Heading for Michael's office to present him with the mission profile, Nikita quietly made her way through the catwalk above the main corridor. She stopped suddenly when she overheard terse words below between Madeline and Operations.

"I don't think that was the right call." Madeline was uncharacteristically furious as she reprimanded Operations for shooting her interrogation subject resulting in an abruptly-ended session.

"It's over. Why are we still talking about it?" Operations was clearly annoyed with her.

"I wanted you to know how I feel," she said impatiently.

"Great, *now* I know," he barked back.

Once in Michael's office, Nikita handed Michael the mission profile. Nikita wondered "What's going on between Ops and Madeline?"

"What do you mean?" Michael responded impassively, never taking his eyes from the PDA.

"They had an argument."

"Probably over the Glasgow mission." He was uninterested.

"This was *personal*." Nikita found the exchange between Madeline and Operations to be very telling -- it seemed like jealousy, or a conflict of control. She just couldn't quite put her finger on it exactly, but she knew that the remarks had cut deep for them both.

Michael finally looked up into Nikita's beautiful face, which was wound with curiosity. He couldn't help but take a moment to relish her beauty. It always caused him to pause. Finally, as he gazed into her aqua eyes, he spoke softly "They have known each other for a long time."

"Did they know each other before Madeline came to Section?" She could not let it go.

"I don't know." Michael went back to studying the mission profile.

"Well, I know something. They were lovers. Maybe not any more, but they were once."

"What difference does it make?" He had tired of this conversation.

Nikita regarded him carefully. What she was about to say was crucial to her at this point in their relationship. Things had been cool between them since the Armel mission. Once again, Michael had pulled away from her.

Michael had been so affectionate and caring on that mission. He had held her to his heart each night as they slept. He lovingly touched her, he talked to her, he treated her with respect and kindness. He protected her from the ever-present cameras and finally, even though ordered by Section, they mutually consented to searing lovemaking knowing they were being watched. When his caresses continued and his kisses deepened, soon they were lost in their own orbit. Their lovemaking was intense and possessive. He had been wild with desire and had taken her hard and fast, bringing them both to ecstasy within a matter of minutes. For hours after, they continued to touch each other, to caress, to kiss, to make love over and over. Michael had been more passionate than she had ever thought possible.

Then, the mission was over and he had hedged about his feelings while talking with her in the Section corridors. It had given her hope, though, since he was, she reasoned, at least admitting to *having* feelings for her. But that was weeks ago and he had closed down again.

"What difference does it make whether they were lovers," he had said. Well, to her, it was the difference between night and day, life or death. Nikita knew his positive response to her next statement would help assuage the loneliness and uncertainty that she was feeling about their relationship when she stated, "It can be done."

Michael stood up from his desk. He never took his eyes from hers. He moved in very close to Nikita and whispered, "A lot of things can be done ... doesn't mean they should be."

Nikita stared into his steel-gray eyes in disbelief. His words were unexpected and they crashed over her like a cement wall falling without warning. Finally, finding the strength to speak, Nikita sadly whispered, "I see, Michael."

She desperately searched his eyes. They revealed no emotion or feelings. She felt the hot sting of tears welling up at the back of her eyes. Her breaking voice could hardly speak the words when she said quietly, "All right, Michael, you have made yourself clear."

Nikita stood there looking at him for a moment, hoping he would pull her into his arms and take it back, explain himself. When he didn't, she felt her heart shatter in a million pieces. She slowly turned, opened the door and walked away. She never looked back.

Staring straight ahead, Nikita walked quickly through the comm center, numb and dazed. Birkoff looked up as she walked past his station.

Intuitively, he knew not to call out to her. She would not have heard him anyway. His eyes followed her until she was gone. He glanced over to Michael's office and saw him watching Nikita as she disappeared from view. Birkoff thought he saw a glimpse of sadness in Michael's expression, but just as quickly, it was gone and Michael backed into his office and closed the door.

Nikita turned into the egress corridor where there was no activity. Ironically, it was the same location she and Michael stood months ago after her return to Section. It was here that he began his steady withdrawal from her. It was here that he told her that they would have to be careful, that he did not know when they would be together again. When she told him she was tired of being careful, it was here that he told her to "get over it." The memories flooded over her in waves making her dizzy and nauseous. She was overcome with despair.

Michael's meaning had been clear. Nikita always knew he could find a way for them to be together. It had been done. Operations and Madeline had done it. Michael, himself, had done it with Simone. It could be done. But now, Nikita knew the truth. He didn't *want* to do it. He didn't want her. He didn't love her enough to find a way. He didn't love her.

Nikita pressed her back against the wall in a dark corner of the deserted corridor. Slowly, she slid down the cold steel and sank to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She closed her eyes and lowered her head into her arms as her golden hair cascaded over her body.

The tears poured out in puddles staining her silk blouse. Nikita was swallowed by grief. It shook her very soul. Before her mind's eye, her macabre life blazed before her in a montage of sadness: Rejected by a drunken mother that didn't love her, thrown out into the streets, living in constant fear; sucked into the stark and inhumane world of Section. Nikita grieved for a life that was lost to her; for the children she could never have; for the man she would not be allowed to love. She was shattered, heart-broken. Part of her was dying and at that very moment, she could feel the most important thing she still owned slipping away: Hope.

Soon enough, Operations would see the change in Nikita. He would be triumphant and giddy with power -- his top op was back under his control.

Just as Operations had demanded, Michael had finally completed Nikita's training. He had done it. He had crushed her.

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

Nikita was lost in a whirlpool of depression, yet, she heard a soft voice calling to her. Startled from her reverie, she focused her eyes to see a concerned set of eyeglasses looking at her. Birkoff was crouched in front of her, "Nikita, it's time for the briefing; everyone's waiting for you."

Birkoff was as gentle as he knew how to be.

"Here, I've brought these for you." He handed her a few tissues and a pair of purple sunglasses that he had grabbed from her backpack that she had left at his station.

Nikita looked up at him. He was struck by the grief in her eyes and the tear stains on her cheeks. She looked lost and broken.

"Come on, Nikita, we have to go." He stood up, held out his hand, and pulled her up.

"You'll be okay."

"Thanks" was all she could muster in a voice below a whisper. Nikita wiped away the tears, put on the sunglasses and followed him to the briefing table where she took her seat.

At the briefing, Nikita stared into the wall ahead. She neither moved nor spoke. She heard Operations' voice, but nothing registered.

Numbness had set in and she felt herself slipping further into despair.

Michael watched her carefully from his position at the table, willing her to meet his gaze. He was desperate to communicate his apology. Her eyes never left the wall in front of her.

A sharp pain grasped at his chest. He felt a wave of fear wash over him. At that moment, he realized that he had lost her for good. It surprised him, after all, he had crafted the rejection scenario in an attempt to push her away. Once again, he underestimated the pain he would feel at losing her.

He had miscalculated. He thought that just *knowing* she was alive and having her around would be enough. Suddenly it occurred to him, he could not survive without her. He kicked himself. This was a sloppy mistake.

As the briefing concluded, Nikita rose and quietly left the area. Birkoff watched sadly, knowing there was nothing more he could do for her. He felt a twinge pull at this heart.

At Walter's station, Nikita was merely going though the motions. She received her gear. She checked her ammunition. She inspected her vest. It was all done by rote. She felt her legs carry her to egress. She felt Michael's intense gaze upon her face. She passed by him. She did not look at him and she entered the elevators.

Nikita stepped into the waiting van and took a place at the bench seat at the back of the van. Michael entered and sat forward. His eyes never left her.

The trip to destination would be a long one -- twelve hours of sitting in the van waiting for Mowen to retrieve the sample. Michael and Nikita would be alone. The thought of it seemed like torture to Nikita as she began to emerge from her self-induced trance. Finally, she was beginning to come back to reality and size things up.

Nikita wondered why she felt such pain over Michael's simple rejection earlier in his office. He had done this so many times before. Why now? What was different? Why would she feel such finality with his words this time?

Then, it came to her. Immediately after the Armel mission, Nikita had sensed a new understanding between them. She knew their twisted relationship would never be what she hoped it could be in her dreams ... she even accepted that fact. But now, she knew for certain that he had not accepted it. He was done. He wasn't even going to try to have any kind of relationship with her. And with that realization, she lost all hope. She was dying and she could feel her heart crumbling. It was more than devastating ... she never had given up hope before.

Sitting on the bench in the van, Nikita curled herself up against the wall. Finally, she drifted off to sleep hoping that she could find some relief in unconscious slumber, at least for a little while.

He never took his eyes off her.

Michael knew this could not go on. There was a mission ... a crucial one at that. Thousands of lives were at stake. Nikita had to snap out of it. She had to be ready. And so, he began to formulate a plan.

Nikita began to stir. She had dozed for an hour or so and when she awoke, she was heartened that she felt somewhat better.

Michael activated the scrambler. If he had to manipulate her, it would be done in private.

"Nikita."

She turned her eyes to him. She waited.

"Nikita," he said slowly and softly locking eyes with hers. He waited. "I'm sorry, Kita."

And with those words, spoken by him once too often, Nikita's fury exploded. She picked up the closest unsecured object and hurled it straight into his chest. Cold coffee splattered over his clothes and his face. Startled, he looked down at this clothing and then quickly up to her eyes. This response from her was ... unexpected. And, the coffee mug slamming into his chest hurt like hell.

They stared at one another for several moments. Michael was frozen -- he was unsure what Nikita would do next. Clearly, his plan to manipulate her into focusing on the mission had to be abandoned. At this point, he knew she would not fall for seduction, nor would she buy into angry demands. As was becoming increasingly more frequent, he didn't know what the hell to do with her.

Finally, Nikita spoke. Her words were slow, stern, and deliberate. "You are *SUCH*A*JERK*. I can't believe I have wasted so much of my time loving you. You could never love me back, nor do you want to. You are a selfish bastard. You think you're such a tough guy ... you can kill without giving it a second thought. But when it comes to me, you have no balls at all. I've told you this before, and I'm telling you again ... WE ARE FINISHED."

Nikita turned her back to him and began studying her PDA.

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

Once Michael recovered from the shock of her furious words, a small smile crept upon his face. *Damn, she's beautiful when she's pissed off,* he thought. He never knew anyone like Nikita. She always kept him off center. And as he sopped up the coffee from his face and clothes, he shook his head and laughed to himself.

It was hopeless. He had to admit to himself that he loved her and with every new surprise, his love for her deepened. She had him. He would never be free of her. It was time to accept it and figure out a way to live with it.

Michael slowly rose from his side of the van and walked toward her. Nikita could feel the heat of his body inching closer to hers. Her heart was racing, but outwardly, she willed herself to be steady. *Not this time* she thought, *he's not going to manipulate me -- not this time*.

He sighed as he sat down beside her. Her back faced him.

"Nikita."

"Go away."

He waited and took a deep breath. *She can be such a bitch sometimes* he thought.

"Nikita, I need to say something."

She waited.

"Kita, how do you see this working?"

She waited. Her eyes shifted, untrusting. Her back was still turned to him. She did not answer.

He sighed. "Everyone I have ever loved is dead They *WILL*KILL*US*. I have no doubt of this. I will *not* allow this to happen to you."

Still, she was silent. Tears welled in her eyes. He could hear her catch her breath. Nikita knew it took a lot for him to say these things. It was nearly, for Michael anyway, an admission of love. But not good enough.

She waited.

Michael shook his head. *Who's manipulating who here?* he thought in resignation. *Madeline would be proud of her.*

Silent moments dragged on, neither one offering anything more to the other. Finally, Michael wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pulled her back to him. He dropped his head into her shoulder and buried his face into her silky hair. He breathed in the fresh scent of her shampoo as his lips pressed gently against her neck. He was overcome by her warmth and softness. He was lost to her the moment he touched her. *As usual* he thought.

"Kita" his voice was low and husky. But as her silence continued, he became desperate.

"Kita, please," he begged.

And, when still she did not answer, he sighed deeply and with all the honesty and sincerity he possessed, said softly into her shoulder ...

"Nikita, I love you."

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

*He said it ... I heard him say it!* Nikita's heart stopped. Michael had spoken those words to her with love and raw honesty. Nothing ever sounded so sweet. Nikita felt dizzy, her eyelids slowly closed, her moist lips parted, her breath caught. She turned her neck slightly so that he could move in closer.

"Je'taime, Je'taime, Kita" he whispered over and over between soft kisses. Michael was drowning in desire. His senses were overloaded, tingling. They sat on the bench of the van, Nikita's back faced his hard chest. He pulled her closer. His breath was heavy.

Michael kissed her neck and nuzzled her soft hair. His arms wrapped around her and began to move over her cotton T-shirt, kneading her soft flesh. He caressed her stomach, rubbed his hands over her thighs, back to her stomach, softly, gently. His hands made their way to her breasts and massaged them ever so tenderly. Nikita leaned back into him tightly and with that movement, most of Michael's coherent thoughts disappeared. The feel of her body rubbing against his was intoxicating. The only thought he could string together was that this special woman was heating his cold heart at rapid speeds. Together, they were lost in a warm pool of sensual sensation.

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

"MICHAEL, REPORT." Birkoff's frantic voice boomed through the speakers sending shock waves through Michael and Nikita's bodies. Immediately, they pulled apart and stood simultaneously, snapping to attention.

"MICHAEL, WE HAVE LOST AUDIO AND VIDEO FROM YOU, R-E-P-O-R-T N-O-W." Operations shouted over the radio.

Their eyes flew to the video screen. Fear gripped them.

Nikita shook her head and raised her hand against the wall to steady herself. Suddenly, she was propelled like a rocket back to reality. She looked around quickly to meet Michael's eyes. As she looked into his face, the Michael who was there a moment ago had vanished. This Michael's expression was cold and hard. The transformation was so quick, she didn't even see it happen.

That magical moment was lost forever and reality returned like a lightening bolt.

Michael quickly left her side without glancing her way. He moved to the communication equipment. He deactivated the scrambler. His fingers flew over the keyboard and he went back to work. Didn't even lose a beat. He was a machine; no feelings, no emotions.

Nikita watched in horror. It felt like she had been forcibly plunged into a vat of freezing cold water. Her mind was reeling. "What the hell was I thinking.* Her lips tightened and her jaw clenched. *Ughh, HE DID IT AGAIN* she seethed to herself. *How could I be so STUPID.*

Three hours passed. Michael concentrated on the mission, made plans, communicated with Birkoff. He never spoke to Nikita. He rarely looked at her.

Nikita was furious, then deeply disappointed. Once again, she realized she had been *had.* All he really wanted to do earlier was divert her anger and seduce her into focusing on the mission. She sighed, closed her eyes, and furrowed her brows. Life was crap. This was all it would ever be. Waking every day to misery and death. Coping with constant fear. Nikita opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling of the van. Hot tears streamed down her face. She felt defeated and ... alone.

The mission was a difficult one involving Red Cell and an anthrax variant. Mowen had been sent in to investigate the suspected warehouse in Glasgow where the Red Cell renegades were believed to be manufacturing the biochemicals. It was empty, but Mowen collected residue and was on his way back to HQ so that the toxin could be analyzed. Michael and Nikita were to stay in Glasgow to conduct surveillance on the abandoned warehouse.

Finally, Michael finished his work. He severed all communication with HQ for the next four hours, having conjured up an excuse about avoiding radio detection by Red Cell. He needed some time to deal with Nikita in private.

Birkoff got Michael's true message. It wouldn't be difficult to cover for them. Section was in turmoil. Mowen had returned with the sample and shortly thereafter, HQ was under quarantine. Dozens of operatives, including Madeline, had been infected. There were too many other problems to deal with to worry about Michael and Nikita.

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

Michael took a deep breath and looked over at Nikita. *Well, this ought to be interesting* he thought wearily. He could feel the icy tension in the air and as he continued to look at her, he felt imaginary bullets being shot at him.

She met his gaze with fire. Her arms were folded tightly over her heart as if protecting it from further exposure. She waited.

For Michael, Nikita was a staggering dilemma. Why the hell did he want to work so hard at something that was only going to bring them both heartache and pain? He continued to wonder: Why was he so drawn to her? And, while the multitude of reasons itemized themselves into a nice, neat outline, he braced himself for the onslaught of her rage. He would take it ... he had to. He couldn't live without her. He loved her. And that was the bottom line.

He decided to take the offensive. He stayed at the comm center. She stayed at the back of the van.

"Nikita, what did you want me to do? Ignore Operations? We are here on a mission."

She took a deep breath to calm herself. She willed herself to be logical, reasonable. And ... she waited.

"Do you think I was doing a *job* earlier?"

"Yes, Michael, I do," she stated calmly.

Michael stared at her in disbelief. *How the hell could she think that?* He wasn't sure what to do next. But, he knew he was getting tired of groveling.

"It was *not* a job," he hissed through clenched teeth. Nikita decided it was now or never. Time to speak up. Tell him how she saw it.

"Michael, I am sick to death of you using me, manipulating me, pretending to care one minute and being cold as ice the next. Why can't you just be honest about how you feel? Why must you be so secretive? Why always the seduction with me? It breaks my heart. If you don't care, leave my heart out of it, don't lead me on. I just can't take it anymore -- don't want to."

Michael did not respond. Didn't know what to say. He stared at her in confusion. *Why doesn't she understand me? I'm not trying to break her heart -- I'm trying to win it.*

"Jurgen was right, Michael. You are incapable of loving anyone, because you don't love yourself."

And with those words, his fury exploded.

"How DARE you bring up Jurgen. Do you have *any* idea how much your betrayal with him hurt me?" His lips were tight. His words were terse.

"EXCUSE ME? *MY* B-E-T-R-A-Y-A-L?" She couldn't believe what she just heard.

"Yes, Nikita, it tore my heart out, you being with him."

"Michael, that is such BULLS**T and you know it. YOU drove me to Jurgen; don't twist it into being *all* my fault. YOU did not want me, REMEMBER?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm. "And as far as betrayal is concerned, you are the freakin' MASTER of betrayal".

"Oh, now *that* is BULLS**T. Nikita, I either have no choice or I do it to protect you. And, you think I don't want you? I've never wanted anyone more in my life. It's a pain in the ass. Living with you is not a breeze. You're difficult and stubborn. You refuse to accept that we have to be careful." He was enraged.

"I'm difficult and stubborn? HAH. Don't worry, Michael, being *careful* won't be a problem anymore." She was blazing.

"Fine!" he barked.

"Fine!" she spat.

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

Neither spoke to the other for over an hour. They sat at opposite sides of the van. The air was stifling. But, as they calmed down, both were beginning to realize that this argument had become childish.

They lived in a twisted and cruel world. Nothing could ever be *normal* for them. It simply was not possible. And, as it had happened between them time and time again, they both came to these same conclusions simultaneously. No sense in fighting over it.

Nikita thought it through. Well, logically, when Birkoff called earlier, of course, they had to respond. It had been ridiculous for her to think that they could ignore the call and instead jump each other. She wondered: What was it that she wanted from this guy anyway?

Suddenly, the realization hit -- Michael simply could not give himself completely to her. He just did not know how. There wasn't that much there. Section had stripped him of all his possessions, materially, physically, and emotionally. This crippled man was reaching out to her, trying to offer her what little there was to give.

She never had much in her life anyway ... why couldn't she just accept what he had to offer and be grateful for it? Maybe she could do this, she thought, but there had to be some ground rules. She began to formulate her expectations.

Michael watched her in amazement. He could see her mulling over the situation; he could see the wheels turning over in her mind. *A total package* he thought with admiration. Beauty, body, brains. A spirit that was aglow. Instincts beyond compare. Love, honesty, innocence. All of it adding up to a formula that was too powerful for him to fight. A force he could not resist. Useless to try.

Minutes passed. He could never stay angry at her. All she had to do was look at him with those doe eyes and he was done. She was an impossible opponent. It would be easier doing hand-to-hand combat with a battalion of armed terrorists. He lost to her every time.

He decided to make the first move.

"Nikita." He rose from his seat and slowly walked toward her then stopped in front of her.

"What?" She said quietly while looking up to him to meet his eyes.

"Let's work this out. I want to try." His eyes were soft, his voice sincere. He was holding his breath awaiting her answer.

She waited ... but only momentarily. A soft, sweet, but sad smile appeared upon her beautiful lips. She was a sucker for him, couldn't give him up. She'd rather stop breathing instead.

He let out a sigh of relief.

Nikita reached for Michael's hands and held them gently in hers. Her eyes never left his. She felt his fingers lace through hers. They communicated volumes without even speaking. *I'm sorry.* *I know.* *I didn't mean to hurt you.* *I understand.* *I need you.* *And I you.* *Please help me.* *I will.*

Michael slowly pulled her to her feet. Every so gently, he drew her closer. His eyes caressed her lips, then back to her eyes. Nikita's hands slowly ran up Michael's muscular arms and circled his neck. It was happening to him again -- all else was tuned out. All he saw was her.

Her creamy skin, her rosy lips, her blue eyes -- those eyes. Electricity bolted through his body. He could wait no longer. He molded her closely to his aroused body and covered her mouth with his, softly, gently, tickling her lips with the tip of his tongue, sipping, caressing, touching.

Fire erupted in his body. Never, not even with Simone, had he ever felt this way with a woman. She ignited his passion. He smiled into her neck, kissing and licking her harder, pulling her T-shirt out of the waistband of her pants. His hands slid up the smooth, soft skin of her back. He pressed her closer. Their kisses deepened.

"Oh, Michael ... Michael ... Michael ..." she chanted softly.

"Nikita, I love the feel of you ... so soft, warm," his husky voice whispered into her ear. "Make love to me ... Become one with me." Michael gently nipped at her soft earlobe, pressed kisses behind her ear, licked down her neck. Her skin tasted sweet and felt cool, soothing his burning lips. He was coming undone.

Michael moved her over to the wall of the van and gently pushed her against it. He pressed his body tightly against hers. He leaned his arms against each side of the wall on either side of her body, imprisoning her. He nudged her long legs apart with his muscular thigh and pushed his hardness into her hips, kissing her deeply, caressing her tongue with his. His entire body pulsated against hers.

"Je'taime, Nikita, I love you ... please, belong only to me as I belong only to you," he breathed heavily as he kissed her neck, her cheeks, her eyes. Michael ravished her face with soft kisses, as he rubbed his groin slowly against hers.

"Now ... you tell me, " he whispered into her mouth, then kissing her desperately.

"Michael ... " she whimpered. Nikita hardly knew where she was. All she knew was that she was swept away in erotic sensations created by this beautiful man pressed tightly against her.

"Tell me," he breathed into her mouth, demanding to hear her commit to him, licking her lips, touching her tongue with his.

"I love you, Michael ... I need you." And she meant it with all her heart.

Michael pulled her T-shirt over her head, and quickly removed his sweater. His bare chest met her silky breasts and their dance had begun in earnest.

Nikita drew back, breathless. Head spinning. Knees weak. Ready to surrender herself to him completely. But, she hesitated for a moment, pulling together one last coherent thought. She looked into his dark green eyes and whispered to his lips,

"Later, we are going to talk about the rules ... understand?"

"Oui. I have a plan."

The End