Disclaimer: I don't own them…if I did they would still be around.

A/N Let's see I'm just going to say that Adam is about three years old in this...old enough to be potty trained and young enough to still easily bounce back. This is Nikita's POV…hope you like it and remember…reviews are loved and craved!

White Picket Fences

"After that single fateful day where you step out of those warm, comforting walls and into the

world where you are left to be beaten and bruised, there is no returning to that warm haven. At best you are forced to travel alone searching for the one place where you engulfed wholly and fully as yourself…into your own home. I have yet to find mine…." Anon

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It's surprising how quickly the amazing can become mundane, how soon the unthinkable manages to wedge itself in your consciousness. I had been Operations for only a year, a year that if I think back on it now, contains some of the most fantastic and horrible things that I have ever done. The title that was bestowed upon me still doesn't fit as well as it did it's previous owner, but that's to be expected. To be honest I hope it never fits, I don't think I want to be that cold blooded, that careless with lives.

I had just finished reading the reports from the mission, when Jason came to me in the perch. it's not often that he ascends to my little 'nest', I know it makes him uncomfortable to be around me despite how much he tries to hide it. He was present through almost all of my reincarnations; from the dead, then as Jones' second, his daughter and now as my present position. I've seen from his profile that he likes to be in control, and his lack of ability to peg me as it were...disturbs him.

Today, when he came near he was openly afraid and he handed me a pad. "We received news just moments ago that Red Cell found Michael. Our operatives weren't able to stop them." His voice is distant and hazy, reminiscent of his computers that he loves so dearly. What is the boy trying to say to me?

Jason grabbed my arm, bringing me back to the present with three harsh words. "Michael is dead." I have to be careful now, show no emotion, that's what Michael always told me...that's what he always did. I make sure my emotions are in check before I reply, god what do I say to something like that?

"Causalities?"

He looked surprised for a moment before consulting his pad. "The two operatives that were watching him, and Michael."

"And Adam?"

"Adam was left unhurt, he was at preschool at the time. What do you want us to do with him?"

My mind is racing as I walk out of the room. "Bring him to me."

Ten minutes later three operatives walk in with a sleeping boy in tow, cradled in black uniforms that perform executions day after day. Walter told me later that the entire Section stood still as I took Michael's baby boy in my arms, watching as I held him close, lingering over his childish features that were so like Michael. I didn't cry. Michael would be so proud of me if he was here.

And yet, at the presence of this little child, I can feel predators out there...lurking for any sign of weakness to roost me from power. Father is no longer here to protect me, so I think it's time for a little

originality. I can feel the stares, and surprise as I don't leave for the Tower, but continue on back up to the Perch where I have them set up a couch for Adam to sleep in. The sedative that he was given will last only a few more hours, so it gives me little time to prepare. Willing or not, this was my father's legacy and it will not be taken from me.

One quick call to Michelle sends her my way. Operations had Madeline, and if Michael had stayed we would have been a team. Whether I like it or not, I need someone I can trust, and she has no desire for power, but an uncanny knack for understanding the human psyche. Makes me wonder if Daddy dearest ever had a little tryst with Madeline.

Tryst or not, Michelle arrived an hour later and all she did was take one look at the boy and ask. "How long do you need?"

"48 hours."

"Are you sure that'll be enough?"

I nod, surprised to find that I can still smile. "Adam knew me when Elana and Michael were married. To him I'm Aunt Nikki. It will be okay."

She looks at me for a moment and then reaches across to dim the window. Once it was black she gave me a hug, and for a second I almost broke, surrendering to the unimaginable grief threatening to undo me. I didn't though. Michelle lets go and holds my hand as she gazes at the small boy. "And what will happen to the child?"

My mind shrinks away from the obvious decision, the last thing he needs is to be put into another foster home. An even worse choice would to have him under Section's care. Shaking my head sadly, I shrugged. "I just don't know."

Gathering myself together I hand her the two pads with information on it. "Everything seems to be pretty quiet. Hold off on any major missions until I get back."

Michelle smiled softly. "You'll be gone only two days. Relax, Nikita."

"Right." I agreed, and picked up Adam and gently lifted him up, carefully wiping a little bit of drool with the edge of my sleeve. His body was heavy and warm, and he sighed softly snuggling into my neck as we headed outside.

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I took Adam to a small house tucked away in the rolling hills of the country. It was a simple little cottage, something Michael would have chosen. I had furnished it with a few sparse pieces of furniture, I rarely came here often enough to make it worthwhile anyway. By the time we arrived, Adam had begun to stir, and when I had placed him on the couch he woke up with a start. He jerked his head around at me, taking in his surrounding, his blue eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Adam, do you remember me?" I asked softly, sitting on the far end of the couch.

He shook his head, and for a moment I can see Michael in him as he looks for possible escape routes.

"I was a friend of your father's. My name is Nikita, Aunt Nikki?"

Realization dawns, and within seconds he in my arms, clutching me as if he's afraid to let me go. We sat like that for ages before I could bring myself to talk. How do you tell a child that his father, that came back from the dead is gone? That the man who was like a god to the boy, is unable to commit that one

last miraculous feat?

And so I told him, that his father was dead. Four words. Simple, precise and it still wasn't enough to break that belief that his father was alive. After all, if it happened once, why not again? I didn't even realize that I was crying until his chubby hand clumsily brushed away my tears, wiping the wetness off in bewilderment. It was only then that he cried, the big choking sobs of children that feel with every particle of their beings. Everything about him mourned, and with his tiny arms around me, so did I.

-fin-

--So, should I keep on going with this or keep it as it is?