Milady  continued

by Titta (rated NC-17)

CHAPTER 11

Walking down the corridor leading to the heart of Section One, Nikita found herself feeling surprisingly perky. Fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep had made her feel human again. The shower, and the light breakfast she had eaten in the cafeteria, had helped too. In another life, she might have been humming out loud as she walked into the munitions bay.

Walter turned to greet her. "Hi Sugar! Did you sleep well?"

Nikita smiled at Walter affectionately. Sometimes he really did behave like he was her father. It felt good. "Yes I did, Walter. It's been ages since I last slept so long. I feel much better now."

Walter's face turned somber. "You've been running on empty for a while now. It was about time you got some rest." Walter might have continued to voice his concerns but he was interrupted by Birkoff's arrival.

The young computer wizard breezed into the munitions bay looking like he was worked up about something but was trying hard to not let it show. He didn't quite manage to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Hi Nikita - Walter! Have you guys heard any news about Michael?"

"No, I haven't. I did run into Milady yesterday." Nikita momentarily forgot to wonder what had set Birkoff off when the unpleasant memories of her run-in with Michael's therapist filled her mind and fouled her mood. "Turns out she doesn't like being called Milady. She nearly bit my head off. She's got some serious problems of her own if you ask me."

Walter was reading Birkoff more closely. "Have you heard something?"

Birkoff looked around and moved closer to his friends. He lowered his voice a little. "Madeline just got back from level eight. This is the first time she's been there since Milady moved in. There's nothing of interest there beside her quarters."

Nikita failed to see the significance in Birkoff's story. It was hardly surprising that Madeline would have access to areas closed to everyone else. "So?"

"Madeline passed by comm. She seemed to be in a really good mood. My guess is she's been down on level eight to see Michael." Birkoff spoke hastily, looking around to see if he was already missed at comm. He didn't want anyone to take an interest in their little impromptu meeting.

Birkoff's words made Walter optimistic. "You think Michael's doing better?"

"I think it's possible." Birkoff turned his hopeful eyes to Nikita. "I think you should go see Madeline again. Maybe you could get something out of her this time."

Nikita was chewing on her lower lip; an old habit that had reappeared after Michael had been moved out of med lab. "I don't know about that." She remembered, a little too vividly to be confident, the last time that she had tried to pry information out of Madeline. However, if Michael was indeed better, she did certainly want to know about it. "But I'll try. Is she in her office?"

"Yeah, she should be there. Don't tell her you know she's been on level eight." Birkoff looked around again. "Look, I gotta get back - Thailand will go live any minute now. Keep me posted, okay?" With that he was already scurrying back to his desk at comm.

Nikita sighed. She didn't exactly look forward to the mental chess game a meeting with Madeline always meant. "I better get going too. Wish me luck, Walter."

Walter leaned in to give her a light kiss on the cheek. They looked each other in the eye for a long moment, once again communicating their feelings without the need for words. Then Nikita patted Walter softly on the arm and turned to take the familiar route to Madeline's door.

Walter followed Nikita's lithe form with his eyes until she disappeared round the corner. Saying a silent prayer for some good news for a change, he bent down to continue building a bomb needed for a mission later that day.

*****************************************************

A couple of hours later, Nikita was in an elevator on her way to level eight. She could hardly believe it was true. She tried to stand straight and immobile, the way Michael had taught her, but she couldn't help fidgeting with her fingers. She didn't know what to think about meeting Milady - no, Sara - again. She certainly didn't know what to think about seeing Michael again.

Things had gone almost too well with Madeline. As soon as Nikita had entered her office and inquired after Michael, Madeline had told Nikita that Michael had rejoined their world, and that everything looked as good as could be expected. The older woman had almost beamed at Nikita from across her desk. She had reacted very favorably to Nikita's request to see Michael and had promised to talk to Sara about it.

Nikita couldn't help but wonder about the change in Madeline's behavior. She had been in Section long enough to learn to question Madeline's motives - especially when she seemed to be doing a favor which had nothing to do with a successful closure of a mission. Who says this is not a mission? Maybe she thinks I could get to Michael. A totally uncommunicative Michael must get on her nerves big time.

The opening of the elevator doors interrupted Nikita's musings. She found Sara standing in the hallway opposite the elevator, obviously waiting for her. The look on the redhead's face was expressionless, but Nikita was glad it wasn't openly hostile. Madeline had made it clear to her that she had better get along with Sara, if she wanted to see Michael. As much as Nikita still disapproved of Sara's earlier behavior, she was willing to try and be civil around her. Anything to see Michael.

"Hi." Nikita tried to make her voice light and casual. She came to stand a few feet away from Sara. She still didn't feel comfortable going too near the smaller woman.

Sara kept her eyes downcast for a few seconds before slowly raising them to meet Nikita's. She took a few more seconds to answer. "Hello, Nikita. Follow me."

There was no sign of the dark feelings and venom of the previous day. In fact, Sara's voice was so devoid of any emotion it made Nikita's skin crawl. Sara's cool gaze made her spine automatically stiffen in response. She could give even Madeline a run for her money in coldness.

Sara led her along a short corridor to a heavy metal door. She entered the correct code to the keypad, and the door slid open before them. Sara walked in, with Nikita close on her heels. The door closed after them with a soft thud. The sound made the hair at the nape of Nikita's neck stand out. That was like a sound of a tomb closing. Shaking her head a little, Nikita tried to chase the irrational thought out of her mind.

Sara took Nikita further into her domain. Trying to take in as much as possible of her surroundings, Nikita kept glancing left and right. They passed a number of closed doors on both sides of the corridor. On her right, the door to an unoccupied dining room was open. Nikita could just see a glimpse of a kitchenette behind it. Next, they passed the open doorway to what looked like a common room. A brown-haired man was lounging on a couch watching TV with the sound turned off. He raised his eyes from the screen to watch them walk by.

Sara came to a halt in front of another closed door on the right. She turned to face Nikita and again regarded her silently for a moment.

Let's hope I don't come to regret this.

"Did Madeline explain to you that Michael is not yet communicating with anyone?"

Nikita nodded her head empathetically. "Yeah, she told me."

Sara continued, "You can talk to him all you want, but don't make a big show of expecting an answer. Also, try not to get too mushy, it might make him uncomfortable." She was keeping constant eye contact with Nikita to stress the importance of her words. "And whatever you do, don't touch the restraints. Understand?"

"Yeah." Nikita nodded again. Sara's intense stare made her feel uncomfortable. She was hoping to keep interaction with the redhead to minimum in order to avoid problems.

"Good. Are you ready?" Sara started to turn towards the door. Nikita's voice halted her movement midway and she turned her head to face Michael's latest visitor again.

"Actually - I was wondering if I could see him alone?" Nikita didn't realize she was biting her lower lip again.

Sara's greyish-blue eyes, which were narrowed into slits, gauged Nikita's big azure eyes for a long time. Then she shrugged. "Sure. There is a camera in the room and we monitor it constantly, but if it gives you a sense of privacy, then why not?" She turned to access the keypad. "When you're ready to leave, just walk to the door; we'll open it for you."

"Thank you." Nikita moved to stand in front of the door. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves. She felt shaky all of a sudden. From the corner of her eye she could see Sara tapping the access code to the keypad. Then the door began to slide open, and all her senses were directed towards the room in front of her.

CHAPTER 12

At the sound of the door opening, Michael turned to look that way again. The sight of the blonde beauty standing in the doorway made him blink his eyes several times as his mind was attacked by a multitude of conflicting messages. A bright flash of naked emotion burned in his eyes. The blank mask that had come to him so naturally, and had so far been impenetrable, crumpled as he fought to silence the clamor of voices in his head. Instinctually, Michael turned his face away from the door to hide his torment.

Unfortunately, neither woman noticed the signs of Michael's emotional struggle. Sara was still on her way to the common room to relieve Greg from his watch for the duration of Nikita's visit. Nikita, who had stepped just inside the room, had her eyes fixed on the floor as she, too, was fighting to get her emotions under control.

Seeing Michael, pale and a little haggard but very much alive, looking at her from across the room had nearly overwhelmed Nikita. She found herself in the middle of a raging emotional storm. All the anguish and desperation she had felt, all the fears that had tormented her for the past weeks flared into a brilliant flame to war against intense feelings of love, joy and relief. Her head reeled under the attack.

Nikita felt like laughing and crying at the same time. She wanted to rush to Michael's side and hold him to her like there was no tomorrow. She could have sworn to him that she would never let him out of her sight again and meant it. She wanted to tell him about the icy feeling in her chest that had been her constant companion for as long as he'd been gone from her. She longed to drown Michael in sweet kisses and tell him how much she loved him.

Yet, she couldn't move. This was Section - cold, efficient and devoid of emotion. There was no room for blatant displays of sentiment here. She knew that every move they made and every word they spoke would be monitored and later carefully analyzed to be used against her. Or against him. She had long ago decided that she could never live her life constantly censoring her actions and words in the fear of having them used against her, but Michael was another matter. She did not want him to suffer because of her.

This time there was also a new factor involved - Sara. Nikita knew that at this very moment, Sara was probably sitting in front of a surveillance monitor looking for an excuse to throw her out of the room and out of Michael's life. Nikita was determined not to give her the pleasure. She belonged here in a way Sara could never hope to emulate - regardless of Section orders.

Trembling lightly with the effort of controlling herself, Nikita took a deep breath. Then she raised her head up again and started to slowly walk towards Michael's bed. She was a little light-headed, and as she approached Michael she felt her mouth getting very dry. Her palms were sweaty, and she rubbed them unconsciously against her thighs as she walked. Oh Michael, why must everything always be so hard with us?

Nikita came to stand by Michael's bed. Only then did she realize that he had turned his face away from her. She felt momentarily hurt by the fact that he didn't want to look at her. She thought she could never get enough of the sight of his gorgeous face. Then she remembered how emotionally challenged Michael could be at times. He must have seen me struggle and interpreted it the wrong way.

Nikita managed to get a smile on her face before speaking, "Hi, Michael". She thought she saw him flinch slightly but she banished the idea from her mind as a product of her over-active imagination. Michael still didn't look at her, but she didn't let that bother her. "It's good to see you again. You've been gone for quite sometime, you know."

Her voice started to give out on her, and she had to clear it before continuing. "I've been out on a number of missions with Peters but it's not the same. I miss working with you." That was as close as she could get to saying what she really wanted to tell him, but she was sure that he of all people could read between the lines.

Michael continued to stare away from Nikita. His face was once again a blank mask hiding his feelings, but inside his head the battle raged on unabated. The voices were so loud they were almost a physical pain. Yet, he still couldn't hear what they were saying. All he knew was that he was in pain - pain that had suddenly gotten a lot worse at the sight of this beautiful woman.

Nikita was beginning to feel more and more uneasy by the second. She had not been quite sure what to expect, but this was definitely not it. She had the eerie feeling this was just another instance of the nightmare that had begun the moment she had walked into Michael's room in med lab a few weeks earlier. Yet, it couldn't be - Madeline had been quite certain that Michael had finally 'come back'.

There was, however, something very odd about Michael and his reaction to her. It was so far from anything she had expected that she was totally at a loss to explain it. By now, she was also fighting the maliciously whispering voices of old insecurities she had thought to have left behind. A part of her wanted to run away to avoid being hurt again. She ignored the urge. After all, she had endured too much already to simply give up on their love now.

She dipped her head sideways to get a better look at Michael. He still refused to make eye contact with her. She found it hard to bear. She could take his cold words, could even live with the absence of words, because of his ability to communicate with her through his eyes. Michael's refusal to look at her brought back some very unpleasant memories. It also made an alarm ring in her mind.

What's going on here?

"Michael, it's me - Nikita."

Michael continued to stare at the thin air in the opposite direction from Nikita. His facial muscles were starting to ache from the strain of staying immobile. He could feel his already precarious grip on his raging feelings starting to slip. The voices in his head kept getting louder and the pain more grueling.

Nikita reached out her hand to touch Michael's face only to have him flinch and pull violently back from her. She couldn't believe her own eyes. She didn't want to believe them. She wanted to deny the bitter taste of hurt in her mouth. The ugly whispers in her ears got louder and even more malicious. She didn't really need to hear them, though, because she knew the sentiment by heart.

Finally, Michael couldn't take it anymore. The only solution he could see was to get rid of the woman who had made his pain intolerable - the sooner the better. He raised his eyes to meet Nikita's. He was unable to name the feelings he saw in her eyes, but they produced another sharp stab of intense agony inside him nonetheless.

Nikita could see a mixture of emotions swim in and out Michael's eyes as she watched them change color from jade green to sea grey to cloudy blue. There was pain, confusion, anger and hatred. It was with hatred in his eyes that he finally hissed to her, "Leave me alone!"

Nikita felt like she had been hit hard in the face. It was as if each word from Michael's parched lips was a separate punch landing at the most sensitive spot of her emotional being. She could almost hear her heart crumble inside her chest. In an instant she was rendered incapable of analytical though - she was beyond thinking about reasons or Section games. All she knew was she needed to escape the excruciating pain his rejection caused her.

Nikita backed away from the bed a few paces, then turned abruptly and blindly made her way to the door. It slid open as soon as she got near it. She stumbled through the door and dimly heard it close after her. She took a few faltering steps in the direction she had come from, before having to stop to lean against the wall for support. Breathing was difficult, her whole body seemed to tremble, and bitter tears were stinging in her eyes.

Sara. The thought pierced her mind. Sara must be laughing right about now. Nikita could feel anger swell inside her at the thought. It helped her to gather herself, to stop the trembling and hold back the tears. She took a deep breath, then another. She pushed herself away from the wall, stretched herself to her full height and stubbornly lifted her face to look down the corridor.

Sara was standing by the door to the common room, looking towards Nikita. Her poise was relaxed and still, her face expressionless. She waited for Nikita to reach her before turning and leading the way to the main door in silence. With her hand on the keypad, Sara turned to look at Nikita again. "I think it's best you don't come back until he wants to see you." Sara's voice was matter-of-fact.

Nikita forced herself to answer the other woman's look, but didn't trust her voice enough to speak out loud. She merely nodded in response. Sara tapped the code to the keypad. Nikita was through the door before it was halfway open. Sara stood in the opening and watched the rigid back of Michael's love receding down the corridor.

Poor thing. Love hurts.

*****************************************************

The door to Madeline's office swooshed open and Operations walked in. As he descended the stairs Madeline raised her gaze from the computer screen in front of her to his face. It bore no familiar signs of any strong feelings. She turned to face the visitor's chair and waited for him to speak.

"Did you see the numbers from Pakistan?" Operations' voice confirmed Madeline's impression - he was in a relatively good mood.

"I did. They were quite satisfactory."

"Yes, I agree." He smiled a thin smile. There was a pause as he seated himself in front of her desk. "What do you think of the Michael / Nikita situation?"

She had anticipated the change in topic. Unperturbed, she planted her elbows on her desk and brought her hands together under her chin before answering. "She got him talking again. That was a move in the right direction."

Operations' steely eyes met hers from across the table. "How long until we can get to what we need?"

Madeline suppressed a sigh. "It will take time."

"Meanwhile the risks are getting higher all the time."

Madeline gave Operations a sour look. "We've discussed this before, Paul. He's not a machine - you can't pop open a hatch and play with the wires. All we can do now is watch and wait and give Sara time to work on him. Patience." Her eyes clearly told him she found his lack of patience a weakness.

He was totally unperplexed by her silent admonition. "You're not worried about their current status?"

She looked Operations coolly in the eye. "It is as I expected it to be."

Operations was not satisfied by her answer. "But if we can't use her to keep him here..."

Madeline cut him off. "The day of his choice is still a long way off. Their relationship has ample time to warm up again before that." Madeline's voice had turned decidedly colder. She had taken all the variables in the game into consideration and had her plan ready. To even hint otherwise was insulting. Besides, after all that they had been through, worrying about Michael and Nikita not being on best of terms was, in her opinion, somewhat absurd.

Operations gave her another thin smile. "Yes, you're right."

"Was there something else?" Madeline's tone was as close to dismissal as she could get with him.

Operations ignored her message. "Have you had time to read the Nichols file?"

CHAPTER 13

A few hours later, Michael received his third visitor for the day. The door of his room slid open to admit first Andy and then a tall, brown-haired man in a grey lab coat over white scrubs. The new face looked instantly familiar, but it took Michael a while to find a name to go with it - Dr. Westlake from med lab.

Dr Westlake had his hands full of supplies needed to remove an old cast and apply a new one. He walked to a side table near Michael's bed and greeted Michael while unburdening himself from the load. "Michael, good to see you awake again." The tone of his voice didn't quite manage to match the cheerfulness of the words. His handsome face was creased with lines that bore silent witness to the long hours he had already worked that day.

With the practiced ease of an experienced doctor, Dr Westlake shut the fatigue out of his mind and prepared to get down to business. "Okay, let's redo your cast. Hopefully this will be the last time." He had already changed the cast on Michael's arm twice. He had no idea how a cast could keep getting soaked while the patient was lying immobile in bed, but right now he was past caring. This was the last call before the end of his shift and the waiting bed. The sooner he could get out of here, the better.

Andy wheeled a little tabletop next to Michael's bed and maneuvered it across the bed so that it could be used to support Michael's arm during the procedure. Doctor Westlake stepped closer to the bed and smiled at Michael in the professional, impersonal way that comes easily to most doctors. Then he turned to Andy. "Would you mind?"

Andy, who had moved to the same side of the bed, started to work on loosening the straps on Michael's left wrist.

Dr. Westlake spent the waiting time observing his patient. He had treated Michael a few times before this, so the famous blank look was familiar to him. He detected no reaction from Michael when he was freed from the restraint. If having his arm lifted up to the table caused Michael pain, he certainly didn't show that either. As far as Dr. Westlake could tell, the previous weeks had not changed Michael's behavior one way or another.

His work performed, Andy moved a few steps away from Michael and the bed, clearing the way for Dr. Westlake.

Painting a mental image of the position of the damaged bone inside the cast, the doctor gripped the cutter in his hand more firmly while deciding on the best way to cut into the plaster. Intent on his work, Dr. Westlake bent slightly forward to get closer to the task in hand. Before he knew what was going on, the arm he had merely thought of as work suddenly turned the tables and went to work on him. It shot up from the table, bringing strong fingers to curl around Dr. Westlake's neck in a steel-hard grip that efficiently blocked his airway.

At first, Dr. Westlake's brain simply refused to process the meaning of what was happening. The world outside his own body faded away from his consciousness. Inside his skull, the confused mass of neurons that should have sent commands to the rest of his body seemed to have been shocked to irrevocable inaction. Precious seconds flew by at the speed of light while his poor head tried desperately to get up to gear again.

Finally, Dr. Westlake managed to refocus his gaze on the face of the man half-sitting in front of him. He had never been a fighter in his life, and the look he encountered eradicated any thoughts of fighting for his life he might have had. The analytical part of his mind, which was slowly starting to recover, told him that what he was looking at were merely the eyes of another mortal man, but all he could see was Death. The eyes before him held no emotion, no life - just a dark, unyielding, unstoppable oblivion.

The speed of Michael's attack had startled Andy, as well. For a long while, he just gaped in wonder at the scene before him. His mind had trouble coming to terms with the fact that the listless body of their patient had suddenly - and seemingly miraculously - transformed into an efficient and ruthless killing machine.

When he finally recovered enough to act, Andy realized that Dr. Westlake was already starting to choke. He hastened to intercept Michael's assault by gripping at the other man's wrist with his own hand. He expected to easily force Michael's injured hand away from the poor doctor's throat. To his amazement, Andy found out that he couldn't move it even by pushing his own, considerable muscles to their extreme.

The situation was getting more absurd by the second. By now, Dr. Westlake was making wheezing noises and Andy, at a loss for the correct way to deal with the situation, started to panic. He tried to decide whether to use his other hand to put more pressure on Michael's hand or to use it to try and distract Michael by hitting him in the face. In the end, he opted for the latter method.

Andy had just drawn his left hand back for the punch when he heard a rustle of clothes behind him followed by a tight, commanding voice.

"Wait!"

Milady rushed into Andy's line of vision. She ran around the end of the bed to the other side of it. To Andy's amazement, she ignored Michael's hand completely. Instead, she reached to grip Michael's head between her hands and then turned it until he was facing her. Next, things got even stranger; instead of talking to Michael or doing something to get him to release Dr Westlake, Milady just stared Michael in the eye.

From the distance of ten inches, solemn greyish-blue eyes looked straight into the unflinching stare of eyes the color of a dark, grey-green stormy sea.

Sara's internal shields had automatically gone up at the first physical contact with Michael. Even through the shields she could vividly feel the enormity of the black storm raging inside Michael. It was like a hurricane howling deafeningly at her. Sara could feel her teeth ache in response, even as a part of her mind ached to be joined with it.

With great deliberation, Sara cast a part of her mental shield aside and extended her consciousness towards Michael. On contact, the hurricane slammed itself against her with furious intensity that stole her breath away. Sara could feel the dark abyss pulling on her. She chanced a quick glance around the mayhem that had once been Michael, before retreating to the relative safety of her own mind.

The situation was hopeless. She had hoped to be able to jostle even a tiny bit of control to the surface, but Michael was too far gone for that. The disruptive forces in his mind were too powerful for her to battle without getting caught up in them as well. Instinctively, Sara did the only thing she could. Drawing in a deep breath, she grounded herself as completely as possible. Then, with the slow release of the breath, she let her shields drop.

You're even crazier than I thought, you know!

Sara opened herself to the destructive forces inside Michael and called them to her.

The storm could not resist her siren call. It leaped up gleefully like a dragon lifting its deadly head, and banged its way inside her. It swirled around her mind like a crazed dervish. Reeling under the attack, Sara fought to keep her mind open and continued to lure the darkness. When all she could sense from Michael's mind was a distant echo of thunder, Sara forced the connection between them to shut down. Then, she turned her attention inward.

Outside the room, seconds ticked steadily by on the clock.

Inside Michael's room the little group around the bed seemed to have been transported outside the confines of conventional existence into a sort of a bubble where reality had been suspended and replaced by the surreal. The passage of time had slowed down and normal everyday logic no longer functioned.

In morbid fascination, Andy watched the weird play taking place in front of his eyes. Although his right hand was still squeezing Michael's wrist, Andy's attention was focused solely on the bond between Sara and Michael. It seemed to him that they were engaged in some sort of a staring match that had nothing to do with the slowly dying Dr. Westlake. For some reason, he got the distinct impression that it wasn't a fight of wills, either. Exactly what WAS going on, he couldn't say.

Standing further down the bed than Sara, Andy could only see a part of her face. What little he saw gave him few clues to whatever was happening between her and Michael. Sara's face seemed to have been cast into a solid mask of absolute concentration that betrayed no emotion. After a while Andy did, however, think he could detect a slight slackening in her features. Not that the observation helped to answer any of his questions.

Michael, on the other hand, continued to stare at Sara with steady, unblinking eyes. Andy had a pretty clear view of Michael's face - frozen into a slight grimace which screamed 'violence'. The sight was frightening, possibly because the look seemed so out of place on Michael's face - 'the iceman' was famous for his ultra-controlled blank look, after all.

It was Michael's eyes that spooked him the most, though. They were darker than usual and - Andy struggled with this concept because it seemed so weird to him - instead of reflecting the light in the room, seemed to reflect a darkness inside Michael's soul. A bottomless, oppressing darkness so terrifying it could have made a grown man shiver with fear. Without even realizing it, Andy said a quick, silent prayer.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the bubble burst. The first sign of change was the flutter of Michael's eyelids. At the same time, Andy felt the stone-hard muscles under his grip quiver. Shaken out of his reverie, Andy seized the opportunity and yanked Michael's hand away from Dr. Westlake's throat.

The doctor took two faltering steps backward and sank to his knees on the floor. Instinctively, he held his bruised neck with both hands, as if that could lessen the pain. He gulped down air, trying to force it past the aching muscles in his throat and into his lungs as soon as possible. His vision was full of black spots dancing back and forth. Soundlessly, he slid down to lie prone on the floor.

Andy was still keeping a tight grip on Michael's wrist. He watched Michael intently, waiting for the next attack. It never came. Instead, he saw Michael's lids flutter a few more times before they became heavy and slowly closed over his eyes. Andy felt Michael's arm go limp in his grip as his whole body relaxed. Soon, the even breathing made it apparent that Michael had fallen asleep.

Andy turned to Sara for instructions. She was still staring straight ahead and didn't seem to notice him at all.

"Milady?" As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Andy silently cursed himself for the lapse.

There was no response. The only sound in the room was the whistling of Dr. Westlake's labored breathing.

Making a quick decision, Andy started strapping the restraint back around Michael's wrist. He tried again, a little louder this time. "Sara?"

Blinking her eyes like a person awakening from a sound sleep, Sara finally turned to face Andy. Her eyes took their time to focus on him. A part of her mind distantly registered the agitation on his face, but she was too preoccupied to react to it in any way. Instead, she turned and started slowly walking towards the door.

"What do I do with Michael?" Andy's voice also reflected his growing agitation. He couldn't believe Milady was obviously going to leave him to deal alone with the situation he didn't even understand.

"Let him sleep." Sara's voice sounded slurred to her own ears. She hoped it was just a trick of her overwrought brain. Rounding the end of the bed, her eyes happened on Dr. Westlake, lying on the floor with his eyes closed and his chest heaving. "Call med lab to come pick up Dr. Westlake." Sara took a few more languorous steps. "I'm going to rest for a while."

Stepping through the doorway into the corridor, Sara hit her shoulder against the doorframe. She stumbled to the far wall and leaned a hand against it to help her turn right without losing her balance. Groping around her mind for the appropriate functions to move her body, she slowly made her way towards her bedroom.

Inside her mind, the dark maelstrom raged on with only slightly diminished force.

CHAPTER 14

"Perkele!"

The word was out of her mouth before she was awake enough to stop the natural reaction. Moving her head had been a bad mistake. The slight movement had turned heavy numbness into a flash of searing pain that threatened to cut her head in two. The angry voice of her 'other self' shouting inside her head certainly didn't make her feel any better.

I know I screwed up. Shut up already!

After a moment of frozen stillness that didn't do much to ease the grueling pain, Sara cracked her right eye open a fraction. She closed it again quickly as the faint light from the bedside lamp that she had obviously forgotten to turn off attacked her senses and left them reeling. She moaned "Oj skit!" under her breath and fought the urge to be sick.

For a long time she just lay there, concentrating on breathing evenly. In and out, in and out - again and again. She let herself drift into a familiar hiding place. No sensory input, no thoughts, no emotion - just existence. She draped herself in the merciful greyness of the twilight zone of her own mind.

Gradually, the throbbing in her head eased. With the lessening of pain awareness automatically returned. When the pain had subsided to a somewhat tolerable level, Sara carefully opened her eyes again. The light still felt uncomfortable but not overwhelming anymore. Squinting, she waited for the room around her to come to focus. Then she took a deep breath and moved her head to the right.

The flash of pain was less ferocious this time. Her eyes adjusted to take in the alarm clock on the nightstand next to her bed.

8 a.m.! I've slept a good 12 hours. God knows what Maddie and Paul have been up to while I was out cold. I gotta get out of this bed, now!

Mentally bracing herself for another vicious attack from her overwrought senses, Sara turned onto her side. A wailing scream echoed within her mind as she was simultaneously hit by both vertigo and nausea. She grimaced, then firmly clamped her mouth shut.

Okay, okay! You've made your point. Leave me alone now. I will get up!

Sara drew her legs up one at a time, then inched them over the side of the bed. She pushed the comforter away. The cool air of the room brushed against her skin and made her realize her body was burning up. Bracing her hands against the bed, she slowly raised herself into a sitting position. All the while a steady stream of muttered words poured out of her mouth like a mantra.

"Der'mo der'mo der'mo der'mo".

I wonder if they're impressed by my language skills yet. Too bad this won't deter Maddie from picking up on my lapse. Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk.

Sara took another deep, steadying breath and pushed herself up on her feet. She started moving even before she was properly standing. With her eyes focused solely on the bathroom door and the sanctuary waiting behind it, Sara made her way towards the bathroom slowly. All the mental energy she could muster was zeroed in on walking straight.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, which made things even more difficult. Sara concentrated on moving one foot in front of the other in an orderly fashion, on keeping her upper body from keeling too much in any direction and on keeping the bile that had risen into her throat from escaping her body. She could feel sweat forming tiny beads of moisture on her forehead and the nape of her neck. Somehow that managed to make her feel even worse.

After an agonizingly long time she reached her destination. Fortunately, she had left the door slightly ajar last night. Sara extended her left hand in front of her and used the momentum of her still-moving body to push the door open enough to allow her slip inside. Then she leaned against the door, closing it, before sliding to sit on the floor as her legs gave out from underneath her.

Only several heartbeats later did she succeed in mustering enough strength to raise a hand over her head. She groped along the wall for the light switch, then managed to turn on the lights. Being able to see actually made her a little less nauseous. The cool tiles felt nice and soothing under her hot skin. That was not enough, however.

I do hope I'm right and they don't have any cameras here. Otherwise there'll be some interesting footage going around Section later today.

Sara didn't bother trying to get up from the floor. Instead, she reached for a towel she had discarded on the floor. She rolled herself onto it and, lying on her back, used her hands to push herself across the bathroom floor. When she reached the shower, Sara got on her hands and knees and crawled into the cubicle. With a grunt she managed to slide the door closed behind her. Then she reached up and yanked the shower handle. Sara slumped into a heap on the floor as cool water started raining on her naked body.

*****************************************************

Madeline was sitting by her desk, sipping a cup of hot tea. This was one of her favorite moments; having actually slept through the night she was now just preparing to start the day's work. But before she would plunge herself back into the world of Section, she could afford to take a few moments to herself. Her eyes roamed over her beloved plants as she wrote a mental list of things to do.

I must call and order more of that special fertilizer...

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the call sound of the intercom. Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly before answering. "Yes?" Her voice was cool and calm as usual.

"You wanted to know about anything unusual regarding situation C1. We might have something," the voice on the other end said.

Madeline recognized the voice as belonging to one of the surveillance technicians. The reference code immediately sharpened her attention. "What is it?"

"You might want to take a look for yourself," the disembodied voice replied.

"Put the feed through to my terminal." Her tea forgotten, Madeline turned to face the terminal and waited for the video surveillance feed to load.

*****************************************************

Sara had no idea of how long she had been in the shower. She didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that she was starting to feel better. Her headache had quieted down to a bearable level of dull ache and her stomach had settled again. Her body didn't feel over-heated anymore. Even the dizziness seemed to have passed for the most part.

Moving her head away from underneath the jet of water, Sara opened her eyes. Nothing happened. The world didn't tilt off its axis. No nerves were screaming out in objection. She found herself smiling weakly at the foggy shower cubicle wall.

Looks like I might live after all.

Carefully, Sara pushed herself up until she was kneeling on the floor. Even the slow movement made her light-headed and she had to stop to give her body time to adjust. Then, bracing her hands against the wet walls, she stiffly rose to stand on slightly trembling feet. She turned off the shower before sliding the cubicle door open and reaching for a bath towel.

Sara wrapped the towel around herself as securely as possible. Her hands felt a little numb and out of control. Gingerly, she stepped into the bathroom and sat down heavily on the closed toilet lid. Sara leaned forward to rest her elbows on her thighs in a position that allowed her to hug herself. She watched as water dribbled from the spiked endings of her wet hair to the shiny tile floor.

Her mind wandered off again. It wasn't until a slight tremor shook her body that she abruptly returned to reality and realized that her skin had broken in gooseflesh all over. Sara shook her head lightly in an effort to clear it, then she started to rub herself dry with the towel.

Get a grip woman! You can do this!

Sara got up to dry her backside. She found herself looking at the mirror hanging over the washbasin. The woman staring right back at her was pitifully pale under her freckles. Her eyes seemed very deep-set, as if they had tried to sink into her skull to escape some horror they'd rather not have witnessed. The look in her eyes was a little glazed and dozens of tiny wrinkles circled around them.

Hello, gorgeous! Hell, Maddie's gonna have a fine old time going over the tape...

Sara shook her head at her own image and smiled a dry little smile. Then, still clutching the towel to her body for warmth, she walked over to the intercom mounted on the wall.

Who would have thought I'd be happy to have a bloody intercom in the bathroom!

Sara cleared her voice a few times before pressing the button for 'call'.

"Yeah?" Greg's voice answered her almost immediately.

To her deep satisfaction, Sara managed to keep her voice light and steady. "Please have a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and a couple of Advils sent to my room."

CHAPTER 15

Nikita stood in the middle of her living room, looking around. The whole apartment was shiny and spotless, faintly smelling of detergent and lemon. All her belongings were precisely where they were supposed to be. The trendy magazines piled tidily on the coffee table were the last touch that made the place look like something from an interior design magazine.

Nikita considered moving the magazine pile across the table for a third time, then gave up with a heavy sigh. She would have to come up with something else to do now. She desperately needed something to do, something to distract her from her thoughts.

After a night of fitful sleep disturbed by vivid nightmares, Nikita had finally given up on rest at 5 a.m. She had gotten out of bed and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. In the bathroom, she had roughly scrubbed the traces of last night's tears away from her face. After making herself a breakfast she didn't have the appetite to eat, Nikita had thrown herself into the work of cleaning every little nook and cranny of her apartment.

She had methodically worked her way from bedroom to bathroom, from living room to kitchenette until no speck of dust could be found anywhere. The hard physical work of scrubbing had at least partially helped her shut out the hurtful thoughts pounding in her head. For short periods of time, she had actually succeeded in escaping the replay of Michael's voice echoing within her mind.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!... Just the thought of the hatred in his voice still filled her gut with a cold and bitter lump of hurt and despair.

There was a knock on the door. Shaken out of her dark thoughts, Nikita turned to scowl at the door. She checked the time on her watch. It was still only a few minutes after 9 AM. She wasn't expecting anyone. She certainly didn't feel like seeing anyone right now. Sooner or later she would have to face the world again, but not yet. She decided to ignore the attempted intrusion and turned her back at the door again.

There was another knock, a little louder this time. Frustrated, Nikita turned towards the door again. She stood still for a moment, indecision turning her face into a deep frown. Then she walked to the door silently on bare feet and activated the surveillance monitor. She was surprised to see Walter standing in the hallway.

Taking a deep breath, Nikita made a decision. She wiped the heels of her palms across her eyes in an attempt to brush away the moisture gathered there. Then she quickly ran her hands through her hair. Taking another deep, steadying breath, Nikita opened the door.

Walter was clad in his usual attire of blue jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket. His face was somber, but his eyes lit up at the sight of Nikita. Affectionately, he smiled at her. "Hi."

Nikita didn't trust her voice enough to speak, so there was a moment of heavy silence between them.

Walter's face evened out. His kind eyes surveyed the obvious signs of misery before him. "Can I come in?"

Nikita nodded and moved back to allow Walter step inside. She closed the door and slowly turned to face her visitor.

Walter was standing in the middle of room, hands hanging by his sides a little awkwardly.

Nikita fell back on the safe routine of playing a gracious hostess. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea?"

"Yeah, yeah... that would be nice," Walter replied as he sat down on the sofa.

Unable to come up with small talk, Nikita busied herself with making tea.

Walter looked around. He noticed the unusually shiny surfaces - and the unmistakable smell of cleanliness. He cleared his voice. "You know, I never saw you after your visit to level eight yesterday."

Nikita looked up from her work and flashed a hollow little smile at Walter. "I wanted to get home. It's been so long since I've had any downtime... I hardly know this place." The words sounded ridiculously lame even to her. She quickly returned her gaze to the mugs on the counter.

"I heard Madeline gave you a few days of downtime. I guess it didn't go so well?" Walter's voice was surprisingly soft.

"That's one way of putting it." Nikita didn't succeed in keeping the hurt and bitterness from her voice.

Walter got up from the couch and crossed the room to stand across from Nikita on the other side of the counter. He tried in vain to catch her eye. "What happened?"

Nikita shrugged.

Walter put his hand on top of Nikita's, stopping her play with the spoons. "Sugar, tell me." Finally, Nikita's raised her eyes to meet his. The pain he saw in her deep blue eyes made his heart ache.

"He wouldn't look at me. I tried to touch him and he..." Nikita had to pause to fight the constricting feeling in her throat. "He flinched away from me." She could feel her lips quivering. "Then he told me to leave him alone."

The last words rushed out of her mouth before her voice gave out. Nikita tugged her hand away from Walter's and turned her back on him. Her chest heaved as she struggled to keep herself together. She would not cry, she would NOT cry. If she allowed herself to break down again she would be lost.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sugar." Walter's voice was gentle, echoing his concern for her.

That was almost Nikita's undoing. A strangled sound escaped through her tightly pressed lips. She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.

"Still, it might not be as serious as you think," Walter continued. "I guess you haven't heard about Dr. Westlake?"

His words made no sense to Nikita. She turned to look at Walter questionably. "Dr. Westlake? From med lab?" Nikita's voice quivered as she worked hard to swallow her tears.

Walter nodded to her gravely. "Michael almost strangled him last night."

"Whaaat?!" Nikita couldn't believe her ears.

"It's the talk of the day in Section. Last night, the doc went in to examine Michael's arm or something, and all of a sudden Michael attacked him. The poor doctor has been admitted into med lab himself - he nearly died."

"Michael wouldn't do something like that!" Nikita's voice was high with incredulity.

"You're right." Walter nodded again. "The Michael we know wouldn't do that. Any more than he would behave the way he did with you."

Walter's words brought with them a new stab of pain. Nikita shook her head. "I don't understand."

"There's something wrong with Michael. Very wrong." Walter stopped and sighed heavily. "Birkoff had somehow gotten his hands on the surveillance tape from Michael's room. We watched it together this morning and I tell you - Michael was going to kill the guy. He was totally out of control."

Nikita could only stare at Walter with huge eyes.

*****************************************************

Sara stepped into the corridor and turned right. She looked no different than any other day - her hair was carefully combed, her make-up flawless. Her countenance bore the usual air of quiet self-confidence. Her steps were steady and precise, bringing her towards the common room with an economy of movement that might have seemed almost lazy if she hadn't been so clearly intent on her destination.

Sara found both of her assistants in the common room. Passing a fleeting look over the monitor displaying surveillance of Michael's room, she faced the men sitting around the coffee table. "Good morning, gentlemen." Her tone was clipped, but civil.

Andy and Greg responded in kind. Greg added, "I hope you're feeling better."

"Yes, I am. Thank you. The Advils worked wonders." There was actually a semblance of a smile on Sara's face. She turned to get a better look at the silent monitor. "How's our patient doing today?"

"Subdued." Greg still did the talking.

"Has he spoken?"

"No."

"Have you spoken to him?" Sara returned her attention to the men in the room.

"You mean 'conversation'?" Off Sara's look at him, Greg shrugged and continued, "Not really."

"From now on, you should. Let's try and encourage Michael to express himself verbally rather than physically, shall we?" Sara's voice was tinged with cold irony. "Also, from now on, you should keep your eyes open around him and your wits about you at all times. The idea is to keep EVERYONE alive here."

Sara's speech was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Andy picked it up, listened intently for a while, then said, "I'll tell her". Putting down the phone, Andy looked up at Sara. The look in his eyes had turned from sullen to almost piteous. "Operations wants to see you as soon as possible."

"Were those the exact words? As soon as possible?" Sara seemed quite unruffled by the sudden summons.

"Yes..." Andy wasn't sure what was going on.

"Good. In that case I'll take a look at Michael first. We'll finish this talk later." Sara flashed them a little smile of what looked curiously like mischief before marching out of the room.

Not daring to speak for fear of surveillance, Greg and Andy just exchanged a long, speculative and slightly perplexed look.