She knew what he was implying, but also knew they needed to talk. "We'll save some room for...dessert.." Nikita promised, her fingers ruffling Michael's hair before she pulled away and headed for the kitchen.

After eating delicious omelettes and cinnamon toast, Michael and Nikita lay down on the couch. Nikita sat curled in the corner with Michael's head cushioned in her lap. Her fingers combed through his cinnamon curls as he talked. It was so unique to listen to him. To *Michael*, sharing his feelings. He had one thought in mind and it saddened Nikita. Made her angry as well, at Madeline. The dark-haired woman had made it a point to tell Michael that he was both a killer and a whore. Michael's terms, not Madeline's.

"How many women have I seduced for Section?" Michael asked Nikita. His eyes were open as he spoke, but he saw nothing. Not Nikita or the ceiling above him. Michael was trying hard to remember. But it was in vain and caused only to give him a pounding headache. Knew he could have asked Nikita for some aspirin but felt, in some way, that he deserved to suffer the pain.

"I'm not sure I can count that high, Michael," Nikita teased. She wanted him to take what she was saying lightly. The other Michael wouldn't have reacted in this fashion to what was done and past. But it bothered this Michael. And Nikita was beginning to realize that this meant it bothered Michael all along. He felt this pain, but never showed it. Nikita had often wished for the *old* Michael to share his pain with her. He had would. Now she was beginning to think that he knew her far better than she knew herself. Michael's pain was too intense and Nikita wanted to protect herself from it. Yet knew that she couldn't. That would mean pushing Michael away. She would never let that happen. Not when he needed her so desperately.

Michael sighed, knowing that she was trying to sidestep the issue. But he wouldn't let her. "How many have I slept with?" he prompted, being specific in his choice of words.

Nikita's fingers tightened in Michael's hair for a moment. She knew of Lisa and suspected of a few others, mostly Section women, but she had no proof. "I don't know," Nikita countered, truthfully. "You've been with Section for fourteen years, Michael." Shame washed over Nikita. She was copping out on him, but she didn't want to think about this. Didn't want to know the truth. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. A lesson she had been slow to learn in the past.

"Have you ever...?" Michael began, but his voice dropped away. He couldn't complete the sentence. Had to know but couldn't ask.

"No," Nikita said softly.

Michael felt relief wash over him. "I'm glad."

Nikita smiled and her fingers smoothed through Michael's hair again. He hadn't even flinched when she had pulled on it earlier. That was an *old* Michaelism. "It's never gotten that far," she responded to his statement. "There's always been a way out. Another way."

"I wish I had done that," Michael countered, his tone colored with self censure and regret. "Found another way. At least....since knowing you."

"You have," Nikita was quick to assure him, feeling a little bit more as if she were walking on solid ground instead of egg shells. "For me, Michael," she clarified, when she felt him stiffen. "You protect me that way." Nikita let him sit up and face her, locked eyes on his beautiful face as she continued. "It took me a long time to realize," she confessed, and she was doing so for his sake as well as her own. "If you didn't do the job, Michael, then Section would become suspicious. So...in essence....you whore yourself to protect me. And...I don't blame you for that. I'm grateful. I wish I could return the favor."

Michael lifted a shaky hand and pressed his palm to Nikita's cheek. "You really don't blame me?" he beseeched, asking for a confirmation of forgiveness for sins he didn't even remember.

"I don't blame you," Nikita repeated, firmly. She took Michael's hand and brought his palms to her lips, kissing the calloused flesh. All the while her eyes never left his face. "We both do what we have to do, Michael," Nikita whispered, and in that moment she realized the truth between them could never again be black and white. That was what she had always demanded from Michael in the past. What he had never been able to give her. Now Nikita knew that the truth was forever shades of gray. She could accept that. No matter what the future held for them. No matter what Michael remained.

"I'm sorry, Nikita," Michael whispered, and tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

Nikita brushed away one tear and her own eyes began to shimmer. "Sorry for what, Michael?" she entreatied, hating to see the pain and sadness that glimmered in his beautiful eyes.

Michael shrugged, clinging to the remnant of a memory that was gone before it had fully formed. He knew only that he much to apologize for.

"I just felt like I needed to say that," he whispered, then he pulled Nikita into his arms and rocked her as they both wept.

*************

The chance to be together came to an abrupt end. Nikita got a phone call and was surprised when told to bring Michael in with her for a briefing. They entered the conference room to find Operations, Madeline and Birkhoff waiting for them.

Madeline watched with interest as Nikita took a chair next to Birkhoff, but Michael moved to sit at the head of the table, a position he often took. The expression on his face was neutral. Whatever he was feeling at this moment, was not open to perusal. Madeline was pleased. Michael might not remember being a cold op, but the disciplines were still there, as she had hoped they would be.

Operations exchanged glances with Madeline and a smile curved his lips for a moment, then he got down to business. It was time for Michael to be tested. Operations pressed a button and an image appeared on the holographic view screen. A woman with red hair who looked to be about forty. "This is Leah Torentino. Her father was a Mafia...prince...if you will. She took over when he died six years ago but had to go underground for a while. She's looking to make a comeback in a big way and we want to be there when she does."

"Why?" Nikita queried, knowing she would be expected to ask.

"Our intel tells us that Torentino plans to meet with an Arab source," Operations replied. "She has the blueprints for a weapon that they would be most interested in. We need the blueprints, the name of her source and the name of her connection."

Nikita frowned. "And how do we get that?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Ask politely?"

Madeline smiled, knowing that Nikita's attitude was in direct relation to the fact that she was nervous about Michael's presence. Nikita did not like the unknown.

"We have the man who Torentino hired to find her a bodyguard. She's looking for someone who can be more of a companion. Guard her body and warm her bed, and maybe even offer intelligent conversation."

"A gigolo who carries a piece," Nikita snorted.

"More or less," Madeline acknowledged. "This man will introduce Michael to Torentino, after which Michael will find a reason to kill him."

Michael started at Madeline's words. His nightmare was fading into reality. Section was testing him. Madeline in particular. Forcing him to be the two things he despised, a killer and a whore. The timing was impeccable and Michael could almost laugh at the irony of it. What better test of Nikita's promise that she didn't blame him for what he did, or what he was.

"When do we leave?" Michael asked, believing that it would be expected of him to inquire.

Operations smiled at his top operative. "Ten hours. Mission profiles are on your PDA's."

"What part do I play in all of this?" Nikita challenged.

"You'll be the replacement for the girl that Torentino has hired to do her nails," Madeline replied. "You won't be needed for a few days so I'll give you a crash course in manicures. But you will provide back up for Michael and be his connection to Section."

Nikita felt a sense of relief that she would be on site at least. Yet Michael would still be on his own for the most part and Nikita didn't believe he was ready. Physically, maybe. But no way in hell could he handle what he was being asked to do on an emotional, or psychological, level. Nikita wanted to argue the point but she knew it would be useless to do so. Madeline knew Michael wasn't ready, that was all part of the test.

"Is that all?" she asked, pointedly.

Operations nodded. "That's all," he allowed, then he turned and strode out of the room.

Michael watched as Madeline and Birkhoff left as well, then he turned his gaze to Nikita. She was watching him as well, her eyes burning bright and Michael felt warmed by her gaze. Inside he was cold and shaking. "Nikita.." he whispered.

"It's going to be all right, Michael," she said softly, leaving her chair to kneel beside him. Nikita took his hand and felt him tremble. "You can do this."

"I know," Michael replied, forcing a smile. "I've done it a million times in the past, right?"

Nikita grinned, then winked. "Well...a million might be a slight exaggeration," she teased, hoping for a smile, but Michael's smile faded and Nikita felt his grip on her hand tighten. "I believe in you, Michael," she assured him. It was all she had to offer, and it was the simple truth. She couldn't do the job for him, couldn't be there to talk him through it. All Nikita had to offer was her support. Her faith and trust in Michael.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky, breath. "I wish I could believe in myself," Michael replied, releasing his breath on a sigh. "But...I don't remember what to believe in. I don't know if I can trust myself."

"Trust your instincts, Michael," Nikita advised. "They're good. I've been slow to realize that...but they are good. Almost as good as my intuition." She knew he wouldn't catch the full meaning of her words, a conversation that had passed between them long ago in his office, but Nikita hoped that Michael could find strength and courage in what she was saying. She meant it, so he had to believe.

"I don't believe in intuition," Michael whispered, then he caught his breath as he realized he was repeating words he had spoken before. Not a memory exactly, but a feeling. A smile curved his lips and he squeezed Nikita's hand again. "I have faith in your faith in me," Michael announced, as he rose to his feet.

Nikita tapped his arm. "Don't forget your PDA," she reminded him.

Michael snatched up the device and slipped it in his pocket. As he did so he had a sudden flash of image. Of a fiery explosion and a sense of dread. It washed over him with the strength of a tidal wave and Michael felt his knees buckle.

"Hey..you okay?" Nikita asked, as she caught Michael's arm and forced him to sit back down. He had turned deathly pale and his silver-green eyes had glazed over.

"I...I lost you," Michael whispered, forcing the words out past a sudden lump in his throat. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing was ragged. "I lost you, Nikita."

She pressed her palms to Michael's face and forced him to look at her. "I'm right here," Nikita said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, uncaring of who might see them. "You won't lose me, Michael. I promise."

The words hit Michael like a splash of cold water and anger suddenly replaced his fear. He pushed Nikita's hands away, rose to his feet and stated," Don't make promises you can't keep," before turning to glide away.

"Michael..." Nikita whispered, in stunned disbelief. But she simply stood there, watching him go.

******************************

The middleman who had introduced Michael to Leah Torentino was dead.

He lay on the floor at Michael's feet, a bullet in his head. Michael's fingers clutched the handle of his gun, knuckle's showing white, yet his expression was calm as he smiled at Leah. "Do I pass the test?" he asked, his tone somewhat seductive.

Leah smiled back at Michael. She loved the look of him. He was sexy and beautiful, dressed entirely in black. He had a fluid grace and strength that reminded her of a panther. Deadly, beautiful, seductive. She wanted him in her bed.

"You passed," she drawled, then waved one perfectly manicured hand to signal to her goons to remove the body. "The job is yours, Michael. Welcome to my world."

"Thank you," Michael replied, as he replaced his gun in the shoulder holster. He stepped over the dead body and reached out to take Leah's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I think I'm going to like it here," he said softly.

"I know I'm going to like having you," Leah purred, her fingers squeezing Michael's before tugging free so she could press her hand to his strong chest. Her fingertips traced his muscles and delighted in the fact he jerked in response to the brush of her hand over his groin. "Would you like a tour of your new home?" Leah queried, reaching back for Michael's hand.

He nodded. "I'd love it," Michael replied, playing true to his character. Although he could guess where the tour would end, Leah's bedroom. Michael did not want to go there, but knew it could not be avoided. As he let Leah lead him off, Michael's thoughts were elsewhere. With Nikita.

*******

Nikita prowled the corridors of Section. She bypassed Walter's station several times, but ignored him. At least until he called her name.

"What?" Nikita hissed, her eyes flashing as she whirled on him.

Walter held up his hands as if shielding himself from a physical blow. "Ease up, sugar," he advised, a smile curving his lips. "I'm not the enemy. Honest."

"Sorry Walter," Nikita replied, her shoulders slumping as if from a heavy weight. "I'm just a little jumpy right now," she offered in her own defense.

"You're worried about Michael," Walter said. It was a statement of fact, not a question. When Nikita nodded, he added, "So am I...but the kid can take care of himself."

Nikita stomped over to her favorite stool and parked herself on it. Then she locked eyes with Walter. "The *old* Michael can," she allowed. "I'm not so sure about the *new* model. He's changed, Walter."

Walter shook his head. "Nah....not really, sugar," the old man replied. He dropped the tiny screwdriver he had been using and moved to stand before Nikita. "What you've been seeing is the Michael that first came here to Section. The very young...very scared...boy who had to grow up fast. The kid who learned how tough it was to survive and survived anyway. Survived and clawed his way towards the top."

"He likes power," Nikita drawled, rememebering a conversation she had had with Madeline after the Petrosian fiasco. Madeline had warned Nikita that since she had tasted power, she would be addicted to it.

"Not power," Walter argued. "Control. Michael likes to be in control. Of himself."

Nikita sighed. "I'm scared for him. Do you think he can do it, Walter?"

The old man frowned. "What...this mission?"

"Any of it," Nikita countered. "It's like...reliving hell. Doing it all again."

"Not exactly the same though," Walter stated, a twinkle in his faded eyes. "This time...Michael has a guardian angel. You...sugar."

Nikita shook her head. "I can't protect him, Walter. I don't have the power."

Walter chuckled and tapped Nikita's chin. "That's never stopped you in the past. It won't stop you now. You'll do whatever it takes to protect him....just like he's always done with you. Why do you think Michael works...worked...so hard to keep his position. His...power...as you like to think of it?"

"I still think he likes it," Nikita confessed, propping her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands. "Why?"

"Michael needs the power to protect you," Walter explained. "He isn't egotistical about it...like alot of men. Michael sees women as equals. He's very...modern...that way. But he sees you as his last hope, Nikita."

She shook her head at Walter's words. A part of Nikita wanted to believe what she was hearing, but another part of her knew it couldn't be true. "Michael lost hope along time ago. The *old* Michael," Nikita amended. Then wondered if Walter was talking about the *new* version.

It was Walter's turn to sigh. Sometimes Nikita could be so stubborn she came across as dense. She didn't like to see beyond the obvious. Probably because to do so meant a person had to have a strong leaning towards deceptiveness. Seeing what wasn't obvious was seeing the illusion, and there wasn't a deceptive bone in Nikita's body. Walter admired that about her, but it worried him as well. "Hope..for whatever reason...is the only thing that keeps any of us alive, sugar," Walter explained. "Especially the *old* Michael."

"You're a very wise man at times, Walter," Nikita drawled, a smile lighting up her face as she leaned forward to buss him on the cheek. "I'm gonna go for a walk." Nikita stood up and made to head off.

"Michael's a survivor, Nikita," Walter called after her. "You both are."

Nikita let those words echo in her mind as she strode towards the nearest exit. But the image she carried with her was of Michael and the innocence of his smile.

******************************

Michael smiled at Leah Torentino, who lay sprawled across the giant waterbed. She was naked, her figure lush and flushed in the afterglow of sex.

"You're staring," he whispered, as her eyes raked over him. He was naked as well, but standing by the sliding glass doors that led to the terrace.

Leah laughed, a husky sound, deep in her throat. "Of course I'm staring," she purred. "You're exquisite, Michael. You remind me of a greek statue. Apollo would have been jealous."

"You're too kind," Michael countered, offering a seductive smile. "It is you who are beautiful, mon cher," he whispered. Michael knew he should have gone to Leah then. Taken her into his arms and kissed her, initiating another round of lovemaking. Sex, he reminded himself. There was no love involved. Only lust. And only on Leah's part. But Michael knew he had pleased her. It sickened him that he was able to do so with such ease. To seperate his emotions from his body. Matter over mind, such as it were. With Nikita, making love had been all about passion and emotion. Body and soul. He missed her. But Michael also knew that this mission was a test and that he needed to pass.

"Come show me how beautiful I am, Michael," Leah beseeched, holding out one hand. "You know that actions speak louder than words.

"Mais oui," Michael breathed, as he glided over to the bed. He gathered Leah into his arms and kissed her. But lips he was kissing belonged to Nikita. It was her image that Michael carried in his head. Her body he made love to. It was the only way to do the job.

And Michael wondered, hours later, as he lay beside a sleeping Leah in the dark, if he had dreamed of Nikita in the past.

*****

Nikita buffed Leah Torentino's nails. She glanced up for a moment to smile at the other woman then spoke in a thick, Brooklyn, accent. It had been Nikita's idea to play up being a *dumb* blond. After all, Madeline had dressed her for the part in a pink leather mini, white crop top and flashy make-up. Not to mention the pink, high-heeled mules that were hanging off Nikita's bare feet.

"So...what color would you like today?" Nikita queried.

Leah studied the array of bottles lined up on the table. "I think this burgundy would be nice," she replied, picking up the bottle and holding it up to the light. It shimmered with the richness of dark blood.

"That's a terrifice choice!" Nikita cooed, fluttering her eyelashes and feeling like a fool. She snapped the gum in her mouth then almost choked on it when a man entered the room. It was Michael. An almost naked Michael. All he wore were a pair of black speedos and his beautiful body glistened with droplets of water. His dark hair was wet and curly. He took Nikita's breath away.

"You all right, Nikita?" Leah asked, then realized that the young woman wasn't staring over her shoulder. So she turned then smiled as she saw Michael standing there. "Oh," Leah drawled, understanding now the stunned look on the young blond's face. "Hello, Michael," Leah purred, lifting her face as a signal for the gorgeous young man to cross the room and kiss her.

Michael did what was expected of him, not looking at Nikita. He devoted his attention to Leah, but felt the heat of Nikita's gaze and sensed her presence for it clung to him like a wet shirt.

"Hello, mon cher," Michael said to Leah.

She glided her fingertips over Michael's damp chest, dancing over his crotch which was blantantly displayed by the small band of lycra.

"Did you enjoy your swim?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with lust.

"I did, very much," Michael acknowledged. He had to supress a shudder as he smiled at Leah, for he knew by the look in her dark eyes that the moment Nikita was gone he would find himself in bed with Leah. He didn't want that. Wanted only to take Nikita into his arms, or rather have her gather him into her embrace and hold him. Protect him. Foolish thoughts. Then he remembered why he had come upstairs. His excuse needed to see Nikita.

"Tina wanted me to ask you what you wanted for dinner tonight," Michael said to Leah.

"Oh yes...I had forgotten!" Leah exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She turned to smile at Nikita. "I'm having a special meal prepared for a party tonight," she explained. "I need to talk to the cook myself, so I'll be right back."

Nikita snapped her gun and grinned. "No problem," she drawled. "I'm not going anywhere."

Leah then turned back to Michael and pressed herself against him, unmindful of his wet skin. She kissed him, wet and deep, then nipped at his sensual lower lip. "We'll have dessert before dinner," Leah whispered, her voice soft and husky. Then she headed out of the room to take care of the menu.

"Oiy!" Nikita hissed, the moment that she and Michael were alone. She left the table to face him. "You okay?"

"Fine," Michael replied, an echo of his old self. Only it was a lie and he knew Nikita could hear it. See it.

Nikita touched Michael's arm, wanting him to look at her. She saw pain in his jade-green eyes and it ripped into her like a knife.

"I'm sorry," Nikita whispered, wishing she could say more. Do more. Take him away from here. But they both knew that wasn't going to happen.

Michael pressed his palm to Nikita's cheek. "I'll get through this, Nikita," he said soflty. "Just like before."

"But this is different, Michael," she breathed. "You're different."

Nikita removed his hand from her face and squeezed it between both her own. Then she dropped it, for Leah could return at any moment. Business first. "Have you gotten any leads?"

"Maybe," Michael allowed. "The party tonight is exclusive. Seven people. Business relations. I think I might meet the connection tonight."

Nikita prayed he was right. She wanted him out of here. Now. "Use this if you do," Nikita said, holding out a tiny scrap of flexible metal. At least that's what it looked like, and it was smaller than a dime. "It's kinda a beacon signal," she explained, when Michael looked confused.

He took it from her closing it safely in his fist. "What do I do with it?"

"Wear it like your comunit, and tap it twice," Nikita clarified. "We won't be able to hear anything because of all the electronic interference Leah has set up, not to mention the sweeps she does daily. But Walter fixed it so that it will send a signal to Section. But only use it if you have something to give us. Then I'll show up saying I lost something last time I was here and we can hook up."

"Sounds good," Michael stated, resisting the urge to sigh. He studied Nikita's face, his eyes lingering on her soft mouth. Remembered how she tasted, sweet as honey. Wanted to taste her again, but wouldn't right now, even if they could risk it. Michael felt dirty, tainted by the stench and taste of Leah. "I'd better go," he whispered, heading for the bathroom. It wouldn't do for Leah to catch them talking.

"Later, Michael," Nikita whispered, heading back to the table.

She wanted to offering him comfort, but there was nothing to say. They had parted just in time, for Leah swept into the room.

Glancing about, Leah frowned. "Where's Michael?" she asked.

Nikita pointed. "Bathroom," she drawled, then snapped her gum again. "Ready to be painted red?"

"Make me beautiful," Leah purred, sitting back down at the table and offering one hand to Nikita. "So...what do you think of Michael?" she asked, as if Nikita were a girlfriend and they were sharing secrets.

"Hot stuff," Nikita replied, licking her lips. "You're a lucky woman, Ms. Tarentino."

Leah smiled with satisfaction. "That I am," she agreed. "And I would kill anyone who tried to take him away from me."

Nikita felt a chill brush over her at Leah's words. And in that moment she knew that Michael was in danger, and that she would do whatever it took to protect him. But none of that showed on Nikita's face as she picked up Leah's hand and stroked burgundy polish onto an inch long nail.

*******************************

Michael sipped at a glass of wine as he studied the faces of the people lounging about the room. Seven strangers. Four men and three women. Michael dismissed the blond as insignificant. She was just Keegler's slutty girlfriend. That left six. One of them had to be the connection. But which one? Nothing much had been said over dinner, but Leah had spent a significant amount of time locked in her study, with a man named Reno.

"Hello, Michael," drawled a deep voice.

Speak of the devil, Michael thought, then put a smile on his face as he turned around to face Reno. "Enjoying the party?" he asked, politely.

Reno shrugged massive shoulders. He was a big man, making Michael seem small in comparison. But he wasn't fooled by the other man's smooth elegance. "You don't remember me...do you, Michael?" he drawled, his black eyes sparkling with a secret.

"No..." Michael allowed, and warning bells went off in his head. Reno knew him somehow and it had to be connected to Section. A rogue operative? An enemy? Someone they had used for information, or an intermediary? Michael wished Leah had filled him in on the back ground of each guest. He guessed that she had files on them in her computer, but he hadn't been able to gain access to them. Leah had kept him in bed up until dinner time. A quick shower, that she had insisted they share, then they had joined her guests. "

"Funny that you should forget me," Reno stated, and anger made his eyes glitter like black ice. He held out his left hand, and three of the fingers were crooked. "You broke my fingers, Michael. One by one. To get me to talk. Remember now?" It intrigued Reno, this game that Michael was playing. As if he really didn't know him. Reno knew the other man was good at his job, but there should have been some sign of recognition, considering who each other worked for. There should have been a glimmer of fear in the jade green eyes.

Michael forced a smile, turning off the warning bells in his head before they made him deaf. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Reno had an aura of menace, and there was fury in the dark eyes. They had crossed paths in the past...but how? "In my line of work I meet alot of people," Michael drawled, his tone blase. "I hurt alot of them too. The ones I let live."

Reno laughed, a cold sound. "You let me live," he conceded. "Foolish mistake. I never thought I'd get the chance to...return the favor."

"Meaning?" Michael prompted, feeling his blood run cold. He knew he was in trouble, could read it in the other man's eyes.

"Leah wants to see us in her study," Reno drawled, his fingers curling around Michael's bicep. He could feel the muscles bunch at his touch and that amused him. But Reno remained cautious. He knew how deadly Michael was and that size didn't matter between them. Not the way it should have, anyway. "Let's go."

Michael blinked, then nodded, allowing himself to be led. Knew if he resisted he would be restrained. Saw that three of Leah's other guards had moved closer, surrounding him. It was best to comply, for now. So Michael walked with Reno into the study, trying not to jump when the door was slammed shut behind them. He pulled his arm from Reno's grasp and turned to face Leah. She was the one who had slammed the door.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes locking with hers.

Leah hurled herself across the room then her hand lashed out and she struck Michael across the face. "Bastard!" she hissed. "But you're good," Leah drawled a moment later, unable to ignore her own desires as her fingertips now brushed the reddened skin of Michael's cheek. "Best lover I ever had. Section taught you how to perform well."

"Section?" Michael echoed, playing dumb yet knowing he had been caught out. That was how Reno knew him, as a Section operative. But that still didn't explain to Michael who Reno was. Which enemy? Personal? Red Cell?

"Section wants the blueprints, of course," Reno drawled, even as he strolled over to the wet bar in the corner and poured himself a shot of bourbon. Tossed it down in one swallow, then smiled. "They'll want the source and the connection as well," Reno continued. "I'm the connection," he confessed. "I'm bargaining for my people."

Michael knew that he would reveal too much with his next question, but he had to ask. "And who are your people?"

Reno did a double take. He had thought that Michael was just playing it cool, but when he held the jade green gaze, Reno realized that the other man wasn't faking. He didn't know him. Must have lost his memory somehow. At least some of it. Or perhaps Section had lost it for him. Reno knew enough about how that particular faction operated to know not to discount the possibility. His people would do the same thing, if neccessary. "I'm Legion," he replied, seeing no reason not to tell.

"I see," Michael countered, and closed his eyes for a moment as he accessed his memory for information about Legion. Nikita had given him files to read on many of Section's enemy factions. Red Cell, Glass Curtain, Legion. Michael locked on to the data and processed it. Did so quickly and knew that he was in trouble. Looked and Leah then back at Reno. He didn't see death in their gaze, but he knew there would be pain. "What happens now?" Michael queried, his tone implying he was only mildly curious. In truth he was scared to death, but knew that he could not let it show.

Leah was the one who answered him. "I made a deal," she drawled, the tip of one fingernail tracing the outline of Michael's sensual mouth. "I'm trading you to Reno."

"In exchange for what?" Michael prompted. Amazingly enough he was still focused on the mission. On the blueprints that were vital for Section to obtain from Leah before she could sell them off.

"In exchange for the simple pleasure of knowing that Section will have failed, and the you will be properly punished, Michael," Leah purred, then she tangled her fingers in his cinnamon hair and claimed a kiss.

*****************************

Michael let Leah kiss him. It provide him a moment of distraction so that he could think of what to do. First thought was to contact Nikita. Michael was wearing the comlink she had given him. The one that would send the signal for her to come in. She wouldn't come right away though, but it was still his only chance. So Michael lifted one hand, intending to tap the link, but found steel fingers gripping his wrists and suddenly his hands were being bound behind him.

Reno smiled as he tied Michael's wrists tightly with the silk scarf that Leah had been wearing earlier. It was the best he could do on short notice. He then waited till Leah was done kissing Michael, before turning the other man around to face him. Without warning, Reno backhanded the younger man across the face. Was pleased to see blood trickle down Michael's chin from a split lip. That would only be the beginning. Reno would take Michael to his people. But he would exact a bit of revenge first. "Let's go," he drawled, drawing Michael towards the side door. It was a separate exit and his van was waiting out back. The others at the party would realize he and Michael were gone, but wouldn't see them go. Not that it mattered. Leah would do her business solely with Legion, and would make pretty excuses to the others.

Since he had no choice at the moment, Michael walked out with Reno. They headed for a dark gray van that reminded Michael of the Section models. But the interior was vastly different. This was a van for personal use. Michael found himself shoved into the passenger seat and stayed still while Reno walked around to the driver's side. He knew he couldn't open the door with his hands bound behind him and there were no keys in the ignition. Wouldn't have mattered if their were. He couldn't reach them either.

"This really is my lucky night," Reno drawled, as he slid in the van, closed the door, then started the engine. They headed down the long driveway and turned east.

"Do you plan to kill me?" Michael asked, and was surprised at how calm he felt. His voice was quiet and firm. Suddenly he wasn't afraid. He supposed he had moved past simple fear.

Reno shook his head. "You're no good to me, or Legion, dead. Seeing as how your head seems to be messed up, I'm gonna let my people work on you. Can't think of a better revenge than to turn you against Section. In the end, Michael...you're going to work for me."

Michael let a smile curve his lips. "When hell freezes over," he responded. It wasn't a show of bravado, but the simple truth. He would not turn on Section. Not so much out of a sense of loyalty to them, but because Nikita was a part of Section, and he would never turn on her. As he and Reno bandied words, Michael kept an eye on his surroundings. Filing away the direction they were going in and other points of interest. He didn't know how, yet, but he would escape.

"Legion will treat you better than Section," Reno countered. "At least from what I hear. You should be grateful."

"I'll consider it," Michael replied. "Where are we going?" He didn't expect an answer, but decided it couldn't hurt to ask.

Reno glanced over at Michael and chuckled. "You don't really think I'm going to tell you..do you? Once we get close, I'll have to put you out. Got a nice little drug in the glove compartment."

Michael felt a chill ripple over his skin. He'd had enough of drugs and chemicals. Reno's words made him realize he would have to make his move fairly soon. They were moving fast, the speedometer hovering at about seventy-five miles per hour. Michael didn't want to get too far from what he knew. What was familiar. And that wasn't much to speak of anyway. Mainly...he didn't want to get too far from Nikita.

As it happened, Leah's estate was relatively isolated. Reno had chosen to take the private road, which led towards the woods. Michael hadn't been this way, but Birkhoff had given him schematics to memorize. He had done so, and the way felt familiar. And so it was that, as they headed around a wide bend, with a long bank down a gulley, Michael made his move. It was risky, but he felt he had no other choice. His arms were immobile, but his legs weren't, so Michael balanced himself as best he could then kicked out at Reno. He caught the other man in the face with the heel of his boot and the van swerved.

"Shit!" Reno shouted, as he fought against blacking out. He had lost control of the wheel and the van was veering to the left. Towards the embankment. Towards the drop. He grabbed the wheel but it was too late, they were already heading down it. Terror immobilized Reno and he stared out the window, brush and trees rushing towards him.

Michael was not frozen. He was in motion, attempting to open his door. He was facing Reno, working with his bound hands and he knew he had precious little time. If he didn't jump out, he would die. What he had done had been a calculated risk. But the only chance he had. Michael knew he could not allow himself to fall in Legion hands. He didn't know who he was as it is. Section would not allow him a second reprieve. Once compromised again, he would be considered the enemy. Michael could not allow that to happen. He had to get back. To Section, and Nikita.

Panic was on the edge of his awareness, but Michael fought it down. He forced himself to remain calm and even as the bottom of the gulley rose up to greet him in certain death, he felt himself falling. Michael hit the ground hard and started to roll. Pain crackled through his body, but he didn't care. A tree was in front of him and Michael slammed hard against it, breaking his fall. And just in time.

The van continued its downward descent and hit bottom. A moment later there was a deafening explosion then the roar of flames. Michael closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer. He was alive. But still not free. He wasn't that far from Leah's estate. Michael didn't know how deep her connections to Legion were. He had to move.

Rolling onto his back, Michael shifted carefully, so that he wouldn't roll down into the inferno. Then, ignoring the pain in his limbs, he manuevered himself so that he could work his legs through his arms so that his wrists were now bound in front of him. Then he pushed to his feet. Blackness swirled around Michael, laced with pain. He took a step and his left knee buckled. But he persevered. "Move.." Michael ordered himself, and he moved. Each step was agony, but he almost didn't feel it. It was easy to forget when he focused. Not on controlling the pain, but on the image of Nikita that floated in his head. And Michael carried that image as he climbed.

*****

Nikita stirred in her sleep. She was restless and her dreams were filled with Michael. All night long she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he was in danger. She hadn't been able to sleep and had dozed off on the couch. But now she found herself sitting up, chest heaving, skin slicked with sweat.

"Michael..." Nikita whispered, knowing that something was wrong. She rose from the couch and headed for the bedroom. After a quick shower she would head back to Section to talk to Birkhoff. Something wasn't right, and Nikita blinked back tears.

"Please be okay, Michael," she prayed. Then she stepped into the warm spray and let the water mingle with her fears.

******************************

Michael walked. It felt as if he had walked a million miles but knew it was probably more like three or four. Maybe more. He couldn't be sure. Knew only that dawn was breaking so he could more easily see his way. Exhaustion was like a heavy weight bearing down on him, but Michael knew he couldn't stop. If he did he wouldn't be able to get moving again. He knew he was injured, possibly severely. Blood had dried on his temple from a gash in his temple. His knee was swollen, causing him to walk with a pronounced limp, and his ribs ached with every breath. Pain was a constant, but Michael managed to push to the edge of his awareness. Always there, but not able to cripple him. Not yet.

He was following the brook to his left. It would him to a ranger's station about twenty more miles from his present location. If he was remembering the schematic Birkhoff had shown him, correctly. If not, then Michael was helplessly lost. He refused to accept the latter as true, so he continued on, relentlessly. Didn't let it register in his fogged mind that he would never make it. Not without food or rest. A lost memory had resurfaced in Michael. He never quit. He was a machine. The machine that Section had created. Or perhaps he was his own creation. Michael laughed out loud, unaware of how the sound was tinged with madness. His thoughts were chaos, but that didn't matter now. He simply kept going by thinking about Nikita. Only, after a time, matter took control of mind and Michael collapsed. But he took the image of Nikita with him into the swirling, velvet, darkness.

*****

Hank Colby listened to his dog bark. Cleo was a golden Lab and his only companion here in the wilderness that he had called home for the past two years. Ever since Dora had died. Every day Hank and Cleo walked by the brook. They started at dawn and often didn't return to after ten. Although Hank was on the wrong side of sixty, he wasn't one to be idle. All his life he had been an active, hard-working man.

There wasn't much work to be done nowadays since he had simplified his existence. Had been able to retire at fifty-five with more money in the bank than he would ever be able to spend. Since he and Dora had no children, their son Andrew having died in a car accident when he was twenty, Hank and Dora had travelled. Seeing what the world had to offer, until cancer had taken Dora. Hank believed she watched him from Heaven now, and he would talk to her on his walks.

Today was a beautiful fall day. Surprisingly warm so that he wore only a flannel shirt and a down vest, given that it was barely seven am. Hank was nearing the halfway point of his walk when Cleo started barking. He jogged towards the sound then stopped dead in his tracks.

The Lab was guarding a body. That of a young man. And it intrigued Hank that Cleo was, indeed, standing guard over the fellow. Hank trusted the dog's instincts. If Cleo trusted the stranger, so would he.

"Good girl," he crooned, moving over to the man and kneeling beside him. He was in bad shape. Bruised, gashed and battered. Hank ran careful hands over him and felt the young man stir. Reacting to the pain. He needed help. The pale skin was warm. Too warm. Feverish. "We gotta get him home, girl," Hank commented, rising to his feet. He pulled a bowie knife from the sheath on his belt and set to work to build a travois. Survival techniques were second nature to Hank.

Cleo had planted herself next to the stranger and Hank shook his head as he worked, watching as his dog nuzzled the young man's face, as if willing him to wake up. For some reason she had taken a real shine to the fellow. Which incited Hank to work quickly. If Cleo liked him so, then Hank felt the young man was worth saving. After Dora's passing, Hank had retreated from the world, blaming everyone and everything for her death. Except God. And once and a while he cursed the heavenly father as well. Hank had also retreated from contact with the human race. He didn't want human contact. To feel warmth and companionship. To care about anyone else. Loving Dora had been his life. To love again...to even care about anyone else...would hurt too much. He had lost his wife and his son. Hank couldn't bear to lose anyone else. So Cleo was his only companion. One he hoped to keep for a long time, since she was only three years old. Had gotten her as a puppy to be a friend for Dora. But she was his best friend now.

"Hang in there young fellow," Hank beseeched, as he finished tying off the travois. He dragged it over to the young man then bent and lifted the still form. Hank was in top physical condition, stronger and fitter than most men half his age, and he was a big man as well, so he was able to place the stranger on the travois with little effort.

After strapping the young man into place with vines, Hank went to the front of the travois and began pulling. It was a two hour hike back to his cabin at top speed. And he intended to break his record today.

All the way back, Cleo trotted beside the travois. Her eyes on the stranger's still face. She was the one who heard him whisper a name, and she whimpered and licked his face as if in sympathy. Then she barked, as if to encourage Hank to hurry.

Hank glanced back at his pet. "I'm going girl," he promised, then forced himself to move a little faster.

*****

Nikita paced behind Birkhoff. "Anything?" she prompted, for the dozenth time.

Birkhoff swallowed a smart retort. She knew that Nikita was worried about Michael and, truth be told, so was he. But she was starting to get on his nerves. "Nothing," Birkhoff replied, giving the same answer as before. "Michael hasn't activated the signal."

"He should have by now," Nikita commented, tugging at a lock of pale hair. "What the hell is going on?"

"Maybe he didn't meet the connection after all," Birkhoff suggested. "He's only supposed to signal us if he's got something. Chill out, Nikita. Michael can take care of himself."

Nikita glared at Birkhoff. "He's not himself, in case you've forgotten. He shouldn't be in play and we both know it. Something's wrong, Birkhoff!" Nikita hissed. "I can feel it." She paced a few more steps then made a decision. "I'm going in."

Birkhoff grabbed her arm. "Operations won't like it," he warned.

"So don't tell him," Nikita drawled, then she pulled her arm free and strode off. Time to transform herself into her gum-snapping cover character and infiltrate Leah Torentino's domain.

******************************

The moment Nikita was ushered into Leah Torentino's domain, she knew something was wrong. Tension hung in the air and there were extra guards. Nikita felt her stomach muscles curl into bigger knots. But she kept a fake smile on her face and acted perky. She felt a sense of relief when she was ushered into Leah's bedroom. On the way, Nikita kept an eye out for Michael. He was no where to be seen. That worried her.

Leah studied the blond who entered the room. "I didn't call for your services!" she spat, as she lit a cigarette then took a long drag on it.

"Yeah..I know," Nikita replied, snapping her gum for good measure. "See...I lost one of my favorite earrings. The match to this one." She held up one of the earrings she had been wearing on her last visit. A gaudy piece of silver. "It has...sentimental...value," Nikita continued, gazing about the room. She had half expected to find Michael lounging on the bed, naked. Nikita pulled her thoughts back to the job at hand. "Have you seen it anywhere?" she queried, putting a hopeful note in her voice.

"No...I haven't seen it!" Leah hissed. She took another deep drag then poured herself a scotch. Just a few hours ago she had learned that Reno's van had gone off the road and exploded. Michael was dead. So was her connection. It was not a good day.

Nikita could see that it wouldn't be wise to push Leah too far. She backed off a little but asked, "You know...if it's all right...I'd like to look for it. Maybe...brush the carpet or something. Or it might have fallen out on my way out last time. If I could retrace my steps?"

Leah shook her head. The girl was a ditz. Worried about some cheap earring for god's sake. "Do whatever you want!" she snapped. Then she glided into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

"Yes.." Nikita whispered, feeling that she had just won a fencing match. She headed for the door and the first floor. First person she needed to talk to was the housekeeper. They knew everything.

Finding the woman was ridiculously easy. She was dusting the foyer as Nikita descended the stairs. Nikita approached with a smile and laid her accent on thick. After explaining about the earring, she and the older woman got down on hands and knees to look for it.

"I haven't cleaned in here since you last came," Rhoda announced. "If you dropped it here we should find it."

Nikita grinned her thanks and pretended to pat the rug. "So...where's that hunk boyfriend of Ms. Torentino's hiding himself?" she asked, conversationally.

Rhoda froze and bit her lip as she locked eyes with Nikita. "Don't mention Michael," she cautioned.

"Why not?" Nikita countered, but obligingly hushed her tone. Her stomach muscles were twisting again.

"He..uh..well...he's dead," Rhoda announced.

Nikita felt herself grow pale and clutched at the carpet as dizziness washed over her. *Dead*. The word echoed in her mind. "No.." she whispered, then remembered where she was and the part she was playing. schooled her features into polite shock and asked, "What happened?"

Rhoda shrugged. "Course...I don't know the details...but he left the dinner party last night with one of the guests and the van they were in went over an embankment and blew up. They're both dead." She glanced up at the stairs to make certain her employer wasn't lurking about, then Rhoda leaned in close to Nikita to whispered, "I think Ms. Torentino considered marrying Michael. She's been drinking ever since she found out he was dead. Gotta admit...he's the best companion she's ever brought into this house."

"I'll bet," Nikita drawled, as she rose to her feet. She had to get out of there. Had to get out in the fresh air and needed to think. Something wasn't right. Michael couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. "I don't think the earring is here," she said, forcing a smile. "I guess I'll go now. Thanks for your help. And I'm sorry to hear about Michael. Pity."

Rhoda walked Nikita to the door and ushered her out. "A real pity," she said with a sigh. "Lord only know what Ms. Tarentino will bring home next."

Nikita nodded then ran down the steps. Once she was in her car she used her cell phone and contacted Section. Nikita asked to be connected to Madeline, then she quickly explained what had transpired.

"What do you want me to do?" Nikita asked when she had finished and was greeted only by silence.

"Come in," Madeline replied, then she broke the connection.

"Come in," Nikita echoed, staring at the phone for a long moment. Then she punched the button to blot out the dial tone and started the car. A moment later she was on her way, tears streaming down her face.

*****

Hank grimaced as he stared at the young man who was laid out on the bed. He had used his knife to strip him of all but the black briefs he wore, and it was not a pretty sight. The muscular body was battered and bruised. Hank had worked as a medic in the military and he remembered enough to do a cursory examination. Possible concussion, couple of broken ribs and a badly swollen knee. Ligaments torn, no doubt. There were various cuts and bruises as well and Hank wondered how long the young man had walked before collapsing. Wondered as well what had happened to put him in such a state. But those questions would have to wait, for now he would have to offer what first aid he could.

To that extent, Hank started by washing the young man with a soft cloth. He knew he needed to clean the open cuts and a second washing with cool water would help the fever that had settled in. That done, Hank tended to the gash on the young man's temple. He cleaned it with peroxide, wincing as the fellow moaned in pain, yet he didn't regain consciousness. That worried Hank. Next he put an ice pack on the knee, which already had a pillow under it. Then he hunted out Dora's old rib strap. It was kinda like a corset that she had used to held against back pain. Hank had called it a rib strap cause she complained it made her ribs ache. He hoped it would help bind the young man's broken ribs. Hank had to lift and support the fellow to get it on properly, but still the young man didn't awaken. Hank laid him back down gently then set about cleaning the other gashes with peroxide and covering them with gauze or bandaids. That done he covered the man with the blankets and heaved a sigh.

Cleo's tail thumped the floor. She sat at the end of the bed and had watched the entire proceedings, her dark eyes never leaving the stranger. She whined now as Hank patted her head. He smiled.

"All we can do now is wait, girl," he said, picking up the items he had used and carrying them out into the kitchen. Cleo remained behind.

Hank had always been compulsive about being neat and tidy. So much so that Dora had always teased him about it. But he liked things orderly. So he, methodically, put things away and cleaned up, then headed for the spare room.

The cabin was a good size. Seven rooms, including a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, sunk in livingroom, spare room, laundry/mud room and a studio. Hank liked to paint. Since he had no intention of ever leaving the woods, he had wanted to be comfortable. In the spare room were the things of Dora's and his sons that he had brought with him. Clothing and a few personal items. Things to remind him of the loved ones he had lost. Along with a few photos. Among his son's things,

Hank knew he would find pants and a shirt to fit the stranger. They were about the same size, although he guessed that the young fellow was at least ten years older than Ben had been when he died. Ben would have been thirty six had he lived. But Hank shook that thought away. No use dwelling on the past. Which was why he didn't come into this room often.

After finding a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, Hank returned to the bedroom. He pulled a pair of his own thick socks from the dresser and added them to the pile. Not that the young fellow would be needing them right away. Hank returned to the bed and felt the pale forehead. Heat eminated from the bruised skin.

"Gotta get some of Dora's fever tea in you," Hank muttered to himself. Then he looked at Cleo. "You let me know if he gets any worse, girl," Hank ordered, then he headed for the kitchen once again. Dora had been big on herbs and natural remedies for what ailed a person. Most of them had been effective. Teas for colds and flus. Or remedies for headaches or various pains. Even allergies and the like. So Hank rummaged in the cupboard for the herbs to make the tea. The closest doctor was three hours away by car.

Hank knew the young man needed a doctor. And he would have left his self-imposed exile, except his only vehicle was in pieces. Hank didn't use it but once every two months for three hour drive into the small town of Winona for supplies. Mostly food stuff. He had worked as a mechanic for several years and did the work on his Ranger himself. It had been acting up and he knew it had to do with the transmission. So after his last run, five days ago, Hank had taken the engine apart. Had seven weeks to get it back together and knew it would take him several days of around the clock work to find the problem, fix it...using the spare parts he had collected, then put it back together. Too long to do the young man any good. Hank would have to pray the fellow was as tough as he looked and had a strong will to live. And that the tea would do it's thing. And with that thought in mind, Hank set about boiling water in the old copper kettle.

****

Back in Section, Nikita strode into Madeline's office. She had composed her face into the blank mask that Michael used to wear. "You wanted to see me," Nikita drawled, moving to stand before Madeline's desk.

Madeline smiled, that warm smile that made her eyes shimmer cold. "Sit down, Nikita," she stated, her tone soft but laced with steel. "We need to talk."

*****

Michael felt pain burning him. It was white-hot and seemed to flow through his veins. He wanted to cry out, but that would be a weakness, so he gritted his teeth and rode it out silently. Then, blessedly, it faded. It didn't completely disappear, but he was able to ignore it. He reached out and tried to reclaim the warm darkness that had enveloped him, but shadows danced in his mind. Then words whispered in his ears. His own voice. :::::It wasn't all a lie::::: The image of Nikita appeared. Shimmering and slightly out of focus. Then he heard her whispered. :::::You can do anything...can't you, Michael? Except be with me::::::

"Nikita..." Michael breathed, trying to claw his way through the shadows and into the light. But a heavy weight pressed down upon him and the darkness swallowed him once more.

*************

Names and faces...voices...they flashed an echoed in Michael's mind. Perry Bauer. Rudy. Lisa Fanning and David. Angie....red hair and gentle eyes...a couragous spirit. Petrosian. Jurgen. White rooms and betrayal. Cold eyes....once friend, now foe. Simone....scared eyes and shattered soul. Rene....friend...enemy..brother....dead.

"....Ni...ki...ta..."

Hank stirred awake at the sound of the soft voice. Rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gazed at the young man in the bed. Jumped up as best as he could since his muscles were cramped from dozing in the rocking chair, and moved to place a palm against a pale forehead.

Hank sighed and smiled at Cleo who was curled up on the empty space beside the stranger. "Fever broke, girl," he stated, with a measure of satisfaction.

Michael felt the gentle touch and his eyes fluttered open. Saw a man looming over him and panic fluttered in his gut. Instinct as well as habit made him reach for a gun, pain made him freeze. Swallowed against the dryness in his throat and whispered, "Who...are you?"

"I'm Hank." A grin split Hank's face. The young man had been with him for three days and it had been touch and go. A raging fever had come close to taking the lad. But he was a strong cuss and Hank was glad. "You're in my cabin. You're safe."

"Safe.." Michael echoed, and almost laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt *safe*. Made to sit up and winced as every muscle and fiber in his body screamed in protest.

Hank pressed a firm hand to the young man's chest. "Lay easy," he stated, his tone still pleasant, yet laced with the steel of command. Hank had been a sergeant in the services and knew how to give an order. And he expected it to be obeyed.

Michael lay back and catalogued his injuries. Head, ribs and knees were the hot points. "How long?" he asked, falling back into his old speech patterns. No reason not to, for he remembered everything now. It had come back to him in a rush, a tidal wave of darkness laced with a fine ribbon of light. The only good memory being Nikita, and even that was painful.

"A few days," Hank replied. He pointed to the dog. "Cleo found you on our morning walk. I thought you were gonna die." He watched the young man look at Cleo then carefully hold out one hand. A hand that trembled slightly. Not with fear, Hank recognized, but with weakness. He smiled as Cleo licked the proferred hand, then the stranger patted the Lab's head. "She's taken a liking to ya, young fellow," Hank exclaimed. "You know...it be good to know your name."

"Michael."

Hank nodded. A strong name that suited the young man. "Pleasure to meet you, Michael," he said, smiling broadly. "Wish it could have been under different circumstances though."

Michael nodded, realizing that the old man's concern for him was genuine, and that his pleasure in his company was sincere. "Thank you....for you help," Michael replied, then made another attempt to rise. He had to go back.

"Lie still!" Hank barked, holding Michael's shoulders down. "You're not fit to be going anywhere. You hear?"

"I can't stay," Michael stated, his eyes shading to emerald. "People...they'll be looking for me." Yet even as he said it, Michael wondered if it were true. Knew Section would learn about the Van and Reno and it seemed likely they would believe him to be dead. Not that they would accept his death without proof. But there might be enough of a delay for him to make a run for....

Michael shook his head. Freedom did not exist for him. He had stated to Nikita that he was not a caged animal, but that had been a lie. That's exactly what he was and would always be. "I can't stay," Michael repeated, more firmly this time. But he lay back against the pillows, no longer fighting Hank. He didn't have the strength right now and couldn't think of a single reason to find the will to do so. Yet in that moment the image of Nikita flashed in his head. He would go back. For her.

When he felt Michael relax, Hank stepped back and studied the young man. Saw a myriad of emotion flicker across the beautiful young face. Fear...pain...hatred...sadness...acceptance. It intrigued him. At the moment the green eyes glowed with a sorrow that was soul deep. Hank could relate to that. Michael understood pain and grief. He had suffered in a way that few could relate to and had survived. But it was an uneasy survival. A reluctant existence. Hank sensed that living was a penance for Michael and that thought made his heart ache.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"No," Michael whispered, turning his head to gaze at the dog. Cleo stared at him with adoring eyes and Michael remembered the dog he'd had as a young boy. A dog that had been hit by a car. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back.

"Well...you gotta eat something," Hank declared, heading for the door. "Gotta get your strength back, it'll help you to heal faster." He paused in the door way and stated, "As for staying? You're welcome here, Michael. As long as you like." With that Hank strode off, wondering to himself why he had made the invitation. He had come here to be alone, yet he felt a kindred spirit in Michael. And wanted to share his...time...with the young man. For lack of a better word. Didn't want to swap war stories as it were, just wanted to be in the presence of someone who could sympathize with his pain, without offering empty platitudes. "Getting senile and sentimental in your old age!" Hank berated himself, as he put soup on the stove to heat up. Yet he was smiling as he said it and he didn't question why.

******

Nikita sat on the balcony letting the night breeze brush her face. There were no more tears to dry. She had cried them all the first day. Right after Madeline had called her into her office and told her that Michael was dead. They believed him to have died in the van with Reno, the Legion operative, and the file was closed.

"Michael.." Nikita whispered, letting his name be carried off on the wind. She knew, in her heart, that he wasn't dead. Couldn't explain that to Madeline though. Had argued the fact that Section was not normally so accepting, not without proof positive. Madeline had countered that she was satisfied that Michael was dead. Why? The question had echoed in Nikita's head for three days and she had come to only one conclusion. Section was letting Michael go. One way or the other. If he were dead, then he was free. And if he were alive, they were giving him a chance to be free. But Nikita doubted that Michael would find freedom anymore than she had. He had been with Section for fourteen years. Had come there as a teenager. Section was mother and father to him. She had not been able to exist outside their reach after only three years. Michael would never be able to function normally after fourteen. "The old Michael wouldn't..." Nikita reminded herself, and tears were back in her eyes. But the *old* Michael was dead. And maybe that was why Section was letting him go. They were giving him a chance to have the life that was stolen from him in one one fateful moment.

"Fly high and be free, Michael," Nikita whispered, as she lifted her gaze to the stars. The wind dried the tears from her face. A gentle caress as soft as Michael's touch had been. And although Nikita knew she should say goodbye and let him go, her heart wouldn't set him free.

*******************************

A month had passed. Michael had found a kind of peace with Hank. His physical wounds healed, but his soul was still raw and bleeding, as was his heart. To strengthen his knee, Michael would take walks with Cleo, long walks, as he tried to sort out this chaotic thoughts and feelings. No one had come looking for him. Not even Nikita.

After first awakening, Michael had thought of the comlink Nikita had given him. He could signal her with that. But it wasn't behind his ear and Michael realized he must have lost it during the accident. A sign? He didn't believe in signs or fate, yet he couldn't ignore the fact that he was suddenly free.

A tiny voice in Michael's head assured him that he was truly free. That Section was letting him go. After a time he reasoned that they believed the *old* Michael to truly be dead. So they were giving him a chance to have his life back. Brand new. But that was impossible now. He remembered everything. A part of him had always longed for freedom. Michael remembered his words to Lisa Fanning. How he and Nikita would never be free..but Lisa was. And he had wanted her to fly away. To soar into a new life. But that was not an option for him. Michael knew it never would be. Section was his home. His family. And Nikita was his life.

Hank was working on his truck. He'd put the transmission back together a week ago, but was still tinkering with it. Gave him something to do. A distraction. But as Michael approached the cabin, with Cleo at his side, Hank found himself watching the young man. Michael was strong and healthy again and only limped slightly, which amazed Hank, given the injury to his knee. But watching Michael recuperate had been a learning experience. The young man had an incredible tolerance for pain and did not accept weakness within himself. Physical or emotional. Hank admired that, yet it saddened him a little as well. The suffering that glimmered in Michael's jade green eyes went beyond bodily pain. It was the pain of a soul in torment. It was a pain Hank understood, for too many reason. He liked having with him. Didn't really question why, just accepted it.

They were compatible as roommates. Michael turned out to be an excellent cook, offering Hank a variety on his meals. Not that he couldn't feed himself well enough, but a change was nice. He was good with his hands as well and helped Hank with repairs about the cabin that he had been putting off. Helped as well with various jobs that needed two. Time had passed swiftly and pleasantly. Too swiftly for Hank. He sighed as he studied Michael. The young man was moving about the area, stopping to gaze about him as if memorizing his surroundings. Taking a...last look. Hank sniffed and swiped at his nose with his shirt sleeve. *Damn allergies* he hissed silently. Then he forced his attention back to the truck.

******

After dinner, which Michael prepared, Hank took himself outside for a smoke. The young fellow insisted on cleaning up the dishes and Hank allowed it. Had learned that arguing with Michael was paramount to harassing a wall. Got you no where. So he sat on the porch in his favorite chair and blew smoke rings. On occasion he reached down to pat Cleo's head. The dog stirred when the screen door opened. Michael stepped outside. He was dressed in the clothes Hank had provided him with. Jeans and a faded, demin shirt. He studied the stars for a moment, then sat down on the steps. Didn't protest when Cleo came to him and put her head on his lap. Michael almost smiled as he stroked the Lab's soft fur.

Hank continued smoking for a time. Since he'd brought Michael home, they hadn't needed many words to communicate. Neither man was interested in swapping stories. Didn't want to delve into the past for it was too painful for them both. But Hank knew what Michael was thinking now. What he was going to say. And he waited, patiently, for the words to echo in the night air. He didn't have long to wait.

"I have to go," Michael said softly, his eyes lifted to the stars once more. He knew that Hank wanted him to stay. A part of him wanted to do that. But he couldn't.

"Because of Nikita?" Hank countered, tossing the stub of his cigar into the stone walkway at the edge of the steps. He had heard the name twice. Whispered by Michael when he first awoke, then later during the throes of his fever. Never mentioned it till now, but found compelled to do so.

Michael was surprised, yet he didn't ask how Hank knew of Nikita. It didn't matter how. "Yes," he whispered, and his gaze fell to Cleo. The dog was gazing up at him with sad eyes. Michael closed felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down.

Hank nodded, even though Michael wasn't looking at him. He was thinking of his wife. Of his love for her. Dora had been his life, and was still his heart even though she was gone. Hank could relate to missing and needing a special woman. "I understand," he replied, and set his chair to rocking.

"I'm going to take a walk," Michael stated, knowing that there was nothing more that needed to be said. He pushed Cleo off his lap gently, then stood up and headed out into the darkness. It enveloped him like an old friend.

"Keep an eye on him, girl," Hank ordered Cleo, once Michael was out of sight. He knew the young man could take care of himself, but Hank needed to be alone. Just his thoughts and his memories for now. And once Cleo was gone, Hank closed his eyes and let the tears he hadn't shed in a lifetime...fall.

*****

Hank stepped out of the truck. He let Cleo out then moved to the passenger side, where Michael was standing. They were in town. It wasn't large, but had everything Hank needed, when he needed it. Gas station. Grocery store. Parts place. Honky tonk. There was more, but he didn't have use of the other facilities, as he thought of them.

"Sure I can't take you where you need to go?" Hank asked, just as he had several times before on the drive here.

Michael tried to pull his mask into place but failed. A smile curved his lips as he replied, "I'll be okay."

"Course you will," Hank stated, stamping his feet. He sniffed then glanced up at the sky. "Might rain," he said, just to be saying something other than *goodbye*.

"Might," Michael allowed, then he stared at Hank till the other man met his gaze. "Thank you," Michael whispered. He wanted to say more but couldn't find the words to express what he was feeling. The Michael he had been before Section might have known what to say, but that Michael had come and gone. The *old* Michael was back to stay. There was no other way for him. No other choice.

Hank shrugged and his eyes fell. "Nothing to thank me for," he replied, his voice gone hoarse. "Bye, Michael. Take care of yourself, boy." Hank was pleased that he was able to force out the words since they had been lumped in his throat.

Michael nodded. "Goodbye," he whispered, then he turned to walk away. No sense in prolonging the inevitible, he thought. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Found himself pulled into Hank's embrace and allowed the hug. Lifted his arms to return it. No words needed between them. This said it all. Once released, Michael glanced down to see Cleo staring up at him. He crouched down and hugged her as well. She had been a good friend to him. A silent companion who understood his pain as well. Tears pooled in Michael's eyes and he pressed his face into Cleo's fur to dry them. Then he stood up and walked away. No looking back.

For a moment Hank watched Michael go, then he turned away and jumped into the truck. Whistled for Cleo, who leaped over his lap into the cab, then he started the engine, turned the truck around and headed for home. Reached up to tilt the rear view mirror down. There was no looking back. Starting today.

******

Birkhoff was at his station when the message came up on his screen. He gaped at it in stunned disbelief, typed something in response, then jumped to his feet. A moment later he was standing outside Madeline's office.

Madeline heard the beep. "Come in," she invited, swiveling in her chair to face the door. She was surprised to see Birkhoff, but didn't let it show in her expression. "What is it?" Madeline queried.

"You have an incoming call," Birkhoff replied, one hand rubbing the top of his head and betraying his anxiety. "Priority Omega."

"Thank you," Madeline countered, an obvious dismissal. She waited until Birkhoff was gone to pick up the phone. "Yes?" Madeline said softly into the receiver.

*****

Standing at a payphone at the local gas station, Michael responded, "Can I come in?"

*****

EPILOGUE

*************

Nikita made her way through the corridors of Section One. She was thinking of Michael. It had been eight weeks since he had returned and she hadn't been allowed to see him. Walter had told her that he was in intensive retraining. Had also told her not to worry. She couldn't help but do that.

As she reached Michael's office, Nikita paused. Took a deep breath, then entered the room, but stood poised just inside the doorway. Michael was sitting at his desk, typing at his computer. It was deja Vu. As if he had never been gone. As if the amnesia had been a dream.

But it wasn't a dream. Nikita bit her lip and blinked back tears. She was both happy and sad. Happy that Michael was alive, but sad that he was back here. She had missed him, yet a part of her wished that he had been free. But he was back. The *old* Michael. That made Nikita both happy and sad as well. She took another step inside.

"Hello, Michael."

He looked up, blinked, and replied, "Nikita."

Nikita stared back, feeling uncertain when he said nothing more. She bit her lip and offered, "Welcome back." Once again Michael said nothing and Nikita shuffled her feet, feeling awkward. She was about to turn and leave when she saw Michael rise from his chair. As he rounded the desk he did a familiar gesture, he buttoned his jacket with his left hand. Nikita found a smile curving her lips.

Michael saw the smile and it nearly stopped his heart. He paused for a step then moved forward again. He stood before Nikita and looked deep into her eyes for what seemed an eternity. Then Michael lifted his arms and wrapped them around her, pulling Nikita into a hug. She was stunned, but welcomed the embrace. Tears filled her eyes when

Michael pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Thank you."

Nikita was content to hold him and to be held. No words were necessary. She knew what he was saying. Knew what couldn't be said but what was shouted between them. Michael was back, the *old* Michael. Yet a piece of the *other* Michael was there too. Nikita laid her head on his shoulder and smiled.

*****

Cleo sat beside the pool table. The Honky tonk was crowded and the music loud, but she was happy. Her eyes were on Hank as he moved about the dance floor. In his arms was an attractive, older, woman.

Her name was Lillian. Cleo liked Lillian.

As Hank moved his partner to the melody of the slow dance, he glanced over at the pool table to check on Cleo. The old girl had a bowl of water provided by the owner and looked content. Life was good. Hank hugged Lillian to him and smiled.

THE END