---

Walter watched Michael unload his gun and place it on the counter. Then he turned to walk away. It was then that Walter picked up his own gun, fully loaded, and pointed it at the young man. "Michael," he whispered.

Michael turned around slowly. He saw the gun pointed at him then his eyes lifted to meet Walter's. He said nothing.

"You let Nikita die," Walter growled.

"Yes," Michael breathed. Then he moved quickly.

Before Walter could react, he found Michael's hand over his, forcing the gun up under the younger man's chin, Michael's finger closing over his, forcing him to draw on the trigger. "NO!" Walter shouted.

MIchael's eyes were locked with the older man's. "Do it!" he hissed.

"Michael."

Walter almost heaved an audible sigh of relief at the sound of Madeline's voice. She was standing behind Michael, her eyes flashing. Walter then watched Michael's face, as the young man released him and stepped back. There was a shimmer in the silver-green eyes for a moment before the head dropped. Then Michael straightened his shoulders and his cold mask was in place.

He turned to face Madeline, expressionless. "Yes?" he said softly.

She smiled at him, that fathomless smile that was so effective on the unaware. "Come with me," she requested.

"Of course," Michael replied, knowing that it was an order.

Madeline took Michael to her office. Once there she gestured for him to sit, but he chose to stand. She moved to lean against her desk. After a moment of silence as she studied him, Madeline made her first observation. "You wanted to die."

Michael almost smiled. "No."

"Don't lie to me!" In a blur, Madeline's hand lashed out and her palm cracked against Michael's face. She was angry and she wanted him to know it. But Michael didn't flinch. A moment later, Madeline pressed her hand to his face, her fingertips softly caressing the imprint she had made just a moment ago.

"I'm sorry about Nikita, Michael," she said. And she meant it. Regardless of the fact that Nikita had been sent on the suicide mission, in part because of Madeline's advisement to Operations. Section would never let Nikita go, so Madeline had opted for the next best thing, knowing that Nikita would no longer be able to perform her duties. Forcing Michael to be a part of her death had been Operations doing. He believed in dealing with things straight on. But now both of them were concerned about Michael's well-being. Had they finally pushed him too far?

"Is that all?" Michael asked, his eyes locked with Madeline's. He offered no reaction. Refused to let her see inside his soul. It was an empty...dead...place anyway. Nothing to see.

"No," Madeline replied, her hand dropping away from Michael's face. He had shut himself down completely, this time, and it frightened her. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

Michael almost smiled at the question. "That this is a waste of time," he said, honestly. He wasn't going to tell her what she wanted to hear. Nor was he going to lie to her.

Madeline nodded, conceding the point that he was not going to make this easy for her. "There was a time when you never would have thought about suicide, Michael," she said softly. "For all that you've hated yourself and, no doubt, still do...you would never even consider eating a bullet, or letting someone else pull the trigger." Madeline was watching Michael closely and saw a flicker in his silver-green gaze. A faint...reaction...to her words. "You viewed living as punishment." Those words got a definite reaction.

"What is your point?" Michael asked, turning away from Madeline's *all seeing* stare.

"Dying is easy, but LIVING....that was agony for you. After your son died, then Simone. You felt that you had failed them both. And living without them was a just punishment. Then Nikita came along. And suddenly there was another reason for living."

Michael felt himself stiffen at the mention of Nikita's name. He didn't want to go there. "I have a report to type up," he said, shortly, moving towards the door.

Madeline blocked his way. "You can't run away from what you feel, Michael," she told him. Her hand came up under his chin, forcing him to look at her. "I won't let you."

"Nikita is dead," Michael hissed, stepping away from Madeline's touch.

"And a part of you died with her," Madeline whispered. She stalked Michael, backing him up against the wall. He didn't like to be touched. She knew from observing him that he preferred to initiate physical contact, so she purposely lifted one hand and let her fingers tangle in his soft hair. But when he tried to pull away, her fingers tightened, painfully. "Nikita touched your soul, Michael," Madeline said bluntly. "She brought light into the darkness that you walk in. Isn't that right?"

"I've done everything you've asked of me," Michael countered, hearing the desperation that colored his voice. He was losing his grip on his emotions. They were seeping out into the light, where Madeline could see them. Michael didn't want that to happen. "I let her die," he said softly.

Madeline nodded, and her fingers unfurled, becoming a caress. She knew that Michael was affected by her touch. By the gentleness of it. He believed that he had long forgotten what tenderness was. "Do you want to die, Michael?" she asked.

He smiled at her, a genuine curve of his lips. "What I want doesn't matter," he said softly. And his eyes challenged her to deny it.

"It matters to me," Madeline replied. And she meant it.

"Why?" he countered, with a morbid curiosity.

Madeline had expected the question. "I could tell you that I care, because you're the best operative that Section has. And that would be the truth. But I could also tell you that I care about you as a person, and that would also be the truth. So you tell me which answer you prefer."

Michael shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said, and it didn't. All he wanted was to be alone. His eyes locked with Madeline's and he allowed her to see his request.

"Answer my question and you can go," Madeline countered, her fingers still tangled in Michael's hair. She wouldn't back down on this one. "Do you want to die?"

"Yes," Michael whispered, knowing that she would see that truth were he to lie.

Madeline smiled and stepped away from Michael, allowing him his space. "I'm taking you off active field status," she said, her tone of voice brusk and business-like. "You'll run teams from here."

Michael nodded, he had been expecting this. "For how long?"

"That's up to you, Michael," Madeline replied, and her eyes were shadowed with regret. She wanted to help him, but he had to be willing to help himself. Only Madeline knew that Michael had given up on himself long ago. Nikita might have been able to help him, somewhere down the line. But she was gone, and he would never let anyone get close enough to see his heart again. Of that she was certain.

"Can I go now?" he asked.

Madeline nodded, then she watched as he left the room, the echo of his footsteps somehow mocking her. Heaving an, uncharacteristic, sigh. Madeline reached for the phone on her desk. She punched in a number, then waited. When a voice answered, she said, "We've lost him."

On the other end of the line, Operations was silent. He was also angry. Michael was too important to lose. "I'm not giving up," he hissed into the phone. Then he cut off the connection. A moment later he glanced down and saw Michael walking along the corridor in the direction of his office. "I'm not going to make it easy for you, MIchael," Operations whispered. "I won't let you go without a fight."

***********

Operations leaned against Madeline's desk. "It's been six weeks," he said, brusquely. "From what I can see, Michael seems to be perfectly fine. Do you disagree with that assessment?"

Madeline was silent for a moment, contemplating her reply. "No," she said, quietly. "Michael...appears....to be fine. He's dealing with Nikita's death in his usual fashion. Emotionally, he's shut himself down."

"Which makes him all the more efficient as an operative," Operations replied, almost gleefully.

"It does," Madeline allowed. Michael had been running teams from Section, putting together strategies and dispensing orders with one hundred percent effective results. Madeline knew what Operations wanted. "I'll assign Michael back to active status immediately," she told him.

Operations was pleased. "Good. I have a mission for him. Top priority. Tell Michael I want him in my office in an hour."

Madeline nodded, then watched as Operations strode out of the room. She then turned her attention back to her computer. On the screen was footage of Michael, taken from his apartment. He didn't sleep and ate barely enough to keep him alive. Weight loss showed in the fit of his clothes. Punching a key, Madeline switched to real time footage of Michael at Birkhoff's station. He was standing behind the younger man, and the two were studying something on the PC monitor. In the two months since Nikita's demise, Birkhoff hadn't once changed his attitude towards Michael. The young, computer genius understood Section well. He didn't blame Michael for Nikita's death. Not that he needed to. Madeline knew that Michael blamed himself enough for the both of them. Swallowing back a sigh, Madeline switched off the computer. She had someone on hold, waiting to be interrogated.

Michael emptied the clip into the target, discharged it, then reloaded to fire another round. Over and over he fired, unaware of being watched.

Walter felt a sense of pride as Michael sent every bullet dead center. The young man had always been his prized pupil when it came to arms, especially guns of all makes, types and handling. But with the pride came a sense of sorrow...and regret. Walter had been blaming Michael for Nikita's death, but he knew who was truly to blame. Section. Walter knew that Michael had often protected Nikita from Cancellation in the past. A part of Walter now believed that Nikita was finally free. The only way she ever would be. He wanted Michael to know how he felt.

The gun felt like an extension of Michael's hand. Often times he felt strange for not having one on him, even when he was home and alone. Of course, he always had one nearby. Michael's thoughts drifted to the day that had led to Nikita's cancellation. When he had gone to her apartment, a part of him knew that she wanted to die. That she would try to kill herself. He had felt relief at having reached her first. Only to be ordered by Operations and Madeline to sacrifice her. And now Nikita was gone, taking with her the only part of Michael that had still been alive. He was nothing more than an empty shell now. A body with a heart that beat inside his chest, but felt nothing. Michael reloaded the gun and lifted it, this time pointing it towards his temple...unaware of his own actions. All he saw in his mind's eye was Nikita's face.

"No...Michael." Walter whispered the words, for fear that shouting them would startle the young man into pulling the trigger. His own hand closed over the gun, pulling it away. But Michael held on. "Give it to me," Walter ordered. But when he looked into the silver-green eyes, he realized that Michael didn't hear him. So he lifted his free hand, pressing it to Michael's face in an attempt to focus the other man's attention. "Give me the gun," he repeated.

As if coming out of a fog, Michael heard the order and his fingers opened. He stepped back, away from Walter's touch, then he turned to leave the room. But found his way blocked. Lifting his eyes to Walter's face, Michael blinked. "What?" he asked, seeing the question in the older man's eyes.

Walter offered a smile. He knew better than to try and get inside Michael's head, so he opted to make his apology, rather than attempt to psychoanalyze Michael's present state of mind. He knew the young man wanted to die...could even understand why. But he wouldn't be a party to it. "I'm sorry, Michael," Walter said, and the words held several meanings.

"Don't be," Michael replied, understanding at least one of them. He tried to leave again, but this time Walter grabbed his arm.

"About Nikita..." Walter began, then he paused to blink back tears and clear his throat. "I'm know it wasn't your fault, Michael. I know you didn't want her to die. I'm sorry I blamed you."

Michael smiled, a curving of his sensual lips that didn't reach his eyes. They glittered like chips of silver-green ice. "Don't be sorry," he whispered. "You should blame me, Walter. And you should fear me."

Walter frowned, feeling more than a little confused by Michael's words. "What do you mean?" he queried, his fingers tightening when the young man tried to walk away from him. "Talk to me, Michael. Why should I fear you?"

Before the young operative could respond, a familiar voice interjected. "Michael, come to my office please." Madeline stood in the doorway, smiling at him.

"Of course," Michael replied, this time able to walk from Walter. He didn't look back as he breezed past Madeline.

Walter had to suppress a shiver as he watched the dark-haired woman turn to follow Michael out. Something bad was going to happen. Walter could feel it, and he was....afraid.

"What is it?" Michael asked, as he stood before Madeline's desk, feet apart, hands clasped before him.

She got right to the point. "I'm putting you back on active field status, effective immediately."

Michael betrayed no reaction, but he was pleased. "Good," he said. That was all.

"It's on a trial basis," Madeline was quick to clarify.

"Why?" Michael questioned, suspicion washing over him.

Madeline smiled at him, hearing his displeasure, hard as he tried to hide it. "You have to prove to me that you will be able to handle it," she challenged.

Michael was surprised by her response, and was silent for a moment. "Why wouldn't I be?" he countered. Then he was hit with a flash of memory. Another time in Madeline's office when he had said those same words. Then it had been in regards to his feelings for Nikita.

"You don't eat, or sleep," Madeline replied. She stepped around to the front of her desk so that she was face to face with Michael.

"I eat," he shot back, defiantly.

Madeline nodded. "Enough to...survive," she allowed. One hand reached out to pluck at the material of the black turtleneck he was wearing. Two months ago the fabric would have stretched tautly over his hard-muscled chest and abdomen. The muscle was still there, but leaner now. "I would guess that you've lost at least fifteen pounds," she said. It had been the same when Simone had died the first time. Only Michael had regained his appetite after a few weeks. It was two months since Nikita's death.

Michael took a step back. "I'm fine," he said, his eyes locked with Madeline's and willing her to deny it. He had given her no reason to believe otherwise, and they both knew it.

"We'll have to see about getting you a new wardrobe," Madeline drawled, purposely carrying on with the topic of his weight loss.

"I have all I need," Michael replied. He felt irritation at the game that Madeline was playing with him, but he shrugged it off. Madeline was trying to goad him into some kind of reaction, but Michael wouldn't give her what she wanted. He had given her, and Section, enough already. All he had left was his self-control. They couldn't have that.

Madeline knew that Michael was on to her, so she moved on. "What about sleeping?" she inquired. "I can give you something to help you."

Michael shook his head. "I don't need it." Even a mild sedative would signify a loss of his control. Michael wouldn't allow that.

"Operations wants to see you in his office," Madeline said abruptly, her eyes moving slowly over Michael. But he stood as still as stone beneath her perusal, giving away nothing. "He has a mission for you."

"Thank you," Michael replied, turning for the door. But he stopped when Madeline said his name. Michael didn't turn around, but he waited.

Madeline moved to stand behind him. She had one more tactic to try. "Nikita is dead, Michael," she whispered, almost in his ear. "You have to let go of her now."

Michael blinked, but that was all, and he was glad that Madeline couldn't see it. He took a deep breath, softly exhaled, then said, "I can't let go of something...I never had." And, with that, Michael left the room.

Michael proved he was back on target by completing his first mission without a glitch. Two more missions followed, and Operations was thrilled when Michael turned a potential disaster into a triumph. For both Section, and himself. So Operations gave him yet another assignment, piggyback to the last, but Michael seemed to thrive on the work.

The mission was simple enough, yet important. An IRA terrorist was meeting with a high ranking official of the United States National security team. It was Michael's job to slip into the deserted section of the subway station, where they were meeting, set explosives, then trigger them with the terrorist, the government official and the shipment of stingers still inside. In and out. It was the kind of job that Michael excelled at.

Birkhoff was in the van, connected to Michael via the transmitter that the other man wore. He could hear everything, and he used infrared to track Michael's movements visually.

Operations was linked in from Section. Madeline was with him "How's it going, Birkhoff?" he questioned.

"So far so good," Birkhoff replied, reaching for a piece of licorice. "Michael has set the explosives and he's backtracking his way out." Just then Birkhoff saw a blip on his screen. His fears were confirmed when he heard an unfamiliar voice, reaching him via Michael's transmitter.

"Who are you?" asked the voice.

Michael was in the corridor of the subway that led to the stairs, and the exit. He turned to smile at the man who was holding a gun on him. It was Harrison O'Rourke, the IRA terrorist. "I'm nobody," Michael replied. His own gun was in his right hand, the trigger in his left. Michael didn't fire, he simply stood there.

Operations cursed the sudden silence. "Birkhoff....what's going on?" he demanded.

Birkhoff caught his breath when a red light flashed on his monitor. "No.." he whispered. "Oh no!"

"Birkhoff!" Operations' hissed. "Talk to me!"

"Michael has activated the charges," Birkhoff replied. "There's....twenty...seconds left to the thirty second countdown."

Operations' felt himself relax. "Good," he said.

Birkhoff shook his head, forgetting the fact that Operations couldn't see him. He swallowed hard. "Sir....Michael's still inside," he announced. As the last ten seconds faded out, Birkhoff closed his eyes. First Nikita...now Michael. Birkhoff neither felt, nor saw, the boom. But flames burned in his mind's eye.

***********

A wave of pain brought Michael to consciousness. He had to focus on his breathing to work through it, and it didn't totally pass. It shimmered just on the edge of awareness, as Michael opened his eyes. The first thing he saw were the familiar, white walls, of Medlab. A slight turn of his head and Madeline was smiling at him. Michael resisted the urge to close his eyes. He knew that she wouldn't go away.

Madeline could guess at Michael's thoughts. Could see the agony in his silver-green gaze as he realized where he was, and what it meant. "That's right, Michael," she said softly, reaching out with one hand to smooth a curl off his forehead. "You're alive. You survived the explosion. Barely." A pause, then she added, "You were lucky."

"Lucky?" Michael repeated, and found that his voice was little more than a raspy whisper. He didn't want Madeline's help, but he did accept it as she held out a water glass with a straw. Michael took several swallows of the cool liquid, then tried again. "Lucky....how?" he challenged.

"You sustained a severe concussion, several broken ribs, a ruptured spleen and various other injuries," Madeline replied. Her cold smile was in place as she fussed with the blankets. She knew that it would irritate Michael, and she was testing him, as always. "You've spent the last four days in a semi-coma. But the doctors believe you will make a full recovery. No permanent damage." Except to his psyche, Madeline amended, silently.

Michael absorbed what she had told him and shifted a bit in the bed, analyzing what hurt and how much. Ribs and head were the worst of it. He locked eyes with Madeline, and didn't flinch when her fingertips brushed over his face. It was a mocking caress. "I'll try again." Michael flung the words at Madeline like a gauntlet.

She accepted the challenge. "No you won't," she countered, softly. "I'm going to give you a reason to live, Michael."

"If I can't think of any reason, what makes you think you can?" he shot back. Simone was dead, as was his son. Nikita was gone. They had nothing to offer him, of that Michael was certain.

"I know you don't care about yourself, Michael," Madeline replied, her fingers now moving to tangle in his hair. She could feet the cold-fire of his gaze, but it had no effect on her. Madeline was focused entirely on Michael. "But you do care about others," she continued, and she felt him flinch. He couldn't deny the truth of that. Michael's weakness, in his mind, was that he cared too deeply. That's why he tried so hard to shut out his emotions, for fear they would get in the way of his doing the job.

Michael turned his head, trying to free himself of Madeline's touch, but her fingers continued their tender caress. Now brushing against his temple. "What's your point?" he questioned, growing weary of this particular mind game.

Madeline sighed as her fingers moved under Michael's chin. She turned his head so that he was looking at her. "If you try to kill yourself again, Birkhoff will be cancelled." Madeline's voice was soft, but there was steel in her tone.

"No!" The denial was out before Michael could stop it. He felt his heart rate quicken, and took deep breaths to steady it. "You wouldn't kill Birkhoff," Michael replied, hoping to see confirmation of his words in Madeline's dark gaze. But she only smiled. "Why?" Michael asked, unable to keep the desperation he was feeling from coloring his voice.

"You know why," Madeline countered, turning to leave the room.

Michael wasn't ready to let this go. "I'm expendable!" he hissed.

Madeline turned back to face him, her eyes gleaming. "We don't think so," she replied.

"I can't do the job..." This was a desperate plea, and Michael knew it.

"Yes you can," Madeline replied. They both knew it. "And you will," she said firmly. "For Birkhoff's sake." Then she was gone.

Michael closed his eyes only to see the image of Nikita's face shimmer before him. Fighting back tears, he whispered her name. "Nikita...."

Operations stood on the second level and watched as Michael passed below him. The young operative had just returned from his first mission since returning to active status. Just three weeks after trying to blow himself up. The mission had been a complete success. Michael was doing what he had to do, to keep Birkhoff alive.

Madeline entered quietly, moving to stand beside Operations. "You wanted to see me?" she questioned.

"Yes." Operations smiled at her, then pointed to his computer screen. "Take a look at this," he invited.

"When did this show up?" Madeline asked, her eyes flickering back to Operations. She had never seen such a satisfied look on his face before.

He knew she was surprised by his calm demeanor, given what he had just shown her. But there were times when Operations felt it neccessary to keep even Madeline out of the loop. Only now he would let her back in. He needed her. "Last night," he replied. "It's being taken care of, even as we speak."

Madeline nodded. "What about Michael?"

"Debrief him, then give him this." Operations held out a disk. "It's the intel on his new assignment. He leaves at dawn and won't be back for at least three days. That will be plenty of time."

"All right," Madeline replied. But she didn't move. "Michael is very strong," she said softly, her eyes locked on Operation's face. "But we've already pushed him past the breaking point." It was a warning, and not a very subtle one.

Operations smiled. "I know that." He turned back to look out the window at the people milling below. "I have no intention of losing Michael. You know what you need to do."

Madeline nodded. "Yes." She turned and walked out. Pain darkened her brown eyes to black. Michael didn't deserve what he had been forced to endure in the past. The physical and emotional agony they had subjected him to. Often times Section had asked Michael to endure what she was certain they, themselves, would be unable to withstand. But the present, and the immediate future, would be even worse. Some of it he had brought down upon himself, but he still didn't deserve the fallout. Michael was still healing...in both body and soul. But his world was about to shatter, and Madeline was afraid that no one would be able to sweep up the mess....this time. Yet that was exactly what Operations was expecting her to do.

As Michael entered the main corridor, he was surprised to find Walter waiting for him. He was exhausted and not looking forward to the long debriefing that lay ahead. Nor did he care about the report that Operations would be expecting on his desk by morning. All Michael wanted to do was sleep. "What is it, Walter?" he asked, as the older man fell into step beside him.

Walter bit his lip, his eyes on Michael's profile. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. It was forbidden. So he said only what he had been ordered to say. "Operations and Madeline want to see you in their office, ASAP, Michael."

"What's happened?" Michael questioned, knowing that something was wrong, since Walter looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

"I don't know," Walter said, hating the lie. He desperately wanted to say more, but he knew he was being monitored. "You'd better go," he advised.

Michael nodded, then broke off to the left. He moved through the corridors with a determined stride, then breezed through Madeline's doors. He was about to ask what was so urgent, when he saw her. She was sitting in a chair in front of Madeline's desk. Madeline was behind her desk, Operations was standing behind her. Michael knew they were there, felt them watching him, but he only had eyes for her. She looked beautiful. Pale hair shimmered, her crystal-blue eyes sparkled, and she was wearing a long, white skirt with a sky-blue sweater. "Nikita..." he whispered.

"Hello, Michael," she replied, and a smile curved her lips.

Operations moved forward then and took Nikita by the arm. He didn't say a word to Michael as he led the blond woman from the room. She went willingly enough.

Michael turned to follow them, only to find a hand on his arm. He knew it was Madeline, so he stopped and waited.

"We need to talk," she said softly, turning Michael around to face her. He was as pale as alabaster, and she could see his internal struggle to regain control of his thoughts and emotions. He was losing the fight, and it was now that he would be at his most vulnerable. So it was now that Madeline would strike. But he beat her to it.

"She was....free," Michael whispered. He didn't realize that his body trembled as much as his voice.

Madeline made him sit down, then she knelt before him, cupping his face between her hands so that Michael would focus on her. When his eyes cleared she said, "Operations is very angry with you, Michael. You lied to us." Madeline watched for a reaction, but Michael didn't blink. "We're willing to forgive you."

Michael felt a chill ripple through him at Madeline's words. "Why?" he whispered. Then he found himself trembling as Madeline's only response was to lean forward and brush a kiss across his lips. Then she stood up and walked out of the room. Michael heard the *click*, as the locking mechanism on the doors kicked in. But he didn't care that he was locked in. He had no where to go. No place to run...and no desire to hide. He simply didn't care anymore. So he sat in the chair and waited. And the image of Nikita danced before him.

***********

Michael had no idea how much time had passed before Madeline returned. The first thing she did was move to her desk and turn her monitor around. Michael caught his breath as he saw the image of Nikita. She was with Operations and they were in real time. To Michael's surprise, Nikita was smiling at Ops. He shook his head. It made no sense.

Madeline could see, and almost feel, Michael's confusion. He was at his most vulnerable emotionally, and she intended to use that against him. For once, she would break down his barriers and get inside his head. She moved to stand before him. "Michael, we know you helped Nikita escape. I want you to tell me...why."

"Why?" he repeated, finding it hard to concentrate on what Madeline was saying. Michael's attention was focused on the monitor, and Nikita.

"Nikita was in abeyance like all the others. Operations and I placed her on the suicide mission, and you were given direct orders that all six were to be sacrificed." Madeline reached out to touch Michael's face, so that he would look at her. When he did so, she continued. "You disobeyed those orders, Michael. Why?"

He couldn't hold her gaze. Nor could he bear her touch. Michael pulled his head away and his eyes dropped to his lap. He was sitting perfectly still except for his hands. His fingers worried at each other, as if he were trying to rub a stain off his skin. He wasn't aware of it, for his eyes saw nothing but Nikita's face. The way she had looked on that night. The confusion mirrored in her beautiful eyes when he had handed her the pager. It was the image he had carried in his memory for all these months. "She didn't deserve to die," he whispered.

Madeline smiled. "That's not the point, Michael," she countered, firmly. "Nikita posed a security risk to Section. She couldn't do the job any longer. She's not the exception to the rule, Michael. You know that."

"What happens now?" Michael questioned. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but he wouldn't let them fall. It took great effort on his part to push back his fears as well. To keep his face expressionless, but he did it. He had to. If he let Madeline get inside his head, all was lost. Nikita was lost.

"Why did you lie to us, Michael?" Madeline countered, ignoring his question. "Why did you save Nikita?" Madeline could guess why, but she wanted Michael to say it. To both of them.

He looked back at the monitor. Nikita was talking with Operations and it looked like they were old friends. But that was not the truth and Michael was so damn confused. "I told you why," he stated firmly. "She didn't deserve to die." He knew it was best to keep repeating himself.

Madeline sighed, then moved to stand behind Michael. She let her hands rest on his shoulders and could feel his tension. He was trembling with the effort to control himself. "You care about Nikita," Madeline said softly, bending to press her lips to Michael's ear.

"What are you going to do her?" Michael asked. And it was a desperate plea. For himself...he could care less. But he wanted to know that Nikita would be all right.

"Why do you want to know?" Madeline countered, her fingers now kneading into Michael's shoulders, massaging the knotted muscles. He didn't like to be touched, so she knew it would distract him.

Michael had to stop himself from leaping out of the chair. He wanted to scream at Madeline, to demand that she tell him what Nikita's fate was going to be. But he did none of that. He took a deep breath, released it slowly, then said, "I won't play your games, Madeline!" MIchael hissed.

She was surprised by his response. Moving back around to face him, Madeline asked, "What game is that, Michael?"

"I care about Nikita, we both know that," he replied. His eyes were cold as they locked on Madeline's face. Her eyes were dark, without compassion. She was at her analytical best and in that moment, Michael hated her. And he let the passion of that emotion fill him. It distracted him from the pain and confusion that were at war within him, gave him a focus. "Why did she come back?" Michael believed that it had to be so, for Nikita didn't seem unwilling to be here. But, then again, nothing was as it seemed at Section.

Everyone wore a mask. Most didn't even remember who they had been. They became a part of the machine. Section reminded Michael of the Borg from Star Trek: the Next Generation. Once you became an operative you were absorbed, became a part of the ONE. And if you refused to accept your fate, you were terminated, and someone else took your place. Michael didn't pretend to believe that he mattered to Section as a person. He was an efficient tool. A puppet-like robot they could command. And he had always obeyed. Until Nikita. For her, he was willing to break the code. He had failed Simone and his son. So Michael had been determined not to fail Nikita. But in the end, he had failed her the most. Michael looked at Madeline and waited for an answer to his question.

"Do you love Nikita?" Madeline asked, once again refusing to answer Michael. She was determined to keep control in this confrontation, although Michael was a worthy opponent. Sometimes Madeline believed she had taught him too well.

"I don't know what love is anymore," Michael said, repeating the words he had spoken to Nikita. Repeating the truth.

Madeline smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You have a great capacity to love, Michael," she replied. And she believed that to be true. Madeline knew how deeply Michael had loved his wife and child. She remembered the man he had been before they had died. The ember of him burned deep within Michael. And Nikita had fanned the ember back into a flame.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. All he wanted to know was whether or not Nikita would live or die. But he sensed that Madeline wouldn't tell him. Part of his punishment, perhaps? Didn't matter. Michael had nothing more to say.

"Operations wants to see you in his office," Madeline said suddenly. She knew that Michael had closed himself down to her. Any further conversation would be useless. She would have to try again later. And she would. When he was vulnerable again. After he had seen Nikita.

"I can go?" Michael asked, rising slowly to his feet. He glanced at the monitor screen, but Nikita was gone.

Madeline nodded, then watched as Michael strode from the room. She reached for the phone. "He's on his way," she said softly. Operations' was on the other end. "Good," he replied, then he broke the connection.

Michael stood before Operations, his stance wide, hands crossed in front of him. He was looking straight ahead, but saw nothing. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but he waited, silently.

Operations walked a slow circle around Michael. He saw that the young operative was weary, and tense, yet he gave away nothing in his expression. Michael's eyes were cold and blank. A part of Operations' was pleased. "For the record, Michael, Nikita will not be cancelled. Yet. Reason being that she came back here of her own free will."

"Will I be cancelled?" Michael asked. He asked this with a sense of relief. Nikita would live. That was all that mattered. But Michael was confused to learn that she had come back by choice. He had believed it had to be so, yet had hoped otherwise. Why had she come back? Another question he needed the answer to, but Michael knew better than to expect an answer to that from Operations.

"Cancellation would make this easy for you, Michael," Operations replied, with a smile that resembled a smirk. "So...no. You won't be cancelled."

Michael had pretty much expected that. "What about Nikita?" he questioned. "Will she be a cold op?"

Operations eyes frosted over. "Not right away," he drawled. "Nikita needs to settle in again. I have plans for her. She needs to further her training."

"In what way?" Michael couldn't help himself from asking.

"That doesn't matter now," Operations replied, dismissively. "I want you to know something, Michael. I understand what you did. Why you set Nikita free. And I'm willing to forgive you."

Michael felt a cold chill ripple through him at Operations' words. "Why?" he asked, almost reluctantly.

Operations stood before Michael, and locked eyes with the younger man. Because I need you, and now I can control you." He saw a flicker of reaction in the silver-green gaze, and was pleased.

"Control me?" Michael repeated, his eyes shading to gray.

"Nikita is your Achilles heel, Michael," Operations replied. "And there's another consideration. Birkhoff. If you mess up again, Michael, he's cancelled. Am I understood?"

Michael nodded, ignoring the way his insides had suddenly twisted into a knot. "Perfectly," he replied. "Can I go?"

Operations smiled. "Yes."

"Where is Nikita?" Michael as this as he reached the doorway.

"She's home," Operations replied, and his eyes glittered. Smiling to himself he watched Michael walk away.

Nikita opened the door after one knock. She had been expecting him. "Michael..." she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. He simply stood there, staring at her. It was Nikita that pulled him into her arms. But then she felt his wrap around her, and felt his warm strength. But it was Nikita who was supporting Michael as he trembled in her embrace. And they held each other while time seemed to stand still.

***********

After a time, Michael pulled out of Nikita's arms. He took a step back and simply looked at her. A part of him had forgotten how truly beautiful she was. When she reached out to touch him, Michael moved back. He shook his head. He needed to keep distance between them for now. "Why Nikita?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She smiled at him, her heart aching for the pain and sadness that shimmered in his beautiful eyes. Michael had risked everything for her, and she had failed him. And herself. But she couldn't tell him that. "I had no where else to go, Michael," she replied. "I tried making a life for myself outside of Section. I really thought I could. But I was wrong." As she spoke, Nikita took a step closer to Michael and he allowed it. "Madeline once told me that Section would become my family. She was right. I was so alone out there." Tears filled Nikita's eyes and she bit her lip. "I couldn't bear it, Michael." She wiped away her tears and smiled again. "And there was another reason," Nikita allowed.

"What?" Michael questioned, almost fearfully.

"I missed you," Nikita whispered. Then she cried out as she watched Michael double over. She went to him, her arms going around him for support. But he pushed her away.

Michael backpedaled until his back hit the wall. He shook his head and fought to control his ragged breath so that he could speak. "Not because of me!" he hissed, the image of Nikita blurry since he gazed at her through eyes sheened with unshed tears. "You can't be back because of me." The thought that Nikita would give up her freedom, give up the light of her soul, to return because of him...that shattered Michael more than the thought of her death had. And least dead Nikita would be free, and her soul would still be filled with light. And hope.

Nikita was frightened by Michael's words and reaction to what she had said. She reached out to cup his face in her palms, unmindful of his attempts to push her away. "I had come back," she whispered. "I had to, Michael." It was all that Nikita could say, and she was desperate for him to hear her, and understand.

Madeline and Operations were in her office, watching Michael and Nikita on the vid screen. Operations was pleased. Madeline was detached. She watched the two young people with a clinical eye. She was still searching for Michael's weakness and she was beginning to think she had found it. A way to tap into his soul, and she filed it away for future reference. Madeline looked at Operations. "Nikita is convincing Michael," she said.

"Oh yes," Operations replied, a smirk curving his lips. "She has no choice. Nikita believes we will cancel Michael if she tells him the truth. That we located her through the tracker we implanted in her after she was shot, during the War. So she'll do whatever it takes to protect him." Operations shook his head. "I never would have thought Michael would betray us as he did, and set Nikita free. But, in the end, it's all worked out for the best. We have complete control over him now, with the threat of Birkhoff's cancellation over his head, and Nikita being back. He'll fall back into the role of her protector. He'll do anything we want."

"He always has," Madeline pointed out. She felt the need to do so.

Operations sighed. "Until Nikita came...yes, he did. Now he will again. And, as for Nikita. She now knows how Michael has protected her in the past. And that he gave her a chance at freedom, risking everything to do so. So she'll do whatever it takes to protect him now. Of course, she doesn't know that I have no intention of canceling Michael. And she never will."

Madeline went back to watching the screen. She saw Michael and Nikita locked in an embrace, and saw that Nikita was the strong one now. Michael was so close to breaking. "Do we continue with our plans for Nikita?" Madeline asked.

"Yes. We let her see what it's like to be on the other side of the fence." Operations was watching the screen as well, and he could already see the changes taking place. "Nikita will learn to run teams from a passive point of view. She'll watch Michael take point. Watch over him and make the decisions while he's in play. She'll come to understand exactly what he's done to protect her in the past. The risks he's taken. And we'll see just how far she'll go to return the favor."

"But we agreed that Michael will still have the final say?" Madeline inquired. "That he can overrule Nikita's decisions?"

Operations nodded. "Of course. Michael will still have the ultimate authority. But I expect you to explain to him that Nikita is not to know that, and that he is only to intercede if absolutely necessary to the success of the mission. The mission still comes first."

Madeline smiled. "Of course." That's how it had always been, and always would be with Section.

Nikita drew Michael further into her apartment and shut the door. She felt him flinch as the sound, but he didn't pull away from her. Taking his hand, Nikita went to the stereo and hit the play button. A slow song began to play and she stepped into Michael's arms. Her own went about his waist and a moment later she felt his wrap around her back. Nikita sighed as they began to sway in time to the music. She thought back to when Michael had danced with her here before. His seduction. A part of her had known that Michael had come to her then with ulterior motives, but she had wanted him so she had given in to her desires. She had done as he beseeched. She had taken what she could get. But it hadn't been enough then, and it wasn't now. Michael was wearing a loose, black, pullover and Nikita slipped her hands beneath it so her fingers could glide over the muscles of his back. She caught her breath for a moment when she felt how much thinner he had become. Nikita had seen it the moment Michael had entered Madeline's office earlier, had felt it as they had embraced, but it was more intimate and real now. "Oh Michael..." she whispered, blinking back tears. She had caused him so much pain, and Nikita would have given anything to take it from him.

Michael trembled at Nikita's touch. He wanted to feel the warmth of her as well, but he was afraid to touch her. Afraid of the feelings that would consume him. It was too much, too soon. He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Were you happy, Nikita?" Michael needed to know that her freedom, however short-lived, had been worthwhile.

"Oh yes," she whispered back. And that was the truth. For the few months that she had been free, Nikita had found work in a bookstore, spending most of her time reading stories to children. It hadn't paid much, but she had befriended a fellow worker who had needed a roommate, so things had worked out. Until two operatives had shown up at the Library. Nikita hadn't put up a fight, because of the children. Once they had marched her out into the van that was waiting outside, she had been given an injection. Nikita woke up in Medlab with Madeline standing beside her bed, smiling. Then she had been informed of the tracker implanted in her. That Section knew Michael had been the one to help her, and that she would tell him only that she had wanted to come back. If she were ever to tell the Michael the truth, he would be cancelled on the spot.

Nikita had expected to be cancelled herself. But Operations had told her that he had *other* plans for her. He hadn't gone into detail. He had simply reminded her that Michael's life rested in her hands. If he died it would be her fault. Nikita had blinked back tears and nodded her understanding. Then she had spent the next two days waiting for Michael's return. Now they were in the present, and Nikita was finding that she was handling her return far better than Michael was. Perhaps what he had tried to teach her in the past was sinking in. She was letting of what she couldn't change. And she wasn't thinking, or caring about herself right now. All her attention was focused on Michael. On what he needed to get through this. She had survived Section because of him.

A part of her resented him for it. Nikita recognized a certain selfishness in Michael's desire to keep her alive. But another part of her understood it. She would do what she had to do to keep him alive. Nikita knew, better than anyone, that Michael would die without remorse. He had faced down a bullet on several occassions, without flinching. Life held no meaning for him, except for her. She mattered to him, and Nikita was surprised at how blind to that fact she had been in the past. Michael loved her, she had no doubt about that. He might not understand it, for Nikita knew he truly believed what he had said to her during the War. That he didn't know what love was anymore. But he was wrong. Michael had loved her enough to let her go. Nikita loved him enough to find acceptance of her fate in his presence. She would do what she had to do..for Michael. For them both, Nikita ammended, to herself. Section could claim her body, maybe her soul. But not her heart, nor her spirit.

Her heart, Nikita knew, belonged to Michael. Not that she would simply hand it over and that was that. But he had claim to it, come what may. Her spirit, however, was another matter entirely. Nikita would never give it up, or over, to anyone. For any reason. It was the part of her that still found hope in this hopeless situation. Michael had long ago given up on believing in freedom. Nikita was still in the dark as to his past. How he had come to Section, what he had been subjected to. Oh...she knew about Simone, and the death of his child. But that was all. Section had obliterated Michael's ability to hope. But that was okay. Nikita had enough hope for the both of them. Section liked to play it's games, and Nikita was determined to play the game, and win. Somehow, someway...someday...she and Michael would be free. Even if the doorway to freedom....was death.

But that was a thought for another day. For now, she was alive and in Michael's arms. Nikita pulled back enough to look at his beautiful face. She felt tears fill her eyes when Michael's hands lifted to caress her cheek. Then he bent his head and pressed kisses to her temples. Then her eyelids, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth....then his lips brushed hers and Nikita felt herself drowning in a river of desire. She buried her fingers in Michael's hair and kissed him back with all the fire and passion that burned within her.

Michael felt Nikita's heat, and it burned deep within him. He wanted her...ached with his need for her. But now was not the time. They weren't ready for this. If Michael ever made love to Nikita it would be on their terms. Not because of Section. This was a manipulation in itself. He knew it, and the thought of it gave Michael the strength to pull away. He smiled at Nikita as he brushed pale hair out of her eyes. "I have to go," Michael whispered.

Nikita wanted to protest, but when she looked into his eyes, she understood why. She stepped back and nodded. "I'll see you later," she said softly.

"Yes," Michael replied. He turned from her, strode over to the door and was gone. But a part of her went with him.

When she was alone again, Nikita turned off the music then went to the balcony. She let the breeze dry the tears off her face, then she smiled as she whispered, "Home, sweet, home."

***********

Michael and Nikita were on a mission. Their sixth together, since Nikita had returned, only things were somewhat different now. Nikita stayed in the van with Birkhoff and ran the teams while Michael was *in play* and on point. Nikita was watching over him now. She had done very well, and was quite proud of herself. Michael seemed proud of her as well, which meant even more to her. Not that they were spending much time together, outside of work. Nikita sometimes wondered if he were avoiding her, and she hadn't been able to call him on it yet. Now, of course, was not the time to be thinking about that. Nikita sighed and reminded herself to focus.

The mission was an important one. An entrepreneur named Martin Cross had a file in his possession that Section needed. He was hosting an engagement party at his estate, for his eldest daughter. So Michael was there as a guest of the wild, younger daughter. It had been simple enough, seducing an invitation out of her. She changed boyfriends as often as she changed underwear. Team one was in place as waiters, team two were on the perimeter in full, field, gear. Ready to storm the event, if necessary.

They knew that Cross had the file in his safe in his bedroom. Michael needed to get in there. Birkhoff had given him a device to decode the combination, so it was just a matter of getting upstairs, undetected. His *date* for the evening came in handy. Vickie was hot for Michael and anxious to get him into her bed. While the toasting was going on below, she took his hand and led him up the stairs.

Michael was prepared for this moment. He slipped a white powder into Vickie's champagne and they made a few toasts before he allowed her to kiss him and paw at his clothes. She had his shirt nearly off when she collapsed. Michael laid her on the bed, then tucked his shirt back into the waist band of his pants, without rebuttoning it. As he left the room he pulled a pair of wire-rimmed glasses out of his jacket pocket and slipped them on. They contained a mini vid-cam, so Nikita and Birkhoff would be able to see what he was doing.

The master bedroom was three doors down. Michael slipped into the room without being seen, as the top floor was, presently, deserted. Birkhoff directed him to the safe, behind a built-in shelf on the north wall. Michael located it easily, used the decoder to get the combination, and a moment later had the file tucked into his jacket pocket. He was back out in the hallway and had reached Vickie's door, when he realized something was wrong. The door wasn't latched. Just as Michael was about to back away, the door flew open and Martin Cross stood before him, with two of his guards. Both men had guns and they dragged Michael into the room.

Nikita watched and found knots forming in her stomach. "This isn't good," she whispered.

Birkhoff nodded. "We've got to get that file." He felt the heat of Nikita's glare and shrugged. "What?"

"Michael is in trouble!" Nikita spat. That was her main concern. She had to get him out of there. She just wasn't sure how.

Michael was working on that from his end. He had heard Nikita and Birkhoff's exchange and had a bad *feeling* about what was to come. He hoped Nikita wouldn't do anything rash. That she would wait to see how things played out. Assuming an appropriately *fearful* expression, Michael cowered before Martin Cross. "Mr. Cross, I don't understand," he babbled. "What's wrong, sir?"

Cross was in a rage. He pointed to his daughter, sprawled out on her bed, her skirt twisted about her hips. Then he glared at Michael's bared chest. He was a father, and had put two and two together. No matter that he knew his youngest child liked to sleep around, she usually hid it better. "You're a dead man, son!" he snarled, for he truly believed that Vickie had been violated, and he was rich and powerful. He could get away with murder.

That was all Nikita needed to hear. "Team one, move in!" she ordered.

Michael was quick to override her command. Regardless of his audience, he hissed, "Team one, stand fast!"

"Yes, sir. Holding," came the reply.

Nikita was enraged. She glared at Birkhoff, although it wasn't his fault. "What the hell is going on? Team one, I order you to move in!"

Birkhoff shook his head at her. "Let it go, Nikita," he advised. "They're going to listen to Michael, not you."

"I'm the team leader," Nikita shot back, but she knew that Birkhoff was right. She slumped in her seat, feeling defeated. Michael was going to die.

Martin Cross frowned at Michael. "What the hell are you talking about, boy?" he demanded. When Michael simply stared at him, he stepped forward and backhanded him. Michael's glassed flew off.

Nikita bit her lip as she lost visual, but remained silent. There was nothing she could do. Michael had ordered his own death sentence.

"Answer me!" Cross snarled. He lifted his hand for another hit, only to double over as Michael's foot slammed into his midsection.

One of the guards released Michael, instinctively moving forward to assist his employer, and it was a mistake. Michael reacted. One crescent kick and the man went down. Michael had his gun and the other guard gave up. For his efforts he, too, received a kick in the head. Michael then shoved Martin Cross into a chair, borrowed a pair of Vickie's nylons and tied Cross up. He used a silk scarf to gag him. Once he was finished, Michael popped the clips out of the guns, put them on the table, then patted Cross on the face. "Nice party," he whispered. Then he smiled and left the room.

It was simple enough for him to leave the party, smiling at guests as he went. Michael even took the time to say goodnight to the engaged couple. Then he returned to the van.

Nikita was waiting for him. The moment he stepped inside, she was in his face. "What the hell were you doing?" she demanded.

"Team one, hold your positions. Team two, abort and return to Section," Michael ordered, totally ignoring Nikita for the moment. But the heat of her gaze could not be avoided. Turning to face her, Michael's face was expressionless, his eyes cold. He was in *teacher mode*. "You made a bad call," he said softly.

"Really?" Nikita wouldn't accept that. "Cross wanted you dead, Michael. I was trying to save your life."

He nodded. "It wasn't part of the mission profile, Nikita. That was your mistake." Michael locked eyes with her, waiting for a reaction to his words.

It was swift in coming. "Not mission profile," she repeated, shaking her head. Nikita couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So...I'm just supposed to sit here and let you die?" she queried, her own eyes flashing. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"The mission comes first, Nikita," Michael explained, patiently. She knew that, but she was letting her emotions rule her decisions. "I was able to control the situation, but you didn't allow time for me to do that. You reacted too soon, and too rashly. You let personal considerations color your decision."

"Sorry," Nikita whispered, for that was all she could force out. Tears were in her eyes, and she refused to let them fall, but Michael's words were like a slap in the face. She swallowed hard then said, coldly, "Unlike you, I can't separate my feelings from my thoughts."

Michael blinked, then turned away. "Learn," he whispered. Then he banged his hand on the panel. "Go," he ordered the driver. And the van pulled away.

Madeline was waiting for the team when they returned to Section. She saw the distance between Michael and Nikita, and sensed that it was far more than physical. Birkhoff had filled her in on what had happened, so she was prepared. As Michael reached her she said, "Go to Operation's office for debriefing." When he nodded and moved off, Madeline focused her attention on Nikita. The young woman emanated anger and pain. "Let's talk," she said, inclining her head.

Nikita glared at Madeline for a minute, then nodded. She needed to talk. Stomping off, she led the way. The moment they were inside Madeline's office, Nikita began to vent. "Michael overrode my order on the mission. And the teams listened. What's going on here, Madeline?" Nikita watched the other woman move to sit behind her desk. "I thought I was team leader."

Madeline smiled. "For all intents and purposes, you are," she allowed. "But Michael has ultimate authority. What he says, goes." Madeline could feel Nikita's rage and it amused her. "You're still learning, Nikita. And you're learning from one of the best. Michael did the right thing, tonight. You put him before the mission. That's not acceptable."

"What if he had died?" Nikita shot back. "Is that acceptable?"

"Michael is good at what he does, Nikita," Madeline countered, softly but firmly. "You didn't give him a chance to do his job. I know it's not easy watching him in dangerous situations. Imagine how it's been for him. Watching you for a year." Madeline saw a flicker in Nikita's crystal-blue gaze and knew she had hit home. "He was forced to do things he hated. He stood by watching you get hurt, even ordering it some times. That was his job. It's yours now. Get used to it."

Nikita felt sick. But she refused to let Madeline see it. Suddenly, the picture was coming into focus. All the things that she had hated Michael for, had blamed him for. He had done because it was his *job*. Because Section expected it of him, and now they expected it of her. Only difference was, Nikita now knew that Michael had protected her, in his own way. She wasn't so sure she could return the favor.

The image of Michael, after Red Cell had tortured him, filled Nikita's mind. And his words after they had escaped. It amazed her still that he had found the strength to do so. Nikita knew he had been severely tortured. That his suffering had been far worse than her own. When he had told her that he had been sent in because they knew she wouldn't break, at the time all Nikita had felt was the pain of betrayal. The belief...that Michael had manipulated her feelings for him once again, had felt like a knife stabbing into her heart. But now it hit home that he had allowed himself to be captured, knowing that he would be tortured. Yet he had obeyed orders, without protest. And he would have died without putting up a fight. Simply because Section had told him too. Lucky for him, that hadn't been the mission profile. But the thought of what Michael subjected himself too, for the sake of Section...that, more than anything, enraged Nikita. So much so, that she found herself feeling drained...and defeated. She shook her head and asked, "Can I go now?"

Madeline nodded. She knew that Nikita was beginning to see the light, and that was enough of a lesson for the day. "Good night," she said softly.

Nikita didn't reply. She simply turned and left the room. She wanted to be alone for a time, to think. Then she wanted to talk to Michael. Not that he would allow that. The distance between them was beginning to feel like a chasm. But Nikita didn't have the strength to deal with that now. So she went home.

Michael entered Operations' office, his thoughts on Nikita. So he wasn't expecting, or prepared, for the man who awaited him. Petrosian. "What are you doing here?" Michael asked, feeling himself taking on a defensive posture.

Petrosian smiled, he was well aware of the younger man's feelings towards him. "Operations had to go out of town, as it were, for a time. Business. I'll be in charge of Section until he returns." He saw a flicker in Michael's silver-green gaze, but could not identify it. "You did well, Michael," Petrosian drawled. "A pleasant surprise." He couldn't resist the dig, but was disappointed when Michael didn't react. "You have the file?"

"Yes." Michael retrieved it and handed it over. "Is that all?" He hadn't debriefed, not technically, but he had the feeling that Petrosian already knew the details, and he just wanted out of there.

"Not quite," Petrosian countered. He glanced through the file, then set it aside so that he could study Michael. He was silent as his eyes drifted over the young man, not missing one, single detail. He was impressed that Michael remained impassive throughout his perusal. The young man was good, very good. It pleased Petrosian, and made him want to push Michael all the harder. So he did. "I have a surprise for you," Petrosian drawled. He reached for a disk on his desk and held it out.

Michael accepted it then asked, "What is it?"

Petrosian let a grin split his face. "That's the file on your new trainee. Her name is Heather. Read it carefully, and make sure you introduce yourself tonight. Oh....and bring Nikita with you."

"Why?" Michael countered, regretting how quickly the question came out. He knew Petrosian saw his concern. So Michael quickly reschooled his features.

"Nikita needs to further her own training," Petrosian replied, hiding his amusement. Madeline's profile on Michael and Nikita was accurate. But, then, Madeline was the best at what she did. "I want you to teach her how to make a good operative. Heather is prime material."

Michael was silent for a moment, then he whispered, "Nikita has some experience with training a recruit."

Petrosian nodded. "Yes. Karen. I read her file." He smiled at Michael, and his eyes glittered like shards of ice. "But I want you to take Nikita from step one to the end. Don't forget the welcome speech."

"She's familiar with it," Michael shot back, somewhat facetiously.

"You can go now," was all Petrosian said. But the smile remained on his face as he watched Michael leave the room.

Madeline watched Petrosian as he poured them both a glass of wine. She was seated on the sofa in her office and he was beside her. She smiled as she accepted a glass of ruby liquid. "Michael should be reading Heather's file right now," she commented.

Petrosian touched his glass to Madeline's, then took a sip. It was perfection. "Oh yes. It was quite brilliant of you, my dear. To give Michael a trainee with a background so similar to his own. Rich girl, from a good family. She's smart and independent, has a wild streak and likes living on the edge. But it caught up to her and now she's here." He paused to heave a faux sigh. "Simply because she made one, foolish, mistake. Michael will be able to relate to that. He'll empathize with her. Understand where she's coming from."

"Of course, we're all familiar with that...one mistake," Madeline countered, as she inhaled the heady aroma of the wine. "You added a nice touch though, Egram, in pointing out that Heather also has a flavoring of Nikita. They both spent time on the streets. Michael will relate to that as well."

"It will be interesting to see how the three of them interact," Petrosian drawled. Then he set down his glass and reached for Madeline's hand. "Let's go to dinner, my dear. I'm hungry."

Madeline nodded and allowed Petrosian to lead her out.

Nikita was not happy at being called back in. She had been sound asleep when Michael phoned her. Now she stomped into his office. "What now?" she demanded, glaring at him. She still wasn't over her anger at him from earlier.

Michael stood up and shut down his computer. Then he came around the desk and brushed past Nikita. He stopped when she grabbed his arm. The heat of her seemed to burn through the material of his turtleneck. Michael wished he was wearing a jacket. Better still, he wished Nikita was standing across the room. His senses always went haywire around her. He could feel her, breath in her scent, drown in the sight of her, of her pale beauty. And the huskiness of her voice sent heat rippling through him. But Michael reminded himself that he couldn't go there. Couldn't allow those feelings to surface. They would consume him if he let them. "What?" Michael asked, pulling his arm free.

"Where are we going?" Nikita asked, feeling a bit hurt by Michael's reaction to her touching him. He seemed to hate even being near her lately. Soon they were gonna have a talk about that.

"You'll see," Michael replied, slipping past her and out into the corridor. He sensed Nikita following him, and they walked in silence. Once they reached the door of the interrogation room, Michael spoke. "Follow my lead," he told her. That was all, then he opened the door and stepped inside the room.

Heather Kasnoff was pacing in a circle, but she stopped and glared when the door opened. Until she saw the man who entered. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and he was beautiful. She forgot her fear as she smiled at him. "Who are you?" she inquired, cheekily. "The welcoming committee?"

Michael almost smiled back. He admired her spirit. Heather was twenty-six years old, five foot eight, with shoulder-length, golden-brown hair. Her eyes were honey-gold and flashed with intelligence. "You could say that," he allowed, in answer to her question.

"Cool." Heather could deal with that. Last thing she remembered was being in a jail cell, now she was in a stark-white room with an incredibly sexy, not to mention gorgeous, man in black. Worked for her. She had long ago learned to be adaptable. "So...where is here?"

"This is Section One," Michael replied, giving the standard speech. "This is where you'll train. This is where you'll learn. After two years, if you survive, you'll work for us."

Heather walked around him slowly, liking what she saw more and more, and letting it show in her eyes as she faced him once more. "Work for YOU?" She questioned, emphatically.

Michael did smile this time. "For Section," he clarified.

"Doing what?" Heather countered. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder, noticed the tall, blond woman who was standing against the wall. Heather hadn't noticed her before and, with a shrug, dismissed her.

"You'll see," Michael replied, turning back towards the door.

Heather cut him off. "What's your name?"

He smiled, but answered. "Michael. Training starts tomorrow morning. Five am."

"Private lessons?" Heather inquired, hopefully. She let him she her desire for him. There was no reason not to, as far as she was concerned.

Nikita had had enough. She shouldered Michael out of the way to get in the other woman's face. "No...afraid not," she snapped. "I'll be assisting in your training."

Heather didn't back down from the blond. She simply copped a similar attitude. "And you are?"

"Someone you don't want to piss off," Nikita drawled. "Not if you want to survive the next two years."

"That's enough, Nikita," Michael told her, taking her by the arm and pulling her towards the door.

Nikita yanked her arm free and stormed out. She was angry at Michael, at Heather, but mostly at herself for losing her cool so easily. Still, it was Michael she glared at as he stepped out as well, closing the door behind him. "What's going on here, Michael?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "You seemed to have figured it out for yourself. Heather is a new recruit, and you and I will be training her."

"Not for nothing, but since when have you needed help?" Nikita questioned, and she was truly curious.

"Since Petrosian made it an order," Michael replied. He found that he couldn't meet Nikita's heated gaze, so he stared down at the floor.

Nikita opened her mouth, but for a moment no sound would come out. She paced a few steps, took a deep breath, then tried again. "Petrosian?" She repeated, moving to confront Michael. It irritated her that he wouldn't look at her, so Nikita grabbed his chin in her hand and raised his head. "What has he got to do with this?" she challenged.

Michael repeated what he had been told. "Operations is out of town, for a while. Petrosian is in charge of Section until he returns." Nikita's touch seemed to burn his skin, but Michael didn't pull away, he simply looked at her.

"Really?" Nikita nodded her head. She dropped her hand from Michael's chin, then laughed softly. "Well, that explains your...moodiness," she commented. Then she waited for his reaction.

"Don't be late tomorrow," Michael whispered. His face betrayed nothing of what he was feeling, which was total, emotional, chaos. Turning on his heel, he walked away. But the image of Nikita was burned in his mind's eye.

Nikita watched him go, a part of her admiring his sensual grace. Along with the snug fit of his black, pants. They molded to his muscled thighs and tight butt. "Don't go there, Nikita," she hissed to herself. Once Michael was out of sight she whispered, "Good night," then headed back for home.

Michael went to his office. No reason to go home, he knew he wouldn't sleep. So he pulled Heather's file back up and reread it. But flashes of memory made it difficult for him to concentrate, so Michael gave up. He shut down the computer, then reached for the light, plunging the room into darkness. Leaning back in his chair, Michael let himself remember his first day at Section. He remembered waking up and finding himself in restraints. Then soft hands smoothing back his hair and a melodious voice whispering his name. Then he had seen her face. Madeline. Her smile had been warm as she greeted him.

"Welcome to Section One," she had said.

"Welcome to hell," Michael whispered now, then he laughed.

But it was a cold sound as it echoed in the darkness around him.

***********

Nikita stood propped against the wall. She was watching Michael, watch Heather, in martial arts training. At this point Michael slipped off his jacket and stepped in to play. He gestured for Heather to attack him from behind. When she did so, he turned, blocked her, then lifted her over his hip and gently banged her down onto the mat. Nikita looked away, suddenly lost in a memory of herself attacking Michael and being tossed over his hip.

It was the first time she had met him, in the white room. He had told her to 'go for the kidneys', and that it was her 'first lesson'. Nikita had wanted to hate him then. But a part of her hadn't. Michael had been her lifeline. Nikita smiled to herself as she realized how needy she had been. Still was. She shook away the memories and refocused on Heather. The young woman wasn't needy in the same way. But she wanted Michael. That much was obvious. To his credit, Nikita allowed, Michael treated Heather with reserve. He was her mentor, her trainer. Yet...she sensed a closeness between them. A bond of the type that she had never been able to form with him. An innate sense of understanding between Michael and Heather. Nikita was jealous of it. Especially since Michael seemed to be pulling further and further away from her in the past few weeks.

Michael was aware of Nikita's eyes on him as he reached for his jacket and slid back into it. He walked over to her, his expression carefully schooled to reveal none of his thoughts. But it was getting harder and harder for Michael to keep the mask in place. Still, what choice did he have? More than ever the two of them were walking a fine line. With Petrosian in charge for now, Michael knew that he was being more closely watched than ever. The man didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual, although not equivalent. Petrosian didn't *hate* Michael, he simply felt the need to push his buttons. To test him, every minute of every day. Michael was starting to feel the pressure, especially on the missions.

Nikita was still in *training* as team leader, and Michael knew she would not be allowed a mistake. So the pressure was on, for Michael had to complete each mission successfully for her sake, as well as Birkhoff's. It was always in the back of his mind that should he die, Birkhoff would be cancelled. Michael knew it wasn't an idle threat. Knew that, after being caught out in helping Nikita escape to freedom, he would be allowed no leeway for error. To fail would exact punishment. And it would be swift and harsh. Just that morning Madeline had called Michael into her office for an update on Heather, and a reminder to be...careful.

There was one other concern, weighing heavily upon him. Michael had figured out the real reason that Nikita had returned to Section. It hadn't been because she missed Section, or him. A part of Michael felt a sense of relief at the thought. Believing that Nikita might have returned because of him had been too devastating to bear. And too out of character for Nikita. She was too strong and independent for that. And too desperate for freedom. For a time Michael had sensed the lie she was feeding him, and then the light had come on. Section One had implanted Nikita with a mini transmitter. Michael could even guess when. After the War.

Regardless of the truth, that she had been manipulated into revealing Section's location to Red Cell, the fact remained that she had, willingly, betrayed Section. To save Michael from insanity. She had chosen the one over the many, and Operations and Madeline wouldn't have trusted her after that. Michael was still kicking himself for not realizing it sooner. But maybe it was for the best. Had he known when she'd been sent on the suicide mission, he might have let her die, knowing it was her only path to the freedom she sought. At least now, she was alive.

But at what cost? Michael wondered. She had lied to him about her reason for returning. And continued to do so. The truth was important to Nikita, so she lied to him because she had no choice. What was Section holding over her head? His life? The War had proven to Michael that Nikita would risk all for him. That's what bothered him now. Section had to be manipulating Nikita again, and using him. Most of the time they forced him to be a part of the manipulation. Michael hated that, hated using her. But had done it to keep her alive. Now he was out of the loop and uncertain of how to protect Nikita. Nor how to make her content with her fate. As if anyone of them ever truly could be content.

She was smiling at him, sadly, as he reached her. "Anything wrong?" Michael asked, dropping his eyes as he fussed with his jacket, so that Nikita wouldn't see his concern.

"Nothing," Nikita replied, the lie slipping out of her with practiced ease. "Heather's a quick learner," she commented, making an attempt to be fair to the woman.

"She is," Michael allowed. "So were you." He looked back over his shoulder at Heather, then offered a slight smile. "Madeline wants to see us," he said, stepping around Nikita and gliding into the hallway.

Nikita fell into place beside him. "What about?" she queried. Michael looked tense, so she was worried that they were in some kind of trouble. Nikita didn't know that it was her closeness that was affecting Michael.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he replied, in answer to her question. Then he quickened his pace.

Madeline sat behind her desk, smiling at Michael and Nikita. He was leaning against the wall, she was seated in the chair across from Madeline. The dark-haired woman could feel the tension between the two, young people. She could guess it's cause. But that's not why they were here. "How are things going with Heather?" Madeline questioned, her eyes going to Michael.

He avoided her gaze and replied, "She's doing well. She excels in everything, so far."

"Good." Madeline was pleased. Her eyes went to Nikita. "Do you have the same opinion?"

Nikita sighed. "Heather seems to be doing all right," she drawled, wishing that she could claim otherwise. But she wouldn't lie.

Madeline was silent for a moment, then she said to Nikita, "You don't like Heather." It was a statement, not a question.

"Is that a requirement?" Nikita shot back, defensively. She could feel her eyes flashing.

"No," Madeline replied, smiling. "I was just...curious as to why."

Nikita pursed her lips and shrugged. "Guess we just haven't been able to bond." As she spoke, her eyes flickered over to Michael. He and Heather had bonded enough for the both of them.

Michael held Nikita's gaze for a moment then asked, "Is that all?"

Madeline shook her head. She held out two diskettes. "This your next assignment. You'll be

playing bodyguard to a federal witness. The FBI are concerned about their ability to protect her, so we've been asked to assist. As a favor. She has to be delivered to the courthouse at eight AM tomorrow morning."

"That's it?" Nikita questioned, a bit surprised. Seemed too simple.

"That's it," Madeline confirmed. "The schematics for the courthouse are on the disks. Memorize it. Close quarter standby till then. That's all." Her eyes went to Michael again. "You can go now."

Without a word, Michael left the room. Nikita stood up from her chair, but hesitated. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Madeline was not the person to talk to about Michael. She played too many head games. Nikita smiled at the other woman, then strode out of the office.

Madeline watched her go, a smile on her face. Slowly, but surely, Nikita was learning.

Heather was working on one of the computers in Birkhoff's area, with his permission, when she saw Michael heading her way. She jumped up to intercept him. "Got a minute?" she asked, her eyes flickering over his face. He was so damn gorgeous it took her breath away.

Michael had alot on his mind, but allowed himself to be sidetracked. "What is it?" he countered, his expression neutral. Although he found that he enjoyed spending time with Heather. She was...intriguing.

"I'm trying to figure out how to work a program they showed us in class this morning," Heather said, turning to point to the computer behind her. "Birkhoff was helping me, but he got away. You're good with computers, I thought maybe you could help."

"Show me," Michael requested, breezing by her to step over to the computer. "What program?"

Heather sat down in the chair and worked the mouse to go back to her starting point. "They were showing us how to program in decoy flags, to cover out butts when we tap in and download, but I can't get mine to work." She brought up what she had, and felt Michael lean over her to study the screen. He smelled wonderful, his cologne just a subtle hint of sandalwood.

Michael studied the program for a moment and spotted her mistake. He typed in the correction, his arms reaching around Heather to do so. "You typed in the sequence backwards," Michael explained. He stepped back when Heather turned in her chair to face him. Their lips had been a breath a part. Too close. Too easy. And not what he wanted. MIchael shook his head. He couldn't have what he wanted. Nikita was forbidden fruit. "I have to go," he said abruptly, turning on his heel and gliding off.

"See ya," Heather drawled, heaving a sigh as she watched him go.

Michael and Nikita were team one. They were either side of Barbara Massey as they escourted her through the passageway that led, underground, from her hotel to the courthouse. Birkhoff had discovered the tunnels and Petrosian ordered that the witness stay at the hotel, in seclusion, till she needed to be moved, via the passageway.

Nikita's eyes tracked the area as they walked. So far, so good. The passageway was one of a maze of corridors, but she had it memorized off the schematics, as did Michael. She glanced over at him. He was in *machine mode*, ready to react, at a moment's notice, to even a sense of danger, or trouble. And Nikita saw trouble reflected in his eyes, before she spotted it herself.

"Down!" Michael shouted, as he reached for his gun. At the same time he had stepped in front of the witness as a shield. And none too soon.