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ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Nikita's two month training period came to an end. She had expected to breeze through the last two weeks with Michael training her, but she was wrong. Michael was a hard taskmaster, pushing Nikita to her limits and beyond. A part of her resented him for it, but another part of her understood. He wanted her strong and capable, and Nikita could appreciate that. Section would expect more from her now than in the past. And there was no margin for error. If she failed, she would die. There was no question but that Michael could no longer protect her as he once had.
But training was behind her now. Madeline had called Nikita and Michael into her office on the following day to brief them on a mission. Nikita's first since returning to Section. It was simple enough. Michael and Nikita had to stop an assassination. No specific strategy involved. They were to take out the shooter and return to Section.
Nikita strolled through the lobby of the Saint Bart's Resort hotel, her eyes tracking the area for the assassin. His name was Lloyd Bennet and from the art work they had on him, he should be easy enough to spot. There was one catch to Madeline's instructions, however. Bennet was to be taken out without witnesses. Anyone who saw him go down was considered collateral. Nikita was hoping to catch the man off on his own somewhere. But first she had to locate him. "Anything, Michael?" she queried, tapping one finger to the transmitter behind her ear.
"Nothing," he whispered. Michael was at the opposite end of the resort, near the cabana, where groups of scantily-clad sunworshippers lounged about with drinks in their hands. "Head east," he told Nikita. He would move west.
"On it," Nikita replied. She smiled at a bus boy, then headed for the nearest exit. Nearly twenties minutes passed before she spotted a man in white linen pants and a green shirt. He was wearing a panama hat, but pulled it off to wipe his forehead with his shirt sleeve. It was Bennet. "Got him, Michael!" Nikita hissed. "East end by the gym, but he's moving south." Even as she spoke, Nikita followed Bennet.
Michael was on the move as well. "I'll connect with you," he said softly.
Nikita didn't respond. She had slipped one hand into her purse and it was curled around her gun. But she was prepared to hold off till Bennet went somewhere without a crowd. As if reading her mind, he headed towards the back end of the gym, where there was little more than a grove of trees. A smile curved Nikita's lips as she followed. This assignment was going to prove a simple one. Bennet was a slime ball, so Nikita didn't feel any real regret at the thought of taking him out. And her oppurtunity came a moment later. He moved to stand beneath a palm tree and lit a cigarette. "Those things can kill you," Nikita drawled from behind him. When he turned, she fired. Bennet never had a chance. He hit the sand and lay still.
But even as Nikita moved forward to make certain he was dead, she saw another figure. This one was dressed in white shorts and shirt, with a red vest. One of the resort waiters. In his late twenties, Nikita guessed. He had a cell phone in his pocket. They used them at the resort, along with pager numbers, to further enhance their ability to see to the needs of their guests, on a personal level. He was reaching for the phone now, in spite of the terrified look on his face. Nikita knew that she couldn't let him make that call, that she was under orders to cancel him. But even though she raised her gun and put him in her sights, she couldn't pull the trigger. A moment later she flinched as she heard the hiss of a silencer, then saw a splash of red on the young man's chest. She hadn't fired.
"Let's go," Michael said softly, as he came up behind Nikita. He had seen her falter, and so he had fired. With a little luck, Section wouldn't have to know. There had been no choice in the matter. The waiter was an innocent who had stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. It happened. Michael was reaching for his own cell phone to contact housekeeping and to let Section know that the sequence was completed, and that he and Nikita were coming in.
"I failed," Nikita whispered, turning to face Michael. The reality of it was just starting to hit her. Section would be furious and she and Michael would pay the price. She didn't care so much for herself, but it wasn't fair to Michael. Once again he had protected her, but at what cost this time?
Michael knew what Nikita was thinking. He wanted to tell her that it was okay, that Section didn't have to know what had happened. But he the feeling that they already knew. Michael sensed that they were being watched, both of them. So there would be hell to pay when they returned to Section. But no sense putting it off. He took Nikita's hand and led her away.
They were summoned to Madeline's office, immediately upon their return. As always, Michael tried to shoulder the blame, but Madeline wouldn't allow it. Her dark eyes glittered as they focused on Nikita. "Why didn't you pull the trigger?" she demanded.
Nikita shook her head. She didn't bother with excuses, she simply told the truth. "I couldn't," she said softly, but with a touch of defiance. Just before the suicide mission, in her apartment, Nikita had told Michael that she couldn't change who she was. That had been the most honest statement she had ever made.
Operations was also in the room, and he was furious. He paced in front of Michael and Nikita like a caged lion. He didn't know who he was more angry at. Nikita had acted as Operations had expected, but Michael's actions were a disappointment to him. Once again he had chosen to protect Nikita, despite orders to the contrary. His, flagrant, disobedience was beginning to wear on Operations. He came to an abrupt halt in front of the younger man, so they were face to face. "You knew you were being tested, Michael. You should have ordered Nikita to shoot that waiter!" Operations hissed.
"She wouldn't have done it," Michael replied, not bother to defend himself, or his actions. He would do the same over again if necessary, and he let Operations see that in his eyes.
"You don't know that," Madeline interjected, focusing her attention from NIkita to Michael. She was curious about his attitude. It was like he was flaunting his actions. Almost like he was testing them. The thougth rather amused her, and no one but Michael would have the audacity to try it. Main reason being that he truly didn't care if he lived or died. Madeline wondered if even Nikita understood that. She doubted it. Nikita still saw things, and people, as black and white. No shades of gray. And Michael was anything but black or white. "You simply took out the collateral, Michael," Madeline reminded him. "You had other options."
He shook his head. "Take out Bennet with no witnesses," he countered, firmly. "That was the mission profile. That's what we did." Michael glanced at Madeline, then back to Operations. "That's all that should matter," he declared, with a touch of contempt coloring his voice. Michael was tired of the games. He didn't want to play any more and the consequences be damned.
Nikita realized what he was doing and she was terrified. Michael fairly reeked attitude, and it would get him cancelled. So she decided to intervene on his behalf. "Look, it was my mistake. I had the chance to shoot and I didn't. I'm sorry. Cancel me if you must, but leave Michael out of this. He did the job that I couldn't."
"You're right," Madeline replied. "It was your mistake for not doing the job, but it was Michael's mistake as well."
"Well, considering all the times you've punished him for doing what you want, why don't you give him a break this time?" Nikita shot back. Her eyes flashed crystal-blue sparks, and she was ready to do battle. She felt Michael's gaze on her face, but didn't let her focus on Madeline waver. Operations she pretty much ignored. Nikita knew he would let his presence be felt when he was good and ready.
Madeline let a smile curve her lips. It was nice to see Nikita's old fire back. But that didn't change the problem. Her eagerness to defend Michael, however, was interesting. She locked eyes with Operations for a moment and a look of understanding passed between them. When he nodded, Madeline turned back to NIkita. "I don't think you're ready for cold op status," she said calmy.
Nikita wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. "Meaning what?" she prompted, glancing over at Michael. But he had turned away.
"Starting tomorrow, you'll begin a three month training period period," Madeline said, as she moved to sit on the corner of her desk. "You'll learn to be a team leader."
"Really?" Nikita countered. She remembered her brief stint as team leader when no one else was available to rescue Michael and his downed team. "You don't think I'm ready to be a cold op, so you're going to promote me?" Nikita shook her head.
Madeline simply widened her smile. "We're going to train you, Nikita. It remains to be seen whether or not you'll be promoted."
Nikita nodded. "I see," she drawled, wondering what game they were playing now. Not that it mattered. Regardless, she would be forced to play, and Section never explained the rules. "So...who's going to train me?" Nikita could guess that this was an attempt to keep her separated from Michael.
Operations answered her. "Michael will," he said softly, a sardonic smile twisting his thin lips. His eyes were locked on Michael's face as he spoke, but the young man betrayed no reaction. His face was expressionless.
"So...he'll be taking orders from me?" Nikita countered, with more than a little surprise.
"Not exactly," Madeline replied. "Michael will allow you to make decisions, but he has the final say." Her dark eyes locked on Nikita's face. "Do you understand?"
She didn't, but Nikita nodded. "Perfectly," she drawled.
Madeline sensed Nikita's confusion, and it pleased her. "Her can go," she said. When Michael turned to follow Nikita out, Madeline called him back. Silence grew heavy in the room as the trio watched Nikita exit the room.
The moment the doors had closed behind her, Michael asked, "What is the purpose of this?"
"To let Nikita see what it's like being on the other side of the fence," Madeline responded. She did a slow perusal of Michael, from head to toe, an attempt to make him squirm. It failed. "You do understand that if Nikita isn't willing to perform the duties expected of her, then Section has no use for her. It's in your best interest, Michael, to train her well."
"Of course," Michael replied, the left side of his mouth quirking into a sardonic grin. He knew what Madeline was doing. Nikita would now be responsible for the lives of other operatives, including himself. Michael knew how far out on a limb Nikita would go for him. She had proved it during the war with Red Cell. The question was, could she make decisions that would, at some point, send other operatives to their deaths. Michael had his doubts. Madeline did too...and that was the whole point. "Is that all?" Michael queried, his glance flickering over to Operations, who had remained silent.
Operations nodded, then watched as Michael glided out of the room. The moment the young operative was gone, Operations turned to Madeline, a smile on his face. "The next three months should prove most interesting," he drawled.
Madeline nodded. "They will," she agreed. But then she sighed. "If Nikita fails, what then? If we cancel her, we'll lose Michael for sure."
"If she fails, we'll just have to make certain that it's while on a mission," Operations countered, a cold smile on his face. "The mortality rate for cold ops is high. She'll just be another statistic. Like Simone. Michael adjusted to that, and to his son's death. He can do it again." Operations spoke with more confidence than he actually felt, but didn't let that show.
"I'm sure he can," Madeline replied, but she was aware of the slightest hint of doubt coloring her tone. A glance at Operations and she shrugged it off. Reaching for a file on her desk she said, "We have some new intel you should see." When Operations joined her, they became immersed in the job once again. Thoughts of Michael and Nikita pushed aside, but not forgotten.
************
An emergency briefing was called three days later. Nikita had run two teams from Section, with Michael's guidance. But this time she would be out in the field. Well, in the van anyway. A point of interest was that Birkhoff would be doing field work, of cold op status.
The problem was a computer virus. A hacker had downloaded one into the mainframe at World Systems Incorporated. Once released, it would freeze everything. The modern day world would shut down...literally. Banking, business, technology, trades, industries, airlines...all of it on hold. Unless Birkhoff was able to stop the countdown. Which, he assured Operations, he could do. But not alone. The main frame at World Systems was set up with two terminals. The data had to be inputted into both, simultaneously. Operations chose Michael as Birkhoff's partner and Birkhoff concurred. Michael had the expertise needed to back him up, if neccessary. But, more importantly, he had possessed the skills that would keep Birkhoff alive, should the bad guys try to stop them. And there were always bad guys.
Operations had another purpose for sending Michael as well. Once the virus was stopped he wanted the dual terminals destroyed, and Michael was the best man for that job. He would also be the only one with that particular knowledge of the mission profile. An added bonus for him was that Michael and Birkhoff were both important to Nikita. As team leader, she would truly see what it was like to sit on other side of the fence.
"The plane leaves in one hour," Operations announced, his eyes locked on Birkhoff's face. "If you don't stop the virus, the entire world will shut down. Which means that absolute chaos would rule. That cannot be allowed to happen. You'll have four hours from the time you get there. Don't waste a single minute."
Birkhoff nodded. "We'll stop it," he declared, with a touch more conviction than he felt. For he, more than anyone, understood the true ramifications of such a shutdown. Without waiting for a dismissal, Birkhoff jumped out of his chair and left the room. There were some things he wanted to put together for the trip.
Operations strode out of the room, leaving MIchael and Nikita alone. She stood up and made her way over to Michael, who rose from his chair with fluid grace. Offering a smile, Nikita said, "I don't think I've ever seen Operations so jumpy before. Not even during the War with Red Cell."
"If we fail, Section's ability to do what we do will be severely impeded," Michael replied.
"I guess I hadn't thought of that," Nikita allowed. It bothered her a bit, the way Michael had worded his response. The *we* part. Ever since her return, Nikita noticed that Michael seemed to have become more *sectionized* than ever. Yet, at the same time, she sensed that things had changed between them. A part of her wanted to act upon those changes. Another part of her was terrified to. So she did nothing. For now she knew it was best to concentrate on the job. Nikita had to deal with that first and emotions would just get in the way.
Michael sensed that Nikita wanted something from him, but he didn't know what. Nor did he care to guess. Too much was at risk to take that path. To follow where his heart might lead. He had done that in letting her go, and he had failed her. Michael wouldn't let that happen again. So he turned away. "Get ready," he told her, over his shoulder. Although Nikita would be team leader, but he was still in charge.
Heaving a sigh as she watched him go, Nikita tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then followed in Michael's wake.
The van was on the grounds at World Systems. Nikita, Michael, Birkhoff and the field team were inside. Nikita was briefing everyone. Michael and Birkhoff would go in alone. The field team were on standby until Michael requested them, or Nikita felt they were needed to finish the job.
It was a dark night, and overcast, so Michael and Birkhoff were able to slip into the shadows without detection. The schematics of the building had shown them that the easiest way in was through the basement. They would be able to avoid detection until the reached the computer lab.
In the basement there was a networking of tunnels that led to an empty elevator shaft. It was there that Michael and Birkhoff would climb to the twelfth floor, since the shaft had an attached ladder. Michael took the lead since he knew they needed to worry about who they would meet. Birkhoff had a gun on him, but Michael didn't expect him to have to use it. Neither did Birkhoff. Not that he wouldn't, should it deem neccessary. He had more faith in being able to protect himself, thanks to Nikita.
As for Nikita, she paced in small confines of the van. In the past fifteen minutes, she had glanced at her watch at least a dozen times. She didn't like waiting. Michael and Birkoff both had transmittors and trackers on them, so she could watch their progress on the monitor screen, revealed by two, red blips. And she could hear them. They had remained silent so far. Watching the monitor screen, Nikita could see that they would reach the twelfth floor any minute now. Good thing. The clock was ticking.
Once at the twelfth floor level, Michael pried open the elevator doors. "Wait here," he ordered Birkhoff, as he stepped out onto the floor. His gun was drawn and his eyes were tracking the corridors. This wing was supposed to be deserted, but that didn't mean a stray guard or two couldn't find their way there.
As soon as Michael was certain that it was *all clear* he signalled for Birkhoff to join him. But even as they made their way down the long corridor, to the room at the end, Michael was attuned to his surroundings. He watched the shadows and listened intently. His awareness paid off. Two guards appeared out of no where, bearing down on them, and Michael was able to take them out, silently. No alarms were set off.
Birkhoff stood with his back pressed against the wall as he watched Michael dispatch of the dead guards. They didn't want to risk detection so Michael stuffed the bodies in an empty room. "Almost there," Birkhoff whispered, when Michael had joined him again.
They continued on and reached the main room. Birkhoff slid his back pack off his shoulders. He knew that the door would be wired with laser security, but he had what they needed to bypass it. Less than a minute later, they entered the room. At this point, Birkhoff handed Michael a small laptop and gave him the go ahead to uplink into the video cameras. They would need to redirect the signal to the laptop in the van, where upon Simon would send it feeding back to the surveillance cameras at the security post. The guards would continue to see an empty room.
"Done," Michael said, a few minutes later.
"Good," Birkhoff replied. He had taken the time to study the room and the access panels lining the walls. The set up was pretty much as he had expected it to be. Now it was time to go to work. He glanced at his watch and commented, "We've got less than four hours."
Michael could feel the younger man's anxiety and he clapped Birkhoff on the shoulder. "We'll make it," he said firmly, to reassure him.
Birkhoff nodded. He had learned, from past experience, that Michael seemed to always find away to complete a mission. And the bigger the challenge, the better. And this was the mother of all challenges. "There's the terminals," Birkhoff said, pointing across the room. He ran over to them and sat down at the one on his left. He was already busy typing when Michael sat down across from him.
"We're in and on point," Michael said softly.
Nikita picked up his messaged and heaved a sigh of relief. "Keep me updated," she requested. Then she resumed her pacing.
It didn't take Birkhoff long to determine that the encryption on the virus was multi-layered. He was able to bring up the countdown signal in a corner window, so he kept one eye on it as he worked. Twenty minutes later he passed the first level and instructed Michael how to break through on his end.
Two hours later they were on level seven. Three more to go, Birkhoff guessed. He and Michael worked well as a team, but he was still feeling the pressure. Two levels more were breeched, but only twenty minutes remained on the clock. Birkhoff felt sweat trickle down his spine. "How much time?" he asked, even though he knew.
"Eighteen minutes," Michael replied.
Nikita heard them and she could detect the stress level in Birkhoff's voice. "You're doing great," she told him. "You'll make it."
Birkhoff wanted to believe her, but he didn't. "I can't figure out the damn password!" he hissed, banging his fingers on the keyboard. A line of gobbledygook showed up on his screen. Heaving a sigh, Birkhoff highlighted it then hit the delete key. It was making him crazy that all that stood between him and neutralizing the virus was a single word.
"Focus, Birkhoff," Michael said softly. He knew that now was not the time for reassurances. Like himself, Birkhoff worked well under pressure. He just didn't handle it as well.
"I am FOCUSED!" Birkhoff shouted, then he cringed. The last thing they needed was to be detected.
Michael knew what Birkhoff was thinking. "The room is soundproofed," he reminded him.
Birkhoff nodded. He took a deep breath, then typed in another word. Nothing. More words followed. Still nothing. He glanced at the clock and felt panic wash over him again. Twelve minutes and counting. "I can't do it," Birkhoff whispered, his eyes lifting to lock on Michael's face.
"You can do it," Michael countered, calmly. "And you will. What have you tried so far?" he queried.
"Everything!" Birkhoff spat.
Nikita was still pacing in the van and had one lock of pale hair twisted around her finger. "Did you try God?" she questioned.
Birkhoff snorted. "I tried God, Peace, Love, War..." he rattled off the most popular passwords. One hand lifted to rake over the top of his head. "It's probably something so simple and obvious, I'll never think of it," he cursed.
Michael considered what Birkhoff had just said, then he made a suggestion. "What about....Virus?" Somehow, it seemed logical.
"Too simple," Birkhoff countered, with a wave of one hand. He tried a few more words. Death, Freeze, Angel....nothing worked. Another glance at the clock and he felt a chill ripple up his spine. They had less than seven minutes. "Dammit.." he muttered.
Nikita glanced at her watch. "Five minutes, Birkhoff," she announced. It was neccessary, but she did it anyway.
Michael watched Birkhoff grow pale. "Keep trying," he prompted, for the young man was now sitting with his hands folded in his lap.
"Right," Birkhoff drawled. Less than four minutes to go and he was going to fail. Failure was unacceptable. Wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs, Birkhoff placed his fingers over the keyboard and typed in V...I..R..U..S. Taking a deep breath, he hit the enter key. To his amazemnt the screen changed. "That's it," he breathed.
"What's it?" Michael questioned.
Birkhoff laughed, then shook his head. "Type in VIRUS," he ordered. Then he waited for Michael to do so. Once that was done, Birkhoff rattled off a sequence of numbers and letters for Michael to input, while he did the same. With two minutes left on the clock, Birkhoff watched in satisfaction as the Virus shut itself down. "We did it," he declared. Then he ammended himself, his eyes lifting to lock with Michael's. "You did it."
Michael shook his head. "I just made a lucky guess," he countered. "You got the job done."
"I don't believe in luck, Michael," Birkhoff shot back, a cynical glint in his eyes. "Neither do you."
"Just because I don't believe in something, doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Michael replied. He offered a half smile, then addressed Nikita. "Sequence completed," he announced.
She had heard them, but the confirmation was appreciated. "Come in," Nikita ordered, as she heaved a sigh of relief.
Michael stepped away from his terminal, but he wasn't ready to leave. "Get your things together," he told Birkhoff.
The computer whiz complied. Slipping the backpack over his shoulder, he stood watching Michael, who was removing plastic charges from a pocket in his vest. "Now what?" he questioned.
"We go out a bang," Michael whispered.
************
After attaching a plastique charge to each of the twin terminals, Michael ordered Birkhoff over to the door. Once he had set them off, they would have to move fast. Security would be alerted. But when Michael pressed the button on the trigger, nothing happened. He stifled a curse as he ran back over to the charges.
Nikita heard what sounded like a *damn* from Michael, and it worried her. "What's going on?" she questioned, resuming her pacing once more. This time without even realizing it.
"Nothing," Michael replied. He fiddled with the charges for a moment, then a satisfied smile curved his lips. Returning to the door, he signalled for Birkhoff to go. But even as the doors slid open, gunfire spattered through it. "DOWN!" Michael shouted, as he returned fire. Rolling across the floor, in front of the open door, Michael was able to count at least four guards. "We're pinned down," he whispered to Birkhoff.
"What do we do?" the computer whiz questioned, his eyes wide. He counted on Michael getting them out of there. Safely.
Michael didn't answer right away, he was contemplating their options. Finally he said, "Nikita, we're going to have to take an alternate route."
She forced herself to take deep breaths to ward off a panic attack. "I'll send in the field team," she countered.
"No," MIchael shot back, glad that he had the authority to override her decisions. "Too risky and we'll compromise ourselves," he explained. "Just be ready." This warning was for her as well as Birkhoff. The young man was not going to like their exit point. But Michael knew they had no choice. It was the only way out.
"What alternative route?" Birkhoff queried, as he tried to press himself further into the wall.
Michael pointed across the room. "Head towards the windows and keep out of the sight-line of the doorway," he ordered. When Birkhoff merely stared at him, Michael glared back and hissed, "GO!"
Birkhoff knew better than to argue. He took a deep breath and began running. He didn't take the time to point out that there was no exit point by the windows. He did, however, glance back over his shoulder in time to see Michael step directly behind him and take a hit in the shoulder. Only then did Birkhoff realize that he hadn't heeded Michael's warning to stay out of the line of sight in the doorway. If Michael hadn't shielded him, the bullet would have lodged in the back of Birhoff's neck. He would have died. But there was no time to be grateful. Michael was firing past him, into the line of mirrored windows. The glass shattered and cool air flooded in.
"Jump!" Michael shouted, as he continued running. In his left hand was the trigger and he pressed the button. Green light. In thirty seconds the charges would blow.
"Jump?" Birkhoff repeated, skidding to a halt as he reached the broken glass. "What are you talking about?" He demanded. "We're twelve stories up!" He was certain Michael had lost his mind. But be the gunshot. The pain was affecting him.
Michael knew they didn't have time to argue. He grabbed Birkhoff by the arm and pulled him forward, out of the window. Birkhoff's scream rent the air as they fell into the night. But the sound was muted when they hit the water below. Michael had remembered the layout of the grounds and he and Birkhoff landed in the deep pool. It wasn't meant for recreation but, thankfully, was deep enough to cushion their fall. Not that it didn't sting, but at least they were alive.
Nikita heard the sound of an explosion and ran out of the van just in time to see him and Michael hit the water. They were about ten yards from her. She flew across the grounds to help them out of the pool. Michael was pushing Birkhoff out of the water and Nikita helped the computer whiz to his feet. Then she reached for Michael. She felt him flinch when she grasped his arm and her hand came away covered in blood. "You're hurt!" she whispered, stating the obvious.
"I'm okay," Michael countered, climbing the rest of the way out of the pool. He looked back to see smoke pouring out of the twelfth story windows. The guards would have been hit by the explosion, but would only be slowed down. Others would be on their way. "Let's move!" Michael ordered, grabbing Birkhoff by the arm and striding for the van. He left Nikita to follow them.
She did so, shaking her head. Once they were all inside, the van headed out.
Birkhoff passed through the doors of Medlab. He had never been there before, cause he was never sick and had never been shot or otherwise injured on Section's behalf. He was there to see Michael, whom he knew was a frequent visitor. Mentally, Birkhoff tried to remember how many times the cold op had been shot during a mission. More than a dozen, as he recalled. Not that Michael spent alot of time there, per se. He was a quick healer with a high tolerance for pain. So basically he stayed long enough to get sewed up, then he left.
This time the bullet had passed straight through Michael's shoulder, so there was no need for surgery. However, the doctors had hooked him up to an IV for twenty-four hours to replenish his blood loss. When Birkhoff entered the room, Michael was just buttoning up his shirt. He was more than a little surprised to see the computer whiz. "Hello, Birkhoff," Michael offered in greeting. But that was all.
"You feeling okay?" Birkhoff countered, feeling uncomfortable beneath Michael's intense stare. He rather felt as if he would prefer being tortured to facing the other man.
"I'm fine," Michael replied. It was his standard answer. To his mind it was a question that was asked for the sake of politcal correctness, rather than genuine concern for his well being. Michael honestly could not comprehend why anyone would care about his condition, physical or otherwise. "Did you want something?" he prompted, when Birkhoff began studying the monitors that surrounded the bed.
Birkhoff heaved a sigh, rubbed one hand over the top of his head, then turned to face the operative. "I wanted to thank you," he blurted out, unable to make eye contact.
Michael was silent for a moment, then he said, "There's no reason to thank me."
"You saved my life," Birkhoff shot back, genuine surprise in his voice at the thought that Michael could have forgotten that fact. "I'd be dead if you hadn't shielded me," he reiterated.
"I did my job," Michael countered, as he began tucking his shirt into the waistband of his pants. His shoulder twinged at the movements, but he ignored it.
Birkhoff wouldn't accept Michael at his word. "You were willing to die for me, Michael," he said softly. "That's not part of your job." He moved to confront the older man. "There's something else that I've been wanting to say to you," he confessed.
Michael nodded. "Say it."
"When I thought you let Nikita die, on that suicide mission.." Birkhoff began, but then he stopped, because he wanted to chose his words carefully.
"That doesn't matter anymore," Michael interjected, making an attempt to step around Birkhoff so he could leave the room.
But Birkhoff blocked Michael's escape. His eyes were bright as he locked eyes with the operative. "It does matter," Birkhoff said firmly. "I thought you let Nikita die, and I hated you. I really did."
Michael took a deep breath and released it, slowly. Birkhoff wasn't telling him anything that he didn't already know. "It's okay," he replied, hoping that Birkhoff would simply let it go.
"Yeah...well," Birkhoff rubbed his head again, betraying his anxiety, then he said, "I just want you to know that I don't hate you anymore." With that he turned and strode out of the room.
For a long moment Michael stood frozen to the spot. But then a smile quirked the corner of his mouth and he followed in Birkhoff's wake.
Nikita paced the four corners of Michael's office. She knew he was being released from Medlab today, and could guess that this was the first place he would go. She was right. Nikita stopped pacing as she heard footsteps echo down the corridor. A moment later, Michael entered the room. Nikita smiled to herself as she realized that he wasn't surprised to see her there.
"What is it, Nikita?" Michael asked, as he moved around his desk and sat down. He was more tired than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
"How are you feeling?" Nikita questioned, trying to avoid the real reason why she was there.
Michael sensed her hesitation. "Is something wrong?" he prompted, ignoring her question.
Nikita shrugged, then she bit her lip. She could feel the heat of Michael's gaze on her face and decided she might as well blurt out the truth. "I just wanted you to know that I finally understand what it's like for you, Michael," she said earnestly.
"Meaning what?" he countered, determined to make Nikita explain herself. Although Michael could guess what she was referring to. Being Team leader wasn't an easy job. And making life or death decisions with people's lives was not Nikita's forte.
"It's just....I..." Nikita hesitated, trying to find the words to describe what she felt. "I think I understand how you must feel," she babbled. She meant in regards to Michael being on the sidelines during many of the missions where Nikita was in play and on point. She had never felt so helpless.
Michael let a smile curve his lips as his eyes flickered over Nikita's beautiful face. He saw sincerity shining from her blue eyes, but shook his head. "No, Nikita," Michael whispered, even as he reached out and switched on his computer. "You don't understand at all."
Nikita realized that it was as good as a dismissal. At least, she took it as such. But a frown marred her forehead as she left the room, and confusion warred within her at his words. Yet Nikita sensed that Michael spoke the truth. She didn't understand him at all. With that in mind, she headed for Madeline's office.
The dark-haired woman had been expecting Nikita's visit. She was seated at her desk and gestured for the beautiful blond to take the chair across from her. "What's on your mind?" Madeline invited.
Nikita got straight to the point. "I don't want to be team leader anymore," she declared. "I don't like it."
"You get used to it," Madeline countered, calmly.
"No...I won't!" Nikita hissed. "I'm no good at it," she stated, emphatically. "I never will be." Nikita preferred being the one to put her life at risk as oppossed to being on the sidelines watching someone else, someone like Michael, in danger.
Madeline was not impressed by Nikita's obstinency. "Do your job," she countered, coolly, locking eyes with the younger woman and letting her see that this line of discussion was closed.
Nikita stood up, shaking her head. "Sorry I bothered you," she drawled, turning to leave the room.
"Nikita," Madeline called her back. "I'm always here for you," she countered. "I'm willing to listen to you, and to offer advice. But you have to remember something."
"What's that?" Nikita challenged, her eyes flashing.
"That you're not always going to like what you here," Madeline replied, a smile curving her lips. "Deal with it."
Nikita nodded. "I'll remember that," she whispered, then she headed for the door, her anger apparent in her stride. She didn't know where she was going, she only knew that she had to get out of Section. If only for a little while. Breezing by Walter's station, she ignored him when he called her name. Nikita didn't stop till she had reached the street and as she walked she didn't realize that the cool, autumn air was drying the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Section had won another round.
THE END
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