Nikita sensed a presence and it pulled her out of slumber. A slumber that had been too deep to be natural. Her eyes fluttered open, but it took a moment for them to focus, even in the soft light. But then she realized who was standing beside the bed, gazing down upon her. "Michael.." Nikita whispered. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized that he was covered in blood. It had soaked his shirt, streaked his face and matted in his hair. "My god!" she his, rolling off the bed to sway on her feet. By the time she had regained her balance, Michael had strode away, into the bathroom. Nikita heard the click of the lock, then the sound of the shower running.

"Dammit," Nikita muttered, rubbing at her eyes. They felt hot and gritty, and there was a thick film coating her tongue. A jug of bottled water rested on the bedstand, and Nikita snatched it up and took several, long swallows. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she began to pace. Walking helped to clear her head, and she had some thinking to do. First off, she realized that Michael had drugged her. Had to have slipped something into her coffee. It was the last thing she had swallowed before falling into darkness.

They were in a hotel room, sharing it. The mission was a clean up and a sweep. A man named Caspar Badden had started a religious colony in the woodlands of Northern Kentucky. He and his people lived in a self contained, fenced in compound that more closely resembled a maximum security correctional facility, than anything else. Best estimate was that over three hundred people, including women and children, lived behind the razor-wired walls.

Nikita didn't know what Caspar Badden had done. Operations had told her only that Michael would be heading a team of twelve operatives, including himself and Nikita, for a clean and sweep. This as a favor for the FBI who didn't want a repeat of Waco. They couldn't afford the publicity. Nikita had been silent and sullen on the plane ride down. Michael had respected her silence and allowed her her space, until they had reached the hotel. Then he had summed up her feelings. What they had been sent to do, in essence, was to massacre three hundred innocent people. Children...who had committed no sins. All for the sake of making Caspar Badden disappear from the world. He, however, was to be taken alive and brought back to Section.

Now it made sense, Nikita realized. She knew now that Michael had drugged her so that she wouldn't have to participate in the slaughter. That's why he was covered in blood. But that wasn't what bothered her, so much as the haunted, empty, look in Michael's eyes, as he had gazed down upon her. That had frightened her. It had been a reflection of the shadows of Michael's soul. Frowning, Nikita rummaged through her duffle bag till she found her lock pick, then she went to work on the bathroom door. A minute later she stepped inside, blinking and waving aside a blanket of steam.

The shower curtain was open, and Nikita could see Michael standing inside the stall, fully dressed. It was only then that she realized his kevlar vest was missing. She bit her lip as she stared at Michael. Nikita had never seen him look so vulnerable. Not even when he had been reunited with Simone. Michael's head was bent so that the water sprayed down upon the back of his neck and red tinted water streamed off him to pool into the drain.

Without thinking, and undmindful of the fact that she was fully dressed as well, Nikita stepped into the shower behind Michael. She reached around him to unbutton his shirt, then hissed as the scalding hot water hit her skin. Undaunted, she went about her task, till she was able to peel the shirt off of Michael. To her surprise he didn't resist. A part of Nikita believed he was barely aware of her presence. She had stuck a bottle of shampoo in the corner earlier in the day and she reached for it now A moment later, Nikita was rubbing lather into Michael's hair, scrubbing out the blood. And through it all, Michael merely stood there, but Nikita felt him tremble.

"Talk to me, Michael," Nikita beseeched, as she put aside the towel and began to finger comb his his hair. The damp strands curled into soft ringlets and a smile curved Nikita's lips, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Those curls were, no doubt, the bane of Michael's existance. He liked things to be smooth and orderly, yet his hair had a mind of it's own. But such thoughts had no place now, Nikita reminded herself. She pushed them aside and focused. "Tell me what happened," Nikita said, her voice cool and commanding. When Michael didn't respond, she changed tactics. Her voice was a husky whisper as she declared, "You drugged me."

"Yes," Michael replied, almost too softly to hear. He had been cognizant of all that had occurred in the past hour, but it was as if he had been watching himself go through the motions. Michael felt detached from his body.

Nikita slid off the bed and went to kneel before him. She wanted to see his face. "Why, Michael?" she beseeched. "Tell me why."

He lifted his eyes to her sweet face and simply stared at Nikita for a long moment. But then the image of another innocent face filled his vision, and Michael closed his eyes. Time seemed to flash back several hours and he was once again entering Caspar Badden's compound, along with his team.

They entered with the stealth of shadows and had the fire power to annihilate every viable life form. Michael knew what Badden looked like. They all did. He was to held live, so Michael went in search of him , taking out the men who were foolish enough to challenge him. He blocked out the sounds of women and children screaming. Saw the bodies of the innocent littering the ground, but they were faceless to him. It was the only way Michael could work through this. He was completely focused on finding Caspar Badden. On doing the job. But then he saw her. A little girl, maybe six, with pale, blond braids and blue eyes filled with tears. She was hiding behind a shipping crate and Michael went to her. She reached out to him and he lifted her into his arms. Then he had simply stood there, uncertain as to what to do. But only for a moment. Then he turned and headed back out the way he had come, keeping to the shadows so that the little girl would be protected.

All thoughts of Caspar Badden had vanished. Michael's only concern was in protecting the little girl. He had to get her out of there. He hadn't counted on Badden finding him. Hadn't realized that the little girl was Caspar's youngest daughter. Not until she had whispered, "Daddy..." Michael had stopped then, facing the other man. So be it. He could save the girl and bring Badden in. She would be Badden's weakness.

But it hadn't turned out that way. Caspar Badden had a Mac ten in his hand, but lowered at his side. Michael had ordered him to drop it, or declaring that he would kill the daughter. Badden had laughed, then his arm had lifted and a moment later he had emptied a round into his own child's body. Since she was still in his arms, Michael had felt every hit. Her blood and flesh had splattered onto his face and into his hair. It stained his shirt and flowed over his hands. And that's when the rage had exploded in Michael. White-hot and out of control. His own gun became an extension of his fury and he fired, pumping six bullets into Badden's body. Two in the heart, the others spread out as Caspar Badden fell to his knees and keeled over.

Then the rage was spent and icy-coldness has rippled through Michael. His gun dropped from nerveless fingers as he stepped over Badden's body, the little girl still cradled in his arms. Michael never noticed that some of the blood was his own.

Gentle fingers, touching his arm, yanked Michael back into the present. He realized that Nikita was smoothing tape over the bandage on his forearm. There was a matching bandage on his shoulder. Michael hadn't been aware of Nikita's ministrations, or the fact that she had accepted that he wouldn't tell her what had occurred. He couldn't know that she was content to be there for him. Michael had only to reach out, and Nikita would offer him whatever he needed. But he didn't do that. He simply stood up and crossed the room to where his duffle bag lay on the chair. As he rummaged for clean clothes, Michael could feel Nikita's eyes upon him. But all he said was, "We have to go."

Nikita didn't argue, or protest. Michael had shut himself away from her. Away from everything. There was nothing she could do to reach him, so she would accept that. What ever he had to face once they returned to Section, she would be there for him. If that's what he wanted. And if he didn't want her, she would simply wait. She owed him that. Going to her own duffle bag, Nikita pulled out jeans and a t-shirt, shrugged out of the robe, and dressed.

So Nikita had let it go. But, last night, after returning from a mission and finishing her debriefing, Nikita had chanced tracking Michael down again. She found him in his office, working on his report. "Can I come in?" Nikita had asked. At Michael's nod she had stood before his desk and declared her intentions. "I have a bottle of wine at home, and a gallon of rocky road ice cream," she'd said, a smile curving her lips. "I thought you might like to join me?"

To Nikita's surprise, Michael had accepted her invitation. So here they were, now, in her apartment, and she was pouring the wine. Michael had glded over to the terrace, but when Nikita went to bring him his glass, she discovered the doors wide open and Michael standing outside. It was midnight and rain was falling. Not a soft, summer, rain...but a heavy downpour. A cleansing rain, as Nikita liked to call it. She set down the wine glasses then stepped outside. She moved to stand beside Michael, not saying a word. She simply watched him. His black pullover and formfitting pants were soaked throught and clung to him, outlining every curve of his leanly muscled body. Nikita was soon drenched as well, but found that she wasn't cold, despite the chill in the night air.

Michael could feel Nikita's gaze burning into him. He turned to look at her, but the image of her beautiful face blurred with that of Badden's daughter. He looked away, staring down at his hands. The rain couldn't wash away the blood that stained them. Couldn't cleanse his soul. Nothing could do that. Michael turned and would have walked away, but he felt a hand on his arm.

"Don't go," Nikita whispered. She sensed that tears mingled with the rain that trickled down Michael's face. He trembled beneath her touch, and she knew that he needed her. But he couldn't let her in. Still, she wouldn't let him go.

"Nikita..." Michael breathed. Then he found himself in her arms, his own sliding about her waist and pulling her hard against him.

Nikita pressed her lips to his ear. "We can't forget who we are, or what we've done, Michael," she said, softly. And she was speaking from the heart. "What we did doesn't matter. It's what we do. Starting here...starting now. That's all that matters ."

Michael knew...they both knew...that what happened next could change their lives forever. He knew what he should do. He should walk away and not look back. But he didn't do that. His hands lifted to cup Nikita's face, then he bent his head and kissed her.

In that moment time didn't flash back, nor move ahead. It simply stood still as the rain continued to fall.

THE END

written by Shelly