Through the slightly shuttered blinds of his dark, cold office, Michael stared into the heart of Section. How ironic it all sounded to him, the 'heart of Section.' Webster's defined heart as "the seat or source of life, the inner part of anything, the seat of emotion and affection." The only applicable part of that definition was that Section was indeed an inner part ... the inner part of a callous, unfeeling, and uncaring government machine that stripped its captives of their own source of life, and any hope of emotion or affection.

He knew this first-hand. Section had stripped him of his heart him many times over. He knew pain. He knew suffering. He had endured monstrous atrocities to himself and others. He never imagined though -- not even during the most difficult time of his life, when he thought she was gone forever -- that he'd ever feel this barren ... this lost ... this lonely ... for her.

Six months had passed since they were separated -- purposely and by design. Operations had demanded it, determined to sever their ties, break them apart, disconnect them. Operations wanted Michael back under his thumb. He was determined to restore Michael's complete and total loyalty -- eliminating all distractions, specifically Nikita.

Had it been effective? Extremely. They hadn't talked face to face in months. Operations was pleased with his performance.

Unable and unwilling to stay away though, Michael carefully watched Nikita from a distance -- watched her come in from one mission to be immediately sent out on another. He surreptitiously observed her seven visits to MedLab from his computer. He monitored her missions and found them to be the most difficult and dangerous on the pad. He covertly inspected her from the seclusion of his office as she checked in with Walter and he saw the worry in the older man's face as he looked at his 'Sugar' with growing concern about her deteriorating condition.

Michael noticed the bruises; saw the shadows under her eyes, coupled with the emptiness there, whenever she looked at him, then lowered her eyes from his scrutiny. She always kept walking, never stopping to speak to him. Each time she passed by, his heart sank deeper into the black depths of despair.

Very ironic, indeed. He had always thought that knowing she was alive would be enough. Just to see her walk by, to catch the gentle scent of her perfume, to be touched by her unique aura -- it should have been enough to make his life worth living. How utterly wrong he had been.

He could see that she'd lost weight, that her clothes were hanging from her slight frame. He saw that she was lethargic, ailing, dazed, sad -- and mostly, he saw that she never, ever smiled ... not at anyone. This alone was enough to warn him of her desperate state of mind.

Still, with all the worry and helplessness he felt at not being able to directly help her, protect her, a part of him was swollen with pride that she had defied Section again. That her will power was still strong. That her pride was intact. That she would not go down without a fight. He knew she was suffering, but she was doing it with dignity.

He was proud of her. He respected her. He loved her. Everything about her.

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

Madeline immersed herself in reviewing the quarterly reports. She sat behind her illuminated desk in a sterile environment where the only sign of life was perfectly-manicured, miniature trees growing in pre-defined directions -- trained and controlled, a precise reflection of their caretaker.

The reports she studied revealed a dramatic change in the performance of her most interesting subject: Nikita.

Nikita. She was such an oddity. Never would conform to the plan. Stubborn and defiant. But, alive, vibrant, very intelligent, with the ability to think on her feet. Even under the most severe circumstances, she defied the Section -- they could not kill her ... physically, nor in spirit.

Over and over, Nikita had been sent out on any mission that was queued up. It did not matter how difficult it was, how far she would have to travel, or how demanding the job requirements, Nikita was assigned to it. She was exposed to the failings and inexperience of new recruits, poorly-defined profiles, and inadequate team leaders.

Yet through it all, Nikita's rate of success had improved significantly. It was surprising since Operations had demanded that she be removed from Michael's protective cocoon -- effectively eliminating his involvement and expertise -- hoping to assure her demise. Throughout the four years Nikita had been in Section, Operations was convinced that her success was directly related to Michael's preoccupation with her.

Madeline's lips curved upward as she nodded her head in respect -- almost an 'atta girl' gesture. A part of her could not help but be impressed with Nikita. She was like no other. And while the reality of Nikita's ambivalence might be dangerous to the Section's 'big picture,' Madeline often wondered if the unique ingredients Nikita brought to the overall personnel mix weren't fundamentally critical. A balance. Checks and balances. Someone who made them think -- made them wonder what they were doing -- was it the right thing? Was it in compliance with the overall mandate to protect the greater good?

Well, the numbers told the story. And the bottom line was that Nikita was, indeed, doing the job -- flourishing, in fact. Madeline wondered why. She wondered if there wasn't something more to Nikita's remarkable success.

She sat back and looked over at her greenhouse. She studied the strong branches that curved and twisted beneath the dainty, evergreen leaflets. The small trees were a study in contrasts really -- strong branches sprouting delicate leaves ... the branches were a foundation, a place where the leaves could grow and thrive, even under the most unnatural and severe circumstances.

Then, suddenly it occurred to her ... Nikita's foundation had always been Michael -- perhaps it was now too.

Madeline turned to her monitor, pulling up Michael's profile. His quarterly numbers had decreased significantly -- for Michael. His overall success rate of 98% had dropped seven percentage points in the past quarter. Still impressive, as was expected from a Class Five Operative, but the decline was certainly disturbing for the perfectionist that was Michael.

The answer became crystal clear to Madeline -- Michael was helping Nikita. He was running his missions and hers.

Again, he had found a way.

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

Sitting alone next to a window in the Section air transport, she gazed out into the black night sky. Reaching out, she touched her fingertip to the wet, icy, cold pane and was not surprised when she felt no sensation -- not cold, not moisture, not even pressure. It was the familiar signal that her body was shutting down from numbing exhaustion.

Resting her head against the back of the seat, Nikita closed her eyes and took in deep breaths. The mission had been long, badly planned, and poorly executed. Had it not been for the last minute tactical change Michael sent to her while en route, most of the team would be dead now, including her.

She wondered if death wouldn't be better. For the past few months, she felt dead.

Nikita let her mind's eye drift back to her life before Section, life on the streets. It was a time of poverty, oppression, and constant fear. But she could always feel the emotions that came with those circumstances.

In spite of that bleak environment, she flourished. Nikita had learned to reverse her misfortune into a challenge, always finding positive solutions to hardship. She opened herself up to others, giving freely of her time and abundant love of life.

She remembered making lots of friends on those ugly streets. Her inner beauty, respect for humanity, and vast compassion for others had endeared her to the most hardened street people who found themselves trapped there.

It was exhilarating really. Helping others find food, shelter -- it brought her great inner peace and happiness. They loved her there. She could feel it.

How ironic it all sounded to her. Sucked in against her will, to a place dark and secret, where the mandate was to protect the innocent, restore peace by obliterating terrorists, save the world from oppression and evil.

It should have been a perfect match -- she and Section. It should have been her destiny. It's what she did best -- helping others.

But in Section, she rarely saw the positive results of her actions -- only destructive, fiery explosions and bloody corpses, often at her own hand. She never knew the thrill of a smile from a grateful stranger who benefited from her gifts; she vaguely recalled inner peace; hardly remembered the satisfaction of respect and love from others she had helped.

The only thing Nikita ever felt anymore was deep despair. There was no personal happiness, only sadness; no sense of accomplishment, only closure; and above all, there were no smiles, only tears. There was almost nothing to live for.

A lone tear slipped down her cheek from beneath her closed eyes and she was relieved that she could still feel enough to shed a tear, even if it was expressing despondency.

She knew pain. She knew suffering. But she had never imagined -- not even in her most distressing time, when she thought she would never see him again -- that she would feel this sad ... this hopeless ... this lonely ... for him.

Nikita took another series of deep breaths, letting her mind wander to her only source of comfort. She drifted back to the sweet memory of the single, true happiness she had ever really known in Section -- thoughts of him ... and the nights she spent in his arms.

She remembered the electricity of his touch, igniting a wildfire inside her the moment his body touched hers. She remembered the silky tips of his long hair tickling her cheeks as he bent down, ever so gently, to press his lips to hers.

Nikita could almost feel the soft tenderness of his lips, the sweet taste of his tongue as it gently licked hers. She felt her heart quicken when she remembered how he responded to her whimpers and soft sighs, that his kisses rapidly became more urgent, fanning their mutual fire into a raging inferno.

In her mind she could see his darkened eyes, gazing deeply into hers, revealing his passion, his need, his love. She recalled the exquisite touch of his hands moving over her body, touching, caressing, squeezing, kneading her sensitive skin to indescribably thrilling heights. She inhaled his musky scent; felt his hot breath on her skin.

Nikita relived the magical moment when he paused, cupped her face between his hands, his lips touching hers as whispered that he wanted her, needed her, needed to be inside her. She could feel the ecstasy again as she remembered how it felt when he entered her, thrusting deep inside her. Shivers raced up her spine as she recalled his desperate need to mate with her, possess her, as he rhythmically guided their bodies in urgent desire.

She vividly recalled hearing him whisper her name over and over while they loved each other, and could feel the electric starburst of emotion when he took her hard and fast, bringing her to incoherent release, then following her with his own explosion of staggering desire and passion. In her mind, she heard him crying out her name then, holding her tightly, desperately grasping her body, kissing her over and over.

In the afterglow of those stunning physical and emotional encounters, Nikita relived the overwhelming joy she felt when Michael pulled her close, gazed deeply into her eyes, letting all his defenses down, and communicating silently his deep love and undying devotion to her.

She felt it. She felt him. She loved him. Everything about him.

She smiled as she concluded, for the thousandth time, that Michael was a unique man -- guarded, mysterious, sensual, deceptive, intelligent, honorable, loyal, and under the well-constructed concrete wall, a man with a heart.

She thought back on the only way he could consistently display his love for her ... protection. Covering her mistakes, factoring in her compassion for innocents in mission profiles, shielding her from the most repulsive of assignments, taking the heat for her insubordination and stubborn will, he always protected her.

Even when he was furious with her, he was irresistibly in love with her. She grinned when she recalled his jealousy over Chandler, smiled as she remembered when he broke down her door while she was addicted to the phasing shell, frowned when she recounted the moment he slammed her up against the refrigerator thinking she had thrown in with Adrian. It was always the same with him -- controlled fury followed by controlled tenderness. That was Michael -- always in control.

He showed his love in other ways, too. He trained her to develop her instincts, tap into her gifted intelligence, use her learned street smarts by applying them to contingencies on the job. But he never forced her to give up her love of humanity and innate hope.

She smiled as she recalled his frustration at her over these fundamentally unacceptable traits -- there was no room for them in Section -- but he never tried to squash her beliefs. To do so would have killed her. And he knew it. So he worked with it, planned for it. And she loved him for it.

He was helping her now too, keeping her alive any way he could. But today she had decided that it was not enough. She did not want any more help.

Nikita was exhausted, physically and mentally. She had had enough. Operations would win. She fought long and hard to defy the monumental odds of staying alive. She had held her head high. But her will power was tapped, she had no more to give. She would go down with dignity. And she knew Michael would be proud of her.

Whatever made me think that staying alive just to see him once in a while would be enough, she wondered. She could not go on without the promise of hope. Hope that she and Michael would be together again.

Nikita's eyes opened and she looked around the transport assessing the proximity of the others who were sleeping or talking quietly. New recruits, green and inexperienced. She hardly knew any of them. There was no sense of connection, belonging, certainly not love and respect -- not anywhere.

It was decided then. The next mission, she would follow the pre-defined profile. She would not open his cryptic message. She would let destiny call her. She would leave him behind.

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

Walter looked at her closely while Nikita checked in her equipment. His brows furrowed in desperate concern. He felt heartsick. She was ashen; her hands were shaking from exhaustion; her muscles barely able to keep her upright.

"Sugar, you need some rest."

"Yeah, well ..." Nikita shook her head and gave out a sarcastic snort, "I don't have a lot of choice, Walter."

"When was the last time you ate, Sugar?"

Nikita looked at him, then turned her head focusing on the wall. The lines in her forehead creased as she thought long and hard about such an simple question. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders not knowing the answer.

"Nikita! You have to stay alive!"

"Why?" Nikita replied, shaking her head in defeat.

Walter's head snapped toward her. The full force of her reply hit him in the gut. "Oh no you don't! Don't be such a hypocrite!" he hissed.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"Belinda ... that's what I mean! You wouldn't let me go then, and I won't let you go now! Understand?"

Nikita nodded to her beloved Walter and gave him a curve of her lips. She understood. But she didn't plan on keeping her word.

Behind them, a familiar female voice called out, "Nikita, briefing in 10 minutes."

Old gray eyes met young blue ones. "Jesus, Nikita. I didn't think she'd call you out on the next one. It's gonna be tough."

Nikita patted Walter's hand and met his worried eyes. She could feel her tears well up knowing it would be the last time she would see him, talk to him.

"It'll be okay. Walter, really ... I'll be fine. Who is leading the team?"

"New guy in from Europe. His name is Porter. Don't know much about him. We're still short on team leaders, so Operations is pulling from the sub-stations."

"What does Michael think of him?"

Walter snorted. "Michael? I have no idea! We don't talk much, Sugar."

"Why not?"

Walter rested his elbows on the workbench, leaned in close, and looked deeply into her eyes, hoping his next words would be clearly understood. "Michael is a lost man with an amputated heart."

Nikita nodded and turned toward Michael's office. Her heart skipped a beat. She could see him standing in the window, watching her.

She turned and headed toward the briefing table, preparing for her last fight.

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

Michael keyed in the access code to Madeline's office after she had summoned him. Quietly he entered the sterile surroundings.

"Hello, Michael."

"Madeline," he responded guardedly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Please sit down." Michael paused then reluctantly sat down in the chair before her desk, although he really preferred to stand ... poised, ready to make a swift exit the moment Madeline began to squeeze him too tightly.

"How are you, Michael?" Knowing in advance what his pat answer would be, Madeline looked carefully into his eyes for any hint of his true feelings.

"I'm fine," he replied. She lifted the corner of her lips, amused at his consistency, then paused.

"I've been reviewing your quarterly numbers." Madeline reached over and positioned the monitor so that he could see his profile on her screen. "They're well above Section standards, of course, but ..." Madeline watched him carefully, "low for you." Michael met her intense scrutiny without flinching, and without responding.

"What's troubling you, Michael?" She knew he would not respond to her inquiry, though she already knew the answer -- Nikita. Through the review of the quarterly results, this had become abundantly clear.

Once Madeline realized the depth of Michael's meddling concerning Nikita, she watched him watch her. Madeline accessed his computer logs and knew he was tracking Nikita's missions. She knew he was frustrated at his inability to help Nikita, to protect her.

Madeline also knew that Michael was seething at the treatment Nikita was getting -- Section jeopardizing her life every day. Madeline could see it in his demeanor, although he worked very hard at concealing his anger.

Michael blinked twice and finally responded, "My success rate is excellent -- the numbers speak for themselves."

"Yes ... they do!" Madeline replied, almost gleefully. Michael could have kicked himself for giving her that opening.

Madeline stood up and moved around the desk, taking the seat next to him, crossing her legs and folding her hands neatly in her lap. She stared at him for several minutes until he looked over at her.

"What do you want, Madeline?" he cut to the bottom line.

"Better numbers."

His glare was icy. Internally, he was incensed. He had never worked so hard in his fourteen years at Section as he had in the past few months since the Adrian incident. He immersed himself in every mission, tirelessly working every angle. Simultaneously, he carefully studied Nikita's mission profiles, slipping her cryptic messages whenever possible, recommending changes in the profile to cover contingencies. It had been his only method of communication with her in several months.

His clenched his jaw, then he nodded, "I'll see what I can do ... will that be all?

Madeline paused, still closely watching him, hoping to see any sign of a crack in his armor where she could get leverage. "No ... there is something else."

Michael rose from his chair, indicating to Madeline that the conversation was about over, that she had better be quick to the point. He walked over to the door, pivoted toward her, and spread his legs in a solid stance, hands laced together in front of him, meeting her gaze.

"What else?" he asked, already suspecting what the topic would be.

"Nikita." Madeline was pleased to see his eyes glisten at the mention of Nikita's name, but he quickly recovered and was, again, unreadable. She waited for his response as she rose from her seat to face him.

"What about her?" he inquired, shifting his focus to the wall, giving himself an extra moment to solidify his unreadable facade, then met her gaze again awaiting her remarks.

"She's doing very well, although she does appear tired. Still, her performance in the past several months has been ... exemplary. Have you seen her numbers?"

There it was, the trap. Madeline wanted an admission that he had been playing his side and Nikita's side -- that he had been helping her from a distance. He knew he had to provide a careful response, one that would insinuate his loyalty to the Section.

"Perhaps you should reduce her mission frequencies." He suggested calmly. "She's obviously an asset to the Section, she gets the job done, performs well. It would be unfortunate to lose an operative of her caliber to fatigue."

There, he said it. Enough to get his point across, implying a reduction in Nikita's work load would be in the Section's best interest, and enough not to answer her directly. Still, the moment Madeline asked the question, Michael knew she knew he had been tracking Nikita.

"Would reducing her mission frequency help your numbers, Michael?" Madeline inquired, tilting her head.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked casually, steeling himself for the next dig.

"Perhaps if Nikita was not ... utilized as much, you would be able to concentrate more on your own missions." She cut to the chase and watched as he blinked, then noticed he was rubbing his thumbs around one another within the confines of his laced fingers clasped in front of him. Pleased, she knew she had scored a direct hit.

He thought carefully then decided to be candid. "Perhaps you should allow Nikita to return to my team. There can be no dispute of our numbers when we are paired."

What else was there to lose? he thought to himself. He and Nikita had lost it all. They were not together, personally or professionally. They never saw or talked to each other face to face. They lived no life, had no hope.

Madeline smiled at his admission, yet could not deny the accuracy of his remarks. He and Nikita were a powerful team, successful in nearly every outing. It was a fact she had known for years, but one she could never get across to Operations.

"I'll consider it, Michael. That will be all." She turned abruptly and walked toward her greenhouse.

Swiftly, quietly, he was gone.

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

A day later, Michael was working with Birkoff in Comm when the alarm sounded that there was incoming wounded. Birkoff listened carefully to the report, and looked up at Michael, fear written plainly over his face.

"It's Nikita's team," Birkoff confirmed to Michael.

"What happened?" Michael asked flatly. "Is she injured?"

"Dunno. Van is to arrive in ten minutes."

Michael pulled the earpiece away from his ear and threw it on the console. "I'll be in my office. Birkoff, please send the mission profile to my laptop right now. When available, send the debrief reports."

Accessing the mission profile from his office, Michael's mind was spinning. What could have happened? He had made the adjustments. It would have been tricky, but Nikita could pull it off.

His heart sank when he realized that she had not picked up her private e-mail. She did not get his final instructions. Nikita would not have known to make the tactical change in the sequence and without it, the chances of her survival were less than 20%.

Michael sighed deeply and closed his eyes as he worked his way down the corridor to van access. He was tired. He was afraid. What would he find when those doors opened? Would she be hurt badly? Dying? Was this it? Was the moment he dreaded from the day he walked away from her finally here?

He leaned against the corridor wall and waited, arms folded, eyes closed. A picture of her beautiful face appeared before him -- luminous blue eyes, wispy golden strands of silken hair framing porcelain soft skin, sensuous rosy lips that parted slowly when she spoke his name. His chin dropped to his chest, and he found himself hoping, praying, that she would walk through that door under her own power.

Finally, the door opened and he stiffened, stood upright, steeling himself for the outcome, awaiting the egress of the team. Looking around, he found Madeline watching him, also waiting, observing, analyzing his reaction.

The team slowly emerged through the tunnel -- many on gurneys being quickly attended to by the medical team that was standing by. They were bloodied, bruised, torn, battered. Those that were able to walk were dazed, shocked, stumbling. Each was met by an attendant. All were escorted to MedLab.

Porter, the team leader emerged. His mission gear was torn, scuffed, and muddied, looking as if he had crawled though a mud field. Michael caught his arm.

"Where is Nikita?" Michael's voice was menacing and deliberate. Porter looked at him, not registering his question. "Porter! Where is she?" Michael shook the young man, trying to bring him back to reality.

"Michael ... stop," Madeline intervened while motioning to an attendant to take charge of Porter.

Michael was frantic. He looked down the corridor and saw no others emerging. His worst nightmare was coming true. She had not come back.

A moment later, Nikita appeared ... staggering into the corridor. Her hair was muddied, her vest was covered with blood. She leaned up against the wall searching for something solid to hold on to. Finding no more strength to move forward, she collapsed onto the floor, but not before removing the disk from her pocket, then reaching out in front of her in an attempt to pass it to Madeline. The disk skidded away over the gray concrete. Nikita achieved mission closure as darkness engulfed her.

For a moment Michael stared at the disk lying on the floor between him and Madeline. A small, silver disk containing the almighty intel, lay on the floor next to the silent, unmoving body of the woman he loved. She had followed her team, assured their return, bloody and wounded, but all accounted for. For what? A silver disk. It was not worth it ... not worth risking her ... not even close.

Michael crouched down to check Nikita's body. An enormous wave of relief washed over him as he realized she had no bullet holes, no major external injuries. But she was exhausted, frail, spent. She had fainted from fatigue and exhaustion, stress and trauma. It was time for rest. And he would see to it that she got it.

He looked up at Madeline shaking his head, demanding an end. "This is enough. I'm taking her home."

Madeline bent over him and grabbed his arm. "Operations will not approve. Take her to MedLab, Michael."

"No."

Michael looked up at Madeline silently challenging her for several moments before he took action. He gathered Nikita in his arms and carried her to the elevator.

Madeline watched as they entered the elevator. She locked onto Michael's eyes, silently warning him of his imminent mistake. He did not back down. "You know where we will be," he whispered, raising his eyebrows, nodding stubbornly, holding the woman he loved in his arms. Then, the elevator doors closed and they were gone.

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

Madeline walked slowly to Operations' office as she rehashed the facts over and over again.

Michael's conduct in the corridor was an enormous setback for Section, though not unexpected. She had warned Operations for years that one day Michael would be forced to choose -- that day had arrived.

Conflicted by her own feelings on the matter of a personal relationship between agents, Madeline found herself in a quandary. What if she had known that her own husband, Charles, was alive all those years? What would she have done? Would she have brought him in as soon as possible and continued a married and professional life with him? Maybe -- she didn't know.

And what of her feelings toward Paul? Had sleeping with him after all these years provided the release she felt they needed to do the job more efficiently? At the time, she thought it would clear the tension between them -- get it out of their systems. But it had done neither. He was still in love with her and continued to protect her, just as Michael was doing with Nikita now.

For the first time in many years, Madeline found herself wondering whether Section's relationship policy was viable. Some personnel were allowed relationships, while others were not. And even though she rarely concerned herself with the concept of fair play, it all was becoming a little too gray -- the lines too blurry.

She certainly had sent mixed messages to Nikita, implying that a personal attachment between operatives was prohibited. Then she had ordered Michael and Nikita to make love on the Armel mission recognizing that their intimacy would be overwhelmingly passionate and binding, then knowing full well that the separation afterward would be difficult and traumatic for them both.

When it came to Michael and Andrea, Madeline had told Nikita that she hoped the couple would start a relationship, eliminating Nikita from the picture. It mattered not that that had been a mission to uncover Andrea's mental state, or to test Michael. Still, Madeline thought, she had meant those words she spoke to Nikita symbolically, that a love so complete, so overpowering and consuming, such as the one poised between Michael and Nikita, would destroy Nikita in the end.

But what was Nikita to think of this? Madeline wondered. Walter had married Belinda. Birkoff had Gail. There had been Michael and Simone. And then, herself and Operations. There had been no logic and continuity in policy as it concerned Michael and Nikita, and looking back on it, Madeline admitted to herself that she was guilty of inconsistent management of her operatives' psyches.

And so here they were, Michael breaking ranks to swoop Nikita up and take her away. Finally, Michael had been forced to choose between Section and Nikita, and Madeline knew -- knew -- that he would choose Nikita. She had warned Operations of it over and over.

After the Adrian incident, Operations had been bolstered by Michael's show of loyalty to Section by revealing Nikita as the mole. But what Operations failed to recognize was what that action had cost Michael. He did not anticipate that Michael intended to let Nikita go once he had captured Adrian. At the very moment he was giving her up, Michael was planning for Nikita's escape, knowing it would result in his own cancellation.

Yes, Madeline knew all along that Michael would choose Nikita, and her lips curved upward as she shook her head, giving out a small snort of self-disgust, admitting that she'd failed to manage the situation early on.

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

Operations tilted his head as she entered the office, lips in a tight line, eyes blazing. "What the hell happened down there?"

"The mission was a success," Madeline replied coolly as she handed the disk to Section's commander.

"That's not what I meant!" he barked.

"I know very well what you meant." Madeline met his angry gaze and paused to regain her composure. "Michael took Nikita home."

"WHAT?"

"He took her home."

Operations let out a deep sigh and began to pace the floor. "Would you mind elaborating, please?"

Madeline clasped her hands loosely in front of her, then spoke calmly. "I've warned you about this for years. It has finally happened. Michael has chosen Nikita."

"Do you mean they have tried to escape?"

"No, they are at Nikita's apartment. She collapsed in the corridor, Michael removed her from the premises, and he left his post in doing so."

"Let's back up. He ... chose Nikita instead of his job? Since when does he choose, Madeline? Jesus! Bring them both in ... place them in abeyance. I've had enough! They are entirely too 'high-maintenance' for this organization."

Operations' piercing gaze cut through Madeline. But she did not back down. He was making a very poor management decision and she was about to let him know it.

"Really? You've had enough ..." Madeline nodded, then smiled sarcastically. "Let's see. Michael has served Section exceptionally well for fourteen long years. He has exceeded every level of testing we have given him. He is extraordinarily intelligent and resourceful. His management skills are top-rated; he is a master tactician and strategist. He's fluent in several languages, is a brilliant computer scientist, fits the profile of nearly every contingency. He has sacrificed personally for the Section, and the greater good of society. And you say he is 'high-maintenance.'"

Madeline continued as she paced the floor in front of Operations who was leaning against the console, arms folded. "Then there's Nikita ... interesting as well. Under Michael's tutelage, she has become one of the top operatives in Section. Her testing scores are in the 98th percentile. She can do things others cannot. Yes, she is ambivalent, willful, difficult, and insubordinate at times. But she has brought balance, decency, and hope to many here. They listen to her, they respect her. She gets the job done. And above all, she is Michael's perfect match."

Madeline stopped directly in front of Operations as she made this last statement, defying him to deny the truth. While studying his face for his reaction, she wondered if was wise to omit the fact that Michael had been controlling Nikita's missions for six months, then decided against it.

Instead, Madeline thought it would be more effective to drive a final point home. "You, of all people, ought to understand Michael's need for Nikita. Yours for me is the same."

Operations watched her carefully for several moments while processing the information presented to him. He was stunned at her cutting remarks, amazed at her ability to separate feelings from fact.

Before too long though, he tilted his head and smiled ruefully. "Recommendations?"

"I believe Michael is willing to negotiate. I do not think he wishes to leave the Section because he knows they would never make it on the outside. He suggested to me several days ago that Nikita be returned to his team. I believe we should consider it and anything else he may have in mind."

"You are suggesting, Madeline, that I 'negotiate' with one of my operatives?" Operations smiled incredulously.

Madeline smiled back. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the operative is Michael ... and Nikita is pivotal to his survival."

She smiled and told him plainly, "The bottom line is that they are too valuable to lose."

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

During the ride home, Nikita came around and vaguely recalled that Michael had removed her from Section. She recognized that he was taking a big risk in sheltering her. But in her fatigue, she was unable to process the consequences, so she turned herself over to him willingly, trusting him completely.

They drove along in silence. Nikita fell in and out of restless sleep. When she shifted in her seat, Michael reached over and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, lulling her back to sleep.

At one point though, she put a coherent thought together and said to him, "Michael, it's dangerous ... what you are doing." Her blue eyes fought to stay open, but still she kept them trained on his profile.

Michael sighed and shook his head, looked over at her for a moment, then focused back on the road. "Nikita ... everything I do with you is dangerous."

It took a lot of effort, but she had to let out a small snort at that honest remark. How true, she thought to herself. Too exhausted to argue, Nikita decided not to press Michael on what he was doing or why he was doing it.

Meekly, she whispered, "Thank you, Michael."

"Sleep, Nikita. We will talk later."

She closed her eyes and obeyed him for once.

Michael leaned Nikita against the hallway wall while he searched his pocket for the key to her apartment. It was all he could do to get her limp body out of the car, up the elevator and to this point.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, gathered Nikita into his arms, closed the door with a kick of his boot and whisked her up the stairs. Gingerly, he lowered her to the bed, stripped off her soiled boots and clothes, leaving her in her white t-shirt and panties.

Nikita awakened for a moment ... smiled at him, breathed his name, took comfort in his presence, then promptly fell back into the pillow. Michael caressed her cheek and whispered nonsensical shushes to her, coaxing her back into her dreams. He walked to the bathroom, dampened a washcloth and returned to her bedside. Carefully, he washed away the mud and blood from her ivory skin.

She was beautiful to him, even bloodied and battered. As he gently smoothed the warm, damp cloth over her soft skin, he marveled at the electricity he felt bolting through his body when he touched her. The simplest caress of his fingertips against her warm skin teased and aroused him. He was drawn to her in a way he could not explain, had never felt before, and was sure to never know again, except with Nikita. For Michael, there was no other time of pure happiness than when he was touching her.

Moments later, after caring for her needs and covering her with a warm blanket, he removed his jacket and unholstered his gun, checking its clip. He made his way to Nikita's kitchen and removed her concealed gun from the cabinet, and checked its readiness.

Slowly, he returned to Nikita's bed and stood there watching her sleep. She was breathtaking, he thought. His angel, fragile and innocent. He loved her, would protect her at all costs, and for her -- and her alone -- he would sacrifice his life without hesitation.

Michael edged himself onto the bed, propped himself up against the headboard, a gun in each hand. Sensing his presence even in her sleep, Nikita snuggled her head onto his lap, moving her arm over his legs, and murmured his name. Resting one gun on his chest above her head, he stroked the hair away from her face, caressed her temple and the edges of her ear with his fingertips, while he gazed upon her beauty.

And he waited ... for what he knew was sure to come.

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

A short while later, Michael heard the trip of the alarm and knew the time had come. In a sudden flash, the front door burst open and three men in black mission gear stormed the apartment. Nikita was startled awake, her eyes flew open and she frantically grabbed onto Michael's shirt.

"Michael?" she gasped, locking onto his eyes, begging for an explanation.

Michael clutched her shoulders. "Nikita ... do you trust me?" Michael searched her face, pleading for an answer.

Nikita looked over at the bedroom door then back at him trying to understand what was happening.

"Nikita ... look at me. Do - you - trust - me?" He had to know, and it was imperative that she answer him quickly. The operatives had secured the living area and were headed to the loft.

"Yes, Michael, I trust you!" And at that moment, she knew she did trust him -- completely.

"Move behind me, Nikita! Now! Get behind me!"

Michael pulled forward and Nikita moved her body between him and the headboard, tucking one leg behind his lower back, wrapping the other thigh next to his under the coverlet. She grabbed his hips with her hands and hugged his back. He positioned himself directly in front of her so that only the top of her head could peer out behind him.

Michael drew his guns pointed toward the bedroom entrance. He turned his head so that he could speak to her.

"Nikita ... you must answer me now, truthfully. Do we die together or alone?"

"What?" Nikita gasped. She thought she must be in some horrible nightmare, but her senses were jolted back to reality with the shape of three large men, dressed in black, pointing guns at them.

"Tell me now ... with me or alone?" He urged her to answer, while he kept his guns aimed at the intruders.

Nikita let go a deep breath, squeezed his hips with her hands and rested her forehead on his shoulder blade. She had had enough, too. She had already decided that she could not go on like this, never seeing him, worked to the bone, sick both mentally and physically. She had tried not to come back from the last mission, but couldn't do it to him.

She thought a moment longer and then she knew the answer. It would be her destiny. She would choose to die with him, the man she loved, in this bed, together.

She looked up and whispered in his ear. "With you, Michael ... I am always with you." Quickly, she pressed a gentle kiss to his warm neck, and heard Michael's sigh of relief.

The men stood there, armed and ready, holding their fire as Michael aimed his weapons toward two of the three. Michael was prepared. He knew what would come next.

Several moments passed as the assassins held their guns on one another. Michael held their position with Nikita tucked safely behind him. Then, the wait was over. Operations appeared before them. Michael transferred his aim directly toward Operations.

Operations stood calmly, hands casually dug into his pants pockets, a small smile curving his lips. "Michael ... Nikita." He greeted them as if he had been invited in as a dinner guest. "What is this all about?"

No answer. Michael would wait for Operations to continue, and he mentally and physically telegraphed a signal to Nikita. She was not to speak. And, since he knew this was nearly impossible for her, he pushed backward, giving her his silent warning.

Operations' eyes pierced Michael's. "Let me guess ... you want to die together. How noble, Michael, really very chivalrous." Operations' voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I should not have to remind either of you, this is Section ... there is protocol ... I am in charge! I decide who lives, who dies, and when."

Operations began a short pace, his head tilted slightly as he spoke to Michael. "That fact provides me the prerogative in all matters concerning Section and its employees. Since I value you, Michael -- and you too, Nikita -- I would like an explanation before I cancel you both. What - is - this - all - about?" he demanded.

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

Michael held Operations' intense stare as he prepared to lay out his terms. Michael had thought a lot about he and Nikita in the past few months. He realized again, as he had when he set her free, that he needed her. It wasn't enough just to see her in Section and know that she was alive. He needed her with him. It was startling to him to acknowledge that he did his job better with Nikita, especially since he was such a loner. Together they were a formidable team. And it was because they took extra precautions for each other's safety, thereby almost always assuring successful closure.

But it wasn't just professional. He had known that for a very long time. He loved her, he needed her. She was everything to him, every breath he took was for her, his every thought and action revolved around Nikita -- assuring her well-being insured his. The time had come for him and his superiors to recognize that they were either a team in every sense or they were disposable, because singularly, they were not whole.

Michael nodded toward the operatives signaling that any further communication would be done in private -- just the three of them. Operations acknowledged this request and ordered the operatives to leave the loft.

Once gone, Michael laid down his weapons but did not move. Nikita remained silent behind him.

"Nikita and I are prepared to die now. If you take one, you must take both." He was calm and collected. He had made up his mind and there was no turning back.

"That would not be my first choice, Michael."

"Then there is an alternative," Michael offered.

"And that is?" Operations' curiosity was piqued.

"Nikita's mission frequency has gone on long enough. She has proven over and over that she is an asset to the Section. Furthermore, Madeline can confirm that our individual success rate is not as desirable as combined."

"And ..." Operations had been prepared ahead of time by Madeline for where this was headed, but he was willing to listen to Michael's logic. Clearly, Michael had a plan, and Operations respected him enough to hear him out. Operations knew Michael was loyal to the Section, and counted on Michael having factored that into his scheme.

"Nikita and I are to be a permanent team. We will work within the Section's parameters and we will continue to perform to the best of our abilities on every mission assigned to us."

"This is all you have to offer? We are short of operatives now, Michael ... you know this. We cannot afford to tie you up together, it would spread us too thin." Operations could have accepted Michael's proposal, but thought he'd push for more.

"We can offer management options. We will formulate training procedures while running our missions. Nikita can train new recruits. I'll work with some of the more experienced operatives; teach them to lead teams. But we can only offer these options as a team."

"Michael, you and Nikita know the Section's policy regarding personal attachments."

"Nikita and I are professionals. We know how to handle our personal life discreetly. Nevertheless, these are our conditions. Together we can offer the Section a powerful team. If the conditions cannot be met, then take us out now."

There it was -- a take it or leave it choice. Michael was fairly certain that Operations would seriously consider the proposal, since Michael offered attractive options that Operations would be hard pressed to ignore. Operations was getting more than Michael and Nikita were getting back. But Michael knew for Operations to buy it, the package had to appear to be a better deal for Section than for Michael and Nikita.

If he did not accept, however, Michael was prepared to die this day and he would take the woman he loved with him.

Operations continued to pace, occasionally looking over at his two best operatives. He considered the terms carefully. After a few moments, he spoke to them.

"Nikita, does Michael speak for you as well?"

Nikita peeked out over Michael's shoulder and spoke clearly without hesitation, "Yes ... he does." She could feel Michael's hand squeeze her thigh, relaying his appreciation for her sacrifice and support.

"Very well ... we shall try it for six months. After that, we will carefully review your profiles. If your ... alliance ... proves to be disruptive in anyway, you both will be canceled. Furthermore, I expect your promises to be designed and implemented. Is that clear?" Operations stared at them both, communicating in no uncertain terms that he meant business.

Simultaneously, they both nodded in the affirmative.

Finally, he turned to leave the room, then stopped short, glancing back at the couple. "One more thing ..." he turned to face them both, "don't ever try this stunt again. I don't like ultimatums, and I doubt if I will be so indulgent ever again. Report to Section in 48 hours. And Nikita ... get some rest." Swiftly he turned and left the apartment, taking his entourage with him.

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

Michael leaned his head back into Nikita's shoulder and let out a deep sigh. His gamble had paid off. He and Nikita would be together. But he wasn't sure how together they would be.

Michael had taken a chance when he said he and Nikita could handle their personal life discreetly, but knew he had to make it part of the deal, even if it never happened. The truth of the matter was that he didn't know if she wanted him, intimately.

They would have to take it slowly and he accepted that there would be ongoing 'negotiations' between them about this aspect of their partnership. No doubt this will involve a great deal of compromise, he thought in resignation.

Nikita could feel Michael's soft whiskers against her face as he leaned back in relief, eyes closed. Cautiously, she snaked her arms up and around his chest, holding him closer to her as she nuzzled her cheek against his. She felt his hands lift to her arms and then rest them there. They stayed like that for a long while, relishing the closeness of their bodies, processing the events that had just taken place and wondering what the consequences would be.

Finally, she asked him, "Why?" even though she knew why. Neither could have lasted much longer without making a change, demanding to be together. But she wanted to hear the words.

"You know why," he whispered.

She closed her eyes in disappointment; she ached to hear him say he loved her. But his actions had spoken volumes -- they had told her unequivocally how he felt. He had bargained with the earthly equivalent of Satan and his logic and planning had paid off to everyone's mutual advantage. He had done it for her, for them. His actions spoke of his depth of feeling for her and it would have to be enough, she knew.

Nikita nuzzled into his neck, lightly kissing the warm skin there and whispered, "Yes, Michael, I know why."

Long moments passed as Michael rubbed Nikita's arms, caressing them with his palms and fingertips. They were lost in soothing comfort, relaxation, and relief. It was enough to feel the warmth of their bodies heating the other and listening to the gentle breaths each took.

"Nikita?"

"Hmmm?"

Michael pulled Nikita from behind him and laid down with her, both on their sides facing each other.

"Why didn't you pick up my message?"

Nikita looked down at the button on Michael's shirt and began fidgeting with it, avoiding his question.

"Nikita?" He reached over and lifted her chin to face him.

"Michael ... I was so tired. I didn't intend to come back." She saw the pain cross his face as she spoke those words to him. "But I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"You know why," she whispered.

Michael's eyes closed in relief and he nodded, inwardly amused at her reversal of his very own words. "Yeah ... I know why."

A few moments passed while Michael stroked her hair and trailed his fingertips across her cheek.

"Nikita, do you want to be with me?" He had to know, needed to know if she would be his partner, his lover, his soul mate.

Nikita let out a small, soft laugh, captured his hand, and pressed a long, warm kiss in his palm. "Michael, such a crazy question ..." she whispered, smiling at him. Her smile was warm, inviting, sexy -- it told him exactly what she wanted, but she could see that he needed to hear the words.

"Yes ... I want to be with you, in every way," she whispered ... breathy, husky, ready, willing.

"Nikita ..." he said in adoration, his soft voice broken with relief, grateful to this incredibly special woman that had brought him back from the brink of permanent darkness in a living hell. "I love you, Nikita," he whispered, unguarded, allowing his heart to speak to her, truthfully, honestly ....

Finally, he had said the words. He knew she needed to hear them, just as much as he needed to say them. Tears of joy swelled in her eyes and they flowed freely, puddling on the pillow between them. "Michael ..." she whispered, smiling sweetly, caressing his chest with her hands. "I love you too, Michael."

Slowly, he gently lifted her chin and touched his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly, closing his eyes, overcome by the softness of her lips, bolstered by the loving warmth of her body. Their kisses became longer, deeper, probing, intense, erotic. They did not want to let go -- did not want to stop tasting each other.

Only the two of them existed then, wrapped in a warm, insulated bubble of abandoned love.

Long moments later, Michael broke the kiss, opening his eyes to look at Nikita, assuring himself that he was not dreaming ... that she was there, in his arms, wanting him, needing him, loving him.

As she had only a few precious times before, Nikita felt overwhelming joy when he pulled her close, gazed deeply into her eyes, letting all his defenses down, silently communicating to her his deep love and undying devotion.

She felt it. She felt him. She loved him ... everything about him.

The End