---

Birkhoff sat in the van watching his monitor screen. He had it split into four windows so that he could keep track of Michael, the field team and the perimeter. Michael was at an embassy gala and his mission was to place a tracker on a woman named Gia Picardi. She was a translator for the UN.

Nothing much was going on peripherally and Birkhoff stifled a yawn as he reached for a twizzler. He watched Michael dancing with the mark and knew that the mission was pretty much over now. It would just be a simple case of Michael making a graceful exit. Birkhoff called in the field team then glanced at the perimeter screens. His attention was caught by the sight of a young woman crossing the street. A beautiful, blond woman, with a bright smile.

"Nikita..." Birkhoff whispered the name, but it was loud enough for Michael to hear him.

From inside the embassy, where he was waltzing Gia Picardi around the ballroom floor, Michael stiffened at the sound of Nikita's name. He excused himself from the mark and hurried to a private corner. "What is it, Birkhoff?" he demanded. The suicide mission that had freed Nikita from Section had occurred six months ago. No one had mentioned her name since then. In particular Walter, Birkhoff and himself.

Birkhoff shook his head, then remembered that Michael couldn't see it. He was just about to respond when he saw something that made his heard skip a beat. A car was speeding towards the intersection where Nikita was crossing. Birkhoff could see that it wasn't going to stop. Just as he was ready to cry out a warning that she wouldn't hear, he watched Nikita go flying up over the hood of the car as it struck her. "No..." Birkhoff whispered. A moment later he cried out as the door of the van flew open. Michael stood there, his eyes flashing.

"What about Nikita?" he demanded.

"She..." But Birkhoff couldn't explain, so he pointed to the monitor screen.

Michael moved to stand behind Birkhoff. All he saw was an obvious accident. "What?" he prompted, his eyes moving to the young man's pale face.

Birkhoff swallowed hard. "It was Nikita," he whispered. "She was hit...by that car."

"What?" Michael hissed, even as he grabbed handfuls of Birkhoff's jacket. "Are you sure it was Nikita?" he demanded, hope and fear warring within him.

"Yes," Birkhoff replied. It occurred to him, even in his shock, that Michael didn't seem that surprised that Nikita was alive. If she still was alive, which Birkhoff doubted. But Michael seemed to accept, too willingly, that Birkhoff had seen Nikita. And why would that be...when she had, supposedly, died in an explosion six months ago. Birkhoff was about to ask the question out loud when he realized that Michael was heading for the door. "Where are you going?" he asked, jumping up to follow.

Michael turned to glare at him. "To see if Nikita is all right!" he snarled. But even as he took a another step, he felt Birkhoff grab his arm.

The young man shook his head. "You can't do that, Michael," he said softly, regret reflected in his dark eyes. "We can't compromise the mission, or ourselves."

"I won't," Michael began, but then his voice trailed into silence. He knew that Birkhoff was right. He reached out to close the van door then looked at the computer whiz. Tapping his comunit, Michael hissed, "Go." A moment later the van drove off, away from the area of the accident.

"I'll call it in," Birkhoff said, as he continued to watch his monitor till the images faded out. Police and emergency vehicles were beginning to arrive. Then he tapped in a number and waited for Operations to come on the line. "Sir," he began. But then Birkhoff stopped and his eyes locked on Michael's face. There were tears shimmering in the silver-green eyes, Birkhoff was sure of it. He considered hanging up, but just then Operations barked at him.

"What is it, Birkhoff? Did Michael place the tracker?"

Birkhoff took a deep breath and replied, "Tracker is in place and I have a signal." His fingers flew over his keyboard to give credence to his lie. A red blip flashed on his monitor screen.

Operations was pleased. "Good. Come in," he ordered.

"We're on our way," Birkhoff acknowledged. "But...there's something you should know," he added, hesitantly.

"What?" Operations demanded, impatiently.

Birkhoff couldn't say the words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was still trying when a soft voice answered for him. Birkhoff stared up at Michael who said, "We found Nikita."

The moment the van returned to Section, Michael was called into Madeline's office. She informed him that a team had been sent out to retrieve Nikita. The beautiful blond had been taken to a nearby hospital, but she was now on her way back to Section. Madeline was surprised when Michael listened to her in silence. He didn't ask the question that she had expected him too. But she gave him the answer, regardless. "Nikita is still alive."

Michael closed his eyes at the news and heaved a, silent, sigh of relief. But he could feel Madeline's gaze burning into him, so he was careful not to reveal his thoughts. Pulling his mask of neutrality about him like a cloak, Michael locked eyes with Madeline. "Will she be all right?" he questioned, calmly.

"We have a sketchy report right now," Madeline allowed. "Nikita is suffering from internal injuries plus a probable concussion. She's still unconscious but has been responsive to outside stimulation." As she spoke, Madeline watched Michael closely. He was outwardly calm, but gave away his anxiety in the paleness of his complexion, and the fact that he couldn't keep his hands, which were clasped before him, from trembling. Madeline was about to comment on this, when Operations entered the room.

The head of Section One was furious. He strode over to Michael and confronted the young operative, his pale eyes flashing. "Did you know that Nikita was alive?" Operations demanded.

Michael shook his head. "No."

"I don't believe you!" Operations hissed. He glanced over at Madeline who merely shrugged. "Nikita should have died in that explosion six months ago, Michael," he said. "Why is she alive?"

"I don't know," Michael replied. He met, and held, Operations' burning gaze. Not for nothing would he reveal the truth. He didn't care for his sake, but he would not betray Nikita.

Operations smiled, a cold curving of his thin lips. He stepped back from Michael and paced for a moment. The young operative was lying to him, he was sure of it, but he knew he wouldn't be able to prove it. Michael played the game too well. But that didn't mean he was going to let either of them off the hook. Not Birkhoff or Walter, either. "Interesting that Nikita should show up in New York City," Operations commented, after a heavy silence had filled the room.

Michael shrugged. "It's as good a place as any to hide," he allowed.

"Kind of like hiding in plain sight," Operations commented. Once again he glanced over at Madeline to discover that she was watching Michael closely. The young operative was calm beneath the intensity of her gaze. Operations was impressed, in spite of his anger. "Nikita's being alive posing an interesting dilema," Operations drawled. "By all rights she should still be cancelled." He nearly smiled as he saw Michael flinch.

"What are you going to do?" Michael questioned, although a part of him dreaded asking.

Operations shook his head. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted. And that was the truth. He was at odds with what should be done. Of course, part of his decision would be based on whether or not Nikita recovered from her injuries.

Just then Madeline's phone rang. She answered, listened for a moment, then hung up. Her eyes flickered to Michael as she said, "Nikita is here."

"Can I see her?" Michael asked, not caring that he had revealed his eagerness.

"Yes," Madeline replied. "I'll be in soon." She had a smile on her face as she watched Michael glide from the room. He could barely contain his emotions and that worried her.

Operations moved to Madeline's desk. He placed his palms, flat on the surface, and leaned towards her. "Did Michael know Nikita was alive?" he asked, bluntly.

Madeline sighed. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

"Walter and Birkhoff?" Operations prompted.

"I doubt it," Madeline replied. "If Michael was involved in Nikita's escape, he did it on his own." Of that she was certain.

Operations nodded. "Keep an eye on him," he ordered. Then he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Madeline watched him go, then she pulled her keyboard closer and tapped in a sequence of numbers. A moment later she had the image of Nikita's Med Lab room on her screen. Michael was just walking in.

There were IV's and monitors attached to Nikita and they were the first things that Michael noticed as he entered her room. Secondly, he noticed how pale she was, and how fragile she looked beneath the white sheet. Her face was bruised and Michael felt a tremor of fear at how still she lay. He reached for one hand, letting his fingers search for the pulse in her slender wrist, to assure himself that she was still breathing. The pulse was strong and Michael felt himself relax. With his other hand he reached out to smooth a lock of pale hair off Nikita's forehead. But that was all he did, for he knew he was being watched.

Just as Michael was about to pull away, he felt Nikita's fingers curl about his own. Catching his breath, he stared at her face and saw her eyes flutter open, only briefly. Then they were still and her fingers relaxed. But a soft smile curved Michael's lips. It was enough to know that Nikita was aware of his presence. He would do whatever it took to protect her. But now, he knew that it was best to go. Michael couldn't allow Madeline to become any more suspicious than she already was. So he placed Nikita's hand across her chest then left the room, without looking back.

Michael was in his office, working on his terminal, when Walter appeared. He locked eyes with the older man, but remained silent.

Walter didn't ask to be invited in, he simply stepped into the office, closed the door behind him, then sat down. "Will Nikita be all right?" he asked.

"I don't know," Michael replied, honestly. He knew that Walter wasn't asking him about her physical well being, but rather her status. Would she be allowed to live.

"I thought you trusted me," Walter said softly, after a moment of silence between them. His eyes were locked on Michael's face and he saw how pale the young man was. And how the silver-green eyes seemed glazed.

Michael let a sigh escape him as one hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose. "What do you want me to say, Walter?" he countered.

The old man shrugged. "I would have helped you, Michael," he whispered. "Don't you know that?" For Nikita he would have done anything, and for Michael as well. But he doubted that the young man realized that.

"I know that," Michael replied, a slight smile curving his lips. "But it was better your not knowing. Better for Nikita," Michael emphasized.

"I guess you're right," Walter allowed, albeit reluctantly. And he did understand. Michael had wanted to protect him and Birkhoff, as well as Nikita. That was his way. Although Michael tried to convince himself that he no longer had a heart, Walter knew better than that. And he knew that Michael did his best to guard and protect those whom he cared about. Sometimes he had to be cruel to do it, but that couldn't be helped. Section One was not DisneyLand. "Do they know?" Walter asked.

Michael knew that Walter was wondering whether or Operations and Madeline had figured out that Michael had helped Nikita escape the suicide mission. "They suspect," he admitted. "They can't prove anything."

Walter shook his head. "But they'll be watching you like a hawk, Michael," he countered, and he was suddenly more worried about Michael's status than Nikita's.

"Doesn't matter," Michael replied. And it didn't. Nikita was alive. She was no longer free...but she was alive. That meant more to him than his own existence ever could. Although he doubted that Nikita would feel the same way once she had regained consciousness. Being trapped inside Section One would be worse for her this time. A part of Michael felt regret, but another part of him was grateful that she lived.

"There's something I need to tell you," Walter said suddenly. He leaned forward in his chair and locked eyes with the younger man.

Michael inclined his head and held Walter's gaze. "What is it?" he questioned.

Walter took a moment to chose his words, then decided to be blunt. "When I thought you had let Nikita die in that explosion...I hated you."

"I know," Michael replied, offering a smile. "I didn't blame you."

"You should have!" Walter hissed. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He had known Michael for a long time. Had seen the boy become a man. Had watched the passion and fire that had once driven Michael burn out and become cold ashes. The light of his soul had flickered out when Simone had died, then his son. Walter had ached for MIchael then, even as he had tried to break past the barriers that Michael had erected around his heart. But only Nikita had been able to do that. And Walter had been grateful. He should have had faith in Michael, but he had lost faith and for that he would never forgive himself.

Michael didn't want Walter to feel guilty. He didn't condemn him for what he had felt. Rather, he understood it. "Let it go," Michael said soflty. "It's forgotten."

Walter felt great sorrow at the fact that he knew Michael felt he deserved his censure. The young man had faced Walter's cold glare day in and day out since Nikita's, supposed, demise, and he had never once flinched from it. That, alone, made Walter feel a deep regret. He sighed then asked, "What happens now?"

As Michael was about to respond, the phone rang. He answered it, listened for a moment, then said, "I'll be right there." Hanging up, Michael looked at Walter. "I have to go," he said softly.

"Madeline?" Walter guessed.

"Emergency briefing," Michael replied as he stood up, one hand buttoning his jacket.

Walter nodded. "Can we talk later?" he requested. There was so much more that he wanted to say.

Michael offered a cold smile. "We'll see," he replied. Then he glided out of the room. As he walked down the corridor, he could feel Walter's eyes burning into him.

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

Immediately following his emergency briefing, Michael was sent on a mission. It was obvious to Madeline that he didn't want to go, for it meant leaving Nikita behind, but he didn't say a word. That was Michae's way. He revealed nothing, to anyone. Madeline was tempted to question Walter, but she new the old timer was loyal to Michael, so she simply let it go. For now.

Operations came to Madeline's office. Nikita had regained consciousness, but something had occurred that no one had anticipated. She had lost her memory. Not total amnesia, but what the doctores were calling traumatic amnesia. Nikita knew her name, and her past. What was missing in the time frame was from the moment the cop had died and her subsequent arrest, up until the present. She didn't remember Section One or anyone connected to it. Everyone was a stranger to her. The situation had given Madeline an idea. One that Operations highly approved of.

He sat in the chair across from Madeline's desk and fired questions at her. "So, the doctors don't know whether or not Nikita will ever regain her memory of the past three and a half years?"

"That's right," Madeline confirmed. "Then again, some event might trigger the memories and they'll come rushing back to her."

"But, until then, we can retrain her," Operations countered, a sanguine smile lighting up his face.

Madeline shrugged. "That remains to be seen. Nikita is still...Nikita. She still has the same ideals and feelings as when she first came here. My guess is that if we tried to retrain her, we would still run up against the same obstacles as before."

Operations lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag on it. After exhaling a cloud of smoke, he said, "Do you think your plan might alter her perceptions of Section One?"

"It might," Madeline allowed, a gentle smile curving her lips. "The doctors have told me that if we remind Nikita of the past, it might help her regain her memory. I'm hoping that by giving her a new...and different...past, it might make her more pliable, and open to our ways."

"Michael won't like it," Operations commented.

Madeline knew that he was stating a fact, but she also knew that Michael would go along with her plan. He would have no choice. His feelings for Nikita were his greatest weakness, but Madeline intended to use them as her greatest strength. "Michael will be back in four days," Madeline said. "I'll have Nikita situated by then, and the scenario set up. Michael will only need to step into his part."

Operations took another drag on his cigarette, then crushed it out in a crystal ash tray. "Good luck," he offered, as he rose to his feet. Then he smiled at Madeline and strode from the room. The smile on his face stretching from ear to ear.

The moment Michael returned to Section, he headed to Med Lab, only to discover that Nikita was gone. Seeing the empty bed, Michael felt himself grow pale. He felt as if he had been mule-kicked in the gut. Just as he was about to turn around and leave the room, he sensed a presence and could guess who it was. Madeline.

She moved to stand at his shoulder. "Nikita has been moved," she said.

"Where?" Michael countered, not even pretending that he didn't care. But he felt a sense of relief for Nikita must be alive.

"There's something you need to know, Michael," Madeline replied, avoiding his question for the moment.

Michael felt fear ripple through him once more, but it didn't show on his face as he turned to face the dark-haired woman. "What is it?" he asked.

Madeline offered a gentle smile, and one hand reached out to tuck a stray curl behind Michael's ear. He was still dressed in field gear, which showed the depth of his anxiety to see Nikita. That worked in her favor. "Nikita regained consciousness a few days ago," Madeline began. "But it was discovered that she's suffering from traumatic amnesia." At the questioning look in Michael's silver-green eyes, she went on to explain Nikita's condition and the prognosis for the future.

"So...what happens now?" Michael inquired, when Madeline had finished. A part of him was relieved that Nikita had no memory of Section One. Even though that meant that she had no memory of him either. It was for the best.

"I want to test Nikita's memory," Madeline replied, her eyes locked on Michael's face, watching for his reaction to her words.

He was confused. "Test it...how?" Michael countered, suspicion shading his eyes to emerald.

Madeline chose her words carefully. "I've created a scenario for Nikita to respond to," she said, then she went on to explain in greater detail. "You and I will play brother and sister, with a fifteen year age difference. Our parents died when you were ten, so I raised you. They were very wealthy and I now run the family business. Because of that business our father was away from home alot. I worked him here in the states, you spent most of your time in Paris, with our mother. That will explain your accent."

"How does Nikita fit into all this?" Michael queried, even though he knew he didn't have all the details yet. He needed to know what Madeline had planned in store for the beautiful blond.

"She's your wife," Madeline replied, then she waited for a response. She wasn't disappointed. For once, Michael couldn't hide his surprise.

He blinked then shook his head. "My wife," he whispered, remembering another time when he and Nikita had played out that scenario as Peter and Sage.

Madeline nodded. "For the record, I don't like her. You and I have a rather intense relationship, Michael. At least, that's what Nikita will see. That I'm very possessive of you and I didn't approve of the marriage. You ran off to Las Vegas, a year ago, without my permission."

"I see," Michael replied, suddenly understanding the scenario that Madeline was creating. She wanted Nikita to see Michael in an abusive environment. As a victim. The thought made him sick to his stomach. "And what will this prove?" he challenged, his eyes flashing.

"Maybe nothing," Madeline allowed. She reached out with one hand and her fingers stroked Michael's silky hair in a tender caress. Which he allowed. But, a moment later, her fingers tangled in the thick curls and she yanked his head back, painfully. Pressing her lips to Michael's ear, Madeline whispered, "You will follow the scenario, exactly as I have planned it, Michael. If you digress from it, even a little, Nikita will be cancelled."

Michael didn't make an attempt to free himself from Madeline's grasp, even though they both knew he could have done so, easily. "Why not cancel her now?" he countered knowing that, in the long run, it would be the kinder thing to do.

Madeline loosend her grip in his hair, but didn't release him. Instead she let her lips drift from his ear to his mouth. Pressing an almost, motherly, kiss to his lips, she then replied, "Nikita is of no use to us in her present condition, Michael. But I don't want to lose her. I know you don't either." Madeline knew she hit a nerve when she felt him flinch.

"What if she doesn't remember us?" he questioned. Then he caught his breath as he felt Madeline's free hand glide over his chest. It brought back memories of a time long ago. Madeline had taught him how to use his sexuality as a weapon and, back then, Michael had been eager to learn. But now he knew that Madeline was testing him. Seeing how far he would allow her to go. Or, rather, probing to learn what he was willing to do in the name of Nikita's salvation. Or perhaps a better word was, revivication. That's what Michael wanted for Nikita. A new life. "Will you cancel her?" Michael prompted, no longer responding to Madeline's roving hand.

"At this point, Michael, Nikita's life rests in your hands," Madeline replied. She was feeling a little unsettled by his reaction to her. He was beyond her reach now, which meant she had no control over him, beyond his emotional attachment to Nikita. Madeline was reluctant to rely on that to keep him in check. Michael was important to her, and to Section, for various reasons. And neither she, nor Operations, were willing to sacrifice him. Certainly not for Nikita. But Michael needed to be tested, as did Nikita. Reminding herself to proceed with caution, Madeline stepped away from Michael and said, "Prepare yourself. Nikita is expecting to meet you tonight, at dinner."

Michael closed his eyes then turned towards the door. He could feel Madeline's gaze burning into his back as he left Medlab. His heart was heavy and his soul, dark and bleeding, as he prayed for the strength to walk through the fires of hell once more. For Nikita's sake.

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

Madeline had set up the scenario for Nikita's new memories...her new life....by moving her to a beautiful, stone, mansion. Section operatives portrayed the parts of servants, including a housekeeper, cook and chauffer. Madeline had been staying there as well, except during *so called* business hours, at which time she returned to Section. During the past three days she had filled Nikita in on her past...the missing three years. Madeline had emphasized the past year in particular, and Nikita's *marriage* to Michael. She had also led Nikita to believe that she had been attending design school during the time before meeting Michael. And that she had gotten off the streets thanks to help from her *uncle Walter*. He had spotted her on the streets three years ago, purely by chance, and had taken her home with him. Uncle Walter had died two years ago and Nikita had inherited his modest savings.

At the present time, Nikita was in master bedroom, getting dressed for dinner. It was her first night out of bed since the accident. Madeline had told her all about that. Nikita knew that the older woman hated her, and why. Because she was married to her brother...Michael. Nikita was anxious to meet her husband. She didn't even know what he looked like, although she had asked. There were no pictures of them in their bedroom. Madeline said that was because the only pictures of them together were ones from their wedding, and she had destroyed them.

One of the first questions that Nikita had asked, after waking up and learning about her accident, her memory loss, and her husband...was why Michael wasn't with her. Madeline's answer had left her chilled. The reason Michael wasn't by her side was because he didn't know about the accident. He was in Paris, on business, and when he had called to talk with Nikita, Madeline had told him that she had gone away for the week and had left no address or phone number. It angered Nikita that Madeline would lie to her brother like that. She was looking forward to seeing Michael and telling him the truth. That he was a stranger to her didn't matter. He was her husband, and Nikita sensed that he loved her. That was all that mattered.

For now, she was concerned with looking her best. The closests were filled with beautiful clothes, and Nikita had chosen a sapphire blue dress with long, tight sleeves and a fitted bodice. The skirt flowed softly to her ankles and she wore matching blue pumps. Silver hoops dangled from her ears and the only other jewelry she wore was her wedding ring. It was a simple, but elegant, gold band with a heart etched into the center. Nikita lifted it to her lips and closed her eyes against sudden tears. "Come home soon, Michael," she whispered. Nikita had never felt so lost, or alone, in her life. Not even when she had been on the street.

Down below, in the salon, Michael and Madeline were talking. He had just arrived and she had further instructions for him. After a quick briefing on what subjects to bring up and what not to say, Madeline held out a gold band. "It's your wedding ring," she announced.

Michael looked at it as it rested in Madeline's palm. He didn't reach for it. Something stopped him. He swallowed hard when Madeline took his hand and slid the ring on his finger. Michael could feel her eyes on his face and he couldn't look at her. He pulled his hand away and stared down at the gold band. It felt as if it burned his skin.

Madeline watched Michael twist the ring with his fingers. A cold smile curved her lips and she wondered if he were thinking about Simone. "Nikita is anxious to meet you," she commented, as she turned away to pour them both a glass of sparkling water. Madeline was certain that Michael would have preferred a shot of bourbon at this point. Not that he had ever needed false courage.

"How is she doing?" Michael countered, accepting the glass but not drinking from it. It was simply a way to preoccupy his hands.

"She's fine," Madeline replied. "A little sore, but otherwise doing quite well. Nikita is a quick healer."

Michael nodded. He was glad to know that Nikita was doing well, at least physically. "Where is she?" he asked.

Madeline smiled. "In your bedroom," she answered, and was pleased to see Michael give a start before catching himself. She took a sip of the water then asked, "Have you studied the schematics of the house? It wouldn't look good for you to be uncertain of the layout of your own home."

"I memorized it," Michael replied. He set his own glass down on a side table and moved to the glass doors that led out onto a small terrace. Night was just beginning to fall and the sunset was breathtaking. Focusing on it help to center. The role he was being forced to play with Nikita weighed heavily upon him. It was one thing to play a part to acheive a certain means. Such as setting up one of the bad guys. But this was different, and Michael found it impossible to justify within himself.

"I'll get Nikita," Madeline said, her eyes watching Michael intently. From his posture, and the rigidity of his stance, she could see his tension, but she knew that he would do his job. She had left him without any other option. Turning away, she glided from the room.

Nikita was startled by the rap on the door. "Come in," she called out, hoping that it would be Michael. But it was Madeline, and Nikita swallowed a sigh of disappointment. The older woman was dressed in her customary, dark, colors. Nikita had come to learn that about her in just three days. She thought it suited Madeline, for Nikita was certain that she possessed a dark soul. "Is something wrong?" Nikita asked, her eyes returning to the mirror so she could finish putting up her hair in a loose topknot.

Madeline shook her head. "Nothing that a divorce couldn't fix," she drawled, meaninfully.

"What do you want?" Nikita shot back, she wasn't in the mood for games tonight.

"Michael is here," Madeline replied. Her eyes were locked on Nikita's image in the mirror, waiting for a reaction. It amused her that Nikita was already developing an attitude with her. One thing was for certain, the beautiful blond didn't fear her. Of course, she didn't know that Madeline held the power of life or death over her either.

Nikita caught her breath at the sound of her husband's name. "He's here?" she repeated, turning back around to face Madeline. "Downstairs?" Nikita prompted, when the other woman nodded.

Madeline offered a cold smile. "He's downstairs in the salon. I told him I would get you."

"Why didn't he come up to see me?" Nikita queried, feeling a surge of disappointment. It seemed odd that her husband, who had been away from home for two weeks, would return to learn that his wife had been in a car accident, yet not rush up stairs to see her.

"I thought you wanted to pretty yourself up for him," Madeline countered, her dark eyes glittering as she moved to stand behind Nikita. She let her gaze rove over the beautiful young woman, but her expression reflected distaste. As if she found NIkita lacking. "I wanted to give you a chance to prepare yourself," she said bluntly.

Nikita knew that the real reason was that Madeline would have preferred to keep her and Michael apart. But that wasn't going to happen. Nor was Nikita going to stoop to Madeline's level by responding to her nasty little comments. Rising from her chair Nikita announced, "I'm ready."

Madeline nodded and strolled towards the door. "Come along then," she said, waiting for Nikita to follow. The blond didn't know her way around the house since she had been bedridden since her arrival.

"This house is fantastic," Nikita commented as she descended the stairs beside Madeline. It was expensively decorated, but not lavishly so. She suppressed a sigh when the other woman merely glared at her, and remained silent as she followed her through a double doorway and into a room decorated in wood and brass with blue and green accents. Nikita caught her breath as her eyes fell upon a man standing at the sliding, glass doors. His back was to her, but Nikita felt a smile curve her lips as her gaze flitted over him. His black pants were well tailored, outling the curve of his buttocks, and his burgandy-colored, silk shirt was stretched taught across broad shoulders and a muscular back. Nikita sensed a bond between them, even though she knew him only by name. And she whispered it now. "Michael..."

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

At the sound of his name, Michael turned around. When he saw Nikita, his breath caught in his throat. She looked as beautiful as an angel and Michael felt his heart ache. Nikita didn't deserve what Madeline had planned for her. But he knew better than to cross the line, so he stepped forward, ready to play the part of loving husband. Only it wouldn't take much effort on his part. "Nikita," Michael whispered, a smile curving his lips as he reached for her and carefully gathered her into his embrace.

"Hello, Michael," she replied, letting herself rest against his hard body. Nikita could feel him tremble and decided it was because he was worried about her. Which, of course, he would be. "I'm all right," she told him. Although she didn't remember him, Nikita felt safe and warm in his arms.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here for you," Michael said softly, one hand lifting to stroke Nikita's hair. Then he felt her pull back, so he let her go.

Nikita wanted to look at him. She'd only had a glimpse of his face before the hug, and now she was stunned by the beauty of the man who stood before her. Michael had the face of an angel, framed by a mass of reddish-brown curls. His eyes were like molten emerald pools that shimmered with quick-silver. A smile curved Nikita's lips as she studied him. She was a lucky woman. "I understand," she said, in response to his comment. Nikita let her eyes flicker over to Madeline, who stood to the side of Michael. She was the one to blame for keeping them apart. "You're here now, Michael," Nikita whispered. "That's all that matters."

Michael nodded, but found it hard to hold Nikita's gaze. "Do you remember anything?" he questioned, not knowing whether to hope that she would or wouldn't.

"No," Nikita replied, and it was then that she noticed the picture on the side table, in a silver frame. It was of Michael and Madeline. Nikita went to it and studied it for a long moment. Even in the photograph, Nikita could sense Madeline's coldness. In person, it fairly emanated from the woman. But Nikita was determined not to let it get to her. Her husband was home and that was all that mattered.

"Can I get you anything?" Michael queried, moving to Nikita's side and taking the photo from her. He set it back down on the table, but turned away from them. It was a mockery that he couldn't face.

Nikita smiled at him. "I would love something cold," she said, knowing that alcohol wasn't allowed, since she was still on pain medication.

Michael nodded. "Gingerale?"

"That would be great," Nikita replied. When Michael would have walked away from her, she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Nikita felt the need to be close to him.

"I'll get the drinks," Madeline offered, as she moved to the side bar. She had been watching Michael and Nikita closely and was intrigued by what she saw. Nikita had accepted Michael as her husband, without question. And it was obvious that she trusted him. Curious, indeed. "You two get reaquainted," she suggested, as she dropped ice into crystal glasses.

Nikita was willing to do that, so she pulled Michael over to the couch and cuddled up beside him. "What's for dinner?" she asked, for she suddenly realized that she was starving.

Madeline walked over with two glasses of pale, gold liquid. She handed one, each, to Michael and Nikita. Both contained gingerale. "Cook has prepared Michael's favorite," she replied. "Veal."

"Sounds wonderful," Nikita replied, wondering if she liked Veal. She didn't recall ever having it, but she was hungry enough not to care. When Madeline shrugged and walked to the chair across from them, Nikita turned to Michael. "I know this is a silly question, but...what do you do? I mean...I know you were away on business. But what business?"

"Michael is Vice-President of the family business," Madeline replied. "That's all you need to know, Nikita." She offered a cold smile. "You wouldn't understand anything else anyway."

Michael glared at Madeline. "That's enough!" he hissed, sticking to the script that Madeline had prepared for them.

She inclined her head to let him know that she was pleased, then she continued in her role. Raising her glass in a mock toast to Nikita, Madeline drawled, "Forgive me. It's been a long day."

"Sure," Nikita replied. She didn't care about the insult. Madeline's opinion of her was unimportant to Nikita. It mattered only what Michael thought. Nikita felt frustrated that she didn't remember him. It was aggravating not knowing his likes and dislikes. Not just of her, but of anything. So she attempted to learn about them now. "When's your birthday?" Nikita asked.

"Ummm.." Michael hesitated, glancing over at Madeline. She had warned him to stick as closely to the truth as possible when giving Nikita his personal history, if asked. When Madeline nodded, Michael told the truth. "July seventh."

Nikita frowned, trying to remember the date. "So...it was two months ago?" She looked to Michael for confirmation.

He nodded. "That's right."

"What did I get you?" Nikita queried.

"You whisked him away to the beach house," Madeline interjected, suddenly struck by inspiration. "For a private, three day celebration." She locked eyes with Michael, warning him to play along.

Michael could guess what Madeline was planning, and he didn't like it. But he also knew he had no choice but to follow her lead. "It was a wonderful present, Nikita," he said, leaning forward to brush a kiss to her cheek.

She sighed. "I wish I could remember it," Nikita confessed. Looking at Michael, she felt a warm wash of desire spreading through her and could imagine that he was a wonderful lover. His every move was senual and evoked erotic images.

"You can always make new memories," Madeline suggested, a meaningful look in her dark eyes.

"You're right," Nikita replied, her own eyes flashing. She knew what Madeline was getting at and didn't like the other woman's interest in her intimate life with Michael. She was his sister, not his mother.

Madeline was about to respond when the phone rang. She was expecting a call from Section, so she answered it. After a few words she excused herself, leaving Michael and Nikita alone.

Michael was relieved but didn't let it show. Or so he thought. "I'm sorry about my sister," he apologized.

"That's all right," Nikita assured him, lifting one hand to smooth a stray curl off his forehead. The dark strands felt like warm silk. "Tell me something, why does Madeline hate me so. What have I done to her that I can't remember?"

Michael winced at the pain that colored Nikita's voice. "You've done nothing," he assured her, lifting one hand to cup her beautiful face. "It's just that...you're not the woman that Madeline wanted me to marry."

Nikita smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm glad you picked me," she said, softly. There was a sudden flicker in Michael's eyes that confused her. Nikita sensed that he was sad. And it was a sadness that was bone deep.

"I'm glad too," Michael replied, seeing the frown on Nikita's face and realizing that he must have put it there. So he shuttered his eyes and forced a smile. He was about to say more when Madeline came back.

She was smiling as she moved to the back of the couch, directly behind Michael. Madeline's hands fell to his shoulders and her fingers massaged the knotted muscles as she spoke. "I just got off the phone with the buyers in Paris, Michael. They're were very impressed by you, and they're going to do business with us. I'm very pleased."

Michael nodded, realizing that Madeline was moving forward with their script. He wasn't eager to play the next scene, but there were no other options. "I'm glad it worked out," he replied.

"You always do good work, my dear," Madeline countered, bending down to press a kiss to Michael's temple. She watched Nikita out of the corner of her eye and sensed that the young woman was uncomfortable with Madeline touching Michael. So she played into it by letting her fingers tangle in his hair. Her lips then moved to his ear, and Madeline felt Michael flinch.

"Dinner should be ready by now," Michael hissed, pulling away from Madeline and standing up. He reached for Nikita's hand and helped her to rise as well. Without looking at Madeline, Michael led Nikita into the dining room.

Madeline watched them go, a smile curving her lips. So far, so good, she told herself. Now on to the next level. Still smiling, Madeline made her way into the dining room.

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

Dinner was a rather strained affair. Michael tried not to let Madeline's earlier actions get to him, but found it hard not to. Playing this game was difficult for him in the face of Nikita's innocence. Not that it wasn't that way before, but at least then, she knew what she was up against. She could defend herself. She didn't have that option now.

Nikita could sense that Michael was upset and it bothered her. He barely touched his dinner, a fact that seemed to infuriate Madeline, for she chastised him as if he were five years old. It also bothered Nikita that he simply allowed it, head bowed over his plate. She thought to intervene, for his sake, but felt it might just make things worse. Nikita decided to wait till she was alone with Michael, so they could discuss it. And to that end she asked that she and Michael be excused after the meal. Nikita pleaded exhaustion, and the need to spend sometime, alone, with her husband.

So now she and Michael were in their bedroom. Nikita was brushing her hair as she waited for Michael to come out of the bathroom. He had requested a few minutes to jump in the shower. Nikita sensed that he needed some time alone. This had to be hard on him as well, coming home to a wife that didnt' remember him, or their marriage. When she heard the sound of the water being turned off, Nikita caught her breath. Any moment now, Michael would be with her, and she wasn't sure how to act. Instinctively, she wanted to be with him. To hold him and have his strong arms wrapped around her. But Nikita wasn't sure if either of them were ready for the step beyond. She desired him, and that felt familiar. But that was all she could remember. Just feelings, not images. Not facts.

Michael stepped out of the bathroom, a towel in one hand which he rubbed against his damp hair. When he caught sight of Nikita, his breath caught in his throat and he froze to the spot. She was beautiful in a white, satin nightgown that fell to her ankles. Her skin seemed to glow and her pale hair shimmered in the soft light of the bedside lamps. "You look beautiful.." he whispered, the words slipping out, unbidden.

"I was thinking the same about you," Nikita replied, with a shy smile. Michael was wearing black, silk, pajama bottoms and a matching robe that he hadn't bothered to belt. So his broad, muscled, chest was revealed to her admiring gaze. Gliding over to him, Nikita took the towel from his hand and began to dry his hair with it. When it was merely damp, she tossed the towel aside and let her fingers glide through the soft curls. "I love your hair," she whispered. Then she pressed her lips to the nape of his neck. He smelled clean and the soap he had used had fragranced his smooth skin so that Nikita was reminded of fresh air and spring rain.

"Nikita.." Michael whispered her name as she nibbled on his ear. Turning to face her, he let his hands cup her face, then he bent his head to claim her sweet lips. The kiss ignited a fire deep inside of Michael, but he knew that it would burn them both, so he pulled away.

Nikita was disappointed when Michael broke the kiss, but one look at his face kept her from complaining. His eyes shimmered with pain and sadness. But only for a moment. Then he shuttered them and turned away. "I'm sorry," Nikita whispered, moving to follow him. She let one hand fall on his shoulder.

Michael had to concentrate on not flinching from Nikita's touch. She was unaware of her effect on him. Of the agony that this charade was putting him through. But he couldn't just walk away, so he had to find some means to explain himself. "I'm the one who's sorry," Michael countered, turning back to face Nikita. He let one hand brush her cheek. "I'm just tired, and worried about you. It's too soon, Nikita. You need to rest." It was a relief to Michael that everything he just said was the truth.

"I am tired," Nikita admitted. "And still a bit sore." She smiled then pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Let's go to bed," she beseeched. "I just want you to hold me."

"Of course," Michael replied, for what else could he say. He let Nikita lead him over to the King-sized bed, and slipped off his robe as she climbed into it. Once she was settled, he slid beneath the sheets as well and pulled her into his arms.

Nikita sighed as she let her head rest on Michael's broad chest. She felt his hand smooth her hair and a warm, contentment washed over her. For a long time they simply lay in each others arms, not speaking. Nikita felt the beating of Michael's heart beneath her cheek and listened to his breathing. She didn't want to spoil the mood, but there so many questions that she had to ask. Nikita decided to start out simple. "Why is it that you have an accent and Madeline doesn't?" she questioned.

Michael almost sighed with relief, for this was a question he could answer without causing pain to either of them. "Madeline stayed in the states with our father, while I stayed in Paris until I was eighteen. Even after our Mother died."

"It must have been difficult losing your parents so young," Nikita countered. She had learned that much from Madeline. That Michael had been ten, and Madeline twenty-five when they had lost them in a car accident.

"It was...hard," Michael allowed. This was a partial truth for him as well. He had lost his parents at a young age. That they were, technically, still living didn't matter. They were lost to him.

Nikita let her fingers trace idle patterns on Michael's chest. "Hmmmm.....So Madeline raised you?"

Michael nodded. "Yes. Sometimes she's more like a mother, than a sister."

"I can see that," Nikita allowed. Then she explained herself. "The way she treated you at dinner. Like you were still a child." Nikita felt that this would be the best way to introduce the tougher questions. By easing into them.

"She's means well," Michael countered, playing into the script that Madeline had written for them. His reluctance to talk about this subject matter was genuine, and it was the impression that Madeline wanted him to give.

Nikita wasn't so sure about that, but didn't comment on it. Instead she stated, "You love her."

Michael sighed. "She's my sister. The only family I have. Except for you."

"The only family I have is my mother, and you," Nikita replied. "I don't think I love my mother....and I wish I could remember loving you," she admitted, as tears filled her eyes.

"It's all right," Michael whispered, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I love you enough for both of us." That he might be speaking the truth was not something that Michael would allow himself to even consider. He was simply playing his part. That was all.

Nikita wrapped her arms around Michael's waist and hugged him with all her might. "I know that I love you too," she replied, letting the tears fall. They weren't really sad tears but, rather, cleansing ones.

Michael hugged Nikita, gently, so as not to hurt her. "Sleep," he bid her, softly.

"Good night, Michael," Nikita whispered. Then she closed her eyes and let the beating of his heart lull her into slumber.

"Sweet dreams," Michael breathed. He let his own eyes close, but sleep eluded him. Not that it mattered. It was enough to hold Nikita in his arms.

Madeline was in the dining room when Michael came down stairs, early the next morning, in search of coffee. There was a steaming pot of it on the side board and Michael helped himself. He could feel Madeline's gaze upon him, but said nothing. When he moved to leave the room, she called him to her, setting aside the newspaper she had been reading.

"You look tired," Madeline commented, taking note of the shadows beneath Michael's eyes.

"I'm fine," he replied.

She nodded. "How's Nikita?"

Michael shrugged. He paused for a sip of the rich coffee before replying, "She's still asleep."

"Were you intimate with her?" Madeline asked, being blunt.

"No," Michael countered, his eyes flashing coldly at the question. He knew he had no right to resent it, but he did none the less. "She's not ready for that," he explained. At the look in Madeline's eye he added, "Physically she's still sore and tired."

Madeline sighed. She couldn't deny that fact, so she let the subject drop. Even though she knew that Michael wasn't prepared to be physical with Nikita yet. Had she asked him to bed a stranger, he would have done so without argument. But Nikita was another matter. A hurdle he would soon have to jump. "I've changed the scenario a bit," she said, conversationally.

Michael didn't let the suspicion he was feeling show. "In what way?" he asked.

"Tonight the limo will take you and Nikita to the beach house where you celebrated your birthday," Madeline replied, a soft smile curving her lips as she watched for Michael's reaction.

"What's the point in doing that?" he countered, swiftly. Unable to hide his anger. "You can't expect Nikita to remember something that never happened!" Michael argued.

Madeline rose from her chair to confront him. "You know what we expect from you, Michael," she said firmly, her dark eyes locked with silver-green. "Don't disappoint the Section." With that warning echoing between them, Madeline left the dining room.

Michael set his coffee mug down on the table, then headed out to the salon and the terrace. He opened the sliding doors and stepped outside. The air was cool and a steady rain fell. But Michael didn't care. He lifted his face and let the rain wash over him. But it couldn't wash away the darkness that muddied his soul.

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

Nikita stood in the doorway of the terrace that ran the entire backside of the beach house. It was near midnight and the sky was filled with diamond-like stars. Michael was standing at the railing, a glass of wine resting beside him. He looked so sad that it broke Nikita's heart.

She had been delighted to learn of his surprise. That they would spend the weekend at the beach house. Nikita was hoping that she would remember Michael's birthday. So far...nothing. But she was willing to be patient. The drive up had been a treat, for they had dined in the back of the limosine. The cook had prepared finger foods and there was a bottle of chilled cider, since Nikita was still on pain killers. Nikita smiled at the memory of feeding Michael a strawberry dipped in whip cream. Some of the cream had strayed to his chin and Nikita had swiped it off with her thumb. But even as she was about to lick her finger, Michael had taken her hand, drawn it to his lips, then slipped her thumb into his warm mouth. It was the singularly, most sensual gesture, that Nikita had ever experienced. Heat rippled through her just thinking about it now, and several hours had passed.

Nikita continued to study Michael. She desired him in a way that was new to her. He was like the forbidden apple and she was Eve. It seemed to be tempting fate to want him, yet that was foolish. Michael was her husband. They belonged together. Of that NIkita felt certain. Yet she sensed that there was something between that needed to be dealt with. Perhaps it was the sadness and pain that she saw reflected in Michael's beautiful, silver-green eyes. There was a darkness within him that Nikita feared would consume him, if he didn't let it out.

But how could she talk to a stranger? That was what frustrated Nikita now. Michael had wanted to talk about her on the drive up to the house. Not about what she remembered of their time together, but rather he had wanted to know about her childhood. About the good memories that she carried in her heart. Remembering them had brought a certain contentment to Nikita. Yet she sensed that her happiness brought only sadness to Michael's heart. She went to him now, moving to slide her arms around his waist as she stood behind him. "What are you thinking?" Nikita whispered in his ear.

Michael allowed a deep-seated sigh to escape him, even as he reached up with one hand to cup the back of Nikita's head. "I was just thinking that the stars are too beautiful," he answered, honestly.

"Why too beautiful?" Nikita countered, hoping for some insight into Michael's soul.

"Because God created them," he replied. "Had man done so, we would have destroyed them by now."

Nikita nuzzled his neck with her lips. "That's a little bit harsh, don't you think?" she chided, teasingly. She felt as if she were condeming the world at large, including himself. "Not all men are evil or destructive."

Michael turned to face her, his eyes gleaming with cold-fire. "There's a darkness in all of us, Nikita," he whispered. It was what he believed, and what he feared.

"There is," Nikita allowed, for she had experienced that first-hand. But she still had faith, and she wanted Michael to understand. "However, most of us can control it," she countered, firmly.

"We like to believe that," Michael allowed. Then he shook his head, even as one hand lifted so the his knuckles could brush the softness of Nikita's cheek. "Sometimes we think that we're protected by the light, but the truth is...we're trapped in the shadows." Michael was desperate for Nikita to understand the message he was trying to give her.

She heard the words, and took them in, but they were only words. "That's very profound, Michael," Nikita replied, her hand lifting to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. "But you and I....together we can face the darkness. I know that we're strong." Nikita offered a smile and was hoping that it would be mirrored by Michael, but his eyes reflected only sadness. Heaving a sigh, Nikita asked, "What are you afraid of?"

Michael closed his eyes, unable to hold the intensity of Nikita's innocent gaze. But he gave her the truth. "I'm afraid of hurting you," he whispered. It was tempting to add the words...as I have so many times before....But Michael swallowed them back, knowing that he would be crossing the line. If he did that, Nikita would pay the price.

"I don't think you can," Nikita replied, her hand moving from his hair to his face. "Michael..." she waited until he opened his eyes to continue. "I don't remember loving you, but I can feel the love between us. It's like a warm caress that's always with me." As she spoke, Nikita took one of his strong hands, and pressed the palm to her cheek. "There is nothing you could ever do that I would not forgive."

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, as he found himself blinking back sudden tears.

She heard his pain and wanted only to banish it. "Shhhh....." Nikita breathed, as she buried her fingers in Michael's hair and pulled his head down for a kiss. She felt him tremble as her tongue slid between his lips and she tasted his hot sweetness. Then she began to tremble with desire as Michael's arms slid around her waist and he pressed her against the hard length of his body. One hand slid down her back to cup her buttocks, the other glided up to cup the back of her neck, as Michael took control of the kiss.

He could feel Nikita's heart beating against his chest and it seemed to find the rhythm of his own. Michael felt the heat of desire spread through his veins as Nikita's hands began exploring his body. They slid beneath his sweater and her fingers dug into the muscles of his back. Michael felt himself respond to her caresses but in that moment he broke away from NIkita, putting distance between them.

Nikita felt as if he had taken all the fire of their passion with him. "Michael...what's wrong?" she asked, taking a step towards him. She stopped when he backed away from her, and let the hurt she was feeling show.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hating himself for causing her even more pain.

"You don't want me?" Nikita asked, her eyes filling with tears.

Michael had to bury his own pain before he could answer her. "I want you," he said honestly. A gentle smile curved his lips. "You're beautiful, Nikita. But...this is wrong."

She shook her head. It felt so right that Nikita knew it couldn't be wrong. Besides which, they were husband and wife. "I want you, Michael," she stated, bluntly.

"I want you too," Michael confessed, the words pouring out before he could stop them. They echoed in the night air as he watched Nikita glide towards him. Michael took another step back, but came up hard against the rail. He knew he couldn't run away from this. From Nikita. She deserved the truth. "Nikita...I don't want you to make love to a stranger," Michael whispered, his eyes flickering over he beautiful face as he spoke.

"But you're husband," Nikita protested, even though she was touched by his words.

Michael locked eyes with Nikita, then shook his head. "You don't know me," he told her, with a touch of regret coloring his voice. "When we make love..." Michael paused, feeling a tremor run through him at those words. There were so many nights when he had dreamed of making love to Nikita, only to awaken to the harsh reality that she could never love him. Nikita could never give her heart to a man without a soul.

Nikita didn't know Michael's thoughts, but she wanted him to share them with her now. "Go on," she prompted. "When we make love..."

"I want it to be the truth," Michael finished. When Nikita reached out to touch his face, he let her.

"It will be the truth," she promised, her fingertips brushing over Michael's sensual lips. Nikita then brushed a kiss to his cheek, before taking Michael's hand and pulling him to the center of the terrace. "Dance with me," she requested, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Michael offered a hesitant smile. "There's no music," he pointed out.

Nikita laughed. "We'll make our own," she whispered, and she hummed a soft melody as Michael wrapped his arms around her waist. Nikita laughed once more, with delight, as Michael lifted her and whirled her across the deck. She let her head fall back so that she could gaze at the stars, and they had never seemed so bright as they were in this one, perfect, moment in time.

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

The weekend at the beach house passed by in a blissful haze, as far as Nikita was concerned. She still didn't remember any facts from the past three years...her time with Michael. But she remembered feelings. And that seemed far more important. It intrigued her that Michael seemed reluctant to talk about their past. He said he didn't want to create memories for her. That if they returned, wonderful. If not, then they would simply continue to create new ones. So Nikita enjoyed herself by learning about her husband. She asked Michael countless questions about himself, and he answered many of them.

That he was skating on thin ice was a fact that Michael was well aware of. Not doing as Madeline had bid was risky, but Michael didn't care. Whatever question Nikita asked him, he gave her the truth. Somethings he didn't answer. Somethings were too painful or too dark. Or he simply didn't have the answer. But Michael was determined that Nikita would know the truth. Should she regain her memory about him and Section, she might not believe anything he told her now. But that wouldn't matter. For every admission of love for her..was truth. Michael even went so far out of character as to tell her his favorite color, blue. His favorite season, fall. His love of art and music. That he had a passion for pizza and mint, chocolate-chip ice cream.

Nikita cherised the time, alone, with Michael. Later today the limo would come to take them back home, and she kept wishing for it to have four flat tires, or lose it's way. Anything so that they wouldn't have to return. "I wish we could stay here forever," Nikita sighed, from the shelter of Michael's strong arms. They were sitting on the beach, staring out at the water which was dappled by sunlight. Nikita was between Michael's legs, her back pressed to his chest. His arms hugged her waist and she smiled as he pressed kisses to her temple.

"You might get tired of being with me...forever.." Michael teased.

"I don't think so," Nikita countered. There was a twinkle in her eyes, but her words were serious. "You're an enigma, Michael. I don't think I'll ever really understand you. Even if you told me all your secrets." Nikita felt Michael flinch and was surprised. "What's wrong?" she queried, twisting in his embrace so that she could look at him.

Michael shook his head and forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," he replied, telling his first lie of the weekend. Nikita's words had hit home. She was right...she would never know him. And he would never confess all his secrets. He wouldn't stain her soul with his darkness. When Nikita's crystal-blue eyes continued to bore into his, Michael searched for a half-truth. "I'm just a little tired," he told her.

Nikita believed him. She had her doubts as to whether he had slept at all during the weekend. Her impression was that Michael kept watch over her each night, as she slept in his arms. They still had not made love, but Nikita had needed to be held by him. Now she stood up and reached for Michael's hand. They had a few hours before the limo came. "Come in side," she bid him.

"Why?" Michael countered, becoming suscpicious of the gleam in Nikita's beautiful eyes.

"Because you need a nap," she replied, soft laughter rippling out of her. She knew that Michael had been wary of the track of her thoughts. Taking him firmly by the hand, Nikita headed back for the beach house. Once there she made Michael lie down on the oversized couch, then she covered him with handmade quilt. Nikita silenced his protests with tender kisses, then she sat beside him, her fingers combing through his soft curls until Michael's eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

The moment they entered the manor house, Nikita felt tension in the air. It fairly emanated from Michael. They were greeted at the door by Madeline, who had a drink in her hand.

"Did you two have a nice time?" Madeline drawled, stepping forward to give Michael a kiss. She felt him flinch away from her touch, so she punished him by curling her fingers in his hair and pressing her mouth to his. It was all in keeping in character, and Michael needed to be reminded of that.

Nikita was not pleased by the exchange between her husband and her sister. She knew that Michael was uncomfortable with the way Madeline overstepped the boundaries of intimacy that were acceptable for siblings. It was a subject that she intended to bring up once she and Michael were alone again. But, for now, she forced a smile and tried to distract the other woman. "We had a wonderful time!" Nikita enthused. And she was glad to be telling the truth.

Madeline stepped away from Michael, releasing her grip on his hair. But she locked eyes with him for a moment, and sent a message that he couldn't dismiss. Then she refocused her attention on Nikita. Madeline was searching for signs within the young woman, that would tell her whether or not Nikita and Michael had made love. It was apparent to Madeline that they hadn't. Although there was a certain glow about Nikita that intrigued Madeline. "Remember anything?" she inquired, before raising her glass. It was filled with scotch, which Madeline had only been sipping at. Yet she made a show of appearing well on her way to being intoxicated.

"Nothing yet," Nikita replied, her smile being replaced by a frown. She reached for Michael's hand with the intent of escaping to their room. "It was a long ride and I'm really tired, so we'll say goodnight now, Madeline."

"Not so fast," Madeline countered, reaching for Michael's other hand. "Tomorrow is a work day and Michael and I need to talk business. You run along to bed, Nikita. Michael will be up shortly."

Nikita was about to protest, but Michael shook his head at her and his eyes were pleading with her to go. "Don't be long," she requested, then she claimed a quick kiss.

Michael watched as Nikita climbed the stairs to the second floor. Only after she was out of sight, did he turn to look at Madeline. "How much longer are we going to play this game?" he demanded. Michael knew he was out of line but, at this point, he simply didn't care.

"That's partially dependent upon you, Michael," Madeline replied. She allowed his display of insubordination because it gave her some insight into his emotional status. "You haven't made love to Nikita yet," Madeline stated, her eyes locked firmly on Michael's face.

"No," he acknowlegded, knowing that there was no point in denying it. "I told you, Nikita's not ready."

Madeline was silent for a moment, then a cold smile curved her lips. "I think that you're the one who's not ready, Michael," she commented. Madeline reached out with one hand and let her fingertips trace the outline of his sensual lips. "Do what you're told, Michael," she ordered. "You're not protecting Nikita. You're only hurting her."

Michael took a step back, away from Madeline's touch. He locked eyes with her then whispered, "I know." A heavy silence stretched between them, then he asked, "Is that all?"

"No," Madeline replied. "Let's go into the study. It's time to begin the next level." With those, ominous, words echoeing in the air, Madeline turned and walked away, knowing that Michael would follow.

Nikita came awake with a jolt, and realized that it was becasue Michael was thrashing about in the bed. After leaving him with Madeline, she had jumped into the shower then crawled into bed. Her intention had been to wait up for Michael so they could talk, but it had been a long day and Nikita had drifted to sleep. She glanced at the digital clock and saw that it was three AM, then she reached out to touch Michael's shoulder. He was drenched in sweat and crying out in what sounded like French.

"...non, non....mere....S'il vous plait...halte...non..."

"Michael..." Nikita called his name as she shook him. "Wake up!" She felt him shudder at her touch, but then his eyes opened and he sat up, his breathing labored.

Burying his face in his hands, Michael apologized for waking Nikita. He knew what had happened...he had suffered one of his nightmares. It was something he had hoped to spare her from witnessing.

Nikita felt tears prickle her eyes at the sound of despair in Michael's soft voice. "It's all right," she told him, her fingers combing through his hair in a soothing caress. "Who's mere?"

"It means...mother," Michael replied. He would keep to his rule of telling Nikita the truth. Even in regards to his nightmares.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nikita questioned, hopefully. She believed that it would help Michael, but she also wanted to understand his torment.

Michael shook his head and threw back the covers. He slid out of bed and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He didn't hear Nikta's silent footsteps and was unaware that she had followed him until light suddenly flooded the room. Glancing up in the mirror, Michael winced as he saw Nikita's horrified expression.

She was staring at Michael's reflection in the mirror, and now she stepped forward. Nikita made him turn to face her, and one hand lifted to brush his left cheek and temple. It was marred by a dark and ugly bruise, and a small cut. "What happened?" Nikita whispered. She shifted her gaze to meet Michael's, but his eyes flickered away. "Tell me!" Nikita demanded, her fingers curling in Michael's hair and forcing him to face her.

"It's nothing," Michael replied, as he felt cold knots form in his stomach. Phase two had begun, and there was no turning back. But had there been a way to stop time, Michael would have done so.

"Madeline did this," Nikita guessed, knowing she was right without needing Michael to confirm it.

But he did so, with a nod of his head. "She was drunk," he explained, once again following the script that Madeline had written for them. "She didn't mean it."

Nikita didn't believe him, and said as much. As she moved to the sink to wet a wash cloth she asked, "What did she hit you with?"

"Her glass of scotch," Michael replied. When Nikita gestured for him to sit on the toilet seat, he shook his head. "I'm fine," he insisted. "The alcohol cleansed the wound." Michael tried to make light of the incident, hoping that Nikita would simply let it go. But she wouldn't.

"Why did Madeline hit you?" Nikita persisted, as she pushed Michael down onto the closed toilet seat. Then she gently wiped at the bruise, one hand resting on the top of his head to hold him still, but Michael seemed immune to the pain Nikita knew she was causing him.

A long silence stretched between them before Michael answered Nikita. And he deviated from the script. "Sometimes people don't need a reason for the things that they do, Nikita. Everyone has demons that torment them. We try to control them, but we're not always successful."

Nikita contemplated Michael's words, then nodded as she accepted what he was telling her. She understood. "Madeline is an alcoholic."

"She drinks too much sometimes," Michael countered, rising to Madeline's defense. That was part of the script, but it was in character for him to do so, in an ironic sort of way. For Michael was always defending the Section's actions to Nikita. At least he had, in the past.

"She needs help, Michael," Nikita replied, firmly. She dropped the wash cloth in the sink so that she could cup his face between her palms. He was as beautiful as she imagined an angel would be, yet there was such pain and sadness in his eyes. "We can help her," Nikita whispered, wanting to give him hope.

Michael sighed, then he reached out to wrap his arms around Nikita's waist. Drawing her between his legs, he let his head rest against her chest. "Hold me," he begged, and it was his own need crying out.

Nikita fell to her knees then wrapped her arms around him. She felt Michael tremble and tears filled her eyes. "I'm here, Michael," Nikita whispered. "I'm here."