THE PAST

By LORRAINE O.

Nikita fell to her knees, tears blurring her vision of poor Birkoff. Gathering his prone body into her arms, she quietly sobbed his name, not believing he was really gone. He was such a sweet kid. One of the few real people she could relate to here in Section.. A warm hand touched her shoulder, then another, urging her to stand up.

It's over Nikita. His soft voice filtered thru her pain. She looked up through her messed blonde hair, her blue eyes glassed over in sorrow. Michael gently, but firmly took her hands in his, making her let go of Birkoff's dead body and stand. Nikita wrenched her hands from his, her face angry. She looked over to Walter who was sitting on a chair, quietly sobbing in his hands. Madeline and Ops were behind him, silent, expressionless as always. Michael had a strained look on his face as he gazed from Birkoff to Nikita. He knew she was hurting and deep inside, so was he. He was always fond of the boy. He suddenly wished he had shown it more often. Nikita pushed her way past Michael, her hand shoving the glass doors aside, ran down the hallway and disappeared around a corner. Madeline pulled out her tiny phone from her pocket, flipped it open and then spoke quietly into the receiver. "Get housekeeping up to the lab." Walter raised his head, tears falling from his old grey eyes. As he gazed at Birkoff, he felt an overpowering need to hold the lad. Shakily, he got to his feet, closed the distance between them, and reached down to gather him into his arms. There he sat, cradling the one person in this world he had considered like his own. Michael looked away and turned to leave the silent lab. Madeline reached out as he passed her, stopping him for a moment.

"Check on her Michael," she said evenly. Michael waited until she released his arm and then left, in search of Nikita.

Nikita stood in front of her door, the cold brass key in her hand. She couldn't remember feeling this empty and drained. She sighed, wiping yet another of the seemingly endless supply of tears from her eyes. The sound of the elevator stopping at the end of the hallway caught her attention and she glanced up to see who it was. The tall familiar black clad form of Michael stepped into view. With her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, she cursed when the key fell from her cold fingers onto the carpet. Michael had reached her side by then and stopped her from bending down to pick it up. Instead, he knelt down and slid the key in easily to the lock, pushing the door open for her. Nikita mumbled her thanks as she brushed past him, dropping her coat onto the floor carelessly. He stood silently in the entrance and watched her head straight for the fridge. When the door closed, he could see she held a bottle of white wine in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked pulling a drawer open, and rummaging for the corkscrew glancing over at him thru her messy hair. Michael stepped into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right." he said in his usual quiet voice as he pulled his gloves off. Nikita kicked her high-heeled shoes off as she shoved the screw into the cork. "I don't need a babysitter, thanks." She watched him pick up her discarded coat and hang it up for her

"I don't need a housekeeper either." she added pulling the cork out with a resounding hollow pop. It sounded like how her insides felt. Michael ignored her remarks and slid his jacket off, setting it on the barstool across from the kitchen counter. His green eyes regarded her silently, carefully watching her as she poured herself a hefty glassful of the chilled wine. She set the bottle down hard, picked up the full glass and downed half of it in a few gulps. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand pushed the bottle towards him.

"Help yourself." she said bitterly before turning to go to the stereo. She enjoyed the heavy-based techno that flooded her mind. It always made her forget what was wrong in her life, and these days, it was a lot. Michael ignored the bottle and watched her stare out the window, her mouth resting on the lip of the glass she held so carelessly. The music was loud, the base banged in his chest. It sounded angry, much like how he guessed she was feeling. It seemed like the right thing to play he thought. Nikita took another gulp of the wine, all but finishing it off. She knew she had drunk it too fast knowing its effects would soon set in. She couldn't wait; she felt miserable. Turning to look at him, she set the glass down on the window ledge and moved her head in time with the music.

"I gave this CD to him just last week. He said it was...interesting." She laughed recalling how he had tried to be polite. "He was so nice about it and I could tell he hated it." Her laughter died in her throat suddenly and she hurriedly switched the stereo off. The apartment fell strangely silent. Nikita felt a deep sob well up. Michael came to her side, his hand rested on her shoulder. "God Michael! Why did he have to do it? There must have been another way." She cried banging her fist against the stereo. "I hate Section!" She burst into a fresh bout of jagged tears as she turned away from him.

"He did what he had to do" Michael said in his usual soft voice. Nikita pushed her hair back from her swollen eyes. "Oh crap...he didn't have to die. Don’t tell me he did what he had to do. God Michael, we just lost Birkoff. Don’t you have any feelings about that?" she all but shouted at him in a pained voice. He merely stared back at her his face expressionless. Nikita rolled her eyes at him. "Of course I should have expected the classic blank stare. Stupid me...what was I expecting from you...Section's golden boy." she sneered grabbing a Kleenex and blowing her nose noisily. Michael didn't much care for her remark, but remained calm as always. He deserved any scathing remarks she tossed his way these days. He knew he had been more distant then usual, but it was the only way he could keep his perspective intact. She was beginning to mean too much to him and after losing Simone, he had done everything possible to shield himself from relationships. Always the seemingly cold operative. Machine like in many ways. It had been a long time since anyone including himself saw him act even remotely human.

"Birkoff did his job. He died for us." he finally said when he saw she had finally given up waiting for him to speak. Nikita tossed the damp Kleenex into a wastebasket, then sat heavily on the large sectional. Nikita rubbed her forehead tiredly. She chose not to say anything and instead, gave him one of his classic blank stares.

"Will you be all right?" he broke the silence at last, coming to sit down beside her. Nikita pulled her arms about her stomach, her eyes once more returning to the floor.

"I don’t know" she said honestly. Michael tentatively reached out with his large hand and rested it on her knee. "Want me to stay?" he asked in an almost inaudible whisper. Nikita turned her face to him studying his profile with her blue eyes then dropping her gaze down to his hand on her knee. It felt warm, real and she wanted so much to say yes. She was surprised when she heard her voice say "no" in a soft, yet firm refusal. He blinked, watching her carefully with his green eyes and then after a few moments, got to his feet, retrieved his jacket and quietly left her alone. The door clicking shut was almost deafening and she once more, dissolved into quiet dignified tears. She suddenly felt as if she had lost two friends and it hurt.