So Far Away, Still So Near

I was in Medical for 2 weeks. The bullet only nicked my thigh bone and caused some arterial bleeding, but it was nothing that a bit of rehab and some rest wouldn't fix.

After rehab, I was cycled back out. I was glad to be returning to Michael's team, which, after several losses during the missions I was down for recovery, thinned his numbers down to only 5 operatives including myself and Taylor. Beckett was running backup as usual, which flexed out the entire squad to nearly 12 when in full force. Much of the time, the missions were narrowed down to only a 4 or 5 man crew which left little need to have Beckett's squad tailing us. I have to admit, I was grinning ear to ear when I found out that Michael's team was relaxing its use of a backup squad and were handling their own clean up. We were trained to set charges, nano-data sweep, and sanitize areas penetrated so that there would be no trace of our existence. Birkoff often called from the Convoy, or from back at Command with Michael doing his own field coordinations. Phillips was good, but he was mainly used for Beckett's squad. This left me and Michael in close quarters often, and I must say, I was not complaining at all.

Back at Section, we fell into a comfortable normalcy. Each morning, I would bring him his coffee, meeting him just as he exited transport. He had a bit of a sweet tooth I learned, enjoying machiatotos and lattes with plenty of cream. He wasn't necessarily a sugar addict, but he did enjoy his fair share of pastry desserts. It amazed me how he could manage to keep his lean figure and eat so many doughnuts and scones. Then again, Michael was in the workout room every day and always balanced his diet with a nice green apple.

Come to think of it, I never actually saw him eat anything while we were on missions. I suppose he was like me in that way. Once the adrenalin started to pump, there was little room for food, or thought of it for that matter. It was Go time. We could eat when we got back to base...if we got back to base.

I brought him lunch, whenever he accepted the offer, and cooked him dinner when I had the time to do so. He always declined whenever I asked him to go out for drinks, stating he was very busy.

"Maybe some other time, Vizcano," he said with a slight hint of a smile.

Maybe...Maybe…

Well, at least it wasn't a no. At least he would think about the idea of going out with me and keep it as a possibility. He wasn't cruel about it. I had seen him be cruel to other women. He told one female that dared to ask him out that she had no chance at all. His exact words were, and I quote, no thanks, sweetheart. He turned on his polished heels and strutted back towards his office leaving her feeling as dumb as the idea she had that he would even entertain the notion.

Of course he wouldn't just pick some random broad to go out with! Michael had standards, a fact that she clearly missed when she thought herself bold enough to approach him. She had no idea who he was. She just thought he was a cute guy at Section. She thought he was like all the rest of the cute guys wandering around Section. She didn't know he was the Michael Sammuelle, Section's top most ranked Level 5 Field Op Team Lead and Senior Tactician. She had no clue that he was called the Archangel of Section and Command's right hand man.

You don't just walk up to a demi-god and start asking him out for drinks.

I didn't feel sorry for her when he turned her down so unceremoniously. If Michael wanted to date you, he would let you know under no uncertain terms. He was always very direct...Unless he wasn't being direct. In which case, it was unnerving to have his eyes following silently, studying and thinking. Planning. I had only seen him target one other woman first hand, and she was completely caught off guard by it. His flirtations only seemed to happen when Nikita was around to watch, though. I did notice that. It was like he was trying to make her jealous or something.

But for what reason? From what I could tell, Nikita didn't have any real interest in Michael. In a lot of cases, she acted like she hated him, which was fine for me. I mean, why have that kind of competition? Yet still, Michael and Nikita was always a thing around Section. The rumors were everywhere about them being together in much the same way that Michael was with his wife, Simone.

I'd never seen Simone...but I heard about her. And from what I heard, she was a tough cookie. Like having Madeline and Operations wrapped up into one person that looked like a freaking Geisha doll. I heard Section pulled her out of the Triads or something like that. Yakuza maybe? Anyway, she killed her own husband to get recruited by Section, only to have them treat her worse than what she came from. Some upgrade. Simone was supposedly lethal as hell, calculated, and emotionless. How she managed to catch Michael's eye was beyond my understanding. How he could be in love with someone that had the personality of a brick continues to baffle me. But maybe he saw something in her that no one else saw. Maybe he knew something that no one else did, and that was what made the two of them click. Who knows. In the end, she died and ironically, it was Michael that gave the order.

Just like he did with Nikita.

"Best not to get involved with Michael," Walter said to me once when I thought I could trust him with my thoughts. "Women around him often don't last long. If you like this side of life, best stay clear of the Angel of Death."

That's what Section liked to call Michael. The Angel of Death. But I never called him that. To me, he wasn't a Grim Reaper. Every death he had to deliver were, in my opinion, mercy killings. No one ever died by his hand that either didn't deserve it, or preferred it as opposed to the life they were going to be left with later. He was an angel, yes, but one of death...No. He was merciful.

Another mission came down from Command sending us out into the frigid badlands of the Carpathian Mountains. It was another Grab run, only instead of data intel, we were sent to find a person and bring him in for questioning. Michael called the mission from the Convoy while me and the rest of the Squad went into the underground bunker to find our target. He was a scientist, I think. I really didn't pay that much attention to the briefing. I was too busy staring at the way Michael's hair looked that morning.

He was particularly unkempt, only having finger-combed his tresses leaving them curling in beautiful chaos atop his head. He wore a black turtleneck sweater under his dress jacket, sleek black slacks, and square-toed shoes. The hologram on the table turned his eyes different shades of blue, sea green and crystal. I felt for certain he knew I was staring at him, but he didn't move. Instead, he licked his lips slowly, then looked down at his phone to check a message that popped up on it. After Operations wrapped up his speech, we left the table to collect our panels to study before the mission was to launch later that evening. Michael went directly into his office and closed the door. From his window, I could see him go to his computer and begin typing, his eyes searching the screen for something. There was a strange look of determination and desperation on his face. It had only been a month since Nikita died, and every day thereafter, he seemed preoccupied more with whatever was alerting on his phone and at his computer. He was still focused on the missions, but I could tell, there was something else he was more focused on. I just wished I knew what so that I could help.

Getting the scientist proved to be a bit more difficult that anticipated. The sequence we were scheduled to follow did not factor in anything that had to do with the scientist being bat shit crazy. He popped off three or four shots before we tackled him. I wound up nearly getting shot in the face. If it wasn't for Lewis pushing me out of the way, my story would have had a very tragic ending. Instead of dying by suicide in a federal prison, I would be left on the floor of a burned out bunker in the middle of nowhere Romania. I hit the floor hard, bouncing my head on the hard cement and stone. Next thing I know, I was lying on the floor of the Convoy listening to Michael rundown the mission to Birkoff on the other end of the radio. I don't know how long I was out. When I tried to get up, I was pushed back down gently by Michael's delicate hand.

"Don't move. You have a concussion. You get up too quickly, you'll just get sick all over again and pass out."

Sick all over again? His words hit hard like a punch in the gut. Did I get sick? Did he see me get sick? Oh God! Did I get sick on him?

I wanted to ask more questions, but his attention was back on Birkoff. Beside me, Lewis and Taylor regarded me with masked concern. I mouthed to Taylor that I was okay and gave him a little smile. He grinned back and nodded.

I was sent to Reprogramming and de-commissioned for a month until I could be re-evaluated. I wasn't certain why it was that I was suddenly being put on the back burner when other operatives with far worse injuries were cycled right back out with little to no consideration of their overall health. With me, it was like they were deliberately delaying my release. They were avoiding something, but I didn't know what. All that I knew was that they were going to push me back through another performance review to determine whether or not I should or could remain on the Alpha Team.

I can't say that I took the news of what my next steps were going to be well. I think I might have thrown something at the poor messenger that came to deliver me the news and my training schedule.

How dare they do this to me!

After all that I did to get to the Alpha Team, after all the bullshit I had to go through! All the people I had to watch die! Some of them were my friends! Most weren't, but who gave a shit! I deserve to be on the Alpha Squad! I deserve to be with Michael!

Sure I know it doesn't matter in the end, but something should have been considered with the amount of effort I put towards qualifying to be on Michael's team. I'm sure Madeline knew exactly what it was that I wanted. She wrote it down in my file how badly I wanted it, how strongly I desired to be under him...under his lead.

They had no right to take this from me. I earned every microfiber of that uniform and every nanopixel of that status.

I deserved it.

To lose my spot because of something I couldn't control…

Bullets have no names! The place was covered in smoke. I followed the orders. I did what I was told to do. It wasn't my fault the lucky fucker got off a shot! I didn't even get shot this time! I only hit my head! Why was I being punished?

The following week was a blur. I have no idea what I said to the therapist. I tried to remain composed, keeping my head even though I just wanted to scream at everyone. I smiled a tight smile, one that I was sure she saw straight through and reported back to Madeline about. I walked by Michael's office every day, hoping to see him working. Sometimes I could catch him for a milli-second. He would look up briefly, allowing our eyes to meet and stir back up the hope that I would return to his side. He did not hold me long, but instead returned to his work with only the soft blue glow of the computer screen illuminating his angelic face. More and more missions were being set up and Section was being heavily depended upon by various agencies to gather the intel needed to use against warring factions. No one government wanted to get their hands dirty, so they commissioned us to do their dirt for them. They couldn't be seen doing the killing and the destruction, so they turned to us. In turn, those missions descended down the line of Team Leads and Special Ops to complete. Before long, Michael was going out on nearly every mission to every part of the world, leaving me behind to pray for his safe return.

"Why is it so important to you?"

I stared at my therapist for a long moment, wishing she would just disintegrate. I had answered this questions more times than I wanted to count, and yet she continued to ask me the same series of questions at every session. Did she not write down her assessment earlier?

"It's important because it is what I want. It's what I need to happen," I answered not even bothering to soften the words. I wanted her to know how incredibly moronic I felt this entire process was, and how it was a complete waste of time.

"Why do you need to be on Michael's team?"

She looked at me with dark almond shaped eyes behind square rimmed glasses. She was a bit more elegant than Madeline, quieter, and maybe even nicer. She did not really get on my nerves so much as she kept asking me the same questions and, I guess, expecting a different answer eventually. She wasn't going to get one. I was being as honest as I could be sitting in the uncomfortable black leather armchair surrounded by a room made up to look like someone's cozy living room. I got the attempt at appearing warm and welcoming, but I was in no way fooled or disillusioned. I knew exactly where I was, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be...and why.

"Michael's team is the best team in Section," I explained. "I want to work with the best. His is the team I want to be on."

"The Alpha Team is very prestigious, yes," said the therapist in her even monotone voice. "But it is not the best team in Section. The best team by performance and mission statistics is Evelyn Talbot's Dark Ops team. If you want to be put on the best squad, I would think you would want to work with them rather than the Alphas."

I swallowed hard. My jaw tensed.

"Dark Ops is not the direction I want to go in my career," I responded evenly.

"But you said you wanted to work with the best."

"The best Field Ops team. Michael's team averages 97% in performance and mission completions. He has the highest rating scores in all of Section combined He is skilled in tactical, operations, field management, demolitions, and subterfuge. I could learn a lot from working closely with him...on his team."

"Is that the only reason why you want to work with Michael?" Her eyebrow raised slightly above the rim of her gold colored spectacles.

"What other reason would there be?"

"Some have said that it's not the Alphas that you are most interested in working with, but Michael...specifically."

I crossed my arms and drew in a long breath to steady myself.

"It would not matter if Michael were on the best team in Section, or the worst. I think you would still want to be on any team that he was on regardless of its performance scores. I think you would make any excuse to justify your reasons to want to be close to him."

I sucked my teeth and averted my eyes from the woman. Even though her words were truer than an aimed shot, I didn't want her to see that in my eyes. I held myself tighter, gripping the sides of my white t-shirt in hopes of hanging on to the last embers of my resolve. I couldn't freak out on her. I couldn't do what it was that I wanted to do. If I did, they would most certainly haul my ass to containment or worse...send me to the White Room. I pressed my lips down tighter creating only a narrow line across my face.

"Tell me what happened on your last mission. Do you recall what happened?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"What was the objective?"

"To infiltrate a heavily defended office building to extract intel from inside one of their mainframe computers located in a secured section of the building."

"You were sent in with Michael and three others. Do you remember who they were?"

"My team consisted of the pilot, Davis, two gunners, Taylor and Lopez, Michael as the coordinator, and me as the insert."

"What was your assignment specifically?"

"I was to penetrate the target and extract the data. We had a narrow window to operate so I had to work fast."

"What time did Michael give you to complete the assignment?"

"He said I had 90 seconds from the point of entry to egress. He told me what to do, what codes to use, and what to look for once the files were lifted and copied to our drive."

"And did the extraction work?"

"At first," I breathed. "The files were copying, but then something caused it to stop. Then the files started to delete.I knew if I let it, we would have failed the mission. I couldn't let that happen."

"What was the contingency?"

I was quiet at this. My stomach began to burn. The next details I knew I was going to have to answer did not make me feel good at all. I knew that what she was trying to make me admit was the error that Operations saw in the mission. Michael wanted the intel and he had trusted me to get it for him. I was not going to fail him. I could not leave that computer room without the data. I wasn't going to.

"In the event that we could not get the data, we were to pull out and leave it and return to HQ."

"Why was this not followed?"

"Because there was another way to get what we needed."

"Did Michael instruct you to remove the motherboard from the computer and set charges to the room?"

"...No…"

"Did he know that the files were designed with a virus to corrupt them if copied?"

"No. I didn't tell him that they were corrupted. I thought that if I just removed the whole thing, I could still get the data. By blowing the room, it would cover our tracks and give us more time to escape."

"Did Michael instruct you to set the charges?"

"No. He didn't know I was setting charges."

"Did you tell him that you had set charges to blow within seconds of making your first checkpoint?"

"No."

The therapist leaned back in her seat and crossed her own arms. She pushed her glasses back up the ridge of her nose with a singer manicured finger and drew in a breath. I was grasping my shirt so tightly, I could have ripped it off. My nails dug into my sides. I could not tell the cold slick feeling I had was from sweat or blood sliding down my body. My legs jumped nervously. The events of the night came rolling back to me like a remembered nightmare.

I could still hear Taylor screaming and the sound of the helicopter blaring alarms as it began to malfunction from the force of the blast. Lopez was thrown out the open side of the copter. His horrified screams disappeared into the black night. White smoke enveloped the building. Flames licked at my feet as I dangled from the hanging rope ladder. I had hoped and even trusted that Michael would reach down and help me into the copter as we flew away, but he didn't.

He couldn't.

He was up with the pilot, now knocked out somehow in the cockpit, trying to steady the helicopter and keep us from crashing. Taylor pulled Davis out of the seat, then climbed into the driving seat to take over. Michael turned his attention to me and it was in that moment, I knew exactly what so many others said about getting Michael's undivided dangerous eye. He glared at me with such ferocity, it made me shrink back. He pulled off his mask leaving his curls an explosion on top of his head.

"What the fuck were you thinking Vizcano!" he yelled. The french in his tone bled heavily through. "You could have gotten us all killed! You blew Lopez right out the got-damn helicopter! I told you to abort!"

"Why didn't you follow the order to abort?" asked the therapist.

I sighed. My shoulders felt very weighed down. My legs were drumming so fast, my calves were beginning to burn. I leaned forward, clasping my hands in front of me and resting my elbows on my knees with hopes of stilling my legs.

"Look. I know I should have aborted. That was the order given, but Michael would have failed if I did that."

"You mean the mission would have failed."

I stared at the therapist for a moment, blinking.

"Yes, the mission. Isn't that what I said?"

"No. You said Michael would have failed," said the therapist. She changed her position, crossing her long legs in her tea length brown skirt and found her notepad. She began jotting down quick notes before turning her attention back to me.

"Was it important for you to make sure that Michael did not fail his objective?"

I began wringing my hands. The room was growing uncomfortably warm. Sweat was pouring out of every gland on my body. I could feel the icky turning happening in my stomach. My head was beginning to hurt. I closed my eyes.

"It was important to me to not have the mission fail. We needed to get the data. Removing the mainframe from the computer was the only way I could think of to get what we were sent in to get."

"You directly disobeyed orders from your commanding officer."

"We needed to complete the mission. We had time."

"Your actions caused the death of one of your team members...and nearly jeopardized the entire mission."

"Casualties were expected."

"This was a Black Bag Mission. You should not have even had charges on you. Who supplied you the additional equipment?"

I opened my eyes. This was no longer feeling like a therapy session, but more like an interrogation. I pressed my lips down tightly, refusing to go along with whatever it was that my therapist thought she was going to get away with.

"I did what was necessary," I said tightly. "We got the intel. I completed my assignment."

"You expended an operative."

"He was already in abeyance. He was going to die anyway."

"Yes, but that was not your call to make when that happened for him. Lopez was scheduled for another mission, one at which his particular talents could be used to complete the objective. He had an opportunity to prove himself and save his own life. You took that option from him."

"It was an accident."

"There were no margins of error on that mission. Your mistake cost Section a good operative, and nearly an important relationship with the client that commissioned us. Your one act of rogue disobedience nearly dismantled an operation that took months to put together. Had it not been that you did manage to salvage the data from the drive, our conversation would be very different and your time with Section would draw to a permanent close."

I swallowed hard and leaned back in my seat. I knew what she was saying without having to hear the words right out.

"So what happens now?"

"I will give my report to Command. They will make a final determination."

I closed my eyes again. The churning in my stomach was at puree speed. I could barely choke out a response.

"What's my best case scenario?"

"Best case…" The therapist took a moment to think over her own response before answering. "Best case, you'll be reprimanded, a demerit will go on your record, and you will undergo reconditioning. From there, you may be reassigned, or cycled into General Operation pool. As you well know, if you do go into G.O, any team lead with an open availability can select you to fill the open spot. You will be on call for all missions. There is no down will be expected to meet all requirements in order to go on any mission outing. Your next performance evaluation will be scheduled 6 months from your first day of active status after you have completed 3 months of reconditioning and training."

9 months? That was nearly a year before I would be considered again for any team, much less returning to Michael. I could feel wails building within me. Tears threatened my eyes and began to burn. I tried to keep a straight face, but the turmoil raging within refused to be quelled. I tightened my jaw to keep from sobbing, but even that was ebbing forward like a tidal wave.

"And the worst?" I whispered, barely able to keep my breath.

"I think you know what the worst is, Jessica. I pray they never make that decision for you."