"She's not doing well Michael," Madeline said matter of factly, watching what transpired in the club, on closed circuit surveillance from inside the van.

"Who's fault is that?" Michael said dryly, scanning the bar scene on the large flat screen monitor.

"You tell me," Madeline said challengingly, one finely brown eyebrow arched his way. She observed Michael's demeanor. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed, and he had his arms crossed in that imperial way of his, the fingers of one hand, rubbing his chin. Michael was not having a good time.

"What are you guys talking about? She's had at least a half a dozen jerk-offs buy her drinks in the last fifteen minutes," Birkoff interjected, pulling back on the controls, and panning the darkened strobe-lit room, "I'd say she's doing just fine. I can only dream of getting that kind of action, just by sitting at a bar and doing nothing."

"That's the problem," Madeline explained, "she isn't doing anything. I didn't come here to watch men hit on a 5' 10" beautiful young blonde, that's a no-brainer. I need to know if she's capable of valentining, that means that she has to be proactive," Madeline again looked pointedly at Michael.

"She knows that," Michael said in his cool, quiet, nonchalant way.

"Uh...excuse my ignorance in these matters, but what exactly do you want her to do?" Birkoff asked, his eyes wide.

"She needs to lure and entice, incorporating deception and cunning towards a satisfactory end result," Michael described patiently.

"Well, she's got the first two criteria covered," cracked Birkoff, watching Nikita lift her long pale hair off her neck and slender back which were exposed by the sleek black brief bandeau top she wore. Her long legs were almost totally revealed in the matching micro-mini she wore. She was wreaking havoc among most of the males in the bar who had incrementally gathered closer, and were watching her intently, some laying down their best lines, and being good-naturedly shot down by her. While others were simply awestruck and polite buying her drinks. Geez, men were pathetically desperate, Birkoff thought with a sardonic chuckle, "So what do you mean? She's got to snow some poor bastard and steal his car? Snatch his rolex?" he asked, laughing.

"Basically," said Michael.

"Shouldn't be hard the way they've been drooling over her," Birkoff snickered.

"Patch me in to B channel," Michael ordered impatiently.

"You got it," Birkoff switched frequencies.

"Ni-ki-tah, what's the problem?" Michael inquired.

Nikita, reaching for the pineapple submerged in her pina colada, jumped, startled at hearing that low soft french-tinged English in her ear.

"N-nothing...I uh, just wanted to pinpoint a worthwhile target," Nikita hoarsely whispered.

"You've had over twenty minutes, you've got ten more then we're extracting you, and this will be designated a dry mission failure," he said sternly.

"No! I can do this. I just...am not used to committing crimes against innocent people," Nikita's words halted in her throat.

"Is she kidding?" Birkoff whispered disbelievingly to Madeline, his eyes wide. He had always had a strong suspicion that Nikita wasn't exactly the criminal type from the first day he had met her, he recalled Walter had always maintained she was framed. Her circumspect behavior tonight confirmed it.

"I-I mean...I know you probably think it's silly, it's not like I have to see these people again, and I can't exactly go to jail or anything," Nikita laughed self-deprecatingly, shaking her head sadly.

"Nikita," Madeline interrupted, "Michael will be entering the club momentarily," Michael turned to look at Madeline, vaguely surprised, curious and a little annoyed at her suggestion. "Will that help you feel better? He'll keep his distance, but if anything should go awry he'll be better positioned to assist you."

Nikita appeared to visibly relax, "Sure, if that's okay," she said hurriedly, "That would help me I think."

"Fine. Stand by," Madeline watched Michael take off his comm unit, shrug on his jacket and exit the van.

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

Nikita spotted her target. She felt awful for deceiving in this manner, but knew a successful outcome would draw this part of her training that much closer to completion. If she could hook the biggest fish in the pond, it would mean she not only passed this particular test with flying colors, but that she had accomplished so unique and remarkable, that her Valentining testing phase might be shelved altogether.

She got up to approach, and suddenly reached out, and appeared to steady herself, her legs wobbly beneath her.

"Whoa! Easy there darling'!" An out of town, wealthy looking cowboy type, had quickly snaked his arm around her waist and attempted to hold her upright.

"I don't know what's wrong," said Nikita alarmed and breathless, her hands against the man's broad chest, "I'm f-feeling a bit light-headed all of a sudden," she shook her head as if to clear it.

His grip tightening around her, he chuckled somewhat lecherously, "Well baby, why don't you lean on ol' J.B. for a spell, til' you get your bearings," he winked at her, drawing her out on the dance floor where a slow pop-rock song was now playing.

Nikita's lids seemed to grow heavy and she rested her head against the stranger's shoulders.

Michael had entered moments ago, and was casually leaning against a pillar, with a glass of ice water in his hand. He watched the actions of the man intently. Assuming this was a part of Nikita's Valentine play, he observed them discreetly. Michael's temple started to throb as he watched the man's beefy hand slide down Nikita's back and caress her bottom, hiking her mini up even higher. He swallowed several times. It had been a while since he had been this disgusted on a mission. Something inside of him cringed watching that oaf fondle Nikita.

In an instant, as they turned, Michael's eyes met hers, and he thought he saw a kind of pleading in them. He straightened like a shot, and decided to circle them to see if he had read her correctly. Immediately upon closer observation he saw Nikita's hands gripping the man's suit jacket overly tightly, and what's more the yahoo was almost holding her upright. She wasn't inebriated, he was sure of it. He came closer to the dance floor, and once again watched her carefully. There it was. Her blue eyes, appeared glassy with welling tears and one the fingers of one hand loosened their grip.

Nikita mouthed his name, Michael.

Michael felt his heart rush up to his throat, and as quick and fast as lightening, with a gruffly voiced, "Pardon me," he had extricated her smooth as silk from the cowboy's arms. His strong forearm at Nikita's waist. With a whimper, she layed her head on Michael's chest and inhaled deeply.

"Hey! What in the hell do you think you're doing? We were dancing together!" The cowboy yelped indignantly.

"You were dancing, she was being held captive," Michael said softly and dangerously, "Go. Now." he ordered, his lethal stare, giving the man more than enough reason to make himself scarce.

"Michael, I'm sorry...I messed up didn't I?" Nikita groggily and tearfully asked, then sighed dejectedly, "I guess I'm not cut out for this," she rolled her head back and forth against his strong shoulder.

"Ni-ki-tah, come on - let's go," Michael started walking, his grip low on her waist. "You may have been drugged, in which case this is as much our fault as yours, as we should have caught it on closed circuit. Don't worry," he said, reassuring her.

"Really? You're so good to me Michael," she said, sounding as if she was feeling no pain.

Michael looked down at her, taken aback, at her view of him. After all, it was his decision to bring her into the hell that was Section. Well, he supposed it was the GHB or the drinks talking.

Nikita was now looking at him as if the sun rose and set. Michael's breath hitched in his throat, as he felt her hand on the inside of his suit coat, skimming his torso.

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

Nikita had covered up as soon as she entered the van. Her head down, she busied herself with the zippers on her parka.

Madeline's small secretive smile was flickering about her lips, while Birkoff glanced up at Michael quickly, his eyes darting down again.

Michael hadn't taken his eyes off Nikita, since exiting the nightclub. She seemed oddly more lucid as she entered the warmth of the van, and almost smoothly took a seat at the far end of the table.

"Excellent work Nikita!" Madeline congratulated her.

Michael turned his head towards Madeline, then back again to Nikita, who had sheepishly looked up at him then back down again, before reaching into the deep V of her top, pulling out a slim leather wallet, and pushing it across the table towards Michael.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed, her eyes sincere.

Michael crooked his lips and wondered if there was anyone else on this earth besides Nikita, that could have played him so completely.

Birkoff sat there amazed, the former Valentine King had been 'valentined,' it was a first.

Nikita was good. Very good.

Or, Michael was in love.

Or, both.