Michael found Nikita waiting for him outside the museum. That she was furious was aparent in her stance, and in the way her blue eyes flashed at him as he approached her. Michael stood before her and waited.

Nikita wanted to scream at him, but something held her back. The shadows in his eyes were the reflection of his soul. Michael was in chaos, Nikita could feel it. So she swallowed back her anger to ask, "You found Galen?"

"Yes," Michael replied, not letting the relief he felt that Nikita was being so calm, show. He would have been hard put to handle her anger at this point. His emotions felt too raw. Michael took Nikita's arm. "Let's go back to the hotel. We'll talk there."

"All right," Nikita replied, falling into step beside him. They walked back to Dupuis avenue in silence. But once they were ensconced in their room, Nikita fired questions at Michael. "What did Galen say to you? Why did you let her go?"

Michael moved to the balcony, letting the cool air brush his face. "You can't kill a ghost, Nikita," he replied, unaware of how cryptic he sounded.

Nikita waited a moment, digesting Michael's words, then she asked, "What does she want?"

"To play a game," Michael whispered, then he proceeded to tell Nikita everything, except for the fact that she was the intended, third, victim.

"Why did you switch channels on me, Michael?" Nikita queried, after they had discussed their strategy. Which was simply that they would stick together. Nikita had no intention of letting Michael out of her sight while they hunted Galen. "What didn't you want me to hear?" she prompted. "Or, should I say...what didn't you tell me?"

Michael flinched at her words, wishing that things could be different between them. That he could tell Nikita the truth, straight out. No shades of gray. Everything between them only black or white. But that would never be. Swallowing back a sigh, Michael turned to face Nikita. He would give her as much of the truth as he could risk. "I didn't want you to hear the truth, Nikita," Michael said softly, as he let her glimpse into his soul for a hearbeat in time.

Nikita went to Michael, letting one palm press against his cheek. "And what truth would that be, Michael?" she prompted, locking eyes with him but he had shuttered her out once more.

"About me," he replied, stepping back from Nikita's touch. His skin seemed to burn with her imprint and Michael touched his fingertips to his cheek, unsconcious of his action. "The real Michael would disgust you, Nikita," he whispered, echoing her words from the past.

"I said that to hurt you, Michael," Nikita protested, feeling tears prick her eyes. It was always the words that hurt the most that everyone remembered. She remembered seeing pain flicker in his eyes when she had said them, and regretted them. But they couldn't go back. "I never meant it."

He smiled then, with a spark of genuine amusement. "Yes....you did," Michael countered, firmly. Then he challenged Nikita to deny it.

She did, vehemently. "You have the power to hurt me like no one else can, Michael," Nikita said, her tone colored with pain and sincerity. "And sometimes I want to hurt you back. To punish you the way you punish me. All the more so because you don't seem to care, one way or the other." Nikita bit back a cry of frustration when Michael turned away from her. She just stood there for a moment, letting him shut her out, but then she shook her head. Not this time, Nikita vowed to herself. This time Michael would face her...and the truth. So she strode over to him, grabbing his arm and yanking her around to face her. When he would have pulled away, Nikita slammed him back against the wall, then she took a stance before him. "No more running away, Michael!" Nikita hissed. "I need to know how you feel about me."

"This isn't the time, nor the place, Nikita," Michael protested, desperation tempering his voice. He wasn't ready for this confrontation.

"It's the perfect time," Nikita insisted. She refused to back down. Michael was emotionally vulnerable now, and it might not be fair of her to push him, but fair be damned. Nikita had another reason as well, and this one she shared. "We don't know what's going happen, Michael. We may not get another chance. I want to know what's between us before I die."

Michael suppressed a shiver at the image that flashed in his head at Nikita's last words. The image of her dead and bloody in his arms. Galen's parting vision to him. "You won't die!" Michael whispered fiercely.

Nikita touched his face, her fingertips tracing the curve of his strong jaw and tapping at the indention in his chin. "You don't know that," she countered, not letting him forget what faced them. Nikita didn't know Galen's plans, but she sensed that she was a part of them. Somehow...and in a way that terrified Michael. "All I want is for you to tell me what's in your heart, Michael," Nikita beseeched. "Do you care about me at all?"

"Don't you know?" Michael shot back, genuinely surprised that Nikita had to ask that question.

"Tell me," she prompted, her fingers now sliding into his hair.

Michael closed his eyes, but the image of her face was burned into his memory. "I care too much, Nikita," he whispered, his voice almost painfully hoarse with emotion. "For both our sakes. You're my one, true, weakness...and Section knows that. So do I."

Nikita was surprised my Michael's confession, and by the honest emotion in his voice. But she had another question. "Then why doesn't Section cancel me?"

"Because you're also my strength," Michael replied, readily enough. He would give her what she needed for he had to face the truth. Nikita could die. MIchael would willingly give his life for hers, but he might not be able to save her, and that terrified him more than anything could. Michael reached out to finger a lock of Nikita's hair, then his thumb traced the curve of one, pale, eyebrow. "I lost my son and Simone within months of each other. When both were gone, I had nothing left." Michael spoke softly, letting the memories wash over him. They didn't hurt as much as they used to, not when Nikita was with him. So Michael locked onto her crystal-blue gaze and confessed to Nikita what he had told no one else. "I wanted to die. It's all I thought about, every minute of every day. But I went on living to punish myself. Because....because I couldn't save them."

"Your son...and Simone?" Nikita interjected softly. She found herself blinking back tears and saw the glimmer of them in Michael's eyes as well.

He nodded. "Yes." Michael drew in a shaky breath, then continued. "But then one day I was on a mission to take down arms dealer. He had a wife and a daughter who were innocent. But they got caught in the crossfire, and the bastard was willing to sacrifice them for himself. I thought that if I could save her and her child, then I could make amends for Simone and my son." Michael blinked as the memory rushed over him, the images as clear as if he had drifted back in time. "I took the bullets meant for them and went down shooting."

Nikita found that she had been holding her breath so she expelled it in a rush to ask, "Did you save them?"

"Yes," Michael whispered, as the images faded, and Nikita's face reappeared. "But I was in bad shape. I should have died."

"Why didn't you?" Nikita countered, once again seeing shadows flicker in Michael's silver-green gaze. His pain touched her heart and she wanted to pull him into her arms, but sensed that he would rebuff her. So she settled for taking his hand.

Michael squeezed Nikita's fingers, grateful for the comfort of her touch. "I was in a coma for six weeks. When I realized that I was still alive, I tried to cut my wrists." Michael stopped when he heard Nikita's gasp of surprise. He smiled. "Most of what I remember of that time seems like dream, Nikita. Except for Simone's voice in my head. She begged me not to give up. She told me that if I died, I would lose her. And I believed that. You see...Simone went to heaven when she died. But if I died, I would go to hell. We would never be together."

Nikita let her tears fall. "Oh...Michael.." she began, but he cut her off.

"Only hell was on earth, Nikita, and I was eternally damned." It was at this point that Michael pulled away from her, unwilling to face the pain that shimmered in Nikita's eyes. Unaware that it was his pain that he saw reflected there.

"You said that I was your strength," Nikita reminded him, as she let Michael turn away from her this time. She needed to understand where she fit in.

He sighed, then whispered, "You made me believe in heaven again, Nikita. Not for myself," Michael almost flinched at the very thought. "But that it still exists...and that if I'm ever able to forgive myself, God might be able to forgive me too."

Nikita believed that she finally understood. She moved to stand beside Michael. "And Simone and your son will also forgive you for not being able to save them," she whispered.

"You should get some sleep," Michael countered, unwilling to acknowledge out loud what he had been afraid to even think about for the past four years. "The game begins at Midnight."

"Good night, Michael," Nikita said softly, gliding away from him to give him some space. He had given her alot to think about. Nikita stretched out on the bed and slipped into slumber with Michael's words echoing in her mind. ...you made me believe in heaven again....

As Michael stood watching Nikita sleep, all he could think of was that he would never be free of hell.

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

Nikita came awake with a start. She had been dreaming about falling from a bridge and the sensation had been so real. "I hate those dreams," Nikita muttered, as she kicked off the blanket and slid out of bed. Stretching, she glanced over at the twin bed. It was wrinkle-free. Nikita knew that Michael hadn't slept in it. Gazing about the room, she realized that he wasn't there. Panic was about to set in when the door to the room opened and Michael entered. "Where were you?" Nikita demanded, letting him know by the look in her eyes that she was concerned, not angry.

"I went for a walk," Michael replied. He didn't explain that he had felt the room closing in on him, making him feel as if he were about to suffocate. So he had walked to the fountain in the center square, letting the cool air brush away his fears. Only now that he was back, Michael discovered that they still clung to him, like a spiderweb.

"It's almost midnight," Nikita stated, glancing at her watch and noting that it was ten of the hour.

Michael nodded. "I know. Nikita....when the game begins I want you to do what I say. No questions asked. Will you promise me this?" Michael didn't even try to pretend that he wasn't concerned. He let Nikita see in his eyes that he was afraid for her. It was important that she know the truth. That he would willingly die for her, but might not be given that chance. Yet Michael couldn't simply say those words.

Nikita found herself agreeing, without hesitation. For in Michael's eyes she saw the reflection of his heart. It was not cold and empty, but filled with pain. And with love. The love Michael had freely given Simone and his son. And the promise of what he didn't dare feel for Nikita. She understood why. "I'll do whatever you say, Michael," she promised.

"Thank you," Michael whispered, feeling relief wash over him. But a moment later a chill danced along his spine. Galen was near. She hadn't yet begun the game, but she was letting him know that it would be soon. "We have to go!" Michael hissed, reaching for Nikita's coat and tossing it to her.

"Where?" Nikita questioned, feeling fear grip her insides. Michael had grown deathly pale and his eyes were shuttered again. Shutting out Nikita, and shutting down his emotions. But he still couldn't hide the fear. That's what terrified Nikita more than anything. Michael wasn't able to control his fear.

He didn't answer her as he opened the door and stepped out into the night once more. All of the sudden it seemed darker, and more oppressive. Michael looked up at the sky but the shimmer of the stars seemed dim. And the half moon had nearly faded out. But Michael knew that it was only his imagination. He was looking through the window of his mind's eye. Already slipping into the shadows, in search of the path he must walk. He felt Nikita move up beside him and was grateful for her presence. "What time is it?" Michael asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

"Five minutes of," Nikita replied. She could tell by the glazed look in Michael's eyes that he had retreated to that place where Galen lurked, deep inside his head. A thought suddenly occurred. "Michael, do you know what Operatives are stationed here? Maybe we can narrow down the targets."

"Not here, Nikita,' Michael said, as the darkness before him shimmered. An imaged flashed, like quick-silver, but it was enough. The game had not yet begun, but Michael had poked a tiny hole in Galen's shields. He knew where she was. Understood now why she had declared the game to begin at Midnight. "Galen is in Ireland."

Nikita gasped. "Are you sure?" she questioned, her eyes locked on Michael's face. When he nodded she felt anger wash over her. "Then we've already lost the first op," Nikita hissed. "Galen will make her first kill before we reach Scotland."

Michael blinked away the remants of darkness and focused his gaze on Nikita. "No," he countered, a soft smile curving his lips. "She's waiting for us."

"So how do we get there?" Nikita questioned. "Plane? Train?"

"Private plane," Michael replied. "I know someone." With that he took Nikita's hand. Not so much to lead her, but to feel her warmth and her, physical, presence. Michael could feel Galen reaching out to him, and he let her come. For he truly believed that she could not penetrate the light of Nikita's soul as it burned brightly in the darkness of the night, encompassing Michael in it's aura. For now, he was safe from his demons.

~*~ Michael and Nikita stepped out of the rental car and headed for the ruins of MacGregor's castle. Michael caught himself as he stumbled, suddenly aware of an exhaustion that was bone-deep. He hadn't slept in over two days, and knew he wouldn't anytime soon. Glancing to his left, Michael saw that Nikita was watching him, her eyes shadowed with concern. "I'm all right," he said softly, answering the question before she could ask.

Nikita forced a smile and nodded, but she knew he was lying. Michael was anything but all right. Just two hours ago he had collapsed at the airport, just as they were about to disembark from the plane. It had taken Nikita five minutes to bring him back to consciousness. For a moment she had even believed Michael was dead, for his skin had been ice-cold and his pulse barely discernable. But then his eyes had flickered open and he had pushed himself to his feet. Michael had then explained to Nikita that he knew who the operative was. James. Nikita didn't know him, but Michael did. They had ordered the rental car and driven straight to the ruins. "What are we looking for here?" Nikita asked, as they continued on to the crumble of stone that had once been a tower.

"I'm not sure," Michael admitted, as he stepped around a knot of tall weeds. He knew that Galen wanted to prolong the game. To make it a mockery of the fantasized vision of good verses evil, that the *real* world so loved to believe in. Only Michael didn't see black and white. To him there was only shades of gray, but the irony of what Galen was doing was not lost on him. As he moved to within the center of the tower, Michael could feel Galen's presence. It wrapped around him like a whisper of silk, cool and sensous against his skin. He shivered but didn't try to block her. Michael knew he would have to let the images come. And they did, like a slap in the face.

Nikita gasped as she watched Michael's body jerk. He fell to his knees, fingers clutching the grass and Nikita ran to his side. But she fell back when Michael shook his head. Eyes never leaving him, Nikita gave him his space. After what seemed like a heartbeat frozen in time, Nikita exhaled as Michael slumped forward. She went to him now and grabbed his arm, helping him rise to his feet. "What did you see?" Nikita questioned, as she wrapped one arm around Michael's waist to support him. It scared her a little that he allowed it. But it also touched her on some level, for it was a sign that Michael trusted her enough to be vulnerable in front of her. If only for a moment.

Michael heard Nikita's question, but didn't want to answer it. What he had seen was too horrific. What he had felt was worse. Pain. Michael had, literally, felt the physical pain of the abuse that Galen was inflicting on James. Her intent was to lead Michael to her through those feelings, more so than the images that she had projected. And what she had shown Michael was the slow, torturous, death that she had planned for James. Swallowing back bile, Michael pushed away from Nikita. He felt a cold sweat sheen his skin, yet he was burning from within, as if with a fever. Michael shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall at his feet. "They're close," he whispered, not looking at Nikita now either. Michael simply turned and headed east, beyond the ruins. Before them was the forest.

Scooping up Michael's jacket, Nikita ran to catch up with him. Not walking by his side, but trailing just behind, her eyes tracking their surroundings. She was shivering in the cool, night air so she slipped Michael's jacket over her own, since she knew he wouldn't listen if she yelled at him to put it on. All of the sudden Michael stopped, and Nikita grunted as she slammed into his back. "What is it?" she asked, as she moved around to face him. His skin was ashen toned and Nikita saw that his eyes were glazed. "Michael?"

"Stay here," he hissed, his voice hoarse but tempered with steel. Michael took a step forward but stopped when he heard Nikita follow. Turning to face her he snarled, "You gave me your word!"

"All right," Nikita conceded, for she had promised Michael that she would obey his commands once the game had started. "Be careful," she beseeched him. Nikita was terrified of what might befall him in another confrontation with Galen.

Michael locked eyes with Nikita for a moment and saw her concern, but it couldn't touch him. He was caught up in a ripple of darkness that pulled him forward. Nodding to Nikita, Michael turned away and headed deeper into the woods. He travelled about twenty yards when he stumbled and nearly fell. Pain vibrated through his nerve endings, like an electric shock, and in that moment Michael saw James. Tied to a tree, a knife slicing deep into his belly. "No!" Michael shouted, but it was a silent cry. He gritted his teeth against another wave of hot agony and took another step. But he was too late. Michael let his rage flood through him, hoping to wash away the pain. With each step he took, it increased, and the images continued to flash in his mind. Repelling him even as they led him closer to his goal.

"Close.." Michael breathed, as he fell to his knees. Galen was just ahead of him. Maybe twenty feet. Michael saw her with the knife, and the blood on her hands as she slipped one into James' open flesh. Darkness closed over Michael as he felt James die. His own heart slowing, beat by beat. The echo of it pounding in his head, then fading...till there was silence.

Michael gasped, inhaling sharply as he sat up and gazed about him. He lay where he had fallen to his knees, and time had marched by him. How long he had been unconscious he couldn't say. But he guessed for maybe five or ten minutes. Reaching out with his mind, Michael searched for Nikita. He nearly panicked when he realized that she wasn't there. That...hum...of sensation that always seemed to vibrate between them, no matter what the physical distance, was gone. Michael rose to his feet and ran. Not back to where he had told Nikita to wait, but forward, to where he knew he would find James.

Reaching a small clearing, Michael skidded to a halt. Tied to a tree, directly in front of him, was James. The red-haired operative was dead. Sightless eyes glaring at Michael. "God..." Michael hissed as the air in his lungs seemed to falter. He had seen death in many forms, but not like this. Flies buzzed around the gaping hole in James' chest and abdomen. Galen had vivisected the man. That had been the pain Michael had felt. He had tapped into James' agony as he was sliced open and his insides were removed. "Why?" Michael whispered as he wrapped his arms around himself. He felt icy-cold, but not from the wind. The cold he felt came from within.

"It's all part of the game, Michael," a soft voice drawled. Galen stepped out from behind him, a smile curving her crimson lips.

"Where's Nikita?" Michael demanded.

Galen pointed to an area to her left. "She's alive, just unconscious. I used a stun gun."

Michael turned away, his only concern for the moment was Nikita. He found her lying in a heap, blond hair covering her face. A sigh of relief escaped Michael as he pressed two fingers to her throat and felt the strong throb of her pulse. Since Nikita was safe, he was now able to focus on Galen. Michael rose on his feet and turned to face the dark-haired woman, who had moved up behind him. "You're a sick bitch!" Michael hissed, unable to dispel the image of James from his mind's eye.

"You have to face your demons, Michael," Galen replied, not in the least bit offended by his words. "You want desperately to remain on the outside, looking in. But you can't. Not if you want to save Nikita." With those parting words of wisdom, Galen turned and walked away.

"I will save Nikita," Michael whispered, as he turned back around and knelt down beside the beautiful blond. Gently, Michael lifted her into his arms. He caught his breath when she stirred, and her head nestled in the crook of his neck. One hand lifted and Nikita's fingers clutched his shirt. He smiled as she breathed his name. Michael pressed a kiss to her hair, then he headed back for the car. It was a long walk but Michael felt a rush of adrenaline as the physical, and spiritual, heat of Nikita seeped into his soul, melting away the icy tentacles of darkness that Galen had wrapped around him. With Nikita in his arms, Michael found the strength of will to banish his demons back into the shadows, as he walked into the light.

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

Michael watched over Nikita as she slept. He found himself fighting back tears as he gazed upon her, for deep inside he feared that he had already failed her. That his desire to save Nikita was not strong enough. If the darkness of his soul could taint Nikita, then the blackness that was Galen would smother out Nikita's light...and life. "I don't know how to save you..." Michael whispered, as he rose from the chair in the corner and moved to stand beside the bed. He reached out with one hand and smoothed his thumb over one, pale, eyebrow.

Nikita stirred as she felt a gentle caress. Opening her eyes, she saw Michael staring down at her. His eyes were luminous and filled with shadows. He was in pain, and Nikita sensed that he ached for her. Without thinking she reached for him, grasping his arm and pulling him down onto the bed. Nikita bit her lip as Michael's arms slipped around her waist, lifting her to press against him. He held her as if afraid she would disappear should he loosen his grip. "What happened?" she asked, her lips pressed to his ear as he rocked her. Nikita didn't remember what happened in the forest, nor did she know where she was right now. A quick glance and she was able to guess they were at a motel.

"James is dead," Michael replied. He pressed his cheek to Nikita's soft hair and held her tighter. The image of her bloody and dead in his arms haunted him. If Nikita died, Michael would die with her. Of that he was certain. But he didn't tell NIkita his thoughts, he concentrated on answering her question. "I can feel that Galen is close," Michael said softly. "She used a stun gun on you so I brought you to a motel...to rest." Reluctantly, Michael pulled away from Nikita so he could study her. "How do you feel?"

"A little sore, but okay," Nikita was quick to reassure him. Michael was pale and Nikita had the feeling that he was in pain. But she knew better than to question him about it. He would give his standard reply that he was fine. But Nikita knew that he was anything but. "When will Galen strike again?" she questioned, as she reached out to tuck a stray curl behind Michael's ear.

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't feel anything." It was a difficult confession for Michael to make for he feared that he was burnt out. And if that happened, he would not be able to save Nikita. That Section would suffer as well was of secondary importance, and that fact scared the hell out of Michael. Galen would know that Nikita was more important to him than Section. More important that his own soul. And she would use the knowledge to destroy him. To destroy them all. It was as Madeline had warned Michael...Nikita was his Achille's heel.

Nikita sensed Michael's fear, even as she felt him pulling away from her. Not just physically, as she watched him slid off the bed, but emotionally as well. And she let him, for she sensed that he was in chaos and that she was the cause. "Don't worry, Michael," she beseeched him. "You'll find her. I know you will." Nikita forced a smile as she slid off the bed to follow him. "When was the last time you slept?" she queried.

"I can't sleep," Michael shot back, knowing where Nikita was leading and intent on cutting her off. "I'm all right."

"You're exhausted," Nikita countered, letting one hand come to rest on his shoulder. The muscles beneath her fingers were knotted with tension. "You need to rest, Michael. That's why you can't feel Galen. You're too tired to feel anything." Nikita took Michael's hand and pulled him back over to the bed. A genuine smile curved her lips as she pulled the tails of his shirt out of the waist band of his pants. She felt his hands close around her wrists, to stop her. Nikita didn't resist. She simply lifted her eyes to lock with his and whispered, "Trust me." She saw the war that waged in Michael's soul, but a moment later he released her, his hands dropping to his sides.

Nikita felt tears glimmer in her eyes. Once again, Michael was showing her that he did trust her and she couldn't think of anything she considered more precious to her. Her hands shook a bit as they moved to the buttons of Michael's shirt. One by one she freed them, then she pushed the shirt off his broad shoulders, letting it flutter to the floor. Nikita caught her breath as Michael's chest was bared to her gaze. His physical perfection made her dizzy with desire, but Nikita knew that he wasn't ready for such intimacy. Neither one of them was. Not here, or now. Maybe never. But that was a thought that Nikita pushed aside. All that mattered was this moment in time. Swallowing hard so that she could speak, Nikita gestured to the bed. "Lie down on your stomach," she ordered.

Michael saw the heat in Nikita's gaze as she looked at him. It surprised him to see desire burning in the crystal-blue depths. How could she want him after all the lies and manipulations? Why did she trust him? Believe in him? Those were questions that Michael was afraid to have answered. He hesitated at her command, but then he nodded and turned around. A moment later he was stretched out on his stomach, head resting on the pillow he was hugging to his chest.

"You're tense," Nikita said, as she moved onto the bed then straddled Michael's waist. Her fingers dug into the rock-hard muscles of his back and began kneading. She felt him flinch when her fingers glided towards his sides. Laughter bubbled out of Nikita. "Hmmmmm...are we ticklish, Michael?" she teased, letting her fingers dance along his ribs.

"Keep it up and you'll find out," Michael shot back through gritted teeth. He had always had ticklish ribs.

Nikita filed away this information for future reference, then gave Michael a respite. Her hands returned to his shoulders, digging into the knots of tension. She worked at each one, diligently, until they began to melt. Nikita smiled to herself as she felt Michael relax beneath her ministrations. And she continued massaging, even when she heard his breathing change and knew he had drifted off to sleep. Only when her fingers began cramping did Nikita roll off Michael. She found a blanket in the closet and draped it over him, then she took up residency in the chair. It was her turn to watch over him again.

~*~ The images came to Michael in his dreams. He was running as fast as he could, only it wasn't him. It was someone else. They ran faster as they heard footsteps echoing behind them, and Michael could feel their fear. Feel their racing pulse and the thud of their heartbeat. It was then that he saw their face and recognized it. Denny. "NO!" Michael felt the scream rip out of him as he shot up in bed. Sweat sheened his skin and he felt a chill ripple over him. He gritted his teeth and tried to stop himself from shaking.

Nikita heard Michael's scream and was by his side in an instant. She wrapped her arms around him and felt him tremble. The sweat on his skin dampened her blouse and she shivered as she felt the icy-coldness of his flesh. Scooping up the blanket, Nikita wrapped it around Michael's shoulders, then she cupped his face in her hands. "What is it, Michael?" she demanded. But she saw that his silver-green eyes were unfocused.

Michael heard Nikita's voice and felt her touch, but it was from a distance, as if he were outside of his body. His mind was somewhere else, out in the night with Denny. Tracking the operative as he desperately tried to reach out to him. Galen was hunting her prey and Michael would never be able to reach them in time. There had to be another way. Suddenly, Michael knew what he had to do. Tapping into his own thoughts, his own fears, Michael flung them outward, as if along a gossamer thread, till they slammed into Galen. He felt her falter and his breath released in a sigh. Michael then felt her surprise. She hadn't expected him to reach her. He hadn't expected that he could. But now Michael concentrated on distracting Galen. Long enough for Denny to escape her. It wouldn't be for long, Michael knew. But he was still tapped in to the other operative. Was tracking his location. If he could by enough time, Michael knew that he and Nikita could reach Denny before Galen did.

Ignoring the wave of pain that suddenly rippled through him, Michael pushed Nikita's hands from his face. "We have to go," he hissed, as he slid off the bed.

"Where?" Nikita asked, but she slid off the bed as well and reached for her coat. She watched as Michael scooped his shirt off the floor then shrugged into it. He didn't bother to button it as he headed for the door. Nikita cut him off. "Your boots, Michael," she reminded him, for she had taken them off as he'd slept.

Impatiently, Michael stamped his feet into them, leaving them unlaced. Once again he headed for the door. He yanked it open and ran for the car. Michael waited only long enough for Nikita to drop into the passenger seat, then he stomped on the accelerator and the sped off into the night.

Nikita didn't question Michael further as he drove. She could see that all his concentrate was elsewhere. Not even on the road. Yet he drove with precision, keeping just over the speed limit. Reaching for the heater switch, Nikita blasted the hot air. The night air was cold and Michael still hadn't buttoned his shirt. Draped across Nikita's lap was his jacket. She would force it on him once they had reached their destination. To her surprise, they stopped in front of a church just twenty mintues later. "Who is it?" Nikita asked, as Michael turned off the ignition.

"Denny," he replied, as he pushed open his door and stepped out. The night air was cold, but Michael didn't feel it. He was still tapped into the other man and Denny was overheated from his physical exertion. Michael let the operative's fear guide him to the building behind the church. A small mausoleum. He pulled open the door and walked inside. Michael didn't need a light to know that Denny was cowering in the corner. He identified himself, then waited.

Nikita had the foresight to take the flashlight from the glove compartment, and as she entered the mausoleum just in time to see Denny step forward to greet Michael. "It's me..Nikita.." she whispered, as she saw Denny balk.

Denny swallowed hard then sagged against the wall. "How did you find me?" he asked Michael. "Did Operations send you?"

"Not exactly," Michael replied. But then he fell silent, for he knew that they were not alone. "Galen..." he breathed, turning even as she entered the chamber. She had a gun in her hand and her eyes glittered.

"Very good, Michael," Galen drawled. In her other hand was a flashlight and she focused it's beam on Denny, but her attention was on Michael. "You surprised me. Distracted me from the...scent. Nicely done."

Michael faced Galen, his own eyes luminous. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and realized that he was expending his energy in shielding himself from Galen's thoughts. He could feel her trying to batter her way into his mind. "I won," Michael hissed. "I reached Denny before you did."

Galen nodded. "That you did," she allowed. But even as she spoke her finger curled around the trigger of her gun and a shot rang out.

"NO!" Nikita cried out as she watched Denny slump to the floor. A bullet hole marred his forehead. She ran to him but knew it was too late. He was dead.

"Why?" Michael demanded, his voice little more than a whisper. He was stunned by Galen's actions and his surprise made his shields waver. A moment later he felt Galen enter his mind. She bombarded him with images of Nikita. Bloody and limp. Pale hair trailing over his arm, sightless eyes staring at him. Filled with accusation. "No..." Michael breathed as he felt himself fall to his knees. Then Nikita's arms were around him, supporting him.

Galen took a step forward, her gun now trained on Nikita, so that Michael wouldn't be tempted to try anything foolish. "I told you that the first two didn't count," she said softly, in answer to his question. Then she laughed. "You still don't get it, Michael. You don't understand your power. It vibrates through you like a current, yet you're afraid to tap into it. Afraid to let it flow free. You fear what you feel, yet you feel more deeply than anyone else can. You don't walk in the darkness, Michael. You are the darkness. It's who you are."

Nikita glared at Galen. "You're wrong!" she spat. "You're the one who's evil. Not Michael."

"What makes you think that the darkness is evil, Nikita?" Galen queried, a smile curving her crimson lips. There is no such thing as good and evil. Light and dark. "They aren't exclusive of each other. They can't be because the one cannot exist without the other." Galen switched her attention back to Michael now, watching as he rose slowly to his feet, accepting Nikita's support as he swayed for a moment. "Midnight...tomorrow," Galen whispered. "That's when the battle for your soul begins, Michael." She locked eyes with him for a moment, then turned and walked away.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, as he watched Galen go.

Nikita was surprised. "Sorry for what?" she demanded.

Michael blinked, but didn't look at her. "We have to leave," he said, pulling away from her touch.

"Michael?" Nikita didn't know what she was asking, but she felt as if he were hiding something from her. He didn't respond to her, but headed for the door. "Dammit.." Nikita muttered beneath her breath as she ran to follow him. "What about Denny?" she asked, as she fell into step with Michael. He eyes were locked on his profile as she waited for his reply.

"Denny is safe now," Michael whispered. He knew that Nikita wouldn't understand his cryptic remark, nor could he explain it to her. Suddenly he stopped walking and turned to face her. She looked like and angel in the moonlight, her pale hair a halo about her beautiful face. "I'm so cold," Michael breathed.

Nikita knew that he wasn't referring to the temperature. In that moment all her anger melted and she wrapped her arms around Michael, hugging him tightly to her. She felt his arms slid around her shoulders as he buried her face in his neck. Nikita didn't know how long they stood there, nor did she care. Michael needed her and she would have held him till dawn. But after a time he pulled away from Nikita, and she let him. When Michael pulled his mask firmly back into place, Nikita understood. She let him walk off ahead of her, back to the car. He was sitting in the passenger side when she reached it. Without saying a word, Nikita slid behind the wheel and drove off. Her gaze often slid to Michael, and he was staring off through the side window. But Nikita sensed that he wasn't staring at the scenery that flashed by. Rather he was gazing at the reflection of his soul. And she could almost see the shadows dancing in the pale moonlight.

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

"NIKITA!"

Michael felt his throat tighten as he screamed her name. He was sitting upright in the bed, chest heaving, a cold sweat glistening on his skin. Darkness surrounded him, pressing down on him heavily, and Michael reached for the lamp on the bedside table. But he didn't need the light to know that Nikita was gone. To know that Galen had her. He could feel it. Nikita's pain vibrated through his body, causing Michael to tremble violently.

"My fault.." Michael whispered, as he slid off the bed. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. But when he and Nikita had returned to the motel, she had insisted that he take a hot shower to warm himself, then she had put him to bed. Refusing to take *no* for an answer. And Michael had found that he was too exhausted to put up a fight. So he had surrendered to the darkness of slumber, with Nikita's promise that she would awake him before midnight. It was two AM now. The final confrontation had begun.

Michael pulled on the sweater that Nikita had left draped over the chair. It was sapphire blue with ribbons of black and gray running through it. She had brought it for him in her own bag, saying that he needed a little color in his life. As Michael pulled it down over his chest, he could almost feel the warmth of Nikita's touch in the softness of the cashmere. And he inhaled deeply to capture her scent, which clung to the fibers. "I'll find you, Nikita," Michael vowed, as he pulled on his boots and laced them. Then he reached for his coat, hand slipping into the pocket and finding his gun. Michael let his fingers slip away. A gun would be of no use to him now. He snatched the car keys off the dresser then headed out the door.

He drove without knowing his destination, or caring. Didn't matter where Nikita was, it mattered only that he reach her in time. Only now was Michael beginning to understand the game. Now as he felt every ripple of pain that Galen inflicted upon Nikita. She was wasting no time. It was the pain that had finally awakened Michael from his slumber. But he realized something else as well. That Nikita was trying to hold back. To block the pain. She didn't want him to feel her. To come for her. Tears filled Michael's eyes. Nikita was trying to protect him. But she didn't understand what was at stake. Section would fall if he lost the game. That thought threaded it's way through Michael's consciousness. It mattered to him, but on a level that was far removed from his present state of being. All he truly cared about was saving Nikita. It was his only focus. Without her...Michael was ready to die. No reason to live anymore. But he had known that from the beginning. As had Madeline.

Three hours passed as Michael drove. The darkness was lifting somewhat, as silver shadows danced in defiance of the approaching dawn. Michael didn't see them, for he was trapped in a darkness that no light could penetrate. The darkness where Galen dwelled. He feared it, yet he entered it now...willingly. And the moment he did so, Michael knew he would never leave it. It claimed the part of him that he had tried to cling to. That small glimmer of light that still allowed him to believe in himself. Believe in the hope that he still had a soul. But as Michael felt the darkness seep into his mind, he knew that he was the darkness now. And he had no regrets.

Nikita was close. Michael turned onto a small, dirt road and drove for another two miles. At the end of a road was an open driveway. Michael parked the car there and began walking. He climbed for a time and knew where he was. The Sanctuary of Galen. Galen had been a priest who had tried to protect the heretics in the late, twelfth, century. He had died, impaled on his own staff. He had died asking God to forgive those who had killed him. An symbolic choice for a confrontation, and one that Michael knew Galen had chosen purposefully.

As he made his way towards the stone chapel at the top of the rise, Michael felt himself falter. Pain buckled his knees and he caught himself before hitting the ground. Not his pain, but Nikita's. Michael saw her in his mind, the image of shimmering brightly. He gritted his teeth as he watched blood well up on her pale skin. Looking down at his own arm, Michael could feel the knife-blade cutting through the flesh. But Galen had no intention of letting Nikita die. Not now. It was too soon. She wanted only to make Michael suffer. But he banished the image, shattering it, as he rose to his feet. "I won't let you win.." Michael whispered, as he continued climbing. He knew that Galen couldn't hear his words, but she could feel his thoughts. The chapel was before him now and Michael ran towards it. But as he reached the door he felt darkness rush over him. Then weakness filled him and his knees buckled once more. No pain this time. Only liquid heat rushing through his veins. Then white-hot flames of pure agony.

"Nikita..." Her name hissed out of Michael, between gritted teeth. Wave after wave of pain washed over him, making it difficult for Michael to think. There was only the pain, Nikita's pain. But Michael forced it back so that he could focus on it's source. He tapped into Galen's mind as saw the syringe in her hand. She had drugged Nikita and the pain was intended to drive Nikita mad. If Michael didn't break his bond with her, he would go mad as well. But that was not an option. Michael could n't let Nikita suffer. So he tried to block it from her, to shield her. But since Nikita was the source of the pain, it didn't work. Michael nearly cried out as he felt Nikita slipping away from him, slipping into the shadows. Into the madness. "No.." he breathed, as he forced himself to his feet.

Two steps and Michael fell again. In his mind he could feel Galen's pleasure and it enraged him. She believed she had won, but Michael wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Reaching deep inside himself, Michael tapped into the darkness of his soul. The cold, black, detachment that had served him so well in the past. Once he had centered his focus, Michael reached out to Nikita in his mind. He wrapped himself around her pain, absorbing it into himself. He wasn't aware that his body shook with tremors that resembled convulsions. He was aware only of pain. But Michael used it to keep him focused, letting it ripple through him. Mind over matter...he whispered, silently. The pain could be controlled. Agony was like fire in his blood and Michael flooded his veins with cold detachment, putting out the flames. How long this took he didn't know. Perhaps a heartbeat in time, or maybe an eternity. He didn't care. It mattered only that the pain was gone...Nikita was free of it. Rising to his feet, Michael continued onward, entering the chapel.

Galen was waiting for him. She noted that Michael's eyes were luminous, a reflection of the pain that he no longer felt, yet it hummed beneath the surface. A vibration of his energy held tightly in check. He had surprised her with his strength. She hadn't thought he would embrace the darkness, but for Nikita he had done so. No matter the reason why. Galen cared only that he now walked in the shadows of her soul. "Are you afraid, Michael?" she asked, a smile curving her lips as he walked towards her.

"No," Michael whispered, and it was the truth. His eyes flickered over Galen's shoulder, to where Nikita was bound to the alter. She was slumped over, unconscious, and Michael was glad that she would not be a witness to the execution of his soul.

"Do you understand me now?" Galen queried, as she attempted to tap into Michael's thoughts. But he shielded himself from her and she was surprised once more. His power was greater than her own.

Michael didn't answer Galen's question with words. Instead he stood before her then wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her hard against him. His other hand tangled in her hair, then he kissed her. And in that moment he let her see his thoughts and feel his emotions. Michael felt Galen stiffen in his arms and try to pull away, but he would not let her go. Rather, he deepened the kiss and felt their souls collide.

Galen found herself frozen and helpless as images flashed in her mind, quick and successive like the syncopated wash of a strobe light. She didn't simply see, or feel, his pain. She was a part of it. And it wasn't just the pain of the drug that he had absorbed from Nikita that she suffered, but the agony of his heart and soul. The pain that he had buried deep in order to survive. The unbearable anguish that had ripped him apart from the inside out after his son's death, then the agony of losing Simone. All of his pain he let flow out of him and into Galen. Not gently, but as a tidal wave slamming into her. He did know the darkness, in a way that Galen never had. It was both his friend, and his enemy. And it had always been inside him. But now Galen felt Michael wrap it around her like silken chains. They were one mind, one body and one soul. It was as if they were on fire, and Galen felt herself panick. But Michael welcomed the flames. It was a purification of his soul. For Galen it was suffocation.

Michael felt Galen's struggles and did not relent. He felt as if the darkness had been burned into his soul. But it would leave no scars for in the end the embers would die out and the ashes of his soul would scatter. But first he would end the game. His hands lifted, fingers closing about Galen's head. Michael pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. And then he broke her neck. A quick snap and Galen's body sagged. Michael watched the light in her eyes fade out. Only then did he release her so that she fell in a heap at his feet.

"Nikita.." Michael whispered, turning to face the beautiful blond. He moved towards her, feeling as if each step dragged through wet sand. But finally he reached her, then he untied her from the alter and lifted her into his arms. Blood stained her pale hair and her skin was ashen, but Michael didn't need to feel for a pulse to know that she was alive. He could feel her every breath. But he didn't feel the tears that rolled down his face as he carried Nikita out of the chapel, stepping over Galen's body but not seeing it. Michael saw only a darkness without shadows. Devoid of any light. For the last, glowing, ember of his soul had faded away.

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

Almost four weeks had passed since Galen's death. Nikita rose from the chair beside Michael's bed and moved about the room, stretching stiff muscles. She glanced over at him, but of course he hadn't moved. He was sitting, cross-legged, on the bed, rocking back and forth. His beautiful eyes were glazed, and staring at something that only he could see. Moving over to the bed, Nikita reached out with one hand and stroked her fingers through his cinnamon curls. She had washed his hair after supper and it was still a touch damp.

"Where are you, Michael?" Nikita asked, heaving a sigh of frustration. She thought back to 19 days ago when Madeline had released her from Medlab, then called Nikita into her office. Over the course of an hour she explained what had happened from the time that Nikita had blacked out from the pain of the drug Galen had given her, till she had awakened, three days later, in Medlab.

Michael had brought Nikita back to Section. Then he had debriefed. Not going into detail, telling Madeline only that Galen was dead. It was after making that confession that Michael had collapsed. Twenty-four hours later the doctors had pronounced him to be in a catatonic state. He had not responded to anyone, or anything, except for the first night, when the nurse had turned off the lights, plunging his room into darkness. In that moment Michael had catapulted off the bed and started screaming, all the while slamming himself into the wall, repeatedly. It took four men to put him in restraints, but Madeline discovered that the restraints weren't necessary, so long as the lights remained on. And so they had, ever since.

Four days ago Madeline told Nikita that the doctors held out little hope that Michael would ever recover. When Nikita asked if Madeline believed them she received no answer. Then she had asked to be allowed to stay with him. Nikita was certain that Michael was still with them. That he could be reached. Madeline had given her one month. Nikita had just over a week left and so far there had been no change. Still, she refused to give up hope.

It was after eleven PM so Nikita placed one hand against Michael's chest, easing him down onto his back. She had fallen into a routine to establish a pattern for Michael to follow. Even though he was unresponsive, she was certain that he was aware. Because it was always light in the room, Nikita wanted to make certain that Michael could follow the passage of days. So, every night at eleven o'clock, she put him to bed. Michael's eyes remained open, and unblinking, as Nikita pulled the blankets over him. But that didn't matter. She smiled as she bent to brush a kiss to his forehead, then she whispered the phrase she remembered from childhood. Her mother had whispered it to her at bedtime, when Nikita was about five years old. It was a happy memory and one she had been sharing with Michael for the past three weeks. "May angels guide you through the darkness and into the light of day."

Nikita sighed once more as she turned away from Michael and headed back to her chair. There was a cot in the corner, but she wasn't tired enough to sleep. So she would read the book she had found in Michael's office. She read outloud to him from it, every night. It was called Exiles, by Melanie Rawn. What surprised Nikita was that it was a fantasy novel. She wouldn't have expected it of Michael.

As she opened the book to chapter twelve, Nikita thought she heard a sound. She froze and listened hard, then dropped the book to the floor as she realized what she was hearing. It was Michael, and he was whispering. Leaping out of the chair, Nikita flew to the bed. She bent her head and held her breath. Then she heard his words.

"...sorry...sorry...sorry...sorry....sorry..."

Nikita blinked back tears as she cupped Michael's face in her hands. For once she would not berate him for repeating that word. "It's all right, Michael," she told him. "You've got nothing to be sorry for." With that she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, gently. Nikita knew she should call for the doctor and was just about to pull away when she felt a touch on her back. A moment later Michael's arms slid around her waist and tightened about her. Nikita hugged him back, fiercely, as tears slid down her face. Without breaking their embrace, she shifted so that she was sitting on the bed, pulling Michael up with her. How much time passed as they held each other, Nikita didn't know...or care. But at some point her laughter filled the room as he whispered her name in her ear.

"Welcome back, Michael," Nikita cried out. Then she hugged him to her with all her might.

~*~

It was hard to believe that only three months had gone by. For Michael it seemed as if he had lived a lifetime, several times over. It had taken nearly a week for him to fully emerge from his self-imposed exile, and Michael doubted he would have had the strength, or courage, to do so had Nikita not been by his side. As she was now. They were walking near the river, their last chance to be together as...friends.

Once he had come out of his catatonia, Michael had been plunged into a whirlwind. Day long therapy sessions with Madeline, intensive and intrusive, as she whittled away at him, testing his strengths and weaknesses. Physical endurance tests pushed him to exhaustion and beyond, but even that hadn't been enough to keep away the nightmares. Michael woke up screaming at first, to find Nikita holding him. But then he had learned to silence the screams, doing what he had always done, internalizing his pain and fear. But this time Michael didn't bury his demons quite so deep.

After a month, Madeline had subjected him to sims. First in virtual reality, then in real time. Michael had frozen once or twice, but his determination to regain control had won out in the end. And it helped knowing that Nikita was always close by. Watching him. Her smile the beacon that kept the darkness at bay. With every passing day, Michael felt himself heal. There was no miracle involved, and he was not becoming the man he had once been, long before Section. He could never go back, nor did he want to. Before Section there was no Nikita.

She had surprised Michael. They both knew that he had never been more vulnerable. But, not once, did Nikita take advantage of that fact. Michael knew she was in the dark as to what had happened between him and Galen. He believed she had a right to know, and understand. But he found himself unwilling to tell her. To subject Nikita to the cold, darkness that was his constant compaion. She was touched by the shadows, but still walked in the light. And that was where Michael wanted her to remain. And Nikita never asked him to explain. For that Michael was eternally grateful.

They walked along in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nikita felt sadness wash over her for she knew that in a few short hours, the Michael she had come to know would be gone. In his place would return the Michael he had been, Section's number one operative. In one hour he would be on a plane to Portugal, heading up a mission. His first since his collapse, and Nikita was not part of the team. She knew that Section had decided that Michael no longer needed her. A part of her was already wondering if he ever had. "Will you answer me one question?" Nikita queried, as she stopped walking and turned to face Michael. The sun was just beginning to set behind him, so he appeared to be haloed by a golden aura.

"If I can," Michael replied, falling back into his old patterns without realizing it. He couldn't survive in Section any other way, and he didn't know how to explain to Nikita that, inside, he had changed. That she had changed him. But maybe it was for the best. Why let her believe in something that could never be.

"Why did you come back?" Nikita asked, bluntly.

Michael frowned at her. "What do you mean?" he countered, genuinely confused.

Nikita shrugged. "When you were catatonic you were free of Section. But you came back...why?" As she asked the question, Nikita's eyes glimmered. She needed to know the truth.

Michael could have lied to her. Should have even. But he didn't. "Because of you, Nikita," he whispered, his own eyes shimmering with pain. He could see the shadows of his soul reflected in Nikita's gaze and Michael looked away, filled with regret.

"Thank you," Nikita said softly, as she reached for Michael's hand. She felt him stiffen as she raised his palm to her lips. Pressing a kiss against his warm skin, Nikita felt a sense of peace wash over her. Her feelings for Michael had always been chaotic, and that hadn't changed. Probably never would. Nikita knew that she would never really understand him, but that was okay. They were partners, almost friends and, someday, maybe....lovers. Section One made it a point to bury their pasts, and held out little hope for a future. But the present belonged to them. Michael had once told her that he didn't know what love was anymore. Nikita wasn't sure she had ever known it. Maybe it was the simple fact that she would willingly die for him. And Nikita knew that Michael had made an even greater sacrifice for her. He had embraced the darkness of his soul and danced with his demons. Then he had found a way to escape it all, but had come back. For her.

"Thank you for what?" Michael queried, curling his fingers over his palm after Nikita released his hand so that he could capture the warmth of her kiss.

Nikita smiled at him as she tucked a errant lock of pale hair behind one ear. "For the truth," she said softly. Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss across Michael's sensual lips, then she turned and walked away, feeling the heat of his gaze on her back and the cool breeze on her wet cheeks.

Michael stood watching Nikita go. When she had disappeared from sight he whispered, "You're welcome." As he walked back to Section the setting sun cast shadows across the sky. But Michael welcomed the impending darkness, for the image of Nikita shimmered like a beacon in the night.