---

"Michael, report."

Operations voice came over his comlink. Michael was in the van, returning to Section. "Mission successful," Michael replied. "We have the files."

"Target was destroyed?" Operations prompted.

"Yes," Michael stated, wasting no words on an explanation. The details would be revealed during the debriefing.

Operations stood behind Birkhoff's chair, watching Michael on the video screen. He was thoughtful for a moment then asked, "And you have Dr. Crawford?" The good doctor was an astrophysicist, but that wasn't why section wanted her. She was engaged to man who had something the US Government wanted returned. Blackmail worked wonders.

Michael glanced over at the slumped figure of a woman. She was bound but unconscious. "We have her," he announced.

"Good," Operations drawled, and he was pleased. It had been a good night's work all around. He was feeling generous enough to praise Michael and his team when the images on Birkhoff's screen became jumbled. "What's going on?" Operations demanded.

"I'm not sure," Birkhoff replied, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Michael...are you there?"

Michael didn't answer. He couldn't. In the blink of the eye his world had turned upside down. Literally. The driver of the van hadn't even been able to call out a warning before they were hit. Broadsided by a semi who had run an intersection at sixty miles per hour. Luckily it had been the back corner of the van that had been hit, but it sent the vehicle spinning, then tumbling over an embankment. When Michael felt himself falling, he tried to brace himself, but there was nothing but a black void and he dropped into it.

Operations began to pace. "I want some answers, Birkhoff!" he spat, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A gesture that revealed his frustration.

"I don't know what to tell you," Birkhoff replied. "Simon isn't responding, neither is Michael."

"We lost the link?" Operations challenged.

Birkhoff shook his head. "No. Signal is still sending."

Resisting the urge to curse, Operations slammed a hand down on the table top next to Birkhoff. "Then we can track them!" he hissed. "Send a team out now. I want Michael and the good doctor retrieved immediately." He glared down at Birkhoff. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Birkhoff replied. Then he swallowed hard and countered, "What about the others?" There was Simon and three other Operatives assigned to Michael's team.

"Assess the situation," Operations replied. "If there are no difficulties, bring them all in. Otherwise they're acceptable collateral. I want an update ASAP, Birkhoff." With that Operations turned on his heel and strode off.

Birkhoff huffed out a breath then went to work. He was tempted to put Nikita on the retrieval team but sensed that Operations might not be pleased. Besides which, the blond beauty was home. It would take time for her to come in and be briefed. So Birkhoff went with who he had available on the premises. Twenty minutes later the team was on it's way, and he went with them.

*******

Nikita entered Section and could feel the tension. She went directly to Walter's station, knowing he would have the scoop. "What's going on, Walter?" Nikita asked.

He turned to look at her and felt his heart sink. Walter didn't want to be the one to deliver bad news. Especially when that news concerned Michael. "Sugar...there was an accident," Walter began.

"What accident?" Nikita countered, and the look on Walter's face gave her a hint. "Michael?"

"He was coming back from a mission and the van was hit by a semi truck," Walter announced.

Nikita felt her knees buckle but kept control over her thoughts. And her voice. "And?" she prompted.

Walter shrugged. "Birkhoff went out with a retrieval team. They're heading back now. "Michael and Simon are still alive, the rest of the team and the mark are dead."

"Alive," Nikita whispered, as she sank down on a nearby stool. "But it's not good, is it Walter?" she challenged, seeing the gloom and doom glimmer in his pale eyes.

"I can't say, sugar," Walter replied, with complete honesty. "Birkhoff's no medic. He reported that Michael was unconscious and he can't wake him. Pulse is thready. It doesn't sound good."

Nikita felt anger wash over her. "A medic should have gone with them."

Walter sighed. "Operations didn't know what had happened," he said in defense of the man who commanded Section. Why he was defending him, Walter couldn't say. "Standard proceedure to assume an enemy was involved."

"Of course," Nikita drawled, blinking back sudden tears. Michael had to be all right. She couldn't lose him now. Not like this. He was the *machine man*. Dying in an automobile accident was not allowed. "Damn..." Nikita cursed under her breath, as she realized how erratic her thoughts were. She pulled herself together and asked, "When will they be in?"

"Five minutes," Walter stated, then he forced a smile. "They'll take him directly to Medical. Transport three."

Nikita stood up and bussed Walter's cheek. "You're a prince," she whispered, then she was gone.

*****

Madeline wasn't surprised to see Nikita striding towards her. She was waiting for Michael to arrive and a med team was with her. "Walter told you," Madeline guessed, as Nikita came to stand before her.

"Yes," Nikita replied, her eyes glancing towards the entrance. "How long?"

"Any minute now," Madeline stated, and even as she spoke the door opened. "Stand back," Madeline ordered, taking Nikita's arm and drawing her out of the way. A moment later the Medteam went to work, rushing into the tunnel like walkway to meet the van.

Nikita fidgeted as she waited, shifting from one foot to the other. She didn't care that Madeline was watching her. It was no surprise to the other woman that she cared about Michael. A moment later Nikita caught her breath as he was wheeled out into the corridor. "Michael..." she whispered, gazing at his face. He was starkly pale and his cinnamon hair was ruffled. Nikita searched his body, looking for damage. Other than some torn spots on his field clothes, Michael looked obscenely perfect. Like he should open his eyes and jump off the gurney. "Michael," Nikita repeated, more loudly this time.

Madeline stepped forward to pull Nikita away. "They have to take him now," she said softly.

"What's wrong with him?" Nikita demanded, her eyes flashing. "He doesn't look hurt."

"My guess would be a head injury," Madeline replied. Michael had been dressed in full field gear. Heavy clothing contured to his body which would absorb shock. Kevlar vest, gloves, heavy boots. All items that had served well to protect him. But his head had been vulnerable. "You have a briefing in ten minutes in the conference room," Madeline announced, letting her fingers touch Nikita's cheek for a moment. Just enough to draw the young woman's attention.

Nikita was stunned. She had no intention of going anywhere or doing anything until she knew that Michael would be okay. "You don't expect me to go on a mission now!" Nikita snarled.

Madeline let a cold smile curve her lips. "I expect you to do your job, Nikita," she said, in a deceptively soft voice. "Don't be late." With that Madeline turned on her heel to follow in the MedTeams wake.

"What about Michael?" Nikita called after her.

"I'll take good care of him," Madeline replied. Then she was gone.

Nikita slumped against the wall. She was tempted to disobey orders, but knew it would be a mistake. No doubt she was being tested again, and failure would come with to high a price. Michael was vulnerable right now and Nikita refused to add to his suffering. She took a few deep breaths then headed the other way. Whatever it took, Nikita would do the job. Just like Michael taught her.

******

Madeline stood next to Michael's bed. He had been thoroughly examined and it was determined that he had suffered a concussion. Much more could not be determined until he awakened. But Madeline was becoming concerned. Michael had been in MedLab for over twelve hours without stirring. Not a good sign. His vital signs were somewhat erractic. Heartbeat was strong but his pulse rate tended to fluctuate and his respirations were somewhat shallow. "I know you're in there, Michael," Madeline said softly, and she reached out to brush a stray curl off his forehead. Then caught her breath as strong fingers caught her wrist. Madeline smiled and relaxed as she watched Michael's eyes flutter open.

"How do you feel?" Madeline queried, as she watched Michael blink to bring her into focus. Then he was looking past her, head turning as he took in his surroundings. She knew he would be disoriented, so she set about to alleviate his fears. "You're safe now, Michael. Back in Section." As she spoke, Madeline uncurled his fingers from her wrist. She noticed that his eyes were glassy and the pupils dilated. But even as she studied Michael, his eyes changed. Madeline was intrigued, but had not time for further thought. Without warning, Michael was off the bed.

Operations was in his office, watching the proceedings in MedLab on his computer screen. He cursed violently as he watched Michael grab Madeline by the throat and slam her hard against the wall. His fist hit a button on his console and Operations ordered a team to go in and tranquilize Michael. Then he was out the door on the run.

Madeline was surprised by Michael's actions, but kept her cool. She was about to speak to Michael when the door slid open and two Med ops entered, holding tranquilizer guns. Madeline raised a hand to wave them back. She wanted a chance to reason with Michael. Knew he was disoriented.

Michael offered a cold smile as he glanced at the men in the doorway, then back to the woman he was holding. "I'm impressed," he drawled. "You're not afraid of me."

"No...I'm not afraid of death," Madeline replied, taking note of the fact that Michael's voice had changed. The soft, french accent was gone. Replaced by a raw-whiskey sounding voice. Strictly american.

"Death has nothing to do with this!" Michael spat in a sudden fury." His hand tightened around the slender throat. "This is between you and me!" he hissed, but his tone was softer now. Smoother. The rage was ebbing.

Madeline managed a smile. "And you are?" she queried, with infinite curiousity.

Michael matched her smile and bowed his head, in a courteous gesture. "Raven," he replied.

In that moment Operations entered the room. He had a tranq gun in his hand and he fired it at Michael. Two shots. A moment later Michael collapsed. Operations glared at the Med ops. "Put him back to bed and in restraints!" he ordered, only then turning his attention to Madeline. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes betraying his concern.

"Fine," Madeline replied, in a cool tone. Her eyes revealed suppressed anger. "You shouldn't have done that," she stated in a clipped tone.

"If I hadn't, Michael would have killed you," Operations countered, in his own defense. He was stunned by Madeline's anger.

Madeline looked at the bed, watching carefully as Michael was strapped down. Then she waved the Med techs off and covered Michael herself with the blanket. "It wasn't Michael," she said soflty.

Operations joined her, staring at the young man who looked strangely at peace at the moment. Not the man who had tried to choke Madeline, yet he still didn't understand her words. "What do you mean?" Operations challenged. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I don't know yet," Madeline confessed. "I'll let you know when I find out." With that she brushed past Operations and glided out the door. She had a mystery to solve and was looking forward to it. In all her time with Section One, there had never been anyone to challenge her like Michael.

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

"How do you feel Michael?" Madeline asked the question from where she sat, in a chair next to the young man's bed. He had awakened just a few minutes ago and she had allowed him a moment to become oriented to his surroundings. His head turned on the pillow at the sound of her voice and Madeline smiled, patiently waiting for a response.

Before answering, Michael determined his condition. His head ached, his muscles felt tight and he was surprised to realize his wrists were in restraints. "What...happened?" he asked, holding Madeline's gaze.

She rose from the chair to stand beside the bed. One hand reached out to smooth Michael's hair off his forehead. "Tell me what you remember?" Madeline prompted.

"The van was hit," Michael replied, without hesitation.

"That's right," Madeline confirmed. "By a semi. Only you and Simon survived." She waited for a moment then added, "Do you remember the mission?"

Michael closed his eyes then answered. "Retrieve Dr. Crawford."

Madeline was pleased. "Good. What else do you remember?" she queried, her fingers now brushing Michael's temple. She could see how tense he was and it intrigued her. Something was bothering him and she doubted he understood what it was, anymore than she did. But she was determined to help him.

"Nothing...after blacking out," Michael stated, his eyes flickering open even as he pulled away from Madeline's touch. She didn't touch him as a rule and that she did so now disturbed him. Especially since it was a motherly touch. And with the thought came a stab of pain in Michael's temples. He winced and tried to touch his head. Tugging at the restraints, Michael questioned, "Have I done something wrong?"

"Not....wrong," Madeline replied, her smile widening. "Do remember waking up before, Michael?" she countered, purposely not appeasing his curiosity.. Not yet, anyway. She wanted Michael to seek his own answers.

A long moment passed as Michael pondered Madeline's query. "No," he whispered, finally. "What happened?"

Madeline considered telling him, but decided against it. She wanted to see what the natural course of progression would be in Michael's recovery. If what had happened the day before had been a fluke, or a sign that something was very wrong with the young man. "Rest," Madeline beseeched, moving to the end of the bed to check Michael's chart. "You've suffered a concussion, Michael."

"Why the restraints?" he persisted, more forcefully this time. Michael watched Madeline walk back to the side of the bed and he noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing a silk scarf around her neck. She seldom did so and Michael was intrigued. But given his anxiety over the restraints, he pushed the thought aside, marking it as unimportant.

"The restraints were ordered to make certain you don't hurt yourself," Madeline replied. And it was the truth, if only partially.

Michael digested this information and responded accordingly. "Why would I?"

Offering a smile then a shrug, Madeline turned to the side table to pour water in a tumbler. She then placed a straw in the glass and offered it to Michael. She was pleased when he accepted, for Michael was not one to ask for help, nor allow it...as a rule. "You acted strangely the first time you woke up," Madeline stated. She decided it wouldn't hurt to assess his reaction to that smidgeon of information.

"Strangely...in what way?" Michael countered, a frown furrowing his brow. He knew that something had happened before. Something that Madeline was purposefully keeping from him. A knot of tension formed in Michael's stomach. He didn't like being in the dark, especially in regards to his own actions. It meant a loss of control. A weakness. And Madeline would be quick to exploit any weakness. Michael had learned that lesson the hard way, long ago.

"We'll discuss it later," Madeline replied, her tone of voice letting Michael know she would brook no argument. "Rest now. I'll be back."

Michael had a sudden thought. "May I see Nikita?" he asked, to Madeline's retreating figure. Michael knew that Nikita would tell him the truth. If she knew it. And even if she was in the dark as much as he was, Michael wanted the comfort of her presence. He was feeling confused, and afraid.

Madeline turned back to face Michael and her smile was warm, but her dark eyes were frosted. "Nikita isn't here," she drawled, her voice pitched deceptively soft and low. "She's in the Ukraine, on a mission. She'll be back in a few days."

"I see," Michael replied, taking note that Madeline hadn't stated that he would be allowed to see Nikita upon her return either. But he said nothing more for now. There was nothing else to be said. He was alone.

"Anything else?" Madeline queried. Michael asking to see Nikita was not surprising, per se. But it was unexpected. It wasn't like him to be so open about his needs. She waited for a response, her eyes locked on Michael's face, and watched in fasination as his _expression changed. No longer blank, his beautiful features softened. Tears filled his green eyes and his sweet mouth trembled. Michael was the picture of vulnerability.

Shaking uncontrollably, Michael whispered. "Don't go." His voice was soft and pitched higher. The voice of a child.

Madeline caught her breath, hearing the change in Michael's voice as well. And the thicker accent. Much thicker, more as it had been when he had first come to Section. "What's wrong?" she asked, slowly approaching the bed.

"I'm....I'm scared," Michael whispered, his eyes wide. A fat tear rolled down his face.

"What's your name?" Madeline questioned, knowing that this was not Raven.

Michael blinked at her, then ducked his head. He was shy and couldn't answer the nice lady. Yet he wanted her to help him.

Madeline cupped her hand under Michael's chin and lifted his head. She smiled and whispered. "I'm Madeline. I want to help you."

"Where's my Maman?" Michael asked, blinking back more tears. "Where am I? What is this place?" The questions tumbled out of him, jumbling together. He tugged at the bindings on his wrists as terror washed over him. "I want to go home!"

"Shhhh.." Madeline whispered, reaching out to undo the restraints. She could almost feel Operations' disapproval, knowing that he was watching her on the monitor in his office. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Michael," she crooned, adapting her tone to that of a mother consoling a child. When the restraints were off, she sat on the side of the bed and gathered Michael into her arms. Felt his own wrap around her waist and he clung to her tightly.

After crying out his fears, Michael hiccupped against Madeline's shoulder. She was a nice lady. Pretty too. For that he would tell her his name. "Misha..." he whispered.

Madeline smiled, resting her chin on the top of Michael's head. "Misha," she repeated, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "I like that name." That said, Madeline held Michael till he fell back to sleep. There would be time to talk to Misha later. And Raven. But for now she was content to keep vigil over Michael as she pondered her next move.

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

Madeline continued to watch over Michael as he slept. She was interested to see whether or not he would awaken with the Misha persona. It didn't take long to find out. Within an hour he stirred, eyes fluttering open, then he rubbed at them with his fists. It was an engaging gesture, that of a little boy. Madeline rose from her chair, gliding over to the bed. "Hello, Misha," she said softly, reaching out to smooth a soft curl off his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Michael replied in a tiny voice. A scared voice. But he managed a shaky smile for the pretty lady named Madeline. "I'm...hungry," he said ducking his head shyly when she stroked his cheek.

"What would you like to eat?" Madeline queried.

Michael shook his head then winced at the pain. Tears filled his eyes but he didn't let them fall. Boys were not supposed to cry and he was still embarrassed about having wept earlier, in Madeline's arms. "Whatever you have would be fine," he countered, politely.

Madeline smiled. "I'll be right back," she said softly, then exited the room. She wasn't worried about missing anything, for the cameras in the room would record all of Michael's/Misha's actions. Meanwhile, Madeline would have a meal prepared for them and she had another idea as well. A way to test this personality further. She had just rounded the corner when she ran into Operations.

"I want answers," he demanded, his pale eyes glittering like chips of ice.

"And you'll have them," Madeline promised, her smile intact. "But later. I have work to do right now." That said she stepped around him and vanished down the corridor.

******

When Madeline returned to Michael's room, she had a tray with her, and a bag. She found it interesting that Michael was where she had left him, as if afraid to move. Setting the tray on the table, Madeline then took the bag off her shoulder and emptied the contents. She felt Michael's eyes on her, the innocent gaze of Misha, as she spread a blanket out in the middle of the floor. "Come sit with me," Madeline invited Michael, holding out one hand.

He slid from the bed, moving slowly, mindful of the ache in his head and accepted the soft hand. But clutched in the other hand was the blanket from the bed, and after sitting down, Michael hugged the blanket to him.

Madeline was intrigued, but did not comment on the symbolism that the gesture represented, instead she cleaned out what was left in the bag. An assortment of toys such as trucks, a model train, a ball and a stuffed bear. Items not easily come by in Section One, but Madeline had her resources. After laying the toys out in front of Michael, Madeline retrieved the tray. It contained peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold glasses of milk, apples and chocolate chip cookies.

"Still hungry?" Madeline asked, as she kicked off her shoes and joined Michael on the blanket.

"Oui, Mademoiselle," he replied, eyes wide as he stared at the food. Michael bit his lip as he stared at the cookies, but did not reach for them. Rather he hugged the blanket to him more tightly.

"Do you like peanut butter and jelly?" Madeline questioned, holding out a half of sandwich to Michael.

He accepted it only after holding Madeline's gaze and a nod of her head. But Michael didn't take a bite. He waited, then remembered her question. "I think so," he said softly.

Madeline wondered why he wasn't eating, then she realized that Michael/Misha was being a little gentleman. He was waiting for her to take a bite first. So she lifted a half and took a big bite, letting him see that there was no need to be formal. "Enjoy," Madeline beseeched, after chewing and swallowing her bite.

"Merci," Michael whispered, then he devoted all his attention to his sandwich. After each bite he took a swallow of milk then wiped his mouth with the napkin Madeline gave him.

"Do you like to play games, Misha?" Madeline queried, in between bites of her own sandwich.

After a swallow of milk Michael replied, "Oui." That was all, but he eyed the toys spread out before him with a wistful gaze.

Madeline watched Michael closely. She realized that he would not touch anything unless she gave him permission to do so. That was intriguing. "Do you like trucks?" she asked.

"They're all right," Michael allowed.

"What's your favorite toy?" Madeline prompted.

Michael blinked, more as himself than Misha, but the moment quickly passed as he answered, "Trains. I love trains."

Madeline did not reply. Instead she held out the cookies to Michael and smiled when he took only one, which he thanked her for. "You may have the train if you like," she said gently.

"As my own?" Michael countered, his eyes the innocent gaze of a five year old boy. A little boy who was being given a wonderful gift.

"For all your own," Madeline acknowledged, lifting the train and setting it in Michael's lap. She felt a sudden tug of sadness when Michael/Misha carefully set his cookie down on his napkin, wiped the crumbs off his fingers, then picked up the train.

Eyes shining with tears, Michael whispered, "Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle. Merci."

*****

Operations was pacing. He felt Madeline watching him and it irritated him. Sometimes she saw too much. "What's wrong with Michael?' he demanded, coming to a standstill directly in front of her desk.

"I believe he's suffering from split personalities," she calmly replied. A smile curved Madeline's lips as she watched Operations' reaction. Disbelief followed by outrage.

"What are you saying?" Operations countered. "That he's having a nervous breakdown? A mental collapse?"

Madeline shook her head. "No. What's happening is not a mental condition, per se. It's not neurosis. It's hard to define in layman's terms."

Operations pressed the palms of his hands flat on the desktop and leaned forward, his eyes blazing cold fire. "Give it go," he challenged.

"It's a psychological condition," Madeline responded, deciding there was no reason to go into detail.

"Is there a cure?" Operations countered.

Madeline sighed. "Nothing of a medicinal nature," she parried, knowing that was what he was asking. Operations was looking for a simple fix. Michael was valuable to Section, and forerunner to replace Operations someday.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Operations perched on the corner of Madeline's desk. "What can you do?" he prompted, then held up a hand to forestall her answer. "First tell me, what caused this? The accident?"

"Most likely," Madeline allowed. "But this didn't just happen. These...personality....have been a part of Michael for a long time. Waiting...buried beneath the surface but under his control."

"Are you saying he knew about them?" Operations was bothered by the thought. That Michael could have been like this and no one knew it.

Madeline considered the question before answering. "I don't think so," she replied. "Not on a conscious level anyway." After another pause, she made and attempt to explain it, to the best of her own understanding. "All of us find ways to deal with who we are here. And with what we do. Michael's way is to compartmentalize himself. To split himself in two. Or so he thought."

Operations pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a tension headache coming on. "Meaning what?' he challenged, wishing that there was a simple answer. A simple cure. But knowing it was not to be. And in that knowledge was the reality that he would have to make a choice. Was it worth it in the long run to allow Madeline the time needed to help Michael? She was needed elsewhere. Not that he couldn't bring someone in to cover her duties for a time.

"I think there are several personalities inside of Michael," Madeline continued. "Each representing a different part of him. The part that does the different jobs we ask of him."

"Can you help him?" Operations asked, being blunt.

Madeline gave an honest answer. "I'm not sure."

It was time to make a decision and Operations did so without hesitation. That was his job. "You have one month. If Michael does not show significant improvement, I want him cancelled." Operations locked eyes with Madeline, awaiting her reaction. But her _expression never changed.

"Agreed," she whispered, then she smiled as Operations turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

*****

When Madeline returned to Medlab, Misha was gone. The train was sitting on the bed table and Michael met Madeline's gaze, his own reflecting confusion. "I have something I want to show you, Michael," Madeline stated briskly. She had a medtech wheel a cart with a TV and VCR on it into the room where Michael could see it. Without a word of explanation, Madeline turned it on.

Michael stared at the screen in stunned disbelief, watching himself in the persona of Raven and Misha. "I don't understand," he whispered, when the tape ended.

Madeline moved to the side of his bed. "Do you remember any of what you saw?" she queried, her eyes revealing nothing of what she was thinking.

"No," Michael replied, one hand pressing against his temple. Pain throbbed there, but he fought to control it. "I hurt you," he said, once again noticing the scarf that Madeline was wearing and this time knowing there would be bruises on her throat.

"I'm fine," Madeline replied. "And you will be too." She knew Michael was afraid, even though he fought to hide it from her. "I'm going to help you, Michael," Madeline stated, and she meant it.

Michael wanted to believe her, but never in his life had he been more afraid. "How?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Madeline simply smiled and replied, "Trust me."

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

Nikita glared at Madeline from where she sat, slumped in the chair across from the other woman's desk. "Why can't I see Michael?" she demanded.

Madeline put a smile on her face as she locked eyes with Nikita. "There's nothing going on," she said quietly. "No one can see Michael right now. He's in therapy with me."

"For what?" Nikita challenged, firmly believing that sessions with Madeline could only make things worse for Michael. She felt her stomach muscles tighten into knots as possible scenarios involving Michael flashed in her head. None of them were pleasant. "Is he being punished," Nikita asked, bluntly.

"Not at all," Madeline replied, leaning forward in her chair. She tapped a at her keyboard for a moment then turned the monitor so that Nikita could see it. On display was the footage of Michael as Raven, and Misha. "After you watch this, I'll try to answer your questions."

Nikita opened her mouth to make a smart remark, fully cognizant of the fact that Madeline would reveal only what she wanted Nikita to know, regardless of the questions asked, but closed her mouth with a snap as her gaze was riveted to the monitor.

There was a long period of silence. When the display was finished, Madeline flicked it off then relaxed in her chair. "What do you want to know?" she invited.

"What's wrong with him?" Nikita whispered, her eyes huge and round in her face. Seeing Michael as Raven had chilled her. Seeing him as Misha had terrified her. Nikita's mind was filled with chaos. "Have you drugged Michael?" she demanded.

"No," Madeline replied, allowing sincerity to shine from her eyes, even though she doubted Nikita would buy it.

Nikita lurched out of her chair and began to pace. Loping strided from wall to wall, while one hand tugged at her hair. "What the hell is going on here?" she shouted, stopping now to glare at Madeline. "What have you done to him?"

Madeline was not bothered by Nikita's reaction to the video. She had more or less expected it. She folded her hands in her lap and attempted to explain. "Michael is suffering from Split personalities. I believe they were brought out by the trauma he suffered in the accident. I'm trying to help him deal with them."

"How?" Nikita challenged. "By keeping him shut away from the rest of us? Does he know what's happening?"

"I showed him the tape," Madeline confessed.

Nikita caught her breath. It had horrified her, she could only image Michael's reaction to seeing himself like that. No longer in control. "What if you can't fix him, Madeline?" she prompted, knowing that it would be best to cut to the chase.

Madeline shrugged. "If we can't help him, we have several options," she countered, her smile returning.

"Cancellation being at the top of the list...right?" Nikita persisted, moving to the desk now and leaning over it. "I want to see him."

"Not now," Madeline stated firmly. "I'm following a specific profile in treating Michael and I can't interrupt it now. I'm the only one he sees. He trusts me, and so far so do the others."

Nikita shook her head and gave an indelicate snort of derision. "You talk as if they were real people!" she hissed.

Madeline resisted the urge to heave a sigh. One of Nikita's greatest weaknesses was her unwillingness to think things through to their logical conclusion. She was always jumping the gun and making assumptions without all the facts. "To Michael...they are real," Madeline allowed. She was about to say more but her intercom beeped. Madeline tapped a button. "Yes?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Birkhoff apologized. "But you're needed in Medlab, Madeline. Michael's freaking out."

"Thank you," Madeline calmly replied, then she broke the connection and rose to her feet. "We'll talk more later," she said to Nikita, then she strode out of the room.

Nikita glared at Madeline's retreating back, knowing that she had been dismissed. But she had no intention of staying away, so she stalked out of the office in Madeline's wake. But kept to the shadows.

*****

Madeline reached Medlab but didn't enter Michael's room immediately. Instead she watched him from the monitor's room for a moment, assessing the situation. The room was in a shambles, and even as Madeline watched, Michael continued to trash it. He ripped apart the bed, hurling the matress into the corner. Then he reached for the plastic water pitcher and tossed that too.

"I want a cigarette!" Michael shouted. "BLOODY HELL!"

"How long has he been like this?" Madeline asked the technician who was standing beside her.

The young woman bit her lip. "Just a few minutes. He woke up about an hour ago and seemed fine," she continued, when Madeline only looked at her. "He got out of bed and paced for a bit, then started doing push ups and situps."

Madeline smiled to herself. That sounded like Michael. "Then what?" she prompted. "What triggered the fit?"

"I don't know," the woman replied. "He finished exercising, stretched a bit, then took a drink of water. He got real quiet after that, and still. Then he flipped out."

"Thank you, Tina," Madeline said quietly. "Get me a pack of cigarettes and a lighter please," she requested. When the items were brought to her, Madeline tucked them in her jacket pocket then entered the room.

She noticed that Michael's latest personality whirled to face her the moment the door was open. Madeline watched carefully as the anger faded and Michael assumed a new posture. But she knew it was the same personality. This one was moody. Filled with anger and defensive. But he was conniving as well. "I'm Madeline," she said, by way of introduction.

Michael combed his fingers through his hair, then tossed his head. He turned from Madeline and sauntered over to the far wall. Propped a shoulder against it then offered a slow, sensual, smile. "You look rich, luv," he drawled, blantantly assessing her with his eyes.

"You like money?" Madeline countered, taking a step further into the room.

"It makes the world go round," Michael countered, then his eyes narrowed. "Got a smoke?" In that moment his accent changed from slightly British to lightly French.

Madeline pulled the pack from her pocket, but didn't offer them. "What's your name?" she challenged.

Michael sighed, then pouted, his fingers combing through his hair again. "Johnny," he replied, then he looked at the pack of cigarettes. "How much does that buy me?"

"The pack," Madeline replied, walking over to give them to him, along with the lighter. "What do you do, Johnny?" she queried, although she had an idea.

"What don't I do?" Michael countered, with a harsh laugh. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply then puffed out a smoke ring. "Whatever turns you on, price negotiable." That said, Michael pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to the two way mirror as if admiring his reflection.

Madeline knew he was seeing beyond the surface. Could see the intensity of his gaze. "Male hooker?" she said, more a statement than a question.

Michael/Johnny laughed. "Call it like it is, luv," he drawled. "I'm a whore." His tone was laced with disgust, aimed at himself. Yet Michael continued to stare at his image.

On the other side of the mirror, Nikita watched in horror. She was seeing one of Michael's personalities first hand and it terrified her. But what frightened her more was his burning gaze. Nikita knew he couldn't see her, yet would have sworn he was looking right at her. And when Michael made a lewd gesture with his tongue, she choked and ran. But she couldn't escape the image in her head.

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

Walter watched Nikita race past his station. He longed to follow her but knew that he couldn't keep up. Could guess where she had been by the direction she was coming from. And judging by her reaction, Madeline had told Nikita about Michael's...condition. Walter knew little about it himself, only that Michael was suffering an identity crisis of some sort. Nothing more. Operations and Madeline were playing things close to the vest, as usual. Everything on a *need to know* basis and nobody needed to know.

"Is Nikita all right?" Birkhoff asked, having strolled over from his station. He was worried about the blond.

"Is anyone all right in this place?" Walter groused, turning his attention back to the ciruit board he had been working on.

Birkhoff sighed, one hand rubbing over his head. He knew more about Michael's condition than anyone else besides Operations and Madeline. And a few Medlab Techs and doctors. The details were clear, but Birkhoff didn't understand them and didn't particularly want to. Seeing the video tapes of Michael's personalilties gave him a chill.

And it was a difficult secret to keep. "I hope Nikita is okay," Birkhoff whispered, as he turned back to his station. He heard Walter grunt a response and knew the old man was worried as well. And not just about Nikita. As much as Michael could terrify him at times, Birkhoff rather saw the man as an older brother. From the moment Birkhoff had arrived in Section One, Michael had done what he could to look out for him. With that thought in mind, Birkhoff went back to work.

*****

Madeline continued her conversation with Johnny/Michael. "Tell me about yourself," she invited. "Where are you from?"

Michael shook with laughter then took a long drag on the cigarette. He exhaled the smoke into the air then answered. "I'm from nowhere...and everywhere. You?"

"Where I'm from doesn't matter," Madeline countered, moving to sit on the edge of the destroyed bed. "How long have you been hooking?"

"About twelve years," Michael replied, but he studied Madeline with Johnny's eyes. Eyes that burned with self-loathing and despair. His attitude was just an act but he wouldn't let her see that. Wouldn't let anyone see his weakness. Let them see that he hated who he was, and that he was afraid all the time. But he did what he did cause that was what he was good at. What he had been trained to do. To use his looks and his body for seduction. Nobody did it better, but Johnny's aura of pride was just a bluff. He was a slut. Nothing more.

Madeline could read Michael's eyes. With Johnny in control, he was open to her. She knew how much he hated his Valentine assignments. The most difficult being the two times she had asked him to seduce other men. Only once had Michael been forced to carry it out to it's logical conclusion, sex. But that one time had been enough to mark him forever. To remind him of his three months in prison. A young, beautiful boy who had been used by the hardened criminals that had become his companions. No one knew about the abuse by Madeline and Operations. She knew that Michael had told no one. His twelve year time reference alluded to Michael's first mission as a Valentine's Op.

He had seduced an older woman, and the mission was a success. But Madeline remembered the look on Michael's face when he debriefed. Could still see the self-loathing that had shimmered in his eyes. But Michael had done the job that was expected of him. He still did, but paid the price.

"Do you like what you do?" Madeline queried, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Michael laughed, tossing his head as if to show the question meant nothing. That it was stupid. Yet it hurt. He tossed the cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it out with his stockinged foot. There was no pain. "What man wouldn't love to bonk a couple of women a night and get paid for it?" he countered, his body language all attitude.

"Do you get paid well?" Madeline prompted, feeling Michael/Johnny throwing up defensive shields. Michael would have hid behind them silently, but Johnny was ready to roar.

"What the hell business is it of yours?" Michael shouted, his accent becoming more pronounced and decidedly French. "But he used other British phrasing to get his point across. "Bugger off! Bloody hell but you're a nosy bitch."

Madeline did not take offense. She thought she was beginning to recognize the pattern that was being revealed. Michael often took on other personas, or spoke other languages when on Valentine missions. He became the man needed to make the seduction a success, and Johnny was a collage of those persona's. Michael was playing them out though this personality. Letting out his anger and despair at having played the *whore* as he saw it.

"I'm just curious," Madeline stated, keeping a smile on her face. "A beautiful man like you, Johnny....you must make a good living from hooking."

Michael shrugged then lit up another cigarrette. "It's what I do," he drawled, falling back into the attitude of not giving a damn what anyone thought. "It's not about the money."

"Just a few minutes ago you told me that money makes the world go round."

"I say alot of things," Michael shot back, then he offered a nervous laugh as he pushed away from the wall and began to pace. "Don't mean I know what I'm talking about." He stopped pacing to lock eyes with Madeline. "Can I have shower?" he asked, suddenly.

Madeline was silent for a moment, watching the way Michael rubbed his arms with his hands, as if he felt cold and dirty. "Of course," she replied, heading for the door. "Come with me." She waited with an outstretched hand, curious to see if Michael/Johnny would touch her.

He didn't. As he slid through the opening, Madeline noted that Michael took special care not to let any part of himself brush against her. "Curious," she whispered, as she followed him out.

After leaving Michael in the shower, Madeline made arrangements for him to be moved to a suite of rooms. Apartment like with a kitchen area, living space and bedroom with bath. She wanted to see how he would react in a *home* like environment. That done, Madeline moved on to the next level. It was time to introduce Johnny to the people of Section One.

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

Madeline watched Michael watching the operative who wheeled in the TV and VCR. She saw a flash of fear in his green eyes. A flash that faded and was replaced by bravado. But she wondered if the *Michael* in him was remembering the last time she had shown him videos of Raven and Misha. "How do you like your new quaters?" Madeline asked, when they were alone again.

Michael/Johnny shrugged. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. The color, the black, seemed appropriate. He liked black. In the pocket of the t-shirt were his cigarettes. He pulled one out but didn't light it, just played with it to keep his hands occupied. He didn't want Madeline to see how nervous he was. "It's nice enough," Michael replied. "Needs some color." The room was white on white, with touches of beige.

"You can add color if you like," Madeline offered. "Make a list of things and I'll see what I can do."

"Sure..whatever," Michael drawled. He nodded at the TV/VCR. "What's that for?"

Madeline moved to the couch and patted it. "Come sit. I want to show you something." She saw him hesitate and smiled. "I want to introduce you to some people. I want you to tell me your...thoughts...about them."

Michael moved closer, then backed away and began pacing. "Why?" he countered, suspicion coloring his tone. "What's the point? What do you want from me? You haven't made an offer yet."

"Be patient," Madeline replied. She could tell that as Johnny, Michael knew how to deal with people only on one level. With sex. Anything else made him uncomfortable. Madeline glided over to Michael and took his hand. She didn't resist when he pulled away and moved to lean against the wall. From her jacket pocket she removed a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the coffee table. "That should be worth an hour of your time," Madeline said softly.

"Close enough," Michael hissed, his eyes locked on the money. He didn't make a move to touch it, however. Just stared at it as if it were something alien.

Madeline could guess that *Michael* had a hard time rationalizing payment for his *time* as it were. Section never paid him to sleep with a mark. They never rewarded him in any way for doing his job. Despite fourteen years of loyalty. That was something Madeline was not particularly proud of. "Will you sit with me now?" she asked, returning to the couch but snagging the remote control on her way.

Michael grunted then moved to sit beside her. Close, but not touching. "You pay, I play," he stated. "What now?" His eyes regarded Madeline with distrust.

"Watch the tape," Madeline replied, pressing a button. An image of Walter appeared, working at his station and grumbling at an Operative who was coming back from a mission. "Do you know him?" Madeline asked, pointing out Walter.

"Nope," Michael/Johnny drawled, paying more attention to the cigarette in his fingers than the TV screen. "Looks like a dirty old man to me."

Madeline was amused to note that the statement was made with a slight giggle. Michael never giggled. "Does he....intimidate you?"

Michael shook his head, glancing at the screen again. "Not him. He's harmless."

"Let's move on then," Madeline replied, pressing another button. A moment later Operations filled the screen. He was at a briefing but could be seen only, not heard. Madeline was about to ask Michael if he recognized Operations when she felt him fly off the couch.

"Bastard!" Michael hissed, one finger stabbing at the TV screen. Then he was reaching in his jeans pocket for the lighter, he needed to smoke bad. It would help calm him. He lit the cigarette with hands that shook then took a long drag.

Madeline remained seated. "You know him?" she asked, calmly.

Michael/Johnny began to pace again. "Not him...not exactly!" he hissed. "But one just like him."

"How do you know him?" Madeline persisted, she could almost feel Michael's anxiety and it intrigued her.

"He's just like the other, I can see it," Michael commented, not answering her question directly. When Madeline didn't push him, but simply waited, he continued. "He reminds me of my pimp."

Madeline let a smile curve her lips. "Tell me about him," she prompted, only to be interrupted by the door opening. An operative named David stood there, looking nervous. "What is it?" Madeline asked, her voice soft even though she was irritated at being disturbed.

David bit his lip, wishing he were somewhere else, but he delivered his message. "Operations wants to see you," he announced. "Right now."

"Fine..I'll be right there," Madeline replied. She stood up and removed the tape from the VCR. She didn't want Michael looking at it without her present. "I have to leave now, Johnny," Madeline stated. "I'll be back later."

"Whatever," Michael replied, then he put out his cigarette. He was glad that she was going. He needed some time alone. When the door closed behind him and there was quiet, Michael curled up on the couch and and began to sing a lullaby in French. One he had learned long ago.

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

"How is Michael doing?" Operations asked. He was watching Madeline though narrowed eyes.

"I think we're making progress," she replied, shifting her eyes from the table to Operations face. Madeline paused for a moment of silence, then spoke her mind. "I didn't appreciate your interruption of my session with Michael." As she spoke, Madeline's eyes darkened and glittered. Operations' need to see her had turned out to be an excuse, which he had parlayed into dinner. Prime rib and roasted potatoes, one of Madeline's favorites. She understood why Operations had done it, but wanted to hear it from him. "These sessions are crucial if Michael is to recover," Madeline continued, then she waited.

Operations was slow in responding. There were many replies he could have made, but Madeline would accept nothing but the truth and they both knew it. "I don't like you being alone with Michael," Operations stated, his tone defensive.

Madeline didn't let the smile she was feeling show. She was aware of Operations' concern for it, but it troubled her. It was his weakness and he had let it control him on more than one occassion in the past.

"I'm perfectly safe with Michael," Madeline insisted, keeping her tone polite and proffessional.

"But what about with Raven?" Operations countered, leaning forward in his chair. His pale eyes glittered as they locked on Madeline's face. He could see shadows beneath her dark eyes and he knew that she was foregoing sleep in order to concentrate on Michael's case. Operations was of two minds in that regard. He wanted Michael back and functional, yet a part of him was jealous of Madeline's interest in the younger man. A foolish notion, but there nonetheless. It prompted him to continue, despite the warning glance Madeline shot him. "What if Raven returns and this time succeeds in killing you?"

"That won't happen," Madeline replied, firmly.

Operations shook his head at her. "You don't know that," he insisted, slamming a fist down on the table top and making the dishes rattle.

Madeline resisted the urge to sigh. She was tired and feeling frustrated, more because of this conversation and Operations' attitude, than because of Michael and his situation. Her eyes shifted to the ice sculpture at the center of the table. Christopher had begun ice sculpting about a year ago and was quite good at it. This time he had fashioned a leaping dolphin, but Madeline leaned forward seeing a flaw. A fine line. A crack in the ice...and she was reminded of Michael. He tried to project an aura of coldness. To be a man of ice. That's how he survived Section. If he couldn't be ruthless he could at least appear that way. But like the sculpture, Michael's facade had a flaw. It had always been there, but now the crack had widened. Michael was like shattered ice, and Madeline only hoped she could sweep up the pieces and meld them back together. If not, he would be lost to them, and himself, forever.

******

Nikita listened to the silence. The CD had stopped playing an hour ago but she hadn't moved from the floor. Couldn't find the energy, nor a reason to bother. All she could do was lie there and remember.

*Michael*....she whispered in her mind. But the man who had stared at her through the two way mirror hadn't been Michael. That had been a stranger. Someone who had frightened Nikita. She didn't frighten easily anymore, but seeing Michael as that other personality...that had been truly terrifying.

A knock on the door made Nikita jump. Her first thought was that it might be Michael, but that was impossible. A glance at the clock showed that it was late, near midnight. Nikita rolled to her feet, a frown on her face. Who would be knocking on her door at Midnight? Without bothering to peer through the peep hole, Nikita swung open the door, then gaped. "Birkhoff?" she whispered.

"Hi," the computer genuius replied, a sheepish _expression on his face.

"Hi," Nikita echoed, then she looked at his full hands. Birkhoff had a pizza box and a paper bag. "Got a side job as a delivery boy?" Nikita teased, and felt a sense of relief at being able to do so, even though her heart wasn't in it."

Birkhoff grimaced. "Um...I was just...um.." He swallowed back his lie of *being in the neighborhood* and settled on the truth. "Um...I know you're upset about Michael," Birkhoff blurted out. "I..don't know much about what's going on, but I thought...maybe I could help. Or something. I mean...you helped me." Birkhoff was referring to the time when he'd been attacked on a mission in the Section van and had been forced to kill for the first time. Section had come close to cancelling him, but Nikita had pulled him out of his funk, showing him that it was okay to be afraid, so long as he faced his fear. Her caring had been tough love, yet had comforted him. Birkhoff wanted to return the favor.

Nikita realized what Birkhoff was doing and her eyes filled with tears that she brushed away with her shirt sleeve. Come in," she invited, taking the pizza box and pulling him inside with her free hand. Nikita then kicked the door closed and led the way to the kitchen.

"What's in the bag?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Dessert," Birkhoff replied, grinning as he pulled out a bag of Oreo cookies. "Oh..I brought beer too. Is that okay?"

"Perfect for the pizza," Nikita announced, reaching out to ruffle a hand over Birkhoff's shorn head. "But I think milk will go better with dessert."

Birkhoff nodded. "Yeah." He opened the pizza box. "I got sausage and mushrooms. I hope you like it."

Nikita nodded, grabbing a can of beer and popping the top. She took a long swallow of the cool liquid before replying. "Smells delicious and I love sausage and mushrooms." As she turned to open a cupboard and remove some plates, a thought occurred. "Do you drink beer, Birkhoff?" Nikita queried.

"I've never tried it before," Birkhoff confessed, turning bright red in embarrassment. "But..I thought now would be as good a time as any."

"Hope you didn't drive here," Nikita countered, giggling. She was pretty certain that it would only take one beer to make the young man tipsy.

Birkhoff shook his head and answered in all seriousness. "Oh no, I took a cab. I don't know how to drive."

Nikita gave him a hug, feeling him stiffen for a moment. But then Birkhoff relaxed and returned her embrace. "Thank you," Nikita whispered.

"Sure," Birkhoff replied, breaking the hug and turning his attention to serving them. "You have any video games?" he asked, hopefully.

"Nope," Nikita replied. "I don't own a TV. I do have backgammon though. I've been learning how to play. You feeling lucky?"

Birkhoff rolled his eyes. "I can play backgammon with my eyes shut," he boasted.

Nikita's eyes glinted with a devilish light. "Wanna bet?" she challenged, then she laughed. The image of Michael hadn't left her, but it was fading, at least for now. Maybe later she would be able to face it, but for now Nikita would accept the distraction that Birkhoff offered. And, before the night was through she would garner the courage to ask him at least a few of the questions that had been gnawing at her. For now, however, she would eat, drink and be merry. Or at least pretend to be.

*****

It was time for another session. Madeline was a bit disappointed to discover that Michael had reverted back to himself. Johnny was gone, but she would continue along the same vein. Starting with showing Michael the video of himself as Johhny and his reaction to Operations. So she entered his quarters with a smile on her face.

Michael was sitting on the couch when Madeline entered the room. He stood up as she moved towards him, feeling too vulnerable sitting down. He knew that something else had happened. Something that he would not like. He had been sleeping and had awakened to find himself no longer in Medlab. Instead he was in a suite of rooms. "Who was I this time?" Michael asked, before Madeline could speak.

"Johnny," she replied, without hesitation. Madeline moved to the TV/VCR and popped in the video tape of Michael as his alter persona. "I think you'll find this interesting," she stated, moving to sit on the couch and gesturing for Michael to join her.

"Of course," he replied, even as he obeyed. But Michael sat on the edge of the cushion, and the image of himself appeared, he closed his eyes. And the face he saw in the darkness was Nikita's.

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

"Michael."

He opened his eyes to see Madeline watching him. Surprisingly enough, concern shimmered in her dark gaze. "Yes?" Michael replied, giving nothing away. Mentally he dissolved Nikita's image.

Madeline gestured to the TV screen. "I want to pay attention to our session with you as Johnny," she said softly.

"Why?" Michael countered, knowing that Madeline had a reason for everything she did.

"Just watch," she beseeched. "Then we'll talk about it." So saying, Madeline hit the pause button so that the images played across the screen once more.

Michael watched and found it painful to do so. Didn't like what he saw. Didn't like Johnny. And yet Johnny was so familiar. It was painful also to see *Johnny's* reaction to Operations. But Michael kept these thoughts, feelings, to himself. He turned away from the TV screen to face Madeline. "What now?" he asked.

Madeline smiled. She thought she knew what Michael was thinking. While watching the video he had revealed certain things to her through actions she was certain he was unaware of. A sudden twitching motion when *Johnny* reacted to Operations as being like his pimp. And Michael's eyes had become shiny with emotion that was too strong for him to blank out. Madeline wanted to explore those emotions, but she knew she would have to tread lightly. Michael would not open up to her easily. "I want to continue the session I was having with Johnny," Madeline replied.

"How?" Michael countered, his eyes going wide. "I can't just call him out." In a way he wished he could, so that he could confront that part of himself. Yet, at the same time, Michael was terrified by what he had seen. By what it meant.

"I want to continue the session with you," Madeline replied. Actually, I want to back up a bit and reply the same scenario. I'll show you images of the people here in Section, and you give your honest reaction."

Michael winced at the thought. To do so would reveal too much to Madeline. He had learned, early on, not to give her ammunition to use against him. To verbalize his emotions would do just that. "That won't help," Michael countered, his voice soft but firm.

Madeline was intrigued by Michael's response. "Why won't it help?" she prompted, a smile curving her lips.

"I'm familiar with everyone here," Michael was quick to reply. "We both know how I interact with them."

"Yes," Madeline confirmed. "We know how you...interact. But not necessarily how you feel about them. That's what I'm interested in learning, Michael. That's what we both need to know if I'm going to help you get better."

Michael felt a flash of anger at her choice of words. "I'm not sick!" he hissed, instantly regretting the words and his tone of voice. He rose from the couch and had to fight the urge to pace. Instead stood there, waiting. Not knowing what to do, or say...or feel...anymore.

Madeline rose from the couch and moved to where Michael was standing. She touched his arm to make him look at her. When his jade green eyes were locked on her face, she continued. "You're not sick, but this is an affliction that needs to be treated. Do you want to get better?"

"Yes," Michael replied, without hesitation. "I want to get better," he confirmed.

"Then you have to trust me," Madeline stated, and amusement glinted in her dark eyes. "I know trust is not easy for you to give, Michael. Especially to me. I've lied to you, betrayed you....but you understand the reasons why. You can move past it."

Michael blinked and looked away from Madeline's penetrating gaze. "I can," he allowed, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and hide from her. There was no where he could run. Section saw everything. But Michael knew he had to be strong. Stronger than in the past. Strong enough to let Madeline see the truth. To let down his defenses. That's what she was asking for him to do. To take the risk. They both knew she could use it against him in the future. "I can move past the lies and betrayal," Michael repeated, once again holding Madeline's gaze. "But I'm not sure I want to."

Madeline was surprised by Michael's admission. They both knew what was at stake. What the outcome would be if he didn't heal himself. "Do you really want to die, Michael?" she questioned, one hand lifting to tuck a stray curl behind his ear.

"It's not about wanting to die," Michael countered, taking a step away from Madeline's touch.

"Then what is it about?" she challenged, allowing Michael his space.

He turned away from her, facing the mirror across the room. Michael forced himself to stare at his reflection, and it was the face a stranger who stared back. "It's about whether or not I want to live," Michael whispered, closing his eyes against sudden tears as the image of Nikita flared up once again. "This isn't living," he breathed, echoing the words that had haunted him forever.

Madeline understood Michael's dilemma, and she respected his right to make his own choice. "I'm afraid it's all I have to offer," she said softly. "You have to make a decision, Michael. You have to do it now." Madeline didn't have to explain what she meant. They both knew what she was saying. Either he accepted her help or she would cancel him now. No sense in wasting time or resources. Section did not see either of them as individuals. They were a part of the collective. Bodies that performed certain functions. And if they were damaged or broke down, then they were destroyed. Much like a vaccine working on a virus. Destroying the disease in an attempt to make the whole of Section immune against further infection. It worked, to a certain degree.

"What if you can't help me?" Michael countered.

"Good question," Madeline replied, reaching out again to touch Michael. Not testing him for a response, but offering a simple caress, a mother's touch. "I've given it some thought," she confessed. "If I can't help you, Michael, then I'll see to it that you get absorbed into oversite."

Michael was surprised. He had believed that his only option was to get better or die. Simple choices. Simple fact. "Why?" he countered, his tone revealing his surprise.

Madeline offered a smile, one that was genuine. "Because I owe you that much," she replied. "So does Section." She waited a moment then asked, "What have you decided."

"To live," Michael whispered.

"Good," Madeline replied. Then she took Michael's hand and led him back to the couch. It was time to get back to work.

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

Michael stared at Walter's image. He could feel Madeline watching him, her dark eyes locked on his profile. Waiting for a physical reaction as well as a verbal response to her question. "What do I think about Walter?" he echoed, then sighed. Turning to face Madeline and locking eyes with her, Michael stated, "I trust him."

Madeline was surprised. "In what aspect?" she prompted. Walter was something of an enigma to her, much along the same lines as Michael, yet in reverse. She couldn't guess what Walter was really thinking and feeling because he said and emoted too much.

"With my life," Michael replied, without hesition. He knew that Walter had blamed him for Nikita's demise during the suicide mission over a year ago. But that didn't change the fact that Walter had come to him in the past, trusting Michael to help her. And he knew, as well, that Walter had helped Nikita to protect him a time or two. Even before Nikita's arrival, before Simone's *so called* death, Michael and Walter had formed an allegience to each other. They were as different as night and day in temperament and character, yet alike in their souls. Deep down.

"You were close to Walter once," Madeline countered, a smile curving her lips. She could see that Michael was struggling to be honest with her, yet still afraid of revealing too much. She didn't blame him.

Turning back to the TV screen, Michael nodded. "Once...." he allowed. "When I first came to Section. Before I was recreated."

Madeline was surprised by his terminology. "Recreated," she echoed. "How so, Michael?"

"Into the image of the perfect Section Operative," Michael whispered. He almost smiled when Madeline's eyes darkened. He had surprised her. "I've always known why you pushed me so hard. Operations stated the truth not long ago. There aren't many like me."

"No...there aren't," Madeline allowed. "I think that was a compliment."

Michael did smile as he replied, "Do you?"

Madeline waited for him to expound upon his statement. When Michael did nothing more than hold her gaze, Madeline forged ahead. "Tell me more about what you feel...your thoughts...about Operations. Johnny saw him as a pimp. What about you, Michael? How do you see him?"

"As god," Michael replied, almost too softly to hear. He knew that he had surprised Madeline once again, but the thrill was gone.

"Why god?" Madeline persisted. "Are you in...awe..of him?"

Michael rose from the couch and began to pace. "Once.." he confessed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His behavior was not the norm, but nothing about his current situation was normal anymore. He had lost his hold on his control, there was nothing left for him to cling to anymore. Michael was adrift. Lost. Alone. More so now than he had ever been. And for a moment his thoughts strayed to Nikita. But even she was forbidden to him now. Nothing new. Loving her had always been forbidden.

Madeline mulled over what Michael had said, letting him pace in silence for a time. Then she asked, "Do you fear him?"

"Sometimes," Michael stated. He didn't explain what he meant. That he didn't fear Operations in regard to his own life and safety, but in relation to Nikita. Michael was no fool. He knew what Operations was capable of. The man had sent him into hell more than once. Had taken Simone from him twice. His son. And still it was not enough. Never enough. Body and soul was his for the taking, and Michael had given his all. There was nothing left to give, yet he was expected to do so anyway. Would do so. Yet he was so tired. More so than he realized, for as Michael turned to face Madeline he stumbled.

"Sit down," Madeline urged him, jumping up to take Michael's arm and lead him to the couch once again. She settled him then smiled. "I know you're tired," she said gently, almost in a motherly tone. "But we need to continue."

Forcing his mind back to the present. To their purpose, Michael nodded. "Of course," he whispered. "What now?"

Madeline considered for a moment then threw out a name, abandoning the video tape for the moment. "Tell me about Birkhoff," she entreatied. "How do feel about him?"

"He's a good kid," Michael was quick to reply. There was more but he was reluctant to say it. He knew how Birkhoff felt about him. Knew the young man feared him, yet there was a certain amount of respect there as well. On both their parts. "We work together well."

"Yes, you do," Madeline conceded, then she moved on. She knew there was more to be said, but she wanted to move forward. They could go deeper into Michael's perspective of Birkhoff at a later date. "Tell me about Nikita."

Michael eyes's turned to jade ice. "No," he whispered, pulling his mask firmly back into place.

Madeline was intrigued. "Why not?"

"Not now," Michael countered, knowing that he had made a mistake by being so abrupt. Not that there was any reason to hide the truth from Madeline. She already knew what he felt about Nikita. Not that they had ever spoken of it, yet it was clear to them both. "I won't go there," Michael said firmly.

"All right," Madeline allowed, willing to let it slide for the moment. Then she threw a name out from left field, crossing her own boundaries. "How do you feel about your sister?" Madeline asked, her eyes once again locked with Michael's. She saw shadows flicker in the jade green depths for a moment, then Michael shuttered them. But he couldn't hide. Not this time.

Jumping to his feet again, Michael turned in a circle. At the mention of his sister, images washed over him. Memories of their childhood. Good memories that were quickly swallowed up by dark shadows. By pain and regret and remorse. Michael thought of all the times he had dreamed of her...and of her son. His nephew and namesake. "Maman..." Michael whispered, turning yet another circle before his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. The image of his mother suddenly filled Michael's head. Her voice echoed in his mind, and then everything blurred together and darkness swirled over him.

Madeline moved to the edge of the couch as she watched Michael. She saw his eyes go blank then fill with a brightness that soon softened. And in that moment she knew that he was someone else. And that this personality would be someone new. Waited for him to turn and face her, then watched as Michael reached for a pillow then cradled it to his chest as if he held a baby in his arms. "Hello," Madeline said softly.

"Hello," Michael replied, but his voice was soft and sweet. More delicate and decidedly French.

"I'm Madeline, what's your name?"

Michael looked at Madeline with a smile in his eyes. A sad smile. "Rhea," he whispered. "My name is Rhea."

Madeline reached out and touched a fingertip to Michael's face. She held her breath as he pressed his cheek into her palm, then she pulled away and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Rhea," she said softly. "I have to go right now, but I'll return shortly and we could talk. Would you like that?"

"Perhaps," Michael/Rhea allowed. He was humming now as he rocked the pillow.

"Interesting," Madeline whispered as she headed for the door.

*****

"Hi, Birkoff," Nikita offered in greeting. She had just returned from a mission and was still in field gear. Needed to debrief but had stolen a quick moment to check in with the computer whiz. "How's Michael doing?" she queried.

Birkhoff sighed. He had just gotten through watching the latest tape with Michael's new personality coming out. A woman. "He's...okay," Birkhoff fudged. He didn't know what else to say.

Nikita accepted it. At least Michael hadn't been cancelled. Yet. "Can he have visitors yet?" she asked, hopefully.

"No, he can't," Madeline said in response to the question, as she joined them. She locked eyes with Nikita. "Debrief then come to my office."

"What for?" Nikita countered, wondering if she were in some kind of trouble. But she couldn't remember doing anything wrong. Lately.

Madeline smiled. "We need to talk," she replied. "About Michael." With that, Madeline turned on her heel and glided away, feeling Nikita's eyes burning into her.

Nikita stared after Madeline till the other woman was out of sight, then she turned to Birkhoff. "What's that all about?" Nikita demanded, even though she could see by the look on his face that he was as confused as she was.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Birkhoff drawled, then he reached for a licorice stick. "Listen...I've got work to do. And you've got debriefing," he reminded Nikita.

"Yeah," she replied, combing her fingers through her tangled locks. "Then a meeting with Madeline." Nikita sighed. "Perfect ending to a perfect day." Throwing Birkhoff a salute, Nikita headed off. But her step was surprisingly light and a smile curved her lips. Madeline had said the magic word. Michael.

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

As Madeline waited for Nikita to appear, she studied the video of Michael as Rhea. He was still holding the pillow and rocking, tenderness showing on his face, his eyes glowing with compassion. She could guess that Rhea was the part of Michael that was emotional. The part of him he had buried the deepest. His capacity to love. His compassion. His heart. Watching him as Rhea was almost painful.

Madeline flicked off the screen then stared down at the notes she had made on her PDA. Misha was the child in Michael. His fear. Johnny was the pain and anger of using people and being used. Michael belonged to Section body and soul and inwardly it was destroying him. Rhea she had just figured out, and Raven....Madeline tapped a pen on the blotter. She believed, from her brief glimpse of Raven, that he was the killer in Michael. The cold-blooded machine that he became when on a mission. The part of him that enabled him to get the job done, no matter how he felt about it personally.

"I wonder if there is anyone else hiding in there," Madeline remarked to herself, as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She hadn't been sleeping much since Michael had fallen ill. Part of her was too fascinated by his case. The other part of her had other duties to perform. There weren't enough hours in the day. Yet Madeline considered Michael to be her first priority. The door beeped, startling Madeline out of her reverie. "Come in," she called out, forcing a smile as Nikita entered the room. Madeline gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Sit down," she invited.

Nikita dropped into the chair, her gaze wary. She didn't trust Madeline for a minute. "You said you wanted to talk about Michael," Nikita stated bluntly. Since that was what she wanted as well, she saw no reason to beat around the bush.

Madeline nodded. "Do you and Michael talk?" she questioned, deciding to be equally blunt.

"Define talk," Nikita countered, leaning forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees. "We exchange words," she conceded in the next breath. "Mostly work related."

"So...Michael doesn't confide in you?" Madeline prompted.

Nikita felt the hair rise on the back of her neck, wondering if this was yet another test. Wondering what Michael might have said in one of his sessions with Madeline. So Nikita went on the offensive. "If by *confide in me* you're asking does he bare his soul to me...then the answer is no. Michael is an extremely private person."

Madeline knew that to be a fact. More so than Nikita realized. "Has he mentioned his sister to you?"

"Once," Nikita allowed. "When Rene Dion entered his life again." Nikita confessed that much only because she figured Madeline knew about Michael's family and Rene's connection.

"Did he tell you about his parents?" Madeline continued. She was searching for something specific from Nikita. Something she couldn't yet define. But she would know it when she found it.

Nikita slouched back in her chair and twisted a lock of pale hair. "He said they died," she stated. "Why?" It was time to ask a few questions of her own.

Madeline smiled again. "I'm trying to get a background on how open Michael has become recently, with other people. To discover if he's been willing to drop his shields."

"Somehow, Madeline...I think I would be the last person Michael would ever confide in if that ever did happen," Nikita drawled, and she winced at her words, for the realization hurt her. That Michael wouldn't trust her with his heart.

"I think that you are the only one he would open up to," Madeline countered, watching closely for Nikita's reaction. The beautiful blond inhaled sharply then caught herself forcing a blank _expression. Madeline approved and continued. "Michael trusts you more than he trusts himself."

Nikita shrugged. "I don't know why," she replied, then made a confession of her own. "I've hurt him in the past. He doesn't think I trust him...so why would he trust me?"

Madeline considered whether or not to be completely honest with Nikita, and decided that there was no harm in doing so. "Michael loves you, Nikita." She watched the young woman nearly fall out of her chair then kept talking. "He can't hide it from himself, or from Section. The only reason you haven't seen it is because you've been too wrapped up in yourself. You have a very giving heart, Nikita. Except when it comes to Michael. You won't cut him any slack."

"So...why are we having this conversation, Madeline?" Nikita hissed. "A test? You looking to cancel me again? Or Michael? Maybe both of us? Or is this going to be some kind of blackmail?" Nikita stood up and felt herself shaking with fear and rage.

"No test," Madeline replied, softly. "I want us to understand each other," she stated, with complete honesty. "My only concern is Michael. How this effects you is of no interest to me. But I want to help Michael and I think I might need you to do that."

Nikita sank back down into the chair, feeling her knees go weak. Her mind and emotions were in chaos. "Why me?" she countered, her voice barely a whisper.

Madeline stood up and moved to perch on the front of her desk. She locked eyes with Nikita and made yet another confession. "Michael is fiercely protective of you, Nikita. Even now. He clings to you...the thought and image of you that he's created in his mind. You're the only light in his darkness. His only reason for being."

"I don't believe that," Nikita shot back, her eyes flashing. "Michael lives to serve Section! " she hissed. She knew that to be a fact. Had seen it time and time again.

"Michael serves Section to survive. To live." Madeline's smile faded and she leaned in to Nikita. "He does what he has to do to keep you both alive. You're a part of him. I need to know how much of you is still with him. Inside him."

Nikita was feeling like she was in the dark, stumbling about searching for a ray of light to guide her through the chaos. "What is it you want from me?" she challenged.

Madeline pulled away and returned to sit behind her desk, folding her hands in her lap and smiling coldly. "I want you to talk to Michael," she stated. "I want to see how he reacts to you. If he will feel the need to retreat and become someone else. One of the other personas."

"And if he doesn't? What then?" Nikita prompted. "Or what if he does? What if seeing me makes it worse?"

"I don't know," Madeline confessed. "We'll play it by ear. Will you help me?"

Nikita stood up then shook her head. "No, Madeline," she stated sharply. "I won't help you. But I will help Michael. Just tell me what you want me to do."

Madeline reached for the video tape of Michael's sessions. "Study this," she replied, holding out the tape. "Then we'll talk."

"Later," Nikita drawled, then she turned and glided from the room, hugging the tape to her as if it were the most precious thing in the world.