Michael sat alone in his room, playing his cello, thinking mournfully of his son Adam. He was doomed. Never to know his son´s next birthday, never to see him graduate from college, never to hear him laugh playfully as he corrected his all-too-stern father. "Oh, Adam," Michael whispered to himself. He closed his eyes tightly and felt the hot wetness form behind them. He was powerless over the tears. He knew that Adam was safe somewhere, but it was hard to let him go.

He glanced blurrily out the window. It was cold outside, and the panes were frosty in places. He got up and rubbed his eyes, placing the cello carefully on the floor. Suddenly he realized that he was being watched. He saw the form detach itself from the shadows outside and knew in an instant it was Nikita.

"Kita!" he whispered hoarsely, knowing she could not hear him. She was obviously still guarding him, not trusting him to take good enough care of himself yet. She claimed to be his friend, but he knew there was more between them than mere friendship. He had been forced to do vile things to Kita, manipulate her again and again, watching her hopes rise one moment, only to see them dashed the next. He groaned. Everyone who cared about him ended tragically. He did not want that end for Kita.

Nikita shifted her weight back and forth, yawning as she did so. It was a strain to stay awake all night, watching Michael, in addition to her own work, but she didn´t dare leave him be. He was too vulnerable, too defenseless yet. It was an irony that was not lost on Nikita. Once his armor had been carefully restored, piece by piece, he would no longer need Nikita.

"You brought me back here to Section, Michael. It was important enough to you that you risked your own life," thought Nikita. "Yet you continue to push me away, even while you pull me closer. Why?"

Michael sighed and turned away from the window. He should tell Nikita to go, he knew that she valued his life more than he did right now. The tables had truly turned for them. Now she was protecting him, her compassion a shield he very much needed, if he did not honestly desire it.

Moments later, he was outside, almost startling Nikita into shooting him. "Hey!" he shouted in a low voice. "It´s me!" Nikita cocked the safety back on her gun and shouldered it confidently. "Michael, you shouldn´t be out here, you´re not even wearing a coat!" she protested.

Michael abruptly made eye contact with Nikita. "Kita, you could come upstairs and get warm." He looked away, unable to maintain contact with those blue eyes that suddenly blazed fire.

"Do you think that´s wise?" Nikita unconsciously licked her lips, not realizing how desirable it made her look to Michael.

"You mean, we might get shot while I make you a cup of tea?" Michael almost smiled.

"No," she drawled slowly. "I mean, you´re hurt and unwell, and you need to rest more than you need to fall into bed with me right now." Nikita´s blunt statement shattered Michael´s blank facade.

"I know what I need, Kita, and I need you."

"For now," Nikita agreed.

Michael started to say something, then clearly thought about it. "I—I wish you wouldn´t do that." He brushed his hair back with one hand. "You want a lot, Kita, and you deserve it…you´re better off not getting too close."

"And I wish you wouldn´t do that, Michael." She looked a bit exasperated. "You always want to be in control of everything, Michael, but guess what? People are going to feel whatever they feel, no matter how tightly you hang onto your precious control."

"Meaning?" Michael didn´t dare look at Nikita, he was too undone by the most casual glance into that face. She reacted to everything, her face showed every thought and feeling that crept across it, and he loved that about her. She was the most emotionally honest person he had ever known, and it was her weakness as an operative. Her compassion and empathy were legend, but they would get her killed one day. That is, if he were not there to protect her from herself. Well, he thought, I had better start working on my own recovery then.

"You know," Nikita shrugged, a curious blush working its way up her neck. "I care about you."

"Don´t."

"It´s not something I have any real control over, Michael." Nikita looked almost embarrassed, Michael thought wryly.

"Come upstairs, Kita. Please."

Nikita felt her lips going numb from the cold night air, and thought absently of being able to sleep in her own bed someday soon. "Well, it is rather cold out here." Michael grasped her by the arm and steered her gently upstairs to his loft.

He closed the door behind them. "Still going for that minimalist look, Michael?" Nikita commented with mild sarcasm, looking over the near-empty loft. "You come in here and you fill it up somehow, Kita." The words were soft and terse at the same time, uttered in that sibilant whisper that Michael often used in speaking to her.

"You shouldn´t say things like that," Nikita whispered back, her own longing evident despite her hoarse rasp.

"Forget what you think, Kita." Michael drew her into his arms, felt her pull back gently, then give in. Nikita sighed and lay her head on his shoulder. Eyes wide open, she tried to relax, but she could feel the tension in Michael himself, and it compelled her to remain alert.

"Just feel, Kita, feel me." Michael gingerly kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. "Take your coat off, you´re still cold."

Nikita shrugged out of her long black coat and dropped it onto the floor. She smiled softly. "No hangers." Michael laughed, completely at ease for the first time in weeks, and she felt the tension leave his body all at once. His face relaxed, his features looked almost boyish, as if the man before her had not killed and nearly been killed. He chafed her arms gently, trying to warm her skin with his hands. "How does that feel?"

Nikita smiled as if the question somehow embarrassed her. "I don´t know what to say, Michael," she started, then Michael cut her off with a finger pressed emphatically to her lips. "Then don´t say anything, Kita."

"Michael, this is probably wrong."

"For who? For you? Or me? I know I need you right now, Kita, and you need me, too, even though you try to be brave and strong and just one of the boys." He began stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand, gently but repetitively working the hair back from her face. Nikita closed her eyes for a second.

"But Michael…I—" Nikita´s eyes flew open as Michael closed the distance between their bodies and kissed her. She couldn´t help but groan at the irony. What she wanted most, she could easily have within her grasp, right now. If she acted against what she believed was in Michael´s best interests.

Nikita drew strength from somewhere hidden deep inside and pushed Michael back. He broke contact with her mouth, his eyes looking surprised and not a little wounded. "What? Kita, no."

"Michael, you´re hurt, and you´re grieving, and you´re depressed. You don´t need to complicate things even further by taking me to bed. Not now." Nikita prayed that she could get through to Michael, as her will and resolve would only take her so far.

Michael looked glacial. Yet there was something simmering beneath the surface. Nikita suspected that when Michael finally got in touch with his anger, it would be beyond even his control. "You´ve decided, then." Michael´s voice sounded as icy as his stare.

"Michael, please don´t think I don´t want to be with you, it´s what´s driven me to survive all these years." Nikita knew she had lost when Michael turned that blank stare back on her.

She reached down and grasped her coat. Michael caught her as she stood. "This is not over, Kita." Nikita blinked. "Of course not."

Michael´s eyes flitted back and forth, avoiding eye contact with Nikita. He finally let go of her arm and stood back. ‘You…" Michael sighed and shrugged, as if words were too much effort. He nodded, but to who, Nikita could not say. "I´ll be outside, Michael." Nikita looked down at the ground for a moment, then opened her mouth, just as quickly shutting it. "I have to do it this way, Michael, one day, I hope you´ll understand." She strode quickly through the door, carefully locking it after herself.

Michael stared after Nikita. His eyes felt hot with unshed tears. He didn´t want to cry anymore. He felt like his insides were filled with broken glass, and he kept cutting himself at the most unexpected times. "She´s right," Michael whispered to himself. You know she is right, he told himself, over and over, until he could almost believe it. But the reality was, he had almost possessed her tonight, and he could still feel her warmth and softness against him. He needed her warmth and softness, didn´t she understand that? Inside, he felt cold and hard and broken, and her warmth soothed him, her softness healed him. Damn! He didn´t just want her, he loved her, and only she could help him recover.

He almost laughed at the irony of their situation. They had come through some terrible, violent times, together, and somehow, they had always been there to protect one another. And now, she thought she was being noble, and stoic, and protecting him by guaranteeing his physical safety, but…his emotional well-being needed more than well-meaning empathy. He needed to feel her love, he needed her warmth to wash over him and cleanse the darkness from his soul. It won´t be a bullet that kills me, Nikita, he thought wryly, it´ll be lack of love.

Time went on, as it so often does. If Michael noticed anything, it was that his pain was no longer overwhelming. It felt remote, as if it had happened to someone else. He wasn´t entirely sure that was a good thing. He thought he was no doubt deeply angry somewhere inside, but unless and until Nikita chose to come to him, he knew he would never feel safe enough to explore those feelings. He thought on some level, Nikita understood this, but still, she didn´t come. Oh, she came every night, and guarded him carefully, until he could swear that neither of them was sleeping anymore. But the days blurred into a full month, and finally, Nikita´s midnight ritual stopped. It had to, she was exhausted.

Nikita swept her hair back into a knot and yawned. She had finally decided that Michael was functioning well enough to take care of himself again. Well, she had decided this, along with the huge sleep deficit that she had carried for the past month. She knew she was endangering her own life, and while it didn´t mean much to her without Michael, she knew that she would be no use to Michael if she were dead. Besides, she hated to give Operations and Madeline any further satisfaction. They clearly enjoyed seeing her suffer, and they knew that she and Michael were no more than friends at this point. Actually, Nikita thought, that was probably Madeline´s favorite part of their situation, knowing that Nikita could not be more than a friend to Michael. True, there was nothing keeping them apart, yet, the past loomed over them, like a big mural of Section, hovering and intruding when least expected.

Michael looked around Section, carefully surveying the area adjacent to his office. He saw Nikita walking across the wide open expanse in the middle of Section and waved. Nikita stopped for a second, then looked around herself, trying to assess the relative risk of going into Michael´s office. She walked inside, and Michael closed the door firmly. He put one finger to his lips, crossed the room, and activated his jamming device, so they could speak freely.

"Nikita." She nodded to Michael in answer, as if not trusting her voice enough to speak.

"We need to talk." Michael sounded determined. He may not have completely recovered, but his natural defenses were back in place, thought Nikita.

"About what?" Nikita matched the coolness in his tone, managing to sound quite aloof, and not at all as if she cared.

"You know."

"No, I don´t know."

"Let´s not play games, Nikita." Michael sounded almost, well, decidedly un-Michael-like. Emotion was creeping into his voice, probably against his will. Well, she hated to exasperate him, but he was no stranger to manipulation.

"I´m not." Nikita shrugged.

"Do you know what I need to tell you, Nikita? Can´t you guess?"

Since Michael almost hissed the last word, Nikita raised an eyebrow politely in query, while still pretending not to have any idea of what he meant. Michael leaned forward and pressed Nikita back against the door. She swallowed at the hard line of his body against hers. "No one, and nothing, is going to stand in the way of me having you, Kita," Michael whispered against Nikita´s mouth, his lips teasing hers without actually kissing them. He finally nudged her lips apart, and keeping his eyes open, kissed her deeply, like a man dying of thirst approached water. His hands came up instinctively on both sides of her face, and he broke off the kiss, panting, his breath mixing with hers, as he leaned his forehead on hers. "Oh, God, Kita."

Nikita squirmed anxiously under Michael. "Michael, I do want you," Nikita whispered carefully. "But not here. Not now." Michael closed his eyes, as if in pain, and regained control. "No, not here."

"But soon, Kita, soon." He kissed her again, quickly this time, and let his fingers trail gently along her hairline. She grasped his hand and covered it with her own, kissing his fingertips. "Michael, I care about you…"

"Later, Nikita." He stood up and sighed. He released the jamming device, and they both started when they heard Birkoff calling in their mission team. Michael became mysteriously aloof again, and Nikita wondered if she had imagined the passionate moment they had just shared. The old Michael would never have dared to kiss her at Section, she knew that much, but she would look forward to discovering just how much Michael had changed.

"Birkoff, what´s this mission about?" Nikita asked as she and Michael approached his computer station. Birkoff looked alarmed for a moment, she could swear, but his face quickly went back to its normally placid state.

"I think…uh, Operations is going to tell you all about that," he said rapidly.

Just then, Operations came around the corner, looking smug as usual. He smirked at Michael, then regarded Nikita with an impassive glance. "This," he said, indicating the mission screen, "is Martin Predaker. His light pen focused on the close shot of the leader, a tall man with light brown, close-cropped hair. "He doesn´t look especially dangerous. But the terrorist group he heads is responsible for the bombing in Austria last month. It was particularly grisly because it involved the deaths of hundreds of innocents. Including children."

He stared pointedly at Michael. Michael closed his eyes briefly, then asked, "And our way in?"

Operations allowed himself a brief smile. Michael was listening. "This is a mission for a Valentine Op. Predaker has a yen for leggy blondes, and Nikita fits the bill perfectly. Nikita will go in, establish herself as his live-in girlfriend, and get the intel we need to complete the mission and take out this group. Michael, you will back up Nikita, and she will be reporting to you only. Are we clear on this? Please, study your PDA´s, the mission leaves in one hour." Operations seemed to be particularly pleased at the little bombshell he had just dropped into their midst. Even Walter was speechless, looking anxiously from Nikita to Birkoff to Michael and back again. Birkoff dropped his eyes to his keyboard and pretended not to see Walter´s reaction.

Walter, for all his joking and sexual innuendo, thought of Nikita as a daughter, and he was concerned as to what this type of mission was going to do to Nikita´s head. He knew she had not been sent out as a Valentine Op before, and for good reason. She and Michael worked well together, they were most convincing as a couple, particularly as a couple in love. Until now, there had been no need for Nikita to do this kind of turn. Considering how her relationship with Michael had been progressing, this could definitely put a spoke in the wheels.

Michael showed no reaction outwardly to the news that Operations had just given them. But inside, his gut clenched as he thought of Nikita having to go to bed with a stranger, worse, a stranger who could as easily kill her as rape her. He knew why Operations was doing this. He wanted to break Nikita. Increasing her mission frequency was not having the desired effect. Michael had trained Nikita well, and that, together with her natural determination to survive, made her unstoppable.

Not only did Operations want Nikita dead, but even more, he wanted to rub Michael´s nose in it. He wanted Nikita to bed this madman, and then he wanted to listen as Nikita was forced to report to Michael, knowing all the while how it would make both of them feel. God, he wanted to smash Operations. Michael´s bottom lip quivered for a second, but otherwise, there was no outward movement to indicate how he felt.

Nikita stared at Michael in disbelief. She could not believe what Operations had just outlined for them, and even worse, it would all begin in one hour. Not even enough time for her to be with Michael, and somehow make the nightmare less real. Her face paled. She felt sick. She wavered on her feet. Michael glanced at her, and then caught her around the waist.

He nodded to Birkoff and Walter. "I´m taking Nikita to Medlab, just to be safe."

He almost dragged her out of earshot, then he spun her around to face him. "Nikita," he whispered fiercely, "you can´t let Operations see you like this." Nikita blanched again. "I suppose you didn´t find the assignment as disgusting as I did."

He steered her into a dark corner of the hallway. "We are always under surveillance, Nikita, you know that. I can´t help you if you can´t be strong."

Nikita wrenched herself away from Michael, stung by the implied criticism. "Well, please, don´t worry on my account!" She had regained color in her cheeks, but she was highly agitated.

"You think I won´t?" He looked around, almost feverishly, then embraced her, hard. "Kita, we can´t talk about this here."

"And when do you think we´ll get another chance to talk, Michael? When I´m describing how successfully I´ve bedded this terrorist?" Nikita´s eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she blinked in an effort to clear them.

"Ah…" Michael kissed her cheek and hugged her close. He squeezed his own eyes shut at the thought of what she had said. "Kita, Kita, if we don´t get another chance to say this—"

Madeline cleared her throat. The two would-be lovers sprung apart as if electrified. "Sorry to interrupt, but since you´re going out soon, shouldn´t you be with Walter going over the inventory, Michael? Oh, and Nikita, you should be familiarizing yourself with the profile, if I´m not mistaken." Madeline smiled, that painful little smile that spoke of great cruelty as well as unexpected empathy.

She waited until they had moved down the hall, then signaled to Operations that the plan had already been put into play.

Nikita checked her gun, inserted the clip, and snapped the clip in. She stepped into the mission van, but she knew this time felt different. This time, she felt alone, she felt as if she had been abandoned, and she knew why. She had not had another single moment alone with Michael, and she was so certain that this mission would go badly. She didn´t care about her own life, but she worried about what might happen to Michael. She thought that he needed her, in his own way, and she thought losing someone else might be the final blow. It could light the fuse to his anger, and once unleashed, it would be truly something to see. She was afraid it would destroy Michael, and of course, if Michael went down, he would make sure he took Section down with him. Operations might think he had carefully planned everything, but he didn´t know how deep Michael´s true feelings ran. She only had mere suspicions herself, but she knew Michael´s anger was formidable. She shivered with reaction.

She piled her hair into a topknot and snapped an ornate comb into place. She checked her makeup carefully, knowing that only moments before, she had been close to tears. Well, Operations was not going to see her weak and tearful, not if she could help it, anyways. She was just so tired. She needed someone to lean on, herself, all her energies had been hard spent on protecting Michael, now she had no reserves left.

When Nikita strode out of the mission van, she looked every inch the stunning woman she could be. Dressed in a sequined red floor-length gown, Nikita sparkled as only she could. Twin diamond earrings clung to her earlobes, adding to the shimmering effect she created. A diamond lavaliere, hanging to her waist, drew the eye naturally down the slender curves of her athletically toned body. She thumbed her com link on, unobtrusively, and she was somewhat reassured to hear Birkoff´s voice. "I´m inside," she said quietly, seemingly to no one.

Birkoff acknowledged her response and gave further directions for entering the towering hotel, where intel said the terrorist leader could be found. Nikita swung idly down the hall of the large building, entering a huge but intriguingly lit dining area. Stopping at the bar, she ordered tonic water with lemon. She was not about to start drinking, no matter how much she felt like it. She saw several possibles in the dining area, and she casually surveyed the room, trying not to linger on any one figure too long. Birkoff´s voice continued to chirp in her ear, and she soon located her quarry. A tallish man with light brown hair, sitting in the darkest corner. Not too terrible-looking, she appraised. Nikita refused to let her thoughts go any further, she knew she was in danger of losing her focus.

She moved in swiftly, and the man seemed surprised, but interested. "You are extraordinary." He looked her over with an avidness that made her insides crawl. "Nikita," she said, introducing herself. "Ah," he nodded, "an exotic name for an exotic flower." She pretended to be flattered and wondered how much of this she could stand. He grabbed her wrist, lightly, and Nikita tapped his hand gently with one finger. "Now, now, no bruises," she warned. He smiled at her, seemingly taken in by her goodtime girl act. But what could she do to convince him to let her hang around? Her PDA had been curiously vague about that part of the mission, and she had no idea how she was going to pique this one´s interest.

A few drinks later, Nikita had her target firmly in hand, and they stood outside the door of his hotel room. They entered together, and the target groped her drunkenly, managing to fall on top of her as they approached the bed. Nikita sighed in relief as she heard him begin to snore. She gently shifted his body off of hers, and stood up, taking a careful look around the room. She headed for the bathroom and activated her com link to Michael. "Michael?"

Michael came alive when he heard Nikita´s voice. "Are you okay?" he asked, knowing how much he was out of character just by asking that question. "Of course," she replied huskily.

"I don´t think that there will be a problem tonight," she said carefully, hoping that Michael could read between the lines. He could, and he did. "Good, Nikita, stay in position."

There were three things Michael didn´t like about this mission: Predaker, Operations´ glee in setting up the situation, and the idea of Nikita sleeping with anyone but him. Scarier still was the lack of intel available on the man´s specific sexual interests. While it might not alarm Nikita, alone in her ignorance, of what a Valentine Op might need to do, it terrified Michael. He knew that Walter had felt it, too, that frisson of cold shivering up the spine that foretold danger. Or worse. Nikita didn´t know it, but there were worse things than death. Being left alive after certain missions was one of them.

He listened to the open channel. Nothing but static right now. Even Birkoff had quieted down to the occasional message. They had nothing to do but wait now. Michael folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall of the adjoining room. He looked half-asleep, but in reality, he was tense and more than ready to move.

Nikita glanced over at the man snoring on the bed. He really didn´t look terribly dangerous, but even from her limited experience, she knew that meant nothing. Looks could be so deceiving. Why, look at her, she thought, she looked in control, but inside, she was trembling. She eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror and noticed her hands were visibly shaking. She sighed. This was tough, but she would do whatever she had to do to survive.

She slid into the bed beside the sleeping terrorist, praying desperately that he did not awaken and become amorous, even though it was the reason she was here. She felt Predaker´s breath on her and stilled. He rolled over and away from her and she relaxed momentarily. She carefully ripped her gown in a few places, so that Predaker would assume that he had been with her, even if he were too drunk to remember.

She slept fitfully next to the target and tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Meanwhile, Michael waited alone in silence, cursing Operations for sending them on this kind of mission together. To say it was torture was understatement of the worst kind.

Predaker woke early in the morning and, being a man of normally voracious appetites, smiled at the prize he had captured the night before. She was a truly stunning woman, this blonde. Better than some of the rest he had had. He saw that her gown was ripped at the neckline and frowned. He didn´t usually get so carried away the first time. His face cleared abruptly. No matter. What lay ahead for her would change all that.

He poked her rudely, and Nikita opened her eyes, barely remembering to smile appealingly. "Hey, no bruises, remember?" she said half-seriously. Predaker smiled patronizingly. "Of course. We shouldn´t mar a skin as lovely as yours."

Michael came abruptly awake with Predaker´s voice echoing in his ears. "Birkoff," he called softly via com link. "Are you getting this?"

After Birkoff answered affirmatively, Michael said, "Perimeter teams move in and hold your positions." He didn´t want to wait any longer, but he had no choice. Nikita needed more time to gather the intel. They couldn´t just take out Predaker.

Predaker placed his large hands on Nikita´s hips and moved familiarly against her body. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. Michael. Michael was the first thing that flew into her anxious mind. But it was hard to block out Predaker. He was very fit for an older man, and more than strong enough to snap her neck if she resisted his advances.

Michael listened to Predaker´s harsh breathing and knew what was going down. It made him feel sick. His beautiful Nikita despoiled by that slime. His hands clenched into fists. He couldn´t think about what was happening. If he did, he would go mad. He couldn´t help Nikita now. He only hoped that Predaker was not as abnormal as he thought.

After Predaker had finished, Nikita buried her face in the pillow. It was not as bad as she had thought. It was worse. She felt dirty in a way that no one had ever made her feel. Predaker stood over the bed, obviously pleased with his performance. "Get yourself dressed. I have things to do, but I will be back in a few hours. We can…pick up where we left off." He grinned sardonically at Nikita, and she had all she could do not to cringe. She padded into the bathroom, avoiding touching Predaker in any way, but his eyes followed her so closely, she felt soiled.

Predaker dressed hurriedly and left the room, glancing around to see if he was under surveillance. He did not see anyone, and he soon blended with the morning crowd at the elevators.

Nikita slowly examined herself in the mirror before showering. She didn´t look particularly different. But she felt different. Inside, she was a little girl again, being tortured by her drug-addicted mother´s male companions. She walked into the shower and turned on the water, as hot as she could stand. When the water was sluicing its way over her body, her hair wetly plastered against her forehead, she began to cry softly.

Michael stopped outside of Nikita´s room and lightly tapped on the door once for appearance´s sake. He knew that Predaker had gone, and that Nikita was in the shower. He heard the water running. He edged the door open and saw that Nikita was crying. "Kita!" Uncaring that he was getting wet, he reached into the shower and pulled her wet body into his arms. She fell against him limply, and he reached into the shower again, this time to turn off the water.

"Kita! Are you all right?" He breathed against her temple, his lips pressing the gentlest of kisses there.

She looked up at him with haunted eyes, wet with water mixed with tears. "I don´t think I´ll ever be all right again, Michael," she whispered hoarsely.

He grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around her. "You must be cold." She stared at him blankly. "Birkoff," Michael said into his com link. "The target is out of the building. Nikita is getting the intel."

"Michael," she said, her mouth downturned, as if she were about to start crying again. "I don´t think I can do this again."

He rubbed her arms with another towel he had picked up and tried not to hear the pain in her voice. "You´ll be okay. I´m here."

She looked deep into his face. "But you´re not supposed to be, are you?" As Michael suddenly stopped moving the towel, she realized she was right. "Operations wanted me to be here by myself. He knows my background. He knows what this is doing to me. Doesn´t he?"

She pressed her fingers into Michael´s arms, trying to get his attention. "Doesn´t he, Michael?"

"He knows." His voice was deceptively soft.

"You´re breaking position then," she said, trying to match Michael´s cool tone, but failing. Michael glanced at her, but did not answer.

"I´m supposed to report to you. All the gory details." He did register a reaction to that. "I set up the com links so I could hear what was going on in here myself. There´s no need to repeat what I´ve already heard." He knew he had said that coldly, but he could not allow himself to feel anything more than he already did. Or he could not protect Nikita.

Nikita shivered, and not from the cold morning air on her still-wet body. She moved away from him, and Michael let her go, the towel still in his hands. "You´d better get dressed. I´ll see what intel there might be in here, but he probably doesn´t leave much around."

Nikita saw that Michael was back to his normal self and laughed silently. Congratulations, Nikita, you´ve finally cured him of his obsession with you. To her, it was clear that he didn´t even want to be in the same room with her, much less spend his life with her.

Michael swallowed hard and moved into the center of the room, carefully and quickly searching, finding nothing of import. It figured, nothing about this mission was going down easy.

Michael swept the room for bugs and found none. He placed one of his own near the bed, wincing at the thought of what that would pick up, but forcing himself not to react. "Nikita, you´ll wait for his return."

"And?" she asked, shrugging into her gown.

Michael glanced at the ripped areas impassively. His eyes darkened and flickered for a moment, then re-asserted their steady gaze. "Then you´ll deal with whatever comes up." He left the room so quickly, she thought she had imagined him being there.

She stared after him, her fingers pressed to her mouth.

When Predaker returned, he was not in good humor. "Ah, the fair Nikita!" he boomed from the doorway. He scowled at her gown. "You need new clothes. You can´t go out in that."

He threw some bills at her and turned on his heel. "When you´ve dressed properly, we will go out. Get out now."

She moved submissively, more from nostalgia and old habit than from reaction to his tone. She left the room, feeling as though she could finally breathe. Her heels clacking on the marble floor, she made her way down the hall. When she got to the lobby, she heard Birkoff. "Turn right, Nikita, Michael will meet you there."

He handed her a gym bag filled with clothing. He indicated the restroom. "You can change in there." She glanced around, then opened the restroom door. She found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt inside the bag, as well as toiletries like deodorant and toothpaste. It was a thoughtful gesture, she supposed, but somehow, it made her feel even more alienated from the mission. There were things going on here that felt unreal. She slipped into the jeans and T-shirt, and with her hair down and no make-up, she looked fresh-faced and innocent. It was just too bad that she didn´t feel that way, she muttered to herself.

When they were safely out on the street, Michael took her arm and led her to the mission van, carefully searching the surrounding area. There was no one inside. The recorders were going automatically.

"Nikita!" Michael all but shook her. He drew in a shuddering breath and ran his fingers unconsciously through his hair. Nikita dropped her eyes. She was definitely in danger of losing her focus, and she had better remind Michael of what was at stake here. "Michael, I´m having enough trouble with this mission…and frankly, you´re distracting me."

Michael laughed harshly. "You have trouble with this mission?" He was clearly agitated now. "How do you think I feel?"

"What do your feelings have to do with any of this, Michael?"

"My—" Michael snorted. "You´re right, right." He backed off, raising his hands in the air in admission of defeat. "Why did I think you would care how I feel? Maybe you´ll…learn to like it." He turned his back on her, and Nikita felt her heart squeeze. Nikita reached out with one hand to touch Michael, then dropped her hand limply to her side.

"One of us has to stay focused, Michael," she said, wincing at the hardness in her own voice.

Michael whirled around, his face tortured. "You picked a hell of a time to display some discipline, Kita!"

"Michael," Nikita said as her eyes widened in disbelief. "Ssh! Birkoff is picking all this up, this is going out over the air, Michael!"

"Merde!" Michael cursed fluently in French. He ripped off his com link and threw it onto the counter. He then crossed to where Nikita stood and removed her com link, throwing it next to his. "Has Predaker given you any idea where his tastes lie?"

Nikita shrugged. "Not really. Why?"

"I heard there could be problems." He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

"Like what?"

"Like maybe it would be better not to find out," Michael intimated.

"I´m going through with this mission, Michael. Don´t try to scare me by inflicting your own fears on me."

He sighed heavily. "You have no idea what—" He met her eyes for a brief moment, his pain almost as palpable as hers.

"You don´t know where this can go, Kita. You just don´t know."

"You mean it could be worse?" She smiled tightly, her eyes glittering with both fear as well as anger.

"I´ve been there, Kita. You haven´t."

"Then why don´t you enlighten me?"

He sighed. "Sarcasm won´t protect you."

"And neither will you, Michael." That damning announcement echoed in the silence. Michael turned away without speaking and opened the door, indicating Nikita should leave. She tried to see some shred of emotion in his face, but she could see none, and she was too caught up in her own pain to argue.

"Why do you have to be right?" he whispered to himself and the now-empty room. He picked up his com link, re-inserting it into his ear. "Birkoff," he whispered, "Nikita is in place, I´m on point, you can send the rest of the team back now. I´ll be in touch."

He sat down in the chair and buried his face in his hands. If Nikita only knew…

Predaker was waiting when Nikita returned to the room. He didn´t look happy. She was beginning to rethink her position on how dangerous this man was. He was starting to set off her warning alarms just looking at her. She refused to let herself be influenced by Michael. He had more experience as an operative, but she knew men. Unfortunately, all too well.

He looked at the shopping bag Nikita held. "I hope there is another dress in there." She smiled. "Of course. You were so generous, I couldn´t help myself." He ordered her to change into it, and Nikita couldn´t help but flinch at his tone. He reached out and pulled on her neck with one large hand. "I will be very generous with you. But you must always do what I say." His hand tightened imperceptibly on her neck, but the threat was there. She nodded quickly.

He released her and smiled broadly. Then he struck her across the face, hard. She blinked at the tears that immediately came to her eyes. "W-What was that for?" "You need to be taught to please me." A strange glint came into Predaker´s eyes. Nikita backed up. "And if I can´t?" she whispered. He glared. "You will, Nikita, you will."

Michael sat bolt upright in his chair, unable to move. This was going south fast. He ran out the door and onto the street. "Perimeter teams, move in, move in now." He moved through the crowds at the elevator, frustrated by the leisurely pace at which they walked. He threw himself through the door at the end of the corridor, knowing it led to the stairs. He took the stairs two and three at a time, in an effort to outrace his team. He had to be first up there. He had to be.

Gun drawn, he kicked open Predaker´s door. Predaker was frozen in tableau with Nikita. He was bending over her half-naked body, obviously aroused, while Nikita lay bruised and broken on the bed. Her head moved a fraction, and Michael knew she was still conscious. He shot Predaker once, aiming for his leg, rendering him unable to walk. Predaker went down on his knees, and Michael stood over him, willing himself to regain control before he killed Predaker outright. The other operatives came bolting through the door, and Michael turned his head just for a second. Predaker used the opportunity to reach his own weapon and shot Michael at close range. Nikita screamed and fainted.

When she awoke in Medlab, Nikita was aware of two things. Madeline was hovering over her anxiously, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. Madeline spoke first. "How are you feeling?" She responded, mouth clearly distorted by bruises, "Oh, not bad, Madeline." She wanted to smile, but her mouth refused. "Where´s Michael?" she asked anxiously, remembering she had seen him fall. "He´s gone, Nikita."

"G-gone?" Nikita got out in a voice that sounded like ground glass.

"He died protecting you, Nikita." Madeline´s voice seemed to be coming from far, far away. Suddenly Nikita couldn´t hear at all, the ringing in her ears was much too loud.

Madeline turned to Operations. "That´s it. I refuse to do any more." She glared angrily at Operations and stalked out of the Medlab.

Operations smirked at Madeline´s retreating back. Then he turned his attentions back to Nikita. Her entire body was covered in bruises. She had fractured ribs as well as an open laceration across her beautiful face, but it shouldn´t scar, given the proper treatment, Medlab assured him. He was furious that Michael had violated the profile and shot Predaker before they had gained the intel they needed. But Predaker was in the White Room right now with Madeline, and she would get the information, of that he had no doubt.

Madeline smiled, a painfully tight little smile, at Predaker, who had been carefully restrained in the White Room chair. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Your choice."

Predaker spat on the floor in front of her. Madeline merely smiled again. "Good, the hard way, then." She turned abruptly and gestured to the Torture Twins, who then entered the room. As they unpacked their various instruments of torture, Madeline spared a glance over her shoulder at Predaker.