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Consciousness comes back to Michael slowly.
His head throbs with a minor but consistent headache.
Through the haziness of his growing wakefulness, one word comes through clearly—Nikita.
He jerks to full wakefulness, only to find that he's confined to the bed in which he lays.
Correction, only his right arm is shackled. His left hand is free.
It's a concession. An illusion of freedom.
His eyes, dry and gritty, adjust to the brightness of the white room around him.
It's the same type of room of which he awoke upon his arrival to Section One. Only this time he isn’t 19 years old. He’s lived a thousand lifetimes since then. Passionately loved two women. Fathered a child with a third.
The heavy, metal door swings open and a male nurse from MedLab comes in. Michael’s eyes track him as he walks to the equipment next to the bed that document his vitals.
Numbers are entered into the panel he carries.
The technician leaves as quietly as he appears.
Time passes.
“After I’m cancelled, they’ll induce…so that you’re not suicidal.”
When the door opens a second time, this time his visitor speaks.
The man known as Paul Wolfe, Operations of Section One, stares at him solemnly.
Michael prefers not to speak first but he needs to know.
“Nikita.”
His voice is hoarse from disuse and his throat hurts to talk.
“I’m sorry, Michael. It had to be done. There are consequences.”
A heavy weight settles in his chest. He can’t fathom a world without her. A growing numbness comes over him. Grief of intense magnitude slowly envelops him.
“They’ll be another day,” he told her right before they turned themselves over. She wanted to fight. Michael wanted to save her life. He should have listened to her. They would have died together.
“It brings me no pleasure to do this, Michael, but you’ve left me no choice.”
Operations had continued speaking, but Michael was lost in the memory of Nikita’s sky blue eyes.
“Return to the fold as you once were, same status, same responsibilities, and no harm will come to Adam.”
Adam
Nikita
Simone
His three weaknesses. Two of them were dead.
Just as with Simone, there will be no gravesite to mourn the loss of his love. No place where he can wail at the injustices around him.
Adam was a manufactured weakness, but no less loved.
“You can live without me, a lot better than I can live without you.”
He will live for Adam, to ensure that his young son is never touched by Section One again.
He can’t remember the last time he yelled with as much fear and anger as he did when Operations injected him with the sedative.
“It won’t be as painful as you think,” he told Nikita. One final lie to the woman he loved.
They took him first. He took one final long look at the center of his universe. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears streamed down her face. She pressed herself against the glass separating them.
He’d give anything to touch her one last time.
Neither one of them said a word.
He was prepared to die if Nikita would live.
“It won’t be as painful as you think.”
He was wrong. The pain was excruciating.
Six weeks at sea. Six weeks in Nikita’s arms.
The salt in the air left her blonde hair wild and free. Untamed. It suited her. He loved it.
They loved each other. They hung on to each other fiercely in the beginning, fearful of what the horizon could bring.
Eventually, Nikita’s gentle touch soothed his tense shoulders.
They made plans. They dreamed.
He’d never allowed himself the opportunity to dream, not really.
“Would you ever like to be a father again?” Her voice came to him through the darkness of the night. “Have more children?”
Thoughts of Adam always made his heart ache.
He was never the father his little boy deserved. Michael lived a fuller life having had Adam in it for such a short time, but what was right for Adam was not necessarily what was right for him. The two things could never quite match up.
He knew what Nikita was offering him—family and an opportunity to truly belong. She was warm and soft curled up beside him. She was the stuff dreams were made of…a future.
“Maybe, when we stop moving and we’re feeling secure.”
He wondered what that would look like. Would it be selfish to consider bringing in a child to a potentially unstable life?
He turned to Nikita and knew without question that she would be a wonderful mother. Her beauty would only intensify as she grew big with their child.
“It could take a while before that happens,” he told her. Michael was nothing if not practical.
“I can wait,” she smiled softly at him and placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Michael now lives in Section. Except for missions, he rarely ever leaves. There was no life out there for him. Not without her.
“I can’t live without you.”
He meant it. He no longer considers himself alive. He merely exists until his luck on a mission finally runs out.
For the sake of Adam’s safety, Michael won’t seek out his own death. His missions are textbook perfect. Operations is visibly pleased at his nearly impeccable completion rate. His team routinely files past him, hopped up on the adrenaline of another successful mission.
He isn’t allowed to help death along, but if death seeks him out, Michael knew he would do little to deny him.
Every time he profiles a mission, he entertains ways in which he can die and have it ruled accidental. None truly present themselves as viable options.
At the end of his days, he returns to his spartan Section quarters. In a much different time, Michael can imagine himself trashing everything around him. Feral and full of rage. Anything and everything near him would burn.
He tries to function on as little sleep as possible. The nightmares he’d suffered in the past are nothing compared to the ones that visit him now.
Nikita, with her bright blonde hair playfully braided into pigtails. He remembers lightly fingering them before they set out that fateful morning.
Nikita, stoic and strong as a deadly cocktail of drugs slowly seeps away her life.
Nikita, her body spasming as a vicious jolt of energy cruelly ends her life.
Nikita, slumping over in her chair as a single bullet pierces her brain.
No, sleep is not something Michael seeks out nor finds comfort in.
They played cards, listened to music, read to each other and made love.
They got into disagreements about the most foolish of things and worked together on boat upkeep.
They talked for hours under a blanket of stars.
They learned more about each other during that time than they ever did during the previous years they’d known each other.
His body constantly ached to breathe her in. They’d seek each other out and lose themselves in the beauty of what it meant to freely love.
Nikita’s hot breath teased his skin, humid and ragged. She tightened around him in exquisite torture.
Michael thrust inside her once more and he lost himself in the treasure that was Nikita.
When her release came and Nikita grew lethargic in his arms, Michael always took the opportunity to take her in.
By all rights they shouldn’t even be here. No one escaped the Section.
That thought drove him from their berth. He was up in the predawn darkness, checking the dark skies and dark seas before him.
It was a familiar task. He regularly stood sentinel over their tiny piece of freedom.
“Come back to bed, Michael.” Nikita beckoned. She appeared on deck, a ghostly apparition wrapped in rumpled bed sheets. She shivered slightly to the chill in the sea air and Michael opened his arms to her.
“Don’t think too much,” she counseled him. “You’ll get lost in your own head.”
The sea was endless before them, ripe with possibility.
He's more apart from the rest of Section than he’s ever been.
The whispers of suspicion and derision are pronounced.
The ultimate Valentine op was seduced to give it all up for love and he got burned.
Some question why he's been allowed to live. He betrayed Section. Davenport was dead because of him.
It didn’t matter that Nikita was well liked. It didn’t matter that Michael had gone up against Section for Nikita’s soul in the past and had won.
Their romance was at once viewed favorably but quixotic by many and stupid by others. More than a few operatives bristle at his preferential treatment. They resent his reinstatement as Class Five, as a team leader, and his continuation at tactical support.
His continued existence is to serve as an example of what crossing Section will unleash and also serve as a rare, perverse display of Section’s benevolence. What many don’t realize is that living is the worst punishment that can be handed to him.
He must also undergo regular psychological screenings.
Madeline’s counsel is unwelcome but required. He is not allowed to refuse.
“Let me be your anchor, Michael.”
He spends their sessions blandly staring at a spot just over her shoulder. It’s a familiar tactic for him.
“I myself was fond of Nikita. I admired her strength and her rebelliousness. I think many of us could see something of ourselves in Nikita’s rebellion. It was what led many of us to Section. She presented us with a mirror into our pasts.”
He sits in silence, waiting for Madeline to dismiss him.
“What do you dream about Michael?”
He gave up his privacy by staying in Section. Surveillance had witnessed his restless nights.
“Death.”
“Yours?”
“Nikita’s.”
“Would it comfort you to know that she didn’t feel pain when she left us?”
Years ago he would never have allowed a response to such a comment to show on his face. This time, Michael allows a tiny ember of hatred to manifest itself before he promptly shuts it down.
“Will that be all?” He asks as he rises to his feet and buttons his jacket.
Madeline studies him for several long seconds. Neither one of them blinks.
“Not quite.”
She slides a panel across the glass top of her desk towards him.
“Study this. You’ll be in play. You leave in 12 hours.”
The radio broadcast music the closer they were to shore. The Beatles accompanied them for hours on end.
"A girl with kaleidoscope eyes."
They started the day with Nikita feeling giddy and amorous. Her enthusiasm was contagious. She undulated above him, taking her pleasure and giving it back to him twofold. Her moans of satisfaction resonated in his ears.
His hands lovingly stroked her body, painting it with his touch. The freckles on her chest and shoulders were much more pronounced now. He increased his mental tally when he spotted a new one.
Michael cupped the nape of Nikita’s neck and brought her to him; Nikita bowed over him and kissed him long and deep. Between them, his hand worked her clit with purpose. She gasped into his mouth and her body convulsed with her climax. She slowed down the rhythm at which she moved over him to the point that their breathing and the rocking of the boat were their only motion.
The morning was still young as far as Michael was concerned. He rolled them to their side and took control of their lovemaking. He slowly worshipped her. Nikita whimpered into his neck, releasing the sweetest of sounds.
He trailed his fingers down her back, feeling her muscles contract and expand with the shifting of their bodies. His lips brushed along her face, touching temple, cheek and chin.
“Michael…I love you,” Nikita softly moaned as he moved slowly and deeply within her. Her nails scored grooves in his back.
He celebrated her declaration by capturing her lips fiercely, receiving the remnants of her words into his mouth. They passed from her to him and flooded his heart with warmth. They were a benediction.
He rolled them over so that he covered Nikita’s body with his own. His thrusts transitioned from gentle rolling to sustained power.
Their labored breaths were cut off as they kissed. Their lips, drugged by passion, took on a frenzied approach.
“Oh, God!” She cried. Nikita’s voice was strained and her body arched beneath him.
Michael reached beneath her and cupped her bottom, tilting her body closer to his. Nikita’s long legs wrapped high on his torso and her hands buried themselves in his hair.
She dragged his face back to hers and plunged her tongue deep into his mouth, exploring him as much as he explored her.
Michael learned how addictive Nikita was when they made love for the first time. To be with her without guilt or concern for being discovered has been a revelation.
This time was theirs forever.
Their release, when it came, hit them both with such ferociousness that they’re startled by the intensity. They looked into each other’s eyes wondering if they had simply imagined it.
When Nikita smiled broadly and her husky laugh emerged, Michael knew that what had once by design been ephemeral has become as deeply rooted as the trees they saw on shore when they departed. They were able to weather any storm.
“Life…is nothing without you,” Michael whispered as he affectionately nuzzled his nose against hers.
"Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes…and she’s gone"
Invigorated by their enthusiastic lovemaking, Nikita announced that she was going to bake a cake. The galley was small and their bowls limited so Michael left her to her task while he cast their lines out to catch lunch.
He caught a tuna and a cod. He cleaned them on deck, but he went back down below to find ingredients for a marinade.
A box cake was in their small oven and Nikita used the salt water spigot to wash the dirtied bowls and then gave them a quick rinse with the fresh.
She wrinkled her nose at him, “You smell of fish.”
“I smell of lunch,” he corrected with a kiss. “You taste of chocolate.”
She coyly bit her lip, “Hmmm, good enough to eat?”
Michael laughed at her innuendo. “Always.”
The radio played on and Michael hummed along softly to the lyrics. Nikita came up behind him and announced that dessert was cooling. He’s on deck grilling the fish. She plucked a few wayward fish scales from his hair, flicking them back into the sea. Nikita smiled infectiously and she wrapped her arms tightly around him. She placed a single lingering kiss on his neck. Encouraged, Michael sang to her softly.
“But the fool on the hill, sees the sun going down, and the eyes in his head, see the world spinning around.”
Nikita’s eyes widened in surprise and wonder and she captured his lips in a deep kiss. Her mouth was warm and pliant against his. She led him to the small settee on deck near the cockpit. “Make love to me, Michael.” Clothing was quickly pushed aside and then there was nothing but Nikita’s warmth enveloping him. She still tasted of chocolate and he still smelled of fish guts.
It was fast and it was hard. It was perfect.
Nikita cried out just as her climax hit her. The power of it was incredible. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder and Michael spilled inside her in response.
Oh, how he loved her.
“If I knew you’d react like that, I would have sung to you a long time ago.”
Nikita’s laugh floated into the air.
The smell of burnt fish wafted their way; neither one of them cared.
Freedom was holding the woman you loved.
Later, they fed on cake for dinner. For lunch, they had each other.
“…this bird has flown.”
The mission he’s assigned to has a seduction component. He’s surprised that it’s taken this long for him to be given one of these missions. The target should also surprise him but nothing really does anymore.
Gone are the days where mission completion was a major priority for him. He exists to keep Adam safe. He relies mostly on muscle memory and instincts honed in the near twenty years he’s been in Section.
Michael sits at an upscale hotel bar in Montevideo. He lights a cigarette, drinks his wine and waits for the target to approach him. The target likes mysterious and confident men. Michael is rather indifferent to the whole thing.
Birkoff informs him that Lorenzo Pullman, arms dealer to an offshoot of Shining Path, has entered the perimeter.
A minor commotion breaks out in the hotel lobby.
Something wasn’t right.
“Team two report,” he quietly orders.
“We’re encountering resistance from an unknown source,” reports Jackson, a Level Two on his team.
“Birkoff, can you identify the source of the interruption?”
“I’m on that. I’m cross-referencing now…I’m not getting anything, Michael.”
“How many?”
“At least four.”
“Any sign of Pullman?”
“He’s on the premises.”
“Team two, get me a visual on Lorenzo Pullman.”
An explosion rocks the hotel and dust and smoke fill the bar. People scramble to the ground and cry out in panic.
“Target is down. Repeat. Pullman is down.”
The mission is falling apart around them.
“Everyone fall back and get to your extraction points. We’re aborting.”
Michael moves to leave, his gun drawn when through the smoke and dust he sees what can only be described as a vision.
Nikita.
He wonders briefly if he’s been knocked unconscious.
Rather than angelic whites, she’s clothed in dark mission gear. Her bright blonde hair is pulled back into a tight knot like she’d often wear it.
When their eyes lock, she wordlessly mouths his name.
Nikita.
His grief stricken heart is far from healed. A year’s passage has done little on that matter.
He wants to go to her. He wants her to lead him to the afterlife…or to the gates of hell, which is a far more likely fate for him.
“Michael? Michael, report!”
Birkoff calls his attention on his comm unit.
He’s not dead and Nikita is still standing a few meters in front of him.
“Michael?” This time it’s Nikita who calls his name.
He’s frozen. He can’t go to her. He can’t. He won’t trade the life of his son for his own happiness.
Reading him like no other, Nikita identifies his hesitancy immediately.
“I know where Adam and Elena are,” her familiar and husky voice reveals.
Nikita was with Centre.
Michael wonders if there might be some truth to the opinions of those who said he had been a fool for love.
Did he ever truly know Nikita?
“You deserve an explanation,” she tells him.
He remains silent.
“I was approached by Centre after you helped me escape. They offered me an arrangement. I listened and then I ran.”
She was so vulnerable then. No resources. Section might not have known that she was alive but Centre did.
“They came to me again after Jurgen died. I listened. This time I agreed.”
Nikita comes closer, as if to touch him, but she quickly abandons the gesture. Her eyes are big and imploring. Those are the eyes Michael sees at night.
“We were supposed to come in together. That was always the plan.”
“A plan you never shared,” he tells her curtly. The deception stings. Seeing Nikita alive and well makes him euphoric, but he can’t deny the foolishness and the near offense that he also feels. “Six weeks. You never said a thing.”
She offers him a wry grin. The familiarity of it tugs at his heart.
“Would you believe me if I said that it was hard to find the right moment to tell you? Everything was so perfect.”
Their conversation is interrupted by a small woman. She whispers quietly to Nikita.
In an instant, it looks like pure sunshine radiates off of Nikita. She glows in a way he has often heard described, but has never witnessed. She smiles serenely at the information received.
“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
She turns her full attention back to him and straightens her shoulders.
“You have every right to be angry with me, Michael…to hate me. But first, I need you to come with me.”
When Nikita opens the door, the room is entirely dark with the exception of a soft night light illuminating a corner. There’s a cream colored bassinet to the side of a full sized bed.
Nestled inside is a just awakening newborn wearing pale pink pajamas with tiny white lambs.
The child, his child— he knows this instinctively, yawns. Tiny wisps of blonde hair are on her head. When her eyes open, Michael sees his own reflected back at him.
Nikita picks up her sleepy daughter and cradles her against her chest. Both mother and child look at him. Their eyes hold the secrets of the universe. They hold the possibility of tomorrow.
“Michael, this is Lucie…Mireille Samuelle.”
His daughter. Just like with her mother, he is absolutely captivated by her.
“It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly she was conceived, but that day, that night was the happiest I’ve ever been. I’d like to think that all that happiness, all that love, made her a reality.”
Nikita lovingly caresses the baby’s downy head.
“Would you like to hold her?”
Nikita transfers the tiny bundle into his arms and the same protective instincts he felt when he first held Adam bubble up with extreme ferocity.
He runs a finger down her soft cheek. This tiny, perfect person was created out of love. Cradling her, their heartbeats synchronize.
“Mireille…how did you…?”
“Before your files were sunk, I saw them. It’s a beautiful name…your mother’s.”
He nods in understanding and looks back down at his daughter. Her eyes are wide and all seeing.
The weight of her small, fragile body is a thing of beauty. It’s proof that even out of the darkest of times, can come hope.
“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Nikita whispers.
“No,” he tells her instantly. “Stay.”
He has no intention of letting Nikita out of his sight. The three of them curl up on the bed and savor the concept of family.
“Tell me,” he implores her.
“Mr. Jones, this is Michael Samuelle.”
Nikita introduces him to the man who provided half of her DNA. Calling him a father would be generous and is more than he deserves.
“Your accomplishments interest me,” Jones announces in a crisp English accent.
“The safety of my son interests me ,” he counters.
“Yes, the boy. He and his mother are safe.”
“Where?”
“You, Michael Samuelle, have the habit of acquiring and then losing wives.”
Beside him, he feels Nikita bristle.
“Where?”
“Section One had them living in Copenhagen. We’ve relocated them to London.”
“And assurances of their safety?”
“All in good time.”
Michael is done with empty promises. He stares down at the other man seated before him and tries to determine what characteristics he gave Nikita. Surely someone as impressive as Nikita came from equally impressive stock. Michael sees nothing impressive before him. Nikita is entirely self-made.
“My son and his mother will no longer be pawns to Section, Centre, or any other organization that declares itself. They are innocents.”
Nikita steps closer and captures his hand in hers. She squeezes it in solidarity.
“Nikita and our daughter are leaving with me.”
Jones studies him for a moment. His eyes briefly drift towards Nikita.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?”
“Nikita has been working diligently on this assignment for years. Her pregnancy was an unexpected wrinkle and we were forced to rearrange our time table to accommodate it. She will not abandon it now that the end game is near.”
Jones talks of his and Nikita’s daughter as an inconvenience.
The tiny weight of their daughter is no burden at all but a privilege.
“You have a clear misunderstanding of what I value in this world,” Nikita says. “To hell with your grand plans. Lucie and I will leave with Michael.”
Jones purses his mouth in annoyance before turning back to him.
“And if you do leave here, surely you’re not suggesting a happy family reunion? If we can’t guarantee their safety, what will you do instead?”
“I have resources of my own.”
“Resources you failed to utilize during your ‘escape’ from Section One. Instead you let Nikita dictate much of your progress. That went against profile. As it turns out it was a gross mistake on your part, given Nikita years long deception of you. You, Section One’s most formidable operative.”
Pot shots at his pride are a wasted tactic.
He and Nikita had that conversation. It was not the sore point others assumed it would be. Nikita played the hand she was dealt in much the same way he had deceived to protect her. What matters most of all is that their feelings for each other are genuine and powerful. What matters is the safety of their family. Everything else is just noise.
“My terms are simple,” Michael states. “The continued safety of my son and his mother.”
Nikita’s warm hand grounds him.
“Their lives have been disrupted enough. They need peace.”
Jones looks contemplative. The hand that supports his cane tightens imperceptibly before he glances at Nikita and then back at him.
“The cover story Section One gave your family when they were moved last year has proved useful. Your former wife has been led to believe that during the course of your job you discovered some discrepancies of a sensitive nature. When your concerns fell on deaf ears with your superiors, you quietly went to the authorities. The threat was so great that they were in the process of relocating you and your family when she became sick. It then gave your employers ample time to plan and orchestrate your execution. Sala Valcheck was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. A threat to their security in Copenhagen once again necessitated their relocation. This time, by us.”
Michael silently takes in the information. Elena, sensitive but strong, would blame herself for their circumstances. She would see her illness as the catalyst for her husband’s and father’s deaths. The scenario preserved their memory of him as honorable, but at the cost of Elena’s conscience. She’s resilient, but he worries what the weight of carrying that false guilt will do to her.
Beside him, Nikita lets out a quiet breath of surprise. “They let Elena believe it was all her fault. She never deserved that.”
“It’s irrelevant,” Jones dismisses. “With time she will heal. What matters is that they have anonymity. They will be monitored for any and all suspicious interest. You can have as much or as little information about them as you want. Although it goes without saying that you will need to pick a side.”
The tactics are harsh but effective. If it was someone other than Elena and Adam, he would have argued the same point.
“Your objective?”
“The restructure and rehabilitation of Section One.”
“How?”
“Over the years, Nikita has been filing observational reports on Section One personnel and activities. We’ve used them to conduct preliminary evaluations.”
“And then?”
“We go in,” Nikita answers his question. “Clean house where necessary. Section can be better. It’s constrained by its current methods.”
Nikita’s arguments are not new. It’s been an ongoing debate between them for years.
“Section is ruthless by design. It has objectives that if not achieved can have far reaching implications. Failure is never an option. You know this.”
“It’s also oppressive. Was all of it even necessary? Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“Are you suggesting kindness and rewards over fear and punishment to increase morale? Section is staffed by criminals. Our crimes require atonement not coddling.”
Michael looks at Nikita and tries to imagine what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been abandoned to the streets by a neglectful mother and a father with misguided illusions of grandeur. Her life could have taken so many rewarding paths. Instead, reality presented him with a frightened but defiant young woman who vehemently proclaimed her innocence. Nikita’s suffering served no purpose. It was wasteful.
“I’m suggesting incremental changes where appropriate,” Nikita says practically.
“Section exists to protect the innocent. You were an innocent. You should have been protected, instead of sacrificed.”
Pain flickers across her face before she visibly pushes it away. She had told him of Jones’ motivation for abandoning her. It only increased his dislike of the man.
“Michael…there’s no point in dwelling over it anymore.” She sounds tired all of a sudden, but she presses on. “What’s done is done. What matters is what we can do to change things.”
“Operations and Madeline?” He asks, turning reluctantly back to the man in front of him.
“They will be evaluated, along with everyone else,” Jones answers. “Your tactical and strategic expertise are valuable. My preference is for Nikita to lead. Her circumstances on the streets and her time in Section were to prepare her for the burden. To a certain extent she will take charge, but she’s been quite insistent that under your leadership Section could flourish. Your file, before it was sunk, was more than impressive. Although, it’s clear that your heart might not be truly in it. That’s unacceptable. Also, the idea of installing someone that Paul clearly favored and who would likely have a similar approach in management style is not the restructuring I had in mind. That’s where Nikita comes in.”
“Michael, if Operations is contained, he can no longer use Adam and Elena as leverage. That’s one less threat against them.”
He won’t deny that it’s not tempting for that reason alone.
“This is not your responsibility. We can take Lucie and just go.”
“The Sections still have valuable work to do. There’s so much good we can do. There’s a better world out there. For Adam, for Lucie.”
Nikita’s words slowly sink in.
His world had been so simple. Live for Adam and hold together the remaining pieces of his heart.
Michael brings the hand that had held on to him this entire time to his lips. He kisses it reverently before he slowly releases it and walks out of the room.
+
Michael stares at the lovely features his daughter has inherited. Lucie has Nikita’s nose and mouth. Aside from her eyes and forehead, which are his, she is her mother’s daughter.
Lucie coos quietly in his arms as they sit together on a rocking chair. He speaks to her quietly in his mother tongue, wanting her to learn and recognize the sound of her father’s voice. Her small hand closes around two of his fingers and she laughs when Michael kisses the top of her head.
The precious sound of Lucie’s laughter and her smiling face eases away some of the loneliness and grief of the last year. Seeing Nikita alive and well in Montevideo had already begun to chip away at some of it.
Nikita stands at the doorway for a long time watching them, but she doesn’t step inside.
When she does enter, she crouches down at his feet. A hand lands softly on his thigh and she squeezes.
“Will you join us?”
He turns his attention from his tiny daughter to look at her mother. The nightmares of her death had haunted him for a year. To see her and touch her once more has been a gift. His love for Nikita is immeasurable. His heart has now expanded to include the tiny miracle he holds in his arms.
He could never have imagined this life. He always felt that he would die in Section.
It wasn’t something he’d contemplated much but he had wondered if his death would be instant or long and agonizing? Would his vital organs slowly shut down as his life drifted away inside Medlab?
He would have been mourned only as far as how much his contributions to Section would be missed.
Nikita’s arrival in Section changed him.
He looks into Nikita’s eyes and he knows the path he wants his life to take. It’s their truth.
He wants them to raise their daughter together. In time, he wants to give Lucie siblings and this time he intends to watch Nikita grow big with their child. He wants to hold her hand as she endures the pain of labor. He wants to be there when their child takes his or her first breath.
With their daughter between them, Michael kisses her. It’s the only answer he can ever give her.
-30-