Fixated

written by Meilin

Part I

"Mommy, where is Father?"

Nikita looked down at her son, Derek, amused at his continual preference for the formal title he used for her husband, while the colloquial "mommy" was reserved for herself.

"He said he'd be here soon," she assured her five-year-old. "Are you ready to skate?"

"Yeah!" Derek replied enthusiastically. Wrapping his thin, mittened fingers around Nikita's hand, he practically pulled her onto the ice. In fact, Nikita mused, Derek probably could have dragged around the rink if he wanted to. Her son was a brilliant combination of her husband's physical stamina and mental composure, joined with her own compassion and fiery soul. He was their midpoint in the blurred line of light and dark.

"Mommy, mommy, watch this!" Derek skated furiously to the center of the small outdoor rink, small arms swinging briskly at his sides to increase his speed until he jumped up into the air. Upon his descent he managed to twist his lithe body 360 degrees before landing gracefully on his blades. Spinning around to face his mother, dark brown locks bouncing with the motion and bright blue eyes sparkling with delight, Derek awaited her reaction.

Nikita clapped her hands while her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise at his new talent. She bent and held her arms open for him. Derek was in her loving embrace in a nanosecond, enjoying her words of praise, which she showered onto him, but not letting this flattery affect his ego. He had always been a well endowed with gifts and excelled at everything he attempted. But while Derek could make young parents' green with envy, his modesty, innocence, and winning character made him a lovable child at all times.

"Come skate with me, Mommy, " Derek urged Nikita, tugging on her gloved hand.

Nikita smiled and followed her son around the rink, taking long, leisurely placed glides across the ice. She skated happily with Derek for several minutes, unaware of the two men that watched them.

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

A mixture of mud snow and ice crunched under well-worn Doc Martens.

"I hear there's going to be a Pink Floyd Concert next Friday," said Nolan. "If you're free from Section that night, I could wire us some tickets. How about it?"

"Actually," Birkoff answered hesitantly, "I've already got two tickets. . . for Gail and me. But you can come along if you really want," he said in a pointedly unwelcome tone.

"Nah," said Nolan, "You and Gail need some time together, without a third wheel slowing you down."

"No, no, you really can come if you want," said Birkoff, "Why don't you ask that chic from munitions to come as your date?"

Nolan smiled, knowing his friend was trying to get him a girlfriend. But he already had a love, . . .a beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous blonde who had stolen his heart the first time he'd seen her. He glanced to his right at the outdoor skating rink they were passing. Nolan's heart stopped for a moment, then resumed beating at an erratic pace. She was there, materialized out of his thoughts.

Birkoff shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot as he watched his friend gazing dreamily at Nikita. He knew of Nolan's obsession with the blonde, and it hurt him to know the inevitable resolution of this crush, but not be able to stop it. His prior attempts to fix Nolan up with another girl and direct the man's hormones elsewhere had failed. Nikita was like an addictive tonic to Nolan, and Nolan was helplessly drunk. Unfortunately, unlike Birkoff, Nolan had no knowledge of his former trainer's background or affiliations. And he was about to find out, the hard way.

_______________________

"Who's the kid? " Nolan queried, his eyes never leaving the beautiful blonde.

"That's Derek, " answered Birkoff, trying to be honest with his friend, but already devising ways of withholding the truth in his mind.

"What, does she do the Big Brother/Big Sister thing?" asked Nolan, watching Nikita skate a figure eight with the little boy.

"No, " said Birkoff. "Come on, we better get back to Section. Downtime's almost over, and I don't feel like getting my ass chewed by Operations again for being late."

"Then what's she doing with that kid?" Nolan pressed on, ignoring Birkoff's qualms. "What's their connection?"

Birkoff shrugged.

Nolan finally turned to face his friend. His piercing blue eyes taking in Birkoff's fidgety stance that screamed "I know something you don't know but I can't tell you."

"Come on Seymour, " chided Nolan, "spill it."

Birkoff shook his head.

Nolan sighed. Time for twenty questions.

"Is he someone she baby-sits?" he asked.

"No."

"Is he part of a mission?"

"No."

"Madeline's son?"

Birkoff bit his lip.

"That's it!" Nolan said with glee, "I'm right, aren't I? The brown hair gave it away."

"He's a son, " Birkoff relented.

Nolan nodded. "So big Maddy's actually done the wild thing, eh? I wonder who with. Lemme guess, Operations?"

Birkoff didn't answer, instead he gripped Nolan's upper arm and started to drag him away.

"Let's get out of here before she sees us, " he said.

"Fine, just one more look, " said Nolan, turning back to the fence.

Birkoff rolled his eyes, but assented.

"Do you think I should let on to her that I know?" asked Nolan.

"No!" Birkoff's answer came out a little sharper than he wanted it to. "I mean, she likes to keep her private life outside of Section."

"But this is Section related, " countered Nolan. "What's she doing skating with Maddy's kid? Is she, like, the boy's surrogate mom or something 'cuz the real Mom's a workaholic who has a fetish for torturing terrorists?"

"Well. . ." Birkoff hated misleading his friend. "I never really said he was Madeline's son."

Nolan's eyes narrowed. "Then what exactly did you say?" He too was getting tired of this merry-go-round of deceptions.

"I said he was a son, " said Birkoff, suddenly wanting to clear the distrust between his friend. Nikita had never really ordered him NOT to tell Nolan about her life outside of Section. Why not just tell him the truth and get it over with, instead of letting Nolan find out for himself. That way Birkoff would escape getting beat to a bloody pulp once Nolan realized he'd been deliberately misleading him about Nikita all those years.

"Who's son is he?" Nolan's voice was getting significantly harsher.

Birkoff tried his best to keep a calm expression as he answered in monotone, "Hers."

Nolan's face crumpled. He stood perfectly still for a movement in the cold air, staring intently at the cracks in the ice covered sidewalk. When his azure eyes finally met back with Birkoff's, they were glittering with unshed tears.

"Who's the father, " he demanded in a hoarse voice.

Birkoff shook his head.

Nolan grabbed Birkoff on either side with his hands and shook him furiously. "Tell me!" he bit out. "I can take the truth! You don't need to lie to tell me Birk!"

The pain of his betrayal glimmered blatantly in Nolan's eyes, and Birkoff felt a sudden pang of remorse for what he had done to his friend. Those past two years when he had befriended this new recruit, he had gained not just an acquaintance, but a life-long friend and computer game buddy. And he had repaid his comrade's trust with lies and deceptions. Birkoff felt sick to the stomach.

"Who's the father, " Nolan repeated quietly.

Birkoff raised a hand to motion toward the ice skating rink. Nolan followed this direction of sight to spy a tall, auburn-haired man.

The man's midnight shadow clothing and stone face instantly identified him to Nolan. The man was a legend in Section, and all ops knew him on sight. Nolan clenched his jaw as he watched the man advance toward Nikita and her son. He watched as the boy turned, and upon recognition raced across the ice to the man who stood at the edge of the rink, arms open to receive an excited little boy.

Nolan shut his eyes as the dreaded word burst from the boy's mouth.

"Daddy!" Derek shouted.

______________________

Nolan stormed down Section's hall, his blue eyes blazing with unbound fury. Coming to a jolted stop at Nikita's office, he didn't think twice before shoving open her unlocked door and barging in. Walking swiftly to her desk, he slammed his hands down on the table, and leaned forward in a manner that he hoped looked menacing.

Nikita continued typing for a second or two before raising her head to address Nolan.

"Yes?" she stated calmly. Raging, hurricane tossed seas met the clear, cloudless, eye of the storm. Taking note of Nolan's obvious mental instability, Nikita quickly pulled out her electronic pad to deactivate her office surveillance.

"Why didn't you tell me," Nolan bit out, angrily.

Nikita blinked. "Tell you what?"

"About your son!" Nolan practically shouted, "Derek. And your husband," he added, spitting out the word as if it were poison.

Nikita regarded the young man before her with a calmness that only served to further infuriate Nolan.

"My life outside of Section is none of your concern," she told him pointedly, but not unkindly.

"None of my concern?" Nolan growled. He stood back up to his full height of six feet two inches and folded his arms stubbornly in front of his broad chest. With his boyish facial features, he resembled an overgrown toddler having a tantrum.

"I've known you for two years, and I've never been to your house," said Nolan. "You've saved my life, taken a bullet for me, trained me, made me who I am today. You know everything there is to know about me, from my step mother's maiden name, to the exact date and time that I peed in front of the entire school when I was in the third grade, " he paused, letting his arms fall to his sides, "And I don't know anything about you, other than the fact that you're a cold-blooded op who somehow manages to be compassionate in this hell-hole ----- or so I thought."

Nikita sighed. This whole confrontation was totally unexpected. One moment she had been concentrating on the Trafalg report, the next, she was dealing with a rebellious trainee. Her mind drifted back to the days when she used to burst into her trainer's office, abruptly interrupting his work with her railing comments and accusations.

"How did you find out about my family?" she asked Nolan, trying to maintain a neutral expression.

He flinched when she used the word family. He just couldn't replace his mental image of her as an independent, take-no-partners terrorist killer with the picture of a nurturing wife and mother. He just couldn't. To do so would shatter his fantasy of her being an omniscient goddess, and he, her mortal suitor that would one day prove himself worthy of her love.

"I saw you skating yesterday," he admitted quietly, hurt seeping into his voice.

Nikita nodded, but made no move to offer an explanation.

"What about us?" Nolan finally said, breaking the silence.

"I will serve as your mentor for the rest of this year," said Nikita in a clipped, business tone. "Then I will step aside, and it will be up to you to survive in Section One. I know you can do it. You are an exceptional operative."

Nolan blinked back his tears. She didn't get it. She didn't care for him.

"Is that all I am to you?" he asked, "just another student?"

"No," said Nikita, "You are my first student. And I will always remember you for what you are."

Nolan swallowed hard. He couldn't take the gentleness of her voice, nor the concern for him that was in her eyes. He nodded stiffly.

"Is that all?" said Nikita, placing her hands back onto the keyboard.

"Yeah, " Nolan whispered. He walked numbly out of her office.

Nikita continued typing for a moment, before stopping. Leaning back into her chair, she exhaled and placed a hand over her eyes, clearly shaken by what had transpired.

__________________________

Nolan stumbled along toward Birkoff's terminal. He kicked out a wheeled chair and collapsed into it, simultaneously reaching for Birkoff's stash of candy.

"What's wrong?" asked Birkoff, keeping his eyes on his computer screen.

"I had a talk with her," said Nolan, biting down hard on a piece of black licorice.

Birkoff stopped typing to turn his full attention to the younger man.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'll live," Nolan replied dryly. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me about this bomb," he added bitterly.

"I'm sorry," said Birkoff, simply. "I wanted to, but technically, I was under orders the entire time NOT to tell you."

"Yeah," Nolan shrugged. "I understand."

"Birkoff," a masculine, foreign voice that exuded power echoed behind them.

Nolan instantly shuddered as HE stepped up beside him. What if he had overheard their entire conversation?

"Operations wants to see you when you're done," Michael informed Birkoff. He took no notice of Nolan, or at least, he didn't acknowledge him. Even though the man wasn't looking at him, Nolan still sensed that the cold op was attuned to his presence, as well as the presence of all the other operatives in the area.

"Okay," said Birkoff. "I've got the intel downloaded."

"Is there a connection between Trafalg's accounts and the Lenard transaction?" Michael queried.

They spent the next minute conversing about the current mission while Nolan pretended to be looking through a pile of disks.

He cast a sidelong glance at the man whom Nikita had taken as a husband. He assessed the man's angular face, short auburn hair, and muscular physique which was covered by a severe, black Gaultier suit. The man's eyes glowed with a peculiar shade of green, and promised wisdom and maturity. Everything about him, Nolan decided with disgust, was impeccable, from his clean shave, to his shined black shoes. Even his damn French accent infuriated him. Nolan couldn't understand why women got all lovey-dovey whenever Michael opened his mouth. Reconnaissance, my foot, Nolan thought bitterly.

Nolan looked down with a critical eye at his own attire, which consisted of a faded pullover, wrinkled cargoes, and scuffed up combat boots. He ran hand through his shaggy dirty blonde curls, and tried to straighten his gawky frame. Then he sighed with despair. No wonder she chose him over me, he mused to himself. I look like someone's underachieving little brother who sleeps on the basement couch and plays drums in a reject band that named itself Velcro.

Nolan looked up at Michael's retreating back with a feeling of worthlessness and despair. The lingering smell of Michael's cologne invaded his nostrils. Sniffing the air with distaste, Nolan stood up with a determined face. So what if Nikita went for the tall, dark and handsome type. He'd show her. Yeah. He'd show her that blondes know how to have fun.

__________________

Nestled in the warm cocoon of her bed, Nikita slept contentedly, . . .as did her bed mate. The annoying ring of her cell phone jarred her from deep slumber, causing Nikita to utter a string of expletives as she reached for the phone. Groping blindly in the dark, Nikita grabbed an object that felt like a cellular and placed it against her ear. The persistent ringing continued. A sliver of green glimmered at her in the darkness, before Michael's eyelids dropped shut again.

"That's mine," he informed her sleepily. "Yours is the Nokia."

"Oh," Nikita mumbled, picking up the other rectangular object she had felt on her bedstand.

"Hello?" she spoke into the receiver. She shifted slightly in the bed as Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head into her stomach.

"Josephine," the voice on the line was Madeline's

"Yeah," said Nikita, swatting at Michael's hand which was fondling her right breast. "Stop that!" she hissed at him.

"Is there a problem?" Madeline asked.

"No, everything's fine," assured Nikita, a little too brightly. She squirmed as Michael's wayward hand delved under her silk nightgown.

"Come in," Madeline ordered. "And bring Michael with you."

"Okay!" Nikita gasped, quickly hanging up before Michael's hands reached their sensitive target.

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

Back at Section, Madeline sat in her chair, looking quizzically at the cellular which was in her elegant hand. What was going on with those two? They were always acting peculiar whenever she called them in at the early a.m. hours. Madeline smiled to herself, as images of the passionate couple flooded her mind. Yes, Michael and Nikita were certainly taking advantage of the living conditions this mission required.

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

"Michael, we have to stop now," Nikita urged him, breathlessly.

Michael reluctantly kissed each breast farewell before pulling away from his wife.

Rolling out of the bed, he slammed a hand down onto the radio alarm clock, tilting the luminescent numbers to his eye level.

"It's three a.m." he grumbled. "Walter's going to have a fit."

"I'll deal with him," said Nikita, handing Michael a black shirt. "You check on Derek."

Michael grunted in acquiescence.

Two minutes later, a fully dressed Nikita knocked at her neighbor's door.

"Who is it?" a voice asked from behind the door.

"It's me," said Nikita.

The door opened with a slight creek, and a very grumpy old man appeared.

"Can't a man get a good night's sleep around here?" he snarled.

"I'm sorry, Walter," Nikita apologized, smiling impishly.

"It's that damn job of yours," Walter complained. "You oughta do something that has better hours. . . like working as a freelance artist. Now that's something you'd excel at, sugar. Whatever made you want to become another damn terrorist fighter? The world's got too many of them already."

Nikita laughed and shook her head. "Walter. . . "

"I know, I know," he interjected. "Duty calls. Just let me throw on something decent," he said, arching a suggestive eyebrow.

Nikita chuckled, for he was clad in turkey red long johns, along with a sanguine bandanna that adorned his gray head.

Moments later, Nikita returned to her apartment with Walter at her side. He was still grumbling about the inconvenience of the hour.

"Most retired folks hijack down to Miami, you know," he told Nikita. "If it weren't for Derek, I'd be working on my tan now."

"Oh Walter," Nikita sighed, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Uncle Walter!" little Derek shouted, scrambling down the stairs and into Walter's arms.

"Hiya there, Derek," said Walter, ruffling the boy's mushroom cut. "How's preschool going for ya?"

"Great," Derek answer enthusiastically. "Guess what? I can count to a million now! Want to see?"

"Maybe some other time."

"Michael, you didn't have to wake Derek up," Nikita admonished her husband.

"I was already up, Mommy," said Derek. "I heard the beep of your movable phone."

"He's always alert and ready," said Michael, moving to wrap an arm around Nikita. They shared a private smile.

"Daddy, when will you two be back?" asked Derek.

"Soon," Michael said, his eyes meeting his son's.

Derek nodded solemnly. Despite his young age and ignorance of his parent's career, he understood that "soon" meant anywhere from an hour to a week.

"Now Walter," Nikita began in a motherly tone, "I went grocery shopping yesterday, so the refrigerator's stocked. Make sure Derek drinks milk for every meal. He can have juice with his snack, though. No television until his homework his finished, and don't let him stay up past his bedtime," she warned.

"I know the drill," said Walter. "Derek and I won't do anything bad. Besides, I've been itching to show him my new bomb prototype. That oughta keep him off the streets and out of danger in this evil city."

"Walter!" Nikita protested, putting her hands on her hips.

"Don't worry, Mommy, we'll be fine," Derek assured her.

"Yes," said Michael, whispering into her ear, "there's no need to worry, my love. Walter will take care of him."

"All right," Nikita sighed resolutely. She allowed Michael to slip her coat on for her. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Michael knew how hard it was for her to have to leave her son, and not know when she'd be able to see him again.

"Behave yourself," Michael reminded Derek.

"I will, Daddy," said Derek.

Nikita bent to press a kiss to Derek's forehead.

"We'll be back as soon as possible. Be good for Walter," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," said Derek.

Michael handed Nikita her purse, then placed a hand on the small of her back, propelling her out of the door - - thus putting an end to another good-bye which he knew was excruciatingly painful for her.

"Thank you," Michael said courteously to Walter.

"No problem," Walter answered. "Be careful," he added.

"Take care of Mommy!" Derek called after Michael.

Michael stopped to turn and gaze at his son. He nodded, and the two males shared a look of understanding. Then without another word, Michael walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Well, now, you little booger, let's say we go back to bed," Walter suggested.

"Okay," Derek agreed. "But first, you have to show me your new toy!"

"My toy?" Walter repeated. "Oh yeah," he said, a sudden pang of Section nostalgia flooding him. "Right this way to munitions," he said, hoisting the boy onto his back to carry him to his apartment. "You're gonna love this."

__________________

Nolan sucked on his Altoid as he stood loitering around Section. From his strategic post, he had a perfect view of Section's main elevator entrance. He waited patiently until his target arrived. Even though he had planned on confronting her, he still unconsciously sucked in a stream of air upon seeing her step out of the elevator doors. Chills ran down his spine, and Nolan cursed his body for being affected by her presence. Summoning up his courage, he strode purposefully toward the elevator to accost her.

His eyes darted nervously about, not knowing what to focus on. He tried to appear confidant and look directly at her face, but it was like trying to stare at the sun. He risked blindness due to her radiance.

"Nolan," she greeted him in a bland tone.

"Uh, hi, Nikita," he forced himself to talk. Nolan tried not to let his disappointment show. But he was more than hurt that she hadn't noticed his change in appearance. Her face was as emotionless as Michael's famous patented blank stare.

"I like your new look," she told him, "Very sophisticated."

"Thanks!" Nolan burst out, relieved that his efforts hadn't been in vain, but embarrassed of his totally UN-sophisticated demeanor. His fingers clenched at the ends of his sleek Versace turtle-neck. His make-over had left him feeling even more inferior and immature. His locks had been cut and styled to fall rakishly across his forehead. His well-worn Doc Martens had been replaced by black DKNY dress shoes, his five o'clock shadow shaved smoothly away, and his nails trimmed and manicured. But the image he projected was not him, and Nolan knew it. He felt like a fake. Nikita was probably thinking the same thing.

"So, Nikita, I was wondering. . ." Nolan's voice trailed off as the elevator's doors opened and Michael stepped out. The cold op gave a polite nod to Nikita and Nolan, then continued on his way to the briefing table. A sudden thought struck Nolan just then, if Nikita and Michael were married, why hadn't they come up the elevator together? They had obviously arrived at Section at the same time. The indifference which Michael had showed Nikita also surprised Nolan. In fact, he realized, in all the time he had spent in Section, he had never once seen Michael and Nikita show any signs of affection for each other. The nagging thought plagued him, and doubts of the validity of their marriage entered his mind.

"Nolan?" Nikita's gentle voice interrupted his mental confusion.

"We have a briefing. Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Nolan said, recovering. "I'm fine."

A faint smile tugged at Nikita's lips, but she didn't complete the facial twitch. Nodding solemnly at Nolan, she brushed past him to the briefing table.

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

"This is Vin Andre," Operations began, flicking on the holographic display, "He is the arms dealer who commissioned last February's Valentine bombing which we were unable to stop. He has resurfaced finally, after six months in hiding, and we have been able to pinpoint to his location. Michael, Nikita, and Nolan will be going in to draw him out."

"I thought we were using Bryce," said Michael.

"Bryce was injured yesterday in a non-mission related accident," Madeline explained. "It was decided to replace him with Nolan. Nolan's new look fits the description, and I personally feel that this mission will be good for him, as a new operative. He will be able to work on his field mechanics."

Nolan fidgeted. Something about the way Madeline said "field mechanics" made his stomach ill.

"If there are no more questions," Operations concluded, "this briefing is over. See Madeline for wardrobe."

______________________

"Vin Andre has a desire for married women," Madeline explained. "He will try to bed you, Nikita. As Nolan will be posing as your husband, he will be expected to offer up some opposition to Andre's advances. However, he should maintain his profile of being a submissive business dealer who works with his father as a weapons trading informant."

"You mean I should just stand by and let this terrorist rape Nikita?" Nolan scoffed incredulously.

"Nikita is a veteran at Valentine operations," Madeline informed the youth with a demure smile. "If I were you I would be more worried about maintaining my cover. While you are a strongly skilled operative in most areas, your tests conclude that you still lack finesse when posing undercover. This mission will give you a chance to refine your skills."

"Whatever," Nolan muttered.

"You should get Andre to take you to his room," Madeline instructed Nikita. "Once there, subdue him using whatever means necessary and download the documents. Then bring him in."

Michael, who had so far remained quiet, finally spoke up, "How many men does Andre have with him?"

"We are uncertain about the amount of muscle he's hired," said Madeline. "However, we do know for a fact that he usually travels with several bodyguards as security has been a problem for him. His men are acceptable collateral, but we don't want to make waves until the documents have been downloaded. Even though you will be posing as Nolan and Nikita's bodyguard, you should still allow Andre to take her."

"Understood," Michael said quietly. "What about the Trafalq mission. Is it on hold until we return?"

"Wait a moment," Nolan cut in indignantly, "you've just been informed that your wife is going to sleep with another man, and all you can say is "understood" !?"

Madeline's face darkened.

"He knows?" she asked.

"It couldn't be helped," Nikita answered tonelessly.

"That'll be all Nolan," Madeline said, rather icily. "You can go now." It wasn't an offer.

Nolan glared at her, then Michael. Then he stalked out of her office without a word.

"How did this happen?" Madeline asked, leaving the question open to both Michael and Nikita.

"He must have seen me with either Michael or Derek outside of Section," Nikita concluded.

Madeline nodded. "See to it that he doesn't find out anymore than he already knows," she said. Her tone signified an end to the subject at hand.

But Nikita persisted. "I'm concerned about the duration of this mission. Derek's never been without me or Michael for more than a week at a time. Two weeks is too long."

"Ni-ki-ta," Michael's voice warned her to shut-up. She ignored him.

"I trust that Walter will be able to take care of Derek," said Madeline. "There has been no activity in the Trafalq vector lately, so the Trafalq mission can be put on hold for awhile. Andre must be taken care of first."

"And what if something happens to me or Michael on the mission?" Nikita demanded, blue eyes flashing. "What'll we do then?"

"We move to Plan B," Madeline stated simply.

"He's just a kid," Nikita said, struggling to maintain her composure. She could already feel her chin trembling, and she cursed herself for this outward sign of weakness. Michael, ever observant, noticed this. He placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back as a sign of his support, even though he personally disapproved of this confrontation.

"We should at least be able to contact him during the mission to let him know we won't be home for a while," Nikita continued.

"You know that is out of the question," Madeline responded coldly.

"You promised when Derek was born that we wouldn't be placed under life threatening situations until after the Trafalq mission was completed," Nikita reminded her.

"Circumstances change," said Madeline. "This mission requires the expertise of you and Michael. You two are among the best operatives in Section. You've both been through this scenario several times before. Although this mission does have a risk factor," she admitted, "I'm sure you and Michael will succeed as always. I would be very disappointed if either of didn't come back alive."

Nikita snorted disdainfully at Madeline's way of assurance.

She leaned in close, placing her hands on Madeline's desk for support. "If anything happens to Derek when we're gone," she said slowly, her eyes a threatening shade of blue, "I promise you, Section will pay."

"You live in a glass house, Nikita. I suggest you don't throw rocks," Madeline replied, tactfully. Then she turned away from Michael and Nikita to focus on her computer.

Nikita felt tears sting her eyes even as hot rage curdled in her veins. Sometimes she felt like throttling the woman. A nudge on her lower back reminded her that they had just been dismissed, and Nikita turned to find Michael looking at her. The concern for her was evident on his face, but he did not voice his emotions. Taking her by the elbow, he led her out of Madeline's lair.

________________________

Nolan unfolded his wiry body from his sitting position to step out of the car door that Michael had opened for him. His eyes widened unconsciously as they drank in the foreign surroundings of Bulgaria. In the meantime, Michael arranged for the porter to carry their bag to their room. Neither he nor Nikita showed any outward signs of interest due to their new environment.

"Coming, darling?" Nikita asked sweetly, sliding her hand around Nolan's arm.

"Uh yes, yes of course," Nolan said, blushing.

Nikita's look warned him to get into character. Nolan swallowed hard and proceeded to lead Nikita into the hotel in as gallant a manner as possible. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly sure how to do that.

At first, he took his usual long strides. But then he realized that Nikita was in heels, and he should probably slow his pace. At the same time, he worried about not walking close enough to her to make it look like he was the endearing husband who cherished his oblivious wife. The result was that Nolan's big foot jerked in front of Nikita's legs, causing her to stumble. Horrified, Nolan reached out to grapple her waist, and then swing her, as if she was a rag doll, back into an upright position.

A very flustered Nikita finally took Nolan's hand into hers and told him in a not-so-gentle voice that this arrangement would be more beneficial. Thus, holding hands, they continued toward the hotel.

Nolan felt his face turn flaming red in embarrassment. Keeping his head held semi-high, he glanced sideways at Michael. He could've sworn the cold op had smirked.

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

Vin Andre yawned as he relaxed on a ridiculously stuffed armchair in the hotel's lounge. Taking a sip from his glass of wine , he allowed his eyes to scan the hotel lobby. There was a rather adorable redhead checking in with her skinny husband. After a few moments of assessing her pert breasts, Andre decided that she wasn't his type. He returned to reading his newspaper.

Soft laughter that caressed his ears suddenly alerted his senses. Raising his head again, he got sight of an extremely rare specimen of the female species. He felt his mouth drop open, before closing it and then switching his mind to an analytical mode. His silverish gray eyes glinted as they roved enthusiastically over the female's body. He noted her long, ivory legs that ended in delicately heeled feet. Andre's eyes advanced upward, lingering on the hem of the female's short skirt. Gently swaying hips, perfectly proportioned breasts, a creamy, white neck. Lusciously full lips. An adorably shaped nose. Golden locks that cascaded down her shoulders, begged him from across the room to twine his fingers into their fine, soft strands. The last thing he saw of her before the woman turned away was her eyes. Beautifully wide open, azure eyes that sparkled with playful innocence.

Setting his wine glass and newspaper aside, Andre rose and straightened his tie. His brain registered that she was hanging off the arm of a tall, blonde man. He flicked his attention to the man, instinctively assessing the competition. The man was quite possibly her husband, Andre decided. He affirmed his hypothesis upon seeing the glint of a wedding ring on the man's finger. The man had strong-looking hands, as well as a broad chest. His height was intimidating, but his youthful, almost naive eyes promised a weak soul. Andre grinned inwardly. The husband might need some persuasion, but not much force would be needed to turn this invertebrate.

A black shadow suddenly drew Andre's attention and Andre glanced to the left of the couple. Now there was a worthy opponent. Although this man was more slightly built than the blonde's husband, he projected an aura of power and lethal expertise. Andre cautiously slowed his pace. He noted how the man seemed to be watching protectively over the heedless couple. Andre observed the man scan the hotel lobby with his decisive green eyes. This man was good, Andre thought. Possibly more adept than some of my men.

Andre paused, pondering whether or not to go through with this operation. He was not a cowardly man, but he had an agenda to follow, and he couldn't waste time bickering with some unknown entity in order to bed some dumb blonde. Just as he was about to turn away though, the woman spun gracefully around, affording Andre with a full view of her alluring beauty. His breath caught and he felt a tightening in his groin. This wasn't just any blonde. This was a prize worthy of being hunted. Pushing away any lingering thoughts of doubt, Andre advanced toward her, net in hand to capture this rare butterfly.

____________________________________________________________

Part II

Michael sat typing at the hardwood desk, a studious expression on his otherwise blank face. The sound of running water echoed throughout the luxurious hotel room, since Nolan was showering. Meanwhile, an underwear clad Nikita scurried about as she dressed for the formal dinner that they would be attending with Vin Andre.

Michael struggled to keep his eyes on the computer screen and his mind on the report, but both kept straying to his lovely wife despite his efforts. Although he usually saw her in various stages of undress on a day-to-day basis, her body continued to entice him as a Siren would. Michael didn't know how he would remain sane on this mission knowing Nikita would be in the arms of another man. Even though there wasn't any surveillance in either of their adjoined rooms, Nikita and Nolan needed to maintain their cover in case of an unexpected intrusion upon their precarious privacy. Knowing that Nikita would once again be whoring for Section by seducing Vin Andre, added to Michael's mental distress.

Sighing, Michael turned his attention back to his laptop. Moments later his eyes were again gazing upon Nikita. Seeing that she was struggling with her dress, Michael immediately stood up to assist her.

"Here, let me," he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders to still her wriggling body.

He slid the zipper slowly up her back, then moved his fingers further up to gently caress the nape of her neck.

"Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?" he murmured.

"Not today," Nikita answered distractedly. She pulled away from him to put on a pair of gold earrings. Then she padded barefoot to the closet. Michael 's eyes flickered down to the gentle swaying of her hips. Nikita eventually returned with a pair of stilettos in her hand, and brushed past Michael to plop down onto the settee.

Michael noted her expression of disgust as she unstrapped the heels. He knew how much she hated wearing not-quite-broken-in shoes. Although Michael treasured giving her post-stiletto night foot massages, he always placed Nikita's comfort over his own pleasure.

"Why don't you wear your own sling back mules, instead of what Madeline packed for you?" he suggested. "They have a wider heel that will give you more support."

Nikita exhaled loudly. "You're right. Screw Madeline. Black will match just as well," she declared, tossing the crimson red stilettos over her shoulder in an overly dramatic gesture which elicited a smile from Michael.

His amusement faded as he quickly realized that her troubled expression remained, signifying that a much deeper issue was bothering her.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a cold tone. Michael knew he shouldn't coddle her at a time like this. There was a valentine mission on hand, and Nikita couldn't risk being an emotional wreck.

Nikita's head lifted to reveal misty eyes. She whispered something that Michael didn't quite catch.

"What?" he prompted.

"Derek," she repeated, sorrowfully. "I'm scared for him. What if this mission has a secondary objective? Two weeks is ample enough time for the Trafalq sector to come out of hibernation. What if Madeline set us up so that we'd be gone when they attacked? Walter is dedicated to Derek, but he's not enough protection."

She stood and walked to the closet again. Once there, she found her black heels and slipped them on. Then she stood facing the closet, her back to Michael.

Michael stayed where he was, his eyes seemingly focused on her golden locks which shimmered in the muted lighting.

"I know that the projected time period for this mission is two weeks," he told her, "but I think that with your skills we can accomplish our goal in less time. You just have to stay focused. Concentrate on getting Vin Andre. Forget Derek."

Nikita stiffened upon hearing his last command. She pivoted on her heel to pin him with a hateful glare. Anger freely emanated from her exotic frame as her long legs carried her in five precise strides to stand in front of him.

"Don't you ever tell me to do that," she warned him, her eyes fiery hot enough to burn a hole straight through his head.

"The day I forget Derek," she bit out, "is the day Section takes my soul."

Michael stared at her, his stony face unmoved by this declaration. "If you still believe in free will, you're delusional," he told her. "The day you agreed to the Trafalq mission was the day you handed over your own soul, as well as Derek's, to Section."

Michael prepared himself for her inevitable caustic backlash. He knew he was deliberately trying to get her angry. He wanted to make her feelings for Derek a strength, not a weakness. So far, Michael decided, he was succeeding. However, he dreaded the possible consequences of this manipulation. Nikita had an untamed spirit that could turn violent with just the right amount of Michaelesque aggravation.

"Bastard," she moaned, pummeling his chest with a series of stinging punches. Michael allowed this assault for as long as he could stand being her punching bag. Then, sensing a need to intervene before Nikita's elegant appearance became disheveled, he grabbed her wrists and hauled her around. Slamming her forcefully against the wall, he pinned her there, waiting for her labored breathing to return to normal. She struggled against his iron grip, but he did not budge. He maintained eye contact with her even when the sound of a door opening signified that Nolan had come out of the bathroom.

"Michael, let me go!" Nikita half-snarled, half-begged.

Nolan stood where he was, his jaw hitting the ground and yo-yo-ing back up. While his opinion of Michael's sense of ethics was not very high, Nolan had never dreamed that the man would stoop as low as domestic abuse. Setting his jaw defiantly, he strode over to Nikita, intent on saving her from the cruel clutches of her depraved husband.

"Get your hands off of her!" he shouted, clapping a hand down onto Michael's broad shoulder.

Michael gave Nikita one more measuring look before releasing her. Then he slowly turned to face Nolan. Nolan gulped and quickly retrieved his hand. Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea after all. Then he remembered Nikita, and his sense of chivalry returned.

"What gives you the right to hassle any woman?" he taunted Michael. "You think you're a god or something? You think you can just waltz into any situation and take control by force just because you're level 5? Well you're wrong!" he declared. "And I'm going to prove it to you," Nolan took on a defensive stance, spreading his legs and bringing his hands up in fists.

Michael stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, then brushed past him. Infuriated at this display of indifference, Nolan landed a punch to the side of Michael's face. The punch had packed a good deal of strength. Good enough to maybe bruise the Frenchman's pasty skin, Nolan decided. Michael didn't even flinch. Instead, he acted as if the attack had never occurred. Turning to address both Nolan and Nikita, he spoke in a level, autocratic tone.

"Dinner's at seven. Our goal is Vin Andre. Be ready in five to leave," he ordered them. Then without another word, he returned to his laptop to finish his work.

_________________________

Number 52 leaned back in his chair and yawned, his sleep deprived eyes blurry from staring too long at the various monitors in front of him. Fiddling with the zipper on his hooded sweatshirt, he watched with amusement as the two figures that were captured on the kitchen camera went about cooking a meal. The old man was struggling with the instant mashed potatoes, the powdery flakes littered the counter like dandruff. Meanwhile, the little boy was having way too much fun sprinkling paprika into the green beans. 52 yawned again. Just for the heck of it, he booted up his laptop and pulled out the file they had on the Samuelle family. He whistled lowly as clicked through the gallery. The wife sure was a looker. He couldn't wait to bring her in and have some fun. Messing with the blonde in front of her French husband would be a great way to spend a Saturday night.

A high pitched squeal caused him to swivel back to face the monitors. He chuckled as he watched the old geezer frantically open the oven. Billows of black smoke curled out. In response, the little boy had started filling cupfuls of water and tossing them into the smoke. A very wet and coughing old man eventually rose up from the smoke holding onto what looked like burnt meatloaf.

52 shook his head with contempt. He was glad that they were bringing the boy in as soon as they'd gathered enough intel. Then he could finally put the incompetent old man out of his misery.

________________________________

"I understand our sources have picked some activity in the Trafalq sector," said Operations.

"Yes," Madeline answered, her sensible pumps clicking rhythmically down one of Section's deserted corridors. "Apparently, the group planted surveillance cameras in the apartment and have been monitoring the boy and Walter. I suspect they will kidnap Derek before Michael and Nikita finish their mission."

"Good," said Operations, satisfied. "Keep me updated."

He turned away from Madeline and proceeded up the first couple of steps of the stairway.

"What should we do about Walter?" Madeline's inquiry stopped his progress. Operations paused in thought, his back to her. Seconds passed before he turned to face her.

"Trafalq will probably kill him so as to show Michael and Nikita they mean business," he concluded. "Walter has provided a great service to Section One, but we no longer need him. He'll have to be sacrificed." He smiled thinly at Madeline.

Madeline nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgment and watched with troubled brown eyes as Operations continued up the metal stairs to his domain. She thought back to the threat Nikita had issued Section should any harm come to her son. Knowing Nikita, Madeline wasn't too concerned about the threat actually coming through. On the other hand, Nikita now had Michael. Madeline furrowed her brow. Together, they were certainly a formidable team. Perhaps we've pushed them too far this time, she mused. Would Section be able to survive their wrath? Madeline shook her head and entered her office, still pondering this dilemma.

__________________________________

"So what happened to the Princess Josephine, Uncle Walter?" Derek asked, curiosity blatantly obvious on his cherubic face.

Walter pulled the blanket up around Derek to tuck him in.

"Well, you see," Walter explained, "with the evil Emperor Operations dead, and the wicked witch Madeline imprisoned in the white room of the castle, Josephine was now free to marry the Knight, Sir Michel."

"Don't tell me they lived happily ever after!" Derek groaned.

Walter chuckled, "No, that only happens in fairy tales," he said sagely. "Josephine and Michel were now the rulers of Section One. But this kingdom still had to battle all the evil forces of the world. And that was no easy task. But with Princess Josephine's compassion, intelligence, and sugar spells, and Sir Michel's strength, cunning, and magical iron mask, the world was in the safest hands it could be."

Derek smiled contentedly. "When I grow up, I want to be a knight just like Sir Michel and fight for Section One!" he declared.

Walter frowned. "Now don't you go getting these ideas in your head!" he scolded the boy, rapping Derek's skull. "Section One is just a made-up place. You live in the real world, kiddo. Grow up and be a doctor or something, okay?"

Walter patted the boy's stomach. Derek giggled for he was helplessly ticklish on his tummy.

"You hear me?" Walter prompted, increasing the movement of his fingers.

"Okay! Okay!" Derek squealed, shirking away from Walter's hands.

"Good," said Walter, bending to kiss Derek on the forehead. "Sleep tight, booger."

"Good-night, Uncle Walter," Derek returned, snuggling down into his pillow. He closed his eyes. Seconds later, he reopened them.

"Walter?"

"Yeah?"

"When will Father and Mommy come home?" Derek asked, in a small voice.

Walter kept his back to the boy, so that Derek wouldn't see his stricken expression.

"Soon," he replied gruffly, walking swiftly out of the boy's bedroom. "Soon."

______________________________________________________

". . . so I eventually decided to buy the Lamborghini and forsake the Jag," said Vin Andre, chuckling as if it were a joke.

Nikita suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and instead strengthened her adoring smile. Andre had started up another droll story about what he did with his money and Nikita knew she needed to appear attentive. Andre had told her that he did international business. Knowing that he really got his money by trading weapons which killed innocents, only served to make Nikita despise this maggot to the extreme. She couldn't until this mission wrapped up and she could go home to Derek. Putting a bullet through Andre's head wasn't a bad idea either. After all, Operations only wanted the files. Nikita grinned, thus inadverdently boasting Andre's already sky-rocketing self-esteem.

He placed his hairy hand onto her knee.

______________________________________

The subtle shadow of Nikita's sensual perfume invaded Nolan's nostrils. Groaning, he flipped over on his side, away from her. The woman was driving him crazy just by sleeping. Nolan exhaled loudly as the steady pulsing between his legs increased a notch. Hands-on relief was out of the question with Nikita in the same bed as him. Although for a moment, Nolan was tempted to flee to the bathroom and conciliate his manhood. But he feared that either Nikita, or god forsake, Michael would catch him in the act and think he was a pervert. Nolan shuddered at the thought. A similar movement at his side prompted him to turn back to Nikita and see if he had awaken her. He was immediately greeted with heavenly softness as she snuggled up against his chest and assaulted his senses once again with her seductive scent.

Oh dear god, Nolan moaned. His body was totally out of control now. Help!

Just then, Nikita moved slightly in her sleep and mumbled. Nolan froze. The one word which had escaped her lips had had the same effect on him as an Arctic-cold shower.

"Michael," she murmured again, burrowing her head into Nolan's shoulder.

An aching sensation filled Nolan's heart. Pushing Nikita away from him despite her comatose protests, he climbed out of the bed. Throwing on a robe, he padded barefoot to the door which led to Michael's adjoined bedroom and opened it. Then, taking a deep breath, he entered.

He was only half shocked to see Michael sitting upright in his bed and typing on a laptop. In the past four days of the mission, Nolan had rarely seen the man NOT doing anything that wasn't Section related. He probably even goes to sleep dreaming about profiling missions, Nolan mused.

"Hi" Michael greeted Nolan.

"Uh, hi," Nolan replied, still somewhat put-off by Michael's usual nonchalance. He was grateful that Michael had "forgotten" about the punch Nolan had administered to him. However, he was suspicious of the possible anterior motives of Michael's current complaisant behavior.

"Is there something you need?" Michael asked, courteously.

"Yeah," said Nolan. "I, uh, need to ask you a favor."

Michael nodded. "What is it?"

Nolan took a deep breath and plowed blindly forward. "I want to switch beds with you," he said.

Michael blinked. "Your bed is not satisfactory?"

"Oh no, it's fine!" Nolan said hurriedly, "It's just that . . ." Nolan trailed off, wishing he had formulated a speech before having entered Michael's room.

"Is it Nikita?" Michael asked in a concerned voice.

"Yeah," Nolan said, relieved that they were on the same wavelength.

Michael picked up his pillow and handed it to Nolan.

"What's this for?" Nolan asked bewilderedly.

"I know how Nikita can be a fussy sleeper," said Michael. "Sometimes an extra pillow helps her. If that doesn't work, give her some warm milk to drink." He turned his attention back to his laptop.

Nolan shook his head. Good grief!

"It's not that," he said. "It's the fact that I can't sleep with her. She needs you by her side."

Michael's face hardened. "You have a profile to follow," he told Nolan sternly, "we can't have Andre suddenly bursting into the room to find your wife sleeping with the bodyguard. Deal with it."

Nolan's mouth opened, then snapped back shut. He realized that there was no way he could win. Still, he couldn't resist one last shot on the battlefield.

"How do you do it, Michael?" he asked in wonderment.

"Do what?" Michael asked tersely.

"How can you stand by and watch your wife seduce one man during the day, and at the same time, sleep with a different man at night?" Nolan asked.

Michael seemed to think the question over for a moment before answering.

"I love Nikita," he said quietly.

Nolan fell over, literally.

"What?" he stuttered, climbing back up from the carpet and trying to support himself on his wobbly legs.

"I love her," Michael repeated, simply, "and she loves me. That's how we're able to survive these missions. That's why we're able to survive Section."

"And that's why you two are married," Nolan finished.

Michael nodded solemnly.

Nolan inhaled deeply. Okay, this is really deep, he thought.

"I guess I'll go back to bed now," he finally said to Michael.

"Of course," said Michael.

Nolan waited for him to say something more, but he might as well have initiated a staring contest. Turning around, he prepared himself to return to Nikita.

"Good-night," he mumbled.

"Good-night," said Michael.

_________________

A cool wind rustled the hanging plants on the balcony. Walter wrapped the quilt more tightly around Derek as he looked off into the city horizon. Squinting his old, wise eyes, he pinpointed a familiar glimmer.

"Now you see that red sign that's glowing right above the that Italian eatery?" he asked Derek, pointing to the distance.

"Yep! What is it?" Derek said eagerly.

"That's the best night club in the city for meeting girls," Walter advised the kid, "When you grow up and need a date, just go on in there and you'll find yourself surrounded by chicks as soon as you walk through the door."

"Kewl!" Derek responded.

Walter smiled. He couldn't help liking the kid.

"Okay booger, it's time for bed," he declared, hoisting the boy into his arms.

"Can I sleep in your apartment tonight, Uncle Walter?" Derek asked.

"Well, I don't see why not," Walter replied. "Don't tell your mum, but your couch ain't that comfortable. Last night I found a pair of sunglasses under the cushions."

Walter opened the French doors and was just about to enter his room when a snapping noise stopped him. Swinging his head around, his eyes caught the familiar movement of an attacker. The hand positioning of the shadow clearly signified a gun. Adrenaline flooding his system, Walter quickly propelled himself downward as he entered the room. Two bullets whizzed past his bandanna and Walter immediately arched himself over Derek.

Upon impact, the bullets burst a glass vase.

"Nikita gave me those flowers!" Walter growled. "Looks like these guys want to play dirty. I'll show them dirty."

Shoving Derek under the ottoman, Walter flipped on the power switch for his French doors. They immediately swung shut just as two shadows plopped down onto the balcony. They raised their semi-automatics and burst of fire erupted as they pummeled the bullet-resistant glass doors with a barrage of ammo. Finally, they stopped, and one of the shadows reached for the doorknob. It screamed in agony as electricity surged through its body.

"Oh yeah," Walter pumped his fist in the air. Grabbing a kevlar pillow, he handed it to Derek and ordered the boy to stay undercover.

"But Uncle Walter. . ." the boy protested. His wide eyes were filled with excitement, and strangely devoid of fear. "I want to help!"

"You can help by not getting any bullet holes into your system," Walter shot back, rather snappily.

Walter dove for cover just as his front door burst open and five armed men streamed in. He crawled furiously to his console.

"Where is it, damn it!" he groped around as gunfire erupted in his apartment. "Here we go!" he hissed with relief.

Punching in the code, he automatically activated his radical self-designed security system. Five high-powered machine guns slid out and down from the ceiling and immediately targeted the intruders.

Walter rolled under his coffee table and covered his head as bullets rained down on the enemy. After what seemed like an eternity, the steady rat-a-tat-tat-tat of bullets dissolved into just moans of pain.

Pushing himself up, Walter carefully removed himself from cover. He strode swiftly to his console and opened a drawer to take out his Glock. First he checked on Derek. No blood. Then he cautiously approached the one shadow that was still moaning in pain. Lots of blood.

Walter cocked his gun and bent to place the barrel of it against the man's bleeding forehead.

"Who do you work for," he asked in a crisp voice.

The man moaned something unintelligible in response. His chest had been like a pin cushion for bullets. Walter poked it, hard. The man screamed in a raspy voice.

"Who do you work for!" Walter shouted.

"Go to hell," the man uttered. Those were his last words.

A bullet to the skull finished him off. Walter sighed. It had been a long time since he had killed. He thought it would be something he'd never have to do again after retiring from Section. A rustle alerted his senses back to Derek.

"Uncle Walter?" the boy called out, crawling out his hiding area.

"Derek, wait, don't come out yet!" Walter cursed himself for not acting faster.

The little boy stood where he was and surveyed the horrific carnage in the apartment with his innocent eyes. His chin trembled as he took in the blood, the smell of gun powder, and the anguished expressions of the dead.

Walter quickly moved to sweep the boy up into his arms. He pushed Derek's tiny head into his chest, so the kid wouldn't have to see anymore.

"Everything's going to be okay Derek," he soothed the boy. Derek whimpered. "I'm going to take you to your room so you can pack some stuff," Walter told him. "Then I'm taking you some place safe."

"Where?" Derek asked in a small voice, lifting his head. His teary eyes unknowingly pierced into Walter's heart.

"It'll be a surprise," Walter answered, rubbing the boy's back. Derek burst into tears.

Walter shut his eyes as he felt his own eyes getting moist. They had no right, he thought to himself. Section had no right to expose a little boy to this evil.

"I want my mommy," Derek cried softly against Walter's chest. "I want , . . . I want Father. I want them to come home."

"So do I," Walter whispered. "So do I."

_____________________________

Operations looked up from the report he was reading.

"Sir, the Trafalq struck the apartment," Birkoff informed him.

"Did they take hostages?" Operations asked, getting up to stand over Birkoff.

"No," Birkoff shifted uneasily in his seat.

"They killed them?" Operations asked, a little annoyed.

"No," said Birkoff. "Walter killed them."

Anger mingled with surprise flashed across the leader's wrinkled face.

"Where are they now?" he asked, tensely.

"I don't know," said Birkoff.

"What happened to the trackers we implanted in them?" Operations demanded.

"They've been deactivated."

Operations slammed his hand down on the counter. Birkoff gulped.

"Find them," he ordered Birkoff. "I want their location within the hour."

Operations stormed away. Birkoff sighed and settled down in his seat. He took a long drink of his soda. He was going to need a lot of caffeine, for it was going to be a long night.

End of part one...

written by Meilin

Continue on to Fixated, part two

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