Part 1

Five weeks had passed since she learned he was married. Her heart was broken beyond repair. Those around her whispered as they watched her walk down the cold, gray corridors of Section. They said she looked like a ghost, a shadow . . . her eyes were empty, her spirit was gone. They missed her.

Meanwhile, Nikita performed brilliantly, just as Operations had always hoped. She was almost robotic in her execution of assignments. She killed upon command, with no outward sign of remorse or anger. She no longer concerned herself with innocents caught in the crossfire. She just did the job. Operations was delighted.

During briefings, Nikita sat at the table, asked no questions, showed no emotion, did not respond positively or negatively to mission details, only nodded her understanding of the job, got up, and prepared for the mission. She spoke to no one unnecessarily, not even Walter.

When the mission was complete, she checked in her gear, debriefed, then went home. When she got there, she didn't listen to music, didn't light candles. She huddled in a chair she had moved to a barren corner of the living room. She sat in the dark. She waited quietly for the next call.

When the call came, she moved by rote to her shower, then next to her closet, dressed, and left for Section. She never looked in the mirror.

She rarely ate, never worked out, barely slept. And when she did sleep, she never slept in her bed -- he had slept there.

The devastation of the discovery ripped her soul apart. It had been the ultimate betrayal. The supreme deception. There would be no recovery. No bouncing back. No possibility of healing.

As she huddled in the corner, she remembered it clearly. The images were burned into her mind as if it had just happened.

She had been curious . . . she wanted to know where he lived. She had asked Birkoff the question during the Adrian crisis, but he did not reveal Michael's home address. So, she followed him.

Using all her training and surveillance skills, she lagged far enough behind his Mercedes to assure that he would not see her. It wasn't far really, only twenty minutes away from Section headquarters.

He lived in a lovely old neighborhood, cobble stone streets lined with trees that created a lacy, leaf canopy over the road. Meandering sidewalks hugged up against perfectly manicured lawns and old established landscapes were lush with plantings and flowers.

Children rode their bikes and a mother strolled with her baby carriage, stopping momentarily to speak to a neighbor who was spraying the garden with a hose. It was a quiet, lovely neighborhood. It was picture perfect. A dream.

She parked several houses down when she saw him pull into the driveway, then lifted her binoculars to get a closer look. Once he stopped the car, she could see him gathering his belongings, preparing to go inside. And then, there was movement from the front porch.

The screen door swung open violently and a small child flew out the door, racing up to Michael. As Michael opened his car door, he dropped his jacket and briefcase on the hood of the car and swept the young child up into his arms. He swung the child around, and raised him high into the air, then pulled him down into a fierce hug.

And then, she appeared from behind the screen door.

She was lovely, brunette, petite. She waited on the porch, leaning up against the column, arms folded, smiling happily, watching the two before her.

He placed the young child on his shoulders, retrieved his belongings, and walked up to the woman. He stopped and looked at her for a moment, placed the child on the porch, then gathered her into his arms. They kissed passionately for what seemed like an eternity. He pulled away from her, but kept his arm around her, looking down at her, smiling, talking intimately, kissing her forehead. They disappeared into the house.

It was clear who she was. Michael's wife. His family. His other life.

At that moment, Nikita's world crashed. Irrevocably. Irreparably.

Part 2

In the days after, she never spoke to him about her discovery, yet he was acutely aware that something was wrong. He asked her into his office and questioned her, but she responded with "I'm fine," then turned and walked away.

Walter was gravely concerned, so was Birkoff. She refused to talk to them. She responded the same to their questions. "I'm fine . . . I'm fine."

She avoided Michael at all costs. She asked to be reassigned. Madeline would have none of it.

Like all the others, Madeline immediately sensed Nikita's depression. She could see that something devastating had happened. She needed to know.

Nikita arrived in Madeline's office, broken, empty, shoulders hunched. She did not greet the older woman, she did not look into her eyes.

"Please sit down, Nikita," Madeline stated softly. As she watched the young woman sit down, she felt a tug at her heart, a moment of pain, sympathy.

"How are you Nikita?" Madeline knew that this would be a tricky interview. Nikita had learned well over the past year since her return to Section. She had developed a thick wall. She had learned it from Michael.

"I'm fine," responded the blonde, in a monotone voice.

"Hmmm . . . fine?" Madeline questioned, nodding. There was no response from her young operative. Madeline studied her carefully.

"I've noticed that you've not been yourself the past few weeks. Care to tell me about it?"

"Everything's fine, Madeline." Nikita's voice was steady, even, without inflection.

"How are things between you and Michael?" Madeline knew that this would elicit a response and she was not disappointed when she saw a brief, but deep shot of pain cross the young woman's face.

Quickly, Nikita recovered and slammed her hardened mask into place. "Everything's fine."

"Everything's fine? Fine . . . seems you have narrowed your vocabulary, Nikita. Why is that?"

Nikita took in a deep breath and released it. "I would appreciate it Madeline, if you would get to the point."

Madeline smiled at the moxie Nikita showed. Maybe there was hope in pulling her out of her depression.

"All right Nikita, here's the point: You've been very depressed lately and not yourself. I want to know why."

"Is there a problem with my performance?"

"No, on the contrary, you have executed your assignments quite well. We are pleased. But, you seem to be performing them in quite a different manner than your usual methods."

"The job is getting done, Madeline. Why should the Section care which methods are used if the end justifies the means?" Nikita glared directly into Madeline's eyes. "I am learning."

"Yes . . . you are."

Several minutes of silence shrouded the room while the women stared at each other.

"Nikita? Talk to me. What happened to make you so . . . distant?"

Nikita stared at her with such pain and anguish in her eyes that suddenly Madeline knew. It hit her like a thunderbolt. Nikita had found out that Michael was married.

"You know, then?" Madeline stated quietly, her hands folded neatly on her desk.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I followed him."

Madeline sighed deeply. "I warned you of this Nikita. I told you that your passion for life would destroy you one day."

"Yes . . . you did. And, you were right," she stated quietly, sadly, broken with tears beginning to well in her eyes. "Will that be all, Madeline?"

"Yes. You may go." Madeline watched the blonde rise and walk out the door.

Part 3

Madeline stared at the closed doors for a very long time after the beautiful blonde left her office and contemplated the situation.

On the one hand, she was pleased that this had happened. Madeline wanted Nikita to harden up, comply with Section policies and procedures. She wanted Nikita to understand how things were and how they had to be done. There was no room for feelings, emotions.

Conversely, and surprisingly, Madeline felt a twinge of sympathy for the young operative. She had always had special feelings for Nikita, although it was often buried quickly for the sake of the big picture. She wondered if she should tell Nikita the truth of Michael's so-called marriage.

Ironically, Madeline wanted the old Nikita back. She liked the fire that burned in that young woman. It brought an interesting perspective to Section, and certainly made Madeline's job more interesting. Nikita's presence always provided the need for special contingencies. It kept Madeline sharp when she profiled a mission. It kept Michael sharp too.

Yes, Nikita's keen mind and sense of morality caused the need for a special set of rules, and for her essence to be snuffed out created a new series of problems for the management team.

Madeline had to admit, Nikita was problematic. But she also had to admit, Nikita was vital to Section's survival. She was Section's future. She had proved it with Adrian.

It was decided then. Madeline would tell Nikita of the special circumstances of Michael's wedlock. She was sure that knowing the truth surrounding the sham of his marriage would revitalize the broken Nikita.

Part 4

Nikita was huddled in her leather chair, covered with an afghan, sipping tea when the knock on the door came. The lights were off except for a small spray illuminating from above the stove.

Checking the security panel, Nikita opened the door to Madeline.

Nikita raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Madeline?"

"May I come in Nikita?"

"Of course." Nikita moved out of the way and moved to the wall to turn on the hall light.

"You're sitting in the dark?" Madeline asked, trying to get a grasp of the depth of Nikita's depression.

"Can I offer you some tea?" was Nikita's attempt to change the subject.

"No, thank you. I shall only be a moment."

"Then, why are you here?"

"To tell you about Michael." Madeline watched as the young blonde turned her back and walked toward the french doors leading to the balcony.

"There's nothing to know."

"Oh, but there is. He's on a long-term undercover mission, Nikita." Madeline was pleased to see Nikita swung around violently, snapping her head to attention. This was the most emotion Madeline had seen in several weeks. It was a relief.

"What are you talking about?"

"Michael was ordered to marry a woman to get close to her family. He has been undercover for several years. The mission is about to be completed, probably in the next few months."

"And the child?" Nikita asked in dismay.

"It was important to solidify his credibility. It was a planned contingency."

"IT was a CONTINGENCY?" Nikita shouted in horror. "Michael married an innocent woman, had a child with her, and you consider that small boy a planned contingency? My God, Madeline, do you have any feelings at all?"

Nikita swung around and hugged herself tightly. Her heart and mind were screaming in pain. She was reeling at the knowledge that an innocent woman had been duped by Michael and Section. They had brought a child into this world. An innocent child, whose father was an assassin, a murderer in the name of protecting society. A father that would soon abandon that child and his mother once the mission was completed. He would abandon them, just as she had been abandoned in her life.

Nikita's knees buckled and she felt pain and horror crash over her. Madeline raced over to brace the young woman from collapsing to the ground.

"Nikita . . . Michael doesn't love her. He loves you." Madeline tried to soothe Nikita, thinking this would surely comfort her.

"LOVES ME? Are you insane? How could he love me? He's married, Madeline. He makes love to another woman, he has made a home with her, has a child with her, all of which means nothing to him? Nothing to you?" Nikita rocked back and forth on her knees, holding herself, biting back the bile that rose in her throat.

"And soon he will leave her and his son to fend for themselves. Or tell me Madeline, will they become 'acceptable collateral'? Will Section dispose of them as an inconvenient byproduct when the time comes?"

"How can he do that? How can you do that? What kind of monsters are you?"

"He's doing his job, Nikita. I'm doing my job. And we expect you to do yours."

Nikita crawled to the couch, and pulled herself to sit there, tears flowing in abandon.

"I understand," she hissed.

And she did understand. It was a horrifying revelation. The man she loved was married to someone else. He would soon get what he wanted and leave that woman and the 'planned contingency,' a child -- his child. She wondered, how could she love someone like that? How could he allow this to happen?

How could he have lied so blatantly to her, string her along, bring her back to the horrific existence that was Section, only to betray her in such a devastating way? Why didn't he tell her? This was love? This was how Michael loved her?

How could he betray her most fundamental purpose in life: to protect the innocent. But of course, she realized that this was her fundamental purpose. Not his. Never was his. He was Section through and through. Always following orders without question. He believed his actions were justified to achieve the end game. It was always the 'big picture' with him -- some innocents were expendable. He did the job.

And now, he had followed orders to the point that cut to her very being. Ripped at her core. It was abundantly clear that the differences in their fundamental outlook of life and means of preserving it were diametrically opposed.

She realized then that she could find no place in her heart for such a soulless, uncaring man. A monster. Someone that would use a child so blatantly, betray an innocent woman and seduce her with marriage and the deception of loving her, then abandon them, or be the cause of their death.

The love she felt for him was violently torn from her heart. All she felt for him was disgust and hatred.

"Please leave Madeline . . . please."

"Nikita?"

The young woman turned and faced her.

"Will you be able to perform?"

Nikita let out a snort and shook her head, gritting her teeth. "Yeah, Madeline . . . yeah. I'll be able to perform. I am one of you now."

She finally got it. She finally understood. Nikita knew without a doubt that under the current regime, Section would never treat those inside as humans with real feelings. They would continue to use and betray, humiliate and destroy any chance of hope or happiness for those that were imprisoned there.

"Good. Goodnight, Nikita."

When the door shut softly, Nikita felt herself coming out of oblivion. Suddenly, her focus became clearer. Never would she believe those words: "I am one of you." There had to be a way to fight the oppression of Section. To fight against the degradation of human life there.

She would not succumb to the ways of the Section. Nikita would not let her light be extinguished. Would not let her soul die. Hope was all there was.

Adrian had known all along it would come down to Nikita. Nikita would be Section's final hope. It was her calling to make certain that Section would not become a place of pure evil. Adrian knew it, and now Nikita knew it too.

She had been standing in the rain all her life. Rarely had it stopped storming around her. She tried so hard to manufacture warm rays of hope to bolster her, keep her going, give her purpose. Now, she knew with certainty, that she would never forsake her destiny. She would overcome the pain and the betrayal. And she would do it without Michael.

Her course was set. Nikita stood, moved the chair to the middle of the room and turned on the lights. It was time to come in . . . out of the rain.

Continued in Out of the Rain II