A/n: Ann: Your review was the last thing I saw before I left. I literally read it then ran out the door - it was a great way to leave so thanks!

ga-4-ever: I'm not too happy that Michael does talk as much as he does, but as the story goes on, I'm going to try and slip him in to his normal speaking pace. Glad his subtle caring is coming through!

cavanaugh.girl : Thanks alot

Lerrinus: glad to see you're reading! I'm thrilled you like the story!

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"...What's going on?" Nikita asked, stopping in the middle of the doorway to tilt her head in confusion.

In front of her was a full kitchen set, Michael, and a woman in an apron and hairnet beside him. Michael had called her here instead of going to Madeline's. She thought it was a bit strange before, but now she wasn't sure what to think. After all, Michael with aprons and oven mitts really didn't seem to go together in her mind. She supposed that was where the woman came in.

"You're going to learn how to do simple cooking today," Michael's voice was all seriousness and direct to the point.

"So...you're inviting me to burn this hellish place down?" she said hopefully, only half joking. When she was new to the streets, her first meal she attempted to cook had overflowed the fire barrel, making the large flames spill down a back street, invading people's makeshift street beds. After that, she had to find a new town to wander and sleep in.

Nikita had never cooked again. All her food was either from cans, ready made, fruits, or already freshly baked and stolen. Now she was to cook? Maybe she should warn Michael, and the fire brigade, about her past mishaps. Especially after remembering the time she caught the house on fire that her mother and she was staying in when she attempted to cook a Thanksgiving meal. Just another holiday her mother was too drunk to do anything for.

She never did understand why the flames had rose so high. Was soda flammable? Maybe the big bottle of oil?

But before Nikita had a chance to do any warning, a plain white, starched apron was thrusted in to her arms. Oh well, knowing this place, they probably already knew about it. Maybe they were just giving her a chance to destroy this part of Section on purpose - a reason to remodel? If they were planning to fix it up, she had lots of ideas for this metal contraption.

"Tie that around you, then put this on." A hair net was handed over to her by the woman, still nameless. Section never was much for introductions.

Nikita's face twisted in conflict. She had spent an hour on her hair today to make Madeline proud. That was, before Michael kindly decided to ruin her schedule. Well, she had been an extra ten minutes late to this lesson because of it.

The hair net would ruin her hard work. But Michael's face was very serious as he bored holes in to her from across the room.

"D-do I have to?" she dared to whisper. She was having her best hair day ever. If the lesson was only going to end disasterous anyway, did she have to ruin everything about today?

"Nikita," Michael's voice was stern, impatient. After all, he had a reputation to withhold in front of others. "You're already late. Stop delaying."

That was the end of that. Nikita dutifully put on the hair net, making sure all her hair was inside. She must look ridiculous, but she was out of choices.

Walking further in to the room, Nikita started to notice her surroundings more. On the table were mixing bowls, large spoons, flour and eggs, and a few other objects she couldn't really identify.

"Let me guess...If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake?" she quirked.

Michael seemed confused at this, so Nikita just smiled. It was an old 1950's song her mother used to hum or sing to her sometimes. Strange, how many memories she was starting to experience here, away from anything familiar. She hadn't thought of that song since she was about seven years old. Now here she was introducing her mentor to it.

Michael moved to the door. "I expect to have a satisfactory report when I come back. Nikita, behave."

Nikita watched him walk out and shut the door firmly. She didn't have a good feeling about this.

Walter was unsuccessfully trying to not smile, while Birkoff was laughing outright. "And h-how did this h-happen?" Walter wheezed.

Nikita looked at them both with a frown, sitting on the counter with a pout on her lips. "He wasn't supposed to be back so soon - therefore it wasn't really my fault! I'm just plain unlucky in the kitchen. It has nothing to do with who the teacher is or where I am - I just can't cook! Or...bake, apparently."

"Skip the self pity and get to the good stuff," Birkoff said with a wave of his hand.

Rolling her eyes, Nikita sighed and drew her legs to her chest. "The room was a mess. I had spilt...one or two cups of flour and sugar. And maybe an egg or two. We'd taken longer than I suppose Michael was expecting, but I had finally got the batter perfect. Well, eggshell-less. And almost edible looking. Anyway, I had poured it in to the pan and it was all ready for the oven - which was still heating up because I had forgotten to put it on earlier. So Miss temporary mentor - who had never given me a name to call her - told me to hurry and clean up. So I got a wet rag and I started to go after the flour - but that only made the mess worse. I started getting frantic because I knew Michael would be coming soon and I bumped the table and spilled more things..." She buried her face in her hands in shame of the memory.

"Keep going," Birkoff eagerly encouraged.

She darted him an angry glare. "What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be tracking down terrorists or something?"

He shook his head with an equally evil glare. "Just get on with it."

"So I tried sweeping. But sweeping wet flour created a nasty problem. And that's when Michael walked in. He started talking to Miss whatever-her--name-was and didn't look at the floor. He walked where the eggs had spilt and lost balance. He tried to stay up so he tried to launch himself the other way, but he tried too hard and ended up..."

Birkoff nearly fell off his own feet from laughter. "So he fell face first in to the batter! Only a clutz like you could pull that off!"

Walter looked disapprovingly at Birkoff, but couldn't help himself from laughing either.

"You just better hope he can get all that mess out of his hair." The teenager said more seriously. "If he has to shave his head...you'll never be forgiven. Never. You'll be sent to cancellation before the first lock of hair falls to the floor. In fact, I probably should be watching the cancellation list - to be fair, I'll give you a heads up before the big guys come to carry you away."

Nikita watched Birkoff walk back to his station, her chin trembling. She peered back at Walter with wide, questioning eyes. Was that true?

"Don't worry, Sugar. The boy obviously never heard of shampoo and conditier...and alot of it. If Michael's worked this hard to keep you for this long, he won't give up on you for such a trivial thing."

But she just shook her head. "You didn't see his face. You didn't see how angry he looked at me. Like this was the last straw. Like I finally did him in."

"I'm sure you'll be just fine. Even a man like Michael must have a sense of humor sometimes...I think."

"That's not very comforting."

Walter offered a smile and a pat on her knee.

"Do you know any good hiding places around here?" was her last question.

He put his hand on her shoulder with a wistful smile. "Hiding isn't the answer. But...staying low for a little while might not be a bad thing either."

Nikita nodded and hopped off the counter. "I'll see you in a little while then," she added a smile to take away the humiliation, but wasn't sure it worked. Now wanting to stand around waiting for Michael to pass by, she offered a wave in Walter's direction, then dashed across Section's center and towards the staircase to the lower levels.

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Walter watched in amusement as Michael walked back and forth, between Systems, Munitions, and the stairwells. His hand was forcefully shoving away stray hair, his boots smacking hard against the floor.

A look over to Birkoff showed that he was watching in enjoyment as well.

Finally, Michael made his way over to the elder man, looking weary and irritated. "Do you know where Nikita is?" He seemed almost embarrassed to have to ask of the whereabouts for his material. After all, it was his responsibility to know.

"I believe she's attempting to lay low, if that is at all possible with for someone like her." He hadn't thought it possible, but apparently it was, if she was still so well hidden three hours later.

Michael tapped the round tips of his fingers against the counter as he mentally ran through all the possibilities of where Nikita might be. It was a tough job - after all, Section was a very large place. If you don't watch a recruit close enough, you might end up finding them trapped in the white room or somewhere equally dangerous to their life span.

Without another word or tap, Michael turned and walked away, in no direction in particular.

Really, Walter did pity the man. As much as he loved Nikita, she was always getting in to trouble of some sort. It must be a tough, tiring job to keep up with all of her mischief.

He only hoped that the new mentor could keep up with it. Although, if anyone could do it, certainly Michael could.

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Michael sighed heavily in relief, looking through the window in the door to see that his hunt was over.

Nikita was sitting on one of the washing machines, her eyes closed, a shaky smile on her lips, and music playing on the stereo beside her.

He opened the door and walked in, but Nikita hadn't noticed. Taking advantage of her ignorance, he crossed the room and swiftly unplugged the stereo, which brought her to attention immediently.

"Oh...hello M-Michael." She gave him a confident smile, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her simple fear. Had Birkoff not told her about cancellation time? Had he been joking? Was that why Michael was here?

"You've missed lessons," he said simply, as if that was a suitable greeting after searching for hours.

"I lost my schedule. I didn't know where to go. You've changed so many of my class hours that I don't remember it anymore."

"Then why didn't you come and ask me?"

Nikita avoided his eyes, looking down bashfully. "I wasn't so sure that would be a good idea. My skills may be poor but my survival instincts are high."

Ever witty, Michael had to force his blank stare to stay in place. "You were afraid of me?"

She stared at a pale splatter of cake that still clung to the edge of one of his curls. "Well, yes. That's general. But today I'm more afraid of what you'll do, rather than who you are or what you'll make me learn."

"You thought that I would cancel you? You ran and hid because you thought from me losing my temper that I would actually end your life? Do you think me so trifle?"

"What I thought was that you were too angry to care. That you finally realized that I was too much trouble for you."

He saw that she had been talking to Birkoff again. "Is that what you want me to do? Are you trying to make me come to that realization?"

"No, but it seems to come naturally."

He nearly laughed outright. Nearly. "I've come to the conclusion that you have to have one big mess up before you can learn anything. I'll count this as that mess up. Tomorrow, I expect you to learn and do better."

Nikita groaned. "I have to do it again?"

"You may not like the lessons and you may be terrible at them, but that doesn't mean you don't have to learn them. To perfect them. I've tried to make this lesson fun. I gave you a woman teacher to talk to. I allowed you music in the classroom. It's more than any other mentor would have done."

She wrinkled her nose. "She wouldn't talk to me. I don't even know her name! And the music...it was horrible - and she wouldn't change the station! I've had more fun breaking my bones in the gym than baking with that woman."

"You still have to learn. Tomorrow, I'll try teaching you. Now, if that's all, it's time for you to get to bed."

"...Actually, I do have a question that I was wondering about." After all, she had plenty of time to think things over today. "I haven't been to Madeline's for three days now. Why not?"

"Because the lessons I'm teaching you are more important than dressing you up and looking pretty."

"I can't imagine that Madeline would agree with you."

"She didn't. I talked directly to Operations and he saw it from a level minded perspective." Meaning, he saw it from the man's point of view. "He granted the leave, but I suspect that's only because Madeline hadn't gotten there first. Which is rare, but occasionally happens. It won't last much longer so we have to take advantage of this time." As soon as Madeline was fed up enough, she'd make Operations see her point of view. She'd share her motives, make them his. It was a dangerous step he took in causing attention to how he was trying to defer their carefully laid out plans, but he had needed to take some kind of action and thought this would be a good move. Perhaps it was best to let them know early in the game that he wouldn't go along with their hopes for his material. He wouldn't give in to their power play.

Michael helped Nikita off the washer, then grabbed the stereo. "Get to bed, I have to return this."

She looked mournful to see her newfound stereo friend go, but obeyed his command. She headed to her room for another peaceful sleep that would too shortly be interrupted at some ungodly hour to start yet another fearful, strange day.

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