OK Are you ready? Are you sure? Here we go…

Michael stepped out of a back door of his apartment building. He'd parked his car beneath the building and only emerged to pick up dinner from the pub across the street. He thought of his own comfortable couch waiting for him upstairs, for a few hours he could shut his mind off and watch Sports Center. He wouldn't worry about what would happen to Lena or Birkhoff tonight. He'd been far too consumed in their little plot for his liking, and he was tired of it. He didn't really even understand why he cared. He cared what happened to Birkhoff, sure. They'd worked together for almost seven years, he had to watch out for the little computer geek. And if Birkhoff really had done all those things for Nikita and him then he owed him this one. But regardless, Birkhoff always watched his back on missions, the least Michael could do was watch out for him, just a little, when they were back at operations.

But it was more than that, why did he care what happened to Lena? The girl was nothing, she was just an agent, he'd crossed paths with a hundred rival intelligence agents during his time at Division. He didn't know what made this one stick in his mind. She was a good agent, he told himself and he could recognize real talent when he saw it. She fought well the first time he met her and she was certainly more skilled with explosives than he was. But he'd never admit that out loud.

For a few minutes he thought he must be noticing her because under different circumstances she would be an acceptable Division recruit. But the more he thought about that he decided she wasn't a good recruit at all. Division went after the morally bankrupt. Division recruits were at the end of their rope and would do anything to stay alive. Even now Lena didn't fit that profile, there was a quiet confidence in her that told him she wasn't beaten yet.

She'd also managed to find a trump card where most thought none existed. For now she held Percy's hand, he couldn't cancel her until he figured out if the black boxes she possessed would upload or not.

He forced himself to push the girl out of his mind and pulled out his phone to check his email. He hadn't made it more than a few steps before he heard footsteps nearby.

"Michael." A clear voice called ahead of him. He instinctually drew his gun and pointed in the direction of the voice. Nikita confidently stepped out from the shadows about thirty feet in front of him.

"Come to turn yourself in?" Michael called

"Oh, Michael, come on now, no one in this alley wants that." Nikita said sweetly "I can't come and say hello?"

"I have something you want." He said quietly. "I knew you'd show up sooner or later."

"I don't think I'm that predictable." Nikita said with a coy smile.

"So you're not here to negotiate for Lena Ross?" He questioned sarcastically as he took a few slow steps toward her.

Nikita rolled her eyes slightly but didn't argue. "Percy set a trap and he caught the wrong girl. It's me he wants."

"Are you saying you'll trade places with her?" He asked lowering his gun slightly

"Be serious Michael." Nikita answered. "But she hasn't done anything wrong. You're executing an innocent kid."

"Why does everyone keep saying that!" Michael growled. "She is not innocent, and she's not a child! She knew what she was getting into."

"She was a lookout! That's all Michael!" Nikita argued "You can't have enough evidence to hold her."

"I don't need evidence." Michael snapped.

"So you're following the Division way now? Don't ask the questions just clean her!"

"I'm not holding her because of the one mission we know she had with you." He taunted. "Division wants their black boxes back."

"What?" Nikita asked curiously.

"Bring them to me, and maybe we can talk." Michael said but Nikita showed no sign of understanding. "Don't act like you didn't know," He said. "I know the truth. That's why you teamed up with her, you're trying to destroy the black boxes and you found someone to do your legwork."

"No." Nikita said cautiously "I join-" But Michael broke her off.

"You know what I can't believe is that you've been planning this for so long, you had her working on these boxes for years before you ever showed your face. You are just like Amanda, a master puppeteer."

"No," Nikita whispered as she tried to sort out what he was saying, "You're mistaken Michael."

"Am I?" He asked angrily. "How?"

"I've only known Lena a few months. How long have you been tracking her?"

Michael shook his head back and forth as he decided whether or not to answer her. "Two years."

"Then you were tracking her long before I met her." She said. "I didn't know anything about black boxes."

"So you knew Division was looking for her?"

"It was a possibility." Nikita answered truthfully, "She was a freelance agent. I knew that much."

"Freelance for whom?"

"I don't know…" Nikita answered "Contracts… I guessed. But I really know. I ruled out Division and Gogle, maybe CIA? MI-6? Interpol? I really didn't dwell on it."

"And you just joined up with an operative of unknown origin. That's sloppy Nikita… You're lying."

"I don't need to explain my reasons to you!" Nikita argued.

Off to Michael's right a man opened a back door and tossed a bag of garbage out into the ally. Nikita quickly hid behind a dumpster and Michael concealed his weapon at his side. As the door shut again behind the worker, Nikita reappeared from beside the dumpster.

"Ok, here's what I don't get." Michael said crossly as he turned again to face Nikita. "There's no motive. She seeks out black boxes, goes through significant time and resources to procure them, and doesn't do anything with the contents." Nikita stayed quiet she let Michael finish his thought. "Is she waiting till she has the entire set to sell?"

"I don't think she's after the black boxes." Nikita interjected.

"Then what is she after?" Michael barked. "Cause Percy is going to cancel her and I don't even know what got her in this mess in the first place?"

Nikita drew in a sharp breath when Michael mentioned cancellation. "Why do you care?" Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head at her dismissively. He started to walk away. "No," Nikita said, and Michael stopped. "I know its your job. It is your task to investigate, and you are always thorough. But… this isn't the first time Division's acted on less than solid evidence. Why do you care this time?"

"I…" Michael began but paused. "I don't know." He said finally. "I've already said too much." He started to walk away from Nikita again but like before Nikita spoke and he stopped.

"She told me, that Division took her family from her twelve years ago. They were targets."

"Revenge." Michael said as he secured his gun beneath his jacket. "figures, you are both after the same thing."

"No, Michael. Its not revenge, its justice." Nikita argued. "And she just wanted to get back a piece of what they took from her."

"Attacking Division won't bring her family back." Michael said

"I know." Nikita said. "I'm just repeating what she told me." They stood in silence for a few moments. "She did ask me to do something." Nikita said quietly, she looked unsure of herself as she held out a small white box to Michael. "She asked me to give you this."

Michael took the box and flipped it around in his hand. He opened it to found a set of car keys, keys to a jeep. "What is this?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'm only the courier." She answered.

"This doesn't change anything, I can't help you." he held the keys back out to Nikita.

She shook her head. "No, keep them."

He stuffed the key ring in his pocket. "I should go." He said quietly. "You should walk away from all this…" he said changing the subject.

He glanced over at Nikita and saw her eyes welling up with tears. "you know we should be on the same side." She said "Come with me?"

"You chose your path." he said quietly

"You would have done the same." she said. "If it was Division that killed Elizabeth, you never would have stayed."

"That's not what I meant."

Nikita looked back at him she let one tear start to fall. "I didn't know what else to do." She said "It just happened..." she began but he held up his hand to stop her.

With his other hand he fiddled with the keys in his pocket nervously. He took a few deep breaths without looking at her then finally turned back to her. "That was a long time ago." he said, but Nikita knew it wasn't true, Michael still felt the pain as though it was yesterday. "you're on your own with Lena. I won't help you."

"Is this about me or her? You won't help me or you won't help her?" Nikita shouted as Michael walked away.

He watched the screen of the tablet computer while he put the Kevlar vest on under his shirt then stuffed another one into his bag. When he was finished he put an ear bud back in and leaned the tablet against the desk top he was hacking. He hated to hear her scream. In all the beatings that Roan gave her she never screamed like this. It wasn't a scream of pain, he was fairly sure with the amount of serum Amanda gave her she couldn't feel much pain, it was fear. She was so confused; Amanda had her messed up beyond anything he was accustomed to seeing in Division. He hoped that soon Amanda would just give up, but that would go against everything he'd ever known about Amanda. But if Claire wouldn't give her what she wanted after this much persuasion she just wouldn't give.

He flipped to another window on the tablet the team of division agents that were stationed outside the door, he needed a way to get past the four of them, if he could do that then shooting Amanda wouldn't be a problem.

Then he turned his attention back to the desktop in front of him. He pushed a thumb drive into the USB port and began to type as fast as he could, but hearing Claire's screams in his ear slowed him down. He forced himself not to look at the tablet until he had the computer cracked, finally after what seemed like a life time a tiny window opened in the middle of the screen that said "Transfer documents to…." He typed in the location and watched as the little icon turned into a percentage of documents that were transferred.

He allowed himself to look back at the tablet.

"How did you get the first box, Claire?" he heard Amanda ask her.

"I'll never tell!" squeeked Claire as she tried to pull her legs out of the restraints. "Go to hell!" She said as loudly as she could yet it was still barely audible to Birkhoff.

"It was clever." Amanda said. "You're a smart girl, I want to know how you pulled off such a daring feat?" Her voice was cloaked with a false kindness. Even Birkhoff knew the tactics used with the serum, it hindered the patient's ability to tell friend from foe, lie from truth, so if you could gain the patient's trust, they would, in theory, spill all their secrets.

"No." Claire whispered.

"Be a good girl," Amanda coaxed. "Tell me how you got the box in South Africa." Birkhoff saw Amanda reach up to the IV and increase the flow.

"No, Don't!" Squeeked Claire before she started screaming again.

"Claire, how did you get the box in South Africa." Amanda repeated.

"I…." she began. "I worked there…" She whispered "you brought it to me."

"What did you do there?"

"Security… I.. consulted."

"Where is that box now?" Amanda asked.

"Please," Claire begged but Amanda only reached up for the IV, "CIA. My handler." She whispered.

"Good. That wasn't so difficult." Amanda said "And, the name of your handler?"

"I don't know…" she whimpered. "Please make it stop!"

"It will stop when you finish my questions." Amanda said calmly.

Claire looked back at her with fierce but glassy eyes, she spit in Amanda's face. Amanda wasted no time in giving her a powerful backhand across her still bruised and swollen face.

"Your handler." Amanda said firmly.

"Forester." She finally said. "Its not… his real name."

"And what is his real name?" Amanda questioned again.

"I don't know." Claire whispered.

Amanda decided to let it drop "the second box?" "Where is the second box?" Claire looked away as she started to cry again.

"I don't know." She whimpered

"Oh, I think you do." Amanda said quietly. Amanda reached up and changed the dose on the IV again.

"Please, stop." Claire cried

"Where is the box?"

"Safe deposit box." Claire whispered. "Geneva."

"and is that box rigged to upload to news servers if you die?"

Claire was now shaking uncontrollably as she tried to stay quiet but Amanda repeated the question before pulling taser from her pocket. She jabbed it into Claire's arm and the girl on the bed let out another scream. Amanda increased the flow on the IV again and repeated the question. This time to Birkhoff's horror she answered.

"no." she whimpered.

He watched as Amanda reached up on the IV and presumably stopped the flow. She then turned and walked slowly out of the room. When she was just outside the room she reached into her pocket and removed her phone.

A beep alerted Birkhoff that the transfer was complete and he pulled the thumb drive from the computer and stashed it in his bag. Curiosity got the best of him, he wanted to know exactly what Amanda had sent from her phone. Then he turned back to the desktop and opened the owner's email, the sent folder.

Clean room b17.

~Amanda

Sent from my blackberry

"I have a pick-up order." he said to the bartender as he glanced around the restaurant, Nikita hadn't followed him inside.

"Yea, sure. I'll be with you in just a minute." the bartender said as he began to mix drinks for the two women a few seats down." Michael sat down and focused his attention to the tv screens above the bar even though he wasn't really watching.

He suddenly felt exhausted, he wished he'd just gone up to his apartment when he got home. He hated running into Nikita, it didn't really matter of it was during a mission or just out the street like today. He just couldn't stay detached. Birkhoff was right of course, he would never pull the trigger but he knew someday, someone in his team would, and that would be the end. He wished she would just walk away like he'd told her to, but he knew that wouldn't happen.

"Matt right?" the bartender asked suddenly jarring Michael out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he answered, it was the cover name he always used at this restaurant. He was a fairly regular take out customer. Michael didn't like to have a predictable routine, he rotated coffee shops, grocery stores, and gas stations but being that this restaurant was so close to his condo he stopped in to pick food up more often than was wise.

Because he came in frequently the bartender was one of the few people in the world who would attempt to engage him in small talk. "Kitchen says its gonna be another 5 min, sorry man. We got a big party in and were running a little behind."

"it's fine." Michael said and he focused his attention back on the tv.

"hey I can ring you up now if you want."

"sure," Michael said, he dug in his pockets and found a twenty dollar bill hidden in one of his coat pockets. He handed it to the bartender without looking away from the television. He heard the change click on the bar in front of him but he didn't move to put it away. A few seconds later the bartender was talking again.

"damn Cutler..." he swore "so fucking over rated." he spat. Michael only then noticed that ESPN was running a story on the Chicago Bears quarterback, Jay Cutler. He had left the game that week with yet another disappointing injury. "If he could actually make it through a game we'd have a shot at the Division."

"I don't think it's our year." Michael added.

"You might be right... At least your Sox did alright this year." he said off handedly. "Not that I really care, I'm a Cubs fan." he added. He stepped off to the side of the bar to get two beers for one of the servers and he left Michael wondering how the man knew he was a White Sox fan. Here in New York it wasn't a logical conclusion. He was sure he'd never mentioned it in here before and he was fairly sure he'd never discussed Chicago sports with the bartender.

"do you think you'll be able to keep Buehrle after this year?"

"I...I don't know. I guess it depends how much they want to spend."

"they're talking like he might go to the Nationals." the bartender said, and Michael watched the little round man as he went about his work still spouting on about baseball. "now.. As for the Cubs, we need anything we can get our hands on." The bartender laughed. "some decent pitching, if we could grab a big bat in the free agent market I think we could compete next year..."

"I'm sorry..." Michael interrupted. "but how did you know I was a Sox fan?"

"I'm CIA." he said seriously, then laughed out loud, "nah, I'm just messing with you man, your keychain." he said as he gestured to the set of keys that sat in front of Michael on the bar, the set that Nikita had given him. He must have removed them when he got the cash out of the same pocket.

"So'd you grow up in Chicago?"

"yeah," Michael said distractedly, he turned the keys over and over in his hand. There was something... familiar about the way they felt in his hand. "Evanston…"

"you're foods up." the bartender said but Michael didn't hear him.

A key to a jeep, two house keys, and a battered White Sox key chain. Just like the keychain he got for his sixteenth birthday from his sister, it came with the keys to his first car, a hunter green Jeep Cherokee.

"Matt?" the bartender asked again. "you ok man?"

These were the keys to his jeep. The first house key was the key to his parent's house in Evanston, and the second house key was a key to Elizabeth's apartment downtown. He hadn't seen this set of keys in... Twelve years, Claire stole them before he left for Germany. She died... She died before he came home.

He jumped up from the barstool and barreled out of the restaurant with only the keys in his hand.

He reached the ally, his mind was stuck on what he contained in his hand. He couldn't think of anything beyond the three keys he held. "Nikita!" he heard his voice break as he tugged on the collar of his button down shirt. He could feel his throat closing in tighter and tighter until he found himself gripping the dumpster trying to breathe.

He remembered the face of the little girl he hadn't thought of in years, he remembered her eyes, the way they used to pierce into him whenever he tried to tell her "no." She had the most expressive eyes, he used to melt every time.

He remembered the look on Claire's face the day she'd stolen the keys, the last time he'd seen her. She was so determined not to say a word, just like the woman he'd interrogated only a few days ago. If only he'd been looking he would have seen the resemblance. Now that he knew, it was so clear. Her face, her eyes, her voice, the way she moved, the way he instinctually wanted to smack Birkoff when he said she was "hot". It all fit now. It was in front of his face all along, why hadn't he been looking?

He finally pulled in a few good breaths and he set off back down the alley. He shuffled through the memories of his sister and the thoughts that were bombarding his mind making it difficult to think clearly. Then one thought forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

Nikita had said 'She just wanted to get back a piece of what they took from her.' He'd argued that attacking Division wouldn't bring her family back. He stopped walking and grabbed the drain pipe next to him for support.

She didn't want the black boxes… it was never about them. She was after him.

My God, he thought What have I done?

Ok, how did I do? No, the story is not done, but I know there have been some people anxiously awaiting this chapter.

Thanks for reading! Please Review!