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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Nikita was in a blue funk. It was not exactly a technical term, but Madeline knew it was accurate. She wasn't exactly surprised, given what Nikita had suffered through during the War with Red Cell. But one thing was certain, she had to get over it. Madeline had an idea how to accomplish that, which was why she had sent for Michael. He stood before her now, his hands clasped in front of him, his beautiful face an expressionless mask. "I need your help, MIchael," Madeline offered, in greeting.
"Of course," he replied, prepared to do her bidding regardless of the task. That was his job.
"It's in regards to Nikita," Madeline countered, her eyes watching closely for his reaction.
Michael's eyes flickered at the name, but that was all. He was too well schooled to reveal anything, especially to Madeline. "What about Nikita?" he questioned, softly.
Madeline moved around her desk and perched on the corner. "She's not able focus well on her work, ever since the War," she replied, in answer to his query. "It's quite obvious that she's depressed, but her...condition...could prove fatal in the field. Be it to herself, or to other operatives."
"You're right," Michael allowed. He had no choice but to agree. On the last three missions he'd had to cover up the mistakes Nikita had made. Foolish mistakes that were beneath her. But she simply couldn't seem to concentrate on the job. Resisting the urge to sigh, Michael asked, "How can I help?"
"Has Nikita talked to you about her feelings?" Madeline inquired, already knowing what his answer would be. But it was a way to lead in to her plan.
Michael shook his head. "I'm the last person that she would talk to," he confessed, trying to keep the sound of regret out of his words, but failing miserably. He flashed back to Nikita's words as they were escaping Red Cell. 'We're finished' she had told him. Michael knew she had meant it. And he had felt the strain between them ever since. Michael didn't blame Nikita for hating him. He had given her every reason in the world to do so.
Madeline smiled, then tilted her head, as if thinking. She had to be careful to tread lightly. Michael was no fool. "Why don't you take Nikita out somewhere?" she suggested. "Get her away from Section for a while. Let her have some fun." Madeline knew that it was in the best interests of both Nikita and Michael, for the two young operatives to work out the feelings that were between them. Regardless of whether it was love, or hate. Or both. Michael and Nikita were an unbeatable team. But, if Section had to chose one or the other, Nikita would be sacrificed. It wasn't what Madeline wanted, so she was willing to push the issue to achieve a more positive results.
"I don't do fun," Michael replied, his eyes locked with Madeline's. His words weres meant to be sarcastic, but he realized that he had truly amused her. Turning away, Michael did allow a sigh to escape him. He wished for Nikita to have fun. He wanted to see her smile again. To be....happy. "She won't go with me," Michael stated firmly. He wouldn't pretend otherwise.
"Can't hurt to ask," Madeline countered, with equal emphasis. But then she let it go. She wouldn't make it an order. Whatever happened next, would have to be Michael's choice. So, with a wave of her hand, Madeline dismissed him. But as she watched Michael glide out of the room with a sensual grace that was as natural to him as breathing, a smile curved Madeline's lips. What she wouldn't give to have a transmitter tucked under Michael's collar for the evening. But she pushed such thoughts aside and returned to her reports. For the time being Nikita was Michael's problem, and he was welcome to her.
Michael prowled the corridors of Section, searching for Nikita. Madeline's words replayed themselves in his head. Michael was convinced that, in her own way, Madeline was trying to warn him. He had been with Section a long time. He knew the rules. If Nikita couldn't pull her own weight as an operative, if she became a liability..then she would be cancelled. Michael wasn't about to let that happen.
He found Nikita at Birkhoff's station. She and the computer whiz were involved in a computer game. They both looked up as he approached, twin reflections of guilt mirrored on their faces.
It was Nikita who recovered first and responded to Michael the way she had in the beginning. With cool sarcasm. It was an effective defense mechanism. "Uh oh, Birkhoff," Nikita drawled, leaning back in her chair. "We've been caught. Probably grounds for cancellation."
Birkhoff realized that Nikita wasn't entirely joking. After the War with Red Cell, she had changed. They had all seen it, and Birkhoff was worried, so he was quick to reassure her. "Michael won't say anything about this, Nikita. He's high scorer, and I've got the numbers." Birkhoff smirked at Michael as he spoke, but the older man simply looked at him with his, unblinking, gaze intact. Birkhoff heaved a silent sigh. And all this time he thought he was the cynic. At least he had a sense of humor. Sort of.
"High scorer?" Nikita repeated, a flash of surprise sparking in her eyes. She wouldn't have thought that Michael would play games. Well, not computer games, anyway. Nikita didn't say the words, but she let her thoughts show as she gazed at Michael. He was, indeed, the master game player when it came to lies and manipulations. To Nikita's surprise, Michael had the grace to look...guilty.
"Nikita, may I speak to you for a moment?" Michael requested. He totally ignored Birkhoff. Not to be rude, but because he needed to be firmly focused on what he was about to do. In a sense, he needed to focus on the mission. Only, this time, it was of a personal nature.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Nikita stood up and stepped down to Michael's level. "Sure," she drawled. "What is it? Another briefing?"
Michael shook his head, then gestured for Nikita to follow him. He led her to a shadowy alcove where they would have a modicum of privacy. Once there, and facing each other, Michael made eye contact. "I was wondering if you were busy tonight," he began.
"I dunno," Nikita countered, not letting her surprise at the question show. But he suspicion was apparent in her response. "I did have plans to paint my toe nails. Fuschia." Smirking now, Nikita held Michael's gaze, then challenged, "Why?"
"I was..." MIchael paused, then reworded his statement changing it to a question. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
Nikita was stunned, and this time she couldn't hide it. "Dinner?" she repeated, her eyes searching deep into Michael's. He had to be up to something and Nikita wasn't in the mood for games.
Michael nodded. He realized that Nikita didn't trust him, and why should she? The last time he had taken her out to dinner it had been a lie. A test. Nikita had been happy to be out of Section. Happy to be sitting in a fine resturant wearing a beautiful dress. Only to have her happiness shattered when Michael had gifted her with a gun and instructed her on her duties. Had she failed that night, Nikita would have been cancelled. Sometimes Michael wondered if that wouldn't have been for the best. But he pushed aside those thoughts and forced a smile. This time his dinner invitation was genuine, but had a desperate quality that he did his best to keep hidden. Softly, he whispered, "Yes. Dinner. Will you come?"
"Why?" Nikita countered, her eyes flashing. She was remembering the last time as well. Locking eyes with Michael, she made her demands. "I want the truth."
"Of course," Michael replied. And he would give it to her. "Madeline thought it would be a good idea for you to get out of Section for a while. I agree."
Nikita was impressed. For once, she believed that he was telling the truth. "Why dinner?" She countered. "Why not....oh...say a movie?"
Michael knew it was in his best interests to continue being honest. "I feel that I owe you dinner. I want a chance to make up for the last time." He wondered if Nikita realized just how true his words were. He so desperately wanted to give Nikita back at least one moment of happiness. To give back what he had been responsible for taking away. Michael did what he did, because it was his job to obey Section's order. But the bottom line was that he, directly, caused Nikita pain, suffering and sorrow. He owed her at least one night of happiness. It wouldn't make up for the past, but maybe it would allow a truce between them. Nikita had two choices. Conform to Section's ways, or die. Michael didn't want her to die. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but it was the truth.
"So....this is a legitimate dinner invitation?" Nikita prompted, still searching for a flicker in Michael's beautiful eyes, that would betray him. But he faced her gaze, ublinkingly.
"It's just dinner, Nikita," Michael confirmed. Then he waited, allowing her the time to sort out her feelings. He realized that they had to be chaotic. His certainly were. But Michael had an advantage over Nikita. He could control his emotions. It never occurred to him that such an ability was more of a curse, than a blessing.
Nikita only to a moment to decide. She went with her heart, ignoring the warning bells that were going off in her head. "All right, Michael. I would love to have dinner with you tonight," she said, a smile lighting up her face. "What time?"
Michael hid the relief that washed over him and replied, "I'll pick you up at eight."
"Good," Nikita replied, her mind already thinking ahead. She needed to go shopping. "What should I wear?"
"Something....elegant," Michael whispered. He was planning on taking Nikita to a four star resturant. A favorite of his and one he felt that she would like.
Nikita was doing the math. She had six hours to find a dress and accessories, do her hair and nails and be drop dead gorgeous by the time Michael arrived at her door. She wanted to knock his socks off, so to speak. It occurred to Nikita that she could ask Madeline for a dress, but she wanted tonight to be what Michael had said, an evening away from Section. So the fewer reminders of it, like borrowed clothing, the better. "I'll see you at eight then," Nikita confirmed. Then she waggled her fingers at Michael before turning to stoll off. "Later."
Michael didn't reply. He simply stood where he was and watched her go. Once Nikita was out of sight, Michael headed for his office. He had a tacticals to work up for a mission that would start tomorrow night. But, for some reason, he doubted he would be able to conentrate. All he could think of was Nikita's sweet smile.
************
It was five minutes to eight and Nikita was just putting on her earrings, when she heard a knock on her door. A smile curved her lips for she knew it was Michael. "Just a minute! she called out. After checking her hair, Nikita stepped into her shoes, a pair of strappy gold sandals, then practically ran down the stairs. She skidded to a halt just short of the door and took a deep, calming, breath. Then she reached for the knob, turned it, and pulled the door open. "Michael," Nikita said in greeting, offering a smile.
"Good evening, Nikita," he replied. He was wearing sunglasses, but he pulled them off to get a better look at her as she gestured for him to step inside. She was like something from a fairytale. Her dress was champagne-colored silk, with a halter neck bodice and a skirt that flowed to just above her knees. She had pulled her hair back into a smooth chignon and simple, gold, earring completed the look. Which was classy and elegant. "You're beautiful," Michael whispered, his eyes luminous with admiration.
"So are you," Nikita replied. She was as pleased by his compliment as she was sincere about her own. Michael was the sexiest and most physically beautiful man that Nikita had ever known. And his looks were further enhanced by the fact that he was wearing color this evening. A royal blue jacket over a black silk shirt, combined with a pair of black pants and black, suede shoes. Michael looked both striking and exotic, and he took Nikita's breath away. "I didn't think you owned anything other than black," she teased, her eyes roving over him leisurly.
Michael let a smile curve his lips as he offered a tidbit of truth. "It was...a gift," he replied, referring to the jacket.
Nikita was intrigued. "Who from?" she prompted, stepping around Michael to close the door.
"Madeline," Michael whispered, then he turned to see Nikita's reaction.
"I should have known," Nikita drawled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll have to remember to tell Madeline that she has excellent taste."
Tucking his sunglasses into the inside, jacket pocket, Michael then lifted one hand to brush his fingertips across Nikita's cheek. Her skin was warm and soft as silk. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, his voice husky. Michael was having to fight the desire to pull Nikita into his arms and kiss her. It had been a long time since she had been so relaxed with him. She seemed to have put her sarcasm on a shelf and was willing to open herself up to whatever awaited them. Michael only hoped that he would be able to keep his own emotions under control.
Nikita let her head drop and press against Michael's palm for a moment, then she nodded. "I'll get my coat." She walked over to the couch where she had laid out a white, cashmere, jacket. But as Nikita made to slip it on, she felt it tugged out of her hands. Turning, she saw Michael holding it out for her. It was a gallant gesture that pleased her. But that was Michael, always full of surprises. Turning her back to him, Nikita slid her arms into the coat, then felt Michael slide it up onto her shoulders. But his hands didn't leave then. They glided off her shoulders and down her arms, leaving goosebumps of pleaure to ripple over Nikita's skin in their wake. She then felt his warm lips pressed to the nape of her neck and she closed her eyes.
"We should go," Michael whispered in NIkita's ear. He could feel her body tremble and knew that she was affected by his touch. That made two of them. In that moment, Michael knew he could have cut the sexual tension between them with a knife. But he didn't want to go there. Not now. It wasn't the right time. Nor would it be for the right reasons. Michael knew that the physical bond between himself and Nikita was strong. Strong enough to bind them together in spite of the illogic of such a union. But it wouldn't heal the wounds he had inflicted, so Michael stepped away from Nikita. Giving her the space they both needed.
"Yes," Nikita whispered, as she turned to face Michael again. "We should go." She gestured for him to procede her to the door, but just as he reached it, Nikita pushed hard against his back, shoving Michael forward so the he had to put up both hands to stop himself from slamming, face first, into the door. "Spread him," Nikita ordered, using her foot to force Michael into a wide stance, before he could fully recover from his surprise.
He was puzzled by Nikita's actions, put obeyed her commands. For the moment. "What are you doing?" Michael questioned, as he felt Nikita's hands slide into the front pockets of his trousers.
She laughed softly as her fingers discovered empty pockets. They tickled hard muscle before moving on to glide over his flat stomach. Then they traveled up his chest, as Nikita pressed her chest against Michael's back. Nothing but smooth, hard muscle to be found as Nikita's fingers danced over Michael's ribs. Then she stepped back a bit so her hands could brush over his buttocks. She couldn't resist a pinch and Nikita felt Michael jerk in reaction as she stepped back and allowed him to face her. "I was checking for weapons," she said, in answer to his question. "You're not carrying a gun." It was almost a question as opposed to a statement.
"We're going to dinner," Michael reminded her, a slight smile curving his lips. "Not on a mission."
"I just needed to be sure," Nikita confessed. She didn't feel guilty for her suspicions, and she could see by the look in Michael's eyes that he didn't blame her for having them. "I'm ready to go now," Nikita announced, reaching for the door knob.
As Michael followed her out, he decided it would be best not to mention that he did have a gun in the glove compartment of his car.
The resturant that Michael took Nikita to was one of the finest in town. They sat in a private, corner booth, that he had reserved ahead of time. And Nikita's face was buried in a bouquet of pink roses. Two dozen of them.
She inhaled their delicate fragrance, then lifted her head to smile at Michael. "They're beautiful," Nikita said softly. "Thank you, Michael." The roses had been waiting for her, in a silver box, on table as they were being seated. Suspicion had narrowed Nikita's eyes for a minute, as she remembered the last gift Michael had given her in a resturant. But he had kept his word about tonight being a simple. Nikita almost laughed at her thoughts. Well....maybe not simple. Along with the flowers was a bottle of Dom Perignon, and a crystal bowl filled with luscious strawberries. "What other suprises do you have in store for me?" Nikita questioned, her eyes shining with anticipation. She could get used to this.
"I've ordered dinner for us," Michael replied. "I thought you might enjoy experimenting," he said, his eyes sweeping over Nikita's face. Michael thought that she had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment. Her arms filled with roses and the warm glow of happiness illuminating her eyes.
"I'm open to try anything tonight," Nikita confirmed, as she reached for her glass of champagne. Tonight wouldn't erase the past, and Nikita couldn't forget Michael's lies or manipulations. But she could forgive them in the face of his being honest and open with her. Nikita knew that it wasn't easy for him. But that he was willing to make the effort meant alot to her. It gave her hope. What the future held for them, if anything, Nikita didn't have the courage to guess. But this moment in time was precious, and she wanted to absorb it like a sponge.
Michael picked up a strawberry, dipped it into his champagne glass, then held it out to Nikita. He smiled as she bit into it and a drop of juice dribbled down her chin. "I'll get it," he told her, reaching out and letting one fingertip brush away the droplet.
Nikita caught her breath as she watched Michael bring his finger to his mouth and suckle off the juice. She doubted that he knew how sensual his actions were, and good thing. Michael's sexuality was a potent weapon, and Nikita knew she was helpless against it. Tonight she wasn't so sure she cared. But it wouldn't do to rush things. "So..." she drawled, dropping her eyes back down to the roses. "What are we having for dinner?"
"A little bit of everything," Michael replied. "I asked for a smorgasborg of their best dishes. I hope your hungry."
"Starving," Nikita confessed, as she carefully placed the roses back in there box. She didn't want to crush them. Placing the lid back over them to seal in the moisture, Nikita set them on the inside of her seat. "I never had lunch, so I could eat a horse."
Michael kept a straight face as he replied, "I'm afraid that's not on the menu. You'll have to settle for lamb."
Nikita stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Why, Michael," she breathed. "Was that an attempt at...humor?"
"A very small attempt," he allowed, reaching for his glass.
"Not bad," Nikita said softly. Her eyes watched him take a swallow of champagne. Every movement he made, however small, was fluid grace. Yet those hands that could be so gentle and offer such tender caresses, could also kill effortlessly. Strangely enough, the thought excited Nikita. Deciding that it was time to distract her libido, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her palms. "Tell me something, Michael," Nikita requested. "Why go to so much trouble?"
He knew that she was referring to the resturant, the flowers and all the rest. Locking eyes with Nikita, Michael replied, "It's no trouble. I want you to be happy, Nikita." That was the simple truth.
She nodded, believing him, but she was still curious. "Do you, Michael?" Nikita prompted. "Do you really want me to be happy?"
"Yes," he whispered, but a frown tugged at the corner of his lips. Michael wondered where Nikita was heading.
"Then...can I ask you a question?" she countered, her eyes becoming luminous as her smile faded. Nikita knew that it was time to get things out in the open between them. It was easy enough for her to do so, and she was willing. But whether or not she and Michael could ever move past the past, would depend upon his words and actions right here in this present.
Michael was wary of the look in Nikita's eyes, but he nodded. "You can ask."
Nikita smiled at his choice of words. He was attempting to leave himself an out. But Nikita wasn't having that. "I expect an answer," she stated, firmly, locking eyes with Michael. "And for it to be the truth."
"If I can," he allowed, echoed the words he had spoken once before to Nikita. In her apartment. Then she had been holding a gun on him and had asked why she shouldn't pull the trigger. Michael had told her the truth when he had replied that he couldn't think of a single reason. He would do his best to answer her now. Nikita deserved answers. Honest ones.
"Do you care about me at all?" Nikita replied, firing the question at Michael without hesitation. Her gaze never wavered from his either, as she awaited his reply.
Michael was silent for a heartbeat, then he whispered, "Too much."
Nikita was surprised at his words. She shook her head. "What does that mean?" she demanded. "Too much." She waited for a response, but Michael simply looked away from her. Nikita watched him reach for his glass and drain it, but still he was silent. Blinking back tears of frustration, Nikita rose to her feet. "Fine!" she hissed. "I'm out of her." She was reaching for her coat when she felt Michael's hand on her arm.
"Wait," he beseeched. Michael put his hand on Nikita's shoulder to press her back down into her seat. Once she was sitting, he did too. Then he clasped his hands together on the table top and gave her an answer. But Michael doubted that it was what Nikita wanted to hear. Still, it was the truth. "I loved Simone...and my son," he said quietly. Then his eyes lifted to Nikita's face. "They're dead now."
"Michael.." Nikita whispered his name as she realized what he was saying. What he was thinking. She saw pain glimmer in his eyes at it was reflected in her own. "Michael," Nikita repeated, wanting him to focus on what she was about to say. "Simone and your son didn't die because you loved them. They died because of Section."
Nikita's eyes flashed, for she believe that she spoke the truth. She knew that Simone had killed herself because she had felt dead inside after three years of torture and imprisonment. A fate she would not have suffered had Section told Michael the truth. That she was alive. But they had lied to him. And Red Cell had revealed another truth. That Michael blamed Section One for the death of his son. That knowledge was part of what confused Nikita in regards to Michael. Section had killed the two people he loved most. Not only that, but they had turned him into a killing machine, and convinced him that he no longer knew what love was. So why did he remain loyal to them? It was the next question that Nikita was going to ask, only she was cut off by the sound of gunshot, and screaming.
Michael was on his feet and reaching for Nikita's hand, even as a small group of young men, heavily armed, entered the dining room. They were dressed in what Michael recognized as gang colors and it was obvious, to him anyway, that they were high. A couple had snatched bottles of wine off of tables while passing by and were guzzling down the intoxicating beverage.
One young man, the leader, climbed onto a nearby table. He held a .45 in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. His eyes tracked the room as he raised the bottle in an obscene toast. "Mi amigos!" he shouted. "It's party time!"
Madeline and Operations were in his office when Birkhoff beeped them. Hitting the intercom, Operations asked, "What is it?"
Birkhoff cleared his throat, nervously, knowing that what he was about to tell them would not be well received. "Sir, there's been an incident at Molaire's Resturant. Probable hostage situation." "So?" Operations countered, frowning. It meant nothing to him.
Madeline, however, understand the significance and said, "Thank you, Birkhoff. Continue scanning the police lines and report back."
"You got it," the computer whiz replied, then he signed off.
Operations glared at Madeline, knowing that something was up. "What is it?" he questioned, his eyes glittering like ice.
Madeline sighed. "Michael took Nikita to Molaire's for dinner tonight," she said softly. Then she waited for the explosion. It didn't come. But she could see the effort it took for Operations' to contain his fury. "What do you want to do?" she asked, knowing that some kind of action would have to be taken. A hostage situation meant that the police would be called in, which could cause a security risk to Section should Michael and Nikita become involved. Were that to happen, cancellation was imminent. At least for Nikita. Madeline knew that Operations would make an attempt to save Michael.
"We're not going to do anything," Operations' replied, almost grinning at the look of surprise on Madeline's face. "This is Michael's mess. Let him clean it up." With that, Operations turned his attention back to the report he had been reading. He was aware of Madeline leaving his office and the moment he was alone, Operations' slammed his fist onto the desk top. "Don't fail me, Michael," he whispered. "Not this time."
************
Michael knew that the young men, the gang members, had stormed the resturant in search of a distraction. They were high, bored and in need of a rush. That made them volatile and dangerous. "Under the table," he ordered Nikita.
She tried to shake off his hand. "No!" Nikita hissed. "Michael, we have to do something!" She was thinking of all the innocent people who would no doubt die before the horror had passed.
"Do what?" Michael countered. "We have no weapons," he reminded her, thinking longingly of his gun in the glove compartment of his car.
"Maybe we can reason with them?" Nikita suggested, hearing desperation coloring her voice, even as she found herself pushed beneath the table.
Michael knelt beside her. "You can reason with insanity, Nikita. Nor are they willing to listen." Michael flinched at the sound of another gun shot, but his face was expressionless as he watched an old man fall to the floor, a hole in his chest and blood staining his shirt. One of the gang members had shot him, simply for the sport of it. Not that there was any sport in shooting a defenseless man.
Nikita had seen the body fall, and now she closed her eyes. "So...what do we do?" she questioned, feeling her insides twist into knots.
"We wait," Michael said softly. But even as he spoke, they lost that option. The leader, named Keno, had jumped down from the table to give orders to his crew.
Keno guessed that there were about sixty people present, including the staff, and to his mind that meant lots of money and loot. So he ordered everyone to the far wall, so his gang could do a sweep and relive everyone of their valuables.
Michael knew that he couldn't hide Nikita, so he helped her to her feet and walked with her over to the wall as a young man, holding a .45, waved it at them. They joined the others and Michael could feel the fear that emanated from the people around them. Their was death in the air, and reflected in the gang members glassy eyes. When it was his turn, Michael handed over his money and watch. Then he watched Nikita drop her earrings into the makeshift bag. Michael's main concern was with her safety. He knew, as Nikita probably didn't, that this situation compromised them. Section would not be happy. Neither was Michael. He had failed Nikita yet again.
Nikita had no idea of the train of Michael's thoughts. She was preoccupied with tracking the movements of the gang members. Unconsciously, she was using her training, scoping for an opening. Not that she expected one to show itself. Nikita was no fool. She and Michael had no weapons and were heavily outnumbered. Nor was Section liable to come storming in with back up. They were on their own, and Nikita was determined to save as many lives as possible. No more innocent blood on her hands. Not tonight. So, when one of the crew got rough with a young woman and tore her dress, making her scream, Nikita gave no thought to the consequences, but ran forward and slugged the guy in the temple.
The young man was furious and he raised his gun, prepared to shoot. Only to howl in pain a moment later as his gun flew out of his hand. He grabbed his broken wrist and fell to his knees.
"Michael.." Nikita whispered. She was grateful for his intervention. He had kicked the gun out the young man's hand and saved her life. But now she feared that his was in jeapordy.
Keno ran forward, his gun raised and pointing at Michael. A cold smile curved his lips as he pressed the muzzle to the other man's temple.
Michael didn't flinch. He simply held Keno's gaze.
"You loco, man," Keno drawled, with a shake of his head. But a part of him was impressed. The man before him faced him without fear. "You ain't afraid to die, amigo," he whispered. And that fact intrigued him. "Why is that?"
"I know death," Michael replied, softly.
Keno laughed, a half-crazed sound. He moved the gun to press against Michael's chest. "So..." he drawled. "I could shoot you now and you wouldn't care?" he queried.
Michael didn't blink. "Do it," he invited. He heard Nikita's gasp but ignored it. Now was not the time to lose focus.
"You're too eager to die!" Keno hissed, stepping away from Michael to kick at his friend who was still whimpering on the floor. "Get up!" Keno shouted at him. "Get your gun and finish collecting the goods," he ordered. Then he turned to wave his gun at the people lined up against the wall. Some screamed and others gasped, and Keno delighted in the sight, scent and sound of their fear. It was the ultimate rush. He wanted to kill one of them and watch their life's blood seep out of them even as the light in their eyes dimmed. He had just set his sights on a pretty, young girl when he heard the man behind him speak.
"That's too easy," Michael drawled, hoping to draw Keno's attention back upon himself. He succeeded.
Keno glared at him. "Whatcha talking about?" he demanded.
Michael offered a smile. "You want a rush," he replied, then he turned and gestured to the other gang members. "All of you want blood. But what about a challenge?" Michael understood gang ethics, and the code of *honor* that adhered to. He played upon that now. It was the only chance they had. He and Nikita. Michael knew that it was only a matter of time before the police arrived. No doubt they were already on their way, and they would attempt to negotiate with Keno. Only Michael knew the young man and his friends wouldn't listen. People would die, swat would come in. He and Nikita would be compromised and cancellation would be imminent. Michael wasn't going to let that happen.
"You making me an offer?" Keno countered, finding himself intrigued. When the other man nodded he asked, "What's your name?"
"Peter," Michael replied, without hesitation.
Nikita smiled to herself as she realized that Michael had given the name he had used while undercover to infiltrate Bauer. It was clever of him not to give his real name, but Nikita was concerned about what he might be planning. She could never second guess what Michael might do.
Keno laughed softly. "You don't look like a Peter," he replied, but then his laughter faded. "Talk to me, Peter. Whatcha got in mind?"
"A challenge," Michael countered, his eyes flickering to the other gang members. He knew that everyone in the room was watching him. Waiting. The hostages, no doubt, hoping that he would be their savior. That thought chilled him, but Michael shoved it aside to explain his position. "The cops will be here soon, Keno. You don't want to play with them. So play with me. I'll take on three of your best men. No guns, but anything else goes. If I beat them, you take your loot and go. No more killing."
"And if you lose?" Keno prompted, even as his eyes glittered. He was liking this already. Feeling the rush of adrenaline pumping through him.
Michael chose his words carefully. "If I lose, then you get to kill me. But either way, you walk out of here. No one else needs to die."
Nikita bit her lip as the enormity of the sacrifice that Michael was making hit her. He was willing to trade his life for the lives of everyone else in this room. And he was doing it freely. In that moment, Nikita felt more confused about Michael than ever, but she was touched by his actions. Michael reminded Nikita of a Kaleidoscope. Everytime she looked at him she saw something different. He was a reflection of everchanging patterns, beautiful to look at...but perplexing.
"What's it going to be, Keno?" Michael prompted. He knew that time was running out.
"Let's play, muchaco," Keno drawled. Then he threw back his head and howled, and the sound echoed in the room.
Madeline stood beside Birkhoff at his station. She knew that Operations was watching them from the second level. "Any news?" she asked.
Birkhoff grimaced, running his hand over the top of his head. Then he nodded. "Yeah. It's not good." Birkhoff knew the situation as well as anyone, so he knew time was running out for Michael and Nikita.
"Tell me," Madeline prompted.
"Cops are on their way," Birkhoff told her. "They'll be on the scene with SWAT in place in less than thirty."
Swallowing back a sigh, Madeline walked away.
************
Keno chose two of his companions to fight the man called Peter. He would be the third. His other men kept their guns trained on the hostages. Keno kept his gun for now as well. He would fight last...if Peter was still standing. He doubted he would be.
Michael slipped out of his jacket and moved to face his opponents. Once glance and he new they would attack as a team. Both had butterfly knives in their hands. A slight smile curved Michael's lips as he watched them circle about him, like wolves stalking their prey. He could feel Nikita's gaze burning into him, but didn't allow it to distract him. There was too much at stake. He was fighting for Nikita's life, and the lives of everyone in the room. So he had to remain focused.
The gang members did attack as one. Michael did a back spin and his leg came up to kick one guy in the head. But he didn't stop momentum, for he knew the other was behind him. Michael faced him in time to grab the blade that slashed at him between both hands, palms flat. His knee slammed into the young mans groin and the knife was released with a howl of pain. Michael shut him up with a kick to the head. One down. But the first man was ready for him. Michael ducked as he sensed the whoosh of the blade at his head. Popping back up, he slammed the heel of his hand into the other man's nose. The guy cursed and dropped the knife to cradle his face. Blood gushed out of his broken appendage, and Michael almost smiled as he took him out with a kick in the head. Two down...one to go. Not that it was a fair fight. The gang members were viscious, but not in Michael's league. They were amateurs.
Keno was not pleased by the damage inflicted upon his people. Rrage burned within him, but so did respect. The man in black was good. A challenge. And Keno loved a challenge. He also felt that he had the advantage for he was a good five inches taller than Peter and at least sixty pounds heavier. He would crush him, after cutting him to bits. Smiling, Keno handed his gun to one of his boys, then he pulled his knife from his boot and stepped forward. Waving one hand he challenged Michael. "Come on, amigo. Let's dance."
Michael stepped forward without hesitation. He knew that time was running out. He also felt the eyes of everyone in the room upon him. The hostages had hope shining in their eyes. Michael didn't want to fail them. Or Nikita. He knew that Keno would be more of a challenge, but he still had the advantage. He wasn't afraid to die.
Without warning, Keno leaped forward, slashing his blade at Michael's stomach. But the other man glided back effortlessly. That enraged Keno, so he gripped the blade harder and rushed at Peter,. only to receive a kick in the face that brought him up short. And so it went for several minutes. Keno charging at Michael like a bull, and Michael deflecting his advances with kicks and strikes. But, unlike the other two, Keno didn't stay down. He was too pumped up on drugs and booze to feel much pain, and he had always been able to take a hit. That was his advantage. Like Michael, he could endure pain.
Nikita watched the fight, feeling knots form in her stomach. Michael was keeping Keno at bay, but she could see that the gang member was becoming enraged at being played with. Soon he would go for broke and Nikita feared that Michael wouldn't be able to stop him. But she let go of that train of thought as she caught a sudden flash of red lights through the windows. Without thinking, she ran to the closest window and pushed back the curtain. Cop cars were lined up across the street. "POLICE!" Nikita shouted, as a warning to Michael.
He knew that it was now or never. But at the same time, Nikita's shout had distracted Michael. He turned away from Keno, only for a second, but it was long enough for the other man to grab a gun and point it at him.
"No!" Nikita shouted. She ran forward without thinking only to find herself snagged by Keno.
The gang member used her as a shield, and held his gun pointed to her head. His eyes gleamed as he faced Michael. "You're dead, man!" he hissed. "And so's your lady friend."
"I don't think so," MIchael whispered. He locked eyes with Keno then moved towards him. One slow step after another.
"Back off man!" Keno shouted, even as he attempted to stand his own ground. He had to show honor in front of his crew. But he realized that Michael would not stop. He kept coming towards him, no fear in his eyes. So Keno pulled the gun off of Nikita and trained it at the other man's heart. "You're dead!" he screamed, even as he fired.
Nikita gasped as she watched the bullet slam into Michael's left shoulder. The impact jerked him back, but he remained on his feet. He didn't react to the pain he was in, he simply kept moving forward. Nikita sensed that Keno was flipped out by Michael's actions, but she also feared that he would fire again. So she stomped on Keno's instep with her heel.
Keno howled and released the blond, then he cried out again as he felt the gun wrenched out of his hand. Cruel fingers grabbed his hair and Keno found himself on his knees, his own gun held to his temple.
Michael's eyes were like ice. "Tell your crew to put down their weapons, or you die," he ordered.
"Don't kill me, man!" Keno begged, uncaring of how it looked. He didn't want to die, and the man who was holding him was death. "Please don't!" he whimpered.
"Do as I said," Michael hissed.
Keno swallowed hard then cried out, "Put your guns down, muchachos! NOW!"
Nikita watched as the five remaining gang members obeyed their leader. She picked up one gun, kicked the others away, then asked two of the waiters to tie the crew up. They were quick to obey. Meanwhile, Nikita went to Michael. She watched as he used the butt of the gun to knock Keno out. When he turned to face her, she let one hand touch the blood on his shirt. "Are you all right?" Nikita asked, her eyes locked on Michael's face.
"I'm fine," he whispered. The pain and dizziness he felt could be ignored. Nikita was all right and that was all that mattered to him. Michael took her hand, drawing her away. "We have to go," he reminded her. The cops would be coming in any second and the patrons of the resturtant would have quite the story to tell them.
"I'm right behind you," Nikita replied, knowing that it was time for them to disappear. She was surprised when Michael stopped by their table. "What are you doing?"
Michael grabbed Nikita's purse and coat. He had already retrieved his jacket. Handing her things to her, he then reached for the box of roses. "I don't want to leave anything behind," he told her, a soft smile curving his lips. Truth be told, Michael didn't care much about the jackets and Nikita's purse, but he knew that the roses had pleased her and he wanted her to have a happy memory of this evening. At least the beginning of it. "Come on," he said, then he led her out the side exit.
Madeline smiled at Michael who was lying in a bed in Medlab. He wasn't happy about it, but she had threatened him with restraints if he didn't stay put for at least twenty-four hours. Surgeons had removed the bullet without complications, but he had lost a fair amount of blood and needed time to rest. Madeline's smile also included Nikita, who was sitting beside the bed. "You should be proud of yourself, Michael," she said softly, one hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Alot of people owe you their lives." Her words had a double meaning that Madeline knew he would understand.
Michael nodded. He knew she meant Nikita. "I did what I had to do," he whispered. Madeline would understand that too.
"You cut it close," she drawled, exchanging a knowing glance with Michael.
"I know," he replied. Michael let a smile curve his lips as he watched Madeline walk out of the room.
Nikita was intrigued. "What did Madeline mean...you cut it close?" she inquired, even as she reached for Michael's hand. It pleased her when he let her fingers intertwine with his.
Michael shook his head. "Doesn't matter now," he replied.
"I have something for you," Nikita said, reaching down to the floor. She retrieved a single rose from the bouquet Michael had given her and handed it to him. At his questioning look, she explained why. "I want us both to remember this night," Nikita said softly, a smile curving her lips. "Despite what happened with Keno, I had a good time. And I appreciate that you were honest with me."
"I wish it could have ended differently," Michael countered, letting his regret show in his eyes.
Nikita laughed and her eyes sparkled. "No regrets, Michael," she chided him. "I consider tonight to be dinner Michael-style. But...I would like to invite you out to dinner, Nikita-style. As soon as your feeling up to it."
Michael didn't miss a beat. "Tomorrow night?" he questioned, hopefully. It was probably an unwise decision on his part, but he wanted to spend time with Nikita. Time away from Section.
"All right," Nikita allowed, knowing that anyone else would still be confined to bed after being shot, but not Michael. She would just be careful not to plan anything to tiresome. "Seven o'clock?" she inquired.
"Sounds good," Michael replied. He felt his eyes begin to drift close, thanks to the sedative he had been given, but he fought against it.
Nikita knew he needed to rest, so she stood up and bent down to brush a kiss across his lips. "Rest, Michael," she beseeched him. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow night." With that, Nikita collected her roses and left the room.
Michael watched her go and only then did he surrender to the darkness of slumber.
"Do you want to sit down for a bit?" Nikita inquired, as she and Michael strolled down the parkway, hand in hand. It was nearing eleven and Nikita was afraid of tiring Michael out. After all, they had already gorged themselves on pizza at Geno's Pizzaria. Walked the Mall from end to end, while Nikita insisted on buying Michael three new t-shirts. One red, one sapphire blue and one emerald green. He was wearing the green one, along with the blue jeans that he had surprised her by wearing. Another suprise had been his hair. Instead of being smoothed down and tucked behind his ears, Michael had let the thick curls tumble about his face. Nikita hadn't been able to resist running her fingers through them. And Michael had let her.
It was almost like he was a stranger, Nikita thought. But, at the same time, it was the same Michael that she was familiar with. He looked at her the same way, his eyes filled with sensual heat. And his voice was soft and husky. He still didn't talk much about himself, but he did let himself smile at her silly jokes and antics. Such as when Nikita had gotten whipped cream on her nose when they had shared a Death-by-chocolate sundae at the Ice Cream Shoppe. Which led them to this moment. They were walking off the calories in the park. The night air was almost warm and the sky was midnight black and shimmering with starlight. But Nikita was concerned with Michael's welfare. He should probably be home and in bed. So she made a strong suggestion. "Why don't we sit down on the bench for a while?"
Michael knew what Nikita was doing and he was touched by her concern. But he had never felt better. "I'm allright," he assured her, as he eyes flickered over her sweet face.
"I know," Nikita allowed, but she was still worried. "Maybe we should go home?" she queried.
"Shhhh..." Michael whispered, coming to a sudden stop. He freed his hand from Nikita's so he could cup her face in his palms. "Stop talking," he beseeched. And when she would have protested, he silenced her with a kiss.
Nikita was surprised, but it quickly passed. Her arms slid around Michael's neck and she pushed her tongue between his lips to taste his liquid sweetness. It was madness, she knew, giving in to her passion for him. But Nikita didn't care. Tomorrow they would return to Section and it would be business as usual between them. But for tonight...for this moment in time...it was magic. And if there was only one lesson that Michael had managed to teach her, it was to live for the moment. This moment was theirs, and always would be....regardless of what tomorrow would bring. Although a tiny voice in Nikita's head prayed, that tomorrow would never come.
THE END
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