Michael stood in silence beside his two superiors as they looked out together over the heart of Section One. Specifically, the three observed a training exercise: a young female sparring a heavyset male opponent. Her eyes were glazed with disinterest. Each strike hit her opponent with sharp precision designed to inflict maximum pain. She betrayed nothing as she fought. Finally she made her checkmate, kicking the man's temple, knocking him dead to the floor.

"She's been like this all week, you say?" Operations said, not lifting his gaze.

"Yes."

"How many operatives has she fought so far?" Madeline asked.

"About twenty in the last three days. All of them are in the infirmary."

Operations turned to Michael. "And you have no speculations as to what triggered this extreme change in behavior?"

Michael shook his head and stared back undaunted. "No."

The old man turned back to the window, a dry smile spreading across his lips. "It could be considered an improvement."

"No, this behavior isn't normal for her." Madeline said, concentrating at the young woman thoughtfully. "She's trying to work out a very serious problem physically."

"We need operatives." Operations said, looking down at her. "We can't let her continue this destructive behavior. What do you recommend?"

Madeline shook her head. "I don't know yet. Send her to me."

Operations nodded. The two senior operatives turned together and walked out. Michael stood alone transfixed on the fluid, unemotional movements of the woman below. He touched his hand to the glass.

Nikita paused in her movements. She looked up. Their eyes met briefly. Michael couldn't tell what he saw in the face staring back at him; the eyes . . . . they weren't hers; they looked too cold; too much like his own. His stomach twisted in agony, and his gaze was suddenly anything but calculating. She turned away. He dropped his hand and walked out.

Chapter 2

When the door opened the next morning, Madeline was not at her desk but trimming a small Bonsai tree in her display case intently. Nikita, dressed in a black tank top and green cargo pants, entered quietly.

"You wanted to see me?" she said softly.

The tone of her voice was slightly irregular, confirming Michael's suspicions. Madeline made a brief mental note then turned to Nikita and smiled invitingly.

"Yes. Please, sit down."

Nikita complied. Madeline pulled her chair out from behind the desk, and positioned it across from Nikita and sat. "Is there anything in particular you want to tell me about?"

A lazy, cynical smile crossed Nikita's mouth and then faded again into indifference. "No." she said. "Why?"

Madeline looked away in thought, choosing her words carefully. "You don't seem yourself lately. Its been brought to my attention that you're becoming withdrawn and aggressive of late. Is this true?"

Nikita raised her eyes to Madeline's passive stare. "Funny," she said,"I thought Section would appreciate my change. Isn't this how you want your operatives to be? Machines the will kill for you on command without remorse?"

Madeline shed her facade of kindness and looked seriously into the young operative's eyes. "Not if we think the machines are being programmed incorrectly." She leaned in closer. "Nikita, I called you here to help you. If you keep up this destructive behavior, you won't be an asset to us, but a liability. Do you understand?"

Nikita looked down at her hands in her lap. She sighed, resting her hand on one hand. [It means that if I don't give you an explanation, you'll cancel me.] Oh well. It was time to tell anyway. She couldn't keep her feelings a secret forever. She was sick of secrets. It was time.

"I've . . . been having these dreams, Madeline."

Madeline sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap, ready to isten. "Tell me."

Nikita lowered her eyes "Only one really. It comes to me every night though. Some details change but it always feels the same. Its like . . . well, even if I don't remember the dream in the morning, I'll still know I had it by the wayI feel."

"How does the dream make you feel Nikita?"

Nikita found it hard, suddenly, to look up, or speak. She searched for an elusive word, but found nothing. She shook her head. "Helpless? I don't know. I can't describe it."

Madeline listened and watched intently as the walls of sarcasm, those that provided Nikita with an emotional barrier, crumbled. "Tell me what you remember" she said.

"I . . . don't know. Its very vague" Nikita lied, reliving every detail of the dream in sharp, hideous detail. "I'm running away . . ."

"Away from what? From the Section?"

Nikita shook her head. "No, not from Section. From-" [I wish things could be different.]"-something else. I don't really know what."

Madeline was silent, sensing the lie.

"I run, but its never fast enough. Its chasing me it’s . . . it's connected inside me, in my soul. And its trying to destroy me."

[That's how I live my life Nikita, split in two. You don't see the other side but its there.] "Why is it in your soul, Nikita?" she asked calmly.

"I don't know. I guess because-"[Be patient.] "-I didn't protect myself from it. Maybe I thought it wasn't going to hurt me so I let it in. Maybe I was hoping it wasn't what it seemed."[You never had me]

"How does the dream end, Nikita? Are you conquered or do you break free?"

[It has nothing to do with how I feel about you.] She looked up into Madeline's eyes with a face full of regret and uncertainty. "I don't know. I haven't gotten to the end yet. Everything just fades into darkness."

Madeline reflected on what she had been told. "I think, in some way or another, you need to resolve your conflict Nikita. It's the only way to get your nightmares to end, and its the only way to get you back into prime condition."

There was a knock at the door. They both turned their heads to see Operations standing in the doorway. He glanced at Madeline.

"I need to see you in my office." he said.

She rose smoothly, giving Nikita a soft apologetic look. "We can talk again if you want." she said.

Nikita looked back at Madeline. "No. " she said simply. "I think I know what I need to do now."

Madeline smiled. "Good." She turned to her escort at the doorway and exited, leaving Nikita alone.

Chapter 3

They walked to his office swallowed in a thick silence. He glanced at her once in their journey, then quickly returned his gaze forward.

"You want to know what she said." Madeline commented.

He smiled almost imperceptibly. "It crossed my mind." he said casually.

Madeline sighed, sorting through her thoughts." She still hates the Section. "But at the same time, she's recognizing that she is a part of it. She's coming to terms with herself and her purpose."

He nodded approvingly, then saw Madeline's sullen face. "That's not all, is it?"

She shook her head. "No."

He waited."Well?"

"She has more of a conflict over something else, something she couldn't tell me about."

e stopped walking and turned to her. She looked back just as gravely. "Do you think its...-"

"Yes." Madeline replied. "It has to be."

He looked forward thoughtfully and put his hands in his pockets. "How do we contain the situation?"

Madeline looked away thoughtfully. "I suggest an indirect approach. If it doesn’t work, we can deny involvement, and the situation might resolve itself." She paused, then looked into his eyes. "I suppose its for the best."

Operations nodded, his gaze distant. He wasn't sure if either of them believed that.

Chapter 4

She let out a yell as she kicked the punching bag. It wobbled back and forth before her. She stared at it with satisfaction. Operations had forbidden her from practicing on any more new operatives, but she was happy she could still kick the life out of something. As she stopped to catch her breath, she looked up, sensing a presence.

She scanned the room. He was standing several feet away, watching. Their eyes met and he drew closer. She stepped away from the punching bag slowly, stopping in the center of the sparring ring. Her menacing eyes neverleft his. All her muscles tensed in anticipation.

"Hello Nikita." he said softly.

"Hello Michael" she said with distinct traces of cynical mocking. "I've been waiting for you."

Without warning her foot went flying, delivering a roundhouse to the side his face. She saw, in the split second before impact, the surprise in his eyes and she smiled. [He didn't think I would hit him.] She kept her smile as she watched his body give, but not fall.

She attacked again, but this time he was prepared. The look of surprise was replaced with the unemotional stare she had come to hate. Disgust made her fight harder; she wanted to rip that calm, heartless, indifferent mask off his face. It was his turn to hurt. She punched him. She kicked. He blocked all her attacks and watched the rage in her swell.

It was a sight that confused him, and made him want to break, though he took care to conceal his thoughts. He focused his mind on her movements, finding a pattern, and then a weakness. She kicked again, and he grabbed her leg. She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly inplace.

"Tell me what's wrong, Nikita." he said calmly.

She was breathing hard. The look in her eye was like that of a wild animal, one that would fight until death to conquer its foe. She shot him a poisoned look. She shifted her weight and kicked her other leg up, hitting him in the head. They both fell. He released her.

She got up first, driven by her rage. He lay flat on his back. She scrambled over to him and straddled his waist. She pressed her forearm against his neck and leaned her weight over it, choking him. He didn't flinch, but stared at her blankly, waiting for any sign of weakness. She leaned over, her head over his; he could feel her breath on his face.

"This feel familiar, Michael? You're body against mine? Or can you even remember anymore?" She hissed. She stared down hard and felt a glorious surge of energy as she watched the walls guarding his psyche crumble and he acknowledged her reference with disbelief.

"You never gave a damn about me, did you? You still don't." She removed her arm from his windpipe, realizing he wasn't going to speak. "You had me once, but never gain, Michael. Never. I am what I am because of you. I can't forgive you for that."

She kissed him fiercely. Michael was unexpectedly numb, mesmerized by her strength. She dug her tongue deep into his mouth, tasting every corner. She felt him try and return the kiss and she pulled away, staring back at him hatefully. "I want you to remember that, because you'll never get another out of me. We're finished."

He stared at her with wide, wild eyes. He pushed her off of himself roughly. She fell backward and landed on the other side of the ring. He pounced on her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the ground over her head. He squeezed them tightly in anger. Nikita looked into his eyes. She saw a look in them that she had only seen one other time in her life: on the day Simone died.

Her hair. It lay evenly around her head. It looked like a golden halo to him. In the back of his mind where no one had ventured, he could feel the darkness spreading over him like cancer. In her white clothes she was an angel, an angel who hated him. He could feel his life slipping away; he knew by the look in her eye that any existing God had abandoned him. His angel of redemption was now staring back at him hatefully for what he was. He was more Section One than human. He felt the darkness take him.

She felt pride swell triumphantly through her body and she smiled smugly back at him. He looked so angry, so hurt, so confused, and utterly betrayed. She liked this look on him, and smiled smugly, unaware of the damage done. It was unmistakable. His breath escaped his lungs in uneven gasps, a hideous shudder of horror. She had won.

"Michael!"

He froze. He swiveled his neck and saw Madeline standing off to the side of the ring. Michael looked back down at the woman gloating beneath him. He released her hands and drew himself to his feet, slowly. He turned to Madeline, who stood to his right with her arms crossed tightly. He walked away.

Nikita sat up. She brushed some hair off her shoulders and hoisted herself to her feet. She began to follow the two as they headed to the conference table.

"Not this time, Nikita." Madeline said, turning around.

Nikita cocked her head to the side. "I'm not going on this mission?"

"No," Madeline answered coolly, "you're not."

Her eyes stayed open wide for a moment, uncomprehending. [But if Michael's going...-] Her breath caught in her throat. She looked back at Madeline and suddenly she understood. [I'm in abeyance?]

Madeline turned around again and continued walking. Michael stood still for a moment. He turned to Nikita, but did not dare look into her wide blue eyes. He continued to the conference table, leaving her alone. She had lost.

Chapter 5

More running. He wasn't running though; his legs didn't move but he was behind her, waiting. She couldn't keep running. Her legs were heavy with exhaustion. She looked down at them and saw chains which bound her, the ones that were cutting her ankles into bloody knobs. Her hands were bound too. She had to move. The darkness was claustrophobic. She was running through nothing. Running wildly. Maybe she wasn't even moving. The air in her lungs burned as she moved. She had to be moving . . . her legs ached too much for her efforts to be anything but movement. And yet she knew he was back there somewhere, getting closer. She cried. She knew it was blood by how it tasted as the tears trickled into her mouth. She couldn't see anything. Its taste sickened her and frightened her, making her cry more. She was so small . . . Everything was black.

Everything. She could have been lost in the trails of his black suit,or maybe the empty voids of his eyes. She screamed for mercy, for a way out which didn't come. She kept screaming anyway, insane in her own fear. She ran into something firm and tall. It was him. She clung onto him at first, holding him close, whimpering in his arms. He raised an arm mechanically to her hold her and she tore herself away, screaming in terror. She could see him. He was bathed and clothed in white.

Again, he was a puzzle. She couldn't decide what to make of him. She was frightened, but she wasn't sure if he scared her. No, it wasn't him, it was the darkness. He was light. Her feet moved closer, but she came foreword crying. He touched her wrists and her bindings fell away. She stared at him for an extended moment. He bent his head to kiss her and she did not resist. She ran a hand through his dark hair and drew his mouth closer to her own. Yes, they were safe together.

His arms closed around her closing her in white. The fear chasing her was not the man standing there. He was safety; he was protecting her. [It isn't Michael that I'm afraid of,] she realized. [no, not Michael. I love Michael. I hate what Section does to Michael . . . ]. His mouth became limp in hers, and he pulled away. He fell to his knees, weakly. She stepped away and looked at him. His head was lowered, and a small puddle of blood had formed on the ground below it. A new sort of fear filled her. She dropped to one knee and pulled his head up. Blood filled his mouth. His head was bleeding where she had touched him. She screamed in frustration, watching as the white-covered Michael fell to the ground, bathed in his own red wounds that she knew she had inflicted. She stood over his body and the light began to fade. He looked at her with dead eyes. She cried, dripping blood tears onto him. She saw his lips moving through her blurred eyes and bent her head closer to listen.

"Nikita . . . Ni-""-kita!"

She opened her eyes. Walter's face was close to hers. "Get up."

She looked around sleepily at Walter's workstation. "What?" she yawned.

"Michael's back from his mission. He's hurt bad. They need me to bring in medical supplies so I need to close this place down."

"Michael . . . ?"

"Yeah. Got shot up on a mission. He's coming in right...-"

She was gone.