WALLS, Part I

Author's Note: Disclaimer: Michael, Nikita, Operations, Madeline, Birkhoff and Walter are all characters that belong to USA Networks. All others are products of an imagination that has been given quite a work out lately. The song in Chapter II ("My Lover's Box) belongs to the group, Garbage from their self titled album, as well as the song in Chapter XIII ( "Stupid Girl). The song in Chapter IX ( "At This Point in My Life" ) belongs to Tracy Chapman from her album, New Beginning. The song snippet in Chapter XX ( "Barrel of a Gun") belongs to Depeche Mode from their album, Ultra. The French song can be found at http://www.momes.net/ (warning: It's all in French). I may have played a little loose with some of the characters but I thought in something like this we could dig a little deeper and fill in some blanks. If you want to send me comments, my e-mail address is [email protected]

Its sound pounded into her unconsciousness with all the subtleness of a sledge hammer. Without lifting her face from the supreme comfort of her pillow, her arm snaked out from the quilt and grabbed the now very irritating phone. Before she could form a word of greeting, the soft lilt of his French accented voice spilled into her ear.

"Josephine".

Nikita rolled over with her arm covering her eyes to block out any chance that sunlight had to touch her eyes. Like it had much of a chance anyway. Light had been expressly forbidden to enter her bedroom even though it was well past dawn. A thick heavy blanket was nailed to the wall surrounding the bedroom window. The lamp from the bedside table laid in pieces on the floor. The result of her completely exhausted stumble to the bed upon her return from Prague.

"Go to hell, Michael", she moaned and started to drop the phone away from her ear when he spoke again.

"Josephine, come in. Now." The line went dead and the phone sailed across the room. It struck the wall next to the window. Only problem was the mirror on her dresser was attached to that wall. The unmistakable sound of shattering glass filled the room. Nikita sat up, staring into the pitch blackness.

"Shit!" , she rasped as she swung her legs to the floor. Seven years bad luck. What more could I ask for, she angrily thought. She reached for the light on the night stand but then remembered it wasn't there anymore. She stood and arched her weary back; trying to stretch out the muscles which had renewed their screaming. Nikita stepped forward and her foot hit part of the broken lamp. She tittered and tried to regain her balance only to be rewarded with the other foot finding more of the lamp. She landed on her backside, her head and neck striking the edge of the bed.

Nikita drew her knees up to her chest and put her forehead down to meet them. Grudgingly, her head came up again and she looked at the clock. Only 5 hours and he was already calling her in, she shook her head in disgust. Her blonde hair flopped in her face. At this point it was hopelessly tangled and badly needed brushing. She pushed it out of the way and grimly but gingerly got to her feet.

The past 4 months has been mission after mission, no rest in between. She had driven herself unmercifully. But she needed to ; she had to keep occupied, she had to keep away. In those 4 months she has barely seen Michael, much less had any time to talk to him.

Conversations between them were nonexistent. They had not even had any missions together. Michael was always leaving as she was returning or vice versa. Their only contact was his voice over the phone and the glances they shared from across the Ops center or the briefing table. She never held his eyes for long but she could always feel that he keep watching long after she had looked away. The intense way he did everything else even spilled into that. The tension of maintaining her detachment from him was beginning to show.

She had made a big confession to herself on the flight back last night. For weeks she had ignored the feeling that was constantly gnawing at her. She had tried to keep her mind as busy as possible but it had been an exercise in futility. In a fit of teary eyed exhaustion last night, Walter had dragged the truth out of her. He had cornered her in the gallery and locked the sliding doors on both ends. He ridiculed her actions of late and her "shit stunt" with Jurgen. He had been very blunt and his words had hurt Nikita. She remembered yelling at him and demanding what he wanted of her. His reply had been simple. She had to admit she loved Michael and that she missed him. Walter wanted her to stop pounding to pieces the heart she had worked on for 3 years to chip out of its block of ice.

The tears had come then, hot and angry. She wanted to throttle Walter for making her feel the way he had. But by facing what she had been afraid of letting herself acknowledge , she felt that a little of the weight on her back had not been moved but at least shifted.

She did miss working with him but her pain over his reaction to her "stunt" had thrown a wall between them. She had said that to Walter too who in turn asked her if she thought Michael felt betrayed by her actions. She had scoffed at that suggestion. Michael had betrayed her many times and she never saw him with any of the pain that she was being told to feel. At that point, Walter had pushed past her and stomped out of the gallery. She had stayed there for a while afterwards, trying to sort out her feelings. Yes she missed him but she had been so sick of the lies, half truths and manipulations.

She was sick of him being the one in control and always calling the shots.

Well now she was.

Yeah you're in control. Just pushing him away was the way to get rid of him. So Miss Control why do you see him every time you close your eyes and every night in your dreams? Ruefully she had to admit to that, too.

Memories of their reunion and night of lovemaking greeted her every time she closed her eyes. The images, sensations and feelings were indelibly marked there. She couldn't forget his touches or the desperation in them. She couldn't forget the emotions reflected by those shadowed pools of quicksilver green either. In those precious unguarded moments when she had looked into the eyes of the man she had fallen in love with, she thought she had glimpsed the "real" Michael. The one that didn't belong to the section. The one that she knew had loved her enough to so many times put her life before his. He had risked everything for her. Her "freedom" had not been that. She hadn't been free at all. It had been six months of utter loneliness. There had been nothing but pain and stinging regret for her own selfishness. These things haunted her constantly. They were becoming part of her mind, her heart, her soul. However that was her heart talking there not her head. Her head told her that she was a fool for coming back. Her whole reason behind her return had been him, the loneliness without him, the reassurance of his steady presence. She shouldn't have bothered though. He was still the same old Michael. Cold, unfeeling, unreachable, untouchable. She had thought that with their intimacy, she could have access to him. But if she touched him, he flinched, pulling away from her touch. He had held himself aloof. He had told her just to deal with it.

It had hit her then that he had been putting on an act the whole time even down to their making love. She had just been another job, another Lisa Pfanning. Coming to that conclusion had hurt like hell. It was so hard to believe that "truth" after all the other things he had said and the things he had done. Helping and protecting her. None of it made sense. Was she just a job or did he really care for her? His jealousy over Jurgen was caring but the aloofness showed her something else. He was like a wildly winding street. You never knew what was around the next curve. He was so many things but what was the real man. The only thing she felt sure about him was not his consistency but his ability to be inconsistent.

As these thoughts had continued their creep into her heart and soul, they had become more and more entrenched each time she let them rear up. Hell, there was no allowing now. They had a life force and strength of will all on their own. Nikita tugged on sweat pants and a baggy sweater. She winced as she pulled a brush through her hair and wrapped it into a ponytail. Then she shuffled out to the stairs and down to the living room. She blinked rapidly at the bright sunlight streaming in through the french doors. She grabbed a pair of purple sunglasses from the kitchen counter along with her keys and left the apartment. As she got into the car and started the engine, she once again heard Michael's whispers in her head....

"Tu tiens ma coeur, mon vie. Tu es mon lumiere. Desservete mes ombres, mes murs. Fidelement, tu es mon ame. Sans toi, je suis rien."

As Michael put down the cordless phone, he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. His limbs felt like lead. His brain was sluggish and begging him to rest. A mutiny was threatening but he did not give in. He couldn't. Michael didn't operate that way. I am a machine. I don't feel. I only do. These words had become a mantra for him. They were whispered constantly by his mind. They kept him in control. Kept him from going over the edge.

There was no comfort in them. Not that he expected any either. He didn't deserve it. He didn't want it. He had pushed away the only thing he wanted. He didn't want what was so dark and tarnished in him to rub off on Nikita. Unfortunately some had, it was the only way to explain her relationship with ... He shook his head and rubbed his temples. A vicious headache pounded away in his skull. While he usually used pain to intensify his focus, all this was doing was distracting him.

As Michael turned away from the monitors, he did not catch the glance that was thrown his way by Birkoff. He was worried. Michael was not Michael. There was something breaking down in him. Birkoff had noticed those kind of gestures more and more lately. There was the gesture where Michael would run his hands roughly through his hair and down his face. It was always followed by a soft but sad sounding sigh. Then the blank emotionless mask appeared again. At times, he had actually seen what he thought were unshed tears in Michael's eyes. He had seen emotions.

There were rumblings among the operatives about his attitude. There was no room for the slightest error for them but nothing could be said of his. He was one not to make mistakes but lately....That was not Michael. He never made mistakes. He never showed any feeling. Michael was made of ice. One look at his eyes and face were usually ample evidence of that. There was always that impenetrable mask. Nothing was ever revealed about the man. He never gave anything away. You could make a guess, but you could usually count on yourself being wrong.

There had been cracks and crevices only once. But not like the major craters that Birkoff was beginning to see now. There were the constantly darkening shadows under Michael's eyes, too. His face appeared drawn and Birkoff could swear that Michael's clothes were no longer fitting as they once had. He's not sleeping Birkoff thought. He's becoming a real shadow. A shadow of himself, if that was possible. Birkoff looked back down to his computer screen to complete the SIMs that Operations wanted for the next debriefing. Rumour had it that it concerned a Red Cell resurgence (Birkoff knew it did) and that Michael and Nikita would be taking point on the mission. They hadn't worked as a team since the Jurgen mess. A large gulf had appeared between Michael and Nikita just as if the charge had blasted away the ground between them instead of the building. He could see what it was doing to Michael and he could see what is was doing to Nikita. They were a team. They fueled each other. They worked as one and ...Damn it why don't they see that they need each other! Can't they see how they're hurting each other and everyone around them! Birkoff angrily shoved a disc into its slot and stabbed a finger on the keyboard. He could hear the data being downloaded and heaved a heavy sigh as he waited.

Wearily Michael sat in a chair. The pace he had pushed himself at recently was beginning to show on him. He had no desire in food, no desire to go home and God knew no desire what so ever to go to sleep. It was worse there than being awake. The past was a demon who reigned supremely there. He tried to face it as little a possible. There he relived the past and every mistake that was part of it. Where some people got redemption from their dreams, Michael only had condemnation. He attempted to study the screen in front of him, even though he knew it was useless.

Nikita had sounded so tired over the phone. He knew how she felt. Michael knew that she had been pushing herself just as he had been. The long hours he had spent working off the tension left him feeling just like he had begun. He punished his body til he couldn't stand the pain but he withstood it because he deserved it and he needed it. Pain and guilt were his constant com- panions. The fact that he felt this way angered him and eroded at his self control. He had given into some of the rage that boiled in him just that morning.

He had been unable to sleep as usual and had wandered into the workout room. For two hours he had done push-ups and used the punching bag. He was covered in sweat and his normally cinnamon colored hair hung dark and dripping in his face. He remembered whipping it out of his face and grabbing a free weight. It had slipped from his slick hand and clunked to the floor. He grabbed at the weight in frustration and lost his balance. With an animal like snarl, he hurled the weight against the plexiglass. It vibrated with the violence of his throw.

He turned on the punching bag taking his rage out on it. He punched and he kicked pouring his emotions into physical exertion. He wanted to let it all out but the walls of defense he had built up over the years refused to yield. Finally his knees buckled and he fell to the floor on all fours. For several minutes he had stayed there feeling the pounding of his heart and the ragged flow of breath in and out of his lungs. Several bricks tumbled out of his 'wall' and he pounded a fist into the floor.

"No more!! This stops now!!" Suddenly he had sensed a presence. He leaned back on his heels and looked around. He saw no one but there had been someone.

He knew sooner or later he and Nikita had to deal with each other. He just didn't know when or how. But he didn't think it would be easy or pretty. There had been too many lies and tricks.

Operations and Madeline watched Michael from the balcony that was Operations' office. Made- line glanced at Operations and offered softly;

"So soon, Oscar? They need to rest."

Operations swing to face her, furiously outing his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk next to him.

"They will rest when I tell them to rest! They will do as I instruct when I instruct it! They are operatives! They have a job that they must do! Do it or be canceled! Whatever it takes, the job comes first!!" He stalked away from his position by the window and pounded buttons on his keyboard, staring intently into the screen as information scrolled by.

Madeline frowned slightly, tilting her head slightly to the side and regarding Operations thoughtfully. He sensed her gaze on him and looked up.

"What?!", he demanded loudly.

Madeline tilted her head in the other direction as she continued to look at him. Operations pointed a finger at her.

"Don't stand there and play your mind games with me Madeline! I don't have the time or the inclination at the moment!" He looked back down and that was when Madeline decided to speak.

"They are only human. They have limitations. Michael is very close to the edge. Closer than I have ever seen. I can see him struggling to maintain control. He is not a machine. Much as you, he and several other people may think. He can break. And then there is Nikita..."

"I do not want to discuss either of them at the moment! We are on the brink again, Madeline. Red Cell has regrouped. They are as strong as they were before the "war". It's as if we never expended the time and effort we did on them. They are laughing in our faces! I can not allow this is go on! They have to be stopped.!" Operations stressed each word as he uttered it.

Madeline turned from the window as his tirade continued. He is allowing stress and George to get the best of him , she thought. She looked down at Michael. She noticed the slump to his shoulders. Earlier she had noticed the hang of his clothes. They were not as form fitting as before.

The sculpture of Michael's physique was still quite evident. She had seen him spending hours that should have been used for rest furiously working out in the gym. He worked until he collapsed on the mat. He would gather his strength again and haul himself to his feet and start again. He was becoming harder and more sculptured but at the same time leaner.

The situation between he and Nikita was creating enormous tension between them. It was affecting most of his habits. He wasn't sleeping but she knew why he couldn't, no, make that wouldn't sleep. His dreams were as much torture for him as was being awake. In his dreams, the past haunted him. When he was awake, the present sapped his strength. He continued to drive himself onward.

She was becoming more and more worried. Especially after what she has witnessed in the early hours of the morning. There had not been any active missions and she had been curious about the noises she heard. She had traced them to the workout area in time to see Michael lose control.

She knew that he had a violent temper that he keep well hidden. It was not something she thought about often but it was brought foremost into her mind this morning as she had watched him. And she had not been prepared to witness his release of it. She had been a bit frightened by it. The consequences of his being provoked to the breaking point on a mission were something to be seriously considered.

Not that Michael had made any mistakes on missions. He was always supremely focused and did a thorough job. But there was a pattern emerging in his past several missions. Chances were being taken. Not on the team but on his own personal safety. His attitude towards other operatives was also becoming suspect. He was becoming overly sharp and judgmental. A death wish or perhaps a cry for understanding and forgiveness from someone. Or possibly the need to forgive and understand. She was pondering the implications of this when a movement in the corner of her vision caught her attention.

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Chapter II

Nikita slowly walked into the Ops center. Anyone who looked at her could tell she was ex- hausted. Michael sensed her presence and looked up from the screen he was studying with wide eyes. Their eyes locked. And slowly he stood, never breaking eye contact.

Madeline felt that she could reach done and touch the emotions that were flowing between Michael and Nikita. It was as if a collective breathe was bring held by the whole Section.

Operations came forward to see what was holding Madeline's attention so raptly. With a clenched jaw he watched their interaction. Michael felt himself tremble as he looked at Nikita. He saw the hollow exhausted look in her eyes and knew they reflected his own. He had hated calling her. She looked so pale. He wanted to rush over to her, gather her up in his arms and take her away to a quiet place to rest and to be with her. He needed desperately to talk things out with her. There was much to be said. Things that should have been said a long time ago. There were things said in the past that needed to be taken back or explained. For the first time in many years, he had an intense urge to start talking and just not stop until he ran out of words and thoughts. But he knew that she would not let him near. She wouldn't hear him. Not if he went to her, she had to come to him. He knew that she had to feel it was her own doing. She had to make the first step. He had tried and been rebuked. Without thinking, he moved forward but stopped in his tracks as he saw her eyes. Loathing simmered in the blue pools of her eyes. The pain shot through him like a bullet. He felt like walking out of the Section and never looking back. It was all due to a lack of trust. Lack of trust had lead him to question his loyalty to the Section as well as the acceptance of their ways. He knew his trust of her had been tattered and he knew that she held little in him. There had to be a way to repair the damage. But where was it and how much good would it do?

Nikita was the first to break the look. She brought her eyes to the floor and slowly walked across Section's open center to the quarters hallway.

"Birkoff call me when they're ready. I'm taking a shower."

She ignored Michael's eyes on her back even though if felt like he was burning twin holes into her shoulder blades. She really didn't give a damn, at least that was what she tried to tell herself. As she disappeared into the hallway, Michael stalked off in the opposite direction. Seemingly wanting to get as far away from her as possible.

She reached her quarters and shuffled inside. Her ragged breathing seemed to echo in the room and her pulse hammered in her ears. She couldn't stand the quiet and threw on the stereo. Music filled the room pushing back the silence.

"Tear your world apart..." she said mockingly, "fits perfectly." It didn't take her long to get a hot shower started.

She shed her clothes quickly and stepped into the steaming water. As it cascaded over her head she heaved a large sigh of satisfaction. Some of the tension she hadn't realized she had been holding began to dissolve.

As she relaxed, thoughts of Michael surfaced He looks as bad as I do. It serves him right. She pushed back the hair that covered her face with her hands and allowed a shudder to run through her thin frame. This is not going work. I can't take it and neither can he.

Oh Michael! What have we done? She stared at the floor tiles of the shower. Michael's image hung before her eyes. His face was thinner than it had been 4 months ago. His body was leaner too but seemed harder.

Though his clothes were not as tight as they normally were, his almost statue-like chest was still quite evident as were his legs and arms. Nikita closed her eyes as she remembered all the times she had been held against that chest or been held in those arms.

Oh the feel of him... A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She wanted to lose herself in the depths of his green eyes, slowly drowning in them if only he would let her get that close.

Nikita gave in to the momentary indulgence of the day dream that lurked at the edge of her mind.

She was asleep with her head on the table in the briefing room. Michael came in and he sank to his knees and brush his fingertips against her cheek. She stirred slightly and mumbled softly something that sounded like french. A smile crossed Michael's eyes and his lips. He thought she had said "Je t'aime". She had been practicing. She wanted to master the language he spoke without a second thought. He leaned forward and her cheek again, this time with his lips. He reached out at the same time to run his hand down her arm. As he kissed her, he breathed against her cheek; "Ma coeur".

The door to Nikita's quarters opened. With cat like grace and stealth, Michael slipped into the room. Music blared from the stereo's speakers

"Send me an angel to love, I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven. Send me an angel to love, I want to feel a little bit of heaven. Piece by piece. Piece by piece..."

His mouth compressed into a thin line as he absorbed the words. He shook them off and crept to the bathroom. Through the steam and the curtain he could see her. She was bent over slightly and had braced her hands on wall under the shower head. Her head was bent between her arms and water ran her head. Her hair looked like a river of yellow mixing with the stream of water. She couldn't see him though. She didn't see the way his eyes darkened and widened as he watched her. It took all of Michael's self control to slowly back out of the room after placing a folded piece of paper on the sink. Running his hand through his hair, he practically ran from the room.

Nikita's eyes open and she swung in the chair, almost knocking Michael down in the process.

Their eyes locked, feelings raging over both their faces. She reached out a trembling hand to touch first his cheek and then his lips with the tips of her fingers. Michael gently kissed them. His tongue slowing traveling over them. Nikita groaned and closed her eyes. Michael's hands shot out, one towards her waist and the other to the back of her neck . He pulled her from the chair against him. His kiss was fierce, demand and full of need and hunger. She kissed him back with the same force. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling through the dark silky waves. The blood was roaring in Michael's ears as well as the rest of his body . She wanted him so bad. She broke from his mouth and tilted her head . His mouth traveled down the curve of her throat.

A beeping started to fill the air. What was causing that damn noise? It was so distracting....

Nikita's head snapped up as she realized that the beeping was coming from the other room. With a sound of disgust, she shut off the water and grabbed a towel off the rack. She padded into the other room, drying off as she went. She slapped at the intercom button,

"I'll be right there."

She went back to the bathroom, following her wet footprints. After having squeezed most of the water from her hair, she tugged on her clothes and then noticed the piece of paper.

With a trembling hand, she unfolded it and read "We need to talk. We need to clear the air before we do anything else. My office after the meeting. Please Nikita..."

She crumbled the paper in her hand. Her first reaction was anger. Then fear filled her. He had been in her quarters, in the room as she showered. Her guard had been down and she was vulnerable.

Hell, he had been watching her while she was fantasizing about him. Damn it! She flung the wad of paper across the room.

What did he want? What was he going to pull now? I'm not going to let you get to me. You've got to get out from under my skin, Michael! It has to end! She grabbed her brush and a ponytail holder from the bathroom shelf and hurried from the room. Bounding into the briefing room, she interrupted a confrontation between Michael and Madeline.

They faced each other and Michael's stance was taunter than an overstretched spring. His eyes were red rimmed and filled with anger . He looked like he was ready to let loose a tirade of words when he looked in Nikita's direction and visibly pulled his control back together. Madeline watched the change in him take place. His focus changed from her to Nikita and with it a different feeling came from Michael. Not one of anger as he had a moment before but one of sadness and regret. Nikita lowered her eyes and tried to brush past them. Michael's hand came up to touch her but restrained himself as he read the warning in her eyes. He looked away, swal- lowing hard. Madeline had to admit some admiration for the control Nikita seemed to exert over him. There had been no words, only body language and then Michael's total acquiescence.

Wondering what kind of space she had to work with now, Madeline decided to chip at his wall a little more. She smiled warmly at him but the warmth never reached her eyes.

"As I said Michael; you look like you could use some rest. Have you been having trouble sleeping? Perhaps, your late night workouts are filling you with too much nervous energy."

With that comment, Michael knew she had been the presence he had felt that morning. His loss of temper had not been as unwitnessed as he had hoped. He could sense that Nikita was trying to ignore their sparing. He turned his back on Madeline and went to his seat.

Nikita sat in her usual chair. Her eyes were fixed on the table and she brushed at her hair, trying to get rid of the tangles left from her shower.

Since there had been no response from Michael, Madeline decided to get one by refocusing her demolition work on Nikita.

" You look tired also Nikita. Have you not been resting well either?"

Finding Michael's note had not done anything to improve Nikita's mood and she was not ready to be Madeline's verbal sparring partner. She knew her sarcasm usually pushed Madeline away and so she went with her strong suit.

"Well, seeing as I got in from my little trot around Prague about 6 hours ago and I was disturbed from a very nice nap by a damn phone call. Then I 'm trying to get dressed to answer my royal summons when Travelers' Anonymous calls to tell me that my frequent flyer miles need to be used or I lose them all. And well it can keep a girl up nights. As much as Operations would love it, I'm not a machine like Mr. Personality over there. I can't keep going and going. I'm flesh and blood. I bleed , wanna see? Oh that's right you don't see the dirty stuff do you? That's what we're for. You do the talking and we do the walking."

Michael glared at Nikita, silently willing her to shut up. But the lid was off the pot and the boiling over had started. Nikita was on her feet by then.

"And if we start to do the talking then we get walked on. And if that doesn't work, then kill'em. Go ahead and blow 'em the fuck up. And if that doesn't work.."

She had turned in Michael's direction at this point and was fixated on him. "Then someone baffles you with lies and manipulations to go the way he deems to be the right way. To do what is wanted by somebody else. Not what the person being controlled really wants or needs.

It's never about one person. Or even two people. It's always about them. Everything! Eat, sleep, breathe, bleed, think, feel, dream! Even freaking vomit! It's not the be..."

Michael stood, his emotions shown in one wave across his face before the mask fell along with his chair on the floor.

"Nikita, let it go!" Michael hissed at her. His tone belied the dispassionate look that he held on his face. His insides were in turmoil. What the hell are you doing, Nikita? I don't know what your game is but it will not end up with you or me as winners!

Nikita's hand slapped the table. "You gave up any rights.." She never finished. Madeline's movement stopped her. Madeline stood and clasped her hands in front of her and walked slowly to Michael's fallen chair. Both Michael and Nikita maintained their eye contact. Nikita's was one of wrath. Michael was cool and dispassionate. He had that look she recognized as his "Section" look and it incensed her to no end.

"Damn it! We're in the middle of an argument and you stand there like a .."

With venom Michael spoke again, biting down on each syaballe of her name. His speech thick with his French accent, "Nikita..."

Madeline decided to put an end to their verbal exchange before others came into the room.

"You should listen to him, Nikita. As you know he always has your best interests at heart. Even with a heart like his." Madeline let the insult sink in as she guided to her chair. "Let me give you both a piece of advice that I hope you can find possible to take to heart. Neither of you have the right to impose your conflicts on the rest of the group. Work out whatever the problem is between you and quickly. Neither of you will enjoy the consequences if it isn't resolved."

Others begin to file in as Nikita looked after Madeline in shock. She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach as she plopped into her chair. Damn him! She tried to fathom what his thoughts were as she stole a glance but that damn mask was in place and there were no cracks in its sur- face. Her own thoughts and emotions were in total conflict.

Michael looked over to Nikita but saw that she was staring into the table, lost in her own misery. He was not surprised that Madeline had made a comment like that. It was not out of character for her and he knew the reason for its utterance. He felt Madeline's gaze on him and glanced over to her. She returned his gaze with a bemuse expression and a lifted eyebrow.

Did I hit a nerve, my dear?, her look seemed to say. Michael looked back to the table in front of him. The room had suddenly filled. Murmurs which had been gradually increasing in volume suddenly stopped as Operations strode into the room. He looked from Michael to Madeline, sensing that something had occurred. Madeline inclined her head to him and then he laid the mission parameters at their feet.

"Red Cell has regained its strength since our last encounter. They are back to where they were before. We have intel as to their new members. We intend to make a pre-emptive strike on their new power base. Birkoff schematic!"

A grid of a large warehouse appeared in the table. Instructions from Operations, Birkoff and Michael were reeled off in the course of the next hour. Much to everyone's surprise Michael and Nikita were placed on the same team together. The objective was simple.

Storm the warehouse, plant the charges, destroy any computer equipment and blow the building. Total containment was expected. Operations would tolerate no less. Any less and cancellations would be the "reward". They were given 2 hours to get their gear together and then they would be on their way.

"Dismissed!" Operations barked.

"Teams B and C to Walter for suit-up. Team A stay here."

Michael's quiet instructions carried over the clamor as everyone rose and started to exit the room. Nikita had stayed in her chair. Her eyes were steady on the wall across the room. Her face was a complete blank. Nothing showed on the surface which was a good thing because below the calm facade she was showing chaos was supreme.

Red Cell....no no no not again. Can't handle this. No not going to go. Can't face that. They made me weak. They took part of my soul. Those rats.... Michael... An uncontrolled shudder ran through her. A hand crept up to her hair to almost dig at the side of her head.

Images raged before her eyes. Rats. Cages. Michael.. so deathly pale and bleeding. His words...."only part of me not dead is you..." ;"we'll never leave this place alive"... and "they" hadn't. The bond between them had been shattered. It had been pulled to the limit many a time but this time it had been cut apart by the scythe of his actions, his "lies". She had hated him so much in those moments. He had faced her with pain, defeat, sadness and what now she realized had been self loathing. He had proved his depth of feelings by what he had done risking himself to get her out of the Section and saving her life. But the pain was still there, time had healed the wound but the edges were still ragged.

They could be re-opened. He had nicked them in the time since then. Drawing droplets of blood but never free flowing as it had been.

Nikita became aware of someone looking at her. She regained her focus, pulling herself from her revelry and followed the feeling of where the look was coming from. She found the eyes of Madeline, dark and cool. Emotionless and giving no hint to the thoughts that were obviously being thought behind them. Nikita blinked and turned her head from Madeline's direction to Michael. He looked at her and with the smallest of hand movements indicated to her to join him. She stood and walked to small group that was surrounding his chair.

All of team A were survivors of the war. They had all lost someone or something that last time. She remembered Lukins screaming in agony as they had pulled a metal rod from his rib cage. He had been in Medlab for months. Jan had lost her twin sister Kate. Gutted right in front of her. Gustaff had lost his 4 fingers and had his knees shattered. Perris had been catatonic for weeks before coming out of it, screaming for days straight even under sedation. They had never been able to find out what had happened to her and she didn't remember either. She had never fully recovered either. They called Michael cold but Perris was even beyond him. She was a blank slate. Great operative still but completely void of emotion. Never a flicker now. Nikita brought her gaze to Michael. He was looking at her also.

"Did you hear me, Nikita?' He asked her, his voice displaying its customary blandness when he was in machine mode. It revealed none of the explosions that were going off in his mind. He focused his attention entirely on what he was telling everyone. He could not afford to lose it.

Memories were storming through his mind. Thoughts, feelings and emotions associated with the torture he had received at the hands of the Inquisitor of Red Cell were still with him, even now. Those events are torn Nikita from him and he knew that all the damage from it had still not been repaired. He knew that she still had doubts about what he had revealed to her. He had meant every word of what he had said. There had not been a lie, none at all. Even when he had told her they would never make it out alive. He knew that when she realized why he had come, she would think that they were all part of the plan. She had told him that she was disgusted by him and that they were finished. A special part of their bond had died that day so in a sense they had not made it out alive.

Her answer brought him back to himself. "Yes," she said even though she had not even heard him.

"Good", he replied and turned his attention back to the group at large. "Teams B and C should be finished soon. See Walter for your equipment. I've been told that he has some new toys for you to try out for him. Perris, make sure that you have enough plastique. I want to make sure that nothing is left in one piece. Gustaff, check with Birkoff about the new jammers. You'll need to know the output on them." He strode rapidly from the room.

He reached his office moments later and sunk gratefully into his chair. But was up instantly again. He knew he was terribly tense but he couldn't make himself relax. Would she come to see him or would she blow him off? He and managed to contain himself during her tirade in the briefing room. But just barely. They were both spoiling for a fight. He wanted to keep their talk from developing into that though. They needed to clear the air not make it worse.

He turned as he heard the door open. Nikita came in , closed the door behind her and leaned against the doorjamb. He quelled the desire to grab her and hold her. Here was not the right place. He knew that the walls would reveal their secrets. He went to his chair, sat down and turned on the computer. He perused it for several seconds. He reached under his desk and then went to tap a few keys on the keyboard. He was waiting for her to speak first. She had to make the move.

Nikita began to fidget. She was uncomfortable being this close to him. Especially after the note and the words in the briefing room. Michael's eyes seemed to be glued to the screen, but he was really seeking every last bit of control. He didn't want this conversation to be a continuation of bad but a sorting out, an understanding maybe. He didn't need to look up to know that she has started to fidget. He knew her too well. She never stayed in one position for too long. She bit the bullet and broke the silence. For once she was going to be in control. But she was still boiling and it showed in her words.

"And why was I summoned to the throne room?"

Michael switched off the computer. He massaged his right temple. The dull roar of his head was getting louder. "Nikita..."

"Yes, Michael?" she answered and perched herself on the corner of his desk.

She knew this annoyed him and couldn't resist the temptation to work on his nerves a little. Hell, if he's going to treat me the way he has been then I can be a little annoying she said to herself stubbornly. She wondered how far she could go before he lost his temper. She knew she was in a thawing pond but chose to ignore the "thin ice" signs. He looked up from the screen and she was rewarded with the faint flicker of annoyance in his liquid silver- green eyes.

He sighed and gestured to the chair.

"Can you please sit in the chair instead of on the desk? I want to talk instead of argue with you"

He held her gaze, waiting for her to comply. Nikita twirled a loop of hair on her finger and didn't move. She noticed the tightening of the right side of his jaw and knew that he was getting more than a little annoyed.

"I'm comfortable right here. Thanks for asking though." She wanted to giggle to show her disdain but restrained herself as he got up from his chair. He pushed the chair back so rapidly as he stood that it sailed into the wall behind it with a resounding thud.

She blinked quickly and gave him a puzzled look. He was not in a pleasant mood and was making no effort at this point to hide how he was feeling. The 'machine man" mask was gone. Anger was evident on his face and smouldering in his eyes. He moved to stand in front of her and Nikita braced herself to face him.

"If it's that big of a deal, I'll move." She started to get up when he grabbed both her shoulders and roughly push her back onto the desk. One hand stayed on her shoulder and the other caught her chin, forcing her to look directly into his angry face. She smacked at the hand that held her chin but it didn't phase him in the least.

"Michael, you're hurting me", she said warningly.

Michael spoke in a biting tone. "Why must you push me? Why bait me into getting angry with you? Mon Dieu! Can't you just listen?! We do not have much time and right now I don't have the desire to play your backbiting games. I've had a taste of them and I don't like it. You want to forget us. If what we were working on creating doesn't interest you any longer. Fine. It's over if that's what you want. But don't throw my feelings or the lack of them you seem to have to bitch about back in my face. I do not like it and I will not stand for it. Do you understand me? I will give you the space you need. Pick any man you want to bed but do not rub it in my face! Pas folle, la guepe! Am I making sense to you? Am I clear enough? Our lives depends greatly on the two of us being able to work as a team. Just like we did once before!"

"You mean before you lied to me? Before you made love to me, then pushed me away from you and put that damn wall up between us again? I'm not your whore. I didn't want it to get like this. I wanted us to be close. You pushed me away. I turned to him because I was and still am con- fused. I can't figure you out! You won't let me in. I try to reach out to you and you pull back. Always hiding behind that damn wall. I hate it and it makes me hate you." she hissed at him in return. The rage was building between the two of them. She needed some space.

She thrust her hands up to his chest and pushed hard. Her shove at him broke his hold. She spun away from the desk and backed away to the other side of the room. She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath. Being so close to him was a heady experience. Right now her emotions were under little control. Her temper was getting the best of her. She threw caution out the door and decided to give into the desire to let loose.

"As usual you avoid everything I ask of you. You look away or go on to some other question or matter. So why the hell should I do anything you ask of me?! How do I know what is really between us? "

"What are you getting at Nikita? What do you want me to say? You want a confession from me. Fine I'll beg for your absolution " Michael asked.

He felt so tired. He was fed up with her baiting him. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with her. He did not want to fight but this was not going to go forward on a peaceful footing. He could tell she was not going any where near normal at this junction so Michael decided that he might as well follow her lead. It was time to get things out in the open. A little externalization of emotion might just do the trick.

"Well use that big head of yours for thinking instead of holding a headset! I asked you about what our night meant to you. Was it real or did I dream it? I don't need your confession. And you won't get absolution from me. So I guess I've got my answer don't I? It was nothing!! It was just another trick in your little arsenal to use against me! Another one of your manipulations that I fell for like a school girl. I hope you enjoyed the roll in the hay. Frankly as I look back on it , it wasn't that great!"

Every word was like an ice pick stabbing into her heart. But she was hurting and she wanted to hurt him just as much.

His reaction was nothing she has seen before. His eyes were on fire and his face was actually beginning to darken. He slammed his hands on the desk and she could have swore he growled as he turned from the desk to face her. He was yelling at this point and didn't give a damn who heard him.

"It was nothing! Nothing made you beg for me again and again? Tell me Nikita did he do anything for you like I did. Did he do for you what I did? Did he risk everything for you? Tell me what made him so damn special that you had to betray me for him?" There is was said and out in the open. A weight was lifted but there were more underneath.

"Betrayed," she screamed at him. "You're a fucking fine one to talk about betrayal. What have you done time and time again for the past three years. Everything you've ever said or done. Lies half truths manipulations!!! All in the name of getting the job done. Always in the interest of somehow gaining their approval. Do you need it that bad? Isn't mine good enough? You bastard you're so far down in the hole you've dug for yourself that you can't see the light at the top. You've don't know how to see what's right in front of your face!"

She was seeing red and didn't give a damn how he reacted. Their argument could be heard out in the Ops center. Walter had come forward and was looking down the corridor at Michael's office. Birkoff had gotten up and come to stand beside him.

"Should we break it up?" he asked the older man. He cared about them both and was upset by this latest development.

Walter shook his head and steered Birkoff back to his computer station.

"Once in a while, kid, people had got to work out the troubles they've got with each other. Sometimes it gets loud. Sometimes like with Michael and Jurgen, it get physical. I just hope it doesn't with them."

Birkoff looked at Walter in alarm. He knew how deadly Michael could be. "He wouldn't hurt or hit Nikita would he?"

Walter shook his head again. "No he wouldn't but Sugar's got a bad temper and she's not the greatest at controlling herself. She might just light into him and knowing Michael as I do, he will not defend himself. He'll accept whatever she does to him. Because he feels he deserves it."

Michael pointed a finger at Nikita. He had never felt such rage. Too long he had held his emo- tions in check over too many things. His whole body shook with the force of it. Nikita stood on the other side of the room shaking too, but not only in anger but in some ways from fear. She had sensed some of Michael's temper but had never seen it. Now she was seeing it in all its "glory".

Tears pricked at the back of her eyeballs but she refused to let them fall. This was not the place to show any weakness. Michael would spot it and use it to his advantage. Right now they were on an even plane and she wanted it to stay that way.

"I thought I saw the light and I was working up to it! But now must I say that it was an illusion. Do I believe that? No damn it! But I can't give you instant gratification! It's been too long! I never betrayed the feelings I tried to show you I have for you! Yes I admit I have lied to and manipulated you in the past. But I had to. I need you close but at arms' length too because I'm scared of what you start up in me! I can't face it! You can't either but I'm going to say it. I care.."

Michael swallowed hard. He was looking down into himself and he didn't like what he saw. But she had to know what she was up against and decide whether or not she wanted to keep climbing the wall. He hoped to God she did. He lowered his voice, trying to regain his control and started again.

"I care deeply for you. I protect you the way I do because of that. But I can not say that I love you. It is not in here right now." He pounded his chest by his heart for emphasis, pleading with his eyes for her to understand. "I am trying to find that part of me. I buried it too damn deep to survive. I had planned to never need it again. I had refused to feel anything again and then you showed up. Loud and bright! I feel like a moth to a candle sometimes!'

"Pretty words, Michael, but like I told you before, it's too little too late. I'm not your experiment anymore. That's right you know. These are all just words. Manipulation and lies as usual. Guess what? I see through all of them, no, I'm not a little naive fool anymore. You use sex and words like a weapon. You're a great marksman! What notch am I or do you have it all in a neat little folder in your computer! Well add this to it! I don't need your words and I don't need your protection. I can do fine on my own! In fact right now the sight of you just disgusts me. I'm done. I'm out of here. Completely. All of it! I'll be at my apartment. They can finish me there. Row 18, plot 30 sounds real comfy about now!!"

She went for the door. Grabbing the handle, she found her hand covered by Michael's. He gripped her tightly and with a lead anchor on each word said, he was terrified that he was losing her.

"I didn't tell you to leave!"

"I don't listen to you, remember! Get out of my way you son of a bitch! We're done!" She yank at the door as she pushed him with her other hand. It open as they both let go and slammed into the wall. The blinds jangled in response to the rough treatment and the door bounced back towards them. She grabbed the edge to keep it from hitting them.

"We're done when I fucking SAY WE ARE!!!!" Michael tore the door out of her hand and slammed it shut. The sound echoed through the hallway and caused Madeline to appear. She walked up to Walter and Birkoff and asked what was going on.

"The kids are having a little sandbox squabble. Nothing to worry about." Walter said to her.

Madeline cocked her head a bit as she looked at him. "Little" she replied. "I think we better put an end to this." She stepped forward but Walter placed a hand on her arm.

He frowned at her and firmly said "No Madeline let them work this out. You've let them push each other to the end of their ropes. You wanted it taken care of, while that's what's happening. If they don't get this out of their systems then it will come out on a mission and the results could be catastrophic. Here is safer for others and for them. They will find a resolution but they have to forge it themselves."

Madeline frowned but then nodded. "Fine, I will acquiese to you this time, Walter. If they fail then I guess you handle the fallout. Agreed?"

Walter sighed and rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. Madeline returned to her office as the volume in Michael's office went up again.

Michael stood with his back to the door. Nikita was in the center of the room. Both were breathing heavily and holding themselves defensively. The control he had partial regained earlier was in complete tatters. He glowered at her from under the hair that was now hanging in his eyes. He pushed at a lock futilely as he yelled into her face. All reason was lost.

"I AM IN COMMAND! YOU WILL DO AS I TELL YOU WHEN I TELL YOU!! NO QUESTIONS ASKED!! THE MATERIAL DOESN'T QUESTION!!! YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSE TO GET INVOLVED WITH THE MATERIAL!! BUT I AM!!! I AM NOT GOING TO LOSE YOU AGAIN!! "

"MATERIAL???!!! I'M JUST THE FUCKING MATERIAL NOW???!!! I...I..." Nitika screamed and grabbed the chair that was in front of the desk. She hauled it as Michael but due to its weight it missed him and thudded into the window next to him. Michael reacted like a steam engine. He barreled towards her and they slammed into the wall together. She hit the wall so hard it knocked the air out of her. Michael grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. He claimed her mouth in a hard brutal kiss, forcing her mouth open with his tongue. Nikita struggled against him. She didn't want it to happen like this. Not in anger. She lifted her knee to strike him in the crotch when she felt his kiss change; it softened. Then she heard his husky voice fan across her lips.

"Aide-moi qu je peux voir d'amour, mon coeur. S'il vous plait . Don't fight me. Help me back. Don't take away your light."

Michael's hands begun to slide down her body; molding her to him. She could feel his hunger for her and it brought a groan to her throat. She arched up against him, breaking their kiss and slowly sliding her tongue along his jawline and down his throat.

This time Michael's growl was of pleasure and hunger. He claimed her mouth again. Their tongues eagerly meeting. Nikita lifted her leg and Michael accepted her invitation. He slid his hand to her knee and slightly lifted her . She wrapped her legs around his waist, tangling her fingers in his hair. Hungrily they kissed as he turned and placed her on the desk. She started to lean back and Michael followed her. She moved her hand slowly down his body to his waistband and then lower. He moaned loudly and began to caress her breast. Her fingers began to lightly caress him.

"Make love to me Michael. Take away all the pain. Show me you love me."

Her words exploded in his head and it was like a bucket of cold water on him. He tore himself away from her and backed away, holding his hand to his mouth. His hair hung completely in his eyes, in complete disarray from her fingers. He took great gulps of air, struggling to regain his senses.

"Not here...Not now" he rasped.

Nikita looked at him in total shock. She was shaking in unbelievable anger and frustration. She propelled herself off the desk and to the door. Tears began to stream down her face.

"NOT EVER!!! REMEMBER I'M JUST THE MATERIAL!!! I should have let that creep put a bullet in your back. It would have ended all my problems!"

Michael staggered around the desk and leaned down on it, his head hanging down. "Ni..ki..ta" he moaned.

He made a strangled sound and let a tremour course through his body. How could he overcome this? Then he snapped. He tore open a drawer and pulled out his gun. He was at the door even before she could finish opening it. She heard the bullet slide into place as he shoved the gun into her hand. She gripped the handle in terror. She was unsure of his next move and search his face desperately for the answer.

"Then finish the fucking job! Do it for him! That way we'll both be happy!"

He grabbed her hand with the gun and pressed it to his temple. His hand was crushing her fingers. His eyes were wild and she could see the unshed tears in them glimmering.

"Pull the trigger! Show me how you can take care of yourself. Do the job! Finish it! Put me out of my misery and out of your life. I"M WAITING !! DO IT!!"

Nikita felt the ground opening up under her feet and she could hear the blackness of hell gurgling up from it. He had pushed her up against the door and its knob was in her back. In slow motion she saw his finger reach for the trigger. In a burst of desperate energy she pushed at him and locked her leg around one of his, trying to unbalance him. Her move shifted him enough that he released her hand and gave a few inches of space between them.

Nikita twirled the gun around in her hand so she had the muzzle in her hand. She swung and smashed Michael in the jaw with the butt end. His head snapped backwards.

He hadn't been prepared for that move. He had expected her to throw the gun over his shoulder. He staggered backwards. His hand to his jaw, blood oozed through his fingers and down the corner of his mouth from between his lips. In shock he looked at her. The fight was out of both of them. Michael backed up from her until he hit the desk with the back of his legs. He sat down heavily.

Nikita dropped the gun to the floor. It landed with a thud. Her next words landed with a simlar thud on Michael's heart.

"We are done. I will work in the field with you if that is what is needed. Do not ask anything more of me. We are finished. I refuse to be subjected to anymore of your self imposed emotional torture. Stay in your little emotionally crippled world. I'm not coming back for a visit. And leave your nose out of mine."

She opened the door and closed it firmly behind her. Michael wiped his hand on his pants. He made a choking sound as the tears started to fall. The light had been turned out and he was left in darkness. He felt his heart and soul follow her out of the door. The only thing he had left were shadows. "Suis rien."

Nikita made it to her quarters without anyone seeing. She reeled into the shower and turned on the water. The hot spray struck her, soaking her clothes. She crumbled against the wall and pounded the wall with her fist. Sobs wracked her body as she slide down the tile. She stayed until the water ran cold and her tears ran dry.

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

Chapter III

The air was stifling in the van. Nikita pulled at the neck of her black turtleneck. It felt like it was choking her. She rubbed the back of her neck and then stood up, trying to stretch out her stiff muscles. It had been 6 hours since they had spoken to each other. Michael had sat in the forward most seat for the flight. She had sat as far back as possible. She has studied the mission parameters from her laptop til the images were etched into her eyeballs.

Every once in a while Michael's voice had carried to the back of the plane. But she had resolutely tried to keep him out of her mind. She gave her entire focus to the mission. When they got back she was going to ask Madeline for time away. If she didn't get it she knew she would crack. She rubbed one red rimmed eye with the back of her hand. God, she hurt mentally, physically and emotionally. She stole a look at Michael while he read a screen. His state of mind was impenetrable. The mask was in place and she knew as soon as they had boarded the plane that a wall was erected that would not crumble as easily as the last one. He sat so still that she could have been looking at a statue.

"Nikita", he spoke with no emotion or inflection. All heads turned to her. Everyone had heard their argument and did not know how this was going to escalate. "You will take the lead of � Team A to the rear. Make your way into the warehouse through the north end door. Allow no one to leave. Shoot anyone who approaches you. Ask no questions. Make no comments. Just shoot. Any computer equipment you find destroy. The remainder of Team A will follow me. We enter from the south end front. Our instructions are the same. If any one you are taken, remember that you are a risk to the Section and act according. 100% containment is expected. Birkoff, time?"

"5 minutes, Michael."

"Good, we will start sequencing as soon as we are in position. Teams B and C will act as back up if needed. Any questions?" Michael looked each member in the eye except Nikita. He avoided looking at her and she did the same to him. The action was not missed by any of the team members. They exchange worried glances. None of them before had worried about working with either Michael or Nikita but that was before what had transpired in the past few months. With the tension between two of the best operatives in the Section, everyone was doubting their ability to work together.

Gustafson looked over at Jan as he heard her take a deep breath. He leaned over and softly said in her ear,

"Don't worry. Neither of them will let in affect the mission. Michael is more focused than he's been in months and I wouldn't even think of taking on Nikita in an arm wrestling contest at the moment." His comments brought a small smile to Jan. He returned the gesture.

"Keep up the A?", he asked with a raised eyebrow. There was a small joke among them that they were called the "A" team because they always received an "A" on their assignments. Lukins had even taken it a step further by giving out gold stars. The saying had become something each one of them shared before a mission started. It strengthen the team bond. Something they needed considering what they were about to face. They punched knuckles together. Jan said quietly, "I accept nothing less."

Michael knew that doubt was high but could not bring himself to dispel the encompassing shadow. His own shadows were barely at bay. He had shoved a defensive wall against their approach by shutting himself down to all feelings. He could not allow himself to experience any emotion at this junction. His breakdown and subsequent argument with Nikita had shown him the folly once again of feeling for someone, for something. But not to feel was not human. If you didn't feel you were a machine. But wouldn't that be a better thing to be?

That way I would not go on to hurt Nikita with everything I do. Just as quickly as he allowed the thoughts to surface, he buried them again. Madeline had appeared at his door before he had regained his composure. He was still supporting himself with his arms on the edge of his desk. His ears were ringing with the echos of Nikita's last hoarse words at him. He straightened up at the first hint of her presence.

Madeline stared at him with questioning eyes. "I am very astonished by the display that we were all witnesses to. I have never heard you speak to or react to any one like that in a very long time. It was in very poor judgement and taste. I warned you earlier about subjecting the other members of the Section to your conflicts. I was quite serious and I will not give another warning. I expect that I will never hear or see another outburst like that or you may well rest assured that a place will be available for you in abeyance. As well as your partner in such a display. Do I make my position and my expectations clear?"

Michael pushed his hair out of his face and wiped his hand across his mouth. He looked down at his hand and was surprised to find blood on it. He wondered briefly whether it was his or Nikita's before he answered Madeline. His mask slipped into place but its veracity was in doubt due to the huskiness of his voice.

"Perfectly, Madeline. Everything is fine. I need to get ready. Please close the door behind you." He went over to his chair and sat down, effectively dismissing her. He knew that he was playing with fire but at that point he was shutting down.

He just didn't care.

Birkoff's voice brought him out of his thoughts."We've arrived, Michael."

Michael stood as the van can to halt. He thrust the door back and jumped out. The team followed him, each gripping their weapon as if it were a lifeline.

The grounds of the facility were quiet. Lights burned in several windows on the west side of the structure. Three guards milled around aimlessly at the front entrance. Michael dispatched all three with quick shots from his weapon. With a quick nod from Michael, Nikita advanced to the rear with her half of the team. Michael counted silently while he waited for Nikita's group to get set. Nikita was counting silently in her head too. At exactly the same count, the teams struck.

Bursts from automatic weapons could be heard throughout the structure. Screams from wounded abruptly were cut short. Confusion seemed to be the order of business.

Perris went to and fro; placing plastique charges in various locations. As she placed a charge, a Red Cell "solider" fired at her from behind. The bullet exploded through her and to the plastique she had just placed on the wall. The detonation shook the building. The explosion caught everyone by surprise.

It was enough to distract Michael for a second it should not have. The distraction made him vulnerable and he missed the stealthy approach of a counter operative. At the last second, Michael sensed him and was able to avoid the knife that aimed for his back and his heart. He crouched to the metal grid of the catwalk and started to rotate on the balls of his feet. The knife sliced into his shoulder through his black combat jacket. The counter operative had sensed his intention and tried to correct his thrust. He jammed the knife downwards, attempting to do the same to Michael. Michael reached back, not for the knife but for the operative's head he knew would be there. The operative reared his head back just as Michael grabbed at his ears. He kicked Michael in the small of the back which sent Michael sprawling. He scrambled and sprang to him feet, spinning at the same time. He faced his attacker who snarled as he flew at Michael. The knife glittered in the air as he slashed countlessly at Michael's mid-section and thrust at his chest.

Michael backed up with each slash and thrust. Their boots clashing on the metal in the now deadly quiet warehouse. He heard in his earpiece Nikita getting kill counts from team members and then her command to clear out. By the mental clock in his head, he knew the time was getting short to detonation of the plastique that Perris was able to place. He heard her call to Perris with no response. She cursed softly and then called for him.

"Michael...?" She whispered in his earpiece. "Can you hear me? We've got to clear! Egress is ready! Transport on site. Michael?"

As she said his name again she was on the move. Michael could hear her no nonsense questioning of Birkoff. She was on her way to him. Not that he needed her help. Warily he and the other man eyed each other. He could tell that the Red Cell member was not afraid to die. But then neither was Michael, who toyed with the idea as a welcome respite from the turmoil his world had disintegrated into. He beckoned the man to him.

"Make it worth it, mister" he thought to himself, "I'm ready to go."

Nikita swallowed her panic and focused on getting Michael's location from Birkoff.

" He should be right..." Nikita cut Birkoff in mid sentence. "Got him!" she yelled.

Over her head she could see the two combatants on the catwalk. The counter operative made several lunges at Michael as she watched. All Michael did was keep backing up. He's toying with the jerk. Why's he wasting our time. We're out of here now! Her mental clock was telling her 2 � minutes to go. She aimed and fired just as Michael stopped moving backwards and went into a kick as his assailant lunged at him again. The bullet and the kick hit the counter operative at the same instant. His body jerked up and hit the side of the catwalk and tumbled over the side. He landed not 2 feet from Nikita.

She paid no attention to the inert form at her feet. Her entire focus was on Michael. He looked over the edge of the catwalk, looking for a way down.

"Now Michael! We're out of time!!" The catwalk was at least 15 feet from the concrete floor.

Michael's ears were beginning to ring. The knife wound was open and bleeding freely. It was worse than he thought. He saw the round containers piled against the warehouse wall below and to the side of the catwalk. Without a second thought , he scrambled up the side and jumped to the pile.

He landed heavily and the pile split apart. He crashed to the floor, landing on the injured shoulder. The contact knocked the breath from him. Blackness swooped into his vision. In that instant, he wanted so much to just close his eyes and sleep. His eyelids started to droop when he felt a hand grab the front of his jacket and yank upwards. He shook his head and looked into Nikita's face.

His pulse was hammering in his ears. He could hear her yelling at him to move it. As he gained his feet, she let go, realizing the front of his jacket was soaked. Her fingers were blood stained and her eyes widened with fear as she take his image in.

"Michael you're ..."

His tongue felt thick. "Not, no, Nikita. Let's go." He grabbed the hand she was still holding out. It was slick, cold and getting sticky. He broke into a run and Nikita went with him. She pulled her hand from him and matched him stride for stride. The door at the rear of the building burst open and Gustaff appeared. Michael and Nikita crashed through the frame just as the plastique ignited.

The blast blew all three operatives off their feet and through the air. Gustaff hit a tree and slumped to the ground. His face and upper body crushed by the impact. He had been holding the door as the building erupted. Michael and Nikita were slightly further and could be considered luckier. As she hit the jeep with her shoulder, Nikita caught a quick glimpse of the transport van receiving a blow from building parts. A large concrete block crashed onto the cab area. It happened so quickly that her brain had no time to acknowledge the event . She slammed into the jeep's door and bounced to the ground, unconscious. Michael hit the jeep also and slid down next to Nikita's crumpled form.

Birkoff's yells could be heard from their earpieces. He was practically screaming their names. His urgency cut through Michael's unconsciousness. His whole body was on fire and wracked with agony. It hurt to breathe. Blood dripped from his forehead, nose, mouth and ears. He tried to move his outstretched arm but couldn't. He knew it was either broken or his shoulder was dislocated. He tried to crawl closer to Nikita's inert form. He tried to talk to Birkoff through his cracked lips.

Birkoff heard Michael's painful noises as he tried to crawl to Nikita. He heard him call for her . Birkoff panicked as their comlinks went dead. He helpless begged the backup to hurry. He knew he was losing the two of them.

Michael reached Nikita. She was still unconscious. He felt for a pulse and found one. But she was deathly pale where she wasn't covered with blood. Her face was mottled and burned. The front of her combat jacket was wet, sticky and scorched. Her leg was at an impossible angle. Michael fought for awareness. He knew that he didn't have much time. It was over now. He tried to reach her mouth for one last kiss. A hoarse whisper was all he could manage.

"Monnn...ammmm..ee. I lo..." A spasm shook his body and his head dropped to her chest, his eyes staring without light to them.

Nikita groan as she slowly surfaced from blackness. There was such a weight on her chest. She tried to sit up and push the weight off. As she touched the thing causing the weight, she became aware that it was a body. She furiously shook her head only to have a wave of dizziness, swirling lights and nausea wash over her. She fought the sensation, holding the body as she struggled to her elbow. As her vision cleared, she saw the face. Michael's eyes stared blankly at her. She touched his back and her fingers sunk into his soaked jacket. The blood oozed between her fingers like swamp water. She started to shake violently. Her hand moved from his back to his throat. She felt for a pulse but couldn't find one.

"Michael... Michael.... Please answer me." Panic was causing her voice to raise. She was shaking from head to toe.

This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't happening. She felt for a pulse again. Nothing. Screams gathered in her throat and burst from her lips.

"NO!!! GOD NO!!!! NOOOOO!!!"

Backup found her cradling Michael's body and rocking. Walter was with them and gingerly checked Michael for a pulse. His shaking fingers felt nothing. He closed his eyes hoping when he opened them this would be a dream. Over and over Walter heard Nikita whispering no. They pried her arms from around Michael's body and pulled her to her feet. She was sobbing for a gun, begging them to shoot her, begging for someone to tell her it wasn't true.

They carried her to the van. Inside they folded her into Walter's arms. He held her tight as she begged incessantly to be canceled. The van barreled from the scene and sped to the airport.

Housekeeping would do the rest.

After the van departed the only sounds that could be heard were occasional pops as the rumble burned.

Michael's body laid on the cold ground. Slowly his hand began tremble. He was still alive, why he didn't know. His eyes closed and then he tried to re-open them. The eyelids fluttered and then he sunk into darkness again.

Suddenly the stillness of the air was broken by the approach of Red Cell members investigating the devastation of their building. They kicked at some of the bodies that laid on the ground. One knelt by Michael and yank his head up by his hair. He excitedly called to another as he let go of Michael's hair and felt for a pulse.

"Rutger, we've got ourselves the Dark Angel. We've got Section One's number one operative. We've got the way to destroy them."

The rest of the group gathered around his inert form congratulating themselves on their great fortune.

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

Chapter IV

They wheeled Nikita into ops center on a stretcher. Walter on one side and Birkoff on the other.

Nikita was unconscious. She was hooked up to various monitors and bags which were suspended above her and strewn around her. The monitors beeped slowly but steadily.

Operations and Madeline met them at the entrance to Medlab.

"What the hell happened" Operations demanded of Walter.

Walter stopped , his face inches from his boss. "Birkoff stay with Sugar. I've got some talking to do." Birkoff followed the stretcher.

As the doors closed behind him, Walter began to speak through clenched teeth.

"What happened? You want to know what happened? I'll tell you. We pulled that little girl out from under Michael's dead body. That's happened! You happy? You got what you wanted? They're separated. For good now. And before you ask me if I'm sure, I'm positive Geoff and the casket brigade will bring you your evidence!"

He turned to go into the Medlab when Madeline grabbed his arm. Her usual unemotional face was gone. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"Walter, please wait. Where did you pull Nikita from?" Madeline was dreading his reply. She was praying she had misunderstood him. She had to have because the alternative was almost too terrible to consider.

Walter looked over his shoulder as the Medlab door opened. He answered sarcastically , "You heard me. Michael's coming back to the Section in a zippered bag." The door shut on his last word.

Madeline stood, rooted to the spot. She raised incredulous eyes to Operations who was staring at the floor.

"Oscar, could there be a mistake? Should we send out.."

Operations cut her off as he began to shout orders. "Talk to me people! I want answers here! I want reports! I want to know what happened! Where was the mistake made?" He glared at Madeline. "I told you to keep the two of them apart. Teaming them together was a mistake. She got him killed. Cancel her now!" Madeline blinked once then twice.

Birkoff was coming out of Medlab as Operations was barking the last order.

"NO! It was her fault. It was because of her they got out when they did. She was getting him out of there. He was taking too long. She ran the mission. He wasn't focused. He shouldn't have been there in the first place. He wasn't in any condition to be out there. Nikita wasn't either. Do you even care what condition she's in? Maybe she won't make it til morning!"

The words tumbled out of him. Madeline laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze in an attempt to comfort him.

"Seymour," she said quietly. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Birkoff swallowed hard and took a deep breath then began to speak. "Everything was sequencing out fine, even a little ahead when I lost tracking on Perrin. Then a charge went off. Nikita started getting the team out because we couldn't get Michael to respond to us. I could track him. He was on the upper catwalk and somebody was with him. There was a lot of movement so I can only guess that they were struggling. Nikita was warning him about the time. We were down to 2 � minutes. She got to him and somehow they got out the back. But there wasn't enough time.

Gustaff had gone back for them because we had sealed the rear exit and that was the closest egress for them. He got it open just as they got to it. But they didn't clear. The explosion threw all three of them through the air. Parts of the warehouse hit the van for transport. It demolished the cab. We had trouble getting out of there. The doors jammed.

"By the time we got out, we were too late. We found Gustaff by a tree. He had died on impact or very soon afterwards. He must have been thrown 25 feet. We found Nikita on the ground next to a jeep that was about 15 feet from the building. She was rocking back and forth holding something. She was crying and just kept saying no over and over. We could tell it was a body but didn't know who is was until we tried to get her on her feet. When we pulled her away she just about hysterical. She was begginig for a gun. Begging for somebody to shoot her. Telling us to kill her. The body she was holding was Michael. We all knew it. Walter knelt down to look at the body and Nikita got strangely quiet. He said 'Sweet Jesus' and put his face in his hand, covering his eyes. He checked for a pulse and then said it was Michael and he was dead.

"The sound that came out of Nikita when he said that was nothing I'd ever heard before. She started begging for somebody to cancel her. We got her to the other van and Walter was holding her. Then she started to drift in and out of consciousness. Walter said she was losing a lot of blood. He was covered by the time we got the van out to the main road. She kept asking for Michael then she'd whimper and say 'there was so much blood'. Then she'd fade out again. I wanted to bring him with us but Walter said it would be better for Geoff's crew to bring him in. The medic we had with us wanted to wait to fly her back but Walter wanted Christine to take care of her."

Anger flared in Birkoff's eyes as he looked up at Madeline. "This is all your fault."

Madeline faced him with eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She viewed Michael not only as a friend and colleague but in many ways as a son. His being dead was something she had never thought she would experience. He was always the ultimate winner in the game with death. Her voice husky with pent up emotions and unshed tears she said, "Why is it my fault?"

"Not just you but you too Operations. You both did this. That death wish you kept harping on every time you made reports about Michael's performance recently. You had it come true. You jinxed him. You jinxed Nikita too. They were the best together and you ruined it. You believed someone who knew nothing about them over what they knew about themselves. A stranger over what you... what you've seen from day one. Why? Can you tell me that? What did it get you? Was it the rush from total control over somebody's life or what?"

Without waiting for a reply Birkoff shuffled down the hall. By the shaking of his shoulders, Madeline could tell he was crying. She closed her eyes momentarily and then looked to Operations. He was standing there gazing at the floor and blinking every few seconds.

"I don't have any words" Operations said with a shrug. He shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly walked down the hallway, wrapped in his own thoughts.

Madeline still stood in the same spot. It had been a very long time since she had felt so completely unsure of what her next move was, of what she was about to do.

She knew that Nikita was going to need a great deal of help to come to terms with the present situation. She, unlike Operations, did not dismiss the bond that existed, no that was had existed now her inner voice added grimly, between Michael and Nikita. Madeline harboured no doubts that the two young operatives were lovers. The sexual tension that surrounded the two whenever they were close was palatable. I need to place this in the proper tense.

But now their time had past and Nikita must be made to deal with the implications. Madeline wondered if Nikita had it in her to take Michael's place. She had the potential. Not many operatives, well there was one, survived cancellation. She knew that Michael had had a hand in Nikita's survival and time of freedom, as well as her subsequent return to the Section. Her instincts detect the truth but Michael had done his best work ever. She had yet to uncover facts to support her suspicions. She knew the signs. She had gone to similar lengths for Operations when they were both young operatives coming up in the ranks. Madeline knew that the majority of the evidence had died with Michael and that Nikita would never betray him to reveal the truth. Her love for the man would prevent that.

The sound of the transport lock opening was one that Madeline was dreading. Foolishly she wished that it would never come. With a deep breath and a firm lock on her emotions, she turned in direction of the door and started to approach the man who had come through first. He was directing the entrance of three stretchers into the hallway, each with a dark vinyl bag laid on them. He was a young man who seemed old at the same time. He was dressed in soft dove grey from head to toe. His short crew cut hair was completely white. He wore silver wire rimmed glasses. He acknowledged Madeline with a blink of his eyes and a slight incline of his head.

"Greeting to you, Ms. Madeline." He spoke in a deep bass voice that was dripping in a Southern drawl.

" To you also Geoffrey", she replied.

"These are the three operatives who were unable to return to us. I will need the coded files on Gustaff, Perrin and Vanguaren to insure then a proper and respectful burial. I will.." He stopped when realized that Madeline did not seem to be listening to him. "Have I done something to puzzle you, Ms. Madeline?"

Bewilderment was fogging her thought processes and Hope was shouting in victory. Trying to assess the situation, Madeline repeated the names to him.

"Files for Gustaff, Perrin and Vanguaren? That's it?"

Now it was Geoffrey's turn to look bewildered. "Of course, I was told there was 3 operatives for retrieval. Then there were 22 counters for disposal. As always exact numbers were processed and all the "dust" has been swept up. The floor was cleaned and evidence placed to indicate a gas leak. Standard procedure for this type of mission. I am somewhat unclear as to why you are questioning me." He had said this all in his low calmly modulated voice. His voice was always pitched like that to motivate calmness and serenity, Madeline's analytical inner voice commented.

"Michael was reported as among the retrievals. There should have been 4. Walter, Birkoff and Nikita were all witnesses. Could some one have mistaken him for a counter?"

Madeline 's mind was racing, trying to account for all the possible scenarios. There were several, all equally distasteful. Geoffrey shook his head.

"Ms. Madeline, one would not mistake Michael as a counter operative. All of my team are long term members and no one would mistake Michael for a counter marked for disposal. Among others here in the Section there is a great deal of respect and admiration for him and his skills. Just as there is for you, Operations and for Michael's partner, Nikita. No that type of mistake would not have been made."

Madeline was surprised at Nikita's inclusion in the group. She had be unaware of this position that Nikita had attained in the Section. Perhaps this would help in the transition. She chastised herself though for getting too wrapped up in testing the loyalty and mettle of the operatives. She concentrated so intently that aspect that she was neglecting the interconnections of the operatives. How they fit together individually was just as important as how they fit into Section's unusual type of tapestry. That's obviously why you have tried to thwart the relationship of Michael and Nikita at every turn then her inner voice mocked her once again. She frowned deeply.

"Geoffrey please do not take offense to my questions. I'm not doubting you. Your performance has always been exemplary. I am questioning however what has supposedly happened..."

Geoffrey spoke again. "You mentioned that I was to retrieve Michael. Can you tell me what would have happen to make this so?"

Madeline chewed slightly on her inner lower lip, still assessing what information was becoming known. "Michael was found with Nikita outside the warehouse after it was blown. He was killed by the incident and Nikita was badly injured. The backup team found Nikita cradling his body. Walter and Birkoff were with them and Walter confirmed their findings himself. They returned here with Nikita and reported what had happened. Albeit was a very brief statement of events. Both Operations and I were "told off" about our actions by both Walter and Birkoff. Especially strong was their presumption that this was a direct result of our actions."

"One must have to courage at times to face the presumptions made by others because of the veracity that they may contain. I do however need to attend to my duties, will you excuse me?"

Madeline nodded. Geoffrey added, "Please keep me informed as to the developments of this situation. I would like to know the outcome." With those words, Geoffrey turned and with a guiding motion lead his entourage down the corridor. Madeline watched the procession, stinging slightly from his comments. Stinging because of the truth behind his words.

Madeline set her shoulders with an air of decision and her usual aura of self-confidence. She went to the Medlab door and strode in as it slid open. The frenzy of activity that had originally greeted Nikita's arrival has passed but several nurses still milled around the inert form on the stretcher. Walter stood off to the side, keeping watch over Nikita.

Monitors beeped out her condition as Madeline glanced over the numbers. Nikita was stable but not entirely out of the woods. She was still receiving plasma. Several tubes stuck out from the side of the sheets. Bloody drainage could be seen trickling through them. Nikita's left cheek, forehead and chin were covered with sterile dressings. What skin was visible either bruised or scratched. Her left knee was held by a brace which was being supported by a tripod. Her right arm was also in a brace but laying on the bed with IV tubes snaking from it to bags hanging from a pole. Dark circles under both eyes only made her look more pale. Even the pale blonde haired lack its usual gloss, something Madeline had always envied about Nikita.

A female in a lab coat came to stand next to Madeline.

"At the moment she is stable. She lost a great deal of blood but we can replace that. She due for more soon. Her ribs are severely bruised. There is also bruising to her kidneys, liver and we need to watch her spleen. It might rupture due to the trauma she has sustained. Her left knee was dislocated and there is a small hairline fracture to her right forearm. Though I think its from her last mission. It doesn't appear that 'fresh'. She has a severe concussion as well as burns to the face. As you can see the rest of her is either bruised or lacerated. We have her sedated so that we can work on her. She is very distressed by the events that have occurred. Madeline, is it true about Michael?"

Madeline gave a grim smile to the doctor. "That remains to be seen, Christine. Is it possible to bring her around for just a few moments?"

Walter sprung forward to protest this. "Can't you leave..."

Madeline cut Walter's words with her own. "Geoffrey did not retrieve Michael. His body was not there. I need to know what happened and our only "eyewitness" is Nikita. We need to deal with this situation now. I believe that there exists a real danger of the Section being compromised."

Christine's mouth as set in a thin line. Obviously she was not happy with Madeline's request.

"Madeline, I really must protest this as well. Nikita is in serious condition. She needs rest. She has received major physical trauma and from what Walter has told me, I believe that her trauma also is emotional in nature. There is a high risk of losing her either physically or mentally. I do not want to ..."

Madeline walked over to a small wheeled cart that was pushed to side and picked up a syringe. She flicked it with her finger.

" I figure that about 20ccs of epinephrine will do the trick."

Christine placed herself between Madeline and Nikita. "If you want to give her a heart attack it will work. I see that my opinion as a doctor is not valued, maybe not considered valid. So fine I'll do as you ask. However, you will be responsible for the aftermath."

She faced Madeline unflinchingly as she speak. Not many people in the Section had the courage to do this. Funny it seemed lately that there were more and more. Nikita must be rubbing off on them. The question is if this is good or bad. Madeline smiled in her usual way.

"Thank you for your assistance Christine. I value you very highly as a doctor with superior medical skills. I know that Nikita will survive what I am asking of her now because of your skills."

Christine went to the table and choose another syringe. She applied the contents to the IV bag.

"Now we wait."

It wasn't so dark anymore. The water was getting shallower.

What's beeping?

Why was am I getting closer to the surface? Who opened the drain? It was so quiet and safe here. No smells.

Nothing to look at. No need to think. No need to remember. Could just put away everything.

Could forget his eyes. Can't forget his eyes. Nikita's eyes snapped open.

She was not aware of where she was or of what or who was around her. All she could see was Michael's body in her arms. All she could feel was how limp and wet he was. How lightless his eyes were. A scream rent the Medlab air as Nikita bolted up off the table.

"NO!!! MICHAEL!!!"

She felled to the floor, her legs unable to support her. The bed skittered out of the way and the IV pole flew across the room as she pulled at her arms. She ripped the dressings from her face. She flayed at her knee, trying to get the brace off. She screamed again, sounding like a wild animal.

Christine, Madeline and Walter all tried to approach her. She struck out at all of them. Though injured, drugged and half crazed, she was still a dangerous opponent. She backpedaled to the wall.

Nikita collided with the wall and fell over to her side. She curled her knees up to her chest in a fetal position. Madeline got onto her hands and knees. Slowly she crawled over to Nikita. She noticed that blood was beginning to seep through Nikita's white surgical gown in various spots.

"Madeline, she's pulling stitches out." Christine said anxiously. "We need to stop this!"

"I know" Madeline hissed in reply. She reached out to Nikita's shuddering form. She could hear Nikita mumbling through her sobs.

Gently she touch the side of Nikita's head . Nikita flinched but did not strike at her.

"Kita, can you hear me? Can you understand me?" Lightly she stroked Nikita's hair as she got closer. Once she was next to her, Madeline sat down. Nikita uncurled longer enough to get huddled up against Madeline, who wrapped her arms around her in a motherly embrace of comfort.

For several moments she carefully rocked Nikita. Nikita's whispers broke the silence.

"His eyes ... no light...so dead...so still....so much blood....everywhere...so much blood...so still...can't be... can't leave me...I came back for ....so still...so much blood...no.....li..." Nikita slipped into unconsciousness again.

Madeline closed her eyes and her head leaned back against the wall. Slowly she raised her head to look at Walter.

"I don't know if Michael is really dead. At least he is to Nikita and she was holding him. I know this sounds irrational but knowing how strong their bond is, I think she would be able to sense it what happened was real or faked. It was real for her. The only reason I can think that we were unable to retrieve his body is because ... God.. What are they planning to do? What kind of sick game are they going to play now?"

Madeline looked up at the ceiling as if she was praying for strength.

" I think there were survivors of the explosion or they are a larger group than we thought. I think they will use Michael as an example." Tears started to run down Madeline's face. She tightened her arms around Nikita in a hug gently rocking back and forth. Walter was shocked at Madeline's actions. He had never seen her like this before. He looked at Christine in astonishment. Christine was equally shocked. This was a side of Madeline no one had seen before.

"Get Operations please Walter. We need to address this."

Madeline raised a tear streaked face to the two of them.

"Christine let's see if we can get our Nikita through this."

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

Chapter V

The room was dimly lit, unused and unorganized. Michael laid on a cot. He was clothed only in a pair of ragged sweat pants. Blood stained bandages crisscrossed his torso.

He was deathly pale.

His entire body was soaked in sweat. His arms and legs moved in concert with the images his mind reflect into his nightmare. His head lolled side to side. Words both in French and English came loudly as well as softly from his swollen and cracked lips.

"Donnez-moi une petite cle`.

S'il vous plait

Pour ouvrir la porte au soleil.

Donne-moi une petite cle`.

Je vous prie

Pour fermer la porte a` la pluie

Une cle` qui fait clic

Une cle` qui fait clac."

Two small children were holding hands and splashing in the mud puddle in front of a small cottage as they sang the song together. There was a boy with cinnamon brown hair and intense green eyes. The other was a girl with light brown hair and brown eyes the shade of soft fresh dirt.

Each line ended with their feet stomping in the muddy water. They were wet and splattered with mud. The smell of lilacs was everywhere. Spring was revealing herself in all her glory.

"Michel!! Paige!! Allons c'est immediatement!!!" A tall woman with her long reddish brown hair tied in a pony tail came out the front door. She shook her head and said,

"Ughh!! Mon Dieu!! Vous regards!! Que vous ferais!! Je n'ai pas le temps pour vos espieglerie!! Vos pere ici serat bientot. Maintenant allons !!" They laughed and shouted happily. Papa would be home soon. He would not be please about the mud but then Papa did not stay mad for long. Mama did not either. She liked to smile too much to stay angry at anyone. Not matter what kind of mischief you caused.

The boy pulled on the hand of the girl trying to get her out of the puddle and instead to run towards the cottage. Suddenly there were screams, the sounds of gunfire, people running to and fro. The small house was in flames. The boy stood frozen in the midst of the chaos. His hands were clasped over his ears and his mouth was open in a scream of his own.

The girl huddled on the ground, at the feet of the screaming boy, screaming as he was with her hands clutching his leg. A figure in blackish green grabbed the small boy and ran into the smoke with him. A man in greyish white grabbed the girl and shouted after the running figure. Above the dim could be heard the child screaming for his mother.

Slowly Michael approached the burning cottage, through the smoke he could see a tall figure with long blonde hair. He reached out a hand, amazement on his face. He tried to go to her. Then a figure appeared on the ground in front of him. He knelt beside her. It was the woman who had come out of the cottage before it had exploded in flames. Her eyes were staring blankly and her forehead was covered with clotted blood. A man with features similar to Michael's crawled towards him through the smoke. His words echoing eerily above all the noise.

"Salaud! Fiston sans valeur! Feel my hatred! I will take your soul!" With the last word he disappeared. Michael swung around.

Tears streamed down his face. He looked down as he felt clawing at his leg, The little girl pulled at his pants. "Don't you love me, Michael? Why did you not come for me? Pourquoi d'me ne cherches pas? Pourquoi Michel? Pourquoi? J'ai la frousse mon salopard de frangin. Te soucieres? No because you don't know how? You'll never know how!" The girl started to hammer his shin with the small fists, blood-curdling screams came from her lips. He looked up in time to see a shadowed figure pull a knife across the throat of the blonde figure in the smoke. He lunge up and forward shouting.

A slim brunette crept slowly into the room where Michael laid caught up in his nightmare. In his dreams, he whimpered for his mother desperately. " Mama... Mon pere! Ce n'est pas vrai!! I can!! I do!! " His arm shot up the wall and his fingers dug into the cement wall. Like the claws of a lion mauling its prey, he dragged them down the wall. A cry broke from his lips

"NO! NIKITA!!"

His back arched as he cried out. The woman had reached the bed by then and carefully she reached out. She touched his damp cheek, now wet with a mixture of sweat and tears. She stroked his wildly curly hair. Michael's eyes snapped open, staring straight up at the ceiling, breathing heavily. He swatted at the hand that was touching him and then he turned his gaze in the direction of the hand that was stroking his hair. His eyes were wide, glimmering with pain, anger and memories. The young woman ignored his swat and continued to stroke his hair. She smile softly.

Michael couldn't believe his eyes. Could it be? How? "Simone" he whispered weakly. He reached up to touch her face. He closed his eyes briefly and them opened them again. His heart was hammering in his ears and his insides were clenched in an invisible fist. The illusion passed as his vision cleared for the second time. She bore a passing resemblance to Simone but nothing more than that. He tried to look around but she caught his chin in her fingers, forcing him to look into her eyes. Uncertainity, fear, anguish and pain were easily readable in his eyes. He had no defenses and was in complete confusion. Snippets of his dream still floated in his head. He blinked again, fighting for clarity.

Any illusion that she was Simone was completely wiped away by her words and her other wandering hand. He became aware of the cold air in the room and felt shivers starting up his spine. He tried to stop them but all that did was cause more pain. He thought his head was splitting down the middle. For an instant he wondered when he was going to die. It would be a welcome relief. From a distance he could hear her speaking and he tried to focus on her words.

He recognized her from somewhere. He knew her but he was unable to think clearly enough to place her.

"My God, you turned out beautiful, even more than I remember. I think I could lose myself in the pools of your eyes. Too bad you're still somewhat laid up. I'd love to lose myself on this body of yours too. I can't believe I'm in the same room as the famous Michael. The man with the face of angel but an angel with no feelings, no soul. Michael, the archangel. The 'Dark Angel" is a good name for you. But then you are more machine than human. Always have been. The little boy who could cry no matter how much he was hurting. All grown up now and still the same. The Section's tool; their ultimate pawn. Cool, efficient deadly and so uncaring for his own survival. But we'll have to see about that. I think I will enjoy this assignment."

Suddenly her face contorted into a snarl and she tangled her fingers into his hair and yanked his head back exposing his throat. Her other hand gripped his throat, those fingers digging into his windpipe. Michael's shaking hands went to his throat to try and break her grasp, but he was still weak and couldn't command his body as he wanted. The cold was seeping further into his body.

He knew he was in shock and not far from unconsciousness again. She smiled coldly at him, digging her fingers deeper into his throat, compressing his larynx.

Michael's face began to get red, his lungs burning for oxygen. His heart beat against his chest in an effort to get out. The pain in his head was off the scales and his vision was actually tinged red. All he could hear now was a sound like TV static but only a thousand times louder. He arched his back again and tried to pull away from her. She heard the rattle in his throat and let go. Michael gagged and gulped in air. Spasms racked his body as he tried to breathe and calm the shaking of his body. His vision wavered, things flowed out of their natural shapes. The blurriness gave Michael a sense of being in another dimension. Maybe he had finally ended up in hell where he belonged.

"I can make this easy for you like I just did or I can make it very hard. You're weak right now and that makes you very vulnerable to me,. Not that there aren't other ways to make you that way...But your accident has been most convenient for us. We only want to know what you know Michael. We want you back as one of us. Where your secrets will be our strength, our freedom. Your freedom. You'll be free of the Section." She giggled suddenly, shaking his head and yanking harder on his hair.

"Since you were in Canada with mommy and daddy, you may not know who I mean. But in the mid 70's an actress did a big kids' project called 'Free to be You and Me.' Her name was Marlo Thomas. Married to... well that's not important. But free to be you and me..." She giggled and then started again. "I'm free to be me Michael but then I've always been just little old me. But you...can you remember who you are? Who the real Michael was? Or is?

"Come on Michael, are you real or are you Memorex? So long with Section One and before that with Red Cell. You were one of us, my darling. I remember you. I was just a little girl then but Daddy talked about you so much. He was so enamoured with you. You were a smooth blank slate. Perfect for what he wanted to create. You showed such potential. You would have been magnificent. Then you were gone. You existed only in whispers of hate. Your blood would become a badge of honor, respect, courage and ultimate loyalty to our cause.

"Don't you want to come home? To show us how great you have become? And how wrong they were to hate you. To bring them what they really want, what they have to have-extermination of the vermin that run the hallways in Section One?"

She yanked again. Michael let out a small whimper. He was shaking uncontrollably now. Again she smiled and then slammed her fist into his ribs. A whoosh of air came from Michael's mouth. He gulped for breath again. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before. He didn't want to handle it anymore. He just wanted to slip over to the darkness that was laughing at him from the far corner of the room. When would it end?

"I can make it end right here Michael. Do you want to make things easier on us both? Feeling like being together again? How about some pillow talk?" She leaned close to his ear and lightly licked the outside portion and then sucked gently on his earlobe. She didn't see Michael mouth "End it please.." as he closed his eyes and rolled his head away. She moan softly as Michael did this. Her tongue slide down the curve of his throat.

"Oh would I like to bring you back into the 'family'. We could be so good together. You must be great in the sack. Maybe when you're a little stronger I'll take the opportunity." she straightened up and pulled her fingers out of his hair. She went back to stroking his cheek. "Who is Nikita? You've called out her name a couple of times. That wasn't your mother's name. She was named Raissa. And your sister was Paige. Your dear pappa, that S.O.B., was named Chancier. Chance the Liar, the Traitor, the Bastard... I hope he's rotting in some pit in hell where he belongs! Along with the banshee that spawned you.

"Then there was Simone. They did a number on you with her. They killed her twice in front of you. Then that's right there was a baby. SIDS wasn't that what they told you? What was his name? No don't tell me...Merle... because he had raven black hair like Simone.. And if my memory serves me..." She grabbed Michael's chin and forced him to look at her again. " He had eyes the same silver-green hazel that yours are. Perfect blend of the two of you. But you let them get him, too.

"I think I've counted everyone you've let die that meant anything to you. Damn cold and heartless of you. Hmmm... who are I missing? OH!! Now I know who she is. It's that blonde that offed Dominic. She was an unexpected find the last time. She would have been fun to wipe and reform. Great person to torture til you came to save her pretty little ass. Have you done her yet Michael? Tall, blonde, very blue eyes, sensual, strong. Kinda like some sort of Germanic Amazon according to the late great Dominic. She is not your type really. You usually go for the small dark and exotic. What draws you? Have you had enough of the dark and perhaps you're looking for a change of pace. Something on the lighter side?

"What is it about her, Michael? You can't keep it hidden from me. I can tell, if fact I can probably tell you a lot of things about yourself. Things you've buried and maybe have even tried to forget Well keep thinking about her. I don't know if she survived the little surprise you left for us at that warehouse. But what if she did. Would you like me to get her and bring her here? Nurse you back to health? Then I'd probably get jealous and have to do something to her. Maybe slit her throat or perhaps something that takes longer.

"I'll have to think about it. Don't know whether she alive or dead. Dead would take the fun out of it. But then if you ask me, dead is better. I've always hated tall blondes. They always get the best looking guy in the room. " She watched for a reaction and went on when she saw nothing.

"You know I regret your time was so short with Dominic. I wished I had known you were going to visit him. I would have shown up and told him all about your sordid little deeds. Oh wouldn't Nikita just love to know about them? About Mommy and Daddy? How do you think she would react to that story?"

Anger flared in Michael's eyes while his insides cramped with guilt and fear. She knows...how the hell does she know? his inner voice whimpered at him. Suddenly she stood up and turned to walk to the door.

"I prefer when I talk to someone that they talk back to me. You know hold a conversation with me. Makes it such more fun. Especially when you haven't seen them in such a long time and shared so much in common. I'm really disappointed. So I'll leave now . Maybe you'll feel more like talking tomorrow." She slammed the door behind her.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. In agony he rolled to his right and slide onto the floor. His body screamed in increasing decibels. He couldn't get enough air to breathe

Terror was wrapping its grip around his heart. He was in deep. His injuries were bad enough at this point to hinder any escape and he could not begin to figure a way out. Even worse than that he couldn't keep Nikita safe. Inch by inch he pulled himself to the wall and leaned into the coolness of it. Bit by agonizing bit, he drew his knees up to his chest. He allowed the darkness to come to him then.

They shook hands and laughed together.

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Chapter VI

He had sat in the corner in the same position for a couple of hours, maybe longer. He couldn't be sure as he struggled up from his blessed lack of awareness. The shivers had stopped for the most part but he was still cold. He knew he was still somewhat shocky. He kept any expression off his face. He had to assess the situation and couldn't let outside forces influence or distract him. With one hand, he began to inspect areas where the pain seemed to be the greatest. Judging by the amount of blood on his bandages, his blood loss could have been called life threatening. But still here he was. Alive... No, existing only and not in the best form either he thought grimly.

Somehow he had survived , why he didn't know. He had to be alive, because hell wouldn't be this cold. I should be up on the cot. Maybe I wouldn't be so cold. But I don't have the strength to move. Too damn weak. Too vulnerable there anyway. He drew a ragged breath, checking his ribs for possible breaks. There was a very tender spot on his right side that reached out from the middle of his chest and to his back. It pulled painfully with each inhalation. That only meant one thing. He had to be careful, he couldn't risk a punctured lung. That spell certain death.

It was then his inner voice decided to add a comment. What makes you so sure you're not dead and in hell, mister? Been there or something before? How do you know hell wouldn't be as cold as you are?

The hammering in his head renewed as he tensed in reaction to his thoughts. He pulled his attention away from his inner self and concentrated on figuring out how bad he was hurt. He reached up slowly to his face to feel the cut on his temple. He could feel the large swelling there under the gash and assumed that was the answer to his repeated loss of consciousness. He had a bad concussion probably from hitting the truck in the aftermath of the explosion. A shiver ran rapidly up his spine. His head jerked in response and brought on a wave of dizziness and nausea.

He dug his fingers into his hair in an effort to still the world that was tilting wildly before his eyes. He felt sticky clotted blood but no wound. A groan tore from his throat and his vision darkened as realization struck him. It wasn't from him. It was from Nikita.

She had been bleeding from her cheek and shoulder when he had tried to kiss her. Before the velvety cloak of blackness had claimed him back there at the site. She was so white, so still so cold but she was breathing she was alive..I felt...

Memories of the sensations he had experienced then rushed back at him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as an uncharacteristic attack of panic. Vague bits of sentences rang in his ears. He started as he heard Nikita scream and then a foggy memory of Walter and his ordering them to get Nikita away. Then feeling cold and alone. Her warmth had been taken away. It came to him that she hadn't been the one who was cold. It had been him.

Michael could remember seeing things now that the memories were surfacing. Nikita's screams had been hysterical as had been her hands clutching at him. Suddenly his eyes sprang open wide. Fear lit them, turning them a deep stormy green, almost inky looking.

She was screaming for a gun, for them to kill her too. He felt as if a black pit opened on the floor in front of him. She had been touching him with numb fingers and hands. He knew the front of his jacket had been soaked with blood. The Red Cell operative had badly slashed him. Michael remembered her touching his neck, desperately pressing in her fingers. She had been looking for a pulse.

O Dieu! Mon ame! She thought I was dead! Doux Jesus! He felt like the world was swirling by him at a ferocious rate. Thoughts tumbled through his mind. All of them centered on her. Michael was numb. His hand fell limp from his head . His eyes and face went blank.

A single tear fell from an eye before he lowered his face to his knees. A single violent spasm racked his body and then he was still.

The Red Cell woman watched Michael on a monitor feed by a hidden camera. She was impressed by his performance. She wished he knew what he had been thinking or who he had been thinking about. Whichever, it had affected him deeply. With the extend of his injuries, she as amazed that he had the strength he did. Most people would be barely able to lift their hand let alone move themselves as he had. He even had the presence of mind to inspect his wounds. Absolutely amazing! This was going to move a great challenge! What an opportunity! The second coming was upon Red Cell again!

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

Chapter VII

As the days had passed he had gradually regained his strength not in the quantity he wanted but it was at least a start. Unfortunately they had also noticed his healing and had taken precautions to control him. The shackle around his left ankle was a constant reminder of that. He growled as he attempted a kick. Once again, it didn't give from its place in the floor.

Michael's superior balance kept him from falling flat on his face. He turned as the sound of the opening door. It was her again. She smiled sweetly at him. Michael did not return the gesture. He simply looked at her as she glided across the floor to stand against him. She stood up on tiptoes to kiss him softly on the mouth. Michael offered no reaction, he just looked impassively at a spot just past her shoulder. All during these actions, her hands had been behind her back .

With her eyes darkening and a furrow starting on her brow, she back away from him and threw at him what she held in her hands. The items hit him in the face and chest. But he didn't avoid them. They dropped harmlessly at his feet. She reddened in anger and grabbed the things from the floor. She shoved them into Michael's chest. This time he accepted them. He glanced down at them to see a pair of blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt. Silently he looked back up and returned his gaze to where it had been before, still holding the clothes in his left hand. His actions finally pushed her to the limit and she flew at him. He caught her fist just as it was about to slam into his jaw. He pushed her away. His face had never showed any reaction. The woman on the other hand was infuriated.

"Do you have a voice? Don't you ever speak? What if those clothes had been a knife?"

Michael licked his lips and decided to speak. "Would it have mattered if it had been? Do you think I really care?" He paused to see her reaction. "Thank you for the clothes." He turned and put them on the cot. When he turned around, she was looking at him with obvious intentions in her mind.

Huskily she said, "I love your accent. I thought you had one when you talked in your sleep but I didn't realize how sexy it was. You should talk more often. You sound very good."

Michael blinked once and turned his eyes to hers. He knitted his eyebrows together as he spoke.

"I don't know what you really think of me or know about me but do I seem that weak to you? If I do you are sadly mistaken and have underestimated me. Your superior, I am fairly certain, would not be pleased." He turned from her and grabbed the t-shirt from the cot. He tugged it over his head And glanced over at her again. "I would like to get these rags off and put on the jeans. However," He jerked his leg to indicate the chain attached to his leg. "My present circumstances prevent me from accomplishing that task. Perhaps you can give me a solution."

He sat down on the cot facing her, patiently waiting for her to answer. He knew he was making her seethe. But that was his plan. Anger clouded a person's reason and could cause them to say things they shouldn't. There was no reason why this method would not work on her. She obviously was easily frustrated and that meant that she was not hard to move to anger. She had a temper. He could use this to manipulate her.

In this way she was like Nikita. Quick to blow her top, but Michael knew how to cool Nikita's explosions. An image of Nikita laying on the ground, her face bloodied with the background in flames and the acrid smell of explosives in the air came unbidden to his mind's eye.

M'ame. S'il vous plait, ete vivant! He dragged his thoughts away from his worst dread to focus on the present situation.

The little brunette paced the room. Her hands clasped behind her back. She stopped and smiled coldly at him.

"Very well then, it will begin."

Michael cocked his head at her statement. "What do you mean by that", he asked her.

She pursed her lips and regarded him coldly. "Your return." She spun around and left the room.

Michael was puzzled. My 'return'. Odd thing to say. To the Section? No, I do not believe that is what she meant. She mentioned 'Daddy' before. Michael's brow furrowed in thought as he lightly stroked his chin. He dug deep into memories that he had walled away a long time ago .

An image of a large burly man with absolutely white hair and a face red and purple with scar tissue sprung to mind. A look of worry and apprehension passed across Michael's face and through his eyes. The situation was getting worse, there were not many alternatives here. And if more...

Michael looked up as the door opened again. Five large men entered. He smiled thinly. They all had at least 50 pounds on him and two were several inches taller. Michael wasn't worried though. Everyone has a weakness. I just have to find that in each and use it.

"I really don't need the five of you gentlemen to help me put on a pair of jeans. Just one with a key to take off the chain." He quickly assessed each man, filing impressions of each into his brain. Michael's face was completely blank. His silver-green eyes void of emotion but his mannerisms spoke of calculation and of danger. The one who had entered first bent down and unfastened. All five tensed as Michael stood up . He pulled off the sweat pants and carefully put on the jeans. He had to grudgingly admit she had picked the perfect size. Jeans were not his usual attire but at this point they would have to do. He stretched his neck at bit and ran a hand through his hair.

"Any one of you got a hairbrush?" he asked sarcastically. He was greeted with silence. Then he struck.

He caught the man closest to him completely unaware. Michael's open palm connected with the bridge of the man's nose. The bone gave easily under the intensity of Michael's blow, driving the bone up into his brain, killing him instantly. He dropped like a rag doll to the floor but not before

Michael was already on the second man. His bare foot slammed into the unguarded jaw. The head was snapped back, the satisfying sounds of cracking bones greeted Michael's ears as the second crumbled. The remaining three circled Michael. Slowly he turned with them as if they were engaging in some kind of ritualized dance.

Michael's injuries were no where near healed and he was not unsure how much he could take. His ears were already filled with the shouts of pain from various parts of his body. His breathing was a little ragged but he was not going to back down. A sardonic smile crossed his mind as he thought of a quote from one of Birkoff's favorite TV characters. Perhaps today is a good day to die.

Michael lunged at the man to his left and the assault began. He put up a valiant effort he would probably admit to himself. But no matter how hard Nikita said his head was, it was no match for the concrete walls of the room. As his skull hit the wall for the third time, he lost the battle and darkness tried to claim him. He struggled against it.

He wanted to greet death with his eyes opened. With the force of will that was uniquely his he pulled himself from the brink of unconsciousness to find his limbs being held by two of his attackers and the third was preparing a syringe. Michael struggled like a man possessed but in the end the needle sunk deep into his neck.

Warmth spread over his body like a wild fire and this time not even Michael could escape the embrace of blackness that engulfed him.

Sounds were echoing in his head which hurt like hell. Slowly, as he came to, Michael became aware that he was tied to a chair. He also knew that he wasn't alone. His brain was so foggy. What did they inject me with? His mouth was dry and his throat was parched. His whole body tingled and the tips of his fingers and toes felt like they were on fire.

He forced his eyes open and blearily looked around. She was there, standing in front of him. A muscle spasm wracked his body and his head lolled to the side and back. He struggles to regain some control over his body.

He knew he had to focus or things could quickly disintegrate. Obviously not like before his inner voice mocked him. He heard her laugh softly.

"You are quite the dangerous one, aren't you" she asked. "You killed two without the others laying a hand on you. I think your handsome face fooled them. They weren't ready for you even though I warned them." She giggled and went on sarcastically. "I guess they'll be more careful next time they take on a pretty boy." She slowly ambled around him.

He tried to keep his eyes on her but he had a hard time controlling his neck. His head fell backwards again. The room was spinning. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted the damn room to stop tilting. Bile rose in his throat and he forced it back down. A vague feeling was gnawing at Michael's stomach. With a detached thought, he recognized what it was. Panic. He refused to let it take over. He closed his eyes to help regain his focus.

He realized that she was slapping something in her hand as she paced. Michael needed to take back some control. He licked his dry lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper. He rasped at her,

"What is your name? Where do I know you from?"

His question was answered with "I ask the questions! You give the answers!".

He felt her shove something into his stomach and an electric shock coursed through his body. Michael couldn't help letting out a sound of pain as he jerked against his bindings. He brought his head up, opened his eyes and looked at her. His lips curled into a snarl,

"Bitch".

His reward was the cattle prod, or whatever it was across his face. As he blacked out again, he heard her say

"Enjoy the oblivion now. Hell starts tomorrow."

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

Chapter VIII

Over the next several days, they weaned Nikita from her drug-induced sleep. Finally she was sleeping on her own. To ease her transition, Christine had moved Nikita back to her quarters once she had felt that Nikita didn't need them hovering. Nikita gradually became aware that the outside force that had been holding her eyes closed was gone. She opened her eyes and gazed around the room she was in. She was in her room. Her room at the Section.

She didn't want to be back here. It was so painful so empty. She wondered where her tears were. Her heart felt cold. She felt old. She sat up and examined her surroundings. Alone. Now. Always. Why had she said it?

Gingerly she swung her legs over and sat on the edge of the bed. She waited for the nausea to hit but it didn't. She touched the black brace that encircled her knee. Then she reached up and touch her face. She could feel the scabbing from the burns but they were small.

Her skin felt tight, like she had a sunburn. She ran the same hand up through her hair, expecting to find it tangled. But it wasn't. It was clean and brushed smooth. She took a deep breath.

She felt some pain, pulling and throbbing as she exhaled but nothing that couldn't be ignored. Then she stood, putting all her weight on her good knee. Bit by bit she put weight on her right leg. There was more pain, but she was going to ignore that too. She knew that she was going to have to ignore a lot more things.

She limped to the door and opened it to the world that was waiting for her. The hallway was empty but she felt herself start to shake. However, she was not going to stop now. She was going to face the future as best she could. But she had to say goodbye to the past first. She was surprised at herself. She was feeling and dealing with everything so rationally.

What's wrong with me? Her inner voice provided the answer. You've walled yourself off. Just like you saw him do so many times. Block off the emotions. Only deal with physical pain. Keep the feelings buried. Split yourself in two. Everything works out for the better that way. She stopped to regain some strength. Breathing in deeply, she realized she was further than she had thought. She closed her eyes and slowly opened them again. Across the hall was the door to an office. She swallowed hard, then licked her dry lips. Michael's office. She frowned and took a deep breath.

Nikita stopped at the door and wrapped her fingers around the knob. It was cold. Just like he is, she thought morbidly. She pushed it opened and limped inside.

Turning on the light, she looked around. Her body quivered as she struggled to keep herself in check. A mixture of grief and anger was boiling around in her soul, letting its vapors waft tantalizingly around her heart. She turned in a slow small circle. There was only furniture in the room. But it wasn't his furniture. Everything that was him was gone. No trace, no hint, as if he had never existed.

He existed. He lived. I was wrong to hurt him like I did. I was stupid. I was foolish. I was too damn blind to see what he was trying to get me to see. I just can't let go yet. No not yet. They might be able to do that but I can't. I can't erase him just like that. She wiped a single tear from her cheek and haltingly walked from the room.

She followed the hallway to the end and made a left. At this point she was thoughtless, without feeling, emotionless. Her body moved of its own accord. She came to a stop in the middle of the workout room, in front of the punching bag, hanging from the ceiling. The lights were at their dimmest. Just enough to keep someone from tripping over a piece of equipment. She stared at the bag, unable to control her trembling. A scream tore itself from her throat.

Her braced arm shot out with an open hand to slam into the bag. Pain flamed from her fingertips to her spine. She gasped at the intensity of it. The pain was good. She could gain strength from it. It blotted out other things. He had been right, pain was a good thing. Pain would help. She did it again...and again... and again. She was in agony from the pain.

Sweat poured down her face mixing with the tears that cascaded from her eyes. She couldn't see anything but red flames and Michael's face. She spun on her good leg, launching a kick at the bag with her bad leg. Her aim was perfect and the bag whipped way from her foot in a wide arc. The pain was beyond agony. She fell to the mat screaming,

"MICHAEL." Slowly she got up from the floor.

She had never felt such pain. She hurt inside and she hurt outside. She kicked out again. For a second time she collapsed on the mat with a scream. No words this time, just an animal howl of pain, anger and grief. Still again she rose, her nose was starting to bleed. Her body was not ready to handle this kind of punishment. But Nikita wasn't listening to her body.

She was listening to the breaking of her heart. She was listening to the walls going up around it. This is what he felt when he lost Simone and his son. I understand him now. Why now? WHY? She kicked again. This time with a scream that echoed through the quiet hallways of the Section.

This time when she fell to the mat she did not get up. She laid there, breathing heavily and rapidly. Enjoying the pain of her body drowning out the pain inside.

Madeline stopped at the glass wall that surrounded part of the workout area. She watched the punishment Nikita inflicted on herself. She heard the agony that Nikita let loose in her screams.

Madeline's face was unreadable as she watched. No trace of her inner turmoil could be seen. She was grieving just as Nikita was but could not let it be made so obvious. Madeline was a master at reading and determining others' emotions and motivations. However no one was the master of hers.

A brief flash of pain crossed her face followed by sadness and then sympathy towards Nikita. She continued to silently observe as Nikita pulled herself across the floor to the wall. She leaned against it with her eyes closed, wiping the blood that slowly dripped from her nose. She was breathing raggedly and was covered in sweat. Involuntarily muscles twitched randomly on her frame. Madeline watched as Nikita slowly turned her face in her direction. Nikita's eyes opened and looked directly into Madeline's. Madeline was surprised by what she saw reflected in Nikita's eyes. They were hard, cold, glittering like brilliant blue ice. Lifeless and dead. This frightened Madeline a bit. The old Nikita was not there. The one she watched was a new piece on the game board and Madeline was not quite sure how she was to be played.

Perhaps it was time to take a roll of the dice. Madeline walked in her normal manner to the entrance of the workout area. Nikita's eyes followed her the whole way. Nikita was the first to speak.

"Hello Madeline." Her voice was husky. Her throat obviously raw from her screaming. There was an edge, a hardness to her voice that Madeline had never detected before.

Yes there is definitely a new game afoot Madeline thought. Madeline nodded her head at Nikita in acknowledging Nikita's greeting.

"Hello Nikita. It is good to see you up and around. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She answered in the same monotone inflection that Michael used to warn a person that they would not be able to get beyond the wall that he had built.

Madeline felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Nikita was giving her an very uneasy feeling.

" I need some time Madeline to get myself ..." She looked away from Madeline and stared straight ahead.

Madeline finished the request for her. "Healed and balanced. I understand Nikita. You have been through a bad ordeal. How does 3 weeks sound?"

That same tone again... "Fine. I'm starting now."

Madeline spoke as Nikita began to get up. "I would prefer that you stop at Medlab first before you leave the Section."

"No problem," Nikita replied and walked stiffly from the room. Suddenly she stopped and said, "Thank you." Then she was gone.

"Where the hell does she think she's going," Operations ordered of Madeline.

She stood beside him, serene as usual, as they both watch Nikita gamely walk across the open area of the Section.

All eyes in the control center followed her passage. That bothered Operations, too. Entirely too much attention was payed to Nikita by entirely too many people.

"I gave her 3 weeks time away", Madeline answered quietly.

"3 weeks!?" Operations said with a choking noise. "I don't have time..."

Madeline cut him off quickly. "She has to have the time. She needs to acclimate herself to her new present and her new future. She has shut herself down and off just like Michael has done in the past. She is following his pattern so close that I must admit to it frightening me."

Operations made a scoffing noise. He really wasn't in the mood to hear about Nikita's needs. If he had been asked, he would have said that her needs were insignificant to those of the Section.

"I need an operative who can run a mission. Not one who needs to get her act together!" He retorted angrily.

Madeline's next words had a bitter edge to them, mixed with a tinge of perhaps regret.

"If she does not get the time, she will be unable to perform. We need an operative who can take over some of Michael's duties. The most likely candidate for that position, whether you like it or not is Nikita. They worked very closely together. He trained her and she was a very good pupil even though she did not always apply the lesson as we would have preferred. Perhaps the way is not always without heart, without feeling. Perhaps a new game needs to be started. We have a new player. Let's see how the dice rolls and how many spaces we get to move."

Operations glared at Madeline and then at Nikita's retreating back as he stabbed out his cigarette.

He didn't like it but what choice did he have at this point. He had a 'lose your turn' card and would have to wait til later to regain his lead.

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

Chapter IX

For days, Nikita has sat in her darken apartment. It had been over 2 weeks and she still could not find the courage to say good-bye. If one had looked at her, they would have seen a person who seemed hard, cold and uncaring. It was a lie though. A lie that she kept trying to make herself believe. She had not slept or eaten much either. Several mugs sat on the floor by the couch on which she had curled up on. She stared at the french windows as if her answers would blow through them. There were no answers in the light of day or in the dark velvet of the night. And she doubted that as the sun set again that she would find any either in this coming night.

Chewing on her lip, she got up and went over to the table in the corner of the room. She sat down and flipped the laptop open. The screen's light illuminated her face, revealing dark circles under her eyes and the streaks of the tears she had cried. Hesitantly and then with quickening sped, mostly out of fear that she would lose her courage, she contacted Birkoff.

She hoped he would provide her with a means to find the answers that she was not finding on her own.

Things were quiet at Section One. Birkoff was playing with a new enhancement on the mainframe when he noticed that an icon's image flashing on his personal laptop which was sitting open beside him. With a puzzled expression on his face, he picked it up and placed it before him. Now he was even more curious and puzzled. The flashing icon was an indicator that someone was on one of the secured modem lines. A line that was only used when operatives had to be in radio silence. He chewed on the tip of his thumb for a moment, debating whether to deal with this alone or call Madeline or Operations. He looked around and realized he was the only one in Ops which in itself was not all that unusual. Setting his jaw with a jerk of his head, he signed on and was stunned to see the call was from Nikita.

"Birkoff, are you there? It's Nikita."

"I'm here Nikita are you O.K.? Do you need help?"

"I'm fine but I do need some help."

"What kind of help?"

"Have they cleaned out Michael's place yet?

Birkoff swallowed hard. He hadn't expected this. What was Nikita thinking? Was this something he should get involved with or was it best to stay out of it? But Nikita was a good friend. The closest thing to family he had left. With Michael's death, he had wanted so much to be there to help her through it but she had closed herself off from everyone. Just like Michael did. He frowned and then decided that he cared more about Nikita coming to terms with Michael's death than damn Section protocol.

"Michael has a cabin north of town, on the way up the mountain. And no, everything is still there. Operations hasn't given the word yet for sweeping it."

"North or south slope?"

"South, looking over the lake. Fifth right from the main road then 4 miles in. Combo is 422-842-99AZX. Do you have a key? Are you really O.K., Nikita? Me and Walter are worried about you. Do you need anything? Anything at all? I miss you..."

Nikita smiled at Birkoff's sweet little brother side. It was one of the things she loved about him.

He was a good friend. He and Walter were the only good things left in her world.

"Miss you, too, little bro. Thanks for the combo. I don't think I'll need the key. I can manage, thanks. Don't worry. I'll be back soon. I'm going to be fine. See ya soon."

Birkoff was ready to tell her that he understood what she was feeling when he realized she had logged off. She had called him "little bro". He smiled as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin in an unconscious imitation of Michael. Suddenly he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand away from his chin and furiously began to punch the keys on his keyboard.

With a sigh, Nikita closed the laptop and got up. She was unsure if the course that she had chosen was the right one but she could think of nothing else to do. She had too many things she needed to know and she knew she would never get them from anyone at the Section.

She looked up at the clock. It was now almost 5. By the time, she got to the cabin, it would be completely dark. She decided to leave immediately. She didn't relish the thought of being lost on a mountain in the dark.

By the time she got there the air had turned colder and the wind had picked up. She climbed the steps up to a deck that ran around three sides of the cabin. She looked over the lake, moonlight was reflecting off the white caps the wind was stirring up. She felt a strange peace here, some- thing she hadn't realized she was missing. She could imagine Michael standing here and staring out at the lake, wind blowing his hair and looking for peace too.

She was amazed at how close she felt to him here. It was almost as if he was actually there. She sighed and turned to the door.

The lock was easy, not that she had thought it would be hard. She opened the door and punched the combo into the keypad. The system disarmed and she turned on a small light that was on a table inside the door.

She had expected a darkly colored scheme but instead she was surprised. The walls were white or cream. The amount of light was insufficient to determine exactly which. All the exposed wood was light oak. There was no television but there was a large stereo system in an armoire. She walked into the main open area. A maroon area rug covered the floor. The color was echoed in the curtains and an afghan that was thrown on a maroon leather easy chair in a corner by the stereo armoire. Beyond that there was not a lot of furniture.

What was there was very simple. A coffee table with an open book on it. She picked up the book and discovered that it was in French. She put it back where it was, she didn't want to disturb anything. An end table with a simple wrought iron lamp on it was next to the maroon chair. There was a bookcase with some knickknacks and a few books. As she walked by she traced a finger along one of the shelves of the bookcase. She was entranced. Nothing seemed very ornate or cluttered. It just seemed right.

At the far end she could see that there was a curved stairway leading to the loft which circled the room she was in ,much like the deck did on the outside.

She turned in a small circle taking in the room. She could sense him and smell his cologne. This was where she could find the real Michael. It was his private world. The tender side that he was always hiding away was on display here for all to see. As she turned she began to notice the paintings on the wall. Most were landscapes. Wide expansions of hills and valleys or of the sea. She was astonished at the peace and serenity of the surroundings. She wished she could stay here for ever but sadly and also angrily she knew she could not. She read some of the titles in the CD rack. It was an eclectic collection. Blues, jazz, classical and a splattering of other genres. She touched the on button and then the disc player. Music filled the whole cabin. She drifted back the way she had come.

She stuck her head in a doorway and felt for a light switch with her hand. The light revealed to her a kitchen off of a public television cooking show. Everything was so damn neat but unused, too. She left the room turning off the light. She went back to the living room and checked out the alcove under the staircase. It was bigger than it appeared.

Turning on the light here she found windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. In one was a glass door that lead to the deck outside. Angled facing the windows was a large overstuffed and worn looking maroon sofa. She tentatively sat down and then sunk down into the cushions. It felt like being hugged. For a minute she closed her eyes, allowing herself a bit of fantasy. Moonlight shining in the window, lapping water, snowflakes drifting lazily down. Michael's arms wrapped around her as he dozed behind her against the cushions. Peace, quiet and happiness.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes. His words whispered in her ears again.

"Sometimes all we have are our dreams."

She got up hugging herself and softly said, "I know that now."

Nikita took in the pool table that took up the rest of the room. She had never imagined him as much of a pool player. It was something else to add to the , and she smiled as the idea came to her.

Michael was a tapestry.

Like the one that had hung in Madeline's old office. There were so many threads to him. Or should I be thinking had been.

She turned and headed to the winding wrought iron stair case. She climbed them as the words of a song drifted up through the cabin.

At this point in my life I've done so many things wrong I don't know if I can do right.

If you put your trust in me I hope I won't let you down

If you give me a chance I'll try

You see its been hard road I'm travelling on and if I take your hand I might lead you down the path to ruin

I've had a hard life

I'm just saying it so you'll understand that right now right now

I'm doing the best I can at this point in my life

As she reached the top she realized she was entering his bedroom. She flipped on another light.

She had imagined being in his bed, making love with him but these had not been the surround- ings in her fantasy. A chill slithered up her spine as she looked at the unmade bed and the pair of chocolate brown silk pajama bottoms that laid half on and half off the bed.

The sheets were dark green and looked to be flannel. The pillow still had an indentation in it.

She thought about his head laying there and remember the few times she had actually seen him asleep and how young and peaceful he had looked. Being here in his bedroom as well as the rest of the cabin was filling out her fairly incomplete picture of him. She knew he would have been upset that she had invaded his space. He was a very closed person. But she had to know who the real Michael was.

It was the only way that she would be able to say good-bye.

He wasn't all Section. The under current that ran in him had been deep. He was much more complicated that she had let herself think before. An image of a two headed coin popped into her head. She nodded at the accuracy of it. He had been one. There was the dark machine like Section side. Then there had been the darkened caring feeling side that was tortured by what was almost an alter ego had had to do. The night she had almost made love to Jurgen, Michael had told her how he had to keep his feelings separate from his life. But that they were still a part of him. She had heard him but she had not listened. She had fixed an image of him as not having feelings in her mind and had been unwilling to modify it. He had been putting his heart out for her to hold and she had dropped it on the floor and walked away from it. And just before their last mission she had done the same thing. Nodding in agreement to her thoughts, Nikita decided she was really just a naive child. Emotionally immature and ...

She noticed the clutter that seemed so out of place on the far side of the loft area. She walked over and found canvases, paints and other assorted artist materials. She smiled and softly said

"He painted. Why did he never .... He must have done the ones downstairs too." She pulled the white cloth from an easel by the window and was shocked by what she revealed. It was a woman leaning on a tree trunk looking over a serene ocean at sunset.

The woman was not entirely in profile so one could see her eyes. They were her eyes and she was looking at a picture of herself.

A tear slowly traced its way down the curve of her cheek. The look in her eyes in the picture was one of great sadness and of longing. She recognized the look. She never thought he had seen her doing it but it was plain that he had. She knew in it that she was thinking of Michael. In the background of the picture, looking as if it was far up the beach was another figure standing with an outstretched hand. The features were difficult to discern because of its size but instinctively Nikita knew it was Michael. At the feet of the small figure was four small words, looking as if they had been traced in the sand. They were in french. "Mon ame`...Ma coeur..."

Slowly Nikita backed away from the portrait. She hugged herself as a coldness engulfed her body.

Tears flowed freely down her face. She felt like someone was ripping out her heart.

"Michael!!"

She cried out loud, her voice echoing throughout the empty cabin, clashing with the music that played from the stereo system. Her backward momentum was stopped by the edge of the bed. She fell on to it. She sat there holding her stomach. The words of the song broke into her mind.

At this point in my life although I've mostly walked in the shadows

I'm still searching for the light

Won't you put your faith in me

We both know that's what matters

If you give me a chance I'll try

You see I've been climbing stairs but mostly stumbling down

I've been reaching high but always losing ground

You see I've conquered hills but I still have mountains to climb

And right now right now

I'm doing the best I can at this point in my life

Before we take a step

Before we walk down that path

Before I make any promises

Before you have regrets

Before we talk commitment

Let me tell you of my past.

Nikita could hear his voice in the words. She curled into a ball, grabbing his pillow and burying her tear streaked face into it. The music went on and her sobs began to subside.

All I've seen and all I've done

The things I'd like to forget

At this point in my life

At this point in my life I'd like to live as if only love mattered

As if redemption was in sight

As if the search to live honestly

Is all that anyone needs

No matter if you find it

You see when I've touched the sky the earth's gravity has pulled me down

But now I've reconciled that in this world birds and angels get the wings to fly

If you can believe in this heart of mine

If you can give it a try

Then I'll reach inside

And find and give you all the sweetness that I have

At this point in my life

At this point in my life.

The song ended and the next began, just as sad as the first. Slowly Nikita's eyes closed and she drifted into a deep sleep as music continued to play into the night.

The sky was heavy with clouds and the wind wailed through the trees. Nikita stumbled as she struggled along the uneven ground. The pack on her back was beyond heavy but she couldn't put it down. To do so would be to admit defeat. To admit acceptance. To admit failure. She looked up as she thought she heard her name. It was Michael and he was standing in the path ahead. He was bleeding and his face was paste white. He had a hand stretched to her and he was calling her name. She tried to get the pack off her back but it wouldn't budge. She struggled towards him but never seemed to get any closer. He sunk to his knees and then fell the rest of the way with his eyes open and his hand reaching towards her. Her screams rose above the wind.

Her dream screams spilled over into reality. She rolled over to blot out the bright light that was assaulting her eyes. Where had the wind and the clouds gone? What a strange dream... It couldn't be time to get up. How had she forgotten to put the blanket up on the window? When had she even taken down the blanket? She sniffed and the smell of Michael's cologne filled her nose. Her eyes snapped open and she sprung into a sitting position. At first she couldn't figure out where she was. Then memories of last night flooded her brain. She looked out the window drawing her knees up to her chest and laid her cheek on them.

Though coming here had been a good idea; she still knew she couldn't say good-bye. She still had too many unfilled spaces in her tapestry. She got up from the bed and wandered over to his dresser. A small box sat on top. She touched it and drew back.

She glanced over the other drawers in the dresser. A small smile crossed her lips. Though she had seen him naked and been the one to make him that way, she hadn't paid any attention to the color of his underwear. It was a terrible thought and she chided herself for thinking it. But so many times she had wondered if he owned anything but black. Biting her lower lip she open the top drawer.

Nothing but t-shirts and yes they looked to all be black. With a small laugh and a shake of her head, she opened the next.

All socks and most of them were black. They were a couple of grey for some variety. Her smile grew. She pulled out the third drawer. Then she couldn't suppress the giggle that snuck out. There was the underwear. She bit her lower lip again to keep from actually laughing. All the briefs were white. She closed the drawer and went back to the box.

Once again she drew back and turned to the armoire that stood at the end of the bed. She pulled a door of it open and looked inside. Once again most of the clothes appeared to be black. But there was some variety. She saw some grey and then some blue. At the very end was a deep green jacket. He had not worn as far as she could remember but she knew that he would have looked irresistible in it. Though black was a great color for him. It suited the image he had of himself as well as the image he projected. But the shade of green in that jacket with his eyes would have been unbelievable. She closed it and felt herself drawn back to the box on his dresser.

This time she did not hold back. Opening the lid, she found the box to be mostly empty. There were two gold wedding banns tied together with a bit of ribbon. She didn't touch them though. Somehow she knew they had belonged to him and Simone. There was a silver locket. This she picked up and carefully opened. In it was a bit of jet black hair. A date was engraved on the left side, Merle May 2,1990. Tears formed in Nikita's eyes. With a quick calculation, she realize that this bit of hair and date belonged to Michael's son.

I hope you two have found your way to each other again. Hug each other tight! She carefully put the locket back and picked up the small red velvet box that was the only other object in the box. Slowly she opened it and caught her breath.

In the box were the wedding banns she and Michael had wore when they have gone after Bauer as Sage and Peter. More light was being shed on Michael as time went by. He had a sentimental side and it struck her how sweet that seemed. Even though 'sweet' was not an adjective one normally associated with Michael. She pulled the banns from the case and put the case back in the box. She pushed her sized ring onto her finger. It still fit perfectly.

She shivered as she remember the way Michael had slide it onto her finger before they had left for that mission.

His hands had been so warm and strong. She had suppressed a delicious shiver as he had slide the ring on, keeping her attitude cocky. She had not been able to make sense of it then but now it did.

Michael had made a statement that day - his interest had been more than passing and he would make good on it. The gesture had been very intimate but she had been too stupid to notice it. He had been disturbed by it at the same time. That would have accounted for the way he had suddenly strode over to the other side of the room. Her lack of reaction probably had something to do with it too. He had shown some feelings toward her and she had not responded. Madeline's perusal of the scene had been intense but Nikita had assumed it had been because she was looking for flaws to point out to Nikita. But actually she had been catching Michael in a completely unguarded moment. She had recognized it for what it was but Nikita had not. She regretted it now. Another sign and opportunity missed. She pocketed Michael's ring.

When I get home I'll find a chain for this.

She sat back down on the bed, rubbing her eyes with one hand and combing the tangles out of her hair with the other. How many times had she missed or ignored things because she'd been too stupid or to angry at him? Snippets of conversations and memories of gestures and touches played through her mind. She rubbed her forehead and shook her head. I hurt him so much. He always tried so hard. Michael I failed you. I always said you were controlling me.

But it was really the other way around wasn't it? It was me. Nikita snorted in disgust. That control is really just an illusion. Neither of us was ever in control. We were controlled like rats in a maze.

Nikita got up with a burst of energy. She paced as she looked periodically up at the ceiling.

"Well what am I going to do now? Michael you were always the one protecting me even when it put your life at risk or someone else's. I don't know if I can do this. You've left me alone. I once told somebody to not lie to themselves and everything would be O.K. I guess I should have taken my own advice. I lied to myself about the way I really felt about you and drove us apart. Just because I couldn't wait. I tried to convince myself that you didn't care about me. You did though and as I'm beginning to discover I think you loved me just as much as I tried to tell myself I didn't love you. I said the words and denied them with my actions. You showed them in everything you did but didn't know how to say the words. Why? Because you thought that someone might hear and use them against us?"

She bite her lip and nervously scratched her head.

"I'm going to make this work. I'm going to be that perfect little operative you were always trying to shape me into. For you, to make you proud." She threw her hands up in the air. "What the hell am I doing? This is so lame!"

She turned and walked back to the painting that had sent her into such emotional upheaval last night. Carefully she took it down and wrapped the sheet around it again.

She walked through the silent cabin with her head high and her back straight. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. She opened the door and put the painting against the outside wall.

She then turned off the lamp and set the alarm. As she closed the door, she said, "I love you, Michael."

She bent to pick up the painting and turned. Her face was once again unreadable. Her eyes were hard like blue ice. Cold and dead. With her jaw set, she walked away from the past but it had not reliquished its hold and to what she had hoped to be her future. The path was now uncertain, as if it had ever been set before. For now she'd go home and make plans for the future, somehow.

Madeline look up as her office door opened. She leaned back in the chair, ready to receive her visitor. She did not hide the surprise that spread over her as she realized that her visitor was Nikita. However the look on Nikita's face was not a welcome surprise.

Madeline felt worry gnawing at her. She had thought that the dead look would be gone from Nikita's eyes when she returned. She has hoped that there would be sadness which she could work on getting rid of. But now however she saw nothing. There was no emotion to try and anticipate in Nikita. She even had an aura around her of coldness. The bright blue of her eyes seemed to be dulled also. Madeline motioned to her visitor.

"Please Nikita take a seat. I must admit I am surprised to see you back so soon. Why the first week hasn't even ended yet. Is there something wrong?"

Nikita answered her in a flat calm voice. "I'm fine, Madeline. I would like to be put on active status again."

"Why?"

"I've closed the book on the past. I need to go on."

"There are still many empty pages. It would seem to be a waste."

"Why continue in a book in which I can't fill the pages. It's a dead end. Too much ink has been spilt on the pages to be able to see to write anything. It's of no use to me anymore. It belongs in the trash heap, along with the other pieces of my past."

Madeline stood and came around her desk to sit on the edge and study Nikita. Nikita tilted her head up to look squarely into Madeline's eyes. There was no flinching, no shying away. Just a level measured gaze. It was a pitched battle and neither side was going to give leeway or give up so Madeline decided that for now she would play along.

Evenly she said, "One has to remember that it is our past that shapes not only how we are in the present but how we will be in the future. We may not be happy with events or situations from our past. We may not even be happy or want to remember people from our past. But because their time has already been we are unable to change the fact that they existed or happened."

Nikita cocked her head a little and then returned it to an upright position. "Of course I agree with you Madeline. But you can't let the past take you in its possession. You can control it by putting a wall in front of it to keep it at bay and behaved. I'm already possessed by the Section. I don't want to be by the past too. Will you put me back on active status? I need to get things back to normal."

Madeline searched her face and decided that she would allow Nikita's request. She would follow her closely though. She was unsure how strongly fortified this "wall" was. She hoped that it would not come crashing down at the wrong time. The consequences could be disastrous for everyone involved. She nodded her acquiescence to Nikita.

"I will inform Operations. Until then you are free to go. Thank you for stopping by."

Nikita stood and silently left the office. Madeline watched her departing back, taking note of the true message in her gait.

The past was still very much with Nikita and whether she would admit to it or not; very much in possession of her.

Madeline sighed softly and went back to her reports.

Nikita's next stop was at Systems where she knew she would find Birkoff.

She was not mistaken but decided to leave him alone since he was with Operations. However before she could"escape" Operations saw her and spoke. "Hello, Nikita."

Birkoff looked up and frowned slightly. He was not at all sure if he wanted to be in between Operations and Nikita when they butted heads.

Especially with the way Nikita looked. She looked absolutely dangerous. Not that there was anything showing on her face or in her eyes. Both were completely blank, which in itself was completely unusual but there was an aura around her. He had the impression that Nikita seemed to have entered a new phase. He swallowed hard and decided that it was time to go.

"Ah, excuse me." Birkhoff said quickly and scrambled out of his chair.

Nikita nodded to Operations who gave a little chuckle. "I guess you've got him a little spooked my dear." He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the console. "Something is different about you. Some people might say that you could give them a shiver."

"Is there a problem with that?" She questioned him in an expressionless tone. She was not going to let Operations goad her into losing her temper. No one was going to do that any more. Anger was an emotion and to feel it would only lead to her feeling other things.

She was not going to be so "heartful" anymore. She had been involved in too much recently and had discovered finally that having a heart was a liability.

Operations smiled. "I like this Nikita. It seems that you have finally taken some of your lessons to heart. Are you ready to try yourself out on the real world?"

"Whenever you call Josephine I'm ready." She turned on her heel and walked away from him.

Operations smiled broadly. "Now this is what I wanted in the first place. Funny how things work out."

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

Chapter X

Thoughts and ideas flowed disjointedly through Michael's mind. His injuries from the explosion, his subsequent treatment and the injections had began to take their toll.

The days had melted into one long streak of agony and pain. He could feel his stamina rapidly flowing away from him. He couldn't endure much more, but he had to survive. He had to get back to her.

He had never experienced anything like this before. Whoever this little Red Cell bitch was she was good. Her features reminded him somewhat of Simone which was somewhat unsettling to him. He tried to keep the pain from that hurt buried deep. It was powerful and he didn't want it to let it become more so. He gave too much power to the past. It was something that had to be left behind as Nikita had tried to show him. He shook off the morbid tendency of this thoughts. He had to concentrate on other things.

Michael replayed the comments she had made in order to gleam some bit of information from them. She obviously knew way too much about him. Especially his past before the Section and when he was a child. Her comments about his Red Cell past intrigued him. She knew who he was but he didn't remember her. He tried to recall after he had been taken by Red Cell from his parents. He had a little trouble bringing the images in focus in his mind.

He had been young and the memories attached to them held many meanings to him. It had been the start of him losing his soul. The start of the walls he had erected to keep those out who cared for him. Keeping people out meant you did not have to feel.

He had always wondered as a child why his father had been away so much. As he had grown older in the "web" that was the world of Red Cell, he came to the conclusion that his father had been an operative for another organization. Possibly very much like Section One, who had infiltrated the group and the attack on his family had been retribution for the betrayal. They called him L'Araigne, the Spider, for the webs of fear he spun and those he trapped in them.

Spider had been his trainer, his mentor and almost his world at that point.

It was not until he was captured by Section One and introduced to Madeline that he realized the evil in L'Araigne. When he came to know the evil he had committed at the bastard's behest. It was then he came to feel that his soul had been forever tarnished and broken into little pieces.

Little pieces that over time had been sucked away by the world in which he survived. He didn't think of it til living until Simone and the baby. Then they had been taken from him too. He known then that he merely was a shadow among the living, just barely on the plain of existence with others. If you couldn't feel, didn't want to feel; what else could you be considered?

Then she had come into his life. Nikita had grabbed him from sliding further down into that well of darkness he believed he belonged in and started to make him believe that he wasn't a shadow. That there was something inside of him except darkness. She had dug around, found his heart, dusted it off and put it back in its place. He could feel again, though they hurt like hell from being unused for so long. Then she had set to work on his soul; slowly finding the parts of that too and using that illuminating 'alive' quality she had to put that back together too. Almost as if she was some kind of soldering gun. It wasn't whole yet; the gaps were huge and there were cracks aplenty in the parts she had linked together.

But he felt that finally he was becoming human. He had started to see a difference between Michael the human and that other Michael everyone referred to as 'machine man'. He still had a lot of regressive tendencies. As they say, "old habits are hard to break." And they had the knack of kicking the foundation out of the relationship he and Nikita were trying...actually now it seemed more like had been trying to maintain. This was where his feelings really bothered him because he couldn't deny them anymore. They had been given some light and now refused to go back into the dark.

He sighed, trying to shake himself from his reverie. Michael shifted in the chair he was tied to, trying to get some feeling back into his arms and fingers, but to no avail.

He dropped his chin to his chest, attempting to assuage his aching back and stiff neck. It didn't seem to help.

Michael had stayed with the faction for 10 years but not by choice. But as a child what kind of choice was there for him to have made. By the time he was 11, he was a skilled assassin whose innocent features were used as a perfect deception. When he turned 17, he was running field operations. His missions had not been as complicated as they were now. He smirked, realizing that he had just been a grunt. An excellent marksman, skilled tactician, master liar, fervent schemer and willing to do just about anything, especially if L'Araigne asked it of him. He had viewed the man as almost a god. In a way, Michael supposed he had become a father figure.

Michael scowled as he tried to remember a little girl who the brunette witch could have been. No one came to mind. Children had been rare just as they were now.

His "recruitment" had been an act of revenge against his father's betrayal.

The door opened and she entered slowly filling a syringe. Michael's head snapped up and he watched her through narrowed eyes. Suddenly the image of a little girl with a plastic child's doctor bag playing doctor popped into his memory. His eyes grew wide as he was able to finally place her in his life. She was L'Araigne's daughter, Elouette. She had only been with them a short time before L'Araigne had sent her away. Michael licked his parched lips.

"Why are you doing this, Elouette? Still enjoy playing doctor even after all this time?"

Her reaction was as he had hoped. He had caught her completely off guard.

She laugh grimly as she tapped out air bubbles in the tube. "You finally remember me. I left that name behind a long time ago. It belongs to a pretty little girl in a pretty little house who has a pretty little family and life. That's not me. I'm more interested in following my real father's path. My mother should have trusted in him. He was always right. Even about you, the angel who betrayed him. But in answer to your question, yes I do. Even better when I can use something I created to bring some good to the world. Maybe help to eradicate some of the diseased people who run rampart over it."

She stopped in front of him, holding the needle up and stared directly into his eyes.

Michael stared back at her with his usual unreadable expression. His mind was sorting facts rapidly. He was getting desperate because no solution was presenting itself and he could find no tactical advantage besides what offer they might make to him to turn against the Section. That was the one thing he had to avoid at all costs. Nikita would be in danger and even though things were very bad between them at this point he would protect her in any way that he could. Fool !

Your survival is the most important thing to think about right now! His inner voice hissed at him in anger. He refused to listen to it. To do so would be to admit defeat. And that was something he never did. By fighting to get back to protect her, he would survive. It was as simple as that.

Besides there was more at risk here than just his life. There were others to be concerned about.

She chuckled and dragged the needle deeply along his upper arm. Michael did not notice any immediate reaction except for a ringing in his ears and the stinging in his arm where she had scratched him with the needle. Suddenly he forgot what he had just been thinking, had just been doing. He had looked away from her and was now looking at the floor. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at her again. She was smiling, at least that was what he thought she had just done.

Merde! T'est un couillon ! Combatte-le! His inner voice screamed at him. He yanked his head away from her and shook it. He struggled to maintain his mental stability. Mission objective: stay alive and escape his inner voice was yelling at him. With a great effort he fought the effects.

Escape to where...from what...her! Here! That was it. Michael was beginning to think there was a little golem running around in his head telling him things. She laughed out loud and heartily at this point.

"Oh you are a fighter Michael. Give in my love. You can't fight this. The machine man is going to find out just how human he is. How pitifully human. You think that as the 'Dark Angel' you don't have any soul. By the time I'm.." She grabbed his hair and yanked it back cruelly. Her lip curled in a snarl. "finished with you, bastard, you'll be sure you don't. If there's any there, I 'll make sure I rip it out with the rest of your black heart." She threw her hand away from her body as she let go of his hair. Michael's head snapped back, he felt pain radiate across his shoulder blades from the ferocity of her act.

"So let's talk about something near and dear to you. Votre mere et votre pere. I believe I used the right words. I haven't spoke french since I was about 6. Hate the language. Reminds me of my wonderfully dysfunctional miserable childhood. The product of which you see before you now. I wonder if you miss them. Do you feel sorry for what you did? Any remorse? How much do you remember of them, Michael? Do you remember what they looked like? The color of your mother's eyes or perhaps the shade of brown hair that your father had?"

Michael was not going to honor her questions. He had to get her on to another subject.

"When do you think you might untie me? I am very uncomfortable at the moment."

She had her back to him and merely shrugged her shoulders.

"When will be when I feel we've made some progress in your therapy. You've got a lot to go over Michael. A lot to atone for. You've got major marks on your record bud. They are not going to be easy to erase. Speaking of your mother's eyes.. remember the terror in them as you held the gun to her head?"

Michael's eyes grew huge and blood drain from his face as his heart pounded wildly in his chest.

He immediately recovered by slipping down his invisible mask of blankness. The surface appeared calm but underneath he was shattered. He could hear his blood rushing through his veins like water in a storm drain after a thunderstorm.

"What are you talking about?" In dread he waited for her response. His past was buried. Buried deep away inside; away from all those who could use it against him.

"Don't play coy with me, sweet thing," she said as she turned and leaned against the wall to study him as she talked. "It's unbecoming in a man of your obvious intellect. I know what you did. For your 17th birthday, if I recall. My father had been so excited that day. He felt that he had gotten complete control over you that day. He was so proud of himself. He told me in a letter how you'd received your presents or should I say your parents. You didn't recall them at all. You bought my father's story as they say hook, line and sinker."

Michael tried to concentrate on something else to block out the images she was trying to dig up. Madeline, you said no one would ever know. It died with L'Araigne.

"I think your father had been filling you in on things that didn't happen. It is really terrible when a father lies to his child."

Michael tried to get Elouette to change her focus to her father. He had to keep her away from the past. Otherwise it would rise up and swallow him.

She snickered as she saw thru Michael's attempt. "Sorry Michael, but I'm at peace with my father and the past. I'd like a little revenge for done deeds but I can live with myself. However I don't think the same can be said for you. Let me recite for you my father's letter. I'll leave out the fatherly mush and get to the heart of the letter."

She sat down on the cot and pushed herself back to the wall. Leaning there with her hands behind her head, she began to quote from memory her father's letter.

"Remember how I told you I had planned something special for the angel's birthday? Well it has turned out even better than I had dreamed of. He was flawless, my dear. I must say how proud I am of my accomplishment. Let me tell you how I did it. For several weeks now I have been telling him about these two counter operatives that we had under surveillance. They were responsible for several bombings of our safe houses and 2 attempts on my life. He was enraged by the fact that someone would have the audacity to try and harm me. His loyalty to me sometimes is so complete that it frightens me. Someday I fear he will misread a situation and the circumstances could be dire. But that is a possibility that I will not fret about. We were in the conference room discussing something mundane when they were dragged in. As they were 'introduced' to us, such anger and disgust built up in his eyes. You know that tighten- ing he gets in his jaw. I thought the skin would crack over the tautness of the bone and muscle. I asked him what we should do. My angel pulled out his gun and walked over to his father and said that they needed to die just as those who they had killed. I almost jumped in glee, my dear. He did not even know they were. I had managed to erase all memory of them from his mind."

Her words dug into his brain, causing memories to surface that for all, were better left buried. But she had triggered their release and Michael couldn't shove them back over the wall. They spilled over the top and blotted out every other sound.

Michael stood against the wall in the room that he had come to know well in his first months at the Section. He studied his fingernails with a smug expression.

His hair was tied back in a pony tail and he was dressed all in white. His self confidence, arrogance and cockiness were quite evident. Madeline leaned against the opposite wall studying him with her steady brown eyes. He looked up and lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Good luck trying to figure me out, Maddie. I don't even know what makes me tick." He grinned devilishly at her. "I'm just me. Mean little old me. Don't get too close sweetheart cause I bite. Tu as peur d'me?"

Madeline smiled at him. "Of course not Michael. I've given you no reason to want to hurt me. You don't harbour any ill feelings towards me......yet. No I'm not afr..."

Before she could finish her sentence he was across the room, crushing her into the wall with his hands around her throat.

He was nose to nose with her and hissed softly, "A wise person would be. All it would take is one twist. Then one pretty little neck becomes two. And then you become dead."

Madeline's smile never left her face. Her eyes held his own silver green twins. He was trying to determine what her defensive move would be but she just stood there; calm, cool and relaxed.

Her hand reached out and pulled out his ponytail, smoothing out his hair. Michael waited. He was puzzled by her actions. It was not how he thought she would react. She then tucked loose strands behind each ear as she softly asked, "Is this how your mother would fix your hair?" He immediately released her and back away, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Why the questions about my mother again? Who cares about her? I was 6 years old before they let me get stolen. Served them right. They should have taken better care of me. Look how wonderful I turned out. I'm one in a million. Well their loss, L'Araigne's gain."

"You don't think they were devastated by losing you and your sister?"

"Really doesn't matter now. That was a long time ago. Besides I don't even remember what happened to my sister. The man in white took her. And no I don't remember what he looked like or who he was."

"Let me ask you something else. Do you remember what your mother looked like?"

"Maddie, do you have a point you're going to get to sometime soon. I'm starting to get bored. And we all knows what happens when I get bored, don't we?"

"Humor me, Michael. I didn't call in anyone when you threatened me a little while ago, now did I?"

Michael shook his head. With an exaggerated sigh, he sat down on the floor with his back against the wall. He picked at imaginary lint on his bent knee as he recited his mother's description in a wooden tone.

"She was tall and thin. I remember her eyes were cat green. Her hair was a little redder than mine. Her fingers were really long. Her nose was really little. She always wore her hair in a pony tail. Her favorite color was green, 'pourquoi fait me penser `a les vert champs de pays.' Everything was always green. Green meant that it was living... That's why we lived in the country. There wasn't anything green in the city. If we lived there we were dead inside. She loved to sing French lullabies to me and my sister. 'Allouette..." He hummed the tune a little deep in memory.

"She said her eyes were green like a cat because she was part cat. She'd imitate a cat for us all the time. She used to go outside and meow just like one. They would all come running to the door, all of them meowing like crazy. Sometimes 10, 15 of them. My father hated cats. Made he sneeze. Didn't like their meowing. 'Fingers on a damn chalkboard' he said; when he was home. Gave them milk and tunafish. Mama would let us if we were good. She'd call them and they would come running. Meow, meow..." Michael trailed off. He was lost in thought.

He looked up as Madeline asked him about his father, "And what do you remember about your father?"

Michael shrugged a little, gave a small sneer. "Not much. He was away a lot. Being a hero Mama always said." He ran his hand through his hair. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable as snippets of memories from recent events began to prick at him.

Madeline spoke again in a gentle voice, "Come please tell me. I'm curious."

Michael ran his fingers across his dry lips. His eyes held a very far away expression. "He was just as tall as Mama. But he was really strong. I used to think he could lift an elephant with one hand. He started teaching us karate as soon as we could walk. He used to tell me when we were alone that Paige would never get a black belt because she was too scared to hit. She was always afraid she would hurt herself or someone else......Paige always was with me. People used to think we were twins. She was a year older than me but you couldn't tell. I always looked out for her. I wonder ..."

He drifted off again, for a moment lost in memories.

"Grey...Pappa's eyes were grey like the sky in the winter time before it snows. His hair was the same color as mine. He always smiled at us, just like Mama. They were always laughing and kissing and touching." Suddenly a shiver shook Michael. He pushed himself up the wall. He dug his fingers into his hair and dragged his fingers through the tangled waves. He was seeing weird images before his eyes. His parents with greying hair and looking so 'old'.

He tried to push the images away but they kept coming at him.

He looked at Madeline with wild eyes. She was watching him with a look that spoke of worry and unsurety. His mother crying. She was begging him not to do it. She and Poppa loved him and had missed him so much. The he heard L'Araigne's voice telling him about these operatives' and how they had tried to kill him and what was 'the Angel' going to do about it.

The images became more disjointed and numerous. His whole body was shaking then. He covered his ears as he heard a gun being cocked followed by hysterical screams. His mother was screaming his name in French. She was begging for her life. He gave a strangled cry as he heard another gunshot and saw blood splattered on the shirt he wore.

Madeline's voice came from very far away as he struggled to get off the t-shirt he had on. His own screams echoed in his ears as the realization of what he had done came to him. She was telling him to be calm. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know what he was doing. Everything would be O.K. No one would ever know....

But someone did know. That bastard's daughter did and she was... Not talking anymore. She just stared at him, a bemused smile on her face.

"Happy memories, Michael?"

He hung his head, gasping for air. Michael's head was spinning; the guilt conjured up by the memories and everything else he had been recently through were a potent combination. He felt like he was going to pass out. He had to push these memories back over the wall and keep them there. The screams from that day so long ago still reverberated in his head. He wanted to add his own screams in hope of drowning them out.

He felt panic welling up again inside. He tried to picture Nikita in a happy time. He managed to bring to mind her and Birkhoff fighting over a joystick and her calling him a cheater. Then she toppled backwards in the chair she was sitting on as had let go.

As she hit the floor, he felt Elouette slap his face. He must have been fading out. He brought his head up to look at her. His speech was slurred but he managed to spit out "Bitch" at her. She shrugged and walked away from him.

Nikita's face filled his mind again. He must have faded out on Elouette as he thought of Nikita because for the second time since she had started, her hand connected with his face. This time however it was her fist in his mouth. Michael tasted blood from his spit lip and lost his control.

With an animal like scream he tried to lunge at her. He wasn't able to get very far as he was held fast by ropes to the chair. He toppled over, hitting the cement floor with a heavy thud. She kicked him in the stomach as she walked away from him.

"Stay like that you son of a bitch."

The door slammed shut while Michael laid on the floor. Silently he cursed himself for losing control. It had not done any good. He was losing the battle with despair and could feel its fingers gently caressing his heart. He pushed away the memories she had brought to the surface by concentrating on the pain in his shoulders and his arms. Think of something else, Michael! He shouted silently to himself. Think! Figure out what's been happening on the outside! Don't give up!

By things she had said he decided that he had been here about 2 to 3 weeks. In all that time from what he could determine the Section had not attempted an extraction. The reason behind their lack of action worried him the most. There were a number of different scenarios he could have played out in his mind but the one that jumped in front of the others was the one that he was most fearful of. They hadn't come because Nikita was dead too and the decision had been made to cut their losses at what they stood. Though Michael had to admit that he had made similar decisions regarding situations in the past, the reality of it stung. Nikita had always said that he was just a means to the end for them. And seeing how things were playing out, she seemed to have been correct.

He felt sick when he thought about the last things they had said to each other. Their argument had been bitter and hateful. They had both tried to wound the other as much as possible. He knew the words were born of exhaustion, frustration and anger but that was not an excuse for them having been said. Many things had contained a element of truth to them. At least truth as the person saying it was concerned. He remembered the violence of his reaction as she had thrown her words at him about their one and only true night together where there had been no pretending, manipulation or deception. What they had shared that night had been real. No matter how she doubted that.

He wanted her desperately to understand how strongly he felt about her. Not only emotionally but physically as well. Regret over his violence sat in his stomach like a hard ball. Their bond could be a death sentence for them, not only within the Section but on the outside too. That's why he kept her at arm's length. That's why he had pushed her away. In his need to protect her from the Section, he had to protect her from himself. He could allow them no more leverage than they already had. No more suspicions on which for them to look into matters more deeply. God, he wished he could get her to see how all the pieces fit together but it was so hard to get her to do that. He cared for her so much and tried so hard, as hard as he felt was safe to do, to show that to her. She just didn't see; didn't want to see or maybe she had just stop looking.

They had talked about their relationship briefly while she was being re-trained by Jurgen. He had tried to explain to her what they were up against and the kind of position this had forced him into. How he was basically forced to live. But she had not wanted his offering then. She had been hurt and angered by his stupid actions again. Too little, too late had been her remark.

Damn her! He clenched his teeth and fists in frustration. Silently he thanked Jurgen for his sacrifice in the explosion that had killed him. He was giving them a chance. Jurgen knew that there was something strong between Michael and Nikita. Or maybe it had been attempt to atone for the past or just his way of reacting to the loss of the sword he had held over the Section's 'head'.

No matter; they were further apart than before. Michael had searched for answers during the hours of the night when his dreams wouldn't allow him to sleep. He had stood on her terrace staring in her french doors. Sometimes spotting her asleep on the couch.

When she had been away on a mission, he had visited her apartment. Just to sit in the quietness and absorb her lingering presence. What could he have done differently? The list is too long fool! Got about 20 years? His inner voice mocked him again. Lies, manipulations and broken promises was what he had given her instead of the want and tenderness that he knew he held somewhere inside for her. After every...

Slowly tears filled his eyes He thought of his mother and his father. How could he have let himself become so controlled by L'Araigne? How could he have so completely forgotten what his parents looked like? How could he have allowed himself to do that? He was just as worthless as his father screamed at him in his dreams. Just as uncaring and as unfeeling as Paige accused him of being and as Nikita told him he was. He needed to shore up the wall that kept the past in the past where it belonged. His walls were his only protection at this point.

He had to hold on to them. Without them he was weak and vunerable. Without them the daming of the past was too strong. The blackness of it tried to choke him. It had been a thing he had tried to keep from the world.

The only other person who knew about it was Simone. She had even been bothered by it and refuse to let it be thought about. She would chastise him for his nightmares, telling him he had to be stronger than his past, than his memories. But no matter how hard he tried they were always looking for a way to kick at him. He knew they would kill him in the end.

They were a worse weakness for him than Nikita was. He could hide from his feelings for her, at least right now he could. But he couldn't hide from the past. It constantly prodded him with its long fingers in the stomach. I'm weak. I'm worthless. Suis rien. Sin valeur. I'm not human. I deserve every bit of pain and suffering I've got coming!

Michael's self incrimination was cut short by the door opening. He twisted himself so that he could see the next thing coming. Elouette had two men with her and a video camera. His curiosity was piqued. What was she planning on doing now. Sneeringly he asked,

"Making a video of your handiwork?"

He wanted to release a groan of pain as they picked him up from the floor by grabbing the chair and then slammed it down on the cement. White-hot pokers raced up his spine and shoulders to meet at the base of his neck. He stifled the moans he wanted to release. He would not give voice to his pain because that would mean a bit of victory on her part.

Blackness was creeping into the outer fringes of his vision. He was losing his grip on consciousness. His body was trying to shut itself down, trying to compensate for the pain of his memories and his injuries.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Oh no, Michael, but I'm definitely going to make you a video star. When you're seen in this, you're really going to cause a sensation. Cue it up, Jer. I feel like fleshing out some material for our next few sessions. Relax, this is going to be quite enjoyable."

The one that was on Michael's left side hoisted up the video camera and set himself up facing Elouette. She stood so that Michael was just out of camera range.

Then she began to speak.

"Hello. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elouette. You may also know me by the name La Fileure. The spinner to my father L'Araigne, the Spider. I wish we could meet in person and work out our differences but since the only way to work them out is eradicate you and the rest of your verminous children, I guess this will have to do. For a time now we, the members of Red Cell have been trying to regain the strength and position that we once held. To catch as many flies as possible. Most of the damage inflicted on us has been done by your group.

"First you murdered my father. Then you stole the one person who might have been able to carry on his ideals. Then bit by bit you have picked at the edges, making us spin our web smaller and smaller. Then you try to wipe us from the basement of this world where we have taken hold."

She moved closer to Michael. He had slipped away from reality as little as she had talked to the camera. Images from the past flowed through his head. He kept trying to pull away but it was no use. He was trapped by them on all sides. She grabbed his hair and jerked his face up to the camera. He struggled to bring himself back to reality.

"After your little visit to our abode, we found that you left some junk from your picnic. Now we're spiders, not ants but this little bit of refuse was too good to pass up. Besides I believe in recycling whenever possible. Do you like what I'm recycling? Say hello, Michael. Nothing to say. Oh what a shame. I know, you are so excited to be home that you can't find the words to express yourself. That's O.K.; I'll do the talking. Well, as you can see I have brought our prodigal son home. I hope to make him what he once was. My father had such high aspirations for him. He saw Michael was his greatest hope for attaining all his goals.

"He saw Michael as a sort of guardian or good luck angel. Through him anything was possible. Ironic considering that he is named after the Archangel. He is legend here. Our young recruits are eager to see him returned to his former glory. Though I have been hitting a few stumbling blocks in his retraining. He has somehow gotten this misplaced loyalty for you people. He wants to protect you. Especial- ly the blonde Amazon. How about putting her in the recycling bin and I'll pick her up too? I imagine she must be a thorn in your side and you would probably be glad to get rid of her. She looks like the type who doesn't follow the rules very well. Besides you know how dumb blondes can be. Then of course, Michael misses her and I do hate to have him feel that way."

She tilted his head back, smiling lovingly into his eyes. "I can't take her place so I'll graciously step aside and allow them to be together. Something I know you're having a hard time with that."

She sighed, let go of Michael's hair and started to walk around him. He brought his head back down and swallowed hard.

He knew he needed to get a message to them. He forced the words he needed to say out of his raw throat. He let the force of all the pain, anger, and all the other emotions rolling in his soul show in his eyes. They glimmered like emeralds in the moonlight on unbroken snow.

"N-n-no extract... Clean sweep..... Let me go...'Kita....."

Elouette reacted like a enraged animal. She screamed like a blood thirsty panther in the jungle. A knife flew out from under her sleeve and she slashed at Michael's face. At the same time she was screaming and demanding they cut the taping. Her slashing of Michael's face however was caught on by the camera. Blood gushed from the cut and down the front of his chest. He didn't think it was deep but it hurt like crazy. She wiped the blade on his shoulder.

Snarling at him she warned, "You earned a nice present for your 'friends'. Hope they enjoy it."

She looked at the other two. "Get him cleaned up. A shower would be good. Then put him back in here. Make sure he's cuffed and shackled but don't put him back in the chair. And don't rough him up too much. He's no use to me comatose or dead." She stalked out of the room slamming the door behind her. Michael knew things were out of control now.

Warily he watched the two men approach him. He could tell that neither of them was particularly happy to have had this "duty" assigned. He also could tell that they were "good" little boys who would do as they were told. Neither seemed very bright. He stifled the urge to give voice to the pain that their movement of him caused. Michael refused to give them the pleasure of that knowledge. They half carried and half dragged him down the hallway from his walled prison. He counted the number of steps they took and planned to use the information to gage the end of the passage and the possible freedom that might lay beyond it. They came to a gap in the wall and went through it.

It was looked like a typical military issued shower. Plain, white and utilitarian. They shoved Michael under a spigot jutting from the wall and pulled the chain. The water shot down and engulfed him. It was like getting hit with thousands of icy pellets. The cold rejuvenated him. The fog that had been covering parts of his mind lifted and clarity came back.

Feeling rapidly came back to his arms along with a multitude of pins and needles. He shook his arms to rid himself of the sensation. Though he knew his injuries would hamper him, he had to do his best to inflict the damage he could and escape. He turned and met the eyes of both men. He presented a frightening image. His eyes were cold and hard. His hair fell tangled into his eyes and blood still dripped from the gash on his chin. One of them stepped forward and tapped Michael lightly on the chest. It would prove to be a move of immensely unwise proportions. Michael's lips curved slightly. It held no more warmth than his eyes.

"Turn back around, pretty boy. We'll tell you when you're done."

Michael's reply was simple though physically impossible. "T' baise!" His hand crushed into the finger pointer's throat. He gurgled for air as the palm from Michael's other hand flattened his nose into his sinus cavities. The body slumped to the floor. The remaining operative launched a half hearted kick at Michael's chest. He connected but Michael didn't flinch and didn't stop either. The Red Cell member turned and made a run for the exit. Second lackey, second mistake.

Michael drove the coward down to the tiled floor. Soundless and effortless, Michael snapped his neck. He stood and whipped his wet hair out of his eyes. He was in full machine mode now.

Every one of his facial features seemed frozen in place, anchored by the glaciers in his eyes.

He gained the exit and looked to the left. The door on the end was opening and more Red Cell members came bursting through. Showers had to have been monitored. This may not work.

Michael looked quickly skyward murmuring, " Secours-moi!" and then met the enemy. He took as many blows as he received but his condition did not allow him the advantage he otherwise might have had. Surprise and underestimation had been on his side in the showers. They had left him at the exit. Michael was only able to take out one more operative before he was taken down.

He never saw Elouette come up from behind with the stun gun. She thrust its nuzzle into his wet back and fired. Michael jerked violently and hit the wall. He slid down and crumbled to the floor.

Elouette motioned with the gun at his inert form. "Take him back to his pen. Chain him up! If I catch any one of you underestimating him again, I'll kill you myself! He is dangerous no matter what condition you may think he is. You're all a bunch of god damn dullards and piss heads! Shape up or we're going to do a little one on one retraining! NOW MOVE IT !!!!"

Operatives scurried to do her bidding. Due to other pressing needs at other locales, she had been left with essentially grunts. There was maybe 3 brains total between the 3 dozen she had in the compound. She threw the stun gun in the face of one, all the while cursing.

She stalked down the hall as they carried a moaning Michael back to his prison.

END of PART I

written by Tammy

continue on to Walls, Part II

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