The silence enveloped her and soothed her ache like a balm. Nikita sat on the cool grass letting her fingers trace patterns in the grass that would never be seen. Her mind was elsewhere adrift on a sea of memory. The memories flooded through her rising up to the surface in an attempt to touch something in her long forgotten.

She fingered her hair seeing it gleam in the sun shiny and smelling like the flowers in her garden. In the past it would have been stringy suffering from an abundance of split ends. Her hands were now smooth after having been subjected to numerous manicures and moisturizers, no calluses marred the skin and no dirt was to be seen beneath the nails. Her clothes a designer's dream made to fit her specific height, weight and measurements, rather than what she could rummage from garbage cans and the kindness of strangers. Her cheeks were no longer hollowed out and gaunt now there was a glow of healthiness around her.

Life had not changed much since living on the streets. It was still a world where you could barely trust anyone. Yet in Section it wasn't food or money or a place to sleep which were the motivators. It was something, deeper darker and less then basic, a turn for the complex, power plays, manipulations and global domination.

A game played with other people's lives that did not even know they were playing. At least on the street the players knew the game was in progress. Yet the greatest difference was that on the street you could quit the game without forfeiting your life that was not the case in Section.

Once Nikita had dreams that she would leave the streets behind and do something meaningful with her life. Perhaps she could find someone that would love her without conditions or on a capricious whim. Yet at the time that is all, they were dreams. She was merely existing attempting to steer clear of trouble like the pimps and drug dealers that grew like weeds around her. There was not much a girl like her could do to get out of the life she was in.

Yet trouble found her. Section had somehow chosen her to become on of them. The transformation from an unclean child of the streets to a femme fatale was complete. That is what she was now, lethal to those who should fall in her path. Yet she could bestow a munificent blessing to those she deemed worthy and could somehow slip by the watchful eyes.

Now she had an outer shell of perfection that the world viewed and envied. Yet inside Nikita was scarred and ripped with guilt what once was her refuge in her past life was now her prison. Her mind gave her the abilities to escape the cold of the streets and now her mind did not offer the solace it used to.

She touched the cold marble that was before her and began to trace the letters chiseled in stone. N for never again to know peace, I for impossible to escape, K for knowledge best left alone, I for an illusion of life, T for thieving moments with Michael, A for anticipation of the unexpected. Nikita stared at her tombstone as a lone tear trailed down the side of her face.

Her mother had already been her this morning. The flowers were still fresh on the grave. At least someone cared that the absence of her life made a change in the world. A flood of tears watered the flowers below.

An unexpected touch to the side of her face brought her out of her reverie. A startled expression crossed her face when she looked up to see who was disturbing her mourning.

"Michael, I thought you were away on a mission," she said with a husky rasp in her voice as her hand began to brush away some of her tears.

He offered his hand to lift her to her feet.

"It was called off at the last minute the conditions were not optimum for success." Michael took his hands and gently traced the path of her tears.

It was abhorrent to him to see her cry; it clutched at his heart in a manner that she never realized was his undoing. Her tears were the doorway to the other Michael who remains hidden. All Nikita had to do was look in his eyes and see what was there.

"So what made you look for me here?"

"Do you think I would forget the day you made your presence known in my life. The day you resurrected me from my own grave?" He gently brushed the hair away from her face. Michael allowed the mask that he always held in place to fall.

She saw the concern and the love he felt for her show on his face. For once the patented Michael blank stare was gone. Michael's eyes were usually the key to his soul, Nikita had not yet interpreted all the swirling eddies and tides that existed in those green orbs.

Yet now he looked like a normal man not the trained Section operative she dealt with everyday. It was his gift to her on this day. All she could do was gaze upon her own piece of heaven and he returned the favor.

The chirping of a cell phone broke the intensity of the moment. Nikita reached for the phone and activated it.

When she heard a male voice say, "Josephine." Nikita paused for a split second, felt the tug of her present life and responded in the affirmative.

She was given her instructions and she hung up the phone. Nikita looked towards Michael and the mask was already back in place. He was all business. This interlude was over and she resigned herself to her life as it was with brief stolen moments of happiness.

The End

this story © Copyright Tasamin, 1999