Note: The tracker implanted surgically in the spinal column does not exist in this story, though Alex is promoted.

I want to thank you all for your time in reading and reviewing this story, and especially for not giving up on it! I apologize for such a delayed update, but school and other things have proved to be quite troublesome and time-consuming.

Chapter 3 (unedited)

Michel, in all honestly, had no idea who to expect. He was well aware of the risk of exposure, because this could be a trap for all he knows. Anyhow, it was news regarding Nikita, or it could even be her in person! Whatever it was, he was not going to risk losing any information that could relate to her whereabouts. He just wished Nikita could be in his arms right now. He thought about her day and night, and when he didn't, he felt like he would start losing little details of her features. There were no photographs, just his memories, and that, he did not always trust.

He walked in front of a local coffee shop, one that was usually filled with people, even at this time. He scanned the area, looking for any danger and attempting to find someone suspicious. The morning area was chilly, but Michael did not feel its breeze. He was focused, like how he was trained to be. Not wanting to look too chary, he entered the shop, hoping the person was smart enough to find him. Dam, why hadn't he asked for a more specific location?

He approached the energized cashier over the counter. She wore a cap and an apron, both imprinted with the company's well-known logo. She greeted him jollily, which Michael was somewhat glad for.

"Good morning, Mister! What would you like to get?" she asked with a huge smile.

"An espresso is all," he replied.

The cashier continued to smile immensely as she turned around to prepare his order. Michael started to think about Nikita again, about her brave smile that never left even after the end. He wished numerous times that he were emotionless. It hurt too much too feel, and without her, it wasn't worth the pain. He would go through any pain for her.

The cashier returned with the black coffee, and as he turned around, a short figure, female to be exact, clad in a toque, a white scarf, and a trench coat addressed, "Good morning Michael."

He looked up, and was pleasantly surprised. In front of him stood Alex, whose charisma continually begot memories of Nikita. The two females looked nothing alike, of course. One was a maturing girl, and the other, a woman in her own right.

"Alex?"

"Yes, you've already forgotten who I was?" she asked sarcastically.

"I.. I don't understand," said Michael, mentally chastising himself for the slight stutter. To him, it was a sign of weakness that perceived him to be uninformed, "Why are you even here. Isn't Division tracking you?"

"Well for one thing, there's a reason why we're meeting at this hour," said Alex taking a sip of Michael's coffee, "Plus, since you left Division, it has been unorganized."

"Unorganized?"

"Its actually quite hectic. Percy is having difficulty in finding a field agent whom he can trust. I mean, he trusts Amanda and Birkoff, but they aren't, you know, field operators. Anyhow, I'm guessing you have more sophisticated questions for me other than what's happening inside the hell walls of Division," she explained casually, as if their discussion topic was nothing of importance.

"For a start, how did you get out of Division? Don't tell me they're trying to cancel you too." Michael said seriously, contradicting to Alex's tone.

"You should know how easy it is to make the cancel list. No, I haven't been discovered for anything treasonous yet. I've actually been promoted to field agent. Life is somewhat more free."

Michael was relieved. Though he should be suspicious of Alex, his instincts convinced him otherwise. Somehow, he felt a cordial aura around her. Maybe it was because of her resemblance to Nikita that was sidetracking him, but for now, he would have to pose more questions.

"Even then, Division should be tracking you."

"I know. The tracker is in my hip. Ni…" Alex stalled, feeling the pain of her loss, "She helped me set up the program to redirect my location."

Michael looked at her warily, and asked, "Who helped you set up the program?"

"Who do you think, Michael? I'm sure we're talking about the same person here."

"No, I need to hear it."

"Nikita helped me," she said with a smile, "She helped me even after saving me."

Michael felt the tears welling up at the brim of his eyes. Damn it! Why can't he control his emotions when it comes to Nikita, he cursed himself, forcing himself to be obedient when it came to this topic.

"Tell me more. I want to know everything, please."

So she did. Nikita deserved to have the bit of her legacy passed down. She told Michael most of everything, starting with a general idea of her past, the hellhole she was stuck in, and an early demise that would have came if Nikita hadn't entered her life. She told him about the interesting evidences that led her to believe in any existing loving feelings Nikita had for Michael, those in which eventually led to a confrontation.

On one rainy night, Alex was spending time with Nikita in the loft, chatting nonchalantly about the normalcy of a civilian life. Of course, being the great mentor she was, Nikita repeatedly warned her about human attachment without sounding too naggy.

"Did it happen to you when you were still in Division?" asked Alex curiously.

Nikita smirked and replied, "Lets just say it's not always in your control."

Alex had remembered the previous times Nikita would ask about Michael's opinions or comments towards her, as if they were of great importance. Usually, she didn't care about what people would say about her – murderer, traitor, deceptive bitch, and the list goes on. She was accustomed to it all, and even furtively enjoyed the titles. This made Alex question Nikita's intent on knowing. Nikita picked up Alex's glass, and walked to the table to refill it with more almond milk.

"So what does Michael have to do with all of this?"

At her question, Nikita seemed somewhat surprised. Alex observed her closely as she looked up and subtly ceased pouring the opaque drink. Nikita was quite like it, opaque. There was so much no one knew about her, as if a curtain cut her past and her present. A few seconds late, her face etched up delicately due to a smile, her famous smile. She finished pouring the drink.

Alex continued with an iota of nervousness, "I've just realized your enthusiasm to know the things he says about you."

"We all fall in love at one time or another."

Michael listened to Alex's recollection keenly, all of which made him miss Nikita more than it was possible to. He felt like a coward, because it was he who was unable to admit his feelings for her, which gave him all the reason to comply to Percy's commands. Oh how he despised that man, and himself.

"I miss her so much," Michael said unconsciously, before he had control over them. At this point, he didn't care enough to attempt to hide his words. He felt as if Alex was the only one who could trust at this point. There was no one else but him and her.

"You owe me an explanation," said Alex without being to demanding, "What happened that night? I contacted you and came here, risking it all. But its Nikita, you know, and I can't just let this go. I've already lost everything. I can lose everything, just not her."

Michael looked her in the eye and saw her eyes starting to well with tears. This somehow made him frighten with guilt. He took a deep breath and told her the tragedy, one he was well prepared to reverse.

"… and then she fell," he said as he finished. By he time, Alex's tears fell. She quickly grabbed the napkin and dabbed off the wet spots on her flushed face. He could see she was trying to be strong.

He continued, "I want you to be reassured that I shot her near her should and arm, away from anywhere that would cause immediate life-threatening effects. I want her to live. She's strong; I know she's alive. I just haven't found her yet…"

Alex cried when she heard him voice the words "shot her". But even then, she had hopes. She knew Nikita was a fighter, a renowned survivor, "We have to find her."

"We will. I haven't found her body, and I'm sure neither has Division."

"They haven't found anything, but we can tell Percy is nerve-racked too, though he's trying to hide it. He's taking the great pride in ridding her off the world, at least that's what he is showing," said Alex attempting to contribute anything that would be of assistance.

"There is no body yet, which means she's alive somewhere…"

Before he could finish, Alex interceded, "unless the sea washed her away."

Michael looked down in reproach at himself, "…unless the sea washed her away." But he remembered the surprisingly calm sea that day, as if even the force of nature willed her to live.

He continued, "Regardless, I'm not giving up. This might sound unbelievable and unnatural to you, but its like I can feel her. I can still feel her even though she's not right here with me at this moment. Even before, when I was sent to kill her, I had this connection, or a special intuition of some sort."

Somehow, what he said seemed to have made Alex a tad bit more upset, perhaps even a hint of jealousy. He dismissed it and waited for a word from her acknowledging his frail conviction.

"So what happens from this point on?"

"We work together and we believe."

"Believe?" Alex spoke with a strong thrust of frustration, "What is it with everyone telling people with no hope to believe? Is it supposed to give them the feeling of accomplishment, of holiness? Don't tell me to believe, I'm tired. All my life, Nikita has been telling me to believe, but yet, we still haven't prevailed. And now she's gone! She's gone, how does she want me to believe?"

At this point Alex was angry, but her tears rained profusely. This was starting to gain the attention of nearby customers.

She continued, "She's gone, and I miss her. I miss her, I want her back."

Michael realized the stares from the other tables and so he quickly spoke to calm her down, "Alex, its us against them in finding Nikita. She's alive. You believe for her and with her. For her, you understand? I got someone else in Division who is offering me some help."

Alex nodded absent-mindedly, "I'll keep using the shell program to contact you when I'm in Division. When I'm outside it, I'll use disposable phones from alternating carriers."

Michael quickly scribbled a number on the napkin and handed it to her, "We should leave now. It has been a while and people are starting to stare. Look, we're in this together. You're not alone. I'll be in touch."

Oddly enough, what he said in attempt to comfort her seemed to be having a more relieving effect on himself instead. It was time to throw Division off its course once and for all.

Somewhere in a remote land, a Caucasian man with blonde hair brought a clean towel and a bucket of water into the small bedroom. The house was generally small, but that was what the man liked about it. It was hidden well from anyone's sight, a perfect place to hide. Speaking of which, the small house hide many, many disclosed items and intel.

He entered the bedroom slowly. The cozy bedroom didn't consist of many things. In fact, it lacked many electronics that were considered essential to many modern people. There was a king-sized bed in the middle facing a 40" inch television that wasn't connected to a cable. There was no phone, no radio. The light beige curtains, which were chosen to match the white walls, were drawn to prevent a viewing from the outside… and also from the inside.

In the middle lay a slim woman, who was now nothing but a shell of a human being. She was once heavily surrounded by medical equipments, such as defibrillators and respirators. Now, her condition has improved, but she was still broken. He praised himself for doing a fine job for someone who had limited medical expertise. Her head was still wrapped in gauze, and so were her torso and arms. Intravenous linings and an oxygen mask were attached to her, keeping her alive. She was pale from blood loss and malnutrition. She hasn't gained consciousness since the day he rescued her. He wants her to wake up, but he doesn't want her to remember.

The man put the bucket on the bedside table, opposite of the other that held a lamp and more gauze. He rinsed the towel and starting wiping her arms. For the past six months, he was here for her everyday, every moment. He concentrated on almost nothing except her. He disturbingly enjoyed this. Yes, she was immobile and unconscious, but this allowed him to be by her side, and moreover, it had made her need him. This situation calmed his, as one may call, sick obsession for her. It wasn't just a sexual pull; it was emotional too. They had their adventures together, none of which he will soon forget. He continued wiping meticulously and softly, and at the same time, feeling her skin. She was clad in a black-laced bra with matching panties and sweatpants. This was for convenience in changing her bandages when need be. He proceeded to wiping her chest, then stomach. He missed her smile, her attitude, her love, everything about her. He ran a hand over her abs, the crease of her breast, and finally laid it on her chest, feeling it rise and fall. It assured him that she was still alive. After wiping her, he carefully lifted her upper body and moved behind her so that she was situated between his legs. He wrapped his arms around, being careful that it was not too constricting. He placed his chin on top of her head and held her close. He closed his eyes, enjoying the ignorant bliss. He well knows this won't last forever, but continues to wonder how things would change when she awakens from her slumber and how things would remain if she doesn't. He savors the bliss his ignorance gives. At this moment, he isn't sure what to wish for anymore.