There were no words to explain how he felt. He clutched the pillow to his face and inhaled her scent. Jasmine…and something else. He shut his eyes and struggled to think of something, anything else. But there was…nothing else. Not for him.

He had no life outside of his work. He had tried to have a life. With her. They were onto something. They were almost making it work. When Section stopped them. Banned them from all physical contact. Forced them to eliminate the "personal component" from their relationship.

What relationship?

He knew he was crying. He could tell because his face was wet. The rest of him was numb.

He wished he didn't have to be around when the numbness wore off.

They made him choose between her and his job. He thought he could give up the job. He was wrong. Giving up his status didn't mean anything to him. He had that part right. But it diminished him in her eyes. He didn't know that would happen. He couldn't function at any other level than his best, he couldn't pretend to be something he was not. He was a level 5 operative. No matter what they chose to call him.

She was stronger than he was. She broke things off, forcing him to ask for his status back. He showed her how strong he could be. He resisted the urge to be with her again, even to kiss her one last time. But he vowed that it was not over. They would be together.

Powerful words. Even more powerful feelings. But now there was no way to make good his vow.

And he realized that if he'd thought he was lost without the job, he was even more lost without her.

He rubbed his face against the pillow that still held her scent. It smelled like her. And it was the only thing keeping him sane right now.

If he couldn't find a way to be with her…

He might simply cease to be.

He knew he was crying. He could tell because his face was wet. The rest of him was numb.

He wished he didn't have to be around when the numbness wore off.

Inside Section One, there were really two groups of people. Those in the loop, and those on their way out. Those on their way out often included abeyance operatives. But sometimes, like now, those on their way out were simply misdirected souls who could not find their way back in. Or didn't want to.

That was Michael.

Technically, he was in the loop. Even better, with full restoration of his status, he was the loop. But he didn't care.

He kept to himself now, the blank stare a painstakingly maintained facade. Even Madeline could not breach it. A week ago, she thought she saw pain in his eyes when he announced that his relationship with Nikita was over. No more. Now she could detect nothing.

She should have been happy. Thrilled. Overjoyed. Her plan to drive the two of them apart had succeeded. Michael was back to work, Nikita was back to work. But if she had to make an educated guess, she would have to say that Nikita was functioning more normally. Only because she continued to snap at Madeline in her deliciously feisty way, as if Madeline had merely given her more reason to rail at Section's injustice.

Michael slowed his walk as he approached his office. Sometimes, it was damned difficult for him even to use his office anymore. It was like a conspicuous symbol of what he'd regained as well as lost. With the resumption of his duties in Tactical Oversight, the office was necessary. It was also payment for taking back what was rightfully his. Wait…his mind wanted to stop him right there and correct him…Nikita was rightfully his. Oh, God. He could not think that now. Not here. Not now.

Quelling an inner shudder that threatened to overtake his entire body, Michael let himself into his office and sat down behind his desk. Although there was no one present but himself, he activated the anti-surveillance device. Then he buried his face in his hands and cried.

Madeline gave Operations a feral smile. Quite unlike her usual Madonna-like confection. "The hard wedge seems to have done its job more than adequately."

Operations regarded her with disdain. "You know, Madeline, it's been a week, and still, you're gloating over this single issue. Is there a reason to continue torturing Michael?"

"He is in agonizing pain, Paul."

"He doesn't show it."

"He wouldn't. But I know it's there."

He snorted, a gesture more of exasperation than anything else. "I thought I understood you, Madeline. But this makes no sense. With Michael back on track, there is no longer a need to ban him and Nikita from working together on missions, is there?"

"He could backslide."

"He already has, Madeline." Operations' voice grew more and more terse, his mouth clipping off each syllable sharply.

"His job performance, when he and Nikita were together, was only off by one and one-half percent. His job performance now? Off by ten. You do the math."

"I wasn't aware of those figures, Paul." She looked vaguely uncomfortable, shifting uneasily beneath the glacial stare of those blue eyes.

"Birkoff ran them for me this morning. Without reporting to you. As I ordered."

Madeline's expression changed to one of alarm. "Don't you trust me, Paul?"

"You tell me, Madeline. This goes beyond what we discussed to solve the problem of a possible coup by Michael and Nikita. The way I see it, I don't have the full use of my two best operatives. Put them both back in the field, and make sure she's on Michael's team. I want harmony restored today, Madeline. Is that clear?"

"Very."

Michael strode through the common area on his way to the mission briefing. He'd read the profile. It was an uncomplicated mission, no reason to sweat the details except for one. They put Nikita on his team. After a week apart, with virtually no allowable contact, Michael felt uneasy. This felt too much like a test. He couldn't be certain it wasn't. Therefore, he would treat it like one.

As he sat down at the table, he unbuttoned his black suit jacket, like he always did. He felt her glance at him, then look away, like she always did. He could do this. Just because their being apart didn't seem to rock her world the way it had his, didn't mean she no longer cared. God, if he thought that, he would have found a bullet during the past week.

Operations briefed them on the upcoming mission, like he always did. Michael could have sworn he read something almost like sympathy in his eyes for a brief moment, but the thought no sooner crossed his mind than it disappeared. Operations mentioned something about there being close to a half million in gold at risk here, and Michael's eyes flickered back and forth, considering.

After the briefing was over, Michael stood slowly, re-buttoning his black suit jacket. He casually surveyed the table and the common area in general, not paying any more than a second's attention to any one person. Including Nikita.

Nikita's own scrutiny of Michael lasted somewhat longer. She hadn't given up on him. But she could not see any way to transform their desire to be together into reality. Yet.

When Michael walked away from the table, she followed him at a discreet distance, her heart hungry for another glimpse of him. It didn't matter that they weren't allowed to share the same physical space anymore, her heart didn't know the difference. It reacted just the same way when she caught sight of him.

Michael stopped abruptly just before van access and turned, surprising her into betraying her interest. She quickly covered by smoothing her hair back with one hand, giving him a pained smile. "Just wanted to check on some…thing…"

This was where she'd broken off their relationship. Was he remembering it, too? The hopeless, even tragic look he'd given her made her want to weep. She wanted to fall down on her knees and beg his forgiveness for making him go to TPTB alone.

But she didn't. Still, she could not resist touching him. Her fingertips grazed his hand, the only skin exposed on his body. His gaze never shifted, trained as it was on her face. His eyes held no visible expression that she could make out. But when her fingertips met his hand, there was a subtle, barely controlled frisson of sensation that traveled between them. From him to her.

"Michael—"

"Nikita—"

Birkoff ran headlong into the tiny gap separating Michael and Nikita's bodies from actually touching. "Sorry. Got new intel for you, Michael."

Michael nodded, taking the panel Birkoff offered. Nikita pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to look interested in whatever changes had been made in the profile. Michael touched her shoulder lightly, almost dispassionately, like he did, long ago. Long before they became lovers.

Birkoff gave the two of them a cursory glance himself. He thought it was sad that they could not be together. Just look at the way their hands strained to touch one another. It made a striking image in his mind. He couldn't easily forget it.

Neither could Michael.

His gray eyes slid across Nikita's face very slowly, then closed. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He could feel the words choked within his throat.

He opened his eyes, their brilliant green the only source of color in an otherwise pale face now. "I need you…"

Nikita's startled sapphire gaze met his.

"…to get the inventory from Walter."

Michael made a decision. He would do Tactical Oversight and he would appoint Nikita as Mission Leader. This would successfully keep the two of them apart. Right now, that seemed like the only way he could survive this test, if that was what it was. Even standing this close to her without being able to hold her was excruciatingly painful. Made all the more so by seeing how much she wanted him to touch her. It wasn't just on his side.

He couldn't explain what he was thinking to her. So, of course, Nikita misinterpreted his gesture. Cut to the quick, she retreated, her eyes mirroring the hurt she felt deep inside. They could have worked side by side, her heart cried, it would have been something…she cringed, thinking at how she'd been driven to living for any crumb whatsoever that might drop from Michael's direction.

It's not his fault, her mind tried to tell her, but her heart broke anyway…

She listlessly ran through the inventory with Walter. He studied Nikita's drawn face when she wasn't looking. This forced estrangement was doing no one any good. He cursed Madeline for being three kinds of fool and heartless to boot. "Sugar, let me give you a hand with that stuff…"

He bent over just as she did, and the inventory slipped to the floor. Nikita swore loudly, trying to hide the quick tears that formed, but Walter grabbed her hands in his before she could cover her face. "Sugar…"

"Oh, Walter," she suddenly sobbed, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. He closed the gate hurriedly, pulling her backwards, further and further into his work area, far from prying eyes and surveillance cameras. No one else needed to witness this. It was hard enough for him to watch, and he genuinely cared for Nikita. As for Michael…well, he didn't think he deserved to suffer either, but surely, he was faring better than she was.

Michael stood at the gate, his eyes haunted. He'd seen Nikita break down. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the metal grating. Strange, it reminded him of the cages he and Nikita shared three years ago. How ironic. They were more in prison now than then.

He rattled the grating softly, and it made an odd metallic noise that sounded like hard drops of rain falling. Walter peered out, his face darkening threateningly when he saw Michael. He waved Michael away, but Michael shook his head, refusing to go.

Walter came to the gate and whispered harshly through the grating at Michael. "What are you doing? Sugar's in a bad way, Michael. You gonna let her go out and get killed today?"

Michael closed his eyes, grimacing involuntarily. "Not if I can help it, Walter."

"Then what are you going to do? You can't stay back here and oversee Tactical while she's out there. If something happens to her, and you can't be there to prevent it, you'd never forgive yourself."

Michael rubbed his face against the metal grating, suddenly finding that the pain this caused distracted him from his growing emotional load, any portion of which threatened to overwhelm him at any moment now. "Tell her I'll find a way to keep my promise, Walter."

Walter frowned. "Tell her yourself."

Michael opened his eyes, and Walter's image blurred instantly. How could he see when there were so many tears, waiting to fall?

"She'll believe you."

Michael was motivated now. His own suffering was inconsequential in the scheme of things. Whether or not he could cope barely mattered to him anymore. But he would not risk Nikita's life in this instance. He wasn't being ordered to. He refused to do it.

With absolutely no explanation to anyone, Michael changed the profile for the mission, replacing Nikita as Mission Leader first. He would take that position. He could still do whatever tactical oversight they needed on site, and what couldn't be done was up to Birkoff. That wasn't unusual.

However, he didn't want Nikita on point. It was too dangerous, even in an uncomplicated mission like this one. There was no such thing as an easy mission. Some you walked away from, and some you didn't. Walking away didn't make a mission easy.

Nikita believed that Michael held the key to their survival. "When you lead missions, we survive…" she'd said to him only a week ago. It seemed a lifetime ago. It had better be true.

When they met again, at van access, Michael stopped Nikita briefly, noting only that she now wore dark glasses. His gaze impassive, he flipped a finger under the glass, the tip coming away wet. "Ki-ta…" he breathed, knowing there were no words and even less time to express what he was feeling at that moment.

Nikita stared at him, not daring to speak for the lump in her throat. If they didn't survive, maybe God would be merciful and let them die together…it couldn't be much worse than what they were going through now.

He let her go.

They were dropped outside a large factory in Lyons. The irony of the mission being set somewhere that Michael and Nikita shared a history was not lost on either of them. Michael inclined his head and indicated the team should go ahead to their first marks. With half a million in gold at risk, as Operations spelled out during the mission briefing, there were bound to be guards. Lots of them. Zealous guards, too. Probably all protecting some share of the half a million.

Shots rang out. Suddenly they were under fire. Pinned down. Michael saw Nikita run forward, laying down a cover of suppressing fire for the rest of the team. The next moment, she went down. Michael shouted, "Noooooo!", breaking position to get to her.

Birkoff screaming helplessly in his ear, Michael finally ripped the earpiece out and flung it as far away as he could. He knelt by her prostrate body, his fingers feeling for a pulse. It was there. Faint. But there.

He swallowed hard, struggling to regain control. He had to protect her. It was the only thing that mattered now. She had to survive. Whether or not he did, too, was irrelevant.

There was no time to waste. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He ran back to the van, kicking open the door, startling Birkoff. "Michael, you can't do this!"

Michael simply stared at Birkoff. His eyes never flickered once. "This is Nikita. She's risked her life to save yours how many times?"

Birkoff cleared off the desk, and Michael lay her down on its top. There was blood everywhere. "Jeez, she's bleeding to death."

Michael nodded. "I know."

"What do you expect me to do, Michael? Heal her wounds? I'm afraid I wasn't a very good Boy Scout. You want me to produce a doctor? We just have to explain to Operations how we lost the entire team, except for you and Nikita. Somehow, I don't think he's going to be in a very forgiving mood."

"Are you through?" Michael leaned down and tore a strip from his jacket, fashioning a makeshift tourniquet. He tied the strip around her leg, staunching the worst of the bloodflow.

Birkoff sighed heavily. "You're gonna get us all killed, Michael!"

"I'm trying to save the only thing that matters!" Michael's words echoed throughout the van.

Birkoff looked away. He was being selfish. Michael was right. Nikita had given more, during her short time in Section, than many others, who claimed twice as many years.

They were about to be overrun by the other side. This was not good. But then again, they didn't reckon on Michael. He wasn't about to let Nikita die.