"Like hell!" Nikita hissed, unable to stop the words from spilling out. "Michael is the strongest person I know." She was thinking of the torture with Red Cell, and the time he had watched Simone die. And there were many more examples. Too many to name.

"Michael is physically strong," Jurgen allowed. "But he's an emotional cripple, Nikita. And you are his Achilles heel." Turning, abrubtly, away from the bed Jurgen announced, "I'll give you five minutes with him." With that, he left the room.

Nikita found herself blinking back tears again as she reached out with one hand and let her fingers brush Michael's cheek. She wanted to reach him. To let him know she was there. That he wasn't alone. As her fingers moved to his hair, Nikita saw Michael's eyes flutter open. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Michael wasn't surprised to see Nikita, although he realized he should have been. But it was something Jurgen would do, use his weakness against him. Michael offered a smile, fighting the haze of drugs that clouded his thoughts, and his vision. "So am I..." he replied. He was sorry for so many things and yet he couldn't think of a single one of them right now. All that mattered was that Nikita was there. She was alive. That was enough. It had to be enough.

"Don't let him Jurgen win," Nikita said, bending low and speaking soflty. She didn't trust that the room was bugged or being video taped.

"Nikita...." Michael began.

She cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. "Listen to me, Michael," Nikita beseeched him. She had to make him understand. "You know the game Jurgen is playing. Better than I do. You beat the bastard at his own game, and you do it for yourself. Not for me." That was what Nikita wanted Michael to understand. That he had to protect himself.

Michael's eyes fluttered closed. And IV was taped to the back of one hand and the drugged that dripped into him was winning. He fell back into darkness. The light that was Nikita, fading away, but not all the way gone. A glimmer remained in his heart.

"Michael..." Nikita whispered, as a tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, then risked pressing a kiss to his lips. Stepping away from the bed, Nikita took a deep breath, then she left the room. Jurgen was waiting for her, leaning against the wall. Nikita moved to confront him, her eyes cold. "Why are you doing this to Michael?" she asked, bluntly. When he didn't reply she persisted. "You didn't put me through this hell."

"You were easy," Jurgen replied, a smile curving his lips. There was a clear meaning to his words.

Nikita gritted her teeth but held her temper in check. She was determined to win this round. "You think so?" she drawled. Then she shrugged. "So...what happens now? To Michael."

Jurgen sighed. "I told you. That's up to him."

"You want to break him," Nikita challenged, knowing that it was true. "Why?" She waited, but Jurgen didn't reply. He just smiled at her. Suddenly, Nikita understood. "You're afraid of him...aren't you?"

"We all have to face our fears, Nikita," Jurgen drawled, cryptically.

Nikita turned back to the door of Michael's room, then she locked eyes with Jurgen and whispered, "I already have."

He watched her glide off down the corridor, tossing back her blond hair, head held high. When she was gone, he whispered, "We'll see." The smile still curved Jurgen's lips as he entered Michael's room.

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

Michael paced in his room. Two days had passed since Nikita had come to see him. Since that time, Michael had been remembering her words. He wanted to beat Jurgen at his own game, but he wasn't sure that he could do it for himself. His world revolved around Nikita. Michael still believed in Section and in what they were doing, but the moment Nikita had entered his life, all that had become secondary.

From outside the room, Jurgen watched Michael on a monitor. He was intrigued by the change that had overcome the other man after Nikita's visit. Three hours later Michael had awakened from the drugs, asking to be freed from his restraints. Jurgen had allowed it. Then he had watched as Michael had gotten out of bed and began walking. He knew it was to regain strength and mobility. Michael was preparing himself. The question was...for what? Smiling to himself, Jurgen entered the room. "How are you feeling, Michael?" he asked, his tone conveying genuine warmth and concern.

"Fine," Michael replied. He would go back to his old ways. Monosyllabic answers. Made it easier to control himself that way.

"You know how I feel about lies," Jurgen drawled. He moved closer to Michael and noted that the younger man backed up. That pleased him. He took another step. "How do you feel?" he repeated, his voice soft and low.

Michael froze, angry that his fears had betrayed him. He had to control them. He knew how. He locked eyes with Jurgen and replied, "I'm tired."

Jurgen nodded. "Of course you are. You don't sleep well and the drugs didn't help," he stated, matter of factly. "What would help, Michael? Tell me what you need."

"What I need..." Michael repeated, softly. Then he smiled. "As opposed to what I want?" he challenged.

"Very good," Jurgen conceded. "I wondered if you understood the difference, Michael. I see that you do." He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving the other man's face. "Answer my question...what do you need?"

Michael closed his eyes, the image of Nikita flashing in his mind. But he shook his head to dissolve the imprint of her. Michael knew he had to focus on himself. Nikita was right about that. He would not win if he couldn't conquer his greatest weakness. That Nikita was his greatest strength as well was the irony of it all. "I know what you're doing," Michael whispered.

Jurgen was surprised by those words. Yet pleased. Michael wasn't giving up yet, as he had feared. Jurgen loved a challenge, and Michael was the greatest challenge he had ever faced. "What am I doing?" he countered, with genuine curiosity. They had played this game once before, with Simone. Michael had been wrong about Jurgen then, no doubt would be now.

"You've got something to prove to yourself," Michael drawled, his eyes shining with amusement.

"Really," Jurgen replied. "And what is that?" He was surprised by the humor Michael was revealing. Like he was in on a private joke.

Michael shrugged. "You tell me," he countered. "What do you want from me?"

Jurgen clapped his hands together, loudly, in a round of applause. "Madeline taught you well, Michael," he praised. "But I invented this game. You're greatest weakness, Michael....is your passion." As Jurgen spoke, he walked a slow circle around the other man. He could feel the tension emanating from Michael, and knew that he wanted to turn to keep him in line of sight, but Jurgen was impressed when Michael remained stationary.

"I know your weakness," Michael whispered, forcing himself not to betray his fear. Jurgen would pounce on it and use it against him. And his greatest fear was that the other man could see into his soul. He had done so when Michael had loved Simone. But that could not happen again. Not with Nikita. As it was, Jurgen already knew that Michael loved the beautiful blond. There was no sense pretending otherwise.

"Do tell," Jurgen invited, his curiosity piqued. Now he would learn more about Michael's emotional status. "What is my greatest weakness?"

Michael turned to face Jurgen, his eyes expressionless as he replied, "I am." He saw Jurgen start in surprise and was pleased, but didn't let it show. Michael knew he had made many mistakes since Nikita's return, so he couldn't afford to make any more.

Jurgen was surprised by Michael's response, but he recovered swiftly. "You think?" he drawled, moving to pace about the other man once again.

"I'm your only...failure," Michael said softly, but his words seemed to echo loudly between them. "You find that unacceptable."

"I don't like to lose," Jurgen allowed, a smile curving his thin lips. "But I think you're missing the point here, Michael," he whispered, coming to a stop directly behind the other operative. Jurgen let one fingertip trail over Michael's shoulder, tracing a dark bruise that marred the otherwise smooth skin. "You think I want to punish you. You're wrong." Jurgen's voice deepened the tone soothing as his fingertip now trailed down a rock-hard bicep. He knew that Michael did not like to be touched, and he could feel the muscles quivering. Watching Michael with Simone, in the past, Jurgen had noted early on that the other man preferred to initiate physical contact. It was another weakness to be exploited. "I want to help you, Michael..." Jurgen whispered.

Michael knew what Jurgen was doing, so he resisted the urge to pull away. There was nothing sexual in the other man's touch, it was pure manipulation of Michael's innermost fears. His weaknesses. "Why?" Michael challenged. "Why do you want to help me? And to do what? Become the perfect operative? That not's enough for Section One."

Jurgen laughed, deep in his throat, and he was truly amused. "You underestimate your potential, Michael," he said softly. "Pity."

"I'm just another number!" Michael hissed. "Easily replaced." He realized that he was letting his control slip, but that was okay. It would make the game more interesting.

"You couldn't be more wrong," Jurgen drawled, moving now to face Michael. "Section One has invested alot of time, and effort, into you, Michael."

Eyes locking on Jurgen's face, Michael replied,"They can create a more efficient killing machine. One without a soul."

Jurgen was surprised. "And here I thought you believed yourself to lacking in the soul department, Michael," he countered, smiling. "Has Nikita revived your faith in yourself?"

"This has nothing to do with Nikita," Michael shot back, feeling his eyes flashing with anger that he quickly obliterated.

"This has everything to do with Nikita..." Jurgen insisted. "You were dead inside, Michael. Until she came to Section. You stopped loving Simone...stopped caring whether you lived or died. But dying would have been freedom...and you didn't deserve that, did you?" Jurgen could feel waves of anger emanating from the younger man, but didn't allow him a chance to respond. He abrubtly changed tactics, stepping away from Michael to lean against the wall. He smiled and queried, "Why do you hate me?"

Michael took a deep breath, needing to find a calm focus from within, but it was difficult to grasp. Jurgen knew all the right buttons to press. Still, he managed to stifle his rage. "I don't hate you," Michael replied, softly.

Jurgen removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "Funny...sure felt like you hated me a few weeks ago. After all...you wanted to kill me."

"It's what I wanted," Michael allowed. "Not what I needed."

"Touche," Jurgen conceded, acknowledging Michael's small victory. He had learned to play the game, but Jurgen was still the master. "Get some sleep," he said, moving towards the door. "We're going on a five mile run at dawn." With that, Jurgen left the room.

Michael remained where he stood for a long time, then he forced his body to bend to his will and began pacing about the room. Sleep was his enemy, for in the darkness of his dreams he would find Nikita.

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

Michael and Jurgen went for their early morning run. The fresh air felt good to Michael and he pushed himself hard. When they reached the five mile mark, he wanted to go further.

"No," Jurgen said forcefully, grabbing Michael's arm. "Enough."

"Why?" Michael challenged, going still and not shrugging off Jurgen's hand. He would play the game to win today.

Letting a smile curve his lips, Jurgen studied Michael. The other man was wearing what basically amounted to field gear. Black leggings and a tank top with a light jacket, and running shoes to replace boots. He had also noticed that while running, Michael's eyes had tracked about, as if he were searching for hidden enemies. Michael knew that Jurgen could not be trusted not to test him. At anytime...anyplace....any way, shape or form. "Five miles is enough," Jurgen replied to Michael's question. "You have to allow yourself time to heal, Michael. Give yourself a break."

Michael was silent for a moment, pondering what mindgame Jurgen was playing now. "I'm not...wounded," Michael said, carefully.

"Aren't you?" Jurgen countered, dropping his hand from Michael's arm then turning to walk towards his car. He knew that Michael followed him. "You were wounded when Section recruited you, Michael. You've never healed. Never allowed it. It's what gives you your edge...or so you believe."

"And what do you believe?" Michael prompted, with genuine curiosity. He accepted the towel and the bottle of water that Jurgen tossed to him, then he dropped into the passenger seat of the car.

Jurgen pulled out into traffic, heading back towards Section, before answering. "I believe that I can save you," he whispered. Then he locked eyes with Michael for a moment and was rewarded by seeing the flicker of fear that the other man couldn't repress.

Nikita was pacing by Walter's station when Michael and Jurgen returned to Section. She had been waiting for them. Nikita locked eyes on Michael immediately, uncaring that Jurgen was watching them. "How are you, Michael?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied, his eyes flickering over to Jurgen and seeing that the other man was amused. Another lie to Nikita, Michael knew that's what Jurgen was thinking. And he was right. But Michael lied to protect her. Or maybe....to protect himself. The line had long ago blurred. "How are you?" he countered, hoping for a distratction from the intensity of her gaze. Michael's soul felt naked and vulnerable before her. Nikita had once said that the *real* Michael would disgust her, and he was sure that it would. He would.

"Can we talk?" Nikita queried, her eyes going to Jurgen. She knew he would be the one to decide, and she was careful not to let her eagerness show. Nikita felt Jurgen's eyes taking their measure of her, but she simply smiled at him.

Jurgen could feel Nikita's anxiety, but he nodded. "That's fine," he allowed, then he looked at Michael. "Ten minutes, then meet me in the weight room."

Michael nodded without looking at the other man. Yet he wasn't looking at Nikita either, his eyes had lifted to the second level and he saw Operations staring down at him from his ivory tower. A cold chill rippled down Michael's spine. "What is it, Nikita?" Michael asked, after he heard Jurgen's footsteps fade away.

"We need to talk," Nikita replied, reaching for Michael's arm and pulling him down the hallway. She knew that Operations was watching them, and that the walls had ears.

"What about?" Michael challenged, letting himself be led. He wanted to be with Nikita, if only for a stolen moment. Just to look at her, alive and beautiful.

Nikita found it difficult to hold Michael's gaze, but she wouldn't play coward now. "About what happened...between me and Jurgen," she said softly.

Michael shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about," he shot back. He remembered the moment Jurgen had taunted him with the truth and now he wanted only to forget it.

"Don't you want to know why?" Nikita challenged, her fingers tightening on Michael's arm when he would have turned away from her.

"No!" The word hissed out of Michael. He looked into Nikita's eyes and told her the truth. "I made you chose, Nikita. My fault."

She shook him. "Dammit, Michael!" Nikita wanted to shout but remembered to keep her voice hushed. "I chose....on my own....because I was confused. Why do you take the blame for everything that happens upon yourself? Like Simone's choice to set you free." Nikita grimaced at the shadow of pain that flickered across Michael's face, but she didn't back down. Not now. "She had changed, Michael. She didn't have the strength to love you anymore. And she didn't blame you for what happened. She knew Section left her behind...not you. Why can't you understand that."

Michael freed himself from Nikita's grasp, but didn't turn away. He smiled as one hand lifted to touch her hair. It reminded him of silk. "I do understand, Nikita," Michael whispered. "You're the one who doesn't want to accept the truth. I think that's why I find it hard to tell it to you. The truth...that is. Because I know you won't believe me, so it's easier to lie."

"Easier for who, Michael?" Nikita challenged. "You...or me?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied. Glancing at his watch, Michael turned to go.

Nikita cut him off. "What about us?" she demanded, hearing the desperation that colored her voice, but not caring that Michael heard it. She was desperate, and afraid. And Michael was the only one who wouldn't use her fear against her.

Lifting his eyes to Nikita's face, and absorbing it's pale beauty, Michael replied, "There is no us, Nikita." Then he turned and walked away.

Jurgen met with Madeline in her office. "It's going slow," he reported. "But well."

"Operations expects Michael to be fully functional again," Madeline said softly. She was seated behind her desk.

"He will be," Jurgen allowed. "So long as you give me the time I need."

Madeline nodded. "Whatever it takes," she conceded. "Can you give me a progress report?"

Jurgen smiled as he moved to the door. "Michael is resistant to my methods," he said, but amusement tinged his voice. "He doesn't want to forgive himself. It's slow going, but you'll pleased with the end result. Tell Operations to be patient. It will be worth the wait." Without waiting for a response, Jurgen turned and left the room.

"I hope you're right," Madeline whispered to the empty room, then she refocused her attention on the files she had been working on. She couldn't allow her personal considerations to interfere with the job. Michael would survive this as he had everything else they had thrown at him. And he would be stronger for it. Madeline only hoped that the end would justify the means.

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

Nikita was waiting for Jurgen in his chambers. She sat at the table where Go was set up, staring at the pieces, but her thoughts were elsewhere. But the moment Jurgen entered the room, Nikita's focus was entirely on him. "Can we talk?" she asked, point blank.

"Of course," Jurgen allowed, as he descended the stairs. "What do you want to know?" No playing games now, he knew. Nikita was here to talk about Michael, and he was willing to do so. Wanted to do so. He would learn so much more about her now.

"How do you know, Michael?" Nikita shot back, her eyes locking on Jurgen's face as he walked towards her. He was dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt, but used the tail end of the shirt to clean his glasses. Nikita kept her focus, not allowing herself to be distracted by the gesture, as she knew was Jurgen's intent. That's what he liked to do. Distract his mark. "You told me that you helped trained him when he first came to Section. But there's more...isn't there?"

Jurgen slid his glasses back onto his face, pleased by Nikita's insight. "Much more," he allowed.

Nikita nodded. "I want to know," she whispered.

"Why?" Jurgen countered, moving to walk a slow circle around Nikita before taking the chair she had vacated upon his arrival. He turned it so that he could staddle it, arms resting on the back.

"Because I want to understand," Nikita replied, willingly enough.

Jurgen smiled, his eyes going to the Go board and he reached out to stroke one of the pieces. "Who do you want to understand, Nikita?" he questioned. "Michael? Or yourself?"

Nikita let a smile curve her lips as she dropped into the chair across from Jurgen. "Both," she confessed. "I want to understand what makes Michael tick. But I also want to understand my obsession."

"Very good," Jurgen drawled. That was all. He studied Nikita for a moment, assessing the truth of her words. She meant what she said, but there was an underlying purpose to her visit that she was not willing to reveal. Not yet. But Jurgen could afford to be patient. He locked eyes with Nikita and told her what she wanted to know. "After Michael lost his son, he lost his edge. Simone couldn't reach him, and Section didn't want to lose him. So I was brought in to help him."

"Help him..." Nikita repeated, as a chill rippled through her. She found it hard to accept Jurgen's interpretation of *help*. What did you do to him?" she prompted. It wasn't an accusation, but a simple statement. Michael had been damaged by Jurgen, and they both knew it. She knew it too.

Jurgen sighed, but he wasn't offended. "Michael is very strongwilled, Nikita. He has the ability to exert mind over matter. It's not easy to do, even at the simplest of levels. But Michael is pure instinct combined with passion. He's brilliant on so many levels, and with brilliance comes a certain madness."

Nikita frowned. "You're talking in riddles," she huffed, her eyes pinning Jurgen with a glare.

"Am I?" he countered, amusement coloring his voice and sparkling in his eyes. "Michael is a true enigma, Nikita. I think you would agree with me there." He paused, waiting for a reaction from her, and was rewarded with a slight nod her her pale head. "He's an extremist. No half measures for Michael. He focuses total concentration to any task he performs. He's the best shot, the strongest and most athlectically fit agent. He can handle himself in any given situation from an elegant cocktail party to a prison camp in some godforsaken country. He speaks more languages, fluently, than any other operative, and he's the ultimate tactician. Yet he's also a strategist. Michael can think on his feet and make decisions in a heartbeat. He's black and white, yet shaded with gray. And that *gray* is his weakness. You are gray...Nikita. You make him question himself."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing," Nikita challenged, her eyes flashing. She felt as if she had been drop-kicked into chaos. Everything that Jurgen had said about Michael made sense, yet confused Nikita all the more. Michael was so damn complex. He reminded her of a spiderweb. It looked so simple and beautiful, yet was a complicated pattern of interwoven threads that tangled so easily. Threads that were so amazingly strong yet undeniably fragile. That was Michael.

Jurgen stood up and moved to lean against the wall, but his eyes never left Nikita's face. "Michael didn't tell you about his son," he commented.

Nikita shook her head. "No...I learned about his death from Red Cell. When we were captured during the War."

"Michael loved his son," Jurgen whispered.

"Does he really believe that Section killed the child?" Nikita queried. It was a question that had been haunting her since the War, but she had never asked Michael about it since she knew he would never answer her.

Jurgen sighed. "Michael knows exactly what Section is capable of, Nikita. Do you?"

She rose to her feet, being careful not to let her anger show in her eyes. Nikita smiled. "I'm learning," she confessed. "You haven't answered my question."

"Yes," Jurgen replied. "Michael believed that."

"Believed?" Nikita repeated. "He doesn't think that any more?" she prompted.

Jurgen shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps. When Michael buried his son, he buried the past."

Nikita felt tears burn in her eyes at the thought of Michael standing over a tiny grave. But she blinked them back and challenged, "Did you make him do that, Jurgen? Did you make him bury the past?"

"I can't make Michael do anything he doesn't want to do, Nikita," Jurgen replied. "No one can." He pulled off his glasses again, cleaning them once more even though they were spotless. "You should remember that," he advised, a cold smile curving his lips.

"I will!" Nikita hissed, then she turned to go, but paused. She had one more question. "Why are you telling me this?" she demanded.

Jurgen locked eyes with her for a moment, then whispered, "Because you asked."

Nikita didn't have a response for that. She turned away and ran up the stairs, slamming the chamber door behind her on her way out.

Walter went searching for Michael and found the young man in his office. Jurgen allowed him to leave level 3 for periods of time during the day. It was an illusion of freedom. Walter didn't knock as he entered the office. He simply barged in and stood before the desk. He watched Michael typing, the silver-green eyes focused on the glowing monitor. Walter waited a moment, then cleared his throat when Michael refused to acknowledge his presence. "Michael...how are you doing?" Walter asked, pointedly.

"Fine," Michael replied, eyes not lifting from the screen. He didn't want to deal with Walter right now.

"You can do this, you know," Walter responded, refusing to let Michael's coldness repel him. He knew all of Michael's tricks. He knew the young man was anything but fine. Walter remembered what happened the last time Jurgen had reprogrammed Michael. Only they hadn't called it that then. Then it had been *therapy*. Madeline's term. "You can beat Jurgen."

Michael stopped typing and his eyes locked on Walter's face. "I tried that already," he whispered, referring to the literally beating he had given Jurgen. Yet Michael knew what Walter meant. "What do you want?" he asked, not caring that he was being rude.

Walter came around the desk, grabbing the arm of Michael's chair and swinging him around to face him. He leaned in close, forcing the other man to lock eyes with him. Fingers grasping Michael's chin when he tried to look away. "Don't let the bastard win!" Walter hissed. "I know it's not fair, Michael. None of this is. Not to you...or Nikita."

"This isn't about Nikita anymore," Michael replied. He lifted one hand and his fingers curled about Walter's wrist, tightening until the old man released his face. Then Michael let go as well and turned back to face his computer.

"You've risked everything for her!" Walter shot back, as anger washed over him. But he wasn't mad at Michael. It was Section Walter was furious with. They needed Michael, yet they never stopped pushing him. It was as if they wanted to tip him over the edge. But Walter knew they would never free Michael. If they sent him to hell, they would simply bring him back. And Walter knew that Michael was in hell right now, because the only time the young man could find peace, was with Nikita. And that was not allowed.

Michael began typing again, forcing himself to focus on the words. "I can't save Nikita," he whispered.

Walter had to strain to hear him, but the message was clear. He shook his head. "Don't worry about Nikita right now. She can take care of herself. You taught her well. Do us all a favor, Michael." Walter paused, refusing to continue until the younger man had locked eyes with him. Then he whispered, "Save yourself." With that, Walter turned and left the office.

"Why?" Michael asked, and the question echoed in the heavy silence.

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

Madeline and Operations were discussing choices for a new mission. A briefing was scheduled, so they were in the conference room. The mission was top priority. A female Ambassador from South Africa was in the states for a United Nations conference. But Section had intel that led them to believe that she had in her possession a piece of Japanese technology that was new and hi-tech, and very deadly. Her intention was to sell it to Ambassador Aziz of Saudi Arabia. Section could not allow that to happen. At the request of the CIA, an operative would be sent in to retrieve the item. Needless to say, the Ambassador was not to be cancelled. It wouldn't look good to have her die on American soil.

The woman's name was Katana Bijol. She was forty years old with jet black hair and caramel colored skin. She loved expensive toys and beautiful young men. Given Katana's history, Madeline was certain that she could be seduced into revealing the location of the item. Now they had to pick the right operative. That's what Madeline and Operations were doing right now. Eliminating choices.

"What about Connor?" Operations suggested.

"Send Michael," said a voice from the doorway.

Madeline turned to see Jurgen standing there, arms folded across his chest and a smile curving his lips. "He's ready?" she challenged.

Jurgen sighed, knowing exactly what Madeline was asking. "For this," he allowed. "I need to test him."

"Forget it!" Operations barked. "This mission is too important. No margin for failure."

"Michael won't fail," Jurgen drawled, as he glided into the room to confront the other man. "Trust me. He's the perfect one for this job."

Madeline allowed a smile to touch her lips, but her eyes remained cold. "Why?" she countered, with extreme curiosity.

Jurgen's eyes flickered over Madeline's face. She was a worthy adversary when it came to mind games, and he enjoyed sparring with her. But now was not the time. "Ambassador Bijol has a...weakness...for Frenchmen. She'll be easily distracted by Michael. Charming beautiful women is one of his most powerful assets, Madeline. You taught him that."

"You're sure he can handle this?" Madeline countered, a slight nod of her head acknowledging Jurgen's backhanded compliment.

"You don't trust him," Jurgen countered, knowing what it was that made her hesitate.

Operations nearly snarled with frustration. "Do you blame us?" he shot back as he tossed the file he had been holding onto the table.

Jurgen pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to pace about the table. "When Michael lied about the suicide mission, it wasn't done to betray the Section. It was to save -- "

"Nikita!" Operations interjected, his eyes flashing. Not for the first time since the blond had been recruited, he felt regret that he hadn't followed his instincts and cancelled her himself, after her two years were up. But he had felt indulgent towards Michael at the time. And, somewhat grateful to Nikita, for being the reason they had Michael back and functional again. Or so Operations had believed at the time.

"No," Jurgen countered softly, with a shake of his head. "Michael lied to save...himself."

Madeline frowned. "Explain."

Jurgen continued pacing as he did so. "In Michael's eyes, Nikita symbolizes faith. If she, of all people, can believe in him, then there might be something deep inside him worth saving. Nikita is the resurrection of Michael's...hope...for redemption of his sins."

"Then he's weak," Operations hissed.

"I can make him strong," Jurgen said softly.

Madeline smiled then whispered, "Do it."

Michael's focus was on the woman in his arms. Ambassador Bijol. She was kissing him while her hands tore at the buttons of his shirt. He kissed her back, his hands gliding into her soft hair. Jet black hair. Michael closed his eyes and the image of Nikita flashed in his mind. He remembered the feel of her skin, the taste of her kisses, the texture of her hair and the way her body moved beneath him as they made love. And when Katana took his hand and led Michael over to the bed, it was her had sex with, but in his mind he made love to Nikita.

Nikita was at Birkhoff's station, playing computer games, when Michael returned to Section. She didn't have any reason to be there, but had stayed because she knew he was on a mission, and she knew what the mission involved. Nikita needed to talk to him. She dropped the joystick she had been using and moved to confront Michael. "Hi.." Nikita offered in greeting.

Michael had been heading for Madeline's office, but he stopped and blinked at Nikita. "Hello," he said softly, his eyes memorizing the beauty of her face. Even though Michael carried the imprint of her with him always.

"Can we talk?" Nikita queried.

"Later," interjected a husky voice, as Jurgen moved to join them. He smiled at Michael. "You have the item?"

Michael nodded, then pulled a tiny, electronic device out of his jacket pocket.

Jurgen accepted it then took Michael's arm. "Time to debrief," he said, his eyes flickering to Nikita. "You can talk to him later," Jurgen told her.

"Sure.." Nikita drawled, her eyes locked on Michael's face. "Later." She watched as Jurgen led Michael away, then she went back to Birkhoff's station to continue the game. However long it took, Nikita would wait.

Jurgen took Michael to his quarters, inviting the other man to sit. He smiled when Michael refused. Dropping into a chair, and folding his arms across his chest, Jurgen asked, "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Michael replied. It was a simple truth.

"Who did you make love to?" Jurgen countered, letting the question linger in the air.

Michael flinched as if he had been slapped in the face. He locked eyes with Jurgen, being careful not to let his mask slip again. "What do you mean?" he challenged.

Jurgen laughed, pure amusement dancing in his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean, Michael," he drawled. "Was it Katana you made love to tonight? Or was it Nikita? Maybe...Simone?"

"What does it matter?" Michael shot back. He could feel his control slipping and clamped onto it. He knew that Jurgen was trying to shake him up. Michael was stronger than that.

"It matters to me," Jurgen replied, rising from the chair and moving to confront Michael. "Who did you make love to, Michael?" Jurgen repeated.

Stepping back from the other man, Michael let a smile curve his lips. "I didn't make love," he replied. "But the sex was great."

Jurgen bowed his head, acknowledging a point to Michael. "Touche," he whispered. "You can go." He watched Michael climb the stairs, then heard the door close behind him. Jurgen smiled then quoted bits from a Sir Walter Raleigh poem called..The Lie.

"Tell zeal it wants devotion; Tell love it is but lust: Tell time it is but motion; Tell flesh it is but dust: And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie....Tell wit how much it wrangles in tickle points of niceness; Tell wisdom she entangles herself in over-wiseness: And when they do reply, Straight give them both the lie."

Nikita was waiting for Michael in his office. She hadn't been able to concentrate on the game, so Birkhoff had taken the joy stick back and told her to get lost. When Michael glided into the room, Nikita rose to her feet. By the time he was behind his desk, she had the door closed and was facing him. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she had no idea where to begin. Or how.

Michael could feel Nikita's anxiety. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down behind his desk. "What is it you want to know?" he challenged.

"I want to know how you feel," Nikita replied, grateful that Michael had opened the conversation between them. He was making this easier for her.

"Feel about what?" Michael prompted. He leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms, and steepled his fingers. All the while his eyes were locked on Nikita's face.

Nikita took a deep breath, then blurted out, "Since I've known you you've slept with two women for Section purposes. Lisa and Ambassador Bijol."

Michael nodded. "Yes."

"You protected me from having to sleep with anyone...for the job," Nikita stated, her eyes daring Michael to deny it. When he remained silent she challenged, "Why?"

"It would have shattered you," Michael whispered. He held Nikita's gaze, letting her see the truth.

She nodded. "You're right, Michael," Nikita acknowledged. "It would have. But...I wonder...is that the only reason?"

Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Were you jealous?" Nikita fired the question at him like a bullet from a gun, then waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, and Michael simply blinked at her, Nikita made a confession. "I'm damn jealous!" she hissed. Then she was around the desk and spinning Michael's chair around. Before he could react, Nikita was on his lap, her fingers tangled in his hair and her mouth hot on his in a passionate kiss.

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

Michael didn't remember kissing Nikita back. It wasn't a conscious decision. But suddenly his hands were cupping her face, and his tongue was sliding between her lips. She tasted so sweet. Sweeter than he remembered. Michael moaned, deep in his throat, as he felt Nikita's fingers glide down his back. Then they were beneath his jacket, tugging at his t-shirt.

"No.." Michael hissed, breaking the kiss and pushing Nikita back onto her feet. He was out of the chair and putting distance between them in a heartbeat.

"Why not?" Nikita challenged. She knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Michael. They were being watched, too closely, but needed needed to know if Michael's reasons were different.

"This isn't the place, Nikita," Michael replied.

She nodded. "Fine, we'll go to a hotel."

Michael closed his eyes and turned away from her. Only for a moment. Long enough to slam his mask back into place. When he faced Nikita again, Michael's eyes were cold. "As long as we're in Section, we can't be together," he said softly.

"I see," Nikita whispered. She blinked back tears, but faced Michael with a defiant toss of her head. "And that's that?" she challenged. "It's non-negotiable?"

"That's how it has to be," Michael declared. He saw pain flicker in Nikita's eyes but made himself immune to it. Better to sever all ties now, when she could easily forget him, than later.

Nikita eyes flashed. "I see," she drawled, a cold smile curving her lips. "Once again, you're in control, Michael. You make all the decision in my life. Including how I'm supposed to feel about you. Isn't that right?"

Michael didn't bother to deny it. "That's the way it has to be, Nikita."

"Sure," she replied. Nikita toyed with a lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger. "So...what happens now? I mean, you're still reprogramming with Jurgen, but what happens when that's finished? Who's material do I become? His...or yours?"

"Does it matter?"Michael challenged.

Nikita shook her head. "Not really." With that she turned and walked out of the room.

Michael stood where he was for a long time. Pain rippled through him in waves, but he welcomed it. Pain had always been his strength. His focus. He did what had to done. Nikita would never trust him again, if she ever really had. So Michael was secure that he had protected her against himself. And with that thought to comfort him, he returned to his chair and the files that awaited him.

Nikita was shaking as she strode down the corridor. She had done what she had set out to do. Forced Michael into making a choice. He would push her away to protect her, just as he had always done. But this time, in doing so, he would be protecting himself as well. Nikita wanted Michael to focus all of his attention on Jurgen. On destroying the other Operative. But this was just phase one of her plan. Phase two would be the hardest part and Nikita prayed that, someday, Michael would be able to forgive her.

Jurgen watched Operations pace. Finally he initiated the conversation between them. "You want Michael back on full status," he said softly.

Operations stopped pacing and nodded. "That's right," he confirmed. "He's proven himself capable on the last mission, and Madeline agrees."

"So do I," Jurgen allowed, a smile curving his lips. "But...I still want Michael under my jurisdiction."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Operations challenged.

Jurgen shrugged. "Let him resume his duties, but under my watchful eye. And I have the right to countermand any of his decisions. Make sure he understands that."

Operations was silent for a moment, contemplating Jurgen's request. But then he nodded. It made sense. "Agreed," he said firmly. "I'll make certain that Madeline makes it clear to Michael."

"Good." Jurgen moved towards the door. "Michael is regaining his focus, but he's not up to par yet. I can do better."

"I'm sure you can," Operations replied. Then he smiled to himself as he watched Jurgen leave the room.

Madeline studied Michael. She was pleased to see that his mask was firmly in place, but she also agreed with Jurgen's assessment that Michael wasn't up to par yet. He was still out of synch, emotionally, and that was not acceptable. "How are things going?" Madeline asked.

Michael stood before her, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression and eyes both neutral. "It's good," he replied, and it was mostly true. He was pleased to be returned to full, active status. He needed to work. To focus on the job.

"I'm glad to hear that," Madeline said soflty. She smiled then rose from her chair to lean against the front of her desk. "One thing you need to know. Although you'll be resuming your duties, we feel it's best that Jurgen remain your mentor for the time being."

"Why?" Michael countered, ucaring that his reaction betrayed his feelings.

Madeline decided that it would be best to be honest. "I think that you're still unstable."

Michael grimaced. "In what way?"

"Nikita," Madeline whispered. She watched Michael carefully, gauging his reaction, but he kept his mask in place. That pleased her. Michael was regaining his control, and it was one of the things that set him apart from the majority of the other operatives. "You're not over her yet," Madeline remarked.

"I'm over her," Michael replied.

Madeline shook her head. "I don't think so. Nor would I expect you to be. That's okay. What doesn't break you, Michael, always makes you stronger."

Michael allowed a smile to curve his lips. "Stronger for what?" he challenged.

"For Section," Madeline replied. "We need you, and you need us. We are family, Michael. And family does not betray each other."

"If you don't trust me, then cancel me," Michael countered, serenely. At this point he really didn't much care if he died. He had lost Nikita anyway.

Madeline pushed away from the desk. She went to Michael and one hand smoothed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Do you really want to die?" she queried.

Michael held the intensity of Madeline's probing gaze, without flinching. "Since when has the Section cared what I want?" he countered, but no emotion colored the question. He asked it out of simple curiosity.

"I'm asking the question," Madeline replied. "I want to know."

"I'm sure you do," Michael whispered. Madeline was always trying to probe past his defenses. He knew that he was an enigma to her, and Michael intended to remain so. Once, in the long ago past, he had made the mistake of trusting her. Never again. "May I go now?"

Madeline nodded, concededing defeat, for now. "Jurgen is waiting for you in your office."

Michael didn't respond to her words, he simply turned and walked out. But his thoughts were chaotic as he glided down the corridor. He could guess that Jurgen had requested to remain his mentor. Could also guess what that meant, but he would make certain he understood the rules before the next phase of the game began. Michael reached his office and was surprised to see that Nikita was there, chatting with Jurgen. Michael kept his mask firmly in place as he asked her, "Did you want to see me?"

"No," Nikita replied, with a smile. "I was looking for Jurgen. She glanced over at the blond man and said, "So we're on for dinner tonight?"

"Unless something comes up here," Jurgen replied, but he was watching Michael as he spoke. The younger man flinched, but otherword showed no other sign that he was affected by what he heard. "See you later, Nikita," Jurgen drawled. Then he watched her wave at Michael and stroll out of the room. He knew that she was up to something. Nikita's dinner invitation was not a simple offer to get to know one another better, and Jurgen was looking forward to matching wits with the beautiful blond. But he was also interested in seeing the effect it had on Michael. So far the other man was keeping his cool.

Michael moved around Jurgen, to sit behind his desk. Once seated he locked eyes with the other man. "Why won't you let me go," he asked, bluntly.

Jurgen didn't pretend not to understand the question. "You're not ready yet, Michael," he replied. "I told you...I'm going to save you, in spite of yourself."

"I don't need saving," Michael drawled. "I don't need you."

"You need Nikita," Jurgen shot back, and knew he had scored a direct hit when Michael's eyes flashed. "I told you, she's your weakness."

Michael leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, and calmly studied Jurgen. "Perhaps she's your weakness," Michael countered. "Just like Simone was."

Jurgen felt a flash of fury, but stifled it quickly. Michael was a quick learner, he would have to remember that. He had underestimated him once, in the past. He would not do so again. "I'll have my pager with me, if you need anything."

"What could I possibly need?" Michael countered, as he watched Jurgen rise from the other chair.

"One never knows," Jurgen drawled, a smile lighting up his eyes. "Does one?" With that he left the room, feeling the heat of Michael's gaze burning into his back.

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

Dinner was take out Chinese. Nikita and Jurgen sat on pillows on the floor and washed down their food with ice cold beer. Briefly it occurred to Nikita to wonder if Michael liked beer. She had known him only to drink wine and coffee. But those thoughts had no room here, and now. Nikita smiled at Jurgen. "Ready for dessert?"

"Later," he replied, pausing to swallowing the remainder of the beer in his bottle. "I would prefer answers right now," he confessed.

"To what questions?" Nikita countered, as she set aside her plate.

Jurgen smiled. "Why did you invite me here, Nikita?" he prompted. "What game are you playing?"

Nikita shrugged. "Why is everything a game to Section?" she parried.

"I'm not Section," Jurgen replied, as he stretched out on his side, propping his head in one hand. His eyes never left Nikita's face. "Did you plan on seducing me? Or on letting me seduce you?"

"I don't know," Nikita drawled, a soft smile curving her lips. "I don't know what I want."

Jurgen laughed. "Sure you do. You want Michael."

Nikita grimaced, and her pain was real. "I do," she allowed, reaching for a pillow and hugging it to her chest. But her eyes shimmered with defiance as she replied, "But I can't have him, so why bother?"

"Michael is an emotional cripple, Nikita," Jurgen drawled. "I told that before. But that doesn't mean he can't love. He loves you, as best he can. That's why he pushes you away. He loved Simone and look at what happened to her."

"He didn't kill her," Nikita shot back, her eyes flashing now. But then she noticed something. A flicker of pain in Jurgen's eyes. Something to do with Simone...Nikita wondered.

Jurgen pushed himself upright, aware that Nikita had seen his reaction, but that was okay. Let her see the truth. The truth would set her free. "You think that I want to destroy Michael, which would suggest you believe that I hate him. And what better reason for one man to hate another, than because of a woman?"

Nikita locked eyes with Jurgen. "Did you love Simone?"

"She was easy to love," he replied. "I did love her," Jurgen allowed. "But not in the way that you think. More like an older brother."

"Why is Michael so afraid of you?" Nikita challenged, deciding that there was no time like the present to be blunt. Especially since Jurgen seemed so willing to be open with her.

Jurgen pulled off his glasses and his fingers toyed with the frames. "Michael fears me because he needs me," Jurgen replied. Then he looked up at Nikita, and locked eyes. "Michael has always needed me. That scares the hell out of him."

Nikita was surprised by Jurgen's confession and she let her surprise show. "Why you?" she countered. In spite of herself, a part of Nikita believed that Jurgen was telling her the truth. It made sense, yet she didn't understand it. Michael didn't need anybody. Or maybe he just didn't need her.

"I told you that I helped him after his son died," Jurgen said softly. "Michael needed a focus, and I became that focus. I gave him what no one else could."

"Which was what?" Nikita challenged.

Jurgen sat up, taking the time to put his glasses back on before replying. "I gave him what he needed."

Nikita frowned. "What did he need?" she prompted, as anger slowburned within her. Jurgen was playing mind games again.

"I don't think you would understand, Nikita," Jurgen drawled. "You see...we all need different things. To understand Michael's needs, you have to understand his pain. You don't know his pain. I do."

"He won't let me in!" Nikita hissed, feeling defensive all of the sudden.

Jurgen sighed. "You ask too much of him, too soon," he said soflty. "Michael isn't ready to face his pain. If he let's you in, he leaves himself open to being hurt again."

Nikita shook her head. "I would never hurt him. I want to help him."

"You can't help him," Jurgen shot back, his eyes suddenly turning cold. "You're too selfish to see past your own needs." He saw that Nikita was furious and about to protest, but Jurgen cut her off with a wave of one hand. "I'm saying that's a bad thing. You need to look out for yourself. No one else is going to do that for you at Section."

"Michael does that," Nikita replied. "In his own way." It had taken her a long time to realize that, but she knew it was true.

Jurgen smiled, and his eyes warmed. "Yes, he does," he conceded. "Because he can handle your pain. But not his own. If he takes care of you, then he doesn't have to think about himself. Michael is wounded, deep inside. I want him to heal."

Nikita stood up, towering over Jurgen. So much of what he was telling her made sense, and she wanted to believe him. To believe that he wanted what was best for Michael. "I want him to heal too," Nikita whispered. "I'm just not so sure you're the one who can help him."

"There's no one else," Jurgen replied, rolling over and rising to his feet so that he and Nikita were eye to eye. "I know how to push Michael's buttons. How to make him feel again. I won't give up on him."

"Neither will I," Nikita shot back, letting Jurgen know that she was marking her territory, as it were.

Jurgen offered a sad smile. "But you already have," he replied, softly. "You don't trust Michael, Nikita. I don't think you ever will. And if you can't trust him, you can't help him."

Nikita opened her mouth to respond, but realized that she couldn't deny what Jurgen was saying. If she did..it would be a lie. And she was sick of all the lies. "I'm tired," she whispered. It was a, not so subtle, hint that she wanted Jurgen to leave now.

"Think about what I said," Jurgen countered, as he reached for his jacket then headed for the door. "If want to talk again, I'm available. Remember that."

"Thanks," Nikita said, as she followed him over to the door. When he was gone, she slid the chain into place and turned the lock. Then she pressed her back against the door and slid down to the floor. Once there, Nikita wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her head on her knees, and wept.

Michael sat up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest, pulse racing, skin slick with sweat. It was his first night home, in several weeks, and he had suffered another nightmare. He clenched his hands into fists, clutching at the bed covers, but he couldn't stop them from shaking.

Rising from the bed, Michael pulled on a t-shirt. He was wearing silk boxers, and he moved to the terrace so that the night wind could dry his cold sweat. He breathed deep to calm his heartrate, and after a time his fear receded. But still he remained, unwilling to face the bed. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep now. He didn't have too, for the images of his dreams were still imprinted in his mind. Michael wanted to forget, but it wasn't that easy. He went back inside and left the bedroom, heading down the stairs and into the livingroom to the mini bar in the corner. He tapped on the light then poured himself a measure of bourbon. One smooth swallow and it burned down his throat. Michael began pouring himself another measure, when he caught himself. This wouldn't help. he couldn't purge his fears in an alcoholic haze.

Tossing the glass into the fireplace, Michael headed back up the stairs. He slipped on a pair of sweats, pulled on socks then tied on a pair of sneakers. Five minutes later he was running down the road. This time his heart pumped with exertion, and the sweat on his skin was warm. But he couldn't outrun the memories. Past and present merging together, threads of the same fears tangling in his soul.

Jurgen knew his fears. Knew his thoughts. Knew Michael better than he knew himself. And that's what scared him to death. After his son had died, Jurgen had become the center of Michael's universe. Because he understood Michael's pain when no one else could. But in the end, Jurgen had turned that pain against him. To make him stronger, he had said. But with that strength came sacrifice. Michael gave up his soul, willingly. Not to Section, but to Jurgen. And that was something that he could not forgive of himself. Nikita had been the only one Michael could believe in. The only one in Section worth protecting. He didn't want the darkness to touch her, but he was a part of the darkness. Michael had made his choice long ago, selling his soul to the devil. But he would be damned if he would let Nikita be sucked into hell. Whatever sacrifices had to be made, Michael was determined to give the devil his due. And the devil had a name. Jurgen.

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

The next two weeks passed by swiftly. Nikita watched Michael, but from a distance. Which was easy enough since they didn't work on any missions together. Michael was kept busy since he was back in command, but Nikita noticed that he seemed to have a shadow. Jurgen. As for herself and the special Ops....Nikita still didn't know what to think about him, but she was leaning towards following what her head was telling her. That he could be trusted to do what was best for Michael. To that end, Nikita went and had a chat with Madeline.

The dark-haried woman wasn't surprised when Nikita showed up in her office, asking about Jurgen. She was merely intrigued by how long it had taken. "You know that Section is concerned for Michael's welfare," Madeline said in response to Nikita's queries about Jurgen's intentions towards him.

"No..I don't know that," Nikita drawled, as she dropped into a chair. "Seems to me like he's as disposable as the rest of us at times. But then, you do seem to like keeping him around as a whipping post. Have to practice your tortures on someone...eh, Madeline?" Nikita knew she was being insolent, and it was intentional.

"Michael is a strong man, Nikita," Madeline replied, a warm smile curving her lips, but not reaching her dark eyes. "We know his limits."

Nikita shook her head. "No you don't," she hissed. "That's just it. That's why you push him so hard. You can't read him. You don't really know what he's capable of."

Madeline was impressed by Nikita's insight. The young woman had matured in her time away from Section. She had begun ripping away her blinders so that she was catching glimpses of the big picture. "Michael is unique...in many ways," Madeline allowed. "Sometimes that makes it difficult to help him."

"Why bother?" Nikita countered, with genuine curiosity. "You see, I don't understand Section's relationship with Michael. If anyone else had done what he's done in the past few months..or more...they would have been cancelled on the spot." At Madeline's nod of affirmation, Nikita continued. "Why not Michael?"

"As I said, he's unique," Madeline replied. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Michael is the ultimate operative, Nikita. He many talents and skills, add to that his intelligence, refinement and looks and you have a winning combination. In many ways he's irreplacable."

Nikita was silent for a moment, pondering Madeline's words, yet sensing there was more to it. Something more personal. "What does he mean to you?" Nikita countered, her eyes locking with Madeline's so that her meaning was clear.

Madeline's smile faded. "That doesn't concern you, Nikita," she whispered.

"No it doesn't," Nikita allowed. "But I am curious."

"It's one of your more annoying qualities," Madeline shot back, in a tone that was completely neutral. Then she rose to her feet. "Briefing in ten minutes. Don't be late." With that she left her office, leaving Nikita behind.

Nikita remained in the chair for a time, realizing that she had just wasted ten minutes. She didn't know anything more about Jurgen now than when she had entered the room. "Very slick, Madeline," Nikita purred, then she pushed out of the chair and stalked out of the office.

The briefing was intense. A scientist working on biological warfare testing for the US government had been kidnapped, along with his research on a new, potentially deadly, weapon. It was still in the creative stages and thereby highly unstable. Based on the intel that Birkhoff had given him, Michael had decided on a four man cell. Birkhoff in the van, monitoring, while he, Nikita and Jurgen went in to rescue the scientist and the research. They knew that both were being held in a warehouse in Cairo. Michael would go after the research, while Nikita and Jurgen either rescued, or cancelled, the scientist. It would be Jurgen's call.

Transport left in one hour. Nikita accepted her intel from Michael, then waited for the others to clear the room. She wanted to talk to him. Once they were alone, she confronted him. "So...how are things?" Nikita questioned.

Michael had been turning to go, but now he spun around to face Nikita. She had her hair pulled back into a lose ponytail and had never looked more beautiful. "Fine," he whispered. "Did you want something?"

"No," Nikita drawled. "Just...wanted to know that you were allright."

"Aren't I always?" Michael shot back, more harshly than he intended.

Nikita wasn't offended. She merely smiled and replied, "I don't think you've ever been all right, Michael." Then she turned and walked away.

Michael stared after her till long after she was gone. "I'm sorry, Nikita," he whispered. Then he shook his head. It was always too little, too late.

The mission went as planned. Michael, Jurgen and Nikita, guided by Birkhoff, were able to slip in with the stealth of shadows. While Michael downloaded the research onto a CD, then deleted the files, Jurgen and Nikita found the scientist. Only it was obvious to Jurgen that the man was too closely guarded to risk rescuing.

"Set the charges," Jurgen ordered Nikita, and he was pleased when she obeyed without hesitation. She was learning to accept what she couldn't change. That was progress.

"Move out," Michael ordered, after Jurgen confirmed that the charges were set. He had planted his own, which would destroy the computer and the lab. Michael was on his way out when the computer screen flashed red. "Silent alarm," he whispered.

Birkhoff heard him and grimaced. "Get out of there, Michael!" he warned.

Michael paused to fire two shots into the computer, making certain that it was destroyed. Then he moved to the charges and reset the timer, leaving himself only ten seconds. Once that was done, Michael knew there was only one way out. He heard shouts and running feet, saw the first of the guards enter the room. Spraying them with bullets, Michael counted beneath his breath, even as he sprinted for the window. Just as he crashed through the glass, the charges went off, the force of the blast propelling Michael out over the bay. He used his arms to keep himself semi-upright so that he hit the water below, feetfirst.

Nikita and Jurgen had just reached the van when they heard the explosion. Turning towards it, Nikita saw Michael go flying through the air to land in the bay. She screamed his name and made to run after him, but Jurgen grabbed her arm.

"We have to go," Jurgen hissed.

"Not without Michael," Nikita protested, yanking on her arm. She pulled free and glared at Jurgen. "I'm not leaving him behind. If you want to stop me, then shoot me. Otherwise get the hell out of my way."

They were still face to face when Birkhoff received a transmission. It was Michael, telling them to head to point four to pick him up. A smile of relief lit up Birkhoff's face as he relayed this news to Nikita. "Michael's alive and waiting for us at point four."

Nikita closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, then she turned away from Jurgen and stepped into the van. She heard him follow and close the door, then the van pulled away.

The ride back to transport was made in silence, but once on the plane, Nikita confronted Michael. He had changed into dry clothes, but was shirtless to allow Jurgen to bandage a gash on his shoulder, he had received from a piece of flying metal. Nikita couldn't keep a smile off her face. She was glad he was alive, but she was also amused by Michael's attempts to keep his hair out of his eyes. Since he didn't have the means to give attention to it, the cinnamon locks had curled about his head. She loved his hair like that...wild and free. "You okay?" Nikita asked, as she moved to stand before him.

"Fine," Michael replied, not looking at her. He concentrated on the PDA in his hands.

"Jurgen wanted to leave you behind," Nikita blurted out. It wasn't the way she had meant to say it, but now was too late to take it back.

Michael looked up now, his eyes locking on Nikita's face. "He would have been right to do so. If I hadn't made contact, it should be presumed I was dead."

Nikita felt a rush of anger. She had told Michael about Jurgen to let him know where he stood with the other man, but he seemed oblivious to her intentions. The *machine man* was back in full force. Michael had his mask firmly clamped into place. "I see," Nikita drawled, her eyes shifting to Jurgen's face. He looked up from taping the bandage to Michael's back and smiled at her. Nikita smiled back. "Touche," she mouthed, silently. Then she turned and walked away.

Another week passed and Michael sat in his office, staring at his monitor. The screen was blank. He should have been studying the specs for the mission he would be going on in less than two hours, but his thoughts were wrapped up in Nikita. Ever since the mission in Cairo, she had changed. Not so much towards him, but within herself. She was becoming the perfect operative. As cold and calculating as the rest of them. So much so that Operations had even taken the time to compliment her on her work. On a recent mission, just two days past, Nikita had killed three people, one of them an innocent who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and she hadn't even blinked. Michael felt pain ripple through him as the scene replayed itself. After the shooting he had asked Nikita if she were allright. She had pinned him with a cold look and responded, "Fine. You?" Then she had smiled and walked away. Even the memory of it made Michael shiver.

Nikita was losing her soul. Michael knew he was partly to blame. A part of him blamed Section, but he rested most of the blame on Nikita. She had followed his example and made her choice. Now he had to show her, by example, that it was the wrong one. She could survive Section without sacrificing her soul. Swallowing a sigh, Michael reached out to shut off the computer. Then he switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He sat there for a long time, remembering the past and contemplating the future. When he left his office, Michael had made his choice. And there would be no turning back.

The mission hould have gone smoothly, but no one could account for all the variables. Michael, Nikita and Jurgen were auditioning for an elite terrorist group. Their intention was to be accepted into the fold so they could discover who was financing the group, then disect them.

The trick was getting into the building and setting the charges without being detected. But they had done it, with a little help from Birkhoff, and now Nikita was back at the van. She saw that Jurgen was on the steps in front of the building, and Michael was at the door. In her com unit Nikita heard Michael.

"I'm starting sequence...now."

Nikita glanced down at her watch and mentally ticked off the time. The building would blow in sixty seconds. She watched for Jurgen and Michael to head out and frowned when she saw Michael start to leave, but then he stopped. She heard him whisper,

"I'm sorry, Nikita,"

Then, to her horror, Nikita saw Michael run back into the building. "NO!" she screamed. She started to move but heard Jurgen hiss in her ear.

"I'll get him!"

Nikita froze. She prayed for time to stand still as she watched Jurgen run back into the building. But it didn't. Nikita stared at her watch. Her heart pounded in her chest as she whispered, "Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two..." Nikita closed her eyes and a hearbeat later listened to the deafening boom as the building exploded and her soul shattered.

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

Nikita sat in a chair in the corner of Medlab, chewing on a lock of her hair. She had been there for the past six hours, her eyes on the man in the bed. She willed him to wake up.

As if hearing her, Jurgen's eyes fluttered open. In truth he had been awake for about twenty minutes, but had lain there, listening and waiting. Testing the limits of Nikita's patience. "Hello.." he finally whispered.

"How do you feel?" Nikita asked, flying over to the bed. She was concerned, yet asked mainly out of politeness and the need not to appear too eager.

"I'll be fine," Jurgen replied. He smiled, then waited again.

Nikita shuffled her feet, walked to the other side of the bed and back again, then said, "Michael wanted to die." It was a statement, not a question.

Jurgen shrugged, tensing a bit as sore muscles protested, and one hand lifted to touch the patch over his left eye. "Maybe," he allowed.

"You don't think so?" Nikita countered, feeling anger flare up and unable to understand why. The logical part of her mind told her she should be relieved.

"I haven't talked to him yet," Jurgen reminded her. Both of them had been brought back to Section unconscious. Jurgen had awakened to discover Madeline at his side. She told him that Michael had suffered a dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs along with various bruising and contusions. She also told him Michael's excuse for running back inside the building. That had been two days ago. Jurgen knew that he would be released from Medlab in a few hours and that he and Michael would be spending some quality time together. Madeline's decision, and Jurgen concurred.

Nikita paced again, her hands tugging at her hair, teeth chomping on the wad of gum in her mouth. "You know Michael's story?" she questioned.

Jurgen nodded. "Yes."

"Do you believe him?" Nikita's eyes were locked on Jurgen's face. She needed to know the truth. And to understand it.

"Do you?" Jurgen countered, his eyes shimmering as they held the intensity of Nikita's gaze. He gave away nothing this time.

Nikita shook her head. "No." It hurt to say that but she had to believe what her heart was telling her. Michael wanted to die. He wanted to leave her.

Jurgen wasn't surprised by Nikita's confession, but he was curious. "Why not" he prompted.

"Doesn't matter why," Nikita replied. But in her head the words Michael had spoken in that last minute echoed loudly. ...I'm sorry, Nikita...

Michael sat in the chair across from Madeline's desk. She had sent for him the moment she learned that he had left MedLab. Michael hadn't even made it to his office when Walter had cornered him. So here was, waiting for the moment of truth. Not that this was their first talk since the explosion. From the moment Michael had awakened in Medlab, Madeline had closeted herself in his room. Now he watched her pace behind her desk, finally coming to rest before it, perching one hip on the corner and folding her arms over her chest.

Madeline's eyes roved over Michael's face. She could see that he was exhausted, and saw the pain that shimmered in his eyes. He had refused any painkillers. That was typical. Michael used physical pain to keep him focused. He would use it to now to keep his shields up against her onslaught. Madeline's eyes roved lower, to the black sling that cradled Michael's left arm, then she attacked. "Why did you go back into the building, Michael?"

"I told you at least a dozen times," he replied, his eyes cold and locked on her face. "There was someone else inside."

"Housekeeping did a sweep when they sanitized the area," Madeline shot back, giving Michael new information. "There was no one else."

Michael shrugged. "I saw someone," he repeated. He was sticking to his story.

Madeline smiled, a cold curving of her soft lips. "Nikita told me that just before you ran back into the building you told her you were sorry. Sorry for what, Michael?" Madeline challenged.

"What difference does that make now?" Michael countered, with a touch of defiance. He didn't bother to deny Nikita's words, for he knew that Madeline would believe the beautiful blond over him. Nikita didn't play word games.

"You're the only one who knows the answer to that, Michael," Madeline whispered. But then she rose to her feet, eyes glittering, and moved to sit behind her desk. "I'm taking you off active status. For the next two weeks you will be kept in holding."

Michael grimaced, but had expected as much. It was proceedure for someone they believed was suicidal but were interested in reconditioning back into the field. "Who with?" he asked, but he knew the answer.

Madeline blinked then replied, "Jurgen. He'll give me his report at which time I'll decide your standing." Madeline leaned forward, her eyes burning into Michael's. "Understand going in that cancellation is not an option. You will progress back to full, active, status. The only question is how long will it take, and at what level."

"May I go now?" Michael requested, knowing there was nothing he could say to change Madeline's mind. She believed he had tried to commit suicide, and she considered it a betrayal. Not to Section, but to her. And she was not a forgiving person.

"You can go," Madeline allowed, her attention now focused on the reports on her desk. But she was aware of Michael's movements. Of how carefully he rose from the chair, and that his stride was hampered by a slight limp. When he was gone, and the door closed behind him, Madeline buried her face in her hands and allowed a sigh to escape her.

Michael paced in his quarters. He was being allowed to stay in his own rooms this time, which surprised him. Holding was on level four, but Walter had met up with him relaying the message from Operations that he could stay in his own quarters during his internment. So now he awaited Jurgen's arrival, knowing that it was only a matter of time.

Jurgen stood watching the video screen. The camera's in Michael's quarters had been reactivated at his request. He wanted to videotape their conversations for later study. But now he was content to watch Michael, as he prowled about the room. Jurgen was reminded of a wild cat. Beautiful, graceful and trapped. Searching for a way out and becoming desperate. That was Michael, but he didn't know it yet. A smile curving his lips, Jurgen switched off the screen then headed down the hall.

When the door opened, Michael stopped pacing. He turned and watched as Jurgen entered, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The other man was intruding, violating Michael's space. His sanctuary. And in that moment Michael knew that Jurgen was the one that had arranged for Michael to stay in his own quarters. Knew that it would off balance him, for during holding, Jurgen would be staying with him. Watching him every minute of the two week period. If not with his own eyes, then with a camera. That was another violation of his privacy that Michael resented. But he let none of what he was feeling show as Jurgen walked towards him.

"How are you feeling, Michael?" Jurgen asked, as he walked the perimeter of the room. Michael had spacious quarters. There was a living area, then a kitchen and bedroom area partitioned off. It was sparsely decorated, but comfortable enough. Jurgen knew that Michael mainly used this space to sleep, when he could. Or to escape, on occassion.

"Fine," Michael replied, watching as Jurgen moved to the bookcase in the corner. He swallowed back anger when the other man riffled through his collection. He knew that Jurgen's actions were deliberate, but they were pushing all the right buttons, just as he intended. Michael took a deep breath and found his focus. His mask slipped firmly into place.

Jurgen replaced the book of sonnets on the shelf, then turned to face the younger man. "You seem to be taking one step forward and three steps back, Michael. Why is that?"

Michael blinked at him. "You know what I saw," he whispered. Michael knew that Madeline would have filled Jurgen in on all the details of his debriefing. "There was someone else in the building. I had to go back in."

"That's not procedure, Michael," Jurgen drawled. "The consequences of your action can't be ignored. We blew the mission, and you blew your standing. But I don't think that matters to you anymore. Does it?"

"I don't know you mean," Michael countered, turning away and pacing again. His leg muscles protested being still, so he walked to ease them, and to find another focus. He wanted to curl his fingers around Jurgen's throat.

Jurgen laughed as he sat down on the arm of black-leather chair. "You know exactly what I mean, Michael," he whispered. "What were you sorry for?" he challenged.

Michael knew what he was alluding to. His last words to Nikita. But he wasn't going to go there. Michael countered with his own question. "Why did you come after me?" In doing so, Jurgen had saved him. When Michael would have headed down the corridor, Jurgen had grabbed him, yanking them both into an elevator and closing the door just before the charges blew. Even so, they had been lucky to survive. But Michael didn't feel lucky.

"It's not your time to die, Michael," Jurgen replied. Then he waited. He knew he had more patience at this point. Knew that he was in control.

"I don't want to die," Michael whispered, his eyes locking with Jurgen's. He saw amusement glimmer in the other man's gaze.

Jurgen laughed softly. "I don't think you know what you want, Michael," he whispered.

Michael didn't bother to deny it. They both knew that Jurgen spoke the truth. "What happens now?" he asked, bluntly. Best to know his fate.

"That's up to you," Jurgen drawled. He steepled his fingers together then said, "What would you like me to tell Madeline?"

"What?" Michael countered, surprised by what he was hearing. What game was Jurgen playing now, he wondered.

Jurgen shrugged. "Would you like me to confirm your story, Michael?" he countered. "Tell her that you went back inside because you saw a woman."

Michael caught his breath. He had never mentioned seeing a woman. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You took my soul along time ago, Jurgen," he whispered. "I have nothing left to give you. Nothing that you could possibly want. Except Nikita." Michael's tone grew frigid and his eyes turned to jade ice. "I won't let you have her."

"You don't own Nikita, Michael," Jurgen replied, rising from the arm of the chair to confront the younger man. When they were eye to eye he hissed, "But she owns you...doesn't she?" Jurgen laughed, but it lacked warmth or humor. "Interesting that she doesn't realize her power over you, Michael. Nikita thinks that you're the one controlling her. The one who is the master manipulator. The one she should be afraid of. Silly girl."

"Silly girl.." Michael echoed. He took a step back, turned as if he would walk away, then spun around, the heel of his hand slamming into Jurgen's chin. Michael watched Jurgen's head snap back, then closed his eyes as the other man collapsed, his body thudding to the floor. A smile curving his lips, Michael went into the kitchen area and removed a bottle of spring water from the mini-fridge. His movements were deliberate as he unscrewed the cap, then lifted the bottle to his lips. He took a long swallow, recapped the bottle and replaced it on the shelf. Then he went into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. A hearbeat later he was asleep.

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

They came while Michael was still sleeping. Strong hands held him while Madeline slid the needle into his vein. Michael awoke in a white room, restraints binding him to the bed. It was Jurgen who came to release him. Who watched over him when he gagged in the toilet, who sat in the chair by his bed, in his own quarters, as he slept off the after effects of the drug.

Now Michael was dressed in leggings and a tanktop, both black. He was doing push ups, working the muscles in the shoulder that had been dislocated. Working past the pain. All of his focus on the rise and fall of his body, uncaring of the sweat that dampened his hair and his skin, droplets sliding off his chin.

It was Jurgen who entered the room now and leaned against the wall, watching him. Michael was aware of the other man, fully attuned to his presence, yet forced himself to block Jurgen out. Concentration was solely on his flexing muscles, working past the tension when they faltered, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly when pain burned in him like white fire.

"Enough." Jurgen whispered the word. He didn't shout because he knew he didn't have to. He watched as Michael obeyed him, rising slowy to his feet and reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. There was no amusement glimmering on Jurgen's face today. His eyes were cold and hard, his posture rigid despite his relaxed stance. When he was certain that Michael's attention was focused on him, Jurgen spoke. "It finally happened," he whispered.

"What?" Michael countered, completely clueless as to what Jurgen was talking about.

A smile did curve Jurgen's lips now, but it held no warmth. "I've become the center of your universe, Michael," he drawled. Pushing away from the wall, Jurgen moved forward to pace a circle around the other man. "You need me..." he whispered.

Michael shook his head, denial instantaneous. "You're wrong!" he hissed, even as a tiny voice in his head taunted him. Calling him a liar.

"You use me to judge yourself, Michael," Jurgen continued. "It's not so much about good versus evil, or right against wrong, but for all that you hate me, you know that I still have a soul. You don't trust me, but you envy me. You compare my strengths and my weakenesses against your own."

"Why do you protect me?" Michael shot back, letting the anger he was feeling show in his eyes. They flashed like jade-fire as he reached out to grab Jurgen by the arm. Now they were eye to eye, face to face. "You have the power to take what you want. You don't need me. All you have to do is ask, and Nikita is yours. Your material. I can't give you anything." Michael was feeling desperate and afraid. Time was running out. Not for himself, but for Nikita."

Jurgen laughed, pulling free of Michael's grip. "You give me the power, Michael," he said softly. "Do you love Nikita?"

Michael's jaw clenched. His first instinct was to deny it, but Jurgen already knew the truth. Michael couldn't protect Nikita with a lie. "I love her," he replied.

"Then why don't you fight for her?" Jurgen coutnered, as he resumed pacing once more. "Give her what she wants, Michael. What she needs. Let go of your control long enough to touch her on her terms. Reassure her that you have a future together."

"There's no such thing as a future in Section!" Michael hissed.

Jurgen sighed. "Nikita knows that. For her the future is just a heartbeat away," he whispered. "She would die for you, Michael. And she would die happy if you would just let her in. She's not asking you to promise her forever. Just give her of yourself right now. For however long you may have. For just today, with a chance at tomorrow. That's enough for Nikita."

Michael shook his head but didn't speak. He moved to walk away but steel fingers grabbed his arm, shoving him around and pushing back till he hit the wall.

"Nikita is stronger than you could ever hope to be, Michael," Jurgen hissed, his face just inches from the other man's. He used the physical closeness to off balance Michael. And he knew that it was working. Michael shoved him back, yet he was listening. "She's not afraid to love you even though she knows that you have the power to hurt her more than anyone else in this world."

"I've hurt her enough," Michael whispered. He had pushed Jurgen away, but remained against the wall, letting it support him as he listened to all the things he didn't want to hear. But Jurgen spoke the truth and Michael couldn't deny it. Not any more.

Jurgen sighed, moving back to give Michael some space, but he wouldn't go away. He had cracked Michael's shield and now he would chip away at it till it shattered. It was only a matter of time. And once that happened, Michael would be his to mold and reshape into the perfect operative. Into his creation. "You're hurting her by shutting her out, Michael. Letting her in will stop the pain....for both of you. Isn't that what you want?"

Michael closed his eyes, feeling hot tears but refusing to let them fall. He had cried for Simone and she was dead. He would not cry for Nikita. "Section won't let us be together," Michael whispered, unaware of the raw pain that colored his voice.

"I'll help you," Jurgen replied. "I have the power. All you have to do is ask." He fell silent now, waiting, knowing that this was a turning point for Michael. And for himself. But most of all for Section One. As for Nikita....she was the fulcrum. The point of being for Michael.

The silence became deafening as Michael locked eyes with Jurgen. But he couldn't see into the other man's soul. There was nothing there, no reflection. Michael closed his eyes then whispered, "I'm asking."

A smile curved Jurgen's lips. Without a word he turned and left the room. Now it would begin.