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Nikita sat in a chair at Birkhoff's station, staring at the blank computer screen. She was thinking about Michael. He was always on her mind. But more so in the past three weeks since she had given up six months of freedom to return to Section One. And she had done so of her own, free, will. Since her return, Michael had avoided her. The first week back, Nikita had been kept in Medlab undergoing a slew of tests, both physical and psychological. Then had come the interviews with Madeline. A succession of them. But now she was free to return home to her apartment, and to work out in the field again as a cold op. Of course Nikita knew that Section would be watching her like a hawk. But that didn't matter to her. All she cared about was Michael.
He had been summoned to Madeline's office on the night Nikita had returned, and she could still see the look on his face as if he stood before her now. Michael hadn't been able to hide his shocked, disbelief. Nikita's expression had mirrored his, for Michael had changed. He was thin, and lifeless. No need for any masks now, for he was simply flesh and blood, without a soul. No ember of life glimmered in his eyes. He was a walking dead man. The sight of him had brought tears to her eyes. But when Nikita had stepped towards him, Michael had turned and walked away. He hadn't looked back, and he had shut her out ever since.
Nikita had talked to Walter about Michael. Walter had been equally stunned to see Nikita alive and well. Because the walls had eyes and ears, Nikita hadn't told him about her escape. Nor Michael's part in it. But Walter was a wise, old man. He had figured it out. First thing Walter had done was confess his guilt to her. After the suicide mission, Walter had blamed Michael for Nikita's *death*. But, with the passage of time, he had accepted the inevitable. Walter knew how Section worked. Knew that Michael had obeyed orders, and that there had been no choice. So he had forgiven Michael in his heart. He had tried to speak the words as well, but the young man hadn't wanted to hear them.
Walter explained to Nikita how Michael had shut himself down inside, worse than when he had believed Simone to be dead. He told her how Michael had become like a true robot. No emotion to be seen. He simply did his job. What frightened Walter most was that the job became everything to Michael. He lived and breathed Section. He never left it except for a mission. Seldom slept and ate only enough to keep him alive. Not that what Michael was doing could be called living.
Nikita had listened to Walter with tears in her eyes. They shimmered on her lashes now, but she wiped them away with the sleeve of her shirt. No more tears, Nikita decided, as she rose from the chair. It was time to face the truth. With determination gleaming in her eyes, Nikita strode down the corridor towards Michael's office. She found him at his desk, working on a report. That, at least, hadn't changed, Nikita thought to herself. She entered the room without knocking, and closed the door behind her.
Michael didn't have to look up to know that Nikita was in the room. He could feel her presence, even as the essence of her perfume gave her away. "What is it, Nikita?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"We need to talk, Michael," she replied. "Please look at me."
"There's nothing to talk about," Michael replied, even as he lifted his eyes to her face. The look in Nikita's crystal-blue gaze made him catch his breath. Michael saw pain and regret, and he knew that she was hurting for him. He didn't want that. "Please go, Nikita," he begged, his eyes flickering away from her.
Nikita shook her head, even as she strode around the desk to confront him. "No more running away, Michael," she declared, forcefully. But she nearly faltered when he practically leaped from his chair in an attempt to put distance between them. Nikita bit her lip as she stared at Michael. He had his back pressed up against the wall, and his eyes were hooded and smudged with dark circles. Tears prickled in Nikita's eyes as they moved over him slowly. She had always admired the sheer poetry of muscle and bone that made up Michael's strong, graceful body. Every move he made had seemed effortless. But now he looked fragile. The turtleneck and formfitting pants he wore revealed the extent of his weight loss. Nikita guessed at least thirty pounds.
Moving her eyes back up to his face, Nikita only now realized that Michael's hair was longer as well. And he wore it loose and curly, as opposed to combed back from his face. That, more than anything, surprised her. But she didn't ask him why. What she did say was, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Michael echoed, stunned by Nikita's words. That was the last thing he had expected her to say. He stared at her for a long moment, then the question that had been eating away at him for the past three weeks came tumbling out. "Why, Nikita? Why did you come back?"
"Because I finally realized the truth," Nikita replied without hesitation. She felt a sense of relief that it was finally out in the open.
Michael shook his head. "What truth?" he prompted.
Nikita reached out to touch his face, but pulled back when he flinched. She felt the sting of his rejection, but accepted it as her due. Then she gave him his answer. "I know now that I belong here at Section," Nikita said, soflty. She flashed back to the time when Madeline had told her that she was becoming one of them. Nikita had denied it then, but no longer. She locked eyes with Michael and made her confession. "Section is my family."
"NO!" Michael hissed. Hearing Nikita say that was like a knife stabbing into his flesh. "You're wrong!" he insisted, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. "You don't belong here, Nikita."
"I do," she countered, a soft smile curving her lips. "It's all right, Michael," Nikita was quick to assure him. "I've accepted the truth. But I want you to know that I will always be grateful to you."
Michael frowned at her. He couldn't image what for. "Why?" he queried, his voice little more than a whisper.
Nikita reached out to finger a soft, dark curl and this time Michael allowed her touch. "You gave me my freedom. Ironic that it wasn't what I hoped it would be." She laughed softly, then sighed. "I needed to step away from Section in order to take a good look at who I am. I tried so hard to convince myself that I was just a pawn. That I had become a killer because Section made me kill. And for so long I blamed you for all my sins." Nikita blinked back tears as her fingertips brushed over Michael's face. She felt the hollows beneath his cheekbones and it made her heart ache. "I was wrong. Section didn't make me what I am. They just took what was always inside me and brought out into the light of day. We all have a dark side, Michael. And I've finally come to accept mine."
"You're not a killer," Michael whispered, his eyes suddenly glazing over. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What Nikita was saying. It was a stranger talking. Not the beautiful, innocent woman whom Section One had tried to destroy. The woman who Michael had molded into a killer whose soul could not be tarnished. "Nikita..." he breathed.
Just then his phone rang. Nikita smiled and stepped away, moving towards the door. The moment between them was shattered now. She knew that Michael didn't believe her, because he didn't want too. But she had told him the truth. She belonged to Section One, body and soul. They were the only family Nikita had ever known and she would never leave them again. Never leave Michael. But Nikita knew it would take time for him to accept her again. A smile curved her lips as she opened the door and walked out of his office. Time would heal the wounds they had inflicted upon each other. And Nikita knew it would be worth the wait.
For the next two days, Nikita willingly kept her distance from Michael. She knew he needed time to think about what she had said, and to accept the truth. It wouldn't be easy for him. It hadn't been for her either. But her plans to give Michael space were not to be. Walter came looking for her to tell her that Michael had disappeared. Operations was giving Michael twenty-four hours to make contact, or he would be considered AWOL and a search team dispatched to bring him in.
"You gotta find him, sugar," Walter beseeched. He knew that if Michael were brought back, he would be subjected to psyche reevaluation. And that was something that Walter wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.
"I don't even know where to start looking," Nikita confessed. "Help me, Walter."
The old man bit his lip then did what he had to do. He betrayed a confidence. "Go to Michael's house, sugar," he told Nikita. Then he gave her the address and a key.
Nikita brushed a kiss against Walter's leathery cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she was gone.
Michael wasn't at his house. And as much as Nikita would have liked to explore his home, the clock was ticking, so she left after a quick search revealed the place to be empty. Next place Nikita headed to was the park. Then anywhere else she thought Michael might go. But he was no where to be found. Nikita glanced at her watch and grimaced. Only eight hours left before Operations let loose with the hounds of hell. Nikita smoothed a lock of hair out of her eyes then decided to dash home for a quick shower. It would refresh her and maybe clear her thoughts enough to give her a new perspective on where to look.
She opened the door to her apartment and reached for the lights. But even as they illuminated the room, Nikita knew that he was there. Her eyes flickered over to the corner and a memory flashed in her mind of another time when she had come home after a date with Alec Chandler, to find Michael sitting at her table. Big difference this time, however. Michael wasn't looking at her. He was staring down at the gun that rested on the table top.
"Michael..." Nikita whispered his name as she went to him and knelt down. One hand reached for the gun, moving it down to the floor beside her. She heaved a silent sigh of relief when Michael didn't protest. "They're looking for you," she said soflty.
"I know," he replied. That was all. No emotion colored his voice, no expression crossed his face. Michael just stared down at his hands. They rested in his lap.
Nikita bit her lip, wondering what to say. She was afraid in this moment. Afraid of what he might do. "Why, Michael? Why do you want to die?" As she asked the question, it occured to Nikita...that was why he had come here. To put a bullet in his head and end his life. In her apartment. There had to be a reason. Why here?
Michael lifted one hand and placed an audio cassette on the table. "Listen to the tape," he told her, even as he rose to his feet. Michael stepped around Nikita, pausing only long enough to retrieve his gun. He tucked it back into his shoulder holster, then he strode to the door. Without looking back he opened it and walked out, closing it firmly behind him.
A part of Nikita wondered if she should go after Michael, but her instincts told her that he wouldn't end his life. Not tonight. She didn't know what had stopped him, but maybe the answer was on the tape. Rising to her feet, Nikita scooped it up off the table and carried it over to her tape player. The case had her name scribbled on it and she opened it and slipped the tape into the recorder. She pushed play, then sat down on the floor to listen. The words and music of a Depeche Mode song filled the room.
DO YOU MEAN THIS HORNY CREEP
SET UPON WEARY FEET
WHO LOOKS IN NEED OF SLEEP
THAT DOESN'T COME
THIS TWISTED, TORTURED MESS
THIS BED OF SINFULNESS
WHO'S LONGING FOR SOME REST
AND FEELING NUMB
WHAT DO YOU EXPECT OF ME
WHAT IS IT YOU WANT
WHATEVER YOU'VE PLANNED FOR ME
I'M NOT THE ONE
A VICIOUS APPETITE
VISITS ME EACH NIGHT
AND WON'T BE SATISFIED
WON'T BE DENIED
AN UNBEARABLE PAIN
A BEATING IN MY BRAIN
THAT LEAVES THE MARK OF CAIN
RIGHT HERE INSIDE
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO
WHEN EVERYTHING THAT I'VE DONE
IS LEADING ME TO CONCLUDE
I'M NOT THE ONE
WHATEVER I'VE DONE
I'VE BEEN STARING DOWN THE BARREL OF A GUN
IS THERE SOMETHING YOU NEED FROM ME
ARE YOU HAVING YOUR FUN
I NEVER AGREED TO BE
YOUR HOLY ONE
WHATEVER I'VE DONE
I'VE BEEN STARING DOWN THE BARREL OF A GUN
As the song came to an end, Nikita wiped at the tears that rolled down her face. She realized now what kind of pain Michael was suffering. He couldn't tell her in his own words. Couldn't say what he was feeling. But the song said it for him, and Nikita felt as if her heart would break. Drawing her knees up to her chin, Nikita buried her head in her arms and wept.
When her tears were finally spent, she let herself remember the times that Michael had truly stared down the barrel of a gun. Her gun for one. The first time had been here in her apartment. She had asked Michael if he could give her a reason why she shouldn't shoot him for all his lies and manipulations. He had stepped into the gun and told her that he couldn't think of a single reason. Then he had kissed her hand, turned, and walked out. At first, Nikita had branded his actions as arrogant. But later she had come to the realization that Michael simply didn't care whether or not he lived or died. A fact reinforced when Nikita had watched him face down Lisa Fanning. Michael had let the young woman hold a gun on him without flinching. Protesting only when Lisa had turned the gun on herself.
And then there had been Stephen Wolf. He had targeted Michael and Nikita had shot him. But thinking back on the event afterwards, she had realized that even though Michael had been caught in the act of reloading his clip, he could have done so and shot Stephen in the blink of an eye. Instead he had frozen, his eyes locked on the other man's face. Staring death in the eye, once more, without blinking.
The final time had been at Nikita's hands once again. She had been addicted to the phasing shell and could have easily killed Michael without realizing it. Still, he had lowered his own weapon and walked up to her. Risking a bullet to save both the Premiere of China, and Nikita herself. Moving to the kitchen sink, to splash her face with cold water, Nikita wondered...Who was going to save Michael?
Michael had returned to Section after leaving Nikita's apartment. He had suffered through a verbal thrashing from Operations, then spent two hours being questioned by Madeline in her office. Michael had given the proper responses and now sought a moment of solitude in his office. He closed the door, locked it, then moved to sit behind his desk. Michael didn't bother with the lights. The illumination from the corridor slanted through the blinds on his window and he could see well enough not to trip over anything.
His gun was still in it's holster and Michael pulled it out. He popped out the clip, his fingertips brushing over the bullets, then he slid it back in using the palm of his hand to press it upward. Next step was to pull back the rack, thereby chambering a bullet. Now release the safety. Done. Last step would be to pull the trigger. Michael didn't do the last step. He simply let the gun rest on his lap, but his finger was curled through the loop of the trigger.
Thoughts of Nikita filled his head and bittersweet memories, past and present, washed over him in waves. She was the only reason Michael had bothered to exist after Simone had died. But Michael knew she didn't belong in Section. Despite what she now believed, he knew better. But he knew he would't be able to convince Nikita of that. It was too late. He should have done them both a big favor a year and a half ago and let Operations cancel her. It would have been a kindness. But that option no longer existed either. Still...he could cancel himself. It would be so easy, Michael realized. Killing was like breathing to Michael. He did it without thinking. It was more reflex than anything. Even now he didn't realize that his hand was lifting, his finger starting to press against the trigger.
Nikita pushed open the door and turned on the lights just in time to see Michael press the barrell of his gun beneath his chin. "NO!" Nikita shouted, running forward to grasp Michael's wrist and pull his arm towards her.
"Nikita...please.." Michael whispered. But he didn't have the strength to free himself from her grasp, so when she pulled on the gun, he let it go. The moment Nikita released his wrist, Michael buried his face in his hands.
"Why, Michael?" Nikita beseeched. She had replaced the safety and dumped the clip before moving to kneel beside him. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she had to blink back tears.
He lifted his head, letting her see his tears. "I can't do this anymore," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. It felt raw in his throat for he had spent so many years repressing his feelings. But now the wall was shattered and Michael didn't care. He locked eyes with Nikita and told her the truth. "I stopped believing in innocence along time ago, Nikita. When I thought Simone died, a part of my soul died with her. And when I lost my son, I realized that I was being punished."
Nikita shook her head, stunned by his confession. "No, Michael," she whispered. "That's not true. I don't know how your son died, or why. But I won't believe that his death was meant to punish you."
"It was," Michael insisted. "And then you came here." A smile curved his lips as Michael let his fingertips brush Nikita's face. "You were like a light in the darkness. I knew you didn't belong here, but the decision had been made and the only way for you leave was in a body bag. I couldn't let that happen. But you didn't make it easy for me."
"Sorry," Nikita replied, a smile curving her own lips as she remembered all the times Michael had protected her. At the time she hadn't realized what he was sacrificing to do so, but her time away had let her see things clearly. "Things are different now, Michael," she told him as she let her cheek rest in the warmth of his palm. "I'm different."
He nodded. "My fault."
Nikita sighed. "No. No one's fault." Somehow she had to make him see that. "Michael...it's taken me a long time to accept the fact that life isn't fair. And that there's more to what goes on in the world than what directly effects me. No more seeing the world in black and white. It's all shades of gray. And that's okay."
"Why?" Michael countered, his fingers now threading through the softness of her pale hair.
"I don't know why," Nikita confessed. "It just is. Michael...when I was free, I was all alone. And that frightened me more than anything else ever has. I don't neccessarily agree with the things that Section has done...and will do. But I can justify that it is for the greater good." A sudden sparkle danced in her pale eyes. "That's not to say that I'm going to obey every command. I still think that Section needs new rules. At the very least, they need to update them."
Michael closed his eyes, shutting out the beauty of Nikita's face. "What about your soul?" he asked, in a whisper that was almost too soft to hear.
But Nikita did hear him and she had an answer. "I'm more worried about my heart right now," she replied, as she reached out to cup Michael's face in her hands. Nikita pressed a kiss to his sensual lips, willing him to respond.
He did, but only for a moment. Michael then grasped Nikita's wrists and pulled back so that he could look into her eyes. "No regrets?" he questioned, as he tried to see into her soul.
"No regrets," Nikita whispered. She smiled then moaned softly as Michael pulled her onto his lap then claimed a soul-searing kiss. In the silence that followed, Nikita could have sworn she could hear the echo of the beating of their hearts.
THE END
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