Michael stood at the observation deck window, overlooking Section One. He had command. Operations had vowed it would never happen again. He was wrong.

He turned as he heard the footsteps behind him. It was his second-in-command. Nikita. He gave her a cautious half-smile. "How are you?"

She shrugged slightly, uncertain exactly how to answer that question. Things were different now. Michael was in command. He was in control of everything and everyone. She hadn't liked the role he played when he was head of Section One the last time. She didn't hold out much hope for their relationship, such as it was, surviving another onslaught like that one.

Hooking a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear, she smiled politely, giving away none of what she was thinking. "I'm fine. And you?"

He nodded imperceptibly in her direction. "Okay." His vivid green eyes swept over her face, flickering back and forth for a moment. "You look rested."

"Yeah, well, there's not much to keep me away from my bed lately."

"Missions are no longer running long, thanks to your input from the field."

She nodded, accepting the praise due her with uncharacteristic coolness. "If there's nothing else?"

Michael inclined his head. She exited the observation deck, never seeing Michael's thoughtful green gaze following her.

Madeline was no longer a thorn in his side. Though he would have no compunction about killing her, especially in light of more recent events, he knew that Nikita would never accept that decision. Despite her differences with Madeline, and her intrinsic dislike for the woman, Nikita persisted in believing that she didn't deserve to be canceled. Therefore, he sent her as far away as he possibly could, making sure that her connections with what she considered to be her powerbase were carefully severed.

He firmly believed that leaving Madeline alive was going to be a major mistake, but he would not go against Nikita in this instance. He didn't want to push her even farther away from him than she was now.

He thought back to how he wrested control of Section One away from Operations. It was over a month ago. Operations had no choice. Oversight, specifically George, ordered him to go there, ostensibly to deal with a suddenly rebellious Greg Hillinger. Once there, George detained Operations long enough that an official change of command was forced.

Only one problem. When Operations returned from Oversight, Michael refused to turn over command to him. Operations turned a curious shade of purple, fighting the urge to throttle Michael with his bare hands. He should have. It would have been the only way he could regain control ever again. By physical warfare. Not that he would have won. Michael sighed. It just would have been over quickly.

Instead, Operations first threatened, then cajoled. But the problem was, Operations no longer had anything that Michael wanted. Michael had his job. His power. His operatives rallied behind him.

All Michael needed was Nikita. But Operations didn't have her. He never did.

Operations disappeared, courtesy of Oversight. It was part of the deal Michael made with George. He didn't like dealing with the devil, but as Nikita once said, "sometimes the devil is the only one open for business."

He didn't know if Operations was dead. He didn't spare another thought for the man who once told him tersely to "get over it" after he'd lost his son. He promoted Nikita to his second-in-command, he needed someone he could trust in that position, and despite Nikita's insistence on remaining in the field, he respected that decision and honored it.

He had command. Over Section One. But not everything came under his control. He was still estranged from Nikita, perhaps even more so than before, now that she was almost his peer within Section. He would not force her into the role that Operations made Madeline play.

He wanted her. He needed her. He loved her. And despite her protests to the contrary, he knew she still loved him.

He wanted Nikita to come to him of her own free will. It would require subtlety, even seduction. But he would not manipulate her.

He needed control of Section. No one should control the woman he loved. He needed her by his side, and in his bed. He would have both. It might take time. But it would happen.

"We will be together."

"I'll find a way."

"I don't love you anymore." Damn. Michael's brows drew together as he winced. It wasn't true. He refused to believe that.

He had command.

Now if he only had her.

Michael listened to Nikita's report with only half an ear. His face impassive, she would never be able to tell that he was thinking anything even remotely personal. Although he didn't want to repeat the mistakes that Madeline and Operations made, he did decide that he and Nikita should meet each morning over breakfast, as the former powers-that-be did. It was the only way he ever got to see her.

The fact was, he never saw Nikita anymore unless it was work-related. He was willing to bide his time. But his greatest fear was that she could live without him. He closed his eyes on that thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. Nikita's voice sharply interrupted his reverie. "Headache?" she asked.

Not a trace of compassion in her voice. Michael despaired. No one could have anticipated that Nikita might actually be good at Madeline's job. Everyone spoke of her caring, her empathy, her humanity. She was the antithesis of Madeline in every way that mattered. Soft where she was hard. Warm where she was cold. God, he needed her softness and her warmth. He felt like he was bleeding to death inside. As if every time she ignored him, or rejected him, she cut him in a new place.

He shook his head at Nikita, not trusting himself to speak. He had to end this meeting before he disgraced himself and begged her to come back to him. No cajoling. No hidden agendas. Just…come back…

Nikita regarded Michael with cool blue eyes. She worked very hard to keep what she was thinking off her face. It did not come easy to her. It wasn't natural. But it was necessary.

He acted like he'd been born to the job. He carried it off so well. All the operatives respected Michael. Section might, given enough time, become a slightly different place. But time was one luxury she didn't have.

She would hold onto this job as long as she could. But soon, she would be forced to give it up. Losing the job didn't matter. Losing Michael did. But then, in her heart, she felt as though she'd lost him long ago.

She looked down at the clear glass table and saw her hands moving restlessly back and forth on the smooth surface. Gradually, as if she were unaware, her fingers crept towards his. He wasn't looking at her. He was deep in thought. Just one touch…just one…just…

Her fingertip touched his hand, and he flinched, as if she'd struck him. She gasped. "I'm sorry!"

He met her eyes for a brief moment, unable to hide his longing and the frustration. "Ki-ta…" he breathed out on a sigh.

Nikita recovered herself quickly. The chill was back in her carefully masked blue eyes. "May I continue my report?"

Michael's green eyes flickered anxiously back and forth. "Of course," he answered tersely.

It was as he feared. She could live without him. But he knew he couldn't live without her. He could step down from the job. But that wouldn't guarantee that he would have her. His eyes grew bleak. If he didn't keep the job…and he couldn't have her…what else was there? What was the point in staying alive?

When Nikita finished her report, she smiled absently and rose from the table, turning to leave. Michael reached out and grabbed her wrist, detaining her. "Nikita!"

"What?" she asked, already preparing to move away from him.

"I want us to be together." There. He'd said it. Out loud. Direct. Cut to the chase.

She shrugged hard, nearly whipping her wrist out of his grasp. "Why is it always about what you want, Michael?"

He blinked. "What do you want, Nikita?"

"For you to leave me alone." She rubbed the wrist that he'd grabbed. Michael was uncertain if this was because he'd actually hurt her, or because he had dared to simply touch her.

"Why?"

"You have to."

"What changed, Kita?" He was at the end of his endurance, and he nearly snapped the pencil he was holding.

"You did."

"We've been through that. We got past that…"

She backed up a few feet, raising her hands in the air in a gesture that was both submissive and exasperated. "Look, Michael, I don't love you anymore…"

"Stop saying that, Kita! Please!" Michael's mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. He was maintaining what little dignity he had left, but he could feel the strain. There was a scream inside of him, desperate to escape.

Nikita took a deep breath. "You have to accept it, Michael. Or we won't be able to work together."

"I don't understand, Kita. What did I do?"

"It's nothing you did or didn't do. It's just the way things are."

That was it. Nothing she said to him made any sense. "You didn't like the way I acted when I was in charge the last time. But you didn't like the way I acted when I lost my status either. What do you want from me, Kita?"

"Nothing."

With that, she turned on her heel and left. Michael stared after her, his eyes like two flat pieces of dark jade. She'd taken all the light with her. And left only darkness behind.

Several hours later…

Michael lifted his glass of wine and drank thirstily. It was too much to hope that he might get drunk. He rarely drank. But his tolerance was higher than one would expect.

He stared out the window of his apartment and looked out over the city. It was a beautiful city. He hated it. It represented everything that was wrong with his life. Pretty on the outside, hollow underneath.

He dropped the glass, and it splintered into countless shards of crystal on the floor, the red wine spattering like blood. He didn't want to live like this anymore.

He grabbed his gun, thumbed off the safety and aimed it at his temple, closing his eyes painfully slowly. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks, though he made no sound. His pain went too deep for easy expression.

A minute passed. Then two. Now the sobs came. He nearly choked on them. He held his head and dropped the gun to the floor. He couldn't do it. He had absolutely nothing left. But he couldn't do it.

Why? Was he suddenly reluctant to leave this life?

No…that pain still throbbed inside his head…and his heart…

But he suddenly realized…

If he were gone…who would protect Nikita? Who would protect the one he loved more than his life?

Nikita's cell phone rang. It was him. Again.

She nearly hung up on him, but that would never do. They had a deal. George knew exactly where she was vulnerable, and he pressed every advantage.

"You did as I asked, Nikita?" George's low, cultivated tones purred over the phone line.

"You know I did. I know you have people watching me. I can feel them."

"Just my way of keeping you honest, Nikita."

"Well, call them off. I don't like feeling like you don't trust me, George."

George would have snickered if he were capable of such a noise. "I don't trust anyone, Nikita," he said silkily. "And neither should you."

"You'll keep your promise?"

"But of course. We have a deal. Don't we?"

She nodded, then realized that he couldn't hear her. "Yes."

She hung up the phone and slowly slid down the wall of her apartment until she hit the floor. Legs stretched out in front of her, she tossed the phone aside and began to cry.

What had she done? George promised to protect Michael. He promised. But he said, I don't trust anyone, and neither should you. She didn't want to trust George. She had such a bad feeling about this suddenly. It was agonizing.

Oh, Michael…I did this for you. I did this for us. Only now there can never be an us.

She slid over onto her side and curled into a ball, her ear against the carpet. Her tears fell, like dying stars from the heavens. She never dreamed that it would end like this. It couldn't end like this. But she had no choice.

Her hand slipped lower to rest on her abdomen. She didn't know how George found out. She would never know. But he did. And now he was holding Nikita's and Michael's child for hostage. Before it could even be born.

She had to survive for the baby's sake. George promised that she would be allowed to keep her baby. As long as she gave up Michael and all claims to the throne of Section One.

He promised that Michael would not be harmed. He wanted Michael groomed for Oversight, perhaps even to take his place. But a wife and a child were distractions he could ill afford.

She cried harder, her tears soaking the carpet beneath her head. Her baby was reduced to a mere distraction. A blip on the screen of Section One.

She'd been so convincing when she rejected Michael, she almost believed it herself. But her heart knew better than her head. Her heart was no longer intact. There was a huge hole where Michael's love had been torn away.

Michael was the only one who mattered. He was the only one who could rule Section One with humanity, if not actual kindness. He might be the only one who would ever be able to transform it. He had to succeed.

She did love him. She could hardly bear the look on his face when he pleaded with her to stop telling him she didn't love him anymore.

There'd never been a greater lie.

There'd never been a greater love.

Moments after he hung up the phone with Nikita, George made another phone call.

"I've just spoken to Nikita."

"Yes, I've been able to control Michael so far by using his feelings for Nikita. Pah! Lamentable weakness. To think I once thought he could succeed me here at Oversight."

"No, he can keep running Section One as long as he stays my pawn. But you, you shall run all of the Sections as you were meant to do."

"Well, he is still a formidable operative. However, once I take Nikita out of the equation, I fear his usefulness may well come to an end."

"Cancel her? I haven't decided that yet."

George laughed shortly. "She still thinks I'm going to protect her and her baby. Good God, I have no intention of letting her keep the baby."

"No, Michael doesn't even realize that Nikita is pregnant with his child." George paused for effect, making his warning even more chilling.

"No! He must never know!" George so rarely shouted, he felt the effort strained his gentlemanly exterior.

"If he knew…there would be no controlling him…Not even Nikita could control him then."

Click.

Michael sat at his desk inside his apartment. The same apartment where he had recently contemplated taking his own life. His green eyes were lit with a strange fire. He steepled his fingers and pondered his next course of action.

But first, he switched off the surveillance tape he had just been listening to. He didn't trust George. That was why he had Birkoff maintain surveillance on Oversight, specifically concentrating on George. But he could hardly say that the identity of the other party was a great surprise to him. Madeline.

He'd removed her from Section One. He'd severed her more obvious connections with her powerbase here. But he'd always felt it was a mistake to let Madeline remain alive. She was too great a threat. Now he was paying for indulging Nikita's compassionate streak.

They both were.

Luckily, he knew where Madeline was. George was so arrogant, he thought his lines were secure. Well, some were. And some were just too damned vulnerable to a man of Birkoff's talents.

A sane man would simply plot his revenge and be done with it. But Michael wasn't sure he was entirely sane at that moment. From the moment he heard George and Madeline pronounce themselves more than willing to sacrifice his and Nikita's baby, Michael's logical mind rebelled, shouting its denial loudly and repeatedly.

They would get what they deserved. But it would not be what they expected.