It looked fake. The sky was too blue. The sand was too white. Sand? Who got married at the beach?

Nikita wanted to stamp her feet and protest like the child inside her demanded. But outwardly she maintained an almost eerie calm. This is my first wedding and it's not even real. It's not even me. It's this Anna person. Helmut doesn't want me. He needs a body, a convenient body, to fulfill the terms of his father's will.

He could have found someone from his own circle of friends and social standing. But he settled on a pretty, non-pedigreed drug dealer, who was obviously in love with her partner. Why? That was a question that haunted her.

Could she get past the idea of sleeping with a man she didn't love? Yes. She had trained her mind on the mission. She could sleep with Helmut.

But that didn't stop her longing to be with Michael. It didn't stop her from wondering what Michael was thinking. Was he as upset as she was? Being torn from his side? Or was it just another day in the life of his tragic Section existence?

In a way, she almost felt betrayed. He had always managed to bring things off in their favor before. Why had he failed? She had grown used to Michael's impressive success rate. If he didn't succeed this time…well, part of her was frightened to contemplate that there might be a non-Section explanation for Michael's failure to prevent the wedding.

What if Michael didn't want to prevent the wedding? What if Michael didn't love her as much as she loved him? What if…what if…what if… She was driving herself quite mad with endless ruminating. Because she could not see or hear Michael, she could not know what his real reaction was.

She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. She might never know. She might never see him again.

Nikita was so lost in thought, she missed the minister saying, You may kiss the bride. To her surprise, Helmut, too, seemed strangely preoccupied. For he did not respond immediately to the minister's direction.

Belatedly Helmut smiled, but the smile didn't seem to reach his eyes. He kissed Nikita, but the kiss was perfunctory, a functional afterthought to consummate the vows taken and nothing more. Nikita felt the hair raise on the back of her neck, as if in warning. But she did not know why.

Perhaps her sixth sense was trying to tell her that Helmut was far more than the sum of his parts. That some of those parts were missing. That he was like a lifesize jigsaw puzzle she was struggling to complete, only to discover two of the crucial pieces gone.

It was her wedding day. It was meant to be a happy occasion. But Nikita was far from happy. She briefly wondered if Michael had felt like this when he married Elena. But no, Elena was an innocent, Helmut was a target. A fine difference, almost imperceptible perhaps to some, but not to her.

Michael was stronger than she was. He had experience at compartmentalizing his feelings. He lived his life, split in two, as he'd told her. He never let anyone else see those feelings, but they were "always there", beneath the surface.

But Michael had done something she once never thought would happen. He let Nikita inside his defenses. He let Nikita see that she was indeed his weakness. He let Nikita know that he could not live without her.

How would he ever survive Nikita's marriage?

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since Michael had seen Nikita. Three weeks since Michael had touched her or kissed her. Or even heard her voice. For a man who had finally admitted he couldn't live without her, it was too long.

Too long to be without the silken feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. Too long to be without the husky purr of her voice in his ear as they lay in bed. The rasp of her breathing across his chest as she lay in his arms.

He had survived thinking she was dead once. Before Lyons. Before they belonged to each other. But he hadn't cared what happened to him. If a bullet had taken his life, he would have been grateful. For there was, even then, a bond between them that could not be easily severed.

At first, there was only apathy. He could not stir himself to care about anything, even his life. He didn't try to examine his feelings too closely. The curious numbness that took over his life was compelling. He did not think. He did not wonder.

There was no pain. Only emptiness. The pain came later. When he realized she was still alive. Still alive and letting him think she was dead. He should have applauded her sense of self-preservation. He had taught her well. She knew enough to let go. She knew there was no place for them to be together in Section One. He thought he knew that, too.

After all, he had a wife. A son. He was buried in a deep cover mission that demanded he sacrifice what little time he had and take a wife not of his choice. It didn't matter that Elena was an intelligent, loving woman.

Oh, he cared about her. But he couldn't help but resent her. More and more. Because she did not fill the emotional gap in his heart when Nikita was lost to him. She couldn't. For no other reason than that she was not Nikita.

He wanted to hate her. But he couldn't. She was an innocent, trapped in a prison not of his own design.

And his son. Adam. How could he regret everything about the mission that brought to life the only child he had in the world? The grief he felt at being separated from his son, the grief he still felt, sometimes in its full intensity, surpassed even the grief he felt over losing Nikita.

Because no matter how he might hope, and he'd lost the ability to hope, until Nikita's love gradually transformed him, he knew he would probably never be fortunate enough to have another child. Not that any other child could ever replace Adam. But there would never be another child to lavish his newfound humanity upon, and he accepted that as grim, unchangeable fact.

Operations' harsh voice cut sharply into Michael's musing. "Michael! In my office."

Michael looked bleakly at Operations. "Of course."

Operations scrutinized the man he once assumed would succeed him. Though he showed no expression on his face, Michael was clearly a beaten man at that moment. He despised Operations now, and for a sliver of time so minuscule as to be unmeasurable, Michael allowed the mask to drop, revealing that hatred.

It lived within him, like a carefully caged beast that searched for the right moment to break free. And if Michael ever came to believe that Nikita was irretrievably lost to him…he would make good his threat. He would kill those who were determined to hold him captive.

He would die.

But he would die avenged.

"Your numbers are still high. We anticipated a dropoff when we sent Nikita on this assignment, but it hasn't come."

Michael snapped back. "Perhaps you should be more concerned with your own numbers."

"Maybe." Operations smiled, a feral smile of the predator seizing his prey in his grasp. With one crushing blow, he knew exactly how to destroy Michael.

Operations stared him down. "If that means you're planning some ill-fated rescue attempt, forget it. Accept the situation and move on. You have your job. Nikita has hers." Operations' eyes were a glacial blue, his tone cold yet impressively hostile. "Forget her."

Forget her? At that moment, Michael hated Operations so intensely, he almost ended any speculation of when he would move on the man.

At that moment, Michael's entire body thrummed with the need to make his vengeance a reality, even if it meant his own death. But he pulled back. With great difficulty. But he eventually calmed his hyperactive reflexes.

Because without him, Nikita would be alone and vulnerable. She would give up and give in. And he couldn't die knowing he had killed that bright spirit in her himself.

Her hope might be futile, but it drew him, like a moth to a flame.

He would pick his moment.

It just wouldn't be now…

"Is Nikita back yet?"

Michael wore dark glasses that hid his eyes. Lately, he had trouble keeping the expression out of those usually enigmatic green eyes. It was part of the toll that being away from Nikita had taken on him. Admitting he loved her had brought all of his more volatile emotions to the surface. That was unfortunate. Her re-awakening of his humanity could have dangerous consequences for both of them.

"From her honeymoon, you mean?" Birkoff artlessly asked.

Michael visibly winced. The glasses weren't much help if he couldn't even prevent a simple statement of fact from causing a ripple effect across his entire body.

"Yes," he replied tersely, wishing Birkoff into some distant country. Just for a few days. Weeks. A month at most.

"I'll check." Birkoff booted up the satellite link and waited a fraction of a second. "Uhhh…do we have authorization for this?"

Michael sighed. "Just do it, Birkoff."

Wondering why he continued to risk his own life and limb for Michael, Birkoff did as he asked. "What coordinates?"

Michael recited a veritable litany of numbers, which somehow, through the miracle of technology, Birkoff was able to translate into coordinates. "Got something."

Abruptly the monitors above their heads blazed into life with a full-color shot of the mansion where Helmut Volker lived. With his new wife. Anna. AKA Nikita.

Birkoff handed Nikita's transceiver to Michael, and the two of them listened to Helmut and Nikita chatting pleasantly, familiarly, much like a real husband and wife. That had to be the thought that flickered anxiously through Michael's restless mind.

For the moment that Birkoff asked, "Are you sure you want to hear this, Michael?" and turned around…Michael was gone.

Birkoff shrugged. Michael was a ghost these days. A wraith who moved between shadows, never quite coming out of hiding to be spied upon.

The moment that Michael knew Nikita was back, he couldn't control his inner agitation. Was she distracting him from his normally stellar performance? Probably yes. Could he help it? Probably no.

She was like an anomaly on his panel. Something indefinable that could not be explained away through logic. But undeniably real just the same. An anomaly could not be removed unless its source, its reason for being there, were satisfactorily determined.

He didn't know what Nikita's reason for being in his life really was. He wanted to, no, he needed to, believe that it was love. But how could he know? As attuned to her as he was, he could never entirely trust his judgment where she was concerned.

He was used to functioning in a very low profile, low energy way. His relationship with Nikita escalated things. It didn't just change who he was or how he defined himself. It changed everything. He could see that for years, he had stuffed his feelings, down deep, where no one, not even him, especially not him, could see. There was no way to push all of those feelings back, beneath the surface, again. Hence…he would need to learn a completely different way of functioning. If he were to survive.

When he monitored Nikita's conversations with Helmut, he couldn't help but be struck by the easy camaraderie between the two of them. That surprised him. They were comfortable with one another. Why was that? Knowing Nikita's propensity for adopting strays and championing the underdog, he assumed that she was merely identifying with Helmut. He was, Michael grudgingly admitted, somewhat…likable.

His charm was wasted on Michael. But that was another story altogether.

He hoped that Nikita was not susceptible to Helmut's smooth, rather obvious come-ons. But he knew that right now, following her return to the land of the living, after being subjected to the Gelman Process, she was vulnerable. He could not, would not call her fickle. Her feelings for Michael were still strong. He had no reason to think otherwise. But that didn't stop him from feeling insecure. And that was a new feeling for Michael.

He didn't think he liked it.

At all.

Nikita's ability to see the good in bad people often placed in her jeopardy. Some might call her attitude Pollyanna-ish. Michael called it what it was. Humanity.

Her need to empathize with those same bad people frequently led to conflict. Primarily with Section. Occasionally with Michael. Although Michael valued what Nikita once was, he did not grieve over the loss of what amounted to her naiveté. Some might argue that she had, in fact, lost what innocence she possessed. But Michael knew there was still a world of difference between someone like her and someone like Madeline.

Michael could not find fault with the way Nikita was handling her end of the deep cover mission. Helmut seemed utterly convinced that Nikita, or Anna, as he knew her, had her own reasons for marrying him, the chief one being money. What bothered Michael was Nikita's blurring of the boundaries between target and friend.

Though he himself had vowed not to go to her, his heart protested the fragility of that excuse. It's been three weeks. I need to see her. To reassure myself. Not her. She's doing fine. I'm the one in trouble.

Was he jealous? He refused to think so. But he could not get the image of Nikita sleeping with Helmut out of his head. He was sure it was just sex. He didn't believe that Nikita had fallen in love with Helmut. But it didn't keep him from feeling insecure.

Was the shoe on the other foot now? Was this what Nikita felt, every time she saw him with Elena? And there was something between him and Elena. He admitted that. And if he couldn't keep his feelings truly separate, how could he expect Nikita to do it?

The thought spurred him on towards Helmut's mansion. He had important intel for Nikita. She needed to know that Helmut's brother, Kristoff, was dirty. She needed to know that Section knew, and that Section, as always, would take care of things. The way they usually did.

The moment that he stepped inside the bedroom, he felt the tension in Nikita. She was more than surprised to see him. She looked vaguely uncomfortable. As he approached her, he could feel her backing away from him, mentally, emotionally…

He told her what he'd come to tell her. She nodded imperceptibly, as if to say, a phone call would have done just as well. He agreed. He was losing control of his recently-awakened emotions.

Still, he had no plan to seduce Nikita. Especially not in the house, and the very bedroom, where she slept with Helmut. He was her, or rather Anna's, husband. As difficult as it was for Nikita to stay in character as Anna, Michael was not helping her. Far from it.

He could see that his attempt to touch her disconcerted her. This time, she did back away, physically.

I'm not rejecting you, Michael, Nikita pleaded silently. Please understand. I still love you. I still want to be with you. But if you don't leave, right now, I might do something I would very much regret. Not because I'm weak or powerless over my love for you. But because acting on that love would finally destroy what little morality I still have.

I set boundaries for myself a long time ago. If I act outside of those boundaries…I don't know if I can live with myself. Or you.

And I don't want to live without you.

Ever again.

That wouldn't be living.

Michael's eyes caressed her face, absorbing the texture of her skin, the fall of her hair against her cheek. He stored these memories away carefully. He couldn't have her all to himself anymore. She wasn't his to have.

But she would be again.

If he had to take down all of Section to do it.

When Helmut revealed himself as an Interpol agent, Nikita's first thought was, it couldn't be. Her second thought was, of course, he was. It jibed with her original take on the man. That he had to be more than he seemed. That he couldn't be as big a fool as he seemed. Or he would never have been as successful as he was.

However, her next reaction was, why is he telling me this? He still thinks I'm an ex-drug dealer. Does he suspect me? Does he think if he takes me into his confidence, I'll do the same?

No. Suddenly it was all too clear. Helmut was Nikita. Or rather, the Nikita she was when she first came into Section One. He took her into his confidence because he trusted her. He wasn't looking at what she was. On the surface. He was seeing beneath that level to the real Nikita. Or what he thought was the real Nikita.

He saw a woman who, despite their curious circumstances, was more like him than not. Unfortunately, the Nikita he thought was real no longer existed. That came as quite a shock to Nikita's already over-burdened mind and heart. Over the years, she had become, for lack of a better word, acclimated to Section.

At first, she hated it. Then she became accustomed to it. And at some point, she actually began to depend on it. It was, in every way that mattered, her *real* life. It was where Michael was. Therefore, freedom, whatever that was, or might still be, did not hold the same attraction for her as it once did.

Not if it meant not being with Michael.

It was ironic, she thought, that in revealing his true nature, Helmut helped Nikita come to terms with what she was. What she had been. What she had become. What she could still become.

Part of her was happy with this revelation, as hard as it was to digest. She and Michael had evolved into different people since they met. As their love grew deeper, even though it remained unspoken, they began taking on significant pieces of each other's personalities. In adapting to Section life, Nikita lost much of her vulnerability. Forged through necessity, Nikita hardened her heart. It made her sad. But it kept her alive. For without survival, what would any of the rest of it mean?

And as Nikita grew cooler and calmer, giving away less and less of herself and her innermost feelings, Michael began to open up. Michael became more and more accessible, emotionally, to a point where she felt like she was falling in love with him all over again. But this new openness brought its own problems. It made Michael vulnerable. He was less focused, more easily distracted. And it could get him killed.

But not as long as she watched Michael's back. He protected her, even when she thought she didn't care about living any longer. She would protect him. With her life if necessary.

Suddenly her life with Helmut didn't seem nearly as charmed as it once had. Helmut was a nice guy. He reminded her of what she'd lost. And he was an innocent.

But she would give him up in a heartbeat if it meant she could be with Michael again. She felt such a compelling urge to talk to Michael now, her palms itched. Rubbing her hands together, she concentrated on Helmut and what he was saying.

When Nikita heard that Helmut's brother was dead, she silently winced. Here was the living proof of what Section was and is and always would be staring her right in the face.

Helmut leaned on his wife, unable to accept one more expression of condolence. His father's vehement declaration that he wished Helmut had died, instead of Kristoff, broke his heart. He could not tell his father what he had become. It wasn't enough to believe that his father would be proud of him, if he only knew. That was bitter compensation for his heartache.

Nikita knew what Helmut must be going through. She comforted him as best she could, but her heart was ultimately with Michael. Now that they had canceled Kristoff, surely her deep cover mission could come to a logical conclusion.

She held Helmut, much the way a mother would hold a child, and she realized that it was the child in Helmut that drew her. It was the part of her that she had lost. That absolute, child-like innocence. That belief that the good guys were always the good guys, the bad guys were always the bad guys, and none of them ever became confused during the war.

It wasn't true.

She was one of the good guys, but fighting the bad guys often forced her to behave just like them. She was frightened by just how good she had become at playing a bad guy. Maybe there was less separating them than she thought.

Helmut was a good man. As for Michael…

Michael didn't think he was. But Nikita knew better. Her heart told her that, deep down inside, where it counted, Michael had always been good. But like her, he was forced, through circumstance, to do things that could not be reconciled with his morality, his faith, or his belief in himself.

He didn't abandon those things. He just put them away where no one in Section could see them. The problem was, even Michael couldn't see them after a while. If Michael's self-esteem was, as Madeline once claimed, inextricably entwined with Nikita's perception of him…then Michael had to see himself through her eyes.

You are a good man, Michael. And as much as it would surprise you to hear this, my love, you still have a soul. I've felt its touch, as surely as I've felt your tears on my cheek or your hand caress mine.

No matter when you come back for me, Michael, I'll be here.

Waiting.