Ooh, shes out of my life
She's out of my life

The dream was the same, as it had been for over a month. He would close his eyes, thinking this would be the one time that she did not haunt him. But, he would only be fooling himself. He would wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. He would be covered in sweat, and gasping short, shallow breaths. But, the dream never altered.

He would be waiting at the van access, and she would be coming down the hallway towards him, looking downward as she did a last minute check of her equipment. He would feel the same falling feeling, as if his very world had been yanked out from under him.

She would come up to him, and smile at him. She would ask him if everything was okay, and lightly touch him on the arm. He would return her gaze, blankly, and lie. He would say everything was fine, and they would turn and enter the mission van.

Then the dream would shift, and take on a new appearance. He would be in the mission van, and the countdown to detonation would be in progress. Walter would remind him that Nikita was in the building, and that she had to be egressed. After a few seconds, Walter would make a move to exit the van, and he would pull his gun on him. The, as the detonation hit zero, the charges would go off, and the building would go up in flames. And, hoping against all hope that Nikita had not gone up with it, he would only sit and stare.

He had given her a communication device before she had entered the building, and had signalled her. He had told her she was free, for her to run and never return. He knew, deep in his heart, that it was the only way to save her, but that did not help the pain. He had thought that living with only the assumption of her getting out before the explosion would be tolerable.

But, in a moment of weakness, he broke down, and tried to signal her. But, there had been no answer. It was then, in that very moment, that alive or dead, free or not, Nikita was not out of his life.

************

I don't know whether to laugh or cry
I don't know whether to live or die

Walking off of the elevator, and turning the corner, Michael was not paying attention to where he was going, and bumped head-on into Madeline. Looking up, and feeling more than a little embarassed, he did his best to maintain his composure.

'Sorry,' he said softly, then moved to step around Madeline. As he did, she waited, then turned to him.

'Michael,' she said. Michael stopped in his steps, and with his back to her, just listened. 'I know that Nikita being gone is difficult, but your performance level is beginning to suffer. And, if you become a liability to Section, then the decision is taken out of our hands.' She waited, to see if what she was saying was getting through.

After a few moments, Michael turned his head to the side, and spoke. 'The decision?' he started, barely audible, and with more than a little bitterness in his tone. 'Like the decision you made to have me kill Nikita?' He waited, expecting Madeline to back down. But, she didn't.

'Michael, you know what was done had to be done. Nikita was becoming a problem, and in our line of work, problems can result in unnecessary deaths.' She walked towards Michael, and moved to place her hand on his shoulder. But, before she could, Michael turned around.

On Michael's face was a look that Madeline, in the entire twelve years that she had known him, had never seen...one of amusement. He was amused by her response, and she was caught more than a little off guard. Then, as he continued to look at her, the smile faded, replaced by a saddened gaze.

'Keep telling yourself that Madeline. And maybe, someday, somewhere, you will be able to make yourself believe it.'

He then turned on his heel, and continued down the hallway. As he did, he left Madeline, standing alone, in the wake of the words he had just spoken.

************

And it cuts like a knife
She's out of my life

Madeline slowly strolled into the observation deck, still going over the recent conversation with Michael. He was quite obviously mourning Nikita, and they had expected that. It was no secret how close they had become, and that they were more than just fellow operatives to each other.

But, the look and the entire mood that she had just witnessed, she had to admit, unnerved her. She had never seen Michael in such a state. When he had thought Simone had been killed by Glass Curtain, he had mourned her for a while, but had never reacted in this manner. It had her absolutely thrown for a loop, and she did not like the feeling one little bit.

Still pondering on the thought, she failed to hear Operations question.

'Oh,' she started, 'I am sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Can you repeat that?'

Operations, with his usual sour look screwed onto his face, only shook his head slightly, and repeated the question.

'I asked if he is ready for field action yet? Michael has had more than enough time to get over losing Nikita.'

Madeline looked to him, and smiled slightly. Then, after taking a few moments to compose her thoughts, she put forth her answer.

'Yes, he is ready, if you want to take the chance of losing him. He is still fragile. They meant more to each other than we originally assumed. He may never get over it this time.'

As she finished, Operations placed his hands in his pants pockets, and hung his head. Then, after exhaling forcefully, he looked back up to Madeline.

'Put him on the next team. He is either working for us, or he is a liability. I can not be wasting time with a downed operative.'

He then turned, and looked out of the observation deck, and down onto the lobby of Section. This was his own subtle way of telling Madeline that the conversation was over, and that she could leave.

Turning on her heel, and walking through the doorway, she began her descent down the staircase. As she took the steps, one at a time, she couldn't help but say out loud, to no one in particular, 'that may not necessarily be a good thing.'

************

Ooh, she's out of my hands
She's out of my hands

Walking up to the work table, Michael purposefully neglected making any eye contact with Walter.

How could he face the man, after what had transpired on that mission? How could he make Walter understand, that if he could go back, and do it again, he would have fought Walter to get to Nikita first? How could he impress upon the man that, the day he lost Nikita, any hope he had for a furture had been extinguished, that the light in his life had gone out?

He knew he could not explain any of this to Walter, so he never even tried. He knew Walter loved Nikita as much as he did, if not more. And, since that mission, neither one had discussed the results, and had gone out of their way to avoid each other.

Now, standing at the work table, for the first time since coming into Section, Michael was ashamed. He was ashamed of his actions on that mission, and for his inability to stand up to Operations and Madeline. He should have told them he would not do it, he would not kill Nikita. He should have found another way to appease them.

He knew, deep down, that he had really had no choice. But, still, what his mind knew, his heart was deaf to. He could not convince his heart that what he had done, in every way, was the ultimate betrayal. He had let the woman he loved be killed, and that was that.

Walter, having finally turned around, scowled when he saw who his visitor was. Then, after a few seconds, he switched into his professional mode, and spoke in short, clipped tones.

'I have the gear ready for the team. There should be more than enough charges for the required perimeters. But, then, you know all about the detonation perimeters, don't you Michael?'

Michael did not discount Walter for the words he spoke. Walter only spoke, out loud, what Michael already felt. And, in hearing the words, it did not help to ease the pain in the least bit. And, he doubted that he every would know a time without the pain he was feeling.

************

To think for two years that she was here And I took her for granted

He could remember the day that Nikita had made her entrance into Section. It had been over two years ago, but the day was still as sharp and vivid that it could have been just last week.

She had been accused of the murder of a police officer. And, up until the end, had steadfastly denied it. She claimed to have been falsely accused. She had been the most head strong, stubborn person Michael had ever known, outside himself.

Even, when he first saw her, that day in the White Room, she had been a strong and confident individual. His first impression of her was that she would make a splendid operative, if handled properly. And, in the end, she had been one of the best that he had had the opportunity to work with.

He remembered opening the door, and her lying on the white gurney. She was tossing and turning, in the throughs of a fitful sleep. Then, when he had loosened her bonds, she had jumped off the gurney, and moved to the corner of the room.

Her eyes were wild, and it was quite obvious she was scared. But, the whole time, she remained undaunted. Her true spirit, her very heart and soul, outshined all her fear and doubt. He knew, then and there, at that very moment, that he was in love with this fragile creature.

Then, when he had turned his back on her, and she had tried to attack him, he knew she had stolen his heart. He knew, in those precious first moments, that he would remain forever changed by the time that he would spend with her. She would make him more than he was, and show him all that he could become. She made him strive to be a better person, although she knew not any of this.

I was so cavalier
Now the way that it stands
She's out of my hands

He now asked himself *Why did you waste two long years?* and only answered by hanging his head.

He knew there was nothing he could do now. No way to go back, change history, and show her how he felt. Tell her how she had changed him like no one else had. No way at all.

Walter handed him his equipment, and Michael turned and walked away. As he did, Walter called out to him.

'Michael?'

Michael turned, and gazed at Walter, blankly.

'I miss her too,' Walter said, then turned and entered his weapons vault, pulling the gate down behind him.

Had Walter stayed, he would have seen Michael smile, a weak and sad smile. He would have heard Michael say 'Thank you.'

Michael then turned, and headed for the briefing table.

And she's out of my life
Out of my life

The mission had ended, and Michael had returned his gear to Walter.

Then, after having done his debrief, he headed for home. He knew that the only thing awaiting him was his memories. He had tried to get on with his life, but without Nikita, he felt as if it were all mute.

As he walked down the hallway, he looked up and saw Madeline coming towards him. They met, and stopped, facing each other. Madeline paused a moment, then spoke.

'Michael, I want you on level seven in five minutes.'

Michael looked at Madeline as she spoke. Then, after she had finished, he replied.

'Level seven? That is the psychological section. Is something wrong?'

Madeline only nodded her head no.

'I want you to talk to someone. You need to work past the incident with Nikita. You are too valuable to us to risk losing.'

Michael gazed off to the side, forming a strategy to get out of this.

'I will think about it,' he said, then moved to leave.

Madeline touched him gently on the arm.

'It is not a request, Michael,' she said sternly.

Then, she turned, and walked down the hallway, in the direction from which she had come.

************

Damned indecision and cursed pride
Kept my love for her locked deep inside

After a three hour torture session with Sections resident psychologist, and Madeline's right hand man, Michael was finally cleared to leave, and go home.

But, as he walked up to the door, and inserted the key, he felt a wave of loneliness and despair wash over him. Giving the door a slight push, it slowly and silently swung open, gaining him access to the apartments blackened interior.

Stepping over the threshold, and closing the door behind him, Michael let out a deep sigh, and clicked on the overhead light. As the light flashed on, luminating the stark, cold room, Michael squinted his eyes. Then, reaching up, and pinching the bridge of his nose, he tossed his keys onto the counter and crossed to the cabinet.

Reaching up, and opening the cabinet closest to him, he removed a small glass. Then, turning around, and placing it on the counter behind him, he leaned over and opened the bottom cabinet.

When he raised back up, he had a bottle of Jim Beam in his hand. And an unexpected visitor in his apartment.

'What are you doing here?' he asked, bluntly and unemotionally.

As he waited for an answer, he unscrewed the lid of the liquor bottle, and poured a small amount into the glass. Then, lifting the glass to his lips, he stopped, and glared at his guest over the rim. After a few moments, he tilted his head back, and gulped the drink down in one long swallow.

Placing the glass back down on the counter, Michael started to pour himself another drink. As he tilted the bottle, a hand came to rest on the top of the glass, blocking the liquids path.

'Do you really think this is the answer?' the visitor asked.

Michael only continued to stare at the glass, with the hand over it. Then, after a few seconds, he sat the bottle back down, and raised his gaze to meet his guests.

************

And it cuts like a knife
She's out of my life
Ooh, she's out of my life

'I asked you before, what are you doing here?' Michael groaned, as he stood straight up, and walked to the end of the counter.

As he did, Michael's eyes roamed over very part of the apartment. Every part except that which was presently occupied by Operations.

Operations removed his hand from the glass, and slowly walked to the end of the counter. When he got there, he looked at Michael, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the current situation.

'I am here, to ask you to try to move past this. If only for the sake of your own continued existence,' Operations began.

As he said this, Michael's head snapped up, and a sarcastic sneer flashed across his features.

'For the sake of my continued existence?' he spat out. 'Is that a threat?' Michael asked.

Operations only looked away from Michael and fell silent. After a few moments, he looked back, and Michael thought he saw true sadness in Operations expression.

'Just do the job Michael, and get past it, okay?'

Michael continued to look at Operations. Feeling there was nothing more to be said, Operations stepped past Michael, and headed for the door. As he opened it, and started through, Michael called out to him.

'Paul?'

There was a moments silence.

'Yes Michael?'

'How do you go on, knowing that the one thing in your life you loved, is gone from you forever...now only a memory?' Michael whispered.

Operations waited a heartbeat, then turned and looked to Michael. Smiling slightly, he replied.

'That is how you go on...the memory is what keeps you going.'

Then, turning, Operations moved through the door, closing it softly and silently behind him. As he did, Michael continued to stare, blankly, a look of sorrow, and grief evident in his eyes.

************

So I've learned that love is no possession
And I've learned that love won't wait, won't wait
Now I've learned love needs expression
But I've learned much too late

It had been well over three months since Michael's visit from Operations, and he had been on several missions. His performance level had improved, and Madeline had finally called off her dogs.

He was no longer being made to go to psychotherapy after each debrief. He had been given a clean bill of mental health, and had been taken off of temporary observation.

But, what they didn't know, was that Michael had not gotten over it. He had just used his specially trained skills, and hide it better than before.

He still continued each and every day to send a signal to Nikita, and each time recieveing no reply. He still had his nightmares, and he still woke up in the middle of the night, his sheets soaked in sweat.

Not much had changed. Except one thing.

As he placed his key into the tumbler of the lock, and turned it, he closed his eyes and sighed. Then, raising his right hand, he gave the door a slight nudge. As he did, he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

He crossed the now barren room, the sunshine playing across the dull, scratched hardwood floors. A tightness formed in his chest. He told himself he had to stop this. That he was only making things worse for himself for doing this. But, it was just another case of his heart not listening to his head.

Now, as he came to the center of the room. he slowly bent down, and came to sit, indian style, on the floor. The breeze from the half open french door filtered through, brushing against his skin like the softest lovers caress, causing him to smile.

It was not a bright, or even barely perceivable smile, but a smile none the less. For Michael was in Nikita's apartment. And, if he closed his eyes, and focused really hard, he could smell, hear, and even feel her there with him.

And, as he sat there, dreaming about the woman that he had lost, he thought of how, if she were there, he would tell her that he loved her, and they would never be apart again. But, that would never be. The chance would never present itself, because Nikita was dead.

Nikita was out of his life.

This story © Copyright 1999, Trace