soflty. "Can you do the same to her?" Operations interjected, drawing Michael's attention back onto himself. "I don't know," Michael confessed, his eyes locking with those of his superior. He knew that Operations was disappointed with his answer, but Michael couldn't offer him anything more. He had never tested his...powers. Never had the desire to do so. But he knew that Galen was highly skilled. She reveled in her ability to touch his mind and his soul. "Right now I can't seem to slip past her defenses," he explained. "Maybe once I'm in close contact with her, it will be different." Madeline moved over to the men, as if to intervene. She knew that Operations was anxious, they all were...but he needed to back off of Michael right now. The young operative was barely clinging to his self-control. If he lost his grip, they would lose him. "You leave for Paris in an hour," Madeline declared, her eyes locking with Operations. But he didn't object, and Madeline caught his slight nod, an acknowledgement of her ability to better judge this particular situation. "You'll go with Michael, Nikita," Madeline continued. "Just the two of us?" Nikita queried, not offering any objections. She wanted to go. Would have put up one hell of a fight had they not allowed it. "It's better that way," Michael replied, before Madeline could. He was grateful to the dark-haired woman for allowing Nikita's presence. Michael knew that Madeline understood his needs. He wasn't thrilled that his weakness had been revealed to her, but that couldn't be helped. Nor did it matter. Section's only concern was to stop the wave of bloodshed, the needless slaughter of operatives, that would occur if Galen was not stopped. That was his role in this particular scenario. He held no significance otherwise. His life in exchange for dozens of other operatives was acceptable collateral. To himself, as well as to Section. Michael wondered, however, if Nikita realized this fact. Somehow, he doubted it. Nikita slid off the desk and went to Michael. She took his hand, almost defiantly, and pulled him towards the door. "If we're leaving in an hour, we'd best get ready," she drawled. Operations watched them till they reached the door, then he called out, "Failure is not acceptable, Michael. You do whatever it takes, but I want Galen cancelled. Understood?" "Oh...he understands," Nikita interjected, cutting off Michael before he could respond. Her eyes flashed as she addressed Operations. "Don't worry. Michael and I will fix...your mistake." A smile twitched Nikita's lips as she watched Operations face pale in reaction. She had scored a direct hit. Knowing that it was best to exit on cue, Nikita tightened her grip on Michael's hand and led him out the door. "Let it go," Madeline whispered, laying a hand on Operations arm when he would have followed him. Nikita's meaning had been clear. Obviously Michael had told her about Operations failure to cancel Galen after she had been captured by Legion. Madeline offered a smile to her companion. "Michael will succeed," she said softly. "That's all that matters. Operations nodded, releasing his hold on his anger and allowing it to fade. He was surprised at himself for letting Nikita get under his skin so easily. She had a gift for doing so. But so did Michael, only he did it with more subtlety. "I did fail," Operations acknowledged with a sigh, as he moved around Madeline's desk and dropped into her chair. She moved to stand behind him, her hands dropping to his shoulders, fingers kneading his tense muscles. "We all suffer failures," Madeline reminded him. "Just be thankful that there's a means to fix this mistake." "Do you think Michael can do this?" Operations queried. He wanted to believe, but couldn't deny his own doubts. "He can do it," Madeline said firmly. "With Nikita by his side...Michael can do anything." Operations didn't respond to this comment, but he knew that Madeline could gauge his reaction, for the muscles beneath her fingers turned to stone. ~*~ "How well do you know Paris?" Nikita inquired, a smile on her face. She was sitting beside him on the small, Section plane that was winging them to France. They had six hours left to kill before their arrival, and Nikita was tired of the silence that hovered between them. Ever since his vision in Medlab, he had retreated behind his cloak of detachment. But Nikita refused to let him hide there. She had seen a new side to him and with it had come an understanding. Michael wasn't as cold and heartless as Nikita had wanted to believe. She had seen his love for Simone, and his grief for her loss. But those emotions had been like quicksilver. If Nikita had blinked, she would have missed them. This was different. She had seen a glimmer of the man Michael might have been. Before Section. A man whose emotions ran deep and strong. A man who valued life for he had been touched by death. "I lived in Paris for six years," Michael replied, knowing that Nikita was trying to feel him out. He would allow her a little leeway for it seemed only fair. Michael knew that he could not face Galen alone. He needed Nikita to guide him back from the black hole that was Galen's soul. Without Nikita, Michael knew he would lose himself to the darkside of his own. He understood something about Galen, and himself, that Nikita could never comprehend. Galen was not evil. She did not kill because of hate, or out of vengeance. She lacked the humanity to feel compassion, or the lack of it. Galen was what Michael strived so hard to be...insentient. No feelings, or emotions. Just empty. Nikita almost heaved a sigh of relief that Michael had responded to her question. So she braved another one. "Where were you born? I mean...I know you're French so I've kinda always assumed you were born in France. The accent and all." Nikita knew she was babbling, but couldn't seem to help herself. Michael almost smiled as he listened to Nikita ramble on. He knew so much about her that he supposed it was only right that he share a bit of his past with her. "I was born in France," he allowed. "In a small town outside of Paris." "You speak English so well, you must have learned at an early age," Nikita commented, as she shifted in her seat to curl one leg under her. She was prepared to fire questions at Michael until he raised a white flag. "I started learning English when I was ten," Michael replied. He put aside the laptop he had been working on and let his eyes flicker over Nikita. She had pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail and pale tendrils had escaped to frame her face. She wore not make-up yet Michael didn't think there was any woman who could compare to Nikita's beauty. He would never tire of admiring it. But then he realized that she was waiting for him to continue. "My parents wanted me to learn," he explained. Nikita nodded. "What about your parents, Michael. Are they still alive?" He winced and brought one hand up so that his fingertips could stroke across his forehead. Michael had been battling a headache since before they had left Section. It had clamped around his head like a steel band, and now it felt as if hot blades were stabbing into his eyes and temples. Nikita's question faded out in a sudden fog. "Michael.." Nikita was out of her chair and kneeling beside him as she realized that he had drifted away from her. She pressed her palms against his cheeks, raising his face so that he would look at her. When he opened his eyes, she almost gasped in reaction to the pain she saw shimmering in the silver-green depths. "How can I help?" Nikita queried. "I'm...all right," Michael countered, although speech was an effort. It took all his concentration to hold back the darkness that threatened to smother him. Nikita made a decision. She didn't know if it would help, but she figured it couldn't hurt. "Come lie against me," she directed, as she dropped into the seat beside him. She popped up the center arm, then settled her back against the window. When Michael didn't move, Nikita took his arm and pulled him towards her. Michael told himself he should have resisted, but he didn't have the strength to fight her. So he let Nikita position him between her legs, his back against her, head pillowed on her breasts. He felt her chin sink onto the top of his head as he closed his eyes. Then her fingertips were against his temples, massaging them in a circular motion. Michael almost sighed as he felt the pain lessen. It didn't go away, but at least it loosened it's maniacal grip on him. "Try to sleep, Michael," Nikita beseeched him. She could feel him relax against her and knew that the pain must have faded. At least a little. A smile curved her lips as her fingers now moved into his hair and she massaged his scalp. To her surprised, a moment later, she heard Michael's breathing deepen. He was asleep in her arms. It touched Nikita for she realized that Michael had let down his guard. And he had done so because he trusted her not to betray what he would consider a weakness. Nikita knew that Section would have turned on Michael for such a betrayal, but she never would. It had been a long time coming, but Nikita was finally beginning to understand...at least a little...what made Michael tick. Pressing a kiss into his silky hair, she whispered, "Sweet dreams." ************ "It's beautiful," Nikita whispered as she stared at the museum. The building reminded her of a stone church, structured of marble. "What's it called?" she asked, glancing over at Michael who was turned away from her, studying their surroundings. "Le Rouge Rue," he replied, then translated without waiting to be asked. "The Red Street." Nikita frowned. "That's an odd name," she commented. "Why Red Street?" Michael didn't answer for a moment, he was busy tracking the area and the people who filled it. His senses were totally alert to Galen, and he could feel that she was nearby. Her silent laughter echoed in his ears, taunting him. It wasn't till Michael felt a hand on his arm that he remembered Nikita's question. He saw concern glimmering in her beautfiul eyes, but waved it off. "The Red Street museum was so named because of it's location," Michael explained. "The street we're standing on was once a river of blood. Innocent blood. And all because of hate. Two families at war with each other, and it was their children who paid the price. Kind of a Romeo and Juliet story. Tragic." "When did all this happen?" Nikita prompted, fascinated by this impromptu history lesson. "Over two hundred years ago," Michael replied. He suddenly caught his breath as he felt a presence in his mind. Galen was inside the museum. Michael looked at Nikita. He didn't want her with him for he was afaid that he wouldn't be able to protect her. "Check the East side of the square," he ordered, slipping into Machine mode. "I'll go inside. Stay on channel B." Michael was referring to their com units, tiny discs behind their ears. Nikita nodded, accepting that they would cover more territory if they split up. "So..I'm looking for a black-haired woman, about my height, with amber eyes?" she queried, just to make certain that her intel was correct. Before landing in Paris, Michael had given Nikita a basic description of Galen. He nodded. "That's right." Michael moved towards the steps of the museum, then stopped to look at Nikita. "Be careful," he cautioned. There was so much more that Michael wanted to say, but he swallowed back the words. Something told him that he might not ever see Nikita again. But now was not the time to indulge himself in sentimentality. Whatever happened, would happen. And Michael would live with it. And should he die...then it wouldn't matter anyway. "You too," Nikita countered, a smile curving her lips. Then she tapped behind her ear. "Channel B." At Michael's nod, she turned and disappeared into the crowd. It wasn't until Nikita was out of sight that Michael climbed the steps and entered the museum. He was blind to the beauty and history of the displays. He walked with a purposeful stride to the curving staircase in the East wing. Galen was on the second level. Michael knew exactly where. He had his mask firmly in place as he strode into the Mirrored chamber that displayed both paintings and sculptures. Against the back wall was a twenty foot canvas depicting the Red Street tragedy. It was there that Galen waited. Michael didn't see her, he felt her. And before he reached her, he tapped the com unit, switching to another channel. He didn't want Nikita to hear him. As Michael reached the painting, Galen suddenly appeared before him. She was wearing black, an outfit similar to his own. Black pants, a turtleneck and a blazer, with an overcoat. Her long, black hair was tucked up beneath a beret. She wasn't beautiful, but she was striking. Michael stopped dead in his tracks as she smiled at him. The crimson lipstick she wore stood out like a slash of blood against her milk-white skin. "Hello, Michael," she whispered, her amber eyes flickering over him slowly. She started with his feet then locked on to his face. The face of an angel. "You look wonderful," Galen drawled. "And all grown up now. The beautiful boy has become an exquisite man." She laughed softly, a husky growl deep in her throat, as she moved towards Michael. "Galen..." he breathed, forcing himself not to stir. Michael froze like a rock. His eyes cold, his face expressionless. "Why have you summoned me here?" he queried, holding his stance as she reached out to touch his face with her long fingers. Galen didn't respond to Michael's question right away. She let her fingertips glide across his strong jawline, then up to outline the sensual curve of his lips. "I think you're confused, Michael. You called, and I came," Galen whispered. "Don't you know how powerful you are?" Michael took a step back, away from her touch. "What do you mean?" he questioned, suspicion darkening his gaze to emerald green. "We have a gift...you and I," Galen replied, as she also took a step back, to lean against the wall. She crossed her arms over her chest and locked her eyes on Michael's face. "But you're letting it go to waste. Pity." "Why are you killing Section operatives, Galen?" Michael countered, unwilling to get into a verbal exchange with her on a subject that he was unfamiliar with. And terrified of. She smiled, easily reading his thoughts, and his fears. "It's not Legion, Michael." Galen moved away from the wall and turned to study the Red Street painting. "If Legion had me and I had survived, Section would have been destroyed by now. We both know that." Michael did know, he just didn't understand it. "What then?" he beseeched. "Tell me why." "Revenge," Galen drawled. "What else?" She laughed again, and it was strangely melodic. "Against Section?" Micheal prompted. He needed details. Galen shrugged. "Against Operations," she drawled. "Same thing." It amused her when Michael flinched and looked away. "Ten years ago I was Section One's most significant Operative, Michael. A position you now fill. But I was betrayed." Michael didn't want to hear that. He didn't have to. He knew all about betrayal. Turning back to Galen he demanded, "If Legion didn't kidnap you, then what happened?" "Operations faked my kidnapping," Galen replied, her amber eyes suddenly sparking with an internal flame. "He set me up on the mission I was on, so that he could...cancel me. Without suspicion." "You just said you were his most significant operative," Michael countered, with a shake of his head. "Why would Operations want you cancelled?" Galen smiled. "Because I knew too much, Michael. About Section, and about Operations." At the look of confusion on Michael's beautiful face, Galen attempted to explain. "I could see his soul...and read his mind...with my gift. That scared the hell out of him. You scare them," Galen declared, as she stepped over to Michael once more. They were eye to eye now. Michael resisted the urge to backpedal. "Scare who?" he prompted, as he held Galen's glittering gaze. "Operations and Madeline," she replied, perfectly aware that Michael had known the answer all along. "You use your gift without even realizing it, Michael," Galen said softly. "It's how you keep Madeline from getting inside your head. You're an enigma to her, and that worries her more than you know." "Is there a point to this?" Michael questioned, reschooling his expression into a blank mask. He was feeling anxious for Galen was probing him with words, instead of with her thoughts....or her will. This scared him more. Galen nodded. "Be patient, Michael," she beseeched him as she turned to pace around him in a slow circle. "You know how to manipulate Nikita." Galen paused, barely hearing Michael's intake of air. But she saw his shoulders stiffen and knew she had scored a direct hit. Michael was caught off guard by Galen's mention of Nikita, but he wasn't really surprised. Galen had touched his thoughts, and they were always filled with Nikita. So of course she would know about the beautiful blond. "I do my job," he said softly, turning to face Galen, then keeping her in his line of vision as she continued to pace around him. "You call it instinct," Galen whispered, with a shake of her head. "But it's empathy, Michael. You know what to do or say to get Nikita to perform the way you want, because you can feel her thoughts. You know what she wants...what she needs." "No more games!" Michael hissed. He didn't want to go where Galen was leading. "When does the killing stop, Galen?" Michael demanded, his eyes flashing with anger. "When Operations is dead?" She laughed with sheer delight, her own eyes sparkling. "Oh, Michael...death can't punish the dead," she said softly. "Only the living. I don't want to kill Operations." Michael resisted the urge to heave a sigh of frustration. "What do you want?" he asked, deciding it was time to be blunt. "You think you know the darkness, Michael," Galen replied, her eyes darkening almost to brown. It was as if the light had gone out of them and they now reflected the shadows of her soul. "You believe that it's inside you...and you're right. Darkness is inside all of us. But you don't know it, Michael. You haven't felt it. It's still your enemy...not your friend." "You're my enemy!" Michael hissed. "I won't let you kill anymore, Galen." She sighed, a breath as soft as a whisper and it seemed to echo in the air about them. "Will you risk the darkness to save the light, Michael?" Galen asked, her tone no longer light. Michael sensed that her question was a serious one. But he didn't understand what she was asking him, and he said as much. "What light?" "Nikita." Galen smiled as she watched Michael fight with himself not to betray a reaction. He won. This time. His beautiful eyes remained blank. "I will give you a chance to save the others, Michael," she said, moving once again to stand before him. "How?" he demanded, knowing that it wouldn't be simple. Michael knew that he would sacrifice his soul to play her game. Whatever it may be. Galen bit her lip for a minute, her eyes locked on Michael's face, and sadness flickered across her own face for a moment. She reached out then and pressed her palm to Michael's cheek and in that same moment, Galen touched his mind. Michael gasped at the image that flashed before him. Nikita...her blond hair soaked with blood. Blue eyes open and sightless. Michael held her limp body cradled in his arms. "NO!" he shouted, using every ounce of will that he had to shatter the image. As it faded, he slapped aside Galen's hand then glared at her. "I won't let you touch Nikita!" Michael hissed. "I'll give you three chances to save her," Galen replied. She was unaffected by Michael's fury. He didn't have the power to frighten her. Not that he was willing to use, anyway. "Three more victims, Michael. Two, unamed, operatives...and Nikita. Use your powers to find me before I find..and kill..them. The first two are freebies. A chance for you to practice," Galen explained, a smile curving her lips as she watched Michael grow pale. "If they die, you still have a chance. Nikita is the deciding factor. If you can save her...you win. No more killing," Galen promised. "You can make sure of it." She knew he would understand her meaning. "I'll cancel you myself," Michael stated, confirming her offer. "And if you win?" he countered, needing to know all the facts. The stakes were already too high. Galen lifted one hand and let her fingers tangle in his soft curls. "If I win, Nikita dies," she whispered. Michael swallowed the lump in his throat to ask, "And me?" If Nikita was dead, he wanted to be with her. "Not you, Michael," Galen replied. "I won't kill you. You're as much of a pawn in this game as I am. You're the only one who can understand." "But I don't understand!" Michael countered. He tried to pull away from Galen's touch, but her fingers tightened in his hair. Galen lifted her other hand and let it trace the ouline of Michael's sensual lips. "You will," she said softly. "In order to win the game, Michael, you can't just go along for the ride. To save Nikita, you have to take my hand and walk with me in the darkness. You have to be willing to risk your soul, Michael." To save Nikita, Michael knew that he would risk anything. "What about Operations?" he queried, feeling compelled to ask. "He'll live," Galen replied. Her eyes shaded even darker. They were nearly black now. "But if you lose, Madeline dies as well." "To make Operations suffer," Michael whispered. Galen nodded, pleased that Michael had sensed what was between the two heads of Section One. "Yes," she acknowledged. "He will suffer." Michael closed his eyes, needing a moment's respite. When he opened them it was to find Galen smiling at him. "What now?" he asked. "Accept my challenge," Galen replied. "Or the death toll at Section One has only begun." "I accept," Michael replied, without hesitation. He had no choice, and they both knew it. Galen leaned forward and pressed her lips to Michael's. When he would have resisted, she buried both hands in his hair to stop him. She kissed him with hunger and passion. But it was not the kiss of a lover, rather the imprint of an enemy marking it's territory. For Galen knew that, from this moment on, Michael belonged to her. And she would never let him go. But he didn't know that, nor would he have accepted it. So she broke the kiss, then tucked a cinnamon curl behind one ear. "The game begins at midnight. Good luck, Michael." Galen dropped her hands and began backing away from him. "I'll see you on the dark side," she whispered. "Then she was gone. Michael stood in the center of the chamber, his eyes glued to the portrait of the Red Street tragedy. But what he saw was Nikita. Michael held his breath as he watched a blood-red tear rolled down her face. He closed his eyes, but the image remained.