Note: Sorry for not updating for such a long time. I had a chapter written, but my computer had to be reformatted and I was stupid enough to not back the file up beforehand. Thank you to those who stuck by this story and to those who took your precious time to review. That was so encouraging and motivating.

Thank-you! Hope you guys enjoy and please comment on any mistakes.

Chapter 7

"Who are you?" was the question Nikita had asked just mere seconds ago, but they seemed to have forced Michael in an internal trance. What do those words even mean anymore? Perhaps Nikita was playing or even testing him, or maybe she was attempting to pass a coded message for no apparent reason. Michael felt more lost than Nikita even though she is the one suffering from amnesia. Toying with a man's emotions was no game.

Michael, after finally finding his composure, stuttered, "Its… Its me. Michael."

Who are you was a familiar question that they had came across once upon a time.

"Who are you?"

"Its me, Nikita," she replied softly, resisting her handler.

During Mission Euphoria, Michael had been injured when a rookie recruit, haunted by his past and suffering from panic disorder, made a grave mistake by firing upon seeing a figure approach him. Their mission was very simple, so simple that it could be seen as an assessment: the agents simply had to gain control of the perimeter and to seize $6million worth of meth, and to eliminate any personnel involved. Percy wanted to make an impression on the government to gain favor and hopefully more funding as well. Stark, the rookie, had panicked and opened fire, when it was only Michael moving towards his post. Fortunately, the mission remained to be a success.

Michael was shot on his arm. Luckily, it was a minor wound so he would be make a full recovery in no time. He stirred from his slumber and slowly opening his eyes. The infirmary was too bright for his sensitive eyes, but he felt a presence near him, propping a pillow behind him as he tried to sit up. His left arm was rendered useless for this time period.

"Nikita?" pondered Michael aloud, surprised she was here caring for him, especially with the risks posed by Percy and Amanda.

"I thought you were shot in the arm, not in the head," she teased, "Did you forget me already?"

Never. Michael had thought to himself. Now, thinking back to that day, he recognized the irony. As he felt his heart gradually and painfully break, he wanted to cry. But he didn't want to just for pain, but for failing to appreciate Nikita's ways of showing her love for him, until the day she died for him.

His reminiscence continued to remind him of that day he pushed her away.

"Nikita, what are you doing here?" he demanded trying to keep his voice controlled and quiet. Allowing any witness would impede dire consequences for the two of them. He would lose his reputation and even his position among Division. More importantly, he would lose any chance of seeking revenge against Kaism, the bastard who killed his family in cold blood without regret or guilt. Just a mere thought about that traitor only angered him more.

"Relax. I'm just visiting a friend," she defended with that famous smile of her's, the smile that could be both genuine and a lie.

"You think this is a game, don't you?" he asked angrily.

"Michael, I…"

Beore she could finish, he persisted, "Well this isn't. Stop acting so foolish and immature. This isn't a game!"

"I never…" And again she was not allowed to finish saying what she wanted to.

"If you want to play around, then fine. Just don't include me in your games. Unlike you, there are people who want to change, people who want to make this world a better place."

"Make this world a better place by murdering and sacrificing others? Oh I certainly see the difference," she said with sarcasm.

"Whatever, Nikita. I don't have to explain myself to you. What do you know anyways? I don't expect someone like you to understand anything," he said rudely avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, what could someone like me possibly understand?" she wondered aloud. Listening to what she said, Michael instantly felt a strong punch of guilt. He knew how she ended up in Division; saying that to her was completely and inexcusably low and insensitive. He wanted to openly take his words back, but he was unable o find his voice. It was his sane mind screaming at him to keep his distance. Allowing himself to fall for her may result in a fatal ending, one of which may include a missed chance at revenge. A simple misdemeanor conduct report listing a relationship with a recruit could impact Percy's perspective of him, which was a definite no no.

Michael remained unmoved and quiet, avoiding eye contact at all cost. He would break if he looked in her pool of goodness.

Sensing his reluctance to speak to her, she finally decided to leave him in peace. She prepared him a cup of water and placed it on his bedside table.

"Get well soon, Michael," she said as she carefully put her arm on his uninjured arm. She gave him and encouraging and knowingly comforting squeeze. God dammit, she had her smile on her face again. It haunted him night and day. How can something with that beauty cause him so much grief?

With that said, she strode away without a glimpse back, Michael was relieved, but also bereaved. Is this what they would consider unrequited love?

At that time, Michael was only surrounded by his hatred for Kaism, or so he thought. It was only after that incident did he admit the fact that Nikita, unbeknownst to her, had infiltrated his defences against anything involving emotions – maybe even love.

She stared into his eyes with a pain-stricken expression, scrambling her soul for even the weakest essence of him. Her stare burned through his very flesh, leaving exposed and bare. He was nervous, but not from guilt, but from wishing with every fiber of his existence that she will remember him. His dysphoric state made him vulnerable, something he was trained to never be. It was unusual, unacceptable, and punishable. Without her, existence would be meaningless and mundane. Life would be nothing more than a chore; a hell-hole, sinister and dark, something tat brought only devils and demons. She could take what she wished and do what she pleased to him as long as she is by his side.

All in the while, Owen was standing idly by, watching the procession of their disgusting soul-searching and the progression of a rekindled love interest, and thinking what the fuck was he doing standing here. He should make good use of himself by stopping the son of a bitch from ruining his plans. The life he wanted so desperately had yet to begin, but Michael is a parasite that is unable to let go of the past and of the woman whom he loves, whom they both love. There can only be one winner and the prize was his for the taking.

"Nikita, I think you need your rest," Owen voiced with concern, his eye twitching from anxiety, an action resembling an old witch waiting for the princess to bite the poison apple, "You don't have to worry about this until later."

Preposterous! How dare he even say that? Not remembering leaves her vulnerable and opened to their enemies. What if Division, by any chance, shows up? Who knew what that monster will do to her, cause it sure ain't going to be serving her sweet cake.

"Owen, what are you try..."

Before he could finish, Owen interceded insistently, "Nikita, you need your rest."

Nikita was frozen. Her mind was completely preoccupied with solving the mystery as to who this man was to her. He spoke as if he knew her, and his tone screamed out, calling for her, telling her that they were once more than just accomplices, more than just friends, and possibly even more than just lovers. Vivid images of his face, his limbs touching her, his lips attacking her, his smell filling her, his everything fulfilling her, harassed her like a Blitzkrieg. Owen's voice was barely a whisper to her. The wind blew it away like it was dust, unwanted and pestering.

Michael didn't comprehend why Owen was acting this way. He seemed controlling and unwilling to permit a reunion. He claimed Nikita need rest… well, she actually does, after suffering so damn much. Michael was much relieved and happy, especially knowing that he had never given up on her, nor did he ever give up his love for her. He felt an unceasing negative vibe from Owen. He assumed it was this ex-agent who had cared for Nikita when she was laying between life and death (regrettably it was not Michael who had). As much as h wanted to tell the man to fuck off, he had to admit that Owen deserved at least a simple 'thank-you'. If it wasn't for him, Nikita might no longer still be alive. Maybe he just had to have some faith.

His thoughts continued to remind him of that day he pushed her away.

Nikita closed her eyes, wishing the world would just stop. She saw him point a gun at her, then she saw him open fire- at her. Her head was pounding, on top of her other physical wounds. She saw the anguish on his face and felt her own smile, like it had just happened. She was beyond confused. Why the hell would she be smiling when she was being held at gun point by a man she thought she loved? That's just it. 'She loved', but that doesn't mean her feelings are reciprocated; that did not mean that he loved her too. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. Her legs lost their strength and she fell, one of her hands clasping frantically on to her head.

Owen and Michael immediately reacted, with Owen practically diving towards her. Owen, who was standing closer, naturally was the first to assist her.

"Stay back!" he ordered sternly, hand raised and stuck out to signal stop.

On the contrary, Nikita hoped Michael would not back away. Despite seeing those horrific images, her heart continued to doubt any possible danger he might pose. Based on this faith, she decided to do something reckless. Dear God help her.

"I remember," Nikita said softly, "I remember everything."

At that moment, her voice was like a portal that transported you through a line of frames that toured around her weaknesses. So transient, yet so heartfelt. It was all the more emotional and sentimental knowing that this kind of even almost never happened.

"What?" asked an awestruck Owen, disrupting Michael's thoughts, his eyes wide with terror. This wasn't supposed to happen yet, not until he had successfully gained her trust and affection.

Nikita, offended by his surprise, asked, "You make it sound like it's a bad thing that my memories returned."

"No… no, that wasn't what I was implying," replied Owen stuttering from attempting to cover his anxiety. His mind scrambled with plans to fix everything. He needed a plan, a plan was all he needed, he thoughts to himself sounding like a communist.

Nikita, with great effort, lifted herself from the ground, pushing herself away from the stiffened Owen. Michael ran to her, and caught her before she lost her remaining strength.

They were catching on to Owen's insidious intent, thought they have yet to discover why.

Nikita knew she had to choose her words cautiously if she wanted everything to work out. She was confident she was making the right choice when Michael held her up. That was not any ordinary support hold. It was something empowering. It was genuine, the exact same feeling his radiated when she caught a glimpse of them.

"Owen, back off. This isn't something you want to get caught up in," said Michael not knowing what exactly Owen wanted, except for the fact that it was related to Nikita. Maybe a bluff in this case would help matters.

"Owen, what is it that you need? I can help you the best I can," pleaded Nikita.

Michael was reminded of the entity of her inner beauty. He tried to understand why she would want to help the man. He was, after all, still in his bliss from hearing her words – "I remember".

"I can't, Michael, I can't just give up everything for your happy ending," Owen said in a monotonic voice, "You don't deserve her."

Nikita grinned trying to comprehend the situation. Perchance it was something she had that she could give him, something important else he would not have to resort to such brutal tactics.

Michael tightened his grip on her, letting her know that he was not going to let go. He had her close to him, just as he had the night he lost her.

"You're in no position to judge, Owen. What you're doing is wrong. You can't coerce people to do things that they don't want to… It is just as delusive as believing that one can for another to love him," said Nikita with confidence.

"Owen, whatever you're planning, give it up. We can help you get what you need," said Michael with a dire desperation for an end to all of this.

"Nikita, how could you say that to me after what we've been through together?" Owen said with spite. His face became slightly heated, frustrated that she didn't understand.

Shit, Nikita thought to herself. He was brining up the past, things that she would not be bold enough to confirm or deny.

"Owen, things may not have been what they seemed," she said with a sad tone, "Just let this end."

Michael was shocked. Did the two really had something going on? Was his fight for all of this a rude interruption to a life they might have had No, Nikita said she loved him. Whatever they had or did not have is not really Michael's business. He knew that it was during the time when they were on opposing sides; fighting to ill each other and fighting to refrain from doing so. It matters not what happened. Now, it is about a future together and this moment, which will determine what will happen. Still, admitting all of that hurt.

"NOT WHAT THEY SEEMED?" his voice raised monstrously, making her feel abashed, and even frightening her a bit.

"I thought you regained your memories! Do you not remember the missions we had? We were there for each other. We protected each other. We were comfortable together. I knew this bastard," he continued pointing at Michael, "caused you pain, so I was present to help you forget.

Michael know he played a role in their pain, which is more a reason why he needed to protect his love. He looked down in shame.

Both Michael and Nikita were speechless, none wanting to say anything wrong, especially something that would hit Owen's nerves.

"And what we shared that night was filled with life, innocence, and beauty. Do you remember? Why of course you do; its unforgettable," said Owen insistently, "We were so close and so heated. I held onto you, I was there for you in your time of need. That day, you returned, but you weren't yourself. Something was bothering you, so much that you were worn out. I showered you with kisses and love, and you returned everything."

Michael felt his heart being attacked by a thousand knives, each entering slowly and torturously. He swallowed with immense difficulty. He seemed to have become numb. Everything was surreal. He looked at Nikita, who was just as much in disbelief as he was. Her eyes were wide, as if learning this information for the first time. But how could this be when she claimed to have regained her memories? On the contrary, her expression was so real. Here eyes were enough evidence to hold that truth. He can't say she betrayed him when she decided to sleep with Owen, but he could not help but feel jealous and rejected. Oh how he wished what Owen said was a misunderstanding. Then again, he didn't know the entire story. There were always two sides to a story.

"I… I…" said Nikita who was trying to fill the silence, "I am… I'm sorry."

"No! No! Don't apologize. You both said you'll help me to get what I want. Well, I want you, Nikita. I want you. You have nothing to be sorry about. All you have to do is make the right choice and come back to me," said Owen who's eyes appeared to hoard a wall of tears, "Just come back and I'll forgive everything."

Nikita felt her heart break. The contrition she felt for not treating him with more respect was heart-breaking. She summoned her guts to face Michael, but didn't have the power to look him in the eye. She held his arm, the same way she had, and gave him a smile. She had cuased so much pain, but yet she was powerless to fix them. Her intuition was strong (regarding a negative sense emitting from Owen and a positive essence from Michael), but her conscience held its stand. She truly did believe that Michael was sincere at heart, really, but hearing Owen's words made her doubt the right choice.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, though still loud enough for them to hear, "I can't."