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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
The night seemed to echo with silence as Michael, Nikita and a team of twelve, entered the grounds of the factory. They were there to retrieve a laser weapon that had been hijacked from a governmental technologies research facility in Washington DC.
Birkhoff had given them the structural layout of the factory, so Michael signaled his team to split up and make a sweep, working in pairs. He would team up with Nikita. They took the first floor and entered quietly, from the back entrance. Since they were wearing night vision goggles, their presence went unnoticed as they blended into the shadows. Or so they thought.
Nikita patted Michael's arm and motioned that she would scope out the east wing. When he nodded, she moved off. Michael headed west. He found nothing, so he turned back. It was then that he noticed the shooter. One man, standing at the rail of the third level. He must have had an infrared scope, for he was targeted on Nikita. Michael could see that her back was to him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. From the angle he was at, Michael knew he couldn't take the shooter out. So he did the only thing he could. He ran towards Nikita, in the line of fire.
"NIKITA!"
She heard her name and whirled around to see Michael running towards her. Just as he reached her that was a *crack*... the sound of a bullet leaving a gun, and Michael's body jerked, then fell forward. The world suddenly seemed to pause. As if watching herself move in slow motion, Nikita caught Michael, but the momentum of his weight dragged them both down to the ground. Nikita felt warm wetness on her hands and knew it was Michael's blood. She cried out as she pulled off her goggles, then did the same with Michael's. His body was shaking, and Nikita knew that his injury was fatal. She pulled him up so that he could cradle his head against her chest, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "Don't you dare leave me, Michael!" She shouted at him. "Don't you die!"
All around them, the other operatives had responded, and they quickly took out the shooter, along with the others who ran out to try and stop them. Nikita heard Birkhoff in her comlink. He was asking what was going on. "Michael's down!" Nikita told him. "Get a med team!"
"No...Nikita..." Michael protested, softly. He found the strength to raise one hand, and his fingertips brushed against her face and came away wet. "I'm....sorry..." he breathed. And it was the last breath he took.
"MICHAEL!" The wail erupted from Nikita's soul as her world faded to black.
Madeline stood at the grave site, staring down at the simple headstone. It said one word...Nikita...in row 8, plot 30. She had died one month ago, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Madeline bent to lay a yellow rose on the mound, then she whispered, "I'll miss you."
Operations paced the length of the conference room. Birkhoff and Madeline watched him. He was dragging on a cigarette and his eyes were like chips of blue ice. After crushing out the butt, Ops demanded, "Where is he?"
Just then, with perfect timing, Michael entered the room. He felt all eyes upon him but didn't react. He moved to stand before Ops and said, "Sorry I'm late."
"Where were you?" Operations challenged. He could sense that Michael was hiding something. The young man's green eyes were uncharacteristically glacial.
"Doesn't matter where," Michael replied, offering a smile. Then he removed his right hand from the pocket of his jacket. He was holding a gun, and he trained it on Operations.
The other man stared at the gun, then his eyes locked with Michael's and he smiled. "You don't want to do this," he drawled.
Michael nodded. "Yes...I do."
Madeline reacted then, by moving to step between the two men, right in the line of fire. Her eyes were focused on Michael's and they glimmered with compassion. "You won't do it, Michael," she said softly, as she reached out with one hand and curled her fingers over the barrel of the gun. She nearly released a sigh of relief, when he let her take the weapon. But when she saw the look in his beautiful eyes, the pain that shimmered there, she felt her heart constrict. "Michael..." Madeline began.
"Cancel me," he begged. Tears filled his eyes but Michael refused to let them fall. Not in front of Operations. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.
Operations moved to stand beside Michael. "That's not an option!" he hissed, in response to the young man's plea.
Michael glared at him. "Bastard!"
"Indeed." Operations was more than willing to concede that point. But then his eyes hardened and one hand shot out to grab a handful of Michael's thick hair. He tightened his grip, painfully, and his eyes were twin flames as he watched Michael wince. "You will never be free, Michael," he drawled. "That was the deal that you made. You sold your soul to devil in exchange for Nikita's freedom. And it's a done deal. No refunds."
"I wanted her free!" Michael spat. "Not dead!"
Madeline reached out and untangled Operation's fingers from Michael's hair, she then pressed the palm of one hand to Michael's face. His eyes burned with jade-fire, and she could almost believe that she saw the image of Nikita in the beautiful depths. "Nikita IS free," Madeline whispered. "The only way she could be, Michael."
He shook his head, not wanting to believe her. "But you offered to let me go," Michael protested. "That was the deal that I made."
"Freedom is different for each of us, Michael," Madeline replied. "NIkita wasn't like the rest of us. She had too much heart. We couldn't just let her go. You know that."
"No..." Michael whispered, even though he knew it was true. As much as Nikita had wanted to leave Section, a part of her would have felt drawn to stay...to try and protect the *Innocent*. Death was her only path to freedom, and she had taken it. But only after believing him to be dead. That was what made it so hard for Michael to bear.
Madeline knew it, knew also what he was thinking, and her hand once again lifted, this time to smooth back a stray lock of curly hair. She tucked it behind Michael's ear and said, "You'll go on living, Michael, because that's what Nikita would have wanted you to do."
He wanted to deny it...but couldn't. Nikita had told him that, the day of the raid on the factory. The day she thought he had died. They had made love for the first time, knowing that they would soon be heading into danger. As she had lain in his arms, Nikita had confessed to Michael that she loved him. He had admitted his love for her as well, not knowing that it would be their first and last time to say those words. As well as the first and last time to make love. Michael HAD made a deal with Operation's and Madeline for Nikita's freedom, but they hadn't told him the details. Hadn't explained that the *raid* was a fake, to set up Michael's death. He had been shot, had lost alot of blood even, and spent three weeks recuperating, only to discover that Nikita had shot herself, two days after his *death*.
Operations was watching Michael, and he saw the struggle going on in the green eyes. His own eyes were cold as ice, for he had no time for sentimentality. Nikita was dead, Michael was alive. There was work to be done, and time was always against them. He wouldn't allow Michael an easy out. "I need you in Brussels," he said, his tone of voice, matter of fact. "You need to negotiate a *hostage* situation. There's an *innocent* involved." Ops threw that fact in for good measure.
Michael knew what the other man was doing, and he allowed himself to be distracted. Or perhaps a better word was...manipulated. Either way, he was tired of the pain that seemed to ripple through him with every beat of his heart. But he couldn't dispel the image of Nikita from his mind's eye, nor drown out the sound of her voice as she had whispered to him..."I love you, Michael..."
'I love you too, Nikita..' Michael whispered back...in his heart. Then he shook himself out of his reverie and turned to face Ops. His eyes were cool, his expression void, and his voice without inflection as he asked, "When do I leave?"
Operation's was pleased. Michael was back. "The plane leaves in one hour," he replied.
Michael nodded, then turned and walked out of the room. In his head he could hear the echo of Nikita's laughter, and the image of her smile was like a beacon that guided him through the shadows and into the light.
THE END
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