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. "I don't think you should go." Madeline stated her objection only after the breakfast dishes had been cleared away. Then she locked her dark gaze on Operation's face and spoke her mind. He smiled at her, pleased by what he took to be concern. "I have to go," Operations countered, setting aside the morning paper and pulling off his glasses. "Quentin won't deal with anyone else." Madeline didn't deny the facts, but she continued with her line of reasoning. "He knows that you're vulnerable now. He'll use that to his advantage." "And I'm aware of that fact, so I still have the edge," Operations countered. He held Madeline's gaze. "And I won't be going alone. "I'm taking Michael with me... as a bodyguard." "Is that wise?" Madeline challenged, reaching for her cup of tea. She took a sip then continued when Operations didn't respond. "Quentin knows about Michael. He knows that you've chosen him as your... successor." Operations shrugged. "Your point being?" he prompted, a frown furrowing his brow. Madeline's initial show of concern for his personal wellbeing seemed suddenly suspect. In the past year Operations' relationship with the beautiful strategist had gone through a difficult transition. But he would not believe that she had stopped caring about him. Could not believe it. Madeline sighed softly, then a cold smile curved her lips. "Michael is the best choice to protect you," she allowed. "But if you both go that leaves us... vulnerable. Michael would die for you and odds are you won't walk away from this meeting with Quentin alive. That means we lose you both, and it's been a difficult year for us all. It would not be good for Section One to suffer such a loss." "Your concern overwhelms me, Madeline," Operations drawled, his voice becoming as icy as his eyes. Pushing his chair away from the table, he stood up then headed for the door. "I've made all the arrangements," Operations called out over his shoulder, then paused as the door whooshed open. "Michael and I leave in three hours. Take care of business while I'm gone." With that Operations strode away, forcing himself not to look back. "I'll do that," Madeline replied to the empty room. Then she leaned back in her chair to finish her tea. Her smile still intact. ***** Michael stared at his computer screen, studying the information he had requested. A file on the man by the name of Lionel Quentin. Head of a particular faction of Housekeeping as it were. They had another name... Sweepers. Michael called them something else. Assassins. They were the operatives who kept Section honest. At least *honest* by Oversight's definition. Sweepers were in a class by themselves. Loners by nature, deadly by right. The were seldom seen and never remembered. If you saw one, you were dead. It was that simple. Michael understood his role in the upcoming mission. It was of a private nature as far as Section was considered. Operations was dealing with Quentin on his own time and he wanted protection. That was Michael's place. Bodyguard. It wouldn't be the first time, but this time was different than the others. This time he didn't agree with what Operations was doing. After the situation with Adrian, things had changed at Section. There was a breakdown of respect for the hierarchy. Many operatives had heard of Nikita's challenge to Operations to defend Section One. Many of them agreed with Nikita's fears. Michael being one of them. He knew better than anyone what Operations had planned. Knew things that would have surprised Operations had he known. But that was Michael's security, his only means of self-defense. And his interest in acquiring protection was more for Nikita's sake than his own. Once it had been for Simone's sake, now it was Nikita that mattered. Shutting down the computer, Michael swiveled in his chair then rose to his feet. He glided over to a section of the wall and pulled open a hidden panel. From inside he removed a revolver, checking the clip then slipping it into the waistband of his trousers, feeling the hard metal nestled against the small of his back. A back up, just in case. Michael could guess at what the outcome of tonight's meeting would be. Knew that the odds were he wouldn't return. His job was to insure that Operations survived, and he would do the job. But on the chance that he did die, Michael had made arrangements for a package to be delivered to Nikita. A package that he hoped would explain everything to the beautiful blond. Michael's hope is that it would give Nikita peace of mind, he did not expect her to forgive him for his sins of the past four years, he simply wanted her to continue her struggle to survive. "Michael?" "Yes?" he replied, reaching for his coat and shrugging it on before turning to face Birkoff who was standing in the doorway. The computer whiz ran a nervous hand over his crop top. "Um... Operations is waiting for you at his private egress." Michael nodded, taking time to pull on a pair of leather gloves. Then he reached out to tap off his desk lamp before gliding past Birkoff. As he made his way down the corridor, Michael could feel the young man's eyes burning into his back. Birkoff was no fool. He knew who Quentin was, might even have guessed why Operations was meeting the man. Just as Michael had guessed. Tonight's meeting would be a private one. Oversight was not in the loop and Operations intended to keep it that way. He was power-hungry, as Adrian had claimed. But not necessarily for the reasons she had believed. Michael had once thought he knew what Operations stood for, now he was not so certain. Still, he had made his choice long ago. He would remain loyal to Operations. Would defend the other man to the death. And, perhaps, that would be a blessing in disguise, Michael mused to himself as he turned a corner and lengthened his stride. Perhaps death would bring an end to his sentence. Dying for the cause... Operations' cause... might bring redemption. And freedom. It was all Michael had known for the past fourteen years. It was all he had to believe in. And the only thing that had kept him alive. Thoughts of Nikita danced in Michael's head as he passed through egress and entered the garage where Operations' car was waiting. As Michael slid behind the wheel and drove out into the night, he banished the image of the beautiful young woman who had claimed his heart and soul four years ago. Tonight he had no heart... no soul. Tonight he was what Section had trained him to be. A machine. A ghost. The shadows. Satan's minion. Death.   ************   Michael stood off to one side, unobtrusively studying Lionel Quentin. He had the look of an accountant. Bland, unassuming. But Michael knew that was just a front. That the heart and soul of the man were cold and dead. Quentin cared only about one thing. Profit. Money and power, the topics ruled tonight's conversation. Operations wanted the power, Quentin wanted the money. The two men were polar opposites in appearance and personality, but they were cut from the same cloth none the less. The only difference that Michael could detect was that Quentin was without a weakness. Operations had one true weakness. Madeline. That was the only level upon which Michael could truly relate to his superior. Michael's weakness had once been Simone. Now it was Nikita. The one thing that irritated Michael was that Operations seemed unwilling to acknowledge that they had this *weakness* in common. He wanted Michael to give up Nikita when he was unwilling to give up Madeline. Michael had used this fact to his advantage in the past. Would use it again if necessary. If given the chance. Quentin had not come to the meeting alone. He had brought a body guard, just as Operations had done. A sweeper whom Michael recognized. A man known as Caleb. He looked like a mercenary with close-cropped hair, a stone face and a body bulging with muscle. Michael was not impressed. A bullet would stop Caleb cold. Matter would rule over might. But Michael had the impression that Quentin had chosen Caleb for a reason. It was a puzzle that he was intrigued to solve. If Michael were watching Quentin, then Quentin was watching Michael as well. As unobtrusively as the young man studied him. He was pleased with what he saw. Quentin knew more about Michael than either he, or Operations, would suspect. It was because of Michael that he had agreed to the private meeting in the first place. Operations had only one thing of value as far as Quentin was concerned. And that one thing was Michael. "This will be a one time meeting," Quentin stated, refocusing his attention on Operations. He lit a cheroot, inhaled the smoke, then expelled it in a ring that floated in the air. "Of course," Operations acknowledged, a smirk curving his lips. "It would be dangerous to meet again, as well as unnecessary. I'm certain we can conclude our business this evening to the mutual satisfaction of both parties." Operations paused to light his own cigarette. A habit he had tried to give up, but tonight he felt the need to give in to this particular weakness. "After all," he continued, after exhaling a cloud of smoke. "We're both on the same side, Quentin." A laugh escaped Quentin, his eyes shifting to Michael for a moment before pausing to lock on Operations' face. "I doubt that very much," he drawled. "But that doesn't mean we can't do business, Paul. What is it you think I can do for you?" he prompted. Operations stubbed out his barely touched cigarette against the sole of his expensive shoe, then he tossed it into the trash can in the corner. They were meeting in an airport lounge, the only place that Quentin had been agreeable too. Operations would have preferred someplace more private, but knew he didn't have much choice but to agree to Quentin's request. In truth, it kept both parties honest. "I have a list," Operations said softly, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a mini CD. He set it on the low table between them and smiled. "All I ask is for you to do your job, but as a *personal* favor to me." "Sounds like it might be an expensive favor," Quentin countered, making no move to touch the CD. He could guess what was on it. A list of names of certain... powerful... people who were standing in Operations way. Not necessarily within the hierarchy of Section either. But political personages who Operations would need control of in order to further his reach. Quentin didn't like the other man, but he rather admired him. And he could understand Operations' desire to *clean house* as it were. The head of Section One just happened to be the stumbling block to Quentin's rise in the ranks, and they both knew it. It was no secret that Quentin had tried to get rid of Operations six years ago, and that he was more than willing to try again. "I'm willing to pay the price," Operations acknowledged, his eyes glinting like chips of ice. "Name it." He had already arranged a Swiss bank account and had the number ready to hand over to Quentin. Quentin leaned back in his chair, studying the glowing tip of his cheroot. He wanted to savor this moment, for he knew that Operations was in for quite a surprise. But first he had something of interest to tell the other man. "I spoke to Ethan the other day," Quentin purred. "He called me... last week." Operations felt himself grow pale but he didn't react in any other way. Still, he could almost hear the snap of the trap he had walked into closing shut about him. But his expression was calm as he queried, "And what did Ethan have to say?" "Funny... but he asked for pretty much the same favor as you, only your name was at the top of his list." As Quentin spoke, he let his eyes roam back to Michael. The young man had moved a step closer, hovering like a shadow over Operations. Ready to protect his superior, to the death. Quentin approved and offered a nod, turning his attention back to Operations only at the sound of his name. "And what did you tell him?" Operations challenged, feeling his palms become sweaty. Unobtrusively he wiped them off on the arms of the chair. Quentin shrugged, finishing off his cheroot and stubbing it out before replying. "I told him I needed to think about his offer. Seems only fair to do so." Operations took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His heart was thudding in his chest for he was no fool. Ethan was the only man who could truly threaten Operations' position. They were enemies from way back, and Ethan had more power at present. He was part of Oversight. Looking into Quentin's dark eyes, Operations suddenly understood the game they were playing. Quentin would offer his services to the highest bidder. So Operations played his hand. "Name your price," he stated, echoing his words of a moment before. But now they took on a whole new meaning. "As you wish," Quentin drawled, a smile curving his lips. His eyes flickered over Operations' shoulder as he whispered, "Michael. My price... is Michael."   ************   Silence echoed loudly, mainly in Michael's head, as he waited for Operations to respond. He was stunned by Quentin's request. Had not expected it. Could guess that Operations' hadn't either. Then again, he had chosen Michael to come with him tonight, so maybe he had. None of that really mattered now, Michael knew. His only concern was the outcome. His fate. He was Section property, so Michael knew he had no say in the matter, one way or the other. He could only wait. Operations was stunned, but he surprised them all by countering, "Why Michael?" When Quentin didn't respond directly, Operations added, "You know he's mine." "I know a great deal more than you think," Quentin drawled. "He is your hope for the future of Section One, Paul. But you deny him his true future. Michael has what it takes to go all the way to the top. To the place you will never reach." It was a low blow to Operations' pride and Quentin knew he struck home. "And you think you can give that to him?" Operations scoffed, his eyes sparking a challenge to the other man. The truth hurt, but it was a truth he had every intention of manipulating. For the good of Section, of course. Quentin shrugged, leaning forward in his chair now, his eyes locked on Michael's beautiful, impassive, face. The good little soldier, that was Michael. He knew his role and played it to perfection. That, too, pleased Quentin. But he knew something about Michael that Operations was oblivious to. The young man was fire beneath the icy facade. He was passion and power. He was so much more than Operations would ever give him credit for. The potential burned in Michael and Quentin had no intention of wasting it. Not when he could use it to his own advantage. "Michael deserves better than what you can give him," Quentin countered, his dark eyes smoldering with intense satisfaction as they alighted back on Operations. They could argue the point all day, but in the end he knew he would win. Operations knew he had no leverage. Quentin was greedy, but he had money to burn. A part of him had known that the Sweeper had been watching Michael. And that was one of the reasons Operations had brought his protege along. He had been willing to lend Michael's services to Quentin for a short period of time. He had not expected to be asked to simply hand him over. But to get what he wanted, Operations knew he had no choice. "Agreed," he drawled, and he sensed Michael stiffening in reaction behind him. Locking eyes with Quentin, Operations hissed, "But he goes back to Section with me first. I'll send him to you." "No deal," Quentin replied, rising from his chair and signaling to Caleb that it was time to go. He was just shrugging on his coat when Operations grabbed his attention. "Five minutes, alone with Michael then," Operations counter-offered. His tone held a tinge of desperation that he couldn't suppress. Quentin offered a beautific smile and inclined his head in a gracious manner. "Of course," he purred. "Take ten," he allowed, knowing he could afford to be generous. "My car is by the terminal exit. Black limo. Caleb will be waiting beside it." Quentin's eyes locked with Michael's. "Come when you're finished." With that he turned and glided away, the CD Operations had put on the table now tucked safely away in his pocket. Michael watched them go, then he turned to face his superior. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, the most important one being... Why? But he held his tongue. Michael would not beg. He would do as he was told. He would leave Nikita behind, because he had no choice. In the space of a heartbeat his world had crashed and burned. But he let none of what he was feeling show. He simply blinked at Operations and waited in respectful silence. "I'm sorry, Michael," Operations whispered, and he meant it. But he needed to let the young man know that it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Leaning in close Operations locked eyes with the younger man. "I have no choice but to allow this," he began. "We both know that." "Yes," Michael replied. That was all. He would not allow himself to feel hurt by what was simply another betrayal. He should have expected it by now. Michael would have died for Operations without hesitation. Would have given his life to save the other man. Had already been through hell and back for him a thousand times. But none of that would ever matter to Operations. Michael meant nothing to him as a person. He was simply a commodity. So be it. Heaving a sigh, Operations knew he didn't have much time, but that he had to make Michael understand. "Do what you have to do," Operations ordered. "Survive. And when Quentin completes the list... I'll get you back." Michael nodded, but he didn't believe it. Knew better than to do so. Operations had made too many promises to Michael in the past. All of them hollow. But he forced a smile and whispered, "Of course." A heavy pause fell between them, then Michael asked, "Is that all?" "It's better this way, Michael," Operations stated, grabbing the other man by the arm when Michael would have glided off. He let his meaning show in his eyes as he continued. "Better for you... and for Section." "I know," Michael replied. Operations was referring to Nikita. To Michael's relationship with the beautiful blond. To the fact that Operations believed that Nikita was Michael's only weakness and that he believed this separation would destroy whatever bond had forged between them. Michael let him believe that, let it shine from his eyes, before blinking them back to blankness and striding away. It was time to meet his fate. Operations remained in the lounge long after Michael was gone from his sight. His palms were sweaty again and he wiped them on his thighs before pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Then he straightened his shoulders and headed out into the night. Ignoring the tiny voice in his head that mocked him. Telling him that he had just made a terrible mistake.   ************   Quentin studied Michael as the miles passed. They were seated across from each other in the back of the spacious limousine. Quentin had offered refreshment, which Michael had refused. He had expected as much. Then silence had fallen between them for a time, heavy and resonant. But Quentin was not content with silence. He wanted to tap into the control that Michael possessed, to break past the shields. Michael was an enigma, a puzzle. And Quentin loved puzzles. "I suppose that you are wondering why I chose you, Michael?" Quentin began, as a prelude to what he hoped would become an enlightening conversation for them both. "I'm sure you had your reasons," Michael replied, his voice whisper soft. "Indeed," Quentin drawled, pouring himself a glass of white wine. "You have been my price for several years," he continued, after taking a sip of the fragrant liquid. "I've simply been biding my time. Knowing that Operations would have to come to me." Michael blinked, realizing the implication of Quentin's words. "You know his plans," he stated. Leaning back against the luxurious leather seat, Quentin allowed a self-satisfied smile to curve his lips. "It pays to know everything in my line of work," he conceded. "Right from the beginning, I did favors for people. The interesting thing about it is that they all know it. But they look the other way, because it suits them. In the end, Michael, the winner of the game will be the one with the most patience." "And that will be you?" Michael challenged, a glint in his eye that was cold fire. He did not like Quentin, even though a part of him couldn't help but admire the man. "No," Quentin purred, leaning forward now to lock eyes with Michael. "I think that it will be... you." Michael was stunned by the pronouncement, but was careful not to let it show. He held Quentin's gaze for a moment, then blinked and looked away. The windows of the limo were smoked, but he could see out of them clearly. It was a dark night. Darker than his soul. "Why?" he prompted. "I don't want to win." Laughter bubbled out of Quentin, for he was not in the least surprised by Michael's response. It was part of what he admired most about the young man. Michael had moved up the ranks of Section, not because he was ambitious, but because he was a survivor. He was, carefully, carving out a future for himself. The only way he could. "You leraned a long time ago, Michael, that it really doesn't matter what you want. You're a realist and you accept what is for what it is. You don't try to change things, to mold them to your way of thinking. Or to your wants and needs. Simply because you abandoned your needs, and seldom allow yourself to acknowledge what you want." "Why did you make me your price?" Michael countered, with a sudden interest. He was intrigued by the fact that Quentin knew so much about him. Knew him in a way that Operations never would. To Operation's Michael was his protege, but he had also been a threat. "Because of Operations?" "I know better than that," Quentin responded, knowing what Michael was thinking. That he wanted to use him to betray Operations. "You would never sell out Section or Operations. Would you, Michael?" It was a loaded question that Michael carefully avoided. "What do want from me?" he queried. "What will be my... duties?" Quentin drained the last of the wine from his glass, then set it aside. He appreciated Michael's caution and allowed it. For now. "You'll be high up in my hierarchy," Quentin allowed. "I recently lost my profiler and I think you would be a perfect replacement for her." "I prefer field work," Michael stated, his tone deceptively mild. He wanted to see how far he could push Quentin and, judging by the look in the other man's eyes, they both knew it. "It's good to expand your horizons, Michael," Quentin countered, his tone smooth as silk. "You belong to me now but I like to think I'm a fair man. And good at my job. Part of which is choosing the right person for the right job. I intend to make full use of your talents." Michael had doubts about what that meant exactly, but he said nothing to contradict Quentin. "As you wish," he whispered, compliantly. Quentin smiled at Michael's words, knowing that fire flashed beneath the surface of the young man's mooted compliance. "I have plans for you," Quentin stated, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "And I think, in the end, you'll approve of them." "Does it really matter... what I think?" Michael challenged. "It matters to me," Quentin drawled, then he settled back in his seat and fell silent. Content simply to study Michael as they continued their journey home. ************ Madeline listened as Operations filled her in on the meeting with Quentin. She had been surprised when Birkoff had informed her that the head of Section One had returned alone. The moment Operations had entered her office, Madeline had known that something was wrong. A million questions had wanted to trip off her tongue, but she had remained silent, allowing him to speak at will. After telling Madeline about the trade, Michael for the favor, Operations fell silent. He paced before her desk, hands shoved in his pants pockets, waiting for her response. When she said nothing, he forced a confrontation. Coming to a stop in front of her chair and locking eyes with the dark-haired woman. "You think I made a mistake!" Operations' hissed, seeing censure in Madeline's gaze. "I think only time will tell," Madeline countered, diplomatically. "I understand the choice you made, but I have my doubts about getting Michael back when it's all over. I don't think Quentin will allow it." "He won't have choice!" Operations spat. Madeline let a cold smile curve her lips. She had studied Quentin's profile long and hard and she knew about the history between him and Operations. "He'll expect you to try and retrieve Michael," Madeline stated, her tone firm. "So he'll be prepared to stop you. And I think if you push him... you'll fail." Operations felt anger surge through him like white-fire. He had expected Madeline's support, yet she seemed to be entirely lacking in faith in him. "I think maybe you're forgetting something," Operations purred. "What's that?" Madeline prompted. "Michael." Operations paused for effect then explained. "He'll want to come back to us... and to that end he'll help in his own retrieval. Michael is a force to be reckoned with when he wants something." Madeline let her smile fade and a soft sigh escaped her at the truth of Operations' statement. The only problem being he didn't understand Michael at all. And that might prove to be his downfall in the end. Operations had pushed Michael past the young man's limits since day one of Michael's arrival in Section One. Had done so to test him, and to make him strong. And Michael had survived, had learned to bend instead of break. But even he had his limits and Madeline knew it was only a matter of time before Michael snapped. And once that happened, God help them all, for he would indeed be a force to be reckoned with. "Michael will do what has to be done," Madeline replied, knowing that Operations would take her words to mean she was agreeing with him, and that was all that mattered for the moment. That said, she knew it was time for business as usual. "We'll need someone to replace him." Operations nodded, feeling somewhat appeased by Madeline's response. "Get on it," he ordered. "I want a briefing on the Cartel mission and we can update everyone then. Arrange it for the day after tomorrow." "Consider it done," Madeline replied, then she nodded to Operations, watching him stalk out of the room before turning her attention to the task at hand. But even as she searched her data bases for a replacement op, her thoughts were on Michael. And, silently, Madeline wished him well.   ************   Nikita stared at those assembled in the conference room. Unconsciously she sought out Michael's presence, but he wasn't there. It disturbed her not to see him, her sixth sense warned Nikita that something was wrong. But she knew better than to ask questions that would not be answered, so she settled into her chair and waited. Madeline entered the conference room from the side entrance, a black-haired man at her side. His name was Carl Lennox, and he was Michael's replacement. A level five operative as well. Madeline didn't like him much, but she knew that Carl would be serviceable in the job. Knew also that he was a distinctly different personality from Michael and that the operatives in Section one would be undergoing attitude adjustments. Nikita in particular. Madeline had always known Nikita's opinion of Michael. The young woman's fears that Michael was as cruel, cold and ruthless as he appeared to be. For Michael it had been an illusion. A way to survive. For Carl, it was pleasure. He was sadistic by nature, but able to control it and use it to his advantage. Nikita would soon learn the difference. Operations followed at Madeline's heels. He was on his cell phone, talking to someone in Section Two. Business as usual. He glanced at his watch as he entered the conference room and ended the call. Yanking off his glasses, Operations moved to the center of the table and studied those assembled. Without preamble, he began. "First order of business... I would like to inform all of you that Michael is no longer with us." He paused to take in the shocked expressions on the faces looking up at him and a collective gasp echoed in the air. Walter was the first to find his voice. "Where's Michael?" he challenged, his pale eyes flashing with defiance. He and Michael had had their differences in the past, but no one in Section understood the young man better than he did. Walter cared. "Where he is does not concern you," Madeline interjected smoothly, her cold smile firmly in place. "Suffice it to say that he has moved on." "Then...he's alive?" The words were out before Nikita could stop them. She had to know. Madeline locked eyes with Nikita, seeing pain in the other woman's gaze. "Yes... he's alive," she stated bluntly. Then Madeline turned to the black-haired man and made introductions. Once that was done, Carl Lennox moved to take the seat next to Nikita. Michael's usual place. Madeline knew it would be symbolic to Nikita and was interested in the blond woman's reaction. In truth, Nikita was too stunned by the fact that Michael was gone without a word, or a goodbye. Just... gone. She sensed his replacement sitting down beside her, but didn't look at him. Nor did she hear Operations continue on with the meeting. He updated them on the Cartel Mission, explaining that they would be leaving in two days if all went as planned and that Carl would fill them in on further details as he would be running the team. "Stay close to home," Madeline cautioned, her words acting as a dismissal. She continued to watch Nikita, and was somewhat surprised by her reaction. Nikita seemed to be in control, but she did slip off rather quickly. Madeline considered calling her in to talk, but decided to let Nikita come to her. For now it was business as usual. The one constant in Section One. ************ Walter and Birkoff left the conference room together. Birkoff was the only one who wasn't totally surprised by the announcement of Michael leaving Section One. He had known about Michael and Operations leaving together the other night. Had informed Madeline that the head of Section had returned alone. It didn't take his genius IQ to put two and two together. "What the hell is going on around here?" Walter groused, as he and Birkoff headed towards his workstation. "What's the deal, kid?" Walter knew that Birkoff had some info and he expected the young man to share it. "I don't know," Birkoff replied, rubbing one hand over his close-cropped head. "But I've got a bad feeling about this, Walter," he confessed. Walter didn't like the sound of that. "You think Michael is in trouble?" Birkoff shrugged. "Michael can take care of himself," he allowed, knowing that to be a fact. "But something doesn't feel right." "My thinking exactly," Walter drawled. He heaved a sigh as thoughts of Nikita intruded. "Sugar is not going to be happy," he stated emphatically. "We've got more important things to worry about!" Birkoff hissed. "Such as Carl Lennox." Walter grimaced. He had met Lennox before and he knew the man's reputation. "Things are going to change around here," he whispered. "And not for the better." With that Walter stepped into his space and pulled down the gate. For now all he wanted to do was bury himself in his work. ************ After leaving the meeting, the first place Nikita headed was to Michael's office. The door was closed, but not locked, and Nikita slipped inside. The lamp on his desk was lit and Nikita took a deep breath. She could feel his presence in this room. Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked them back as she moved around the desk and sank down into his chair. She'd never sat in it before and it felt strange to do so now. A part of Nikita felt closer to him in this way and she needed that. Needed to feel bonded with Michael. For all that she sometimes wanted to hate him, and did hate the pain and confusion he had caused her in the past four years, she couldn't help but feel his loss. Nikita knew that Michael didn't bear the burden of their uncertain relationship alone. She had never let herself trust him enough to believe that his feelings for her were sincere. That he did want to be with her. Michael spoke volumes with his actions, but Nikita had always had a need to hear words instead. For him to say he loved her and would do anything in his power to be with her. And now it was too late. Michael was gone. A fat tear slid down Nikita's cheek and she swiped it away with the back of one hand. "Gone..." she whispered, hated the finality of it. Nikita had fought hard against needing Michael. Be it his caring, his protection, his unceasing efforts to keep her alive and his attempts to help her survive Section. But now she wondered how she would ever make it without him. "Where are you, Michael?" Nikita breathed, blinking away another tear. She took a deep breath and swallowed down a sob. Even though Madeline had said that Michael was alive, a part of Nikita feared that he was dead. Dead to her anyway. And it was then that she sensed a presence and looked up to see Carl Lennox standing in the doorway. He was not happy to see her. "I don't recall inviting you to my office, Nikita," Carl drawled, moving further into the room to confront her. "Sorry," Nikita replied, rising from the chair and moving out from behind the desk. She couldn't help but glare at Lennox at his words. In her mind this would always be Michael's office. He had been gone for less than two days and already his successor was moving in and taking over. Nikita knew it was foolish of her to take it personally, but she couldn't help it. Michael wasn't here to defend himself, so she felt the need to do it for him. "Michael and I had an understanding," she hissed. Carl Lennox smiled as he sat down in the chair Nikita had just vacated. His chair. "Well then," he purred. "Let's you and I make an understanding between us as well, Nikita. You don't come in here unless invited. Is that clear enough?" She smirked at him. "Crystal," Nikita drawled, her eyes still flashing blue sparks. Then she turned on her heel and stalked out the door. Someone had to know what happened to Michael, and Nikita knew that *someone* was Madeline. And come hell or high water, she was going to get an answer to her question. Where in the hell was Michael? ***** The apartment was fully furnished. Tastefully decorated in muted colors with lots of chrome, glass and marble. Michael could appreciate it's beauty, but it left him cold. Still, he had no intention of changing a thing, even though Quentin had invited him to do so. Where he lived didn't matter to Michael. It was simply a place to shower and change and attempt to sleep a few hours a night. Nothing more. Certainly not a home. Today would be his first official day in his new position as Quentin's profiler. He knew he could do the job, but he sensed that there would be more to it. Something that Quentin hadn't told him yet. Something to do with Section One. Or perhaps on a more personal level. Whatever it was, Michael had every intention of finding out the truth. It would give him a purpose. Some reason to make his way through each day. Back in Section One, there had been Nikita. Now she was gone. But hardly forgotten. For her angel's face had haunted Michael's dreams, and even now the image of her went with him as he headed out the door.   ************   Madeline was not in the least bit surprised when the doors to her office whooshed open and Nikita stalked into the room. She had been expecting this visit. "Yes?" Madeline queried, eyes moving from her monitor to Nikita's flushed face. "Why is Michael gone?" Nikita demanded, striding over to stand before Madeline's desk, her pose and her attitude both confrontational. "Michael's... talents... were needed elsewhere," Madeline countered, smoothly. She didn't take Nikita's hostility personally. Never would. "We'll miss him," Madeline added, more to see Nikita's reaction than because it was the truth. Nikita shook her head and gave an unladylike snort of derision. "What's to miss?" she shot back, her blue eyes flashing sparks. "Hell... you've already got his replacement in place. Nice guy this... Lennox." Madeline let her trademark cold smile curve her lips. "Carl Lennox is very good at what he does, Nikita," she countered. "He gets the job done." "But you don't like him much... do you?" Nikita shot back with a sudden clarity of perception. Madeline seldom let her feelings show, but something in the tone of her voice alerted Nikita to the truth. "My personal likes or dislikes have nothing to do with it," Madeline countered, her tone mildly chiding. But she was rather pleased that Nikita had been so perceptive. "Is that all?" she prompted. "I'm rather busy." Nikita stood her ground. "You said that Michael was alive... is that the truth?" It was the one thing Nikita needed to be sure about. So long as Michael was alive, there was the chance she would see him again. Madeline let a genuine smile curve her lips. "Yes... Michael is alive. That is the truth." "Will he ever come back to Section One?" Nikita prompted. She found that she believed Madeline and decided to push her luck since she had gotten an honest answer. "We hope so," Madeline replied, letting the smile fade. "Your focus should be on your work, Nikita," she chided gently. "Michael can take of himself." Nikita pondered Madeline's words for a moment, then replied, "I think it will be interesting to see if Section can take of itself... without Michael." That said, Nikita spun on her heel and exited the room. Madeline waited for the door to close before whispered, "Touche." ***** One month passed. Michael sat at his desk in his new office, staring at his computer screen. He had finished two profiles for Quentin, now he was working on something of a more personal nature. To which end Michael was careful to camouflage what he was doing. Thanks to his years in Section One, tutelage from Birkoff and a natural gift for hacking, Michael was able to tap into Quentin's personal files without leaving his calling card. No one would know he had been there. The hardest part had been gaining the access to open the files. The codes and passwords were clever, but Michael had been determined. His patience and persistence had finally paid off. After reading the files, Michael now knew Quentin's plans. The real reason why he had opted to do Operations a *favor*. In part it had been to take Michael away from Section One, but the other reason had been simple, personal, revenge. Michael knew that Quentin had completed half the list that Operations had given him. Three people were dead in ways that could not be connected. Quentin would bide his time for a bit before canceling the other three names. It was the smart thing to do. But Michael now realized that Quentin had also accepted Ethan's offer and that the first name on Ethan's hit list was as Quentin had stated. Operations. In truth, Michael was not surprised by Quentin's deceit. He didn't even really consider it a betrayal. In a way it was simply good business. What did surprise Michael was Quentin's plans for him. That he intended for Michael to replace Operations as head of Section One once Operations was dead. Ethan had agreed to this arrangement, and he had the pull to make it happen. It would all be so easy. Leaning back in his chair, eyes still flickering over the information on the screen, Michael realized that he could simply let the game play out. Then he would have what had been his goal for that past three years, control of Section One. It wasn't exactly his ambition, but it had become his motivation since meeting Nikita. Or more to the point, since falling in love with her. Michael wanted to keep Nikita alive. And to be alive. Long ago he had ceased to be alive. Life for Michael was simply going through the motions. Survival. But he wanted more than that for Nikita. She was different than the rest of them. And a true innocent. Fate had dealt her a cruel hand, and Michael knew that there was no way for her to toss in the cards and simply walk away. But if Nikita could be patient, and learn to trust Michael, then he could give her a better future. But his goal had seemed long term. Ten to twelve years, Michael had believed. Until now. Until Quentin. Rubbing a finger over his chin, Michael faced reality. He could simply bide his time and let fate intervene. Within a years time Operations would be dead and Michael would be settled into his place as head of Section One. Once that occurred, Michael could assure Nikita's safety. He could also offer her a better life. No more missions for one thing. And she could work with him, guiding him into making changes at Section that would benefit everyone. From the operatives to the innocents they fought to save. But there was a catch. Michael didn't believe in fate. He believed in predetermining his own future, based on carefully made choices. Thinking in the long term wasn't easy for Michael, especially given the circumstances of his daily existence. Every mission he went on was one he might not return from. Some would have claimed he was lucky. But Michael didn't believe in luck either. He had yet another choice to make. One that would change many lives... forever.   ************   Nikita strode out of transportation, intending to head for Walter's area to hand over her weapons, and to vent a little steam. But her hopes were in vain. Before she had reached the door, Carl was calling her name. A part of Nikita wanted to ignore him, but she knew that she would only be adding fuel to the fire. So she stopped and turned to face Lennox, but waited for him to catch up to her. "What?" Nikita challenged, when he reached her. "I just wanted to warn you in advance that I intend to talk to Madeline about putting you back into a six week refresher course," Lennox drawled, the corners of his thin lips turning up into a smirk. "Refresher course?" Nikita repeated, suspicion glinting in her eyes. "For what?" She knew that Lennox had a problem with her behavior when she was on his teams. She didn't try to hide the fact that she despised him... and his ways. To Nikita's mind there was a simple solution. Choose someone else. Yet, time and again, Carl seemed to delight in picking Nikita for his teams then pointing out all her weaknesses and mistakes. His tactics were beginning to have an effect on Nikita. As much as she hated to admit it, she was starting to doubt herself, and her abilities. She hated Lennox for that as well. With Michael, Nikita always felt as if she were in control and capable. Knew that he had faith in her ability to do whatever task he put to her. Not so with Lennox. "Your times are slow, Nikita," Carl replied to her challenge. "You nearly got caught downloading the intel to Birkoff. And the way you took out the last guard was sloppy. If it wasn't for me, he would have killed you." Nikita had had enough. "Why didn't you let him?" she snarled at Lennox. "My death solves both our problems! Isn't that right, Carl?" Nikita was making a scene, but she didn't care. Would have said more but Madeline suddenly appeared at her side and Nikita found herself distracted. That had been Madeline's intention. She smiled at Lennox, her eyes glacial, as she told him to report to Operations for immediate debriefing. Then Madeline turned her attention to Nikita, but her words were for Carl as well. "I'll take care of Nikita." "I need to see Walter," Nikita hissed, pushing her luck. But she was past caring at the moment. "You can do that later," Madeline countered, subtly guiding Nikita forward by touching her shoulder in a sweeping gesture. "My office," Madeline said softly, then she whisked Nikita away. ************ Nikita sat slumped in the chair across from Madeline's desk. She would have rather been strapped to a table and tortured than have to face the other woman right now. But Nikita was becoming a realist and she knew there was no way out. So she straightened her spine and locked eyes with Madeline. "Are you testing me?" she asked, point blank. Madeline was impressed by the question, for she knew that Nikita was finally beginning to understand. "You had a tendency, in the past, to rely too heavily on Michael to... protect you. Even though you weren't aware of doing so." "So... Lennox is a test?" Nikita prompted. "Not in the way you might think," Madeline countered. "He's useful in testing your ability to work with someone who truly is your definition of ruthless. But you're not important enough, singularly, for Section to waste it's time, Nikita. That he pushes you past your limits is a bonus." Nikita resisted the urge to sigh. "Why am I here, Madeline?" she beseeched, wanting only to get to the point. "Retraining?" Madeline shook her head. "No. I don't think that's necessary and I will set Carl straight on that end." Clasping her hands together on her desk top, Madeline leaned forward, her expression neutral as always, yet her dark eyes gleamed with a sudden intensity. "I wanted to give you some advice, Nikita," she stated, honestly. "What kind of advice?" Nikita shot back, her own eyes glinting with suspicion. She knew enough not to trust Madeline the most when the other woman was being...nice. "In regards to Carl," Madeline explained. "He's not attracted to you like Michael was. He doesn't love you, so to him you're just another operative. A body. You can't push him the way you could Michael. Lennox will do his job, whether you like it or not. You won't be able to sway him to your way of thinking, so don't even bother to try. Michael is gone, accept it. Face reality, Nikita," Madeline said softly. "Then you'll finally learn how to survive here." Nikita was shocked by Madeline's words, mainly because she suddenly realized that they were true. That with Michael she had been able to turn the tide in the past. To change a mission profile to her way or needs, and Michael had allowed it. Had even covered for her, often times taking the heat. Too late, Nikita understood what he had done for her. "Is that all?" she questioned now, rising to her feet. Nikita needed some down time, alone. Madeline nodded. "That's all," she allowed, letting Nikita go. And the moment the blond woman was gone, Madeline let a smile curve her lips. Sometimes it was too easy. ************ Operations drained his coffee mug and set it down on the table with a thud. He wanted to smoke but Madeline had asked him to refrain so he settled for rolling a cigarette through his fingers. It just wasn't the same. "Three more names!" he hissed, turning to look at Madeline as she sat at the table, a beautiful, serene, Madonna figure. Madeline sipped at her tea, setting the china cup back down carefully in it's matching saucer. "Quentin has kept his end of the bargain... so far," she allowed, cautiously. There were only two names left on the list. "How is Carl working out?" Operations asked, in an abrupt change of subject. He found himself not wanting to discuss Quentin. "Well enough," Madeline replied. Operations heaved a sigh. "I suppose his work is... acceptable," he drawled, then a grimace crossed his face. "But I'll be glad when all of this is over and we have Michael back." Madeline was silent for a moment, then asked, "Why?" "What do you mean... why?" Operations countered, his grimace turning into a full blown scowl. "Why do you want Michael back?" Madeline patiently explained. She let a cold smile curve her lips as she held Operations' frosty gaze. "Carl is everything you've wanted Michael to be. Ruthless... cold... detached. He hasn't made any emotional attachments to anyone, nor is he likely too. So his work will not suffer from relationship stress. His success rate is far above average." Madeline listed Carl Lennox's merits with the detachment of someone reading names from a phone book. Operations wasn't sure how to respond to Madeline. Wasn't certain what point she was trying to make. Then suddenly it clicked. The comparison that Madeline was trying to get him to see. "Point well taken," Operations drawled, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. Even Madeline could push him too far. "I can't deny anything you've said about Carl," Operations allowed. "But Michael's... bouts of humanity... his... growing pains, are necessary for his future." Madeline nodded, sagely. "For the future you've mapped out for him," she countered, pointedly. "Yes," Operations hissed. "I've been grooming Michael since his first day in Section, to take my place. Carl does Michael's job well enough, but he could never do mine." "And... what if Michael doesn't want to take your place?" Madeline queried, with more than idle curiosity. Operations let a smile light up his face. "Oh... Michael wants the job," he drawled, knowingly. Madeline said nothing. She simply nodded then rose from her chair and glided from the room. All the while wondering if Operations understood just why Michael wanted the job. Somehow, she doubted it. ************ Quentin was in his office, working on the profile for the next name on Operations' list when he heard a light knock on the door. He looked up to see Michael standing there and smiled, gesturing for the young man to enter. "What can I do for you?" Quentin queried, once Michael was standing in front of his desk. Michael locked eyes with Quentin, then whispered, "I want to make a deal."   ************   "A deal?" Quentin echoed, locking eyes with Michael. Then he leaned back in his chair and prompted, "What kind of a deal?" Michael was prepared for the question, and for the suspicion that smoldered in the other man's gaze. "I know your plans for me," Michael began, for he would not hide what he had learned. Nor would he deny what he had done. Quentin was intrigued, if not a little bit irritated by this particular confession. Then again, he supposed he should have expected it. Michael was the best of the best. "I won't ask how you know, but I will make a note to myself to have my online security updated," Quentin drawled. Then he smiled again and invited, "Continue, Michael." "I will pledge my loyalty to you, 100%," Michael declared, his eyes never wavering from Quentin's face. But the other man would not allow his thoughts to be read at this time. So Michael forged ahead, there was no turning back now. "I will run Section One for you... I will even assassinate Operations." "Quite an offer," Quentin interjected, with a rather wicked grin. He loved the delicious irony of it. Of Michael killing Operations then taking his place. The Wolf killing the Lion, as it were. For although Michael reminded Quentin of a cat with his feline grace and caution, Michael had the characteristics of a wolf. He was a loner, and a leader. And he would fight to the death for what he wanted, without fear of that death. "And why would you be willing to do this for me?" Quentin challenged the young man. "What's in it for you?" Michael let a slight smile curve his lips. He was pleased that Quentin understood the nature of the deal. They were playing the same game. Opponents... yet teammates, if not team players. "I want you to get Nikita for me." Quentin was stunned by the request and let it show. Yet he supposed that it should not have been such a surprise. He had studied Michael's file thoroughly and knew all about the young man's... ward. And his attachment to her. Nikita was Michael's one true weakness. A fact that Quentin had been keeping in the back of his mind for future use, if necessary. From the beginning he planned to bond Michael to him by whatever means were necessary. Nikita would be effective to that ends. "Get her... how?" Quentin prompted, his curiosity piqued by the way Michael's mind worked. "Grab her from Section, quietly," Michael explained. He paused for a deep breath, assessing Quentin's reaction, and was pleased to note that the other man showed interest. Michael believed his plan just might work. "I want Nikita taken to a safe place. Protected from Section... and from herself." "By that I take it you mean she might try to escape?" Quentin queried. Michael nodded. "Yes. Nikita does not handle authority well, in any form. She doesn't yet understand that sometimes decisions made on her behalf are for the best." From past experience with certain types of women, Quentin could sympathize with Michael. "I think I could manage to keep her... safe," he allowed. "Anything else, Michael?" Suddenly Quentin was feeling generous and was more than willing to give the young man what he wanted, since it seemed to be within reason for what he would be receiving in return. "That's all," Michael whispered, allowing himself to relax his posture for a moment. He felt certain now that Quentin would agree to all terms. "I ask only that you move now. Tonight. I want Nikita safe as soon as possible. When you have done so, then I will keep my end of the bargain." "You will assassinate Operations for me?" Quentin prompted, rising from his chair now to confront Michael face to face. He smiled when the young man held his gaze and nodded. "Consider it a done deal then," Quentin purred, holding out one hand. He noted that Michael was wearing gloves as they shook on it. It was symbolic some how, as if to say that Michael didn't allow anything to touch him. To get under his skin. That was part of what made him such a perfect operative. Truly an angel of death. "I will make arrangements to take Nikita tonight and I'll let you know where she'll be." Michael blinked, his only show of emotion. "Thank you," he whispered, then he turned and glided from the room. Once outside, the door closed behind him, Michael let the tremors that he had been holding in check flow through his body. He had just sold his soul to the devil. Not the first time, but the stakes were much higher now. It wasn't his soul that Michael feared for. It was... Nikita's.   ************   Nikita kicked off her shoes as she entered her apartment, flicking on the nearest light switch. Her bare feet were silent on the floor as she moved into the kitchen and stopped before the fridge. Opening the door, she studied the contents. Her stomach growled with hunger but Nikita was too tired to make anything complex, so she snagged a cold piece of mushroom pizza and a carton of milk. Taking a bite of the pizza, Nikita washed it down by guzzling half the carton of milk, then she swiped at her mouth with the back of one hand. Having something in her stomach made her feel a little better. Leaving the kitchen, Nikita headed for the balcony, not bothering with anymore lights. She wanted to unwind for a few minutes before heading off to a quick shower and bed. Might even pass on the shower since she was tired enough to fall asleep standing up. Propping open one balcony door, Nikita flopped down on the floor and finished her impromptu dinner. Since it was 3AM it was closer to being breakfast. Finishing the pizza in four giant bites, Nikita drained the last of the milk then heaved a sigh. She was tired, frustrated and sad. Tired from the mission she had just returned from, frustrated at the fact that two innocents had died tonight and there had been nothing Nikita could do to stop it. Carl Lennox had foiled her every attempt to save them. And the sadness she felt was because of Michael. Nikita missed him, far more than she had imaged she would. "Where are you, Michael?" Nikita whispered, as she gazed up at the stars that were strung across the black velvet sky. She had sat as she was on many an occasion, thinking about her life in Section one, and her relationship with Michael. Many times she had cried, other times she had laughed, and sometimes she had screamed at the unfairness of it all. She didn't deserve this life, but it was all she had. At least before, there had been Michael to play a buffer between Nikita and Section. To protect her from the harsh reality of her life in ways she hadn't then imagined. Nikita was grateful for what Michael had done, yet a part of her was angry. Not so much for keeping the truth from her in that regard, but for leaving her without a word. Pushing herself to her feet, Nikita rubbed her gritty eyes then headed for bed. She was too tired to be thinking about Michael now. Her thoughts and emotions were too chaotic. She felt numb, yet at the same time her senses seemed too alive. Too intense. The cold truth was, Nikita missed Michael. Missed him... and needed him. She tried to push the image of his perfect beautiful face from her mind as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The image persisted and Nikita accepted it. She yanked off her shirt as she neared the bed and was preparing to step out of her pants when she heard a sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Shit..." Nikita hissed beneath her breath, making a move towards the nightstand where her gun was located. Only problem was it wasn't loaded. She sensed a presence to her right and turned to face it, ready to defend herself. But the dark figure that emerged from the bathroom had no intention of playing fair. Nikita cried out as two darts imbedded in her flesh. One in her thigh the other in her shoulder. She managed to yank one out before her knees buckled and she tumbled into darkness. ************ Michael was waiting for the phone call. Quentin had told him to go home hours ago, but Michael had remained in his office. He had details to work out and strategy to plan. He was working on his computer when the message came. Nikita was waiting for him. Quentin's idea. A chance for Michael to say goodbye to her before she was taken away. A gesture meant to be a gift, but Michael would have preferred not to have to deal with it. Or with the emotions it stirred within him. But he was not one to run away. Rising from his chair, Michael shut down his computer, then glided from the room, buttoning his jacket on his way. His face was expressionless, and his jade eyes were cold. It had begun. From this moment on there was no turning back. Quentin was waiting for Michael outside the closed door of what he called the conference room. "She's not happy," Quentin announced, in order to prepare Michael. "I didn't expect her to be," Michael replied, even as he reached for the door knob. But he hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with the other man. "Thank you," Michael whispered, and he meant it. "My pleasure," Quentin drawled. "Let me know when your finished and she's ready to be moved. I'll handle her transport personally." Michael was surprised. "You're going to accompany Nikita to her destination?" he queried. Michael had expected that Quentin would remain local to see to it that he carried out his end of the bargain. Assassinating Operations. Quentin shook his head. "Not exactly," he replied. "I meant that I would see to it that Nikita was in safe hands, and that my arrangements were followed to the letter." "I see," Michael whispered. "I appreciate that." "We made a deal, Michael," Quentin drawled. "And I'm a man of my word." Michael held Quentin's gaze as he replied, "So am I." Only then did he turn away and enter the conference room. Nikita was bound to a chair in the center of the chamber, with no hope of escape. She was also awake and furious and seeing Michael did not restore her good nature. Nikita was glad he was alive, but she felt certain that she had been used by him yet again. "What the hell is going on here, Michael?" Nikita hissed at him, challengingly. "I'm sorry," were the first words out of Michael's mouth. He realized that he had said them too often in the past for Nikita to believe him now. "You won't be hurt," Michael promised, as he came to a halt in front of Nikita. Her hair was tumbled about her face and Michael longed to smooth it from her eyes, but he knew that if he touched her now he would be lost. "Sorry?" Nikita echoed, her eyes blazing blue fire. "Do you know how sick I am of hearing you say that?" she shot back at him. "What are you doing here, Michael?" Nikita demanded. "What is this place?" Michael swallowed a sigh and had to fight to keep his mask in place and his tone neutral. A part of him desperately wanted to explain. To make Nikita understand what was at stake. To prepare her for the fact that he was doing this to her to protect her. Because Michael did not expect to survive the outcome. But he said nothing. From his blazer pocket he removed a syringe. Nikita struggled against her bonds as Michael reached for her arm. She bit her lip as the needle slid into her vein, then she blinked back tears as she stared up into his impassive face. "I hate you..." Nikita whispered, wishing that it were so. "You should," Michael replied, then he turned on his heel and exited the room, carrying the image of Nikita with him. ***** Quentin strolled into Michael's office, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. "Nikita has been safely delivered to her new... home," he announced, perching a hip on the corner of Michael's desk. "Good," Michael replied, glancing up from his computer screen. "Anything else?" he prompted, not wanting to be interrupted at this moment. It wasn't that he was busy, it was simply that Michael wanted to be alone. "That's it, more or less," Quentin allowed, his smile fading. He made to leave but paused in the doorway, for his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had watched Michael with Nikita in the conference room and was surprised by the other man's behavior towards the beautiful blond. "Answer me one question, Michael," Quentin beseeched. Michael blinked then nodded. "If I can," he conceded, holding Quentin's gaze. Quentin rubbed his chin. "Why did you blow Nikita off before she left?" he asked, with sincere interest. "Don't you want her with you when you take over Section One?" When Michael said nothing, Quentin elaborated. "Once you're in command, you can have Nikita back, Michael. Or... at least... you could have if you hadn't pissed her off so completely." "I won't have time for a personal life once I take control of Section One," Michael responded, his face expressionless, his eyes cold. He could see that Quentin did not accept that reason, so Michael quickly elaborated. "Besides which, Nikita does not belong in Section. She never did." "The same could be said about you, Michael," Quentin countered, a smile curving his lips. He was pleased to note that he had startled the younger man with his words. Michael had visibly flinched. But then the mask was drawn firmly back into place. Quentin had chosen well. Michael let a smile curve his own lips. "I sold my soul to the devil a long time ago," he whispered. "I have no regrets." Quentin was glad to hear it. "Then this should be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Michael," he drawled. Not expecting a reply, Quentin wasn't surprised when the young man simply held his gaze. He nodded, then glided from the room. Life didn't get better than this, Quentin mused as he strolled down the hallway to his own office. But had he been able to read Michael's mind, he would have had second thoughts.   ************ Michael felt as if he were trespassing. Section One had been his home for fifteen years, yet as he glided down the familiar corridors, he felt like an intruder. Still, the feeling did not sway him from his course. He had made a bargain and he would see it through. There was no other choice he could have made. And so it was, with his face expressionless and eyes blank, Michael continued on his way to face the devil in his domain. ****** Walter dropped the circuit board he had been working on when Michael glided past his station. His first thought was to call out to the young man and welcome him back, but tiny voice in Walter's head warned him to be silent. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Something was going to happen. Something big. Walter believed, with all his heart, that Michael had returned because of Nikita. Somehow he had learned that the beautiful blond had disappeared without a trace. With Michael back, Walter began to believe that Nikita would return as well. When it came to Nikita, Michael had been known to work miracles. It was obvious to Walter that Michael was heading for Operations' office. Logical. The two would no doubt face off, but it wouldn't be the first time. And in the end, Michael always seemed to come away a winner. Not in the sense that most people would acknowledge, but each tiny victory for Michael was a step in the right direction as far as Walter was concerned. He and Operations had a long history, but that didn't mean he liked the guy, or agreed with his methods. Walter firmly believed that Section One needed a new leader. New blood. And even before Nikita had come, Walter had believed that Michael was the man to replace Operations. He still believed. Moving out from around his workbench, Walter grinned as he watched Michael head towards Birkoff's area. He had a feeling that the computer whiz kid would be just as surprised by Michael's sudden appearance as Walter was. By rights Michael should not have been able to enter Section One without Birkoff knowing about it. His presence should have set off alarms. But Michael had a way of bypassing security that was eerie. As if he really were nothing more substantial than a ghost, or a shadow. A cold chill rippled up Walter's spine and he shivered. He suddenly realized that the showdown that was about to occur between Operations and Michael was symbolic to Lucifer confronting his own shadow. Only Walter firmly believed that Michael's soul, though lost, would never fade away. Where as he had his doubts about Operations. Still, a part of Walter wished he could be a fly on the wall during the meeting, especially since Madeline just happened to be in Operations' office at present. It was going to be an interesting encounter to say the least. ***** Birkoff just happened to glance up from his monitor as Michael passed him by. He rose from his chair without being aware of the motion, as if he would fly after the Operative. Birkoff opened his mouth to call after Michael, but closed it before making a sound. There was nothing to say. Michael shouldn't be here, but here he was. Birkoff felt a sudden connection to Mr. Spock, the Vulcan. Michael's sudden appearance was fascinating, to say the least. And, by rights, impossible, which meant that Birkoff had been presented with a riddle to solve. How Michael had managed to bypass security yet again. Rubbing a hand over the top of his head, Birkoff dropped back down into his chair and applied himself to finding the answers he sought. A smile curved his lips as his fingers flew over his keyboard. There was nothing Birkoff liked better than solving a puzzle. ***** Michael was aware of Walter and Birkoff watching him as he passed them by. Aware, too, of their individual reactions to his presence. Birkoff was easy to read, but Walter's response was puzzling to Michael. The old man was glad to see him. Why? That was the question that echoed in Michael's head as he turned to enter the stairwell that would lead to Operations' office. He knew that Madeline was there as well, for he had seen them through the glass. And Michael was aware that Madeline had seen him as well, so Operations would be expecting him. That still didn't change the fact that Michael had the element of surprise on his side. And he would need every advantage that he could get. He had worked out a perfect strategy for the moment to come. Every detail was imprinted on his mind. Michael knew he had the ability to carry out the mission, but that the timing would be crucial. What worried him was the percentage factor for unexpected anomalies to complicate matters. Michael knew that it was unrealistic of him to expect that every detail would go down as planned. The human factor was too unpredictable. Still, success was in his favor. It was only a matter of being able to carry through without hesitation. If he could do that, then he could have the future he had been striving for. The wait would be over. As Michael reached the top of the stairway, he turned left and entered the short corridor that led to Operations' office. He took a deep breath and stiffened his shoulders before entering, a process he was unaware of doing. Had he known, Michael would have been distracted by what he would consider to be a weakness. And there was no margin for error, or weakness, now. He had to be strong. Had to be determined. In this moment, Michael had to be the machine that Section One had trained him to be. Operations was smiling as Michael entered the room and came gliding forward to face him. Yet, even so, suspicion glinted in his pale eyes. "How did you get in without setting off the alarms, Michael?" Operations queried. "Does it really matter?" Michael countered, his tone neutral. He would give away nothing by voice or expression. Madeline was too good at reading such signs. Michael could feel her gaze trying to penetrate his shields even now. But he felt a sense of satisfaction at knowing she could read nothing from him. After all, he had learned to protect himself, and to hide his emotions from the master. Or, in this case, the mistress. From Madeline herself. "Quentin let you go?" Madeline questioned, doubt clear in her tone. Turning to face her, Michael blinked. "Not exactly," he allowed. Operations was intrigued. "Quentin doesn't know you're here," he guessed. "He knows," Michael countered, once again facing his superior. The man who had molded him into the man he was today. "In a sense, Quentin sent me," Michael conceded. "Why?" Madeline prompted, her eyes dark with suspicion. Michael was holding too much back. His expression was too cold a mask. He had to know about Nikita yet he showed no sign of his weakness for the beautiful blond. Not one glimmer of concern. Michael clasped gloved hands in front of him, his stance comfortable, yet his muscles were tensed in anticipation of what was to come. "I made a deal with Quentin," Michael explained. "A trade... so to speak." Suddenly Madeline understood. "Nikita," she declared firmly. "Yes," Michael confirmed, his eyes still locked on Operations' face. He could see the surprise that shaded pale eyes to silver. "Nikita is someplace... safe. You won't find her." "You've betrayed Section, Michael!" Operations hissed. He felt white-hot fury flare up deep inside him and it took all his control not to react by striking the younger man. Not that it would have effected Michael. He was as cold and detached as a machine. The perfect Section Operative. Operations' own creation. Letting his gaze drop, Michael shook his head. "No... I have protected myself," he replied. "I came here to assassinate you," Michael declared, lifting his eyes to Operations face once more. Operations was stunned, to say the least. He studied Michael in silence for a long moment, then he glanced over at Madeline. She nodded to let him know that she believed Michael. A chill rippled down Operations' spine as he faced the young operative. "Why tell me?" he challenged. "Why not just do it?" "I have my reasons," Michael countered, his gaze shifting to Madeline, for he could feel her eyes burning into him. "Quentin wants control of Section One," Madeline guessed, a cold smile curving her lips. Michael blinked again, gaze swinging back to Operations. "He wants me in control," he stated. "He... and others." Operations could guess who. "Ethan!" he hissed, his fury burning brighter at Michael's nod. "So... you're telling me all this before you kill me, Michael. Why? As a confession of sorts? To clear your conscience?" "I've made other... arrangements," Michael whispered, making a sudden move for his gun. In a heartbeat it was in his hand and he was facing the door. "Do tell what those arrangements are, Michael," Carl Lennox invited, as he moved further into the room. He now realized that Michael had been aware of his presence the whole time. And he had been aware of the meeting taking place here thanks to the bug he had placed his second day in Section. Michael gazed at Carl for a long moment, taking in the other man's posture, gaze lingering on the gun in Lennox's left hand. In a sense they were in a standoff. "You work for Ethan," Michael stated, knowing it to be a fact. Operations' was speechless at the declaration, all the more so when Lennox confirmed it. "And Ethan works with Quentin," he hissed. "So you're plan B?" Operations guessed. "In case Michael failed to assassinate me?" "We guessed that he might not be able to do so," Carl replied, his smile a twisted smirk. "He has a sense of loyalty to you that is deep rooted. Even given his weakness... his precious Nikita... he was willing to betray us." Locking eyes with Michael, Lennox shook his head, all the while clucking his tongue. "Tsk tsk, Michael," Lennox drawled. "Quentin will be very disappointed in you." "I don't think so," Michael countered, daring a glance at his watch. He let Lennox see the gesture and knew the other man was curious. Lennox found himself glancing at his own timepiece, then he frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he challenged, his eyes glittering with suspicion. Michael let a smile curve his lips. "Quentin will be dead in twenty seconds," he announced. And in the moment the silence that filled the room was deafening. ***** Quentin sat at his desk, studying his computer screen. He had pulled up his financial records and was quite pleased with what he saw. Stashed in a Swiss bank account was forty-two million dollars. Quite the nest egg for his retirement. And once Michael had assassinated Operations and taken over as head of Section One, the account would read Fifty million. Quentin's goal. "Any second now," Quentin drawled, glancing at the clock on the wall. It would soon be over. Glancing back at his computer screen, Quentin decided to check his private email. He had one message. Not recognizing the sender's address, Quentin frowned as he opened the message. Two words. *I WIN* Sucking in a breath as realization struck him, Quentin glanced at the clock once more. He watched the second hand tick by ten seconds, reaching the hour, then Quentin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He never opened them again.   ************   All eyes were on Michael as the twenty seconds counted down. He kept his gaze on Lennox, not trusting what the man might do next. A smile still curving his lips, Michael invited, "Try calling." Lennox used his free hand to do so and got a busy signal. "That proves nothing!" he spat, glaring at Michael. "Quentin is dead," Michael stated firmly. "I planted a bomb. It's over." "Not quite," Lennox countered, a smile splitting his face. "Sorry to hear about Quentin and all, but this works just as well. Better even. Now I'll get Quentin's share of the money along with the pleasure of taking out Operations." As he spoke, Quentin aimed his gun at the head of Section One. Michael had been watching Lennox closely, yet he knew that he would be too late. His bullet would not reach Lennox before Operations' was dead. So Michael did the only thing he could. He launched himself towards Operations, twisting his body to act as a shield. Michael felt certain he had failed when a burning pain ripped into his flesh. He felt himself falling, but still managed to take aim at Lennox. Madeline watched as both Michael and Lennox went down. Michael's bullet had pierced the other man's heart. Madeline didn't need to check Lennox to know that he was dead. But she moved to Michael's side, finding Operations there ahead of her. He was lifting Michael into his arms, a gesture that surprised Madeline. As she pressed her fingertips against the pulse in Michael's throat, Madeline and Operations exchanged glances. She nodded. Michael was still alive. Still holding his gun in fact. "I'll call for a Med team," Madeline announced, rising to her feet and heading for the phone. "Michael..." Operations spoke in barely a whisper. He pulled the gun from the young man's grasp then shifted him into a more comfortable position against his chest. Logically he knew he shouldn't be moving Michael around, but logic suddenly didn't apply. "You're going to be all right," Operations stated, hoping that it was the truth. Many times he had sent Michael out on missions that were certain death. Had accepted that it had to be so. That Michael was simply material, in spite of his plans for him. Sometimes he had to be sacrificed. But this was not one of those times. "Lennox," Michael whispered, trying to open his eyes to see where the enemy was. To make certain the threat was eliminated. Operations glanced over at the body. "Dead," he pronounced, with a sense of satisfaction. "I suppose that Ethan is the one we have to worry about now." Michael made an attempt to rise but his body wouldn't cooperate. He suddenly realized that Operations was supporting him. That was strange in itself, but Michael didn't have the energy to focus on that fact right now. He went lax against the other man's chest and weakly shook his head. "No..." Michael breathed. "Oversight... they know... George knows... about Ethan." "How?" Operations queried, gazing down into Michael's pale face. But Michael didn't answer, he had lapsed into unconsciousness and Operations could almost feel him slipping away. "Where the hell is Med team?" Operations shouted. "They're on their way," Madeline replied, moving to kneel beside him. She reached out and let her fingers comb through Michael's hair. "I'll make sure he lives," she promised Operations. He believed her. Madeline always kept her word. "I owe him this time," Operations whispered. Madeline smiled. "Yes... you do," she agreed. Just then the Med Team arrived and took control of Michael. A moment later he was whisked away. Madeline pushed Operations into a chair, then went to a side cabinet and poured him a drink. Whiskey, straight up. "Take some down time," she told him. "I'll take care of things, and keep you updated on Michael." When he accepted the drink, then nodded, Madeline headed for the door. But she paused to say over her shoulder, "Things have changed now." Then she was gone. "Things have changed," Operations echoed, lifting the glass to his lips and downing the fiery liquid in one swallow. And, for once, he wasn't talking about Section One. ************ Michael studied the IV tube running into his arm. He was tempted to remove it and get out of bed, but he knew he was being closely monitored. The bullet he had taken for Operations had messed him up internally. Michael knew he was weak and needed to rest, but his mind had other ideas. It wouldn't shut down. Even during the eight days he had been in a semi-coma, Michael had been aware. His thoughts then had been more fragments. Flashes of images and voices that seemed to whisper at him. But never the total darkness of oblivion that he sometimes longed for. "How do you feel?" asked a voice. Turning his head, Michael found Operations standing next to his bed. He was surprised at himself for being caught unaware. One of the first lessons Michael had learned in Section was to never let the enemy sneak up on him. He would not allow himself to be so distracted again. He couldn't afford the risk. "I'm fine," Michael replied to the question, his standard answer. Never give away too much. Madeline had taught him that. Operations smiled. He knew exactly how Michael was doing. In the two weeks since Michael had taken the bullet to save his life, Operations had been getting hourly updates from the Medlab team. Michael's head doctor reported in to Operations personally. "I just spoke with Dr. Vance," he stated, as he paced around the bed to stand at the other side. "She told me that if you continue to progress as steadily as you have been for the past few days, she may release you the day after tomorrow. "Good," Michael replied. He wanted out. There were things he still had to do. But first thing's first. There were things that had to be acknowledged between himself and Operations. "Of course... you'll need some down time," Operations continued. "Time to heal," he stated firmly, locking eyes with Michael. He knew how the other man felt about Medlab and about giving in to physical weakness. He had always admired that about Michael. He was like a machine when it came to pain and injury. A true terminator. "I want you to rest, Michael." Knowing that it was an order, Michael simply nodded, then waited. He knew that Operations had more to say. More questions that he wanted answers to. Heaving a sigh, Operations studied Michael for a long moment, letting the silence grow heavy between them. Then he launched his first question. "How did you know about Ethan... and Lennox?" "I do my homework," Michael replied. Nothing more. "I spoke to George," Operations allowed, a tight smile curving his lips. "He's pleased with your work, Michael. And he's handling Ethan... personally." Operations waited for some response but Michael's only reaction was to blink at him. An effective, if annoying, response. "I didn't know you had such high connections, Michael," Operations confessed. For when he had tried to learn more from George, his superior had told him it wasn't his concern. But that he should be proud of Michael. Michael could almost read the thoughts that burned in Operations head, but he would give away nothing. "There is a lot... you don't about me," Michael replied, with a sense of satisfaction that he did not allow to show. Operations sighed again. "You're right there," he conceded. "My fault." "Doesn't matter," Michael countered. "Perhaps not now," Operations agreed. "But there is something of importance that we need to discuss." Michael nodded. "Nikita." Operations locked eyes with the younger man. "I want her back." "On my terms," Michael allowed. He was no fool. He knew that Operations would not allow Nikita to be free. There was something between the two of them. Something on a personal level that Michael didn't even want to understand. All he cared about was keeping Nikita alive and safe. There was only one way to do that. "What are your... terms, Michael?" Operations prompted, although he was almost leery about finding out. Michael had the upper hand at this moment, and he was smart enough to use it. Michael let a slight smile curve his lips. He knew that Operations was nervous, and he wanted him to be. It was time to let Lucifer know that his minion was watching. Waiting in the shadows. And to remind him that the time would come for new blood to take control. And Michael would be ready. "I want Nikita back under my control," Michael stated, his voice whisper soft yet underlined with cold steel. "I want to be her mentor again." Operations considered the request, then countered, "Meaning what, specifically?" "I will decide what's best for Nikita," Michael replied, without hesitation. It was time to set the terms. To lay down new rules. "I will also determine how to further her training." "Sounds fair enough," Operations allowed. He did owe Michael something. "Anything else?" Michael shifted in the bed, sitting up straighter as he held the other man's gaze. "Yes," he acknowledged. "I want to be allowed to have a personal relationship with Nikita... outside of Section. Also on my terms, which we can negotiate at a later date." Operations felt a surge of anger, yet he felt a rush of admiration as well. Michael was brilliant. He had played his hand and he held all the aces. But Operations was a longtime player. He wouldn't fold just yet. "And... if I don't agree to your terms?" he argued. "Then Nikita stays free and I will continue to work here," Michael stated, his jade eyes turning cold as ice. "But... you will never know if you can trust me again." It was not a threat, but a statement of simple fact. And they both knew it. "What makes you think I trust you now?" Operations countered, just to see what Michael's answer would be. He might not like Michael having the upper hand at the moment, but after what Michael had done for him, Operations would never doubt his loyalty. Never. Michael considered his reply, then answered in a whisper, "Because... I know you." Operations resisted the urge to laugh. The statement wasn't funny because it was too close to the truth. In that moment Operations realized something. How different he and Michael were. Yet how alike Michael and Madeline were, and he would never understand either of them. Perhaps that's why he needed Nikita back. She was someone that Operations could relate to, in too many ways. But that was a fact that could not be denied either. "You've learned to play the game well, Michael," Operations drawled, his pale eyes glittering with respect. "I learned from the best," Michael conceded, giving Operations his due. "Indeed," Operations countered, accepting the compliment. "I agree to your terms," he stated. "I want Nikita back in three weeks." Michael was surprised, yet pleased. He knew that Operations was giving them time to be together. The *down time* he had spoken about earlier. More than ever he wanted to be released from Medlab, but he knew he had to bide his time as well. The day after tomorrow would be soon enough. "Thank you," Michael whispered. Operations nodded, then turned to go. But he paused in the doorway to look back at the man who would some day succeed him. There was one more thing to be said. "Thank you, for saving my life," Operations declared. "I owe you, Michael." "Actions speak louder than words," Michael countered. He knew that the game was still being played between them. It would always be this way and he had accepted that fact long ago. "Understood," Operations replied, a smile curving his lips. Yes, he had taught Michael well. Still smiling to himself, he turned and strode away.   ************ Michael entered the house and paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. Instinct drew him towards the garden in the back and he crossed through the living room to reach the sliding doors. In the course of eliminating Quentin, Michael had made his own arrangements regarding Nikita. Had called in *favors* and had her moved to a safe place. Keeping track of her had been difficult after being shot, but Michael had managed to keep contact with those watching over her. He had been told that Nikita was happy with her surroundings, but not with her circumstances. Michael could understand that and he hoped that Nikita would give him a chance to explain. That she would not judge his actions without hearing the reasons behind them. The garden was small but beautifully landscaped, and this time of year it was in full bloom. The air was scented with roses and lavender and Michael found himself smiling as he spotted Nikita beside a yellow rose bush. "Do you like them?" he asked, once he had glided forward to stand before her. "They're beautiful," Nikita replied, her expression carefully controlled. She was not about to let Michael see how surprised she was by his sudden presence. "You have a lovely home here, Michael," Nikita drawled, hoping to surprise him with her knowledge. "Thank you," Michael replied, not in the least surprised that Nikita had learned the truth. This was one of Michael's homes. The one place he truly felt was a haven for him. Michael knew that Section was unaware of it's location. It was a place he was seldom able to come too, but he was glad to be here now. "Can we talk?" Michael beseeched, reaching out to Nikita with one hand. He waited as she studied him, fully expecting her to rebuff him. But Michael knew it was time to take a chance on her. And to risk his own emotions. It wasn't easy, but he was willing to try. Nikita bit her lip as she looked at Michael. He was pale as alabaster and his eyes were a bit glazed. It was obvious that he was thinner as well and Nikita was worried about him. "Have you been ill?" she asked, letting concern color her voice. Michael continued to hold out his hand as he replied, "I was shot, but I'm... healing." "I see," Nikita replied, for it was a very telling answer in many ways. The Michael she knew best would have simply stated he had been injured but was fine. She studied his outstretched hand then reached for it with her own. Michael wasn't wearing gloves, nor a coat, as she was accustomed to seeing. It was too warm a day for either. Nikita almost smiled as she felt Michael's fingers curl around her own. They were a perfect fit. "Walk with me?" Michael requested. He would not make a move without asking Nikita's permission. Not for this moment. There were things he still had to keep control of, but Michael knew he had to be honest with Nikita now, or he would lose her forever. Nikita nodded, letting Michael lead her off. She was surprised that he had asked, yet pleased. It was more Michael's way to choreograph every moment and nuance between them. The change was nice. "Where are we going?" Nikita queried, as Michael led her through the garden and down a small pathway. He had remained silent as they walked. A long moment passed before Michael replied, "I'm not sure." He stopped walking and turned to face Nikita, one hand lifting to brush a stray lock of pale hair out of her eyes. "It is time for us to move in a new direction, Nikita," Michael said softly. Carefully. "Meaning what?" Nikita prompted, feeling a flutter of hope deep inside her. By the look in Michael's beautiful eyes, she got the impression that he wanted to discuss their personal relationship. But she had been hurt too many times to accept Michael at face value. "Why am I here, Michael?" Nikita challenged. "To be safe," he replied, then Michael sighed. "I know that you're angry with me, Nikita. That you have no reason to trust anything I say... or do. But I want there to be honesty between us." Nikita nodded. "I want that too, Michael," she allowed. "But... whose concept of honesty are we talking about here? Yours... or mine?" Michael gave the only answer he could. "Both," he whispered. "I can't tell you everything, Nikita. That will never happen. But I will promise to tell you what I can." "Why don't you start with why I'm here, where you were... and what happens next," Nikita countered, as she pulled her hand free from Michael's grasp and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. This would, indeed, be a moment of truth for Michael. And a test. Nikita prayed that he would not fail. "You might not like what you hear," Michael cautioned, feeling a flutter of fear in the pit of his stomach. Nikita had once accused him of not letting her see the real Michael, basically because she would despise him. A part of Michael had always been terrified of the probability that her declaration was true. But he had no choice but to keep his word to her. It was either that or walk away from a future with Nikita, forever. Nikita let a smile curve her lips at Michael's warning. "Try me," she challenged, her eyes glowing. "We both might be surprised, Michael. Pleasantly so." Michael could not deny her this, and so he began. And for the next twenty minutes he told Nikita everything about Quentin, Ethan and Operations. About killing Quentin to save Operations, as well as taking a bullet for him. About Carl Lennox's connection to the whole plot. Ethan from Oversight and his connection to George. "You have friends in high places," Nikita drawled, when Michael had fallen silent. She was surprised to see him wince at her words. She waited for him to say more, but he simply watched her. After a long moment of silence she asked, "Why did you save Operations? Why not take over Section, Michael? It would have been so easy." "I'm not ready," Michael replied honestly. Nikita gave a snort of derision. "Better you than Operations!" she hissed. Michael closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. It's not time for us yet, Nikita. We have to be patient." "Us..." Nikita echoed. "Explain... us," she challenged. "I made a deal with Operations," Michael began, then he paused knowing this would be the hardest part to explain. "He owed me for... protecting him." Nikita laughed out loud in genuine amusement. "You saved his life, Michael. A hundred fold. He owes you all right." Seeing the look on Michael's face, Nikita frowned. He looked... scared. "What kind of deal did you make?" she prompted, her curiosity getting the better of her. Michael locked eyes on Nikita's face. He wanted to see the truth when he told her. "I bargained for us to be together," Michael whispered. "Outside of Section." "Oh..." Nikita breathed, feeling as if she had just been kicked in the gut by a mule. She took several deep breaths then countered, "Why? Why would you do that, Michael?" Nikita held his gaze and leaned towards him, wanting to see the truth in him as well. "You're the one who's always reminding me we don't have a personal life." "I want to change that," Michael conceded. Nikita felt like she was on a roller-coaster ride from hell. Her thoughts and emotions were chaos, churning inside her and jumbling together. Michael was offering her what she had always wanted, yet Nikita wouldn't reach for it. Not yet. It wasn't that simple. "There's one question you keep avoiding, Michael," she countered. "Why did you bring me here?" Michael let a small sigh escape him. It was a simple enough question, but one he had hoped to avoid. To answer it meant to accept his own actions for what they were. Driven by his emotions. "I wanted you safe," Michael whispered. "In case... If I didn't survive." "I see," Nikita drawled, and she thought it was suddenly true. She could almost trust Michael in this moment, for his face was no longer devoid of emotion and his jade eyes were shimmering. No longer blank and cold. They were filled with hope. "Tell me one thing, Michael?" Nikita challenged. And this would be the true test of his sincerity. "What happens now? Do you decide... once again... what kind of relationship we have? Is this going to be on your terms?" "No," Michael was quick to assure her. "We decide together, Nikita," he said softly. Michael reached out for Nikita's hand, bringing it too his lips to kiss her palm before pressing it to his cheek. Then he released it as he stated, "But I have one request." Nikita wanted to laugh and cry. There were always conditions with Michael. But she was willing to hear him out. "What is it?" she queried, suspicion coloring her tone. Michael blinked then whispered, "You must be patient with me. You must trust that there will be times when I make decisions without your knowledge, or approval. And that those decision... choices... are necessary to our survival." "Agreed," Nikita replied, without hesitation. She grinned at the surprised look on Michael's face but did not elaborate further. Better to keep him guessing. But Nikita was willing to give him this, for she had come to realize that if it wasn't for Michael, she never would have survived Section. They would never have this chance. And she wanted to be with him. This time Nikita reached for Michael's hand as she stated, "So... I guess we go back now." "Not yet," Michael replied, feeling his body relax as relief flooded through him. He knew that it would not be smooth sailing with him and Nikita, but Michael was used to adversity in his life. He thrived on it. "I have a little down time," he confessed. "And I'm under orders to rest... and heal." Nikita was glad to hear it. Michael looked like he needed it, and she wanted the time alone with him. "Maybe we should go inside so you can rest," she suggested. Michael shook his head. "I think that I should show you... Paris," he whispered. "If you like." "I would like that very much," Nikita allowed. When Michael turned to lead her off, she tugged him back and took a step towards him. Her free hand tangled in his thick hair and her lips brushed his as she whispered, "But first I think you should give me a proper... hello." "Oui," Michael replied, then he captured Nikita's lips in a soul searing kiss. A kiss that fused them together, mind, body and heart. And, deep inside, Michael felt himself begin to heal. Lucifer's shadow had found his way into the light.   THE END BACK TO AUTHOR'S S-T LFN STORYBOARD ARCHIVES MAIN PAGE LFN LINKS PAGE Send suggestions or comments to Shelly