"Don't blame Michael, it wasn't his--" Nikita started to interject, seeing Operation's fury at the mission failure unfairly directed towards Michael.

Michael, quickly whipping his head towards Nikita, bit out, "Shut up!" then coldly silenced her with a look. Just as quickly, he responded to Operations, taking full responsibility, "It's my mess I'll fix it," Michael stared back assuredly.

Nikita gasped at the fierce look Michael had sent her way, it had pierced her heart. She turned her head away from them all, then dropped it to her chest, she felt like a whipped puppy. She had never known him to be that displeased with her, and she didn't blame him on several levels.

It was indeed her fault, that Suba had found the tracker.

She remembered back to the moment she had attached it very securely inside his label. It was planted firmly, of this she was certain, so she was at a complete loss as to how he had located it.

Earlier that night, Michael had pulled her out of Suba's ring of fire, by bursting in as the jealous irate husband as she lay furiously fighting and writhing under Suba. Truth be told, when she saw Michael's blazing eyes, felt the ferociousness emanating from him, and heard that explosively enraged "Bitch!," she instinctively felt an irrational shaft of fear worse than she had with Suba.

Nikita went with it, as it had made her reaction that much more believable. That was a good thing, because if Michael's demeanor was scary, his back-handed slap was real enough. Although it was more shocking and stinging than wounding, it had nonetheless brought tears to her eyes. Tears that had less to do with pain, and more to do with the ugly performance play they were acting out, it was proving jarring to her psyche.

To Suba, the trembling panic and fright the young woman had emitted, at discovery by her furious mate, was nothing but real. The husband's outrage and abuse was palpable to everyone in the room, and had so mesmerized the outlaw, that he had momentarily forgotten to be the murderous bastard that he was.

Michael's extraction of Nikita from this devil's lair, had been seamless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the van, in the presence of Roger and Birkoff, Michael had softly laid his palm against her reddened cheek, his eyes focusing with laser like intensity, he asked if she was okay.

Nikita shrugged off the whole incident, "I'm fine Michael, thank you for pulling me out of there." She wondered at his tender regard in front of them, while she made busy grabbing an oversized parka to cover up her scantily clad body in it's clingy opal colored dress.

While in the van she recalled thinking, that she hoped she'd never ever experience Michael's rage for real. Which is why his cutting words and cold glare after her tracker foul-up had wounded her to the quick. It was painfully similar to what had occurred earlier at the Suba private party. Michael was dismissive, almost treating her in a proprietal subordinate way in front of Operations and Madeline, as if her opinions didn't count -- as if she didn't count. Much like an overbearing possessive husband, would feel towards a free-wheeling cloistered young wife escaping his wrath and overbearing possessiveness.

Later that evening, walking mopily through Section having just finished talking to Walter, she was feeling sorry for herself over what was most likely her mistake. Nikita felt his presence, and from behind, she heard him coolly call out to her, vestiges of anger still in his voice. This was unusual on it's face, because Michael was most often soft-spoken.

"What are you doing?" he said, his voice hard.

Nikita stopped, and without turning around to watch his approach, she replied, "What do you mean?" Her formerly sullen expression, now curious.

Michael kept walking, coming from behind her, and smoothly passing her by, "You have some downtime. You should use it to go over the dry mission profile," his tone brooked no argument.

"I already have." Nikita said shortly, and somewhat in defiance.

"Go over it again!" Michael ordered tersely, then added as he continued to his office, not once glancing back at her, "You can't afford any more mistakes."

Nikita stood there alone in the common area, a few seconds after he had gone. A hurt look on her face, feeling bereft at his continued harsh treatment of her.

That was then....

Not too long after that, it was learned that Nikita, had been set up by Roger to essentially take the fall for the initial Suba failure. Roger had tipped him off to the planned night raid by the operatives, endangering Section and ultimately causing the deaths of two people, in a desperate attempt to keep his son alive.

Nikita upon learning of the reasons behind Roger's treason, had immediately empathized and vowed to help the desperate young man. Nikita's plan ultimately had culminated in the successful capture of Suba, and she and Roger had safely delivered the boy back to his family.

"Where's Roger?" Nikita had inquired of Michael not long after that.

"They thought he'd be better off somewhere else," Michael replied gauging her reaction.

"Where else is there?" said Nikita, genuinely curious, then with dawning realization, she grew increasingly upset. "Section had him cancelled," disgust dripped from her voice. "Come on Michael, say it, he's dead!" Nikita's ice blue eyes flashed fire.

"Lives were lost, because of Roger," Michael explained.

"And a life was saved, an innocent one," Nikita remarked, definitely making a distinction, breathing heavily and glancing up to the Perch with rage.

"Let it go Nikita," Michael replied softly, warning her.

Nikita, slowly calmed herself then exacted her rage at Roger's death, on the target in front of her. The memory of the mission, Michael's cold dismissal and treatment of her, coming back like a flood.

"Why should I? You didn't. You blamed me for Suba from the start!" Nikita whispered painfully, still staring daggers at Michael, tears forming. He watched the hurt and anger war in her eyes.

Michael began to take her arm and pull her into Walter's area, away from prying eyes, but Nikita snatched her arm away violently. "The Suba party is over Michael, don't manhandle me."

Michael dopped his head, took a deep breath and looked away, almost guiltily. He wondered if she had felt his rage as very real that night, and her comments proved she had.

For a split second, seeing her in Suba's lair so defenseless, reality had been suspended for Michael. It was as if his tireless and ongoing efforts to control Section's plans for her, and for them both (placing them in dangerous situations that could very likely end their lives soon), had collided with the enraged cuckolded husband he had portrayed that night.

Michael had identified with the poor bastard; they were both afraid, their worlds both out of control, and most importantly, what mattered most to them was being stolen, abused and endangered constantly.

Nikita's very existence at that point had exacted his anger.

Michael hadn't cared before she arrived in Section. If he was taken out on a Section excursion, so be it. But now, with Nikita as part of the Section equation, he usually felt a small coil of fear and apprehension at the start of every mission. He cared about her, he worried about her.

No doubt his resentment, and to no small degree, his anger towards her at that moment, was also borne of being made to feel again. What had once been bearable, was now close to unbearable because of her. Nikita was life, hope and promises. Those things had almost no chance for survival in Section.

But if necessary, he vowed, he would continue to play her, to keep her alive.

"I'm sorry I was harsh with you Nikita, but Roger's betrayal fooled me to," Michael nodded in agreement with her assessment. He understood her latent anger.

"If I am rough with you, I only do it because I've been here long enough to know, that operatives don't get too many second chances in Section," he said quietly, his eyes intensely scanning her features, almost willing her to understand. "I thought it was your foul-up, so I had no alternative but to come down hard, and better me than Section."

Nikita, slowly coming to accept the reasons behind his behavior, but still hurt, questioned hoarsely, "Why is it that I don't warrant the truth from you Michael? I can't trust anything you say anymore!" Her eyes narrowed, she still wanted to lash out.

"You don't trust me?" Michael questioned, feeling dismayed at her remarks.

Nikita's face crumpled, she knew she was alive because of Michael. "I know I wouldn't be standing here but for your machinations Michael -- you've kept me alive," she said simply...remembering her first bumbled mission...remembering Petrosian and "Julie." Nikita's tears were falling freely -- she went on sincerely, "But if I can't trust the people I care about to be honest with me, if there's no one I can depend on for the truth...I'll be dead inside soon anyway."

Michael blanched, the mere thought seemingly upsetting him. He reached out and gently brushed a tear from her cheek with the backs of his fingers, "Ni-ki-tah...no."

"Are you that much of a patronizing bastard that you think I have to be protected at all times from myself?" she asked urgently, a flash of anger at the helplessness she felt.

"I don't like misleading you Nikita...but you have a big heart. That's dangerous." Michael replied, matter of factly.

"For who Michael?" Nikita's fine blond brows rose, and she slowly shook her head, "I'm beginning to believe that you think it's more dangerous for you than anyone else...maybe that's what you're scared of?" Nikita said, almost knowingly, her chin up, belligerent blue eyes challenging inscrutable green ones.

"Maybe." Michael said finally, his lips quirking. Conceding all.

Nikita's wide eyes looked at him, stunned at his remark, and searching. She slowly pivoted and turned away, and looking at him curiously once more over her shoulder, she watched him bring the backs of his fingers to his mouth, and taste her tears.