When recruiting a newcomer into Section, there was always a risk. The chance that, despite their in-depth background checks the new recruit was a plant, the chance that some undiscovered psychological flaw could make them self-destruct, the chance that they would never develop loyalty to Section and would turn as soon as possible.

These things had happened in the tumultuous and shady history of Section. More than likely, they could happen again. Section knew this. And, though it did everything possible to prevent letting such unstable recruits into the organisation, it did have a responsibility to keep watch on those it did allow entrance into their secretive group. This was accomplished through a variety of methods. In the initial training they were watched constantly - video monitors, microphones, physical surveillance, rigorous and repeated psychological tests, while strapped into the ultra-sensitive equipment used by police forces everywhere to detect lies. It was intense, for both the new recruit and the operative assigned to shephard her.

Once the recruit reached active status, it appeared that the surveillance slowly died off. The new operative was given an apartment, a credit account. They were warned not to make close acquaintances, and given a cover story for their new occupation to explain away their mysterious absences from time to time.

Section continued to monitor them, of course. It was at this point in time that the recruit was at her most vulnerable. After such a long period of isolation from the 'real' world, they sensed some nebulous freedom in being able to take some control back... Even simple things like deciding what to wear, how to arrange their furniture in their home, who to speak to on the bus. It was here that most operatives who were going to turn tail and run, did so. Physical surveillance was kept to a minimum, but the apartment or house had already been bugged to the hilt before the new naive operative was allowed out of Section's training center. They were monitored constantly, and all experienced operatives who worked with them continually - albeit with great subtlety - assessed their psychological state, testing their loyalty to Section, often in the most ruthless of manners.

Michael knew this. He knew this surveillance and monitoring had been focussed on him years earlier. He suspected he was even now kept under strict observation, was very much aware than any number of sensitive surveillance equipment was secreted around his home. In truth, he didn't care. It was part of the job, he'd become accustomed to it. He suspected Nikita might have felt differently if she'd known she was still under constant supervision from the tech's here at Section HQ.

Ahh, Nikita. It had been his duty to shephard this wide-eyed, tousle-haired wonder into the ruthless world of Section life. He who had manipulated her, had hurt her and made her care for him, then thrown that back in her face. He who had slowly watched the light die in her eyes and died a little himself with it. Michael wondered briefly whether this was his chance at salvation or whether he'd just fall anyway. It was not in any way his duty to monitor Nikita in her home. In fact, usually it was just set on record and a tech kept a watch on the screens that showed her home, along with the homes of five other operatives. If anything unusual came up, if Nikita had visitors or went out, a check was run, a watch was set on her. She never knew. But Michael did. And it slowly drove him mad.

He was still wondering why he'd done this... It had been simple, so it certainly wasn't the challenge of it. A quick tap of the AV feed into the surveillance room, diverting it to his own home office, and Michael had a live round the clock Nikita t.v. show. He wasn't a pervert. His attraction to her was not what had prompted this... or perhaps it was. Perhaps it was because in Section he treated her so cold, kept himself so remote from her... when he wanted to do the opposite. Perhaps this was his way of appeasing the hunger he felt for her, the want to know her. Michael uncomfortably shoved that dangerous thought aside as he leaned back in his seat, seeing the door open on the screen. She walked in, and his breath caught in his throat as it always did when he saw her...

Nikita groaned wearily as she dumped her bag on the floor, balancing awkwardly, half-in, half-out her front door as she pulled off one shoe. She hopped in, slamming the door shut with her hip and balancing there on the other foot to remove the other shoe. The woman gave a sigh of relief and continued walking into her apartment.

It was a nice, homely place... the afternoon sun reflecting off the walls, making little rainbow patterns dance on her floor as she stepped through it to the kitchen. She made her way straight to the refridgerator, opening it while at the same time reaching one hand up behind her head to pull her hair tie out. The mane of golden blonde escaped, cascading over her shoulders. Nikita merely pushed it from her eyes with an irritated scowl, concentrating on the contents of her fridge. Not much. She'd have to go shopping soon.

The woman grabbed the nearest read-to-eat piece of food from her fridge and laid it carelessly on the counter, sliding onto the stool. She peeled back a corner - it had once been a t.v. dinner half-eaten. Nikita wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted noise, standing up at once and throwing it into her bin. Yuck. She made a mental note that when she went shopping this week, she probably should buy something halfway healthy.

With a sigh, Nikita became aware of her next desire. A bath. Yes. She sighed happily and began unbuttoning her shirt as she walked towards her bathroom. By the time she reached it her shirt was laying forgotten on the living room floor and she was wrestling with the buttons of her jeans...

His loyalty to Section One was absolute and total. He had nothing else. No friends, no family, nothing else to care for. Michael may have lived amongst the human race, but he could not consider himself part of it. He had no interaction with them, the naive fools running through their maze and jumping through hoops on command, never aware of what was going on around them. Michael protected them, however, because they were his brethren. He had been born amongst the race of Man and he would keep them safe. Even from themselves, the enemies who were monsters masked under the guise of humanity. Even if he had to become a monster himself to catch them.

He knew he had. He'd seen the way she'd looked at him from time to time. Confused, hurt, frightened. Wary. As though seeing something in the depths of his eyes which he no longer did. Something that indicated his disassociation from the rest of humanity. Which was something he suspected Nikita could never accomplish.

It was not a requirement that she do so, though she may choose it as a means of retaining sanity in their exacting job. She cared for their fellow humans with a passion he'd long forgotten. Even as she became like him, cold and remote, she clung to her humanity and rebelled against the changes wrought in her. So full of conundrums, his Nikita...

Conundrums and puzzles that sped from his head the moment his eyes glued to her on the screen. Michael watched her avidly, unaware that his eyes had taken on a gleam that was undecipherable. He watched, silent, his thoughts taking a backseat as he simply enjoyed watching her. So rarely could he do so, at Section, where they were under constant scrutiny. Any close attention was noted and remarked upon by Madeline. Michael had noticed this soon enough and learnt to conceal his attention. But he had to watch her, to see her... To observe and delight in the smooth, graceful walk, the mane of beautiful angelic gold that fell over her shoulders as she let it fly lose. He wished she wouldn't always tie it back at work.. It was so beautiful, so perfect... Then again, perhaps it was better she do so. He'd once found his fingers actually twitching to touch it, to discover if it was as silken in reality as it was in his dreams.

He still remembered the first time he saw her. He could never forget it. She'd looked at him with terror in those expressive eyes - Nikita could never hide anything from him, not when he looked in her eyes. He wondered why no one else could see it. The emotions that shone so brilliantly from her blue orbs. Michael sometimes wondered if he were looking into the face of humanity personified when he looked into her depthless, clear blue eyes. There was such passion there. Such fire and power, balanced by such devotion and grace. And - so rarely he treasured each instance he saw such a relieved glimmer of it - there was trust. When he did or said something to justify her faith in humanity, when he rescued her or pulled her out of a situation... Then he saw it, gleaming behind her blue orbs like a beacon saying "this way back to the human race, Michael!" Trust. In him.

It was very rare. Usually he received only contempt, suspicion and betrayal from her eyes. He'd long ago learnt to turn himself to stone and never let her see his pain when he glimpsed that in her eyes. His control was as complete and absolute as his loyalty to Section was. So comfortable it felt a part of him now, worn around him like a second skin. Michael could always see it in Nikita's eyes when he pulled it around him. Something shuttered and hid in her, as though terrified of his stony control.

If only she knew. She thought he was evil, no doubt. Ruthless, cold. Thought he had no soul. He could see why. He'd let a building full of people die horrendously, had instructed fellow operatives to beat her to a bruised mess, had invited her affections then used her feelings for him to manipulate and control her. These were merely the tips of his crimes against that woman. So Michael understood why she sometimes thought he was cruel and vicious. But it had never been rammed home so sharply and ferociously as that day... When that slimeball had pulled him to one side, while they were posing as Peter and Sage, married assassins, and said he wanted Michael to watch while he screwed his wife. Nikita had heard and she'd looked up at him, over the other man's shoulder... Christ, Michael had realized with a cold flash of terror, she honestly expected him to let this bastard rape her. She was terrified he would.

Michael still felt that rush of ice through his blood when he remembered that expression. He'd wanted, so desperately, to show her she was wrong, to remind her he was still human! He thought he had. So quietly told that son of a bitch they wanted their money. But he'd ruined every chance he had at claiming humanity when he'd felt his heart lift as he'd been told in return that he, Michael, should have sex with Nikita while he watched. Rage, molten and potent, had flowed through his veins like lava, followed by the sweet relief of hope... He could... Section would never challenge his statement that it was necessary to establish belief... But Nikita would. He'd have to watch as he made love to her, have to see the terror and revulsion in those beautiful eyes of hers. Have to see her hate him.

It had disgusted him that he even considered it. The short moments when they had kissed and touched, when she knew he was doing something to avoid this moment, had been beautiful enough to erase that disgust... So much better this, to have those clear cerulean eyes locked onto his, clouded with relief and the slow, incipient desire beginning to grow as he pulled her onto the bed.

Nikita stood naked in her bathroom, and stepped into the shower. A flick of her wrists, a few adjustments, and a warm, steady flow of water caressed her skin, slicking back her hair, tenderly washing her face. Nikita gloried in the sensation, the luxury. It had been a hard day. Mission at 5am, then there'd been a slight foul-up. Even the slightest mistake had Operations locking them all in the conference room for hours-long briefings. He hated mistakes, would do anything possible to ensure the same one never happened twice. Nikita groaned, lifting her arms above her head. She felt her belly muscles stretch taut, and smiled as warm water splashed over her entire body.

She never saw the tiny lens high above. Watching her.

Michael couldn't do it. This was too intimate, too private. He had no concerns about seeing Nikita's body naked - that barrier had been breached a dozen times over; Section operatives soon learned to have no concerns over modesty. But the pure ecstacy, the delight, the pleasure on Nikita's face was too personal for him to watch. He spun his chair around, clenching his eyes and hands tightly shut. Temptation was strong, but his honour was stronger. He could hear her though... over the sound of running water, could hear her soft sighs of sensuous delight.

It made him want to be there. With her. Touching her, his fingers gliding over the taut muscles on her stomach, over her hips... Michael groaned and spun around, just in time to see her step out, a towel already pulled over her body, tucked neatly above her breasts. He gave a sigh of relief, smiling faintly. Better this way, yes. Let him convince himself that, and perhaps he'd be able to face her tomorrow without touching her.

Nikita couldn't be bothered to get dressed. All she wanted now was sleep, and the langorous feeling from the warm, steamy shower was too delicious for her to want to waste it. Her eyelids drooping sleepily, the woman wandered out into her bedroom, and pulled back the cover on her bed. She was already almost dry, except for her hair, but Nikita didn't care if she got the pillows or sheets wet. She just wanted to sleep. The woman remembered a time when a 3am start would have been unthinkable - when she was going to bed later than that. And sighed a sorrowful mourning for that lost time.

She climbed into bed, leaving the towel in a heap on the floor beside it. Pulling the blankets up over her naked form, Nikita rolled over once, closed her eyes, and was almost immediately asleep. Dim evening light shone delicately over her exhausted body, casting golden light over her asture face.

And, a few miles away, a man felt his lonliness increase a hundredfold. Watching her like this, watching her relax... sleeping. She was so beautiful, so perfect - so pure, when she slept. Untouched by the horrors he, himself, had inflicted upon her. Watching her without having to look away was one miracle, but this... The gift of watching Nikita sleep, innocently, was something totally different. Something unexpected, something beyond belief. Michael couldn't even bring himself to wish he could be there with her, sharing this. That was a reward he could never earn, no matter what he did. That was a delight he lacked the humanity to deserve.

But it didn't stop him watching her.

Though he had been up even earlier than Nikita, Michael spent several hours sitting before the computer. Watching her. It was not a perversion, nor some strange form of voyeurism. It was simply something he needed to do, to sustain his belief in what he was working for. This was what he fought to protect, this beauty, this innocence. The radiance and grace that was Nikita.

And as he watched, something within him was born again. Nikita would call it his humanity. Michael just called it his hope.