Dark Lament

Nikita was watching Michael as they all listened to the police band from within the confines of the van. They were on their way to a mission, but the street was blocked off.

The driver of the car and her eighteen month old son had both died on impact. Nikita felt tears fill her eyes at the senseless tragedy, but it was Michael's reaction that affected her the most. He had turned deathly pale at the announcement, and Nikita saw him grip the panels of the van as if he were suddenly dizzy. He looked in her direction, but Nikita knew he didn't see her. His silver-green eyes were glazed over, and pain and sorrow seemed to emanate from him. Nikita was about to say something to him when Operations voice came through the comlink.

But Michael didn't seem to have heard Operations' command. Birkhoff looked at Nikita who nodded at him, so he gave the order to the driver and the van drove away.

Once back at Section, Nikita debriefed quickly, changed back into her street clothes, then went in search of Michael. She passed by his office and it was dark, so she searched else where. No one had seen him. Madeline had debriefed him and said he had left about thirty minutes ago. Nikita was feeling frustrated, and considered going home, but something....a feeling...told her to return to Michael's office. The lights were still off, but the door was open, so she walked in.

She stopped when she stepped on something that crackled. It felt like broken glass. Nikita reached for the light on the desk and the room was filled with a soft glow. It was then that Nikita noticed Michael. He was sitting on the floor, huddeled in the corner. His knees were drawn up to his chest, with his left arm crossed over his stomach as if he were in pain. He was trembling and Nikita felt herself go pale as she ran to him and fell to her knees.

"Michael...what's wrong?" she asked, her hands cupping his cheeks. Nikita was stunned to discover that his face was damp with tears. "I'm here," she whispered "I'm here, Michael." Tears filled her own eyes at the pain she saw shimmering in his.

He tried to pull away from her touch, but she wouldn't let him go, so Michael lifted his eyes and absorbed the beauty that was Nikita. "I'm....sorry," he whispered, his voice almost too soft to hear. They were words that he had said to her often, and Michael wondered if they would mean anything to her any more.

He closed his eyes for a minute and was hit by flashes of memories. The image of Nikita in the cage, her face bitten to shreds by rats. He remembered what he had said to her. "I want you to know that it wasn't a lie. The things I said...have said. I tried never to lie to you. I know you don't believe that."

"I want to," Nikita allowed. She slid her fingers into Michael's hair in a soothing caress. The way he trembled frightened her. But she sensed that what he needed now was to talk.

"What I said to you when we were in the cages...it was true. All except the part about getting out alive." Michael locked eyes with Nikita. He was afraid of what he would see in her crystal blue gaze, but the time had come to face it. "You are the only one of us who still has a soul. And what I said...about not knowing what love is anymore...I don't." It was a painful confession for Michael to make. But it was the truth.

Nikita shook her head. "You're wrong, Michael," she insisted. "You do know what love is. I saw the way you loved Simone..." It was hard to admit, but needed to be said.

Michael closed his eyes. "And she died...twice. Because I couldn't love her enough." Michael felt more tears slide down his face. "Nikita....all I wanted was to keep you alive. I did what I had to do. I'm sorry." He knew she wouldn't understand what he was apologizing for, and perhaps it was for the best.

"Michael..." Nikita brushed away her own tears. She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't understand where all this emotion was coming from. Why was the dam that Michael had built around his heart suddenly shattered? Even as she wondered, Nikita remember the accident. And the little boy. It was why she had come in search of Michael to begin with. "What about your son?" she asked. "You loved him."

"I failed him," Michael whispered. He felt pain wash over him, yet he felt strangely detached. It hurt more to see the tears that shimmered in Nikita's eyes. To know that she wept for him when he was unworthy of her tears. Michael lifted his hands to cup Nikita's face, then he leaned forward to brush a kiss against her lips.

Nikita lifted her hands to grip Michael's wrists and she felt something warm and slick. Looking down she saw blood pouring from a gash on his left wrist, and his right hand was also covered in blood. Suddenly she understood the broken glass on the floor, Michael had sliced open his wrist. "My god!" Nikita hissed. She turned to reach for the phone and felt Michael try to pull her back.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered, pulling away. Nikita punched in a number then shouted, "Code eleven!" Then she pulled off the scarf she was wearing around her neck and wrapped it around Michael's wrist.

Nikita sat in Madeline's office. She felt weary to the bone, and was still wearing her bloodstained clothes. She blinked at Madeline. "How can I help, Michael?" she asked.

Madeline didn't answer for a moment. A part of her wanted to put off this conversation. It had been touch and go for the last fourteen hours, but the doctors assured her that Michael would live. It had been a close call, however. Madeline found it interesting the means by which Michael had attempted suicide. Why not a bullet? Why chose something that wasn't quick and efficient? But those were questions that only he could answer for her. And they would have to wait. "Do you really want to help, Michael?" Madeline countered Nikita's question.

"Why?" Madeline countered, her expression grim. She didn't wait for Nikita to answer before she added, "You can't save Michael. He has to do that himself."

Nikita could understand that, to an extent. "I know I can't save him, Madeline," she allowed. "I just want to help. I want him to know that he's not alone."

"You feel sorry for Michael," Madeline said, not at all impressed by Nikita's show of temper. "We all do," she declared, although her eyes showed no warmth. But that was intentional. Nikita had to learn that the world was a cruel, unfair and ugly place. "Keep it in perspective, Nikita," Madeline told her. "Go home. Get some sleep."

Nikita blinked back tears. She knew it was an order...not a suggestion. "What about Michael?" she asked. She had wanted to stay with him.

Madeline smiled. "I'll watch over Michael," she said softly. Then she focused her attention back on her monitor, effectively dismissing Nikita. The moment the young woman was gone, Madeline sighed and stood up. It was going to be a long night. The moment Michael regained consciousness, he knew where he was and that he was not alone. He turned his head and opened his eyes. Madeline smiled at him from a chair beside the bed. Michael wasn't surprised to still be alive, only sorry.

Madeline stood up and went to Michael, one hand reaching out to smooth a lock of hair off his forehead. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter what I feel," he countered, his eyes shimmering from green to silver. Michael felt only regret that he had failed, but Madeline wasn't interested in that. She was there to manipulate him into living. Sad thing was, Michael knew that she would probably succeed. But he was morbidly curious as to what method she would choose.

"So...what do you want me to say, Michael?" Madeline countered, knowing that it was best to be blunt. Michael wasn't a fool, nor was he easily manipulated by games. "Do you want me to say that we're sorry about your son?" She fired the question at him like a bullet from a gun and watched it hit it's mark.

Madeline let her fingertips glide over Michael's face. "We are sorry," she whispered. Then she fired another shot. "We're also sorry that we had to lie to you about Simone still being alive. But you know why we had to do that."

"I know," Michael replied. He had known all along that Section had never really approved of him having a wife and a son. Especially having a child. It interfered with his ability to be coldly efficient as an operative. And that ablility was his greatest asset. That, and his skills, were what made him so valuable to Section. Had he known Simone was still alive, Michael would have wanted to go back for her. Section would have refused, and he would have lost his edge.

"I want you to think about something, Michael. While you're....recovering." Madeline's fingers returned to Michael's hair and combed through the thick curls in a motherly caress.

Michael closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear her, but knew he couldn't block her out. Madeline's touch was a mockery as well, but Michael refused to respond to it. He opened his eyes and they were expressionless. "What?" he asked, having prepared himself for anything.

Madeline knew what Michael was doing, and she was pleased. He was a strong man, and although he had come close to breaking this time, once again he had managed to bend instead. The old adage stood true for Michael. What didn't kill him...made him stronger. He would survive, and they both knew why. "If you leave us...who is going to watch over Nikita?" she said questioned, softly. She didn't expect an answer, nor did she get one. Madeline smiled, then she bent to press a kiss to Michael's temple. Another caress of her fingers through his hair, then she turned and left the room.

From his office, Operations was watching Michael on his monitor. As Madeline entered he pointed to the screen. "You were right," he commented as they both watched Michael pull the IV out of the back of his hand, slip out of bed and quickly dress. "Michael is back with us to stay." Operations was smirking as he spoke.

Madeline wasn't so blase. She simply nodded and said, "For now." Then she left. Nikita was reading Cosmopolitan when someone rapped on her door. Magazine in hand, she sauntered over to peek out. "Michael..." she whispered, more than a little surprised to see him standing there. Yesterday he had nearly died. Nikita threw open the door and was quick to notice that Michael was pale and swaying on his feet. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, even as she wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him inside.

"I wanted to see you," he whispered. Michael would never admit it, but he was grateful for her support. When Nikita pushed him into a chair, he didn't protest.

"You should be in bed," NIkita chided him. She used the tail end of her shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. "Tell me, Michael. What was so important that it couldn't wait till you were feeling better?"

He captured her wrist in one hand and brought her palm to his lips. "I had to ask you a question," Michael said, his eyes locking with Nikita's.

She sighed and heard her breath tremble. More from her reaction to the sensuality of his kiss, than out of frustration. "What question?" Nikita managed to ask.

"Do you care if I live or die?" Michael replied. His voice was soft and husky with emotion, and he didn't look away from Nikita's face. He wanted to see what she felt, as well as hear the words.

"I care," Nikita whispered, blinking back tears. "You're all I've got," she admitted, and it was her turn to press a kiss into Michael's palm.

Tears filled his eyes and he let them fall. "I'm sorry, Nikita," he whispered. And he was sorry because he couldn't give her what she deserved. But a part of him was grateful that she didn't hate him. Michael didn't want to feel for Nikita, but she had become a part of him. She had touched his heart, and he was lost now. His great fear was that the blackness of his soul would tarnish the light of her being. But, for this moment in time, he would take what she was willing to give. Michael reached out to cup Nikita's face with both hands. She slid onto his lap and he pulled her face down until their lips met. Then he kissed her with all the tenderness that he could remember.

Nikita felt Michael tremble beneath her, and she realized that he was letting her into his heart. She kissed him back, but found herself having to reign in her libido. Nikita had always desired Michael, but now was not the time, for either of them. So she settled for threading her fingers in his hair and holding him tightly as they both wept. No matter what happened between them in the future, Nikita would treasure this moment in time. For no one, not even Section, could take it away from her. And it was more precious than freedom.


	Dark Lament By: Kyara Caledonii Copyright March 28, 1997 Nikita was watching Michael as they all listened to the police band from within the confines of the van. They were on their way to a mission, but the street was blocked off. A semi had hit a car and now the cops were reporting the casualties. Birkhoff had tapped in. The driver of the car and her eighteen month old son had both died on impact. Nikita felt tears fill her eyes at the senseless tragedy, but it was Michael's reaction that affected her the most. He had turned deathly pale at the announcement, and Nikita saw him grip the panels of the van as if he were suddenly dizzy. He looked in her direction, but Nikita knew he didn't see her. His silver-green eyes were glazed over, and pain and sorrow seemed to emanate from him. Nikita was about to say something to him when Operations voice came through the comlink. "Abort the mission and return to Section," he ordered. "We'll try again tomorrow." *Birkhoff looked at Michael, waiting for him to give the order to go.* But Michael didn't seem to have heard Operations' command. Birkhoff looked at Nikita who nodded at him, so he gave the order to the driver and the van drove away. Once back at Section, Nikita debriefed quickly, changed back into her street clothes, then went in search of Michael. She passed by his office and it was dark, so she searched else where. No one had seen him. Madeline had debriefed him and said he had left about thirty minutes ago. Nikita was feeling frustrated, and considered going home, but something....a feeling...told her to return to Michael's office. The lights were still off, but the door was open, so she walked in. She stopped when she stepped on something that crackled. It felt like broken glass. Nikita reached for the light on the desk and the room was filled with a soft glow. It was then that Nikita noticed Michael. He was sitting on the floor, huddeled in the corner. His knees were drawn up to his chest, with his left arm crossed over his stomach as if he were in pain. He was trembling and Nikita felt herself go pale as she ran to him and fell to her knees. "Michael...what's wrong?" she asked, her hands cupping his cheeks. Nikita was stunned to discover that his face was damp with tears. "I'm here," she whispered "I'm here, Michael." Tears filled her own eyes at the pain she saw shimmering in his. He tried to pull away from her touch, but she wouldn't let him go, so Michael lifted his eyes and absorbed the beauty that was Nikita. "I'm....sorry," he whispered, his voice almost too soft to hear. They were words that he had said to her often, and Michael wondered if they would mean anything to her any more. "Sorry for what?" Nikita beseeched, as she brushed away his tears with her thumbs. "I want you to know..." MIchael broke off and shook his head. Nikita wouldn't let him stop. Not now. "To know what?" she prompted. "Michael...please...tell me." He closed his eyes for a minute and was hit by flashes of memories. The image of Nikita in the cage, her face bitten to shreds by rats. He remembered what he had said to her. "I want you to know that it wasn't a lie. The things I said...have said. I tried never to lie to you. I know you don't believe that." "I want to," Nikita allowed. She slid her fingers into Michael's hair in a soothing caress. The way he trembled frightened her. But she sensed that what he needed now was to talk. "What I said to you when we were in the cages...it was true. All except the part about getting out alive." Michael locked eyes with Nikita. He was afraid of what he would see in her crystal blue gaze, but the time had come to face it. "You are the only one of us who still has a soul. And what I said...about not knowing what love is anymore...I don't." It was a painful confession for Michael to make. But it was the truth. Nikita shook her head. "You're wrong, Michael," she insisted. "You do know what love is. I saw the way you loved Simone..." It was hard to admit, but needed to be said. Michael closed his eyes. "And she died...twice. Because I couldn't love her enough." Michael felt more tears slide down his face. "Nikita....all I wanted was to keep you alive. I did what I had to do. I'm sorry." He knew she wouldn't understand what he was apologizing for, and perhaps it was for the best. "Michael..." Nikita brushed away her own tears. She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't understand where all this emotion was coming from. Why was the dam that Michael had built around his heart suddenly shattered? Even as she wondered, Nikita remember the accident. And the little boy. It was why she had come in search of Michael to begin with. "What about your son?" she asked. "You loved him." "I failed him," Michael whispered. He felt pain wash over him, yet he felt strangely detached. It hurt more to see the tears that shimmered in Nikita's eyes. To know that she wept for him when he was unworthy of her tears. Michael lifted his hands to cup Nikita's face, then he leaned forward to brush a kiss against her lips. Nikita lifted her hands to grip Michael's wrists and she felt something warm and slick. Looking down she saw blood pouring from a gash on his left wrist, and his right hand was also covered in blood. Suddenly she understood the broken glass on the floor, Michael had sliced open his wrist. "My god!" Nikita hissed. She turned to reach for the phone and felt Michael try to pull her back. "No Nikita!" he beseeched her. "I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered, pulling away. Nikita punched in a number then shouted, "Code eleven!" Then she pulled off the scarf she was wearing around her neck and wrapped it around Michael's wrist. He allowed it because he knew it was too late. He smiled at Nikita. She glared at him. "You're not going to die, Michael!" Nikita yelled at him. "I won't let you." "It's too late," Michael whispered. "I died a long time ago." He closed his eyes and let himself side into sweet oblivion. Nikita sat in Madeline's office. She felt weary to the bone, and was still wearing her bloodstained clothes. She blinked at Madeline. "How can I help, Michael?" she asked. Madeline didn't answer for a moment. A part of her wanted to put off this conversation. It had been touch and go for the last fourteen hours, but the doctors assured her that Michael would live. It had been a close call, however. Madeline found it interesting the means by which Michael had attempted suicide. Why not a bullet? Why chose something that wasn't quick and efficient? But those were questions that only he could answer for her. And they would have to wait. "Do you really want to help, Michael?" Madeline countered Nikita's question. "Of course I do!" Nikita was quick to respond, feeling defensive and angry that Madeline would even ask. "Why?" Madeline countered, her expression grim. She didn't wait for Nikita to answer before she added, "You can't save Michael. He has to do that himself." Nikita could understand that, to an extent. "I know I can't save him, Madeline," she allowed. "I just want to help. I want him to know that he's not alone." Madeline sighed. "But Michael is alone, Nikita. You know it, and so does he." "You are so damn cold!" Nikita spat, rising from her chair. "You feel sorry for Michael," Madeline said, not at all impressed by Nikita's show of temper. "We all do," she declared, although her eyes showed no warmth. But that was intentional. Nikita had to learn that the world was a cruel, unfair and ugly place. "Keep it in perspective, Nikita," Madeline told her. "Go home. Get some sleep." Nikita blinked back tears. She knew it was an order...not a suggestion. "What about Michael?" she asked. She had wanted to stay with him. Madeline smiled. "I'll watch over Michael," she said softly. Then she focused her attention back on her monitor, effectively dismissing Nikita. The moment the young woman was gone, Madeline sighed and stood up. It was going to be a long night. The moment Michael regained consciousness, he knew where he was and that he was not alone. He turned his head and opened his eyes. Madeline smiled at him from a chair beside the bed. Michael wasn't surprised to still be alive, only sorry. Madeline stood up and went to Michael, one hand reaching out to smooth a lock of hair off his forehead. "How do you feel?" she asked. "Doesn't matter what I feel," he countered, his eyes shimmering from green to silver. Michael felt only regret that he had failed, but Madeline wasn't interested in that. She was there to manipulate him into living. Sad thing was, Michael knew that she would probably succeed. But he was morbidly curious as to what method she would choose. "So...what do you want me to say, Michael?" Madeline countered, knowing that it was best to be blunt. Michael wasn't a fool, nor was he easily manipulated by games. "Do you want me to say that we're sorry about your son?" She fired the question at him like a bullet from a gun and watched it hit it's mark. Michael flinched. "No!" he hissed. It would only be a lie. Madeline let her fingertips glide over Michael's face. "We are sorry," she whispered. Then she fired another shot. "We're also sorry that we had to lie to you about Simone still being alive. But you know why we had to do that." "I know," Michael replied. He had known all along that Section had never really approved of him having a wife and a son. Especially having a child. It interfered with his ability to be coldly efficient as an operative. And that ablility was his greatest asset. That, and his skills, were what made him so valuable to Section. Had he known Simone was still alive, Michael would have wanted to go back for her. Section would have refused, and he would have lost his edge. "I want you to think about something, Michael. While you're....recovering." Madeline's fingers returned to Michael's hair and combed through the thick curls in a motherly caress. Michael closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear her, but knew he couldn't block her out. Madeline's touch was a mockery as well, but Michael refused to respond to it. He opened his eyes and they were expressionless. "What?" he asked, having prepared himself for anything. Madeline knew what Michael was doing, and she was pleased. He was a strong man, and although he had come close to breaking this time, once again he had managed to bend instead. The old adage stood true for Michael. What didn't kill him...made him stronger. He would survive, and they both knew why. "If you leave us...who is going to watch over Nikita?" she said questioned, softly. She didn't expect an answer, nor did she get one. Madeline smiled, then she bent to press a kiss to Michael's temple. Another caress of her fingers through his hair, then she turned and left the room. From his office, Operations was watching Michael on his monitor. As Madeline entered he pointed to the screen. "You were right," he commented as they both watched Michael pull the IV out of the back of his hand, slip out of bed and quickly dress. "Michael is back with us to stay." Operations was smirking as he spoke. Madeline wasn't so blase. She simply nodded and said, "For now." Then she left. Nikita was reading Cosmopolitan when someone rapped on her door. Magazine in hand, she sauntered over to peek out. "Michael..." she whispered, more than a little surprised to see him standing there. Yesterday he had nearly died. Nikita threw open the door and was quick to notice that Michael was pale and swaying on his feet. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, even as she wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him inside. "I wanted to see you," he whispered. Michael would never admit it, but he was grateful for her support. When Nikita pushed him into a chair, he didn't protest. "You should be in bed," NIkita chided him. She used the tail end of her shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. "Tell me, Michael. What was so important that it couldn't wait till you were feeling better?" He captured her wrist in one hand and brought her palm to his lips. "I had to ask you a question," Michael said, his eyes locking with Nikita's. She sighed and heard her breath tremble. More from her reaction to the sensuality of his kiss, than out of frustration. "What question?" Nikita managed to ask. "Do you care if I live or die?" Michael replied. His voice was soft and husky with emotion, and he didn't look away from Nikita's face. He wanted to see what she felt, as well as hear the words. "I care," Nikita whispered, blinking back tears. "You're all I've got," she admitted, and it was her turn to press a kiss into Michael's palm. Tears filled his eyes and he let them fall. "I'm sorry, Nikita," he whispered. And he was sorry because he couldn't give her what she deserved. But a part of him was grateful that she didn't hate him. Michael didn't want to feel for Nikita, but she had become a part of him. She had touched his heart, and he was lost now. His great fear was that the blackness of his soul would tarnish the light of her being. But, for this moment in time, he would take what she was willing to give. Michael reached out to cup Nikita's face with both hands. She slid onto his lap and he pulled her face down until their lips met. Then he kissed her with all the tenderness that he could remember. Nikita felt Michael tremble beneath her, and she realized that he was letting her into his heart. She kissed him back, but found herself having to reign in her libido. Nikita had always desired Michael, but now was not the time, for either of them. So she settled for threading her fingers in his hair and holding him tightly as they both wept. No matter what happened between them in the future, Nikita would treasure this moment in time. For no one, not even Section, could take it away from her. And it was more precious than freedom. THE END