"Is everything ready?" Michael asked Nikita. She nodded, lost in thought for a moment. Such diversions were what she lived for, yet they were distracting when a mission was about to go off.

He reached around her, his arm touching her breast, quite by accident. She met his eyes, and he looked blankly back at her. Mission Time. She needed no other reminders. He picked up the inventory, handing her a weapon to stick in the waistband of her leather skirt.

They moved away from Walter as one entity, not even realizing how in synch their bodies were. The way they walked, their strides strangely similar both in length and character. Michael strode with economy of movement, while Nikita moved more languidly, yet with a fluidity that somehow echoed Michael’s.

As they passed the central staging area, nearing van access, Madeline saw them. She walked to meet them, and her expression was quite somber. "Michael--" she began, her tone alerting both of them that something was wrong. Nikita frowned. "What is it, Madeline?"

She shifted uneasily, unable to look at Nikita. "This is going to be unexpectedly difficult for both of you. I am sorry there is no other way to say this. The man you killed a few years ago was not Perry Bauer. It was his twin."

Shocked beyond words, Nikita stared at Madeline. Michael glanced at Nikita, his eyes blinking slightly more slowly for a moment, then resuming their normal rhythm. "But it was Bauer we were--?

Madeline nodded quickly. "Yes, the man you performed for was definitely Bauer. But he must have persuaded his brother to take his place later."

Nikita shrugged. "It makes no difference. One sleaze is the same as any other."

Now it was Michael’s turn to frown. "Nikita, this changes everything. He’ll recognize you. Even disguised."

"Let him. I’m a much better shot these days." She smiled tightly, and Michael decided that he didn’t like it when Nikita wore one of his expressions for her own.

Madeline could not believe her ears. Michael was trying to persuade Nikita to back out of a mission? And Nikita was telling him she had no intention of doing any such thing? What was he trying to do? And what was she trying to prove?

"You’ll get yourself killed," Michael hissed at her, from between clenched teeth.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Nikita looked as cool and controlled as Michael normally did. Madeline didn’t know which one of them to stare at first.

Suddenly Nikita reached out and patted Michael on the arm. "Don’t worry, I’ll protect you."

Michael shook his head. "Nikita!"

***

"Do I have to love, honor, and obey?"

"Just...obey!"

Michael had been exasperated with her then, too. When the mission started to go sour, and it was revealed that innocent people would be sacrificed, despite their carefully laid plans, Michael had told her that she was missing pieces of the greater picture, that she didn’t have all the information she needed to make the puzzle fit together. She had shouted at him, and he had finally shouted back, "Just do the job!"

Now he wished he could take it all back. She was evidently trying to prove she was as brave and as capable as he was. He already knew that. He didn’t want her risking herself this way. Even if she was "doing the job." Michael pinched the space above his nose, feeling a headache of almost crushing intensity start.

***

Madeline sighed. "I just thought you should know. Operations has not changed the profile. He thinks any risks are far outweighed by the results we stand to gain. I’m not so sure. Bauer always played both sides of the fence, as you know. Don’t trust him to stay on Section’s side in this."

Madeline noticed Michael’s drawn face. "You’re very pale, Michael. Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," he ground out. Truthfully, he could barely see. His vision was starting to blur already from the migraine that was pounding through his skull. He had slept quite well last night. No visits from the love thieves, as far as he could surmise. He thought that he and Nikita were on the verge of discovering how to make their relationship work, and this morning had been a good beginning. And now this...

"Michael? Maybe you should beg off--"

"Maybe you should just shut up," he clipped, immediately regretting the harshness of his tone. But the pain in his head was intense.

"If I need help, I’ll ask for it," he finished.

Suddenly Nikita was back to wondering where she stood with Michael. She had felt him let her inside, and it had felt so good. But it didn’t last. It never did.

Madeline tried to suggest that Michael stay back and go to Medlab, but Michael merely glared at her. "I’m Team Leader, Madeline. Unless you’re replacing me, let me by."

She stepped out of the way, but her concern was written all over her face. "Michael, if nothing else, consider how this will impact the mission..." she whispered meaningfully, somehow managing to allude not only to Michael’s survival but Nikita’s as well.

Michael barely glanced at Nikita, who was now standing some distance away, as if she could not bear to be closer to him. "I am..." he said significantly. If I’m not there, he thought, she’ll get herself killed, in a misguided attempt to rid the world of Bauer and his kind. He closed his eyes for a second. And then I might as well be dead anyway.

He shouldered the inventory and stalked away from Madeline, leaving her staring after him. Nikita fell into step several paces behind Michael and never looked back.

He stood at the van and watched Nikita climb inside. He followed her in, putting the weapons down. Birkoff felt the tension in the room as soon as they entered. Now what was going on? He raised an eyebrow and looked from Nikita to Michael and back again. Michael settled hard into a chair, pulling out his laptop. He leaned his head on his palm, unconsciously feeling the weight of the prop wedding ring. He surreptitiously eyed Nikita from beneath his lashes, idly punching keys on the laptop. He had pushed her away again. His head pounded as if in response.

***

"It’s been six months."

"He’s still beating himself up."

"He’s taking it out on us."

"Not us. Himself."

The six months before Lyons were the hardest months he had ever spent in Section. Without her. It was a glimpse into his future at Section. The life he would have. Without her. He was near breaking, truly. He had mourned Simone, he had grieved heartbreakingly over her a second time when they had discovered her alive, only to lose her once more. But this pain was different. Nikita had begun the unenviable task of bringing Michael back to life, and once it had started, he could not seem to stop it. He was human again, some part of him, and felt the pain of her loss like glass splinters in his gut. It was a physical ache that would not be denied. And just when he thought he could not go on, he found her again. Lyons. His heart skipped a beat.

"It’s been six months."

"He’s still beating himself up."

"He’s taking it out on us."

"Not us. Himself."

The six months before Lyons were the hardest months he had ever spent in Section. Without her. It was a glimpse into his future at Section. The life he would have. Without her. He was near breaking, truly. He had mourned Simone, he had grieved heartbreakingly over her a second time when they had discovered her alive, only to lose her once more. But this pain was different. Nikita had begun the unenviable task of bringing Michael back to life, and once it had started, he could not seem to stop it. He was human again, some part of him, and felt the pain of her loss like glass splinters in his gut. It was a physical ache that would not be denied. And just when he thought he could not go on, he found her again. Lyons. His heart skipped a beat.

"When can we see each other, on the outside?" she had said eagerly, her heart in her eyes.

"Be patient," he said.

"You said certain things to me. Was it all a dream?"

"Sometimes all we have are our dreams."

She was crushed. He had risked everything to bring her back. But now that she was here, he virtually ignored her, pretending that nothing had happened between them. That Lyons had never happened. Lyons.

***

Nikita played with the wedding ring, slipping it on and off, unaware that Michael was following every movement as if it were a physical pain. His eyes cloudy with pain, he tried to focus on the profile in front of him. He didn’t see how this could possibly work. Not if the target were the real Bauer. They would be exposed before they could even get inside. What was Operations’ point then? To sacrifice his two best operatives? He had been around and around this in his head, and he could not make heads nor tails of the profile. It just did not make sense.

"Birkoff, does this profile add up to you?" Michael asked softly.

Birkoff looked startled to even be addressed by Michael. As for asking for his input, that was new. "Well, now that you mention it...not really. But there is usually some piece of the profile that isn’t revealed till late in the game. I thought maybe that was the way this was gonna go."

Michael shook his head cautiously, provoking a dizzying wave of pain he could no longer hide. He tried to lean on the desk and missed, almost thumping his head on the desktop. Birkoff gasped. "Michael, you have to abort! You’re in no condition to work this mission!"

Nikita looked up sharply, alarmed by Birkoff’s tone more than anything that Madeline might have said earlier. "Michael, I’ll take over as team leader. You go back." She spoke quietly, but with new confidence and authority.

He stared at her, blankly, except for a tiny muscle moving in his cheek. "I can’t do that."

Nikita drew her gun and aimed at Michael. "Then I’ll have to take over the hard way."

Michael’s expression never wavered. "You wouldn’t shoot me, Nikita."

She thumbed back the safety. "Let’s find out if they need to update my profile together." Birkoff winced. He didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but this was not only off-profile, it was unbelievably dangerous. "Stop it! The two of you need psych evals, like yesterday! What’s up with this?"

Michael slumped to the desktop suddenly, his head glancing off the edge, grazing his temple. Nikita dropped her gun and clambered over Birkoff to get to Michael. She pulled his head into her lap, seeing the blood trickling from the superficial wound. "Birkoff, get the first aid kit. Now."

Birkoff moved, more from Nikita’s tone than the urgency of the situation. This was all highly irregular. He had no idea how any of them were going to explain this to Operations. But then again, maybe none of them were supposed to come back. A thought that had crossed his mind once or twice.

Michael was moaning. "Good, you’re conscious," said Nikita. He tried to sit up, but the movement was too great for the pain in his head. He fell back, hitting her thigh. "Nikita..." Michael tried to pull her closer, so he could whisper. She resisted at first, then eventually gave in. "What is it?"

"This was supposed to be our way out..." he whispered before succumbing to the crushing pain in his head.

Birkoff handed the first aid kit to Nikita, then backed off, holding his hands up. "I, uh, probably shouldn’t be hearing this."

Michael glanced at Birkoff and grimaced. "If I’m right, Birkoff, none of us are expected back."

Birkoff’s eyes grew even rounder and wider than usual. "That’s what I thought!" He whistled. "Damn! I hate being right!"

"You and me both," Michael added.

Nikita continued to look from one to the other. "Okay, somebody explain. I’m lost."

Michael shifted so he could sit up, and a low groan escaped him, despite his considerable control. Nikita pushed his head back against her chest, unconsciously stroking his hair back. He grabbed her fingers and stilled the movement. "Please," he whispered harshly, "I can’t stand you touching me." She jumped, and her hands flew away from his head. "Sorry."

She stared down at her hands, unable to think why Michael was doing this to her. And in front of Birkoff. Her face colored, something quite beyond her meager ability to control. Michael flushed. "I didn’t mean it that way, it’s the pain in my head. The slightest touch makes it so much worse."

"Madeline was trying to warn us, Nikita. No one but Operations knew about Bauer still being alive. He knew that it was Bauer’s brother we killed, not Bauer himself. We should have guessed. Bauer was too important to Section alive. Operations couldn’t let us cancel him."

"But why send us out on this mission?"

"Humiliation? Loss of control? New and better ways to subjugate operatives?" Birkoff offered.

Michael blearily contemplated Birkoff’s image. There were almost two of him now. Wasn’t double vision a sign of something specific? Damn, he wished he could think straight.

"Operations has been pushing me lately." Michael sighed and lay back against Nikita’s chest. He picked up her hand and played with it, idly twisting the fake wedding ring around her finger. "I don’t know why."

"He can’t attack me directly. I know too much. He can’t risk it. But he knows what my weakness is."

He raised his head very cautiously and looked up at Nikita. She trembled. "M-me?"

His eyes closed for a second, then re-opened. "You’re the only thing in my life that matters, Kita."

Birkoff shifted uneasily, moving a bit farther away. "Uh, guys, I don’t think I should be hearing this part."

Michael smiled wearily at Birkoff. "If anything happens to me, Birkoff, you’ll have to protect Nikita. I’m depending on you."

Birkoff gulped. "Uh, I don’t think I’m up to that kind of responsibility, Michael."

"You’d better be." The implied threat in Michael’s tone came through loud and clear.

"I don’t think my getting sick is an accident." Birkoff and Nikita stared at Michael. "I think Operations wanted me to drop out, it would leave Nikita completely unprotected."

He looked directly at Nikita. "If Madeline hadn’t warned us, you’d be walking into Bauer’s trap right about now. Alone."

Nikita couldn’t suppress her instinctive reaction to that. As stoic as she appeared, she knew that she wouldn’t last long with Bauer. Not without Michael’s support. Michael reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "Forget Bauer, Kita. We have bigger problems now, Section problems. Operations problems." That last was given emphasis.

He turned to Birkoff, who was starting to regard the two of them with something akin to admiration. Birkoff whistled under his breath. "Boy, you two are cool under pressure."

Michael almost laughed, but it would have made his head ache. "Birkoff, we’ve been off-profile for how long now? When will Operations make his move, if he’s going to make one?"

"We’re coming up on a half hour out of contact with Section now, Michael. We’re all on mandatory refusal, if we don’t hear something real soon..."

Nikita tried to get Michael to sit back and rest, but he protested. "Michael, we need to get you medical attention!"

Birkoff agreed. "I’m with Nikita, Michael. You don’t look so good." In fact, Michael’s pallor had grown ashen. His eyes looked dark against the translucence of his skin. His face was beginning to bead with sweat, indicating one of two things, fever or chemical infiltration. Michael panted slightly. "We can’t risk it."

Nikita was afraid. Not for herself. Never for herself. But for Michael. "Michael, please..."

Michael swallowed, his breathing becoming more erratic. "This showdown is between Operations and me, Nikita. Please don’t try to get in the middle. I need to stay focused." He paused to catch his breath. "The only way I can do that is to know that you’re safe."

Nikita stroked his cheek as gently as she could, knowing how he had reacted to her touch earlier. He closed his eyes, and it was frightening how ill he looked now. "You still care?" she whispered to him, knowing it would only embarrass Birkoff if he could hear.

Michael opened his eyes, and they were fever-bright in intensity. "I’ll always care, Kita."

"But you said--"

He sighed. "I say a lot of things, Nikita." He struggled to reach her mouth and kissed her. He leaned his painfully aching forehead against hers, and she could feel the fever in him, burning through him and into her. "You said you understood, Kita..."

She blinked. "I-I do...Michael--"

He stroked her mouth with his finger, and somehow the motion was far more intimate than a mere kiss would be. "I don’t always say what I mean...but I always mean what I feel, Kita."

Nikita cursed herself for not having more faith in Michael. But in the middle of her self-directed diatribe, she suddenly realized that Michael had said something rather significant earlier. "Michael...before, you said something about this being our way out?"

Michael coughed. "I don’t have time to explain that now, Nikita. I’m getting weaker. I don’t know what this is, but it’s getting worse."

Birkoff hated to interrupt, especially since he felt like he was clearly in over his head in this company, but he had to say something. "Michael...is there any chance that what you have is infectious?"

Michael groaned. "Dear God, I don’t know. If this is viral, both of you have been exposed."

She glanced quickly at Birkoff. "Well, that says it all then, we’ll just have to stay together. We can’t risk a return to Section now."

"Birkoff, find out what our present position is, and get rid of the driver. I don’t care what you have to tell him. Just get rid of him. I’d say it was a stroke of luck that we were the only operatives assigned to this mission, but then again...I don’t believe in coincidence."

Birkoff went up front to talk to the driver, leaving Michael and Nikita alone. Nikita brushed Michael’s hair back from his face. "Michael, please let me get you a doctor."

He gently moved his head back and forth. "No, Kita. You’ll have to do something for me."

"Anything, Michael." She leaned over him and felt the heat coming off him in waves. She pressed her cheek to his, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I have to meet with Operations."

"No, Michael, you’re too weak, too sick."

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Kita, it has to be this way. I’m the only one he’ll meet with. You go to my loft with Birkoff. There is a copy of the Directory hidden there." He saw her eyes flash in warning. "Don’t worry, it’s not the only one."

"Birkoff will know what to do with it," he said hoarsely. "You can trade it for safe passage out of Section for you and Birkoff."

"What about you? Michael, I won’t leave you!"

Michael held her eyes for a long moment, his own eyes sad. "I’m a liability now, Kita. You have to go without me."

"But--"

"You told me you loved me, Kita. Was that a lie?"

"No," she answered huskily. "You know it wasn’t."

"Then do as I ask....please...Swear you will."

Nikita began to cry softly. "I...swear..."

Michael sagged back into Nikita’s arms and closed his weary eyes. He had no energy left to do anything more than lie there and listen to her cry. He wanted to protest, It was supposed to be our way out, together, Nikita, outside Section. Like Lyons, only better. He had kept things from her in an effort to ensure their safe passage out of Section. Only now it would be for her and Birkoff, not her and Michael. His lips trembled and he felt dangerously close to tears himself. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was tragic. Just like the rest of his life.

***

"Don’t get too close, Kita."

"I care about you, Michael."

"Don’t..."

"Everyone who cares about me gets hurt. Simone...Elena...Adam..."

"I follow the path of my own choosing. So did they."

"What choice did Adam have?"

Nikita’s eyes followed Michael as he slowly paced in a circle around her. Always keeping a safe distance. Always holding her off at arms’ length. She wanted to gather him in her arms and hold him. When the shot came zinging through the window, she automatically protected Michael with her body, shielding him from the bullet. She felt that strongly. She would protect him with her life. She loved him more than life itself.

***

As he loved her now. As he protected her now. Michael felt the broken pieces of his life, trying to fit them into some sort of order, but still, they always came up short.

Nikita wept for what would never be. She could never claim to love Section, or even like it. But there, she had Michael. Now she would have freedom, but without Michael, what would it mean? Did she even want it anymore, if it meant she had to give him up?

Michael felt her tears trickle down on the back of his neck, and he knew he was lost. "Kita, Kita, you make me feel like I’m sending you away..."

"Well, aren’t you?" She sniffled, unable to keep the pain she felt out of her voice and off her face. "You could let me stay, Michael, but you’re so used to pushing me away, you just can’t help yourself."

He winced. "I can’t let you stay, Kita. I won’t sacrifice you."

"But you’ll sacrifice yourself. Michael....we could be together, just come with us."

With fading strength, Michael managed to turn around and face Nikita. He held her one last time, kissing her mouth softly, lingeringly. "I’m trying to make things right, Kita." He stroked her face gently. "I brought you back to Section for me. Because I could not survive without you. But I should have considered what you needed. And what you needed I couldn’t give you. Then or now."

He kissed her again, his mouth hot from the fever that continued to rage inside him. "You said I was the worst love thief of all...and I am...Kita, I’ve been stealing from you all along...to keep myself alive. But I need too much from you, and it has to stop. Cause I can’t give you any back."

"Michael, that’s not true," she said, tears still clinging wetly to her face.

He wiped a tear away with his thumb. "It is, and deep in your heart, you know it is."

"I want to stay."

"And I want you to go, Kita. You have to. You have to be free for both of us." Michael’s eyes filled with tears, and suddenly they ran hotly down his cheeks. He swiped at them carelessly, ignoring the pain in his head.

Nikita felt her heart break. How could Michael deny that he loved her? It was so obvious that he did. That he held himself to a different, a higher standard, was also obvious.

He bent his head and kissed the fake wedding ring that she wore. "If it’s any consolation, I wish the ring were real."

"It’s not...Michael, what good is the ring without you?" Her face so exactly mirrored Michael’s, it was sad.

If she only knew how much he wanted to go with her. It had been his plan all along to leave Section with Nikita. But now, as sick as he was, he would only hold her back, and he couldn’t risk her getting caught. Not when they were so close to escape.

He would say anything at this point to make her go, even lie to her about the very real love he kept in his heart. He knew that he would not be able to survive without her. He knew that even if he were not as sick as he was, he was at a crossroads in his life. He could choose Section, or he could choose Nikita. He had chosen Nikita, but when he became ill, he knew he would have to choose again. And so he did. He chose to stand and fight Operations on his own turf. Section. He didn’t give much for his chances of winning, frankly, but then, he didn’t much care what happened to him after Nikita left his life.

***

Michael cocked the gun next to his head. He stared at the happy, smiling image of himself on the video screen in front of him, and he slowly drew the gun even with the screen. He aimed at his own reflection, the sad, tired, grieving man who stole love and affection from the cheerfully smiling man in the video. Love thief. He condemned that man to a fate worse than death. But he couldn’t fire the gun. He collapsed, a victim of his own feelings...

***