"Hi Nikita!"

"Hi Tony, did my special order come in yet?"

"I'll check and let you know."

"Thanks a bunch. I'll be over in the Mysteries." With that, Nikita ambled through the bookstore towards the Mystery section.

On the way her interest was caught by various book jackets, history of Iceland, a new DragonLord series, waterfowl of North America, and she would pause to read the covers. She took so long to reach the mysteries that Tony was waiting for her, a book in his hands. Her eyes lit up.

"It's here! That was quick."

Tony was momentarily stunned by the beauty of the blond woman. With her face animated with pleasure, she was truly captivating from the inside out.

"Glad we could get it for you. It was being phased out of print." He paused, thinking of more he could say so that he could remain in her presence a few moments longer. "You buy a lot of books. You must have quite a loaded bookshelf at home."

"No, I don't keep most of them. When I am done with reading them, I donate them to a homeless shelter."

"Uh, that's nice." Tongue-tied and not being able to think of anything that wouldn't make himself sound idiotic, he gave up, smiled and reluctantly moved away with the parting comment, "Just bring it up to the register with all the other books I am sure you are going to buy."

She smiled at that comment. But, how true it was.

Trips to the bookstore and her local library had become part of Nikita's routine. When she wasn't on a mission, she could show up daily at one of them or the other. They grew familiar with the sight of the beautiful blond striding in, stopping close to the entrance, looking around as if she were viewing something so wondrous. Then, with an anticipatory grin on her face, she would start to accumulate a stack of books in her arms to purchase or borrow.

Occasionally, Nikita would find an armchair and curl into its cushions to read, as if she didn't want even to wait until she was home. Her concentration would be deep inside the words and she wouldn't notice or pay attention to the antics of the men or boys who would be trying to get her to notice them. Teenage boys, young men, older gentlemen, they would find excuses to pull her concentration away from her book. Dropping their books at her feet, initiating conversations about her book, the weather, the local politics, she would look up in a distracted manner, smile slightly, make an appropriate closing comment and, with a sigh, rise to finish her selections.

She didn't seem to have a strong preference for reading material that anyone could ascertain. The topics were always varied, sometimes unusual, and the register or library employees would mentally try to guess what her choices would be that day as she moved towards the check-out. Nobody was aware that when Nikita had purchased the paperback to read to Michael, she had rediscovered a childhood pleasure that she had lost in the years since Section had recruited her.

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

When Nikita had lived on the streets of Sydney as a teenager, she had learned that the library could be a sanctuary for a scared lonely child.

Thankfully, the librarians wouldn't object to her presence as long as she occupied herself with reading and not with mischief as some of the others were apt to do. The too skinny blond ragamuffin would become a favorite of the staff. She would wander in, almost guilty-like, trying to remain out of the notice of anyone there. With her large blue eyes opened wide, she would duck into the floor to ceiling aisles and lose herself in whatever section of books she had darted into. She would scan the titles on a shelf and just choose one that looked interesting and plop herself down on the floor, her gangly legs tucked under her.

For hours, she would remain nearly motionless, only touching the pictures as if to receive extra input from them through her fingertips, turning the pages carefully, and her eyes would read quickly, opening wider, becoming a window to her enjoyment as she inhaled the knowledge contained. The librarians grew to enjoy her presence and would pass her portions of their lunch and discuss with her what she had read that day. She would shyly accept their offerings, smile her thanks, and reward them with an insightful interpretation of her selection of the day.

They knew she should have been in school, but they rationalized that this child of the streets would have only suffered if they had turned her into the authorities. As cautious as a young deer, she would have bolted from a harsh institutional atmosphere and they would have lost her forever from their library.

They recognized her intelligence, placed it near a genius level. She was being enriched, they reasoned, more than any school would have, and she enriched their presence. They steered her towards basic subjects like mathematics and history to round out her education, and made sure she read classic novels. They had no problem with her on this. She had touched every corner of the library during these years. Philosophy, politics, sociology, history, any kind of fiction (although she shied away from something that was violent in the extreme), biology, nothing seemed beyond this child. Nikita didn't read deeply past an initial understanding of a subject. Instead, like a butterfly, she would fly from subject to subject, with equal enjoyment of most.

At first, when the library would close for the night, they would offer her a bed for the night or a trip to the local shelter if the weather was cold or rainy. She would be polite, quietly she would always decline and assure them that she would be out of the rain or snow and would be safe. They would accept this, as they would watch the slight figure bundle her hodgepodge of old clothing around herself and trudge off down the street.

Nikita shook herself out of the memories. She had been staring at the multitude of books stretched out in front of her and remembering the pleasure of reading in the Sydney library. The world had opened up to her eager mind. Different cultures and fantastic lands were existing around the globe and she would fantasize about traveling to their shores, walking among them with confidence and purpose, fluent in many languages, admired and appreciated by a group of peers and friends who traveled with her.

There would be a special man in her fantasies. He would be tall, strong, and adore his Nikita. He would touch her constantly, holding hands, arms around her... oh, how she yearned for his warm touches. It was, to Nikita, one of the worst parts of being a homeless street rat. The lack of human contact. No mother, no father, no siblings to even shove you around with affectionate teasing. You could be walking along a crowded street and strangers, if they even acknowledged your presence, would avoid any possibility of physical contact with you, drawing their coats tighter and sidling away from your space.

But, her fantasy man would never miss an opportunity to touch her, caress her gently, or crush her in an embrace. It was an image that she planted firmly in her mind for the times she needed comfort; when she was cold and wet, huddled along a brick wall in an alley, when she was terrified of the gangs of teenage boys who would search for the 'skinny blond sheila' for some fun and games.

Nikita ruefully smiled to herself, remembering her fantasies. Where they, in some strange way, coming true? Maybe it was like the story of the genie who granted wishes, but in a very literal way. Wish for tons of gold coins and find yourself buried alive under their weight. Wish for fame and notoriety and find that you are hated and despised on a world-wide level. Wish for a vague dream lover and exciting globetrotting lifestyle, get it, then find, to your horror, the price tag wasn't anything you would choose to pay, given the choice.

She broke herself out of her reverie and glanced down at the book in her hands. Maybe this wasn't a great idea, but she wanted to try something new, expand her understanding of Michael through his reactions to her attempts at humor. She was so very tired of the heartache and mental turmoil she had been experiencing. Maybe she could have a few laughs, produce a few, breathe deeply, loosen up the tight mental pressure she could feel in her brain. Somehow, someway, she needed to balance her life between the intense physical and psychological difficulty of Section missions and her need for a 'normal' relationship with her friends and especially, Michael.

Turning the book over in her hands, she read the title aloud, "Riddles, Gags, and Practical Jokes - How to Amaze and Entertain Your Friends."

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

"Man, that was a rough mission."

Nikita wearily agreed with this sentiment spoken behind her as their ragtag team exited the van into Section hallways. She needed a shower, clean clothes, needed to visit MedLab for a bullet wound that had carved a crease along her upper arm. In the van, Michael had ripped her sleeve further to inspect it, and she had watched his face closely as he looked for signs that it might have been more serious than she had told him. She examined his expressions and realized to her amazement that she could almost hear his thoughts.

Why had she ever thought that he always had a blank stare? Others may have thought it was blank, but he was almost feeling her pain as he traced the line of the bullet path. The others may have thought it was blank, but he was feeling impatient, as he looked towards the driver's compartment, that the van was taking its time reaching Section and delaying Nikita's treatment. Others may have thought his expression never changed, but, as he looked back to her injury, she knew he was wishing he could cut her some slack and allow her to skip debriefing when they exited the van at Section.

She smiled at Michael as they reached the hallway and as he prepared to turn the other direction towards his own quarters. Yes, there it was, a slight movement of his eyes, the most minute change in his mouth. Amazing. It was like learning a new language.

He touched her arm and murmured, "You okay?"

"I'll be fine. I'll be ready to debrief in about a half an hour."

"Go to MedLab after you get cleaned up." This was an order.

"I think it's unnecessary, but I'll go, if you insist."

"I do." She gave him a rueful smile and watched his face. Now she read some reluctance to leave her. But, she was weaving on her feet and still had so much to do.

She turned down the hallway and initiated their parting. Michael went on his way.

After finally completing her debriefing and being bandaged in MedLab (no stitches, thankfully), Nikita debated staying in Section and falling into her bed here or making the effort to reach her apartment. As she passed Michael's office, she noticed the light was on over his desk. Upon closer inspection, she saw him, his face illuminated in the glow from his computer screen. She leaned in his doorway.

"I'm done. What about you?"

"I need to finish typing up my report, attach all the debriefings, and send it to Ops."

Nikita walked slowly into his office and tiredly sat down on his couch.

"Did you finish the book I left for you?"

"Yes."

"And...?," She waited for him to elaborate.

"Well-written. Accurate."

Nikita dropped her head on the back of the couch and tried to organize her thoughts and keep her eyes open at the same time. What did he say? Something about accurate?

"Ummm, good, glad you liked it." Great, she thought, intelligent give and take conversation between the two of them. Her eyelids were so heavy. Just to rest them a minute, I'll close my eyes, and when I open them Michael and I will talk and talk and....

She fell asleep.

Michael watched this whole process and allowed himself a tender smile that no one would see him make. He rose from his chair, approached the sleeping Nikita and debated what he should do about this. Not the most comfortable couch for sleeping, but she looked so exhausted. He had no pillow so he rolled up his jacket that he had previously thrown on the back of the couch, then eased Nikita's head down to lay on its bundled cushioning, her body laying naturally on the side of her arm. He made sure to lay her down so that her injured arm was on top and not trapped under her body. He had already accessed MedLab records and knew that she had refused oral painkillers. Michael then slowly eased her legs up onto the couch. She murmured his name and smiled. Something twinged in his chest when she spoke his name in her dreams. He opened his utility closet and removed a blanket that he used for the times he would sleep over in his office. After unfolding it, he gently covered Nikita, tucking it around her shoulders and making sure she was totally wrapped in its warmth. At this, she sleepily opened her eyes halfway and looked up at him.

"Oh, Michael, I wanted to ask you something. What was it?" All this spoken in a hushed and singsong voice that was closer to sleep than being awake. He crouched down by her side and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingertips to soothe her back into sleep.

"Oh yeah." Big yawn and her eyes drifted shut.

She was almost there, but one last deep breath of air produced this question, "What do you do with an elephant with three balls?"

He couldn't have been anymore stunned if she had executed a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. What did that question mean?

Unfortunately, the answer would have to wait. She was deeply asleep again.

Michael worked on typing his report, but periodically glanced at Nikita. He enjoyed looking at her. She had shifted in her sleep and was cradling his jacket under her head. He didn't allow himself any fantasies though. He wouldn't let himself imagine what it would be like to fold that blanket back, slowly peel away her clothing one piece at a time, kissing, licking every exposed piece of flesh, nibbling her fingers, pressing his lips to the pulse point in her wrist, smelling her unique fragrance in the soft skin in the bend of her arm, moving to her shoulder...Whoa, Michael had to shake his head slightly to stop the progression of his thoughts. After a few deep breaths and some physical adjustment, he diverted his mind to the task of deciphering her strange words as she fell asleep.

Did she expect some answer from him? His mind chewed on possibilities. Coming up with very few, stress induced mental breakdown was one, he elected to choose the most obvious and least alarming. It was some kind of riddle. Humor. Her files indicated a tendency to be optimistic and idealistic, but Section psychologists didn't analyze if a person had a sense of humor. Given the circumstances of their induction into Section, how could anybody be expected to be light-hearted enough to make jokes? Had never happened in his many years in Section. What was going on in Nikita's mind? And what was the answer to that riddle?

************ Better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness. -Chinese Proverb

Nikita started telling jokes.

She was fascinated with the preferences that different people had concerning what would make them laugh. Most of the time, after she had broken the ice, many would respond with their favorite joke or riddle and they would share a laugh together.

Walter liked the bawdy jokes, limericks in particular.

"Fellow from Nantucket?"

"Heard it Walter."

"Two scientists down with the Sioux?"

"Walter!"

"Heard the one about Casanova?"

Nikita paused. Then she answered slowly and cautiously, "No, let's hear it."

"Casanova, as minstrels have sung, Was arrested and never got sprung. But how could they say, "He just withered away," When we all know he must have been hung?"

"Oh, Walter, you are so naughty."

"I was born that way, sugar."

"Now, that I would believe." Nikita thought a minute, then, "Oh, Walter, I have a joke for you!"

"Let's hear it."

"What did the elephant say when he saw the naked man?"

Walter smiled and waited for the answer.

"Looks fine, but can it pick up peanuts?"

Walter was still chuckling, shaking his head, and muttering "pick up peanuts" when she left his area.

***

That same day, when Michael, Nikita, Birkoff, Walter, and Madeline were sitting at the conference table waiting for Ops to show up and start the briefing, Nikita, with a twinkle in her eye and a repressed smile playing around her lips, and just loud enough for the rest of the table to hear if they were listening, asked Walter, "Say, Walter, what did Adam say to Eve on the occasion of their first intimate encounter?

A smile on Walter's face had been gradually widening as she asked her question and he pretended to ponder the question with all the concentration in the world.

Finally, "I don't know. What did he say?"

"Stand back, Eve, we have no idea how big this thing is going to get." Walter burst out laughing and laid his head on the table, his shoulders heaving. The rest of the team had different reactions, from a smile hidden behind Madeline's mouth to Birkoff leaning his head back, eyes wide open, and pulling his mouth tight to hold his laughter inside. Michael's expression didn't change, at least that's what the rest of the group would have said. But, Nikita noticed a slight widening of his eyes, very slight, and a minute flair to his nostrils.

Operations chose that moment to walk in. He surveyed this unusual sight and didn't follow his customary procedure of launching into his briefing before he would even get around the table. He walked all the way to his spot before fixing his gaze on Walter, who, by now, had contained his mirth and was wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Glad you enjoy these briefings so much, Walter."

That man could suck all the humor out of a room like an exhaust vent removing the air, Nikita thought to herself. But, even she understood that it was time to take care of business. Everybody's full, serious, attention was now focused on Ops and he began to fill them in on the next mission.

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

Dr. Pierce enjoyed knock-knock jokes. And puns so bad that they made you groan. She discovered that when she went in for her routine lab tests. All operatives were required, depending on their level, to submit to regular and random drug screening.

Kevin, a MedLab technician, had just snapped a rubber tube around Nikita's upper arm and was searching for a vein with his fingertips on the inside of her elbow when Dr. Pierce breezed into the room.

"Nikita! I was hoping to catch you."

"Dr. Pierce, always a pleasure. What can I do for you?"

"Ah, young lady, if I were many years younger, I would have a different answer for you, but actually, I've heard you were exhibiting a sense of humor and had told a few jokes around Section."

"People are talking about it?" Kevin found the vein and stabbed the needle in and removed the rubber tubing.

"This is a very insular community down here. Everybody notices everything about everybody."

"Well, its true. I decided to lighten myself up a bit. What do you think?" Kevin looked up from watching Nikita's blood fill the vial. His eyes rolled as if he knew what was coming next.

For an answer, Dr. Pierce's smile widened and he said, "Knock, knock."

Nikita gave the expected answer with an fond, indulgent look, "Who's there?"

"Shelby."

"Shelby who?"

"Shelby coming around the mountain when she comes." Dr. Pierce broke into chuckles of mirth and Nikita giggled more at his enjoyment than the joke.

Kevin placed a piece of cotton over the needle and pulled it out. He left the cotton in place, folded her arm up and Nikita knew to keep it that way for a minute or so.

Dr. Pierce's chuckling at his knock, knock joke wound down. "Wait, I've got another great one."

Nikita smiled and waited.

"What did they call the chicken that crossed the road?"

"What?"

"Poultry in motion." Dr. Pierce clearly loved his own jokes. What a dear man, Nikita thought.

Kevin returned to Nikita's side with the small plastic cup. This time it was Nikita who rolled her eyes.

"Listen, after I give Kevin here his free sample, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me in the lunchroom?"

Dr. Pierce answered, "I would love to, my dear. I have a million more great jokes where these came from."

"I'll be right back," as she headed for the small washroom attached to the exam room.

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

The Whoopee Cushion may have... no, it definitely had been a mistake.

Most of the practical jokes mentioned in her book were either impractical to attempt in Section or downright impossible. The author recommended some easy physical gags; flies in plastic ice cubes, gum that turned peoples' mouth different colors, cans that would have a giant spring pop out when they were opened. All of these had Nikita crinkling her nose up and shaking her head. But the whoopee cushion. That tickled her funny bone. How absurd, how simple.

Nikita had thought long and hard about who to grace with that gag and had come to the conclusion that a group of convicted murderers who were routinely supplied with high tech weapons of destruction might not be the ideal group to pull that on. Operations and Madeline would consider it justifiable cancellation if she had been shot by an operative who was upset about being the butt of that joke. Nikita laughed for half an hour when she envisioned putting a whoopee cushion under Operations or Madeline's seat, but never seriously entertained the real notion to include them. Ops would have pulled a gun out and shot her himself. Madeline would have given her to the torture twins for punishment.

But, wait, didn't Birkoff tell her that he hadn't killed anybody to get in this place? He was so happy to have her back in Section. He was a good sport, wasn't he? She just had to do this to somebody.

In retrospect she wondered where the heck her brains had gone that morning.

She waited until there was nothing urgent happening in Section. Granted it seem that something was always going down somewhere in the world, but, this morning, the action in the command center appeared to one of monitoring conditions and compiling research.

Nikita casually strolled into the computer center, the whoopee cushion held casually down by her side and slightly hidden by the folds of her coat. Birkoff was across the room looking over somebody's shoulder as the man sat analyzing a computer readout of satellite transmissions. Nikita anticipated that Birkoff would be back to his regular seat any second.

Quick, she thought, nobody seems to be looking. She swiftly lifted the thin cushion covering the hard plastic and placed the whoopee cushion, already inflated, on top of the hard plastic. Replacing the cushion over it, she was horrified to notice that the cushion no long sat flat and was mounded in the center. Oh nuts, he'll notice that. She glanced around to see if anyone had seen her movements and to give her time to consider her options.

Oh no, two technicians were watching her with a fascinated look on their faces. The kind of look you give to a daredevil who was attempting a feat that you would never in your wildest fantasies attempt yourself. Walter, at his station, was also watching her, with the same look, which was then replaced with a quick shaking of his head, as if to warn her, no no, don't do it! Michael stood at the door of his office, as if he had been alerted in some way, mental vibes, who knows, but he watched with his most stoic expression.

Cripes, that was the tip-off. This was a mistake! She stepped back to remove the cushion, but it was too late. In her inspection of the people surrounding her, she had missed seeing Birkoff heading back into the immediate area, until he was right next to Nikita, who was blocking access to his chair.

"Nikita."

"Huh?" "You're in my way. Move it."

She backed away and he watched her odd movements, but shrugged and pulled his chair around to the back of his legs.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita saw Operations and Madeline approaching. Could this get any worse? Oh no, please no, go somewhere else, she thought frantically to herself. But in slow motion, with the feeling that she was watching a freight train heading for the crossing where she stood in frozen fear on the tracks, Nikita backed away and watched as Birkoff sat down with a decided plop, hands already poised above his keyboard.

BBRRRRAAAAPPPPPTTTT

Everybody stood stunned in silence after the last pooting sound was completed. Unfortunately, with all the tension she had built up inside of her within the last few minutes, Nikita incriminated herself instantly by bursting into giggles so hysterically that she had to lean against a pole to keep from falling to the floor. After a few moments, wiping her eyes to see better, she sobered quickly when she realized that she was the only person laughing. Not the only person reacting though. Birkoff had a look on his face that promised retribution, she didn't know he could produce a look that lethal. Walter had his back turned, so she couldn't see his face. No help there. Michael looked, well, stunned, she would have to guess. Operations looked grim, then looked over to Madeline, who looked even more grim. Madeline responded,

Nikita, my office now."

Nikita hadn't attended high school but she imagined that this was what a principal's office would be like when you had just been summoned for some huge, monstrous infraction of the rules. Madeline lectured her long into the afternoon about maintaining discipline in Section, acting like a juvenile, and respect for the professionalism of her peers. Nikita didn't bother to make excuses. She didn't even want to trot out what she felt was the most valid excuse: temporary insanity. She listened and gave the appropriate answers to indicate that she knew remorse and resisted the impulse to say 'yes, ma'am' or 'no ma'am.'

When Nikita finally was able to leave Madeline's office after swearing she would never, no, never, pull a physical joke in Section again, Nikita leaned her body and then her head back against Madeline's door feeling drained and numb inside. She turned her head slightly when she thought she detected some sound from inside Madeline's office. So faint, but could that be laughter? Having never heard Madeline laugh, she couldn't be sure. Then it was gone. No, must have been some electronic noise or maybe something Madeline had just put on her monitor. That must be it.

Nikita walked cautiously towards Birkoff. His back was to her. She walked up behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and said, before he could speak, "Seymour, I am really, really sorry about doing that to you. Please forgive me. Please?" The last please was spoken on a high squeaky note with all the apology she could muster into it.

He immediately responded, "Sure, no problem. I've already gone past it."

Whew, Nikita thought, and turned away intending to go to the grocery story immediately and buy this wonderful guy some oreos. No wait, he deserves the double stuff ones. As she walked away, he called back to her and she stopped, without turning around,

"Say, Nikita, why did the dumb blond ...." Closing her eyes in resignation, she knew then what the manner of his revenge was gong to be.

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

"Nikita, a blonde and a brunette jumped out of a 10 story office building. Who hits the ground first? Give up? The brunette. The blonde stopped to ask for directions."

"Madeline chewed me out all afternoon. Didn't I suffer through that?"

"Not enough. Nikita, how do you put a sparkle in a blonde's eye? Shine a flashlight in her ear."

"Everybody sympathizes with you. Nobody laughed."

"Except you. Nikita, how do you drown a blonde? Put a mirror on the bottom of a swimming pool."

"Please Birkoff, I am sincerely sorry about the whoopee cushion. Can't you forgive me?"

"Not yet. What do you call a brunette standing between two blondes? An interpreter."

"Can I get you a coke? Or more oreos?"

"Yeah, that would be okay. How do you keep a blonde busy for hours? Have her alphabetize a bag of M&M's.

"Look, I have brought you enough oreos and snack foods to last you for months. I bring you a coke whenever you want one. I have groveled and begged you to forgive me. Are you ever going to stop these dumb blonde jokes?"

"Yeah, right now."

She was startled by the suddenness of his granting her request. "I'm not complaining, mind you, but what changed your mind?"

"I'm running out of the clean ones. And I was never mad enough at you to hurt you with the raunchy ones."

She kissed the top of his head and murmured for his ears alone, "Thank you, Seymour."

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

"You got off easy, sugar."

"I know, Walter. I went overboard with the whoopee cushion." Nikita was leaning against Walter's worktable as he cleaned revolvers. The smell of gun oil was strong.

"I like this sense of humor you've developed though. Some of your jokes are getting passed around Section and probably into subsections around the world."

Nikita smiled at this. "I feel better, too. Can't say that I am totally comfortable with some of the things I am asked to do here, but I am not wound so tight as before."

Michael's quiet voice spoke from behind her. "Glad to hear that."

"Michael!" Nikita stood and whirled around. She immediately started analyzing his expression and found that he looked a bit more relaxed than usual. And was that a twinkle in his eye and a tiny smile playing around his lips?

"I found an answer to a question you asked me."

Nikita thought back to what question she had asked him that he had left unanswered. What was he talking about?

"The question was, what do you do with an elephant with three balls?"

Nikita's eyes widened. She didn't remember asking him that. She had meant to.

Her mouth curled into an impish grin. "So, what is the answer?" She wondered if he had heard this old joke before, figured it out himself, or asked someone else if they knew the joke.

Actually, Michael had accessed joke archives on the Web until he had found the joke and the punch line.

"Walk him and pitch to the rhino."

Nikita burst out laughing and clapped her hands a few times. Walter beamed with pleasure, watching the byplay between the two of them.

"Michael, are you through for the day?"

"Yes." He paused and asked cautiously, "Would you allow me to buy you dinner?"

Nikita gave him a look filled with the knowledge of the history of meals that never happened for them for one reason or another. She gave him a rueful look and shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe later." Michael's head dropped slightly and he looked resigned to spending his evening without her again. Nikita walked around the table and linked her arm through his.

"I'm on my way to the library. Want to come with me?"

Michael smiled slightly, but so sweetly that a tear came to Nikita's eye. He gazed intently into her eyes. "Yes, I would enjoy that."

Nikita smiled back and together they walked towards the exit.

"They have the most wonderful art appreciation section. I was fascinated with ....." Her voice trailed off as they moved away. Walter noticed that Michael's penetrating stare never left Nikita's face.

Walter watched them as they turned the corner and disappeared from his sight. He looked up towards the direction of heaven, said a prayer to any gods listening to him for Michael and Nikita. May they be allowed to find the joy in each other that they so richly deserve.

Then, Walter went back to the task of cleaning the guns.

The End (Continued in Sir Michael of Locksley)

From Tina:
I love inspirational thoughts and poetry and found this poem that
made me think of Nikita. .

Comes the Dawn
by Virginia Shopstall

After awhile you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean possession
and company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises and you begin to accept
your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build your roads today
because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight.
After awhile you learn that even sunshine
burns if you get too much so you plant your
own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn.....

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