Hard Choices
By: Kimberly
Michael didn't need to look behind him to know that it was Darren that was creeping up into position. In the last 11 months, Darren had become very good. He still hesitated to pull the trigger on innocents, but he could do it if he had to. There had been a time when Darren hadn't been able to pull the trigger on even the vilest of scum they came across, if he had to do it to their face. But he'd managed to get around that problem lately.
Michael turned to look across the field. They were going to be out in the open. It was dark, but they'd be very exposed. They'd been watching the field for the last 20 minutes, while Birkhoff fought with the electronics, trying to get around the radar security. When he did that, they'd have to dart out, when the clouds blocked the moon light.
Darren had crept up next to Michael. It would be any time now. When Michael looked over, he saw Darren moving carefully to tuck his pony tail into the back of his coat.
"I'd cut it, but I've been forbidden too, by more than one person" Darren grinned.
Michael felt the corners of his mouth tug up a little , " I know what you mean."
Michael even knew who the other people were, besides Madeline. Nikita would kill him if he thought of cutting his hair. Michael noticed that when Darren was around Alexandra, he went so far as to wear his hair down and loose.
"OK Michael - I've got them jammed," Birkhoff said through the comm link.
"Team 1, on my order, move out fast," Michael told them.
He turned his gaze to the sky, mentally trying to measure the clouds, gage the wind . . .
"That cloud is too short," Darren said softly.
Michael nodded, the corner of his lips turning up. Darren was learning . . . Nikita would be proud, he thought to himself. He nodded his agreement, and they started to watch for the next one . . .
"This one," Michael said, " Stand ready . . . GO!"
A dark shadow was cast across the barren field, 150 yards to the fence. Across the ridge, operatives leapt up and started to race across the field. Then half way to the fence, when the wind picked up. Michael cursed under his breath, they'd be exposed . . .
But they reached the fence. Birkhoff managed to drop the power, and alarms started to go off.
"Start cutting," Michael ordered the operative with the cable cutters, "Birkhoff - what's happening?"
"Power down alarm - you have about three minutes."
Michael waited until the last Operative was through the fence, and he dove through himself. It was under two minutes . . .
Their goal was to blow up the factory. The owner, Argassi, was the cash source for a major terrorist organization, an organization that often funded several other smaller factions. Darren branched off with a new operative. The other operatives branched off into pre arranged pairs. Michael had a very new person with him as well.
It was a quick, in and out mission. If they were exposed, no matter. Once they were clear, they'd blow the building. Exposure was a minimal concern. Michael heard the reports of operatives already making it to the gate. He heard the first loud reports of gun fire. They'd been discovered.
He heard a low guttural shout behind him, and felt something rip into his arm, the tell tale burning sensation quickly following. His brain barely registered that it was the third time in four months he'd been shot.
He turned, returning fire, dropping the assailant, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fledgling cold Op panic, and he turned to run, and then flailed back, taking several hits, most of them hitting above the Kevlar vest line. He was dead before he hit the ground. Michael fired on the other assailant, and ordered everyone out of the factory. He'd heard the reports, they had enough charges set.
The fence would be hot by now, but Birkhoff blew the first charge that was set on the generators. The entire place went dark. Michael didn't have to give the order to go under the fence. Most of them were through by the time he got there.
Darren was holding the fence back, his partner for the evening behind shoved/carried through by another operative. Michael slid under, and held the fence up for Darren.
They raced across the field, hearing reports of gunfire behind them. Off to the side, someone else flailed, taking a shot in the head, dead before they hit the ground. Everyone else was over the ridge, and just as Michael and Darren reached the ridge, six men appeared out of nowhere, all leveling machine gun rifles on them.
"Stop!" One of them yelled in their native language.
It was an unnecessary order.
"Birkhoff go, cut the transmission, blow the charges." Michael ordered immediately, knowing that he's comm link would be taken any minuet.
Walter slipped into her office, and knocked loudly on her door, getting her attention.
His expression was urgent, Nikita knew something was wrong. She hit her security code, blocking audio surveillance, "What?"
"Michael's team just came back. Michael and Darren were taken captive, and three other team members were lost," Walter told her, "I thought you'd want to know right away."
Nikita nodded, and stood up from behind her desk, racing out of her office, passing Walter in the doorway.
Medallion and Operations were standing over Birkhoff's comm station, examining a replay of the Birkhoff's electronic surveillance. Madeline noticed Nikita walking up, but unlike many times in the past, she was calm, composed, and wasn't demanding anything - yet. Operations wasn't going to wait for her first outburst though.
"What are you doing here Nikita?" Operations demanded.
"I just heard - and I helped design this mission - what went wrong?" Nikita asked calmly.
Birkhoff turned a frightened gaze on her, "Everything that we couldn't prepare for. The field was wide open, there was 150 yards of open space. The alarm system had been upgraded - and one of the operatives started singing like bird as soon as they had him. Argassi knew where Michael and Darren would be escaping to."
Nikita nodded, and stood with her arms folded, "We were able to take out the building though?"
"Yes," Birkhoff replied, "Most of it, enough to put it out of commission. Our immediate problem is that Loren, the operative they captured inside the factory, warned them. They were able to remove some of the charges. I was able to monitor some of the interrogation, before they discovered the comm link. They were demanding the location of Section One."
Operations turned to Madeline, "What are the chances of Loren actually giving up our location?"
"If he told them about the charges . . . very high, we should start evacuation proceedings immediately," Madeline told him.
"Michael or Darren should be canceling Loren!" Operations snapped.
"If they could get to him, he wouldn't have been talking - Nikita, call in your team, and Michael. We need to have everyone here in 20 minutes to brief for relocation. Birkhoff, start programming for remote PDA's."
Nikita turned, and ran towards her office.
"Why aren't they questioning us?" Darren asked Michael, keeping his voice low.
They'd been bound and gagged, thrown in the back of a truck, and driven for miles to another place. Then, they'd been carried to what appeared to be an old abandoned prison, and chained up to the wall. That was over 12 hours ago.
There was only a little bit of light, a little bit of sun light that filter through the 4 inch wide air vent that vented outside. It was just enough to cast an eerie glow onto the far wall, and leave the rest of the room dark.
"They might be trying to wear us down," Michael replied, shifting a little, trying to get more comfortable.
Darren was getting nervous. He'd never been held captive before. The uncertainty was the hardest part - at the first time. Then it was the torture, when you wouldn't talk. Michael had no concerns over Darren talking though.
"Any chance this group knows who we are?" Darren asked him.
"Probably not," Michael replied.
They were silent for a while. Neither one was willing to sleep yet. They both knew they had to be vigilant for an escape opportunity.
The tell tale sound of footsteps started far off in the distance, drawing their attention. Michael watched as Darren shifted a little, took a few deep breaths, as if preparing himself.
They saw movement just beyond the bars on the door. Whoever it was didn't open the doors. There were several of them. Suddenly, a light was shined on them
It was Loren's voice that they heard first, "Michael - and Darren. Michael would know more - but he's not as likely to talk as Darren."
"Loren," Michael said tersely, "Don't!"
They dragged him back down the hall. It was a good three hours before they returned again, without Loren. A man with a surprisingly shrill voice spoke to them.
"Section One, the most covert anti-terrorist group on the planet, not much better than terrorists yourselves. Staffed by the scum your governments throws in prison . . . you're eager friend told me so much about your organization . . . I wonder if they know how vulnerable they really are? Do you think a regular c-4 explosive would do it, or would it take something more?"
Darren and Michael remained silent.
"Michael . . . you've been with Section One a long time, what buy's that kind of loyalty . . . money? It certainly isn't the way they treat you . . . Nikita perhaps?"
Darren squeezed his eye's shut. Michael could control his reactions. Darren wasn't so sure about his own.
"Loren seems to thing that you'd defy death itself for her . . . would you trade her life, for the rest of Section One?"
No reaction.
"Then there is Darren. Loren seems to think that you have fondness for a redhead, but he's not sure she's that much of a weakness for you . . . seems she's been used by a lot of other men too . . ."
That got Darren's attention. But he kept his gaze on the floor in front of him. The last thing he wanted was for them to go after Alexandra, to try to make him break. That just might be enough to get to him, and he knew it . . . and that was a sin even Alexandra could never forgive him for, let alone himself.
The man paused for a moment.
"What's the security code," he asked softly, "I'll trade their lives, for the codes. You can go free."
Neither one of them answered.
"Or I can dismember them in front of their eye's. How easy do you think it is to take someone in their own home?" the man asked them lightly, as if discussing something mundane.
No response.
"Take Michael first, We'll see if he's as good as they say he is," the man was talking to someone else.
The door of metal bar's creaked open, an awful enough noise that somehow sounded like the gates of hell opening up to consume the. Darren counted 7 men that surrounded Michael, several of them had guns trained on him. Michael didn't put up a fight. Seven to one was suicide in this situation.
They walked him down the hall, leaving Darren alone with the fading echo's of booted feet on pavement, and his own fear . . .
Section One . . .
They were divided up into two man teams, and scattered to the four winds. PDA's were issued to all of them. The substations were ordered to do the same. Loren may not know where all of them lived, but he knew enough to give up locations of enough operatives and substations to drop Section below their critical mass level.
The core of Section would relocate, Walter, Birkhoff and his communication technicians, Madeline and Operations, along with a small group of guards, to places unknown. They'd communicate through PDA's. Section would pick up and move often.
A mission was being organized to go after Argassi. Nikita and Alexandra had been called in Operations office. Alexandra had been picking her brain, trying to figure out what she'd done to deserve a summons now, of all times.
"I have a proposition for you," Operations said, crossing his arms, watching the two women.
"Go on," Nikita said, looking out at the main floor below her, operatives scurrying back and forth.
"The search mission for this group that we've been exposed to - I was going to give it to Jerome. He'll place the least among of significance on a rescue mission and more on a search mission," Operations said, walking around his desk to stand in front of Nikita, and look down at her, "It's yours, on one condition."
Nikita hadn't considered not going after Michael and Darren herself, but she couldn't say that to Operations, not here, not at this moment.
"The assignment is yours, provided you agree to break off your affair, once they're rescued," Operations said, his voice menacingly quietly, "Permanently."
Nikita blinked, feeling tears prickle up behind her eye's. How dare you pull this shit now?!?
"And that goes for Alexandra and Darren as well. If it isn't done, I'll cancel two of you. I might be Michael, It might be you. I could be Alex, or it could be Darren. The emotional weakness, of taking a lover within section, is undoubtedly going to prove a wonderful tool for this group. By now, Loren has spilled out an entire history of rumor and supposition. This was a risk that the four of you never should have taken."
Nikita took a deep breath, "Done."
Alexandra blinked at her, surprised at how easy it came to her lips. But she had to follow suite, "I . . . OK."
They left Operations office immediately.
"Holy Christ Nikita, what did we just agree too," Alexandra asked her.
"Whatever it takes," Nikita said firmly, "Focus Alex - this is too important."
It sounded like Operations, with Nikita's voice. Alexandra stopped, and grabbed Nikita's arm, "Hey, hold on a minute here! I'm not giving you attitude - I don't want it back! When have I ever fucked up on a mission?!"
Nikita knew there were a few sets of eye's on them. She grabbed Alexandra by the collar, and shoved her back into the wall, and brought her face close to Alexandra's.
"Don't get emotional here. This is what Operations wants to see. He's looking for a weakness. Don't give it to him. Act for god's sakes!" Nikita whispered.
Alexandra's frowned faded a little, and she shrugged Nikita off, and followed the blond across the room to where a small group of operatives waited.
Darren heard them coming down the hall. He hadn't heard Michael scream or yell once. But that really didn't surprise him. The cell door creaked open, and several men dragged an unconscious Michael in, dumped him on the floor, and chained him back to the wall. Then they turned to Darren. It would be his turn next.
He didn't fight them either. He managed to get a good look at Michael as the escorted him out. He looked like he'd been run over by truck, and then that same truck had bad backed over him a few times. Darren worried how bad the beating was that Michael was unconscious. He worried about Michael, Darren was afraid of breaking, and disappointing Michael. Saying you can handle it when you've never been beaten was easy. He was afraid to find out how hard it could be.
They took him to a room, and strapped him down to a chair with blood smeared on it. Darren was pretty sure who's blood was on the chair.
"We have your girlfriend," the man said, standing in the shadow's.
Darren looked over at him, "If you had her - you'd have a lot less guards who could stand, and you wouldn't be fucking around with me."
Darren saw the mans arm move, and a pile of photographs landed on the floor in front of Darren. Darren looked at them. They were of him. All of them. Taken when he obviously wasn't aware he was being photographed.
"We never did find the negatives," the man said, walking out into the light, and picking up one of the photo's, "But I imagine she's careful . . ."
The man was small. Petite even, but Darren could see wiry muscle beneath the ruddy skin. He has light gray cruel eye's. A hawkish nose, thin lips.
"You should have heard her screaming when we took the photographs . . . do you know how many she has of you? Hundred's. She follows you I imagine. You're not a happy man, are you Darren."
He held up a photograph of Darren, his hair loose and whipping back in the wind. A frown on his face. Darren knew where he was in the picture. He hadn't known Alex had been following him. But he hadn't been looking either.
"Those aren't even the good ones," Darren told him, "Did you find the ones she took of me in bed with the blonde? She was really pale. The skin color contrast looks great in black and white film."
The pictures didn't exist. Darren somehow knew they didn't have Alexandra. They'd have dragged her in. Taken a picture of her. Loren would have given up addresses. They'd just taken things to get to Michael and Darren.
"The security codes," the man asked him, "Give me what I want, and you and your little redhead can go free. Free from Section One. They don't look for dead people, and they'll assume your dead," the man offered, making a show of slowly picking up the photographs, arranging them, sorting them.
"You know, I have this memory problem, whenever I'm stressed, I forget things - especially names - what did you say your's was again?"
The man stood up, "God."
He gestured to the men standing off to Darren's right, and the beating began.
Darren fought himself hard not to cry out. He didn't scream. He didn't beg. He didn't cry. He focused hard on memories. A technique Michael taught him, to separate yourself from the pain. He thought about Alexandra. Things she'd told him about Seattle. He thought what he'd show her if they ever got to his native stomping grounds in Chicago. He pictured her laying back on warm tropical sand, her hair spread out, her arms reaching up to him. For a brief instant, he saw her the way she'd been that night, when they were both high on cocaine and acid, when she'd been so brazen. She'd held nothing back from him that night . . .
He was vaguely aware that they were asking him something. Security codes, or names . . . the computer system? . . . He heard Alexandra saying, 'here, your better at this than me,' and she pushed a keyboard towards him. Then they were in that bomb shelter, and her fingers were on his face, tracing the outline of his mouth . . .
Michael was conscious when they carried Darren back in. Darren wasn't exactly lucid, but he wasn't unconscious. He looked like he'd been beaten to within inches of his life. They chained him, and left.
"I . . . didn't . . . you're idea . . . it worked . . ." He managed to get out, between breaths. He rolled onto his side, and moaned.
"Take slow deep breaths," Michael said quietly. He watched the younger man gingerly roll to his side, and let out a quiet moan, fighting to breath as slowly and deeply as possible. After a few minutes, it seemed that Darren had managed to relax a little. They were both quiet for while.
Then, finally, Darren spoke.
"Nikita and Alex have gotta be going insane by now," Darren said quietly, so quiet that Michael almost couldn't hear him.
Michael didn't answer at first, but after a moment, he gave a slight nod. Michael had no doubts that Nikita would do everything in her power to come after them - including risk cancellation herself. It was the first time it was a relief. Because if she wasn't in Section when it was attacked, she had a better chance of surviving. Security codes would just make it that much easier. Sections best defense was anonymity. That didn't exist now.
"I'll stay awake, try to sleep," Michael told him.
Darren didn't need much urging. He let his eye's close, and after a few minutes, his breathing changed a little, and Michael knew he'd slipped off into oblivion.
Nikita spread out a map of the area that they'd tracked Argassi too. He was using an old abandoned prison as his encampment. Guards openly patrolled the perimeter of the grounds. Beyond that, there was dense foliage and trees.
"The only way we're going to get to them is a direct assault," Max said, looking over Alexandra's shoulder at the map.
Nikita nodded, turning to look at the group of operatives. They all wore grim expressions. They knew how much was riding on this mission. It wasn't just an extraction. Argassi had already made one strike against Section One. It was some of Birkhoff's support staff that were taken out, one of them taken.
"How long until the other teams get here?" Nikita asked Max.
Max looked at his watch, "ETA is 3 hours."
Nikita nodded, and looked past the tree's, "Not so long, but more than we dare almost . . ."
She typed into the PDA a message to Birkhoff. He'd send the incoming team to their posts. They were running this mission silent until the last minute.
Alexandra sat quietly with the other operatives. It was had a nightmarish four days. Section had scattered them to the four winds. They were constantly moving. They only slept a few hours at time, and never at the same time. They'd spread out in pairs, only meeting up again hours ago.
Alexandra felt her eye's starting to close, but she snapped her head up again.
Jonathan was sitting next to her. He'd arrived with Max and Reggi earlier today. He was here because of his unique talents. Section needed answer's from Argassi immediately. Reggi would be the best suited to interrogate him on site.
"Why don't you close your eye, lean on me," Jonathan told her, "When was the last time you slept?"
Alexandra looked over at him. He was dressed in field gear. Not the expensive attractive suits he normally wore. But he didn't look out of place, but he wasn't a cold op. He really didn't belong out here. Nikita assigned four operatives to keep him alive - but he was still armed.
"Two day's ago," Alexandra told him, "I don't sleep well either - I'll be fine."
Jonathan gave her a concerned look, "You're doing head snaps Alex."
She looked down at the ground between them, and leaned over and said in his ear, "I have nightmares - bad ones- and I don't wake up easy when I'm having one - I don't want anyone to see that. Now here, not now."
Jonathan nodded, "I'll be able to tell, and I'll wake you before it gets bad."
She watched his face for a moment, as if measuring him.
"I'm the last person who's going to hurt you Alex," he said quietly, "You're one of the few people here who has befriended me."
She took a deep steadying breath, and stretched out on her side, resting her head on his thigh. She felt his hand start to massage the back of her neck, and she closed her eye's, knowing she could fall asleep on a rock right now.
Her hair had been pulled back into a French braid to keep it back, but some of it had come loose. She had very thick hair. He rubbed the lock of hair that had been freed between his fingers. It felt like silk. His fingers brushed her cheek. He felt exhaustion, worry , fear, and longing in her. She wasn't sleeping yet. Still a little nervous. He lifted his hand to rest on her shoulder.
Nikita watched the whole exchange with Max, on the far side of the clearing. Nikita sighed quietly, her eye's drifting to the other operatives, and back again.
"How's she doing," Max whispered.
"Since the last mission? She's OK. Madeline and Jonathan both felt that the three of them didn't have the psychological makeup for psychological addiction. Kicking the physiological portion was simply time," Nikita told him.
"I'm just wondering how objective Jonathan is with her, and with Darren. I was thinking he was a little too friendly with Red, until I saw him with Darren. Then I was wondering if his tastes went that way. Now I'm just confused," Max whispered to Nikita.
"I read somewhere that empaths tend to be emotion junkies. He's feeding a need off of them," Nikita told him, "I hope."
Max grimaced, "Wouldn't be the first gay man or tri-sexual we had in Section."
Nikita looked over at him, "Tri-sexual?"
"Yeah, they'll try anything," Max told her, grinning.
Nikita rolled her eye's, "That's half of Section Max!"
"I want a body count," Nikita said into the comm-link, "and one more sweep through the compound before we bring in Jonathan."
They'd found Michael and Darren, conscious but useless. Neither one of them could walk on their own at this point. Nikita might not have recognized them if it weren't for their hair and size. Now, the both sat in what probably served as the kitchen for this compound. Alexandra and Reggi had started to catalogue wounds, looking for anything life threatening.
She heard operatives reporting to Birkhoff, the bodies and their locations. Birkhoff was scanning the building again.
"All your hostiles are immobile and accounted for Nikita," Birkhoff told her after a minute.
"Bring Jonathan to my location," Nikita ordered, "Alex - I need Darren to hack the computers."
Darren nodded a little. He could only see out of one eye.
Alexandra helped him up, and they staggered into the next room. After a few minutes, She heard Birkhoff talking with Darren, assisting in the hacking.
Michael remained quiet through all of this. Nikita frightened him. It was like she was a machine. Operations would like this. It frightened Michael. He could feel a barely suppressed rage under the surface. It wasn't something that just anyone would pick up, but he was that in tune to Nikita. She hovered close, but still ran the mission. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted to feel her tuck his hair back from his face, look into his eye's and smile reassuringly. Instead, she'd watched him with longing and regret. Something was wrong.
Jonathan arrived, and the interrogation began. He was gentle for the first few minutes. He didn't identify what he was - ever. He touched Argassi's face, seeming to examine him at first, and asked his first question. Argassi told him to where to go and how to get here. Jonathan stepped back, and told the two large Section Operatives who'd been assigned as his body guards to beat him for a few minutes. Jonathan stood off to the side, watching. Nikita turned her head away. Part of her wanted to rip Argassi apart herself, but another part didn't want to witness what she was seeing. The beating stopped for a moment, and Jonathan placed his hand on Argassi's cheek, "Who else knows the location of Section One?"
"Everyone!"
Argassi spat at him. Jonathan didn't react, but looked at Nikita, "He didn't tell anyone else. You can tell Operations it's safe for us to return."
Jonathan turned and left the room, the two section operatives that were assisting him trailing behind him with Argassi.
Nikita dreaded what she had to tell Michael. He would be furious with her for making the deal she had. But she was afraid that no matter what decision she had made, Operations had already made his decision.
He was supposed to be released tomorrow. Which meant he'd probably leave later today. When she walked in, he was awake, and restless. But he knew he needed the IV fluids that were being dripped into his body. He'd been dangerously dehydrated. So had Darren.
"I have to talk to you about something," Nikita told him, standing next to his bed, her hands deep in her pockets. She was afraid to touch him. Touching him might make her risk defying Operations.
"Someone else was assigned to the mission at first," Nikita told him, "Operations gave it to me, with the stipulation that I give you up - permanently."
Michael's jaw stiffened, "You agreed."
Nikita nodded slowly, "If I hadn't, one of us would be canceled. If we go back, one of us will be canceled - I couldn't live with myself, if it was you - and If I volunteered myself - I am afraid it would be you."
Michael reached out for her, "Wait!"
Nikita dodged his grasp, stepping out of his range, "Michael please . . . I'm dying in side - but I couldn't live with myself if . . ."
" I can -"
" No Michael - we both know that if one of us is dead, the other one falls apart and slowly dies - if we go back to the way things were, we can at least tolerate -" " I can't tolerate that," Michael argued, struggling to sit up, " I won't."
Nikita sighed, "I've made the decision already."
Nikita found Alexandra sitting on the floor in front of her apartment, her back to the door. She looked up at Nikita when Nikita stopped in front of her.
"He's so pissed at me," Alexandra told her.
Nikita nodded, and pulled her friend up off the floor, and let them into her apartment.
"Have you talked to Michael?" Alexandra asked her, once they were inside the apartment.
"We talked at each other. He doesn't want to accept this, I told him the decision had been made . . ."
Alexandra groaned, "Nikita, there are day's I wish I'd never gotten involved with Darren. I wish I'd died that night Giles attacked me - I wish Michael had been able to snap my neck in Iraq, and I wish I'd done myself when I executed Juan."
Nikita tossed her coat and Alexandra's on the chair, and hugged the redhead, "Don't say that, some of it had to be worth it."
Alexandra sighed into Nikita's shoulder, "I can't do this Nikita . . . I can't always be the strong one . . ."
Michael was just ripping out the last IV line when medlab filled with operatives. Nikita had anticipated his next move, and he was too weak to fight them all off. He was strapped down, the IV's hooked back up. He didn't argue or beg. It would be useless. He did say he wanted to see Madeline. But Madeline never came, and Michael didn't know if she'd ever been told.
When he was released, he knew that section was still incredibly busy. Nikita was out on a mission. Birkhoff was racing back and forth between computers. Jerome and a group of operatives were heading for egress. Michael looked up, and saw Operation in the glass tower, George standing beside him.
Operations looked at Michael, and stilled for a moment. Michael turned, and headed towards his office. Now was not the time, but he'd find the time soon. Just not when George was standing there.
Michael sat down behind his desk, opened up his lap top, and found himself unable to concentrate.
"Michael," a voice said.
It was George's voice. Michael stood up slowly, "George."
"I wanted to talk to you about something privately," George told him, "is that possible in here?"
Michael nodded, and reached under his desk for a moment, "Yes."
George closed the door.
"We have about ten minutes," Michael told him.
George nodded, "You've met Jonathan."
"Yes," Michael replied.
George managed a tight smile, "And you've by now done your own background check on him, and you're aware he has weaknesses."
Michael kept his mask in place, "yes."
"I'd expected him to take an interest in Madeline actually," George told him, "She'd have been able to handle any complications. I expected to hear from Operations by now. Things have been hectic here though lately."
Michael nodded, "It has."
" I was concerned that Jonathan's presence would interfere with the relationship between Operations and Madeline actually. But Jonathan's talents make his problems tolerable - and his needs are more easily met and managed here," George added.
George knew about Madeline and Operations?! Michael felt his trump card slipping away.
"What we do does affect people," Michael agreed, unsure if George was trying to trick Michael into revealing something.
"Who has he latched onto anyway?" George asked, "He'd be a mess by now without someone to become attached too."
Michael blinked. He didn't like being in this position.
" Two level 3 operatives," Michael told him, "Both of which have kept things platonic."
"Hm," George said, "Wonder how long that will last. How is Nikita doing. I understand she'd doing a bang up job as a level 5 operative."
"She's fine," Michael answered, "She has her own methods, but she gets the job done, with minimal losses."
"Good, good. I was hoping to catch her today, but I'm told they won't be returning until early morning," George sighed, and stood up to leave, "Oh Michael, by the way, if you ever need to reach me . . ."
He handed Michael a card with phone numbers on it. Michael took the card from him.
"Operations isn't going to be replaced anytime soon, but the day will come. I would like to speak with you and Nikita together sometime soon," George said, "Outside."
Michael nodded his understanding, and watched George go. The wheels had started to turn. George had made decisions . . .
Michael looked down at the card in his hand. There was a time when he really wanted it. There were times when he didn't ever want it. Now, he was ambivalent. It could mean everything, or nothing . . .
Michael memorized the numbers, and tucked them into his coat.
Nikita knew Michael would be in her apartment before she unlocked the door. It was a gut feeling more than anything else. She'd packed his clothing in a bag, and left it in his office for him. She knew she'd removed all the excuses for him to be there, but she knew he'd come to her anyway. He wouldn't need an excuse. He'd tell her the real reason right away. He wasn't going to give up.
She unlocked the door, and found him sitting on the sofa. He's shed his coat. Two bottles of wine sat on the coffee table, a glass next to it. One bottle was completely empty, the other had just a little left in it.
"What happens if you get called in Michael? Does Alex get to dump your ass on the floor and then drag you around the gym for six hours?" Nikita asked him.
"I'm on medical leave," Michael answered her, standing up.
His gate was still graceful, but something in his speech told Nikita he was good and foxed.
"Another good reason to not be drinking - especially in my apartment," Nikita told him, "I'm tired. There is nothing to discuss."
Michael pulled something out of his jacket, walking towards her. Nikita knew what it was. Their marriage certificate.
"The names may false, but this is just as real Nikita," Michael told her, his voice menacingly quiet, "You can't just walk away."
"I didn't just walk away!" Nikita snapped, "What part of cancel did you not understand? Why is this such a hard concept?! They're going to watch us likes hawks Michael. Operations is probably watching us right now!"
"There's no surveillance equipment here," Michael told her.
Michael stumbled over one of the shoes Nikita kicked off, and Nikita groaned, "And you're so drunk I just can't kick you out. I'll drive you home."
Michael steadied himself on the counter. Nikita groaned, and grabbed up her coat, "C'mon Michael."
He reached out with one hand, as if needing help. Nikita stepped closer, not considering that he could be faking it. That was all that Michael was waiting for. He pulled her in pinning her body close to his, "Tell me to my face, look in my eye's, and tell me you don't love me."
"It's not a question of love Michael," she said, her voice cracking, "I don't want either one of us canceled . . ."
Michael pressed his mouth to hers. Nikita struggled only for a moment. She kissed him back, just as hungrily.
Then her phone rang.
"Merde," Michael swore, and snatched up the phone, and handed it to her.
"Yes?" she said . . . then hung up.
"I have to go in," she pulled free of him, "Michael - I don't want this to be ugly - please."
Michael held onto her arm tightly, "You," he said softly, brushing her hair back from her face, "Are my wife. I will not give you up, for anyone."
He released her arm, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Be careful Nikita."
Madeline knew Nikita was out on a mission, another one. Despite the fact that she'd just barely gotten back from one, an hour earlier. Operations made the decision without consulting her. It irritated Madeline, but she would cross that bridge later.
She'd called Michael to come to her office. Per usual, he didn't question why. He just said he was on his way. She looked down at the piece of paper on her desk. It was marriage license. Signed and dated months ago, while Michael and Nikita were on that mission days after their 'death'. The first names were familiar to her. The last names were not. But she knew who had signed it. It has just been a fluke really, that she'd come across it. Someone checking records for her in Australia for something else just happened to come across it. They delivered the certified copy themselves, knowing that this was a document Madeline might want to save.
Initially she'd been pissed. The longer she thought about it, she was impressed. The truth glared back at her, and she'd missed it. She'd have missed it no matter who it was. That it involved these too, was even more impressive. They'd been free for a month, and returned. Returned because Section was being destroyed, and they couldn't just turn their backs . . .
Madeline knew only too well what they'd given up, to return too. When she called Michael in, she was prepared to punish him, she just didn't know how. Now, she folded up the document, and slid it into the shredder, watching it disappear into meaningless shreds.
Michael arrived, walking into her office. She knew something wasn't right.
"I called you in to see how quickly you'd be able to return to duty - I know you'd return immediately - but I wanted to judge for myself," Madeline told him, "I won't return you to the field just yet, but . . . Michael, is something wrong?"
"Our performance has been far above anything in the past," Michael told her, "Justify separating Nikita and I now."
Madeline stared at him for a moment, "I'm not following you Michael."
Michael watched her for a moment, "Operations gave Nikita the choice of breaking our relationship off, or canceling one of us. I'm not going to argue why we should be allowed some semblance of a personal life - I'm just going to have one. Canceling us would be a mistake."
Madeline continued to stare at him, "I was not aware Operations had made that decision . . . Has George paid you a visit?"
"Perhaps you should talk to Operations," Michael answered.
"Tell me what has happened so far," Madeline countered . . .
The end . . . for now.
Continue on to The morning after