PROLOGUE

        Alone in her apartment, Nikita assumed a yoga posture and concentrated on her
breathing. Images of the scene in Michael's office only hours before continued to disturb her mind. At the end of Michael's deep cover mission to infiltrate Eire Fein, an extreme branch of the IRA, his wife Stephanie had been killed as a traitor by her Uncle Liam, and his son had been whisked away by Section One to a safe house, the location of which was currently unknown. She had entered his office, seen his misery, but thought only of her own. The hate-filled words had spilled from her mouth without thought and without mercy, and she had left in a cold fury.

        Michael's last betrayal had been too deep, and Nikita had not been able to stem the anger and pain she felt. She felt she had been manipulated for four years, and that he had used her feelings for him to completely absorb her life. All the while, he had been married, had a child and had a normal life away from Section. After six months of freedom, she had come back to Section for him. She had jumped at the chance. She understood what a fool she had been.

        Now, after time to reconsider, she was filled with remorse. In spite of his betrayal,
she supposed she should have offered him comfort and friendship, as she had when
Simone died. Instead she had given him hell and told him he deserved it, and he, mired in the swamp of guilt, had agreed.

        Nikita could not conceive that she would ever be able to trust Michael again.
Trust, once so vilely broken, could never be regained, or could it? She had never given
him an opportunity to explain, nor had he demanded one. He had accepted her disgust as a mantle to be worn without question or complaint.

        The question Nikita posed to herself was, what do I do now?
 

        Operatives stepped aside as Michael walked past them. Section Operatives were
not known for their consoling natures, and while the results of Michael's deep cover
mission spread rapidly through Section One, very few attempted to express their
condolences. Michael's natural reticence served as a buffer and prevented most from
offering any form of sympathy. Walter was one of the few exceptions. Walter's long
relationship with Michael had always been a professional one, but Walter's recent loss of his wife Belinda during a mission, demanded of him that he try.

        As Michael entered munitions to return his communication gear, Walter could seethat the younger man appeared withdrawn. The old Michael stood in front of him, and it broke Walter's heart to see the blank stare and the rigid demeanor.  Walter placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, and Michael started in response to the touch of another human's hand.

        "Michael, I'm sorry for your losses and the way everything turned out," Walter
offered as he looked Michael directly in the eye. Michael's gaze wavered for a moment,
and Walter thought he saw a glimpse of humanity; but the blank stare quickly returned to Michael's face.

        "It was a mission," was Michael's only reply as he turned and left Munitions.
Walter stood and shook his head, for he felt nothing good would come of Michael's pain.

        Michael continued on his way to Madeline's office. He dreaded the upcoming
interview with her more than any he'd ever experienced. She would delve into his
relationship with Stephanie and his ‘feelings.' She would try to assess his future ability to perform based on the responses he would make. She would even pry into the status of his relationship with Nikita.

        Too soon, he stood before Madeline's door and access panel. He keyed in his
code, and the door silently slid open. Michael saw that, instead of being seated at her
terminal as she usually was, she was sipping tea in a manner that was both comforting and calming.

        "You wanted to see me?" he asked in his usual manner and voice. Michael was
able to maintain his control, but inside he raged at the circumstances that had brought him to this official psychological debrief.

        "Yes, Michael, have a seat," she said as she made a graceful gesture with her hand in the direction of an office guest chair. "Would you like some tea?"

        Michael knew she expected him to refuse tea. He always did. "Yes, thank you,"
he replied, wanting to play his own game and not hers.

        Madeline's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but Madeline quickly recovered and poured the green tea into the small, antique Japanese tea cup.

        Michael sipped the tea, as his green eyes challenged her to continue with her game.

        Madeline accepted the challenge and began, "Of course, you know that you
performed quite well on your deep cover mission. Operations was very pleased with the destruction of Eire Fein's members in this country. The information you were able to access from Fogherty's files was priceless, and the disruption of their general attack is an added bonus that no doubt saved hundreds of innocent lives.  Michael made no response to her praise and knew that she did not expect any.

        Madeline continued, "I know that this has been a very difficult mission for you
personally. I need to know that you can put this behind you. Can you?"

        "Of course, I never let personal concerns interfere with my performance. You
should know that by now, Madeline."

        "Michael these are more than personal concerns. Your ‘wife' was killed during a
mission, and your son has been relocated. Do you mean to sit there and coldly tell me that neither of these circumstances will affect your performance?" Madeline expected no other answer from Michael, but she had to probe.

        "Yes. My wife was part of a mission. I was not in love with her," he stated bluntly, hiding the turmoil and guilt he felt over her death. Stephanie had not deserved such an end, and he regretted it more than he would ever acknowledge.

        "And your son Sean? Can you truthfully say that you are not concerned about his
well-being and his whereabouts?"

        Michael blinked at the mention of his son's name. "I assume that you have seen to it that he is safe, and that is my main concern, of course."

        Madeline smiled as she continued to bait him, "You ‘trust' Section One to protect
your son, Michael? That certainly implies a naiveté on your part, don't you think?"

        Michael rose swiftly from his chair and came face to face with Madeline. "I ‘think'
that if you or Section One does not protect my son, I will kill you personally, Madeline.
You may hold me hostage to his fate, but you will pay if he is harmed. Section One will
pay if he is harmed. This interview is over. That is all I have to say." Michael spun on his heel and left a breathless Madeline to reconsider her plans.
 

        Nikita walked with trepidation toward Michael's office. She could see through the
blinds that he was there, tapping on his computer. She gave a light rap on the door and held her breath.

        "Come in," Michael said without looking to see who was there.

        "Are you sure it's okay?" Nikita asked as she stepped inside the door, with her
heart feeling like it would explode in her chest.  At the sound of her voice, Michael fingers stopped moving over the keyboard.  "Yes?" he asked in an impersonal voice.

        Nikita felt her face flush, as she stammered, "I-I."

        Michael sighed and reached to activate his office scrambler.

        Nikita took his motion as an invitation to sit. She would have had to resort to an
old-fashioned swoon, if he hadn't. She swallowed and tried to speak again. "Michael, I
said a lot of things the other day that I shouldn't have said. I-"

        "You only spoke the truth," he interrupted in a flat intonation.

        "The truth as I saw it and ‘felt' it at the time, but I have had time to reconsider,
and I want to apologize for the horrible things I said to you. I-"

        Again Michael interrupted her, "You had every right to feel and say-"

        This time Nikita interrupted him, "I didn't have a right to be hateful and cruel to
you. I've been here a long time, and I know what Section is like. I thought I knew what
you were like, but I'm not sure I will ever really know you, Michael." She held her hand
to his lips to stop him from interrupting her again. "I didn't mean half of what I said,
Michael. No one deserves the pain and control Section inflicts on our lives. You have
given everything to Section, and they assess it and wonder how much more there is for them to take. I only wanted to say that I'm sorry for my pain that I vented upon you. My pain is my own responsibility, not yours."

        Nikita rose to leave, but was stopped by Michael's soft, "Nikita, wait."

        Nikita turned in surprise, for she had not expected any response from Michael,
who walked to the door ahead of her.

        "Thank you. I never wanted to hurt you, Nikita. I would have told you, but--"
Michael stopped. He shook his head and looked into Nikita's eyes. "I wanted it to be
over before I told you. I wanted it to be the past and not part of our present or future.
The original profile was that I would simply disappear after the mission was completed, leaving Stephanie and my son together. They would have been cared for by her family.  They would have recovered from the loss."

        "Your son? Why bring a child into that situation, Michael? That's what I've never
been able to understand."

        "Sean was an accident. He was never supposed to be conceived, but Stephanie
desired a child very badly. Once he was born, I fell in love with him and only wanted to
protect him." Michael green eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That's all I want now."
Nikita bit her lip and put her arms around Michael. Michael lay his head on Nikita's shoulder, while Nikita patted his back and said, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
 

        After she left Michael's office, Nikita experienced a feeling of unease. While they
had managed a rapprochement of sorts, there had been no discussion of the future.
Michael had stroked her face and brushed the hair from her eyes, but he had made no
promises. Michael had reluctantly turned from her and resumed his work at his desk,
which left Nikita feeling as awkward as when she had entered.

        It seemed to Nikita that they had come so far in their relationship, but there always seemed to be an obstacle that kept them apart and kept them from actualizing the love they felt for each other. Sometimes it seemed to Nikita that fate kept them dangling and twisting like puppets, unable to move toward one another unless the puppet master was willing. Section One had thrust them together, then had driven them apart, time and time again. Perhaps, it was a sign that they had no lives of their own and never would. Nikita wasn't sure she could spend the rest of her life without being able to give and receive love, and she could not understand how Michael was able to continue without it the way he had.
/

        In truth, Michael had long ago perfected the process that split his life in halves or
thirds. There was the Section Michael, respected and feared by most, and there was the Michael who had recently been a husband and father, now bereft of both relationships.  Then there was the essential Michael, and exactly who ‘was' he? Was the essential Michael the one Nikita loved? Michael wondered if she had any idea who he really was.  If ‘he' didn't know who he was anymore, how could Nikita be expected to know.

        Images came to him at unexpected times. Images of the first time he had seen
Nikita in the white room--her feral beauty, untamed and untutored, had claimed his soul. He also saw her hooded visage shimmering in the night, when he thought her dead, and later, nearly asleep on the old ship with moonlight casting highlights on her blonde hair. Every memory he had of her emphasized her physical beauty as well as the beauty of her soul.

        He had not been angry with her when she, consumed by the pain of his betrayal,
had denounced him. He had loved her enough not to plead for her understanding. He
would only cause her further pain, if their relationship continued, and he could not bear to hurt her further.

        He had been stunned when she sought him out earlier that day. He never expected forgiveness, but he could do no more as he accepted the apology and comfort she offered him. The comfort her arms had bestowed was more than he could stand. Her body hadfit his as if they were matching male and female bookends, her white light to his black soul. He had wanted to hold her forever and keep her light to warm him and keep him from the darkness he felt he deserved. The true dilemma was that Michael felt Nikita deserved more than the wreck of a man that he was.
 

        Tip Wellsley watched Nikita walk past Munitions, which was apparently empty,
because she did not stop for her usual chat with Walter. The English Section-Two had
heard about Section One's ‘blonde bombshell,' and he had been delighted to see that the rumors had not exaggerated her beauty or her skills as an operative. His transfer to Section One as a Class Five operative had been timely. His liaison with Kathryn had been over for weeks, and she was already involved with someone new. He had not been able to trade lovers as enthusiastically as she had, and he was relieved not to have to see her all the time.

        Since coming to Section One, Tip had heard plenty about Nikita's relationship
with the infamous Michael. How much was true, he had no idea, but from what he had
observed during the mission to take down Eire Fein, there was obviously a bond between them or had been.

        "Nikita," Tip called to her.

        Nikita stopped, turned her head in his direction, and looked puzzled. "Yes?"

        Tip gave her his best heart-stopping smile, "Would you like to go to dinner with
me?" he asked.

        Nikita looked at him in wonderment. "Dinner?" she asked. "No, I don't think so.
I have a lot to do at home. Girl stuff, you know." The last thing in the world she wanted
was to go to dinner with a Robert Redford look-alike.

        "You do eat don't you?" Tip cajoled.

        "Sorry, I'm really not in the mood. I wouldn't be very good company."

        "Sometime soon, then maybe," he said with a grin, "when you're in a better mood."

        Nikita shrugged and said, "Maybe."

        Tip watched her as she walked away from him. She looked like one big bundle of
hurt, and he wondered if she would ever allow him to come close enough to help.
 

        Michael had spent the entire day searching the Section One data base, trying to
find a location on his son. Birkoff had not been able to be of any assistance, for he had
been of assistance to Nikita, one too many times. Madeline had threatened Birkoff with cancellation, and the young computer whiz preferred walking the straight and narrow, for the present.  Michael had understood, for Birkoff had repaid Michael many times over for the rescue from his abusive Russian Mafia family.

        Michael had not found any intel whatsoever regarding his son Sean and his
mother-in-law Moira Fogherty. The longer he searched, the more certain he became that the intel was not in the data base. Given the disruption that Nikita's finding his home address had caused, he considered it entirely possible that Operations and Madeline were the only ones who knew Sean's and Moira's whereabouts, and they weren't telling.

        He searched his brain trying to analyze the situation. He needed something of
value to trade for what he wanted. The only problem was that Michael had no idea what would constitute ‘value' to Operations and Madeline--something that would equal the value that he placed on his son. It would have to be something that he was not obligated to give them by virtue of their positions, yet something of value to them.

        Michael's comm set buzzed. It was Operations.

        "I need to see you now, Michael."

        Merde, he thought. Madeline did not waste any time telling him about my threats.
Michael rose in one fluid motion and went to Operations upper level office. "You wanted to see me?" he asked as he stood in his usual stance of composure with hands folded in front of him.

        Operations sat on the ledge that ran across the entire observation office and
smoked. "Yes, Michael. Madeline has given me her report on your psychological debrief.  She thinks you need a vacation, somewhere warm, by the water," he said with a slight smirk.

        Operations response was not what Michael expected. "A vacation?"

        "Yes, Michael, a vacation. You have two weeks to pull yourself together. Use it
wisely. That's all."

        Michael knew it was no use arguing with Operations. He nodded and said, "Of
course," as he walked from the office.

        Operations then called Birkoff, "Michael is leaving for two weeks of down time.
His only computer access is to be email during that interval. Understand?"  "Gotcha, Michael, email only, next two weeks," replied Birkoff, who wondered if he would ever rate some down time.
 

Part II