Early December
Birkoff sat staring intently ahead - yet totally unfocused on the images and words that scrolled across his monitor. His mind was occupied with the sudden realization that the way he had encapsulated his life had changed again. He didn't measure his life in years really. Years had little meaning in a place where people came and went - died so young and so early in their "careers." He had known for a while that his life was measured instead by events - pre-Section, and in-Section. He figured most of his co-workers measured their lives similarly.
Except for him it went further. The "in-Section" life was segmented as well. There were distinct and easily categorized differences: pre-Nikita, pre-Shays Mission, post-Shays, and now post-Nikita. Life pre-Nikita had merely been an existence to him. He had people he cared about, but no real connections. Walter had always been kind to him; Madeline had nurtured him as much as he probably had needed to adjust to life in Section, without his family - without his mother. He had only been 14 years old.
Even Ops and Michael had helped him ease into his new life. Both had allowed, even fostered, his view of them in a father/brother role respectively. They had guided him through his entry into Section life instead of subjecting him to the standard two year training. They had managed to give him a sense of himself, his place in the organization.
And then came Nikita. The first time he saw her walk across the staging area his hormones went crazy. The first time she turned her blue eyes up to him, her inquisitive nature shining through at him, his heart jumped. But it wasn't her looks that made him fall for her - it was her nature. She was warm, and loving. She was always there for a friend. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. He loved her. She had become his first real, adult friend.
And then life had come crashing down around him. He'd seen Nikita begin to unravel, knew she was a ticking bomb. He'd believed that Michael would help her, save her, fix her - like he had done countless times before. Only he couldn't - or at least that is what Birkoff had initially thought. Nikita's death in that warehouse had been a living nightmare; compounded by the impact her absence had on so many people. Michael fell apart. Walter became withdrawn. Madeline lost any semblance of warmth she had ever possessed. And for the first time, Birkoff saw Operations as an unfeeling monster.
It was just after the mission to recover Nikita from the Freedom League that Birkoff had discovered the transmissions Michael had been sending to Nikita's PDA. It had changed so much about how he viewed Michael. When he thought Michael had let Nikita die, he had been angry - he couldn't understand how Michael could just let it happen. He'd even hated the cold op for a while. At least until Michael's deterioration became so evident. Knowing Michael had tried to save her and then had to live alone with the fear he had failed shined a light on Michael's behavior and self-hatred. Birkoff couldn't imagine the pain Michael must have felt believing that he had failed and sent the woman he loved to fiery death a second time.
Although Nikita's return brought light back to his life, and to Walters, it didn't really change the others. Oh, Michael did regain his abilities, but he had lost what little spark of life he allowed others to see - almost like he was afraid of how much he felt to ever let those feelings see the light of day again. Madeline stayed an ice-queen as well. She had always had a cold side - it was a necessity in her job, but she had also had a warmer side. Birkoff had benefitted from it on occasion, and he could remember how she would smile sometimes in amusement or pride. She didn't do that anymore.
And then came the Roberds Mission - and Nikita's death. Sometimes it was still so unreal to him. He kept expecting to turn around and see her at one of the terminals, or on her stool in Walter's area, or standing outside Michael's door. He knew in time he would adjust fully to the change. Life went on, and this time - for the first time - he had been allowed to grieve for what he had lost. They all had. And they were all healing.
Even Michael was slowly returning to himself - or rather becoming someone new, but whole. It had started with cuff to the back of Birkoff's head when he made a smart-ass remark, and later there was the half-hidden smile.
And then there was the laugh. The team had been en route to a mission; Michael was in the back double-checking the munitions. They had a new op, Kate, with them - a young girl on her first "hot op." She had been clearly terrified, and one look at Ken with her deep brown eyes was all the encouragement the operative had needed. Ken started telling her "Nikita" stories, and before long most of the team was in on it. Their attention was so focused on their memories, and the laughter that no one noticed Michael's re-entrance - until the newest op among them spoke up.
"What about you, Michael. Got any good Nikita stories?"
The room froze and all heads turned toward Michael. Birkoff vaguely remembered Kate quietly asking Ken what she'd said. That was when Michael allowed a half-smile, and simply answered in soft, whispered breath- "Yes." Michael's gaze then shifted toward Birkoff and Ken. He nodded once and then headed into the back of the plane. An easy silence filled the area, before Birkoff said, "Ken, do you remember the Chandler Mission?"
Ken laughed and shook his head. "How could I forget – Classic Nikita!"
Birkoff then turned toward Kate and told her how Nikita, still on probationary status, had changed a profile in play, how they had all sat around waiting for the target to call her. As time ticked away, Operations had gotten more and more annoyed at her. And then the Nikita's portable phone rang. Nikita's expression and Operation's reaction were classic moments. They had all laughed and then Michael once more, went over the profile.
It wasn't until after the mission, as the full team walked through egress, that Kate finally asked where Nikita was now. Michael just looked at her for a moment before his "blank stare" mask fell across his face.
It was at that point that he, Birkoff, interceded. "She died, Kate. About four months ago, protecting a friend."
When he said those words, he had wished they were anything but true. Now he wished to God they had been. He'd said that two days before Ops had gone to Paris.
According to the files he had just completed restoring, he's said them three days before the rescue mission to retrieve Nikita had taken place. He'd said them three days before Nikita had actually died. He couldn't let this get out. They'd all just begun healing. The guilt and pain would hurt - destroy - to many friends.
Birkoff knew what this knowledge was doing to him - what would it do to Michael? What would he do if he found out that he had allowed Nikita to be tortured for months before dying virtually alone. What would Michael do if he ever found out that Operations knew Nikita had been alive?
Birkoff knew – Michael would see it as Simone all over again. He had only survived that because Nikita had been there to pull him back. No, Michael would blame himself and Operations. He would probably never accept that Operations had been trying to protect them all. They would lose Michael, and they just might lose Operations with him.
He wasn't going to let it happen!
Birkoff - determined to do what he had to be done in order to protect his friends, his family - accessed the newly reconstructed files. Skillfully, he deconstructed areas, inserted false information, and destroyed - even beyond his recovery - all areas of the files that identified Nikita. He then transferred the newly created files to disk for presentation to Madeline.
Rising from his workstation, he walked calmly toward the passageway that would lead him to Madeline's offices. Silently, he plead for Nikita's forgiveness in having failed her so badly and prayed that if any higher being existed, they would guide his steps in doing for Nikita the one thing left he could - protect their family.
*************
The sun slowly began it's descent below the horizon. The day was finally closing, and Michael was grateful. He had learned to adjust to life in Section without Nikita; grown used to her absence and the ever-present ache he felt when something pointed that absence out. He'd gone on. But sometimes, and some days, were harder than others. Days like today.
He had spent the last two weeks on back to back missions, existing outside of section only when it was required by the mission. With missions complete and non-on-the-pad, Operations had ordered him to take some down time. He stepped out of Section in the darkness that saturated the city just before the dawn and arrived in Nikita's favorite park just in time for the morning's first gold to break the horizon - just in time to see the ice capped trees light like fire. There had been something fresh and new about the morning that pained and exhilarated him at the same time.
In the quiet and peace endowed stillness, Michael felt Nikita with him. He could almost smell her scent and he'd luxuriated in the knowledge that he'd never be without her. Her peace and love surround him.
Yet, even as he'd felt her presence, so did he feel her absence. As precious as it was, he'd ached even more so to hold her, to hear her voice - to just look at her.
Now, at the end of the day, Michael slowly walked through the same park in the downtown area, content for the moment to let the sounds of life drift around him. Nikita had loved this place, loved to watch the children play. He had followed her here often. He wondered now if she had known he did.
Pulling his black closer around his chest, he sealed it against the cold, December air. He found an odd type of comfort coming here - watching the children play as Nikita had once done. They were so free - laughing and happy - totally unaware of the evils in the world. And that was just as it should be. Being here reminded him clearly of what he was fighting to protect, of what Nikita had always fought so hard to protect.
Coming to a rest area, he found a seat on a bench facing the setting sun. Scanning the area, he found he recognized most of the families. To his right a young girl laughed happily as she pushed and pulled her limbs through the snow - making yet another snow angel to add to the ring she'd created. Jumping up from the ground, she jumped into the center of her circle and began twirling herself around laughing joyfully. The child leaned her head pack, allowing her hood to fall off and her long blonde hair to fly free just before she fell - still laughing - to her knees.
When she looked up, she met his eyes with her own bright blue glaze. Rising to her feet, she ran over toward him. As she drew closer, Michael realized that this was the child that Nikita had watched the most often - the only one with which she had made any contact. He had always wondered if Nikita had been like that child or if Nikita saw in her all she could have and should have been? He watched helplessly, his heart in his throat, as the child grew closer. He could see now that she had grown in the nine months since Nikita had last seen her, last vestiges of the baby she had been replaced by the faintest glimpse of the woman she would someday become. Children grew; life went on - no matter who it left behind. He closed his eyes; the pain that tore at his heart as fresh as it had been the day Nikita's had been ripped from his life. The only difference was; now, it was part of him.
Life went on - even if sometimes it seemed to go on without him.
"Your him aren't you - Nikita's friend? I've seen you here a lot. Where did she go?"
He opened his eyes at the sound of the child's whisper-soft voice. He stared at her for a moment. Before he could respond he heard a woman's voice calling out to the child.
"Marie!" A blonde woman, about 5' 5" jogged toward the child. "I'm sorry, sir. Marie knows better than to bother strangers!" She had addressed him briefly before turning the last pointed comment back to her child.
"It is alright. She wasn't bothering me." He said to Marie's mother, then turning to the child he said, "Yes, I am Nikita's friend."
"See Mama, he's Nikita's friend. I just wanted to..."
"Marie, Nikita told you herself she was moving away for a while and she wasn't sure when she would be back."
"Maaaaaama, I just want to know if she is okay, she is, isn't she?" Marie had turned her baby eyes on him, pleading for a positive response.
Michael glanced once toward the mother, then back at the little girl whom Nikita had befriended, he didn't want to lie to the child, but neither was he prepared to have to tell the truth - the words a little to hard to say. "Yes, " he said, "She's safe and happy."
Marie turned her head up and, again, looked Michael in the eye. "That's why you're sad then, isn't it? She's gone and you miss her."
"Yes. I miss her. Very much."
"Will you be moving to where she went?"
"Maybe someday. But I have work to do here first."
"But if you love her. . ."
Michael looked up at Marie's mother, hoping for guidance or rescue. A look of compassion and empathy entered her eyes and she reached down for her daughter's hand.
"Marie, do you remember when we talked about how sometimes things happen in life and you just have to live it? Like when Daddy got transferred here and we had to move here. Well, just because this gentleman and Nikita love each other and want to be together, doesn't always mean they can. Now, we have bothered Nikita's friend for far to long. It's time to go. Come on."
Michael watched as Marie followed her mother, turning once to wave good-bye to him.
A flicker of gold light caught his eye and Michael turned to look across the park at the setting sun. Parents and children slowly cleared the park as the red-gold light glittered through the icy, leafless trees. For a while, he just sat there staring blindly ahead. The encounter with the small child, Marie, had awakened within him an acute awareness of the chilling emptiness created by the absence of Nikita in his life – his heart, mind and body were once again consumed by the pain of her loss. His will to continue living faltered under the renewed pain he felt when he thought of the years ahead of him devoid of her loving and warm presence – devoid of the gently lilting of her voice.
The last threads of golden light flashed by him, sparkling on the icicles that decorated the bare trees. In the twinkling of the light – for the briefest moment – Michael could see Nikita standing before him. A soft gentle breeze that ruffled his hair and stirred the snow at this feet seemed to carry with it Nikita's soothing voice – "I love you, Michael."
As the final rays of twilight gave way to the enveloping darkness of the winter's night, Michael sat on his bench embraced by the essence of Nikita's love. The lonely years ahead still seemed daunting, but for now the chance to redeem himself enough to someday be reunited with his love was enough to face the next day, and then maybe the day after. It was enough for now.
*************
Madeline had been staring across her office at the lit wall of shelves that housed her bonsai trees for two hours when the she received the message telling her Operations had returned to their underground lair. She'd spent that time trying to sort through the circus her thoughts and emotions had become since discovering the files Birkoff had been actively reconstructing and then reinventing.
The image of a battered and emaciated Nikita haunted her, as did the withdrawn and distant look in Birkoff's eyes as he had easy and blatantly lied to her. He hadn't faltered once, shown any weakness or indecision - much less given any indication that he wasn't being 100% forthcoming. He'd been utterly determined to protect his friends.
Her mind swirled in an endless mass of what ifs and whys. Why hadn't she ordered a DNA verifications? Why didn't she see the possibility earlier? What group, or who was responsible for the attack?
The only stray bit of light in the whole macabre turn of events was that she now, at least, had a catalyst for Paul's abnormal behavior in the past few months. Part of her wanted to saunter into his office and pull the answers she wanted from him - using whatever wiles she needed. But she wouldn't allow herself the pleasure - the consequences far outweighed the potential gain.
Instead, she signaled for her car and guards grabbed her coat and exited her office.
Walking through the halls, her eyes instinctively sought and absorbed the actions, stances, and reactions of all she passed. As she passed the comm area, she stopped and momentarily studied Birkoff. He swivelled his chair between his two workstations – hard at work. In casual observation, he was the same as always. Madeline could see the differences though – the straighter shoulders, the reserve, the strength – all born of grief and determination. There was steel in his disposition now and an undaunted inner fire. Both of which he had gained from Nikita – from her example and her friendship. As Madeline watched him, she looked for signs of the weight he bore on his shoulders – a weight seemingly borne alone now. The weight of knowing exactly how badly they had failed Nikita – failed their family. She would watch him closely – this time she would be there to catch him before he fell.
Resigned, she turned back towards egress. As she walked by Walter's station, she noticed the gate was back up and she could hear him whistling as he bent over his workstation. He looked up at her, as if feeling her stare and smiled faintly, then returned to his work. She continued walking, mentally filing away his perplexing behavior.
Once she reached the egress point, she slipped through the limo door helped open by a black leather clad operative and sunk back into her seat. She allowed the smooth motion of the car as it pulled away to lull her, to ease away some of the tension that knotted at the base of her neck.
The dusk light broke through the darkened windows of the limo cabin and Madeline turned to watch the other cars as they passed by her. Absently she wondered if any of those people were even remotely aware of went on daily to keep their world as remotely safe as it was. She felt the gentle slowing of her car and watched as it drew to a halt in the midst of traffic. Scanning the area around her car she realized that they were beside a park she had never visited, but that she had seen frequently in the surveillance logs. Nikita had come here often.
Using the intercom on the center panel, she told her driver to pull over to the park. Stepping out of the limo, she gathered her coat around her and looked around - absorbing the sites and sounds of the life.
Light from the setting sun reflected of the ice on the tree branches and into her eyes. Opening her purse to retrieve her sunglasses and gloves, she found instead the wire sculpture of Nikita's. Gently, she turned it over and around in her hands, feeling its edges and dimensions. As she gazed at the riot of colored wire, she felt the now familiar sense of loss before placing it back in the bag and pulling out the articles she originally sought.
Slowly, she walked around the edges of the park. It didn't take long for Madeline to understand why Nikita had frequented this place. There was a peace and vitality to it that energized while it healed. She could hear the sounds of children laughing while they played a few feet away. And the light as it glimmered off the ice-covered trees lent the place a mythical feel. Time - the world - stopped here and it's ugliness vanquished. For a brief moment she could almost touch the vibrancy of the place – a vibrancy Nikita had embodied.
Madeline missed that ebullience. Some days it was easier to not notice the difference Nikita had brought to Section – the difference that had been lost with her – and to accept being a ghost instead of a shadow. Today however, the small inner voice she harbored deep within her railed against the burgeoning darkness that was resettling over Section. She didn't want to be a ghost – to as dead inside herself as she was to the world. Not now. Not when she had tasted life again. She could live as a shadow – for shadows lived in the light. She just didn't want to return to that cold living death.
Madeline stopped and willed the repulsive self-analysis from her mind. Her training section training once again kicking in. She didn't have time or the need to dwell on what would not be. She had to move on. Turning around, she walked steadily out of the park – away from the whimsical thoughts that had no place in her existence. She had no life of her own – only section. She was a ghost – a specter to haunt the dark underworld of the anti-terrorist organization. She had to accept that – again.
Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him. Michael. Sitting alone in the rapidly emptying park. His shoulders were slightly slumped and all the energy seemed drained from him. He looked truly like a shell – a body missing its soul. She could feel her heart catch – knowing full well that nothing would show to the outside world. As Madeline watched him, a single thought entered her head -What will happen when Michael finds out? She did not doubt that it would happen – someday.
She continued to watch Michael as he seemed to pull himself back from the emptiness her trained eye had revealed to her only moments earlier. She watched Michael as he rose from the park bench and left the park. Only to her trained eye, could Michael's dolorous behavior be seen. She knew that to anyone else he would appear as if nothing was even slightly wrong.
Again the thought invaded her mind, nagged at her – What will Michael do when he finds out? What will any of his team members do? She was fairly certain that they would lose Michael, either by his own hand, an accident in the field, or by cancellation. This situation was too like the one with Simone for it not to destroy him, and this time there would be no Nikita waiting to pull him back. Then there was the question of what Michael would do in his downward spiral. Would he lash out? Would he believe Section had abandoned Nikita the way we had abandoned Simone? Would he try to take Section with him?
Madeline wished more again that she had checked the DNA on the body they had believed was Nikita. She could have headed this whole situation off from the start. But she couldn't turn back time – even if she wanted to. It was time to move forward – time to make sure that her "family" healed and that no one threatened that.
Striding back to the car, she climbed in and told the driver to return her to Section. Her first goal – locate all files concerning Nikita's kidnapping and torture and truly destroy them this time. She would take no chance with Michael ever finding out any time soon. Then she would begin her campaign to track and erase L'huere Sanguine, and build in contingencies for when Michael did learn the truth.
Those bastards may have dimmed the light that had shone briefly in Section – but she would be damned before she would allow it to be extinguished. A cruel smile curled across Madeline's face as she thought of her first encounter with L'huere Sanguine's new ringleader. Sometimes Madeline really liked the Golden Rule - especially when she was the one returning the favor!
*************
Walter strolled down the hallways of the private hospital. A small black dufflebag swung behind him matching his buoyant swagger. The changes he had witnessed in Nikita in the last week amazed him. At first she had been listless, not quite conscious and then she had slowly pulled herself back. Enough so that she was complaining about her hospital gown – she hated it. He had come in one yesterday and been presented with a list of things she wanted. All of which made him laugh.
Slowing his pace, he pushed open the now familiar door. He stopped in the doorway momentarily to take in Nikita's appearance. She looked like hellish. The white hospital gown she wore only seemed to exaggerate how pallidness of her complection. Her hair, which had thinned considerable due to her malnutrition, hung insipidly and sparsely about her face as she ate slowly from the bowl in front of her. Taking a fortifying breath, he straightened and breezed through the doorway. "Good Morning Sugar!"
"Walter!"
Nikita's enthusiastic response always caught him square in the chest. He was very aware of the battle she was waging against a whole slew of emotional maladies but she never failed to at least try to portray a positive attitude. All of this made him even more determined than ever to kept up a good face for her. He knew he wasn't really fooling her anymore than she was fooling him, but he knew it helped both get through.
"You're just in time. Hope you brought lunch" She said gesturing to the tray in front of her with a shaky hand. "I don't think you want to any of this – it's positively awful!"
Walter laughed, as another thrill went through him – the doctors had told him the next step in Nikita's recovery was to start her on bland liquids to slowly adjusted her body to processing food again. His Sugar was one step closer to recovering – one step further out of the looming shadow of cancellation.
"Sure did Sugar – as well as some of the articles you requested." Reaching into the dufflebag, Walter withdrew a black tee-shirt, "this one courtesy of a certain Level 5 Op – unknowingly of course. You'd better appreciate this, too, cause if he finds out I took it - there will be hell to pay."
Nikita extended a emaciated hand and took the shirt from him, then hugged it to her chest, inhaling deeply as if trying to capture an illusive scent. Walter saw the flicker of pain that crossed her face and the tears spring to her eyes. The same emotional stab he saw every time he mentioned Michael. "Hej now Sugar. None of that. You're getting better everyday. This'll all be over soon."
She looked him square in the eye and for a minute he didn't think she really believed him. "Yeah, right Walter." She said, plastering her best fake but bright smile on her face. He knew she was hiding her pain and doubt, but he also knew he couldn't help her yet. It was still her battle to fight.
Reaching into the bag again, he pulled out a folded picture frame. Opening it first, he then presented the pictures to her. She took it gingerly, and balanced it in her lap with her free hand. Carefully, she ran her finger across the images.
"I, ah, had copies made of some of Linda ??'s pictures. The one of you an Michael is from the 4th of July."
Nikita greeted his comment by looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Her expression clearly stating that the one thing she hadn't lost was her memories of Michael. "And the other, Walter? This was taken at the beach, but whe. . . "
Her voice trailed off as she realized when the picture must have been taken. Coming around the bed so that he could sit beside her, he looked at the picture of himself with Birkoff and Michael at the beach house. They were sitting on the deck, with the setting sun in the background. "That was taken the night before we had to return to Section Headquarters. You would have been so proud of them, Nikita. They, the whole team, really banded together and pulled each other through a lot of pain. They are going to be so happy to have you back!"
He could feel her body begin to tremble and knew she was crying. Gently, he pulled her to him, enfolding her in an embrace. "Shh, now, Sugar. It's going to be okay."
"Are you sure Walter? They are finally healing – getting on with there lives."
"Now you just stop that kinda talk. They love you Nikita – and they need you. Yes we are surviving with out you – and we would continue to survive with out you. But survivin' ain't livin. They need you. now no more of this talk! First- You need to eat, and then we are getting you out of this bed. All this immobility isn't good for you!"
The sound of a small chuckle emanating from Nikita chased away the niggling fears he had for her ability to fight the her depression and doubt.
"Okay you –eat. And I will tell you about Mr. Birkoff's newest woman problems – make that women problems."
Walter rambled on as Nikita ate. When she was finished the last of her soup, he give her the sweat suit she had asked for and call a nurse to help her dress. Then he would take her for a walk, certain that as she regained some of the physical strength, so would she regain some of her spirit.
Walter was certain – regardless of what doctors or statistics said – that everything was going to be just fine. It may be a bump road ahead – but it was all going to be just fine.
Birkoff sat staring intently ahead - yet totally unfocused on the images and words that scrolled across his monitor. His mind was occupied with the sudden realization that the way he had encapsulated his life had changed again. He didn't measure his life in years really. Years had little meaning in a place where people came and went - died so young and so early in their "careers." He had known for a while that his life was measured instead by events - pre-Section, and in-Section. He figured most of his co-workers measured their lives similarly.
Except for him it went further. The "in-Section" life was segmented as well. There were distinct and easily categorized differences: pre-Nikita, pre-Shays Mission, post-Shays, and now post-Nikita. Life pre-Nikita had merely been an existence to him. He had people he cared about, but no real connections. Walter had always been kind to him; Madeline had nurtured him as much as he probably had needed to adjust to life in Section, without his family - without his mother. He had only been 14 years old.
Even Ops and Michael had helped him ease into his new life. Both had allowed, even fostered, his view of them in a father/brother role respectively. They had guided him through his entry into Section life instead of subjecting him to the standard two year training. They had managed to give him a sense of himself, his place in the organization.
And then came Nikita. The first time he saw her walk across the staging area his hormones went crazy. The first time she turned her blue eyes up to him, her inquisitive nature shining through at him, his heart jumped. But it wasn't her looks that made him fall for her - it was her nature. She was warm, and loving. She was always there for a friend. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. He loved her. She had become his first real, adult friend.
And then life had come crashing down around him. He'd seen Nikita begin to unravel, knew she was a ticking bomb. He'd believed that Michael would help her, save her, fix her - like he had done countless times before. Only he couldn't - or at least that is what Birkoff had initially thought. Nikita's death in that warehouse had been a living nightmare; compounded by the impact her absence had on so many people. Michael fell apart. Walter became withdrawn. Madeline lost any semblance of warmth she had ever possessed. And for the first time, Birkoff saw Operations as an unfeeling monster.
It was just after the mission to recover Nikita from the Freedom League that Birkoff had discovered the transmissions Michael had been sending to Nikita's PDA. It had changed so much about how he viewed Michael. When he thought Michael had let Nikita die, he had been angry - he couldn't understand how Michael could just let it happen. He'd even hated the cold op for a while. At least until Michael's deterioration became so evident. Knowing Michael had tried to save her and then had to live alone with the fear he had failed shined a light on Michael's behavior and self-hatred. Birkoff couldn't imagine the pain Michael must have felt believing that he had failed and sent the woman he loved to fiery death a second time.
Although Nikita's return brought light back to his life, and to Walters, it didn't really change the others. Oh, Michael did regain his abilities, but he had lost what little spark of life he allowed others to see - almost like he was afraid of how much he felt to ever let those feelings see the light of day again. Madeline stayed an ice-queen as well. She had always had a cold side - it was a necessity in her job, but she had also had a warmer side. Birkoff had benefitted from it on occasion, and he could remember how she would smile sometimes in amusement or pride. She didn't do that anymore.
And then came the Roberds Mission - and Nikita's death. Sometimes it was still so unreal to him. He kept expecting to turn around and see her at one of the terminals, or on her stool in Walter's area, or standing outside Michael's door. He knew in time he would adjust fully to the change. Life went on, and this time - for the first time - he had been allowed to grieve for what he had lost. They all had. And they were all healing.
Even Michael was slowly returning to himself - or rather becoming someone new, but whole. It had started with cuff to the back of Birkoff's head when he made a smart-ass remark, and later there was the half-hidden smile.
And then there was the laugh. The team had been en route to a mission; Michael was in the back double-checking the munitions. They had a new op, Kate, with them - a young girl on her first "hot op." She had been clearly terrified, and one look at Ken with her deep brown eyes was all the encouragement the operative had needed. Ken started telling her "Nikita" stories, and before long most of the team was in on it. Their attention was so focused on their memories, and the laughter that no one noticed Michael's re-entrance - until the newest op among them spoke up.
"What about you, Michael. Got any good Nikita stories?"
The room froze and all heads turned toward Michael. Birkoff vaguely remembered Kate quietly asking Ken what she'd said. That was when Michael allowed a half-smile, and simply answered in soft, whispered breath- "Yes." Michael's gaze then shifted toward Birkoff and Ken. He nodded once and then headed into the back of the plane. An easy silence filled the area, before Birkoff said, "Ken, do you remember the Chandler Mission?"
Ken laughed and shook his head. "How could I forget – Classic Nikita!"
Birkoff then turned toward Kate and told her how Nikita, still on probationary status, had changed a profile in play, how they had all sat around waiting for the target to call her. As time ticked away, Operations had gotten more and more annoyed at her. And then the Nikita's portable phone rang. Nikita's expression and Operation's reaction were classic moments. They had all laughed and then Michael once more, went over the profile.
It wasn't until after the mission, as the full team walked through egress, that Kate finally asked where Nikita was now. Michael just looked at her for a moment before his "blank stare" mask fell across his face.
It was at that point that he, Birkoff, interceded. "She died, Kate. About four months ago, protecting a friend."
When he said those words, he had wished they were anything but true. Now he wished to God they had been. He'd said that two days before Ops had gone to Paris.
According to the files he had just completed restoring, he's said them three days before the rescue mission to retrieve Nikita had taken place. He'd said them three days before Nikita had actually died. He couldn't let this get out. They'd all just begun healing. The guilt and pain would hurt - destroy - to many friends.
Birkoff knew what this knowledge was doing to him - what would it do to Michael? What would he do if he found out that he had allowed Nikita to be tortured for months before dying virtually alone. What would Michael do if he ever found out that Operations knew Nikita had been alive?
Birkoff knew – Michael would see it as Simone all over again. He had only survived that because Nikita had been there to pull him back. No, Michael would blame himself and Operations. He would probably never accept that Operations had been trying to protect them all. They would lose Michael, and they just might lose Operations with him.
He wasn't going to let it happen!
Birkoff - determined to do what he had to be done in order to protect his friends, his family - accessed the newly reconstructed files. Skillfully, he deconstructed areas, inserted false information, and destroyed - even beyond his recovery - all areas of the files that identified Nikita. He then transferred the newly created files to disk for presentation to Madeline.
Rising from his workstation, he walked calmly toward the passageway that would lead him to Madeline's offices. Silently, he plead for Nikita's forgiveness in having failed her so badly and prayed that if any higher being existed, they would guide his steps in doing for Nikita the one thing left he could - protect their family.
*************
The sun slowly began it's descent below the horizon. The day was finally closing, and Michael was grateful. He had learned to adjust to life in Section without Nikita; grown used to her absence and the ever-present ache he felt when something pointed that absence out. He'd gone on. But sometimes, and some days, were harder than others. Days like today.
He had spent the last two weeks on back to back missions, existing outside of section only when it was required by the mission. With missions complete and non-on-the-pad, Operations had ordered him to take some down time. He stepped out of Section in the darkness that saturated the city just before the dawn and arrived in Nikita's favorite park just in time for the morning's first gold to break the horizon - just in time to see the ice capped trees light like fire. There had been something fresh and new about the morning that pained and exhilarated him at the same time.
In the quiet and peace endowed stillness, Michael felt Nikita with him. He could almost smell her scent and he'd luxuriated in the knowledge that he'd never be without her. Her peace and love surround him.
Yet, even as he'd felt her presence, so did he feel her absence. As precious as it was, he'd ached even more so to hold her, to hear her voice - to just look at her.
Now, at the end of the day, Michael slowly walked through the same park in the downtown area, content for the moment to let the sounds of life drift around him. Nikita had loved this place, loved to watch the children play. He had followed her here often. He wondered now if she had known he did.
Pulling his black closer around his chest, he sealed it against the cold, December air. He found an odd type of comfort coming here - watching the children play as Nikita had once done. They were so free - laughing and happy - totally unaware of the evils in the world. And that was just as it should be. Being here reminded him clearly of what he was fighting to protect, of what Nikita had always fought so hard to protect.
Coming to a rest area, he found a seat on a bench facing the setting sun. Scanning the area, he found he recognized most of the families. To his right a young girl laughed happily as she pushed and pulled her limbs through the snow - making yet another snow angel to add to the ring she'd created. Jumping up from the ground, she jumped into the center of her circle and began twirling herself around laughing joyfully. The child leaned her head pack, allowing her hood to fall off and her long blonde hair to fly free just before she fell - still laughing - to her knees.
When she looked up, she met his eyes with her own bright blue glaze. Rising to her feet, she ran over toward him. As she drew closer, Michael realized that this was the child that Nikita had watched the most often - the only one with which she had made any contact. He had always wondered if Nikita had been like that child or if Nikita saw in her all she could have and should have been? He watched helplessly, his heart in his throat, as the child grew closer. He could see now that she had grown in the nine months since Nikita had last seen her, last vestiges of the baby she had been replaced by the faintest glimpse of the woman she would someday become. Children grew; life went on - no matter who it left behind. He closed his eyes; the pain that tore at his heart as fresh as it had been the day Nikita's had been ripped from his life. The only difference was; now, it was part of him.
Life went on - even if sometimes it seemed to go on without him.
"Your him aren't you - Nikita's friend? I've seen you here a lot. Where did she go?"
He opened his eyes at the sound of the child's whisper-soft voice. He stared at her for a moment. Before he could respond he heard a woman's voice calling out to the child.
"Marie!" A blonde woman, about 5' 5" jogged toward the child. "I'm sorry, sir. Marie knows better than to bother strangers!" She had addressed him briefly before turning the last pointed comment back to her child.
"It is alright. She wasn't bothering me." He said to Marie's mother, then turning to the child he said, "Yes, I am Nikita's friend."
"See Mama, he's Nikita's friend. I just wanted to..."
"Marie, Nikita told you herself she was moving away for a while and she wasn't sure when she would be back."
"Maaaaaama, I just want to know if she is okay, she is, isn't she?" Marie had turned her baby eyes on him, pleading for a positive response.
Michael glanced once toward the mother, then back at the little girl whom Nikita had befriended, he didn't want to lie to the child, but neither was he prepared to have to tell the truth - the words a little to hard to say. "Yes, " he said, "She's safe and happy."
Marie turned her head up and, again, looked Michael in the eye. "That's why you're sad then, isn't it? She's gone and you miss her."
"Yes. I miss her. Very much."
"Will you be moving to where she went?"
"Maybe someday. But I have work to do here first."
"But if you love her. . ."
Michael looked up at Marie's mother, hoping for guidance or rescue. A look of compassion and empathy entered her eyes and she reached down for her daughter's hand.
"Marie, do you remember when we talked about how sometimes things happen in life and you just have to live it? Like when Daddy got transferred here and we had to move here. Well, just because this gentleman and Nikita love each other and want to be together, doesn't always mean they can. Now, we have bothered Nikita's friend for far to long. It's time to go. Come on."
Michael watched as Marie followed her mother, turning once to wave good-bye to him.
A flicker of gold light caught his eye and Michael turned to look across the park at the setting sun. Parents and children slowly cleared the park as the red-gold light glittered through the icy, leafless trees. For a while, he just sat there staring blindly ahead. The encounter with the small child, Marie, had awakened within him an acute awareness of the chilling emptiness created by the absence of Nikita in his life – his heart, mind and body were once again consumed by the pain of her loss. His will to continue living faltered under the renewed pain he felt when he thought of the years ahead of him devoid of her loving and warm presence – devoid of the gently lilting of her voice.
The last threads of golden light flashed by him, sparkling on the icicles that decorated the bare trees. In the twinkling of the light – for the briefest moment – Michael could see Nikita standing before him. A soft gentle breeze that ruffled his hair and stirred the snow at this feet seemed to carry with it Nikita's soothing voice – "I love you, Michael."
As the final rays of twilight gave way to the enveloping darkness of the winter's night, Michael sat on his bench embraced by the essence of Nikita's love. The lonely years ahead still seemed daunting, but for now the chance to redeem himself enough to someday be reunited with his love was enough to face the next day, and then maybe the day after. It was enough for now.
*************
Madeline had been staring across her office at the lit wall of shelves that housed her bonsai trees for two hours when the she received the message telling her Operations had returned to their underground lair. She'd spent that time trying to sort through the circus her thoughts and emotions had become since discovering the files Birkoff had been actively reconstructing and then reinventing.
The image of a battered and emaciated Nikita haunted her, as did the withdrawn and distant look in Birkoff's eyes as he had easy and blatantly lied to her. He hadn't faltered once, shown any weakness or indecision - much less given any indication that he wasn't being 100% forthcoming. He'd been utterly determined to protect his friends.
Her mind swirled in an endless mass of what ifs and whys. Why hadn't she ordered a DNA verifications? Why didn't she see the possibility earlier? What group, or who was responsible for the attack?
The only stray bit of light in the whole macabre turn of events was that she now, at least, had a catalyst for Paul's abnormal behavior in the past few months. Part of her wanted to saunter into his office and pull the answers she wanted from him - using whatever wiles she needed. But she wouldn't allow herself the pleasure - the consequences far outweighed the potential gain.
Instead, she signaled for her car and guards grabbed her coat and exited her office.
Walking through the halls, her eyes instinctively sought and absorbed the actions, stances, and reactions of all she passed. As she passed the comm area, she stopped and momentarily studied Birkoff. He swivelled his chair between his two workstations – hard at work. In casual observation, he was the same as always. Madeline could see the differences though – the straighter shoulders, the reserve, the strength – all born of grief and determination. There was steel in his disposition now and an undaunted inner fire. Both of which he had gained from Nikita – from her example and her friendship. As Madeline watched him, she looked for signs of the weight he bore on his shoulders – a weight seemingly borne alone now. The weight of knowing exactly how badly they had failed Nikita – failed their family. She would watch him closely – this time she would be there to catch him before he fell.
Resigned, she turned back towards egress. As she walked by Walter's station, she noticed the gate was back up and she could hear him whistling as he bent over his workstation. He looked up at her, as if feeling her stare and smiled faintly, then returned to his work. She continued walking, mentally filing away his perplexing behavior.
Once she reached the egress point, she slipped through the limo door helped open by a black leather clad operative and sunk back into her seat. She allowed the smooth motion of the car as it pulled away to lull her, to ease away some of the tension that knotted at the base of her neck.
The dusk light broke through the darkened windows of the limo cabin and Madeline turned to watch the other cars as they passed by her. Absently she wondered if any of those people were even remotely aware of went on daily to keep their world as remotely safe as it was. She felt the gentle slowing of her car and watched as it drew to a halt in the midst of traffic. Scanning the area around her car she realized that they were beside a park she had never visited, but that she had seen frequently in the surveillance logs. Nikita had come here often.
Using the intercom on the center panel, she told her driver to pull over to the park. Stepping out of the limo, she gathered her coat around her and looked around - absorbing the sites and sounds of the life.
Light from the setting sun reflected of the ice on the tree branches and into her eyes. Opening her purse to retrieve her sunglasses and gloves, she found instead the wire sculpture of Nikita's. Gently, she turned it over and around in her hands, feeling its edges and dimensions. As she gazed at the riot of colored wire, she felt the now familiar sense of loss before placing it back in the bag and pulling out the articles she originally sought.
Slowly, she walked around the edges of the park. It didn't take long for Madeline to understand why Nikita had frequented this place. There was a peace and vitality to it that energized while it healed. She could hear the sounds of children laughing while they played a few feet away. And the light as it glimmered off the ice-covered trees lent the place a mythical feel. Time - the world - stopped here and it's ugliness vanquished. For a brief moment she could almost touch the vibrancy of the place – a vibrancy Nikita had embodied.
Madeline missed that ebullience. Some days it was easier to not notice the difference Nikita had brought to Section – the difference that had been lost with her – and to accept being a ghost instead of a shadow. Today however, the small inner voice she harbored deep within her railed against the burgeoning darkness that was resettling over Section. She didn't want to be a ghost – to as dead inside herself as she was to the world. Not now. Not when she had tasted life again. She could live as a shadow – for shadows lived in the light. She just didn't want to return to that cold living death.
Madeline stopped and willed the repulsive self-analysis from her mind. Her training section training once again kicking in. She didn't have time or the need to dwell on what would not be. She had to move on. Turning around, she walked steadily out of the park – away from the whimsical thoughts that had no place in her existence. She had no life of her own – only section. She was a ghost – a specter to haunt the dark underworld of the anti-terrorist organization. She had to accept that – again.
Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him. Michael. Sitting alone in the rapidly emptying park. His shoulders were slightly slumped and all the energy seemed drained from him. He looked truly like a shell – a body missing its soul. She could feel her heart catch – knowing full well that nothing would show to the outside world. As Madeline watched him, a single thought entered her head -What will happen when Michael finds out? She did not doubt that it would happen – someday.
She continued to watch Michael as he seemed to pull himself back from the emptiness her trained eye had revealed to her only moments earlier. She watched Michael as he rose from the park bench and left the park. Only to her trained eye, could Michael's dolorous behavior be seen. She knew that to anyone else he would appear as if nothing was even slightly wrong.
Again the thought invaded her mind, nagged at her – What will Michael do when he finds out? What will any of his team members do? She was fairly certain that they would lose Michael, either by his own hand, an accident in the field, or by cancellation. This situation was too like the one with Simone for it not to destroy him, and this time there would be no Nikita waiting to pull him back. Then there was the question of what Michael would do in his downward spiral. Would he lash out? Would he believe Section had abandoned Nikita the way we had abandoned Simone? Would he try to take Section with him?
Madeline wished more again that she had checked the DNA on the body they had believed was Nikita. She could have headed this whole situation off from the start. But she couldn't turn back time – even if she wanted to. It was time to move forward – time to make sure that her "family" healed and that no one threatened that.
Striding back to the car, she climbed in and told the driver to return her to Section. Her first goal – locate all files concerning Nikita's kidnapping and torture and truly destroy them this time. She would take no chance with Michael ever finding out any time soon. Then she would begin her campaign to track and erase L'huere Sanguine, and build in contingencies for when Michael did learn the truth.
Those bastards may have dimmed the light that had shone briefly in Section – but she would be damned before she would allow it to be extinguished. A cruel smile curled across Madeline's face as she thought of her first encounter with L'huere Sanguine's new ringleader. Sometimes Madeline really liked the Golden Rule - especially when she was the one returning the favor!
*************
Walter strolled down the hallways of the private hospital. A small black dufflebag swung behind him matching his buoyant swagger. The changes he had witnessed in Nikita in the last week amazed him. At first she had been listless, not quite conscious and then she had slowly pulled herself back. Enough so that she was complaining about her hospital gown – she hated it. He had come in one yesterday and been presented with a list of things she wanted. All of which made him laugh.
Slowing his pace, he pushed open the now familiar door. He stopped in the doorway momentarily to take in Nikita's appearance. She looked like hellish. The white hospital gown she wore only seemed to exaggerate how pallidness of her complection. Her hair, which had thinned considerable due to her malnutrition, hung insipidly and sparsely about her face as she ate slowly from the bowl in front of her. Taking a fortifying breath, he straightened and breezed through the doorway. "Good Morning Sugar!"
"Walter!"
Nikita's enthusiastic response always caught him square in the chest. He was very aware of the battle she was waging against a whole slew of emotional maladies but she never failed to at least try to portray a positive attitude. All of this made him even more determined than ever to kept up a good face for her. He knew he wasn't really fooling her anymore than she was fooling him, but he knew it helped both get through.
"You're just in time. Hope you brought lunch" She said gesturing to the tray in front of her with a shaky hand. "I don't think you want to any of this – it's positively awful!"
Walter laughed, as another thrill went through him – the doctors had told him the next step in Nikita's recovery was to start her on bland liquids to slowly adjusted her body to processing food again. His Sugar was one step closer to recovering – one step further out of the looming shadow of cancellation.
"Sure did Sugar – as well as some of the articles you requested." Reaching into the dufflebag, Walter withdrew a black tee-shirt, "this one courtesy of a certain Level 5 Op – unknowingly of course. You'd better appreciate this, too, cause if he finds out I took it - there will be hell to pay."
Nikita extended a emaciated hand and took the shirt from him, then hugged it to her chest, inhaling deeply as if trying to capture an illusive scent. Walter saw the flicker of pain that crossed her face and the tears spring to her eyes. The same emotional stab he saw every time he mentioned Michael. "Hej now Sugar. None of that. You're getting better everyday. This'll all be over soon."
She looked him square in the eye and for a minute he didn't think she really believed him. "Yeah, right Walter." She said, plastering her best fake but bright smile on her face. He knew she was hiding her pain and doubt, but he also knew he couldn't help her yet. It was still her battle to fight.
Reaching into the bag again, he pulled out a folded picture frame. Opening it first, he then presented the pictures to her. She took it gingerly, and balanced it in her lap with her free hand. Carefully, she ran her finger across the images.
"I, ah, had copies made of some of Linda ??'s pictures. The one of you an Michael is from the 4th of July."
Nikita greeted his comment by looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Her expression clearly stating that the one thing she hadn't lost was her memories of Michael. "And the other, Walter? This was taken at the beach, but whe. . . "
Her voice trailed off as she realized when the picture must have been taken. Coming around the bed so that he could sit beside her, he looked at the picture of himself with Birkoff and Michael at the beach house. They were sitting on the deck, with the setting sun in the background. "That was taken the night before we had to return to Section Headquarters. You would have been so proud of them, Nikita. They, the whole team, really banded together and pulled each other through a lot of pain. They are going to be so happy to have you back!"
He could feel her body begin to tremble and knew she was crying. Gently, he pulled her to him, enfolding her in an embrace. "Shh, now, Sugar. It's going to be okay."
"Are you sure Walter? They are finally healing – getting on with there lives."
"Now you just stop that kinda talk. They love you Nikita – and they need you. Yes we are surviving with out you – and we would continue to survive with out you. But survivin' ain't livin. They need you. now no more of this talk! First- You need to eat, and then we are getting you out of this bed. All this immobility isn't good for you!"
The sound of a small chuckle emanating from Nikita chased away the niggling fears he had for her ability to fight the her depression and doubt.
"Okay you –eat. And I will tell you about Mr. Birkoff's newest woman problems – make that women problems."
Walter rambled on as Nikita ate. When she was finished the last of her soup, he give her the sweat suit she had asked for and call a nurse to help her dress. Then he would take her for a walk, certain that as she regained some of the physical strength, so would she regain some of her spirit.
Walter was certain – regardless of what doctors or statistics said – that everything was going to be just fine. It may be a bump road ahead – but it was all going to be just fine.