Part 1~~N507

"Talk to me Nikita." Michael hissed as he rolled his shoulders around to stretch in the black van that he was driving. It was the 16th hour of a long drive to their next mission site, New Orleans.

"Michael, do you think I go to Bourbon Street and earn some beads?" Nikita questions and Michael rolls his eyes.

"That shouldn't be too hard. You like to expose yourself for the world." Michael rudely replied and Nikita rolled her eyes.

"I want to try some jambalaya and gumbo. Do you think we can go to Pat O'Briens for a Hurricane?" Nikita questioned and Michael turned his head and sighed.

"Enough. We are on a mission, Nikita." Michael hissed and brought Nikita back to the reality of the mission quickly. They were heading to New Orleans to stop hackers at Tullane and Xavier Universities that got into the Section One computer. It was Michael's and Nikita's job to dispose of them, yet they were not to contact Section One until end game was archived. Kind of a like a pseudo-mandatory refusal.. Michael yawns and sighed. He would not allow Nikita to drive the van. NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!

"Nikita, music." Michael growls out and Nikita smiled and pulled out her favorite CD.

"MADONNA!" Nikita cries out as she reached for the CD player and Michael grabs the CD and crushes the CD in his hand.

"Stop pretending you are a virgin Nikita." Michael hissed and Nikita turned her head away angrily. There was no other music in the van.

"Fine. Talk to me." Michael hissed as he started to get tired again at the wheel. He needed to stop the lines on the highway turning into set of tens.

"Fine. We'll talk about us." Nikita said.

"Us?" Michael questioned.

"Yes. US!" Nikita replied.

"There is no us." Michael hissed and Nikita turned her entire body towards Michael. She wanted to slap him.

"I could kill you in Nowhere Mississippi and no one will ever know." Nikita hissed out and Michael turned and glared at her.

"And I could kick of the van in Nowhere Mississippi to play with the gators and the local men who love tall blondes." Michael answered back.

Then a big eighteen wheeler pulled around Michael and immediately pissed Michael off. It didn't much, as 16 hours in the van, playing continuous Madonna, and with hints of conversations about 'US', had quickly made Michael's nerves non-existent.

Michael turned into the left-hand lane and slammed on the accelerator. He raced side by side with the truck, reaching speeds around 85 mph. Then out of no where, he hits a slick spot, and loses control of the van.

Michael watched in horror as Nikita's side of the van slammed into the truck and the van bounced back. Michael could only listen to Nikita's screams as they started to flip around in the van as Nikita's side of the van crumbled in onto her body.

For a few moments, Michael's world was black. He struggled to open his eyes. He looked to where Nikita was suppose to be and held back his grief. At first he was sure that Nikita was dead, but he saw the movement in her chest. She was severed injured and Michael pulled at his cell phone.

Michael stopped and stared at his cell phone. They were in Nowhere Mississippi and not suppose to call Section One until the mission was completed. A ROCK IN A VERY HARD PLACE.

"Hold on, Nikita." Michael said softly as he saw the massive amounts of blood around her body.

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

Part 2 by Jade

He couldn't call Section. Not until the mission was completed. He couldn't call the local police. Where the hell were they anyway? Nowhere, Mississippi was not the right place to be for two deep covert operatives, especially when one was severely injured, possibly even near death. A hospital, he needed a hospital. Right now. He couldn't waste another minute of Nikita's life wondering whether they might be exposed. He sighed as he surveyed the damage, both to the van and to Nikita. He had no choice. He picked up the cell phone and dialed.9-1-1.

When the ambulance arrived, they needed to use special equipment to take her out of the van. The van was totaled. Not that Michael cared. He only cared about what happened to Nikita. He was beset with If-only's. If only I hadn't been driving for sixteen hours straight, if only I hadn't been arguing with Nikita over her music, if only I hadn't been so shook up at the thought of discussing US, I lost control of the van. Self-preservation was something Michael was well used to, but when he lost control of the van, that went right out of his head. He paced as they loaded her into the ambulance. They told him she was so badly injured, they were going to drive straight to the airport and airlift her to the trauma center in New Orleans.

He supposed he should be glad that they were going in the direction of their original mission. But somehow, he couldn't even think about that. The ambulance driver glanced at Michael's distraught face and wished he didn't feel intimidated, but he needed to ask a few questions.

"Name?" the driver inquired.

Michael frowned. "Can't you take her on to the hospital first?" "She's stable right now, sir. But we need to know your names and addresses, and any medical information you have, such as allergies, would be helpful."

"I'll give you the information enroute to the trauma center."

"I'm afraid only next of kin can come with the patient, sir." The driver moved to prevent Michael from climbing into the ambulance, but something in Michael's eyes stopped him. This was one serious guy, the driver thought, noting the intensity in Michael's stare.

"I'm her husband," Michael said tersely, daring the driver to disagree.

"Right," the driver nodded slowly, suddenly uncaring whether Michael was or not. He didn't much like the prospect of flying to New Orleans with this couple, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

Michael held Nikita's hand as she lay unconscious during the flight to New Orleans. An IV dripped slowly into her right arm, and a BP cuff was attached to the other arm. It was time to start planning what to do once they arrived in New Orleans. But Michael had no motivation for once. He fell asleep, exhausted by the long hours driving, the accident, and then Nikita's life-threatening injuries. And he dreamed...

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

Part 3 by Trace

Operations tapped the cigarette pack leisurely against the palm of his hand. Then, turning it right side up, removed a ciggy and placed it in his mouth. He had forgotten his favorite cigarette case at home, and so detested the cigarette packs. But, with the kind of morning he had been having, he was grateful for his cigarettes...any way he could get them.

Lying the pack down on the windowsill of the observation deck, he took out his gold cigarette lighter and flipped open the lid. He loved the way the light glistened off of the lighters metal casing. It had been a gift from Adrian, once upon a time. He keeps it for reasons he knew not why. Not out of love or respect for her, for he felt none of that. Maybe for some sentimental value. She had given it to him just a few short days before he became Operations. *Yes*, he told himself, that was why he kept it.

After having lit the cigarette, and placing the lighter back into his pocket, he closed his eyes, and took a long, slow drag. Then, with the smoke circling his head like a vicious serpent, he clicked the intercom button. After a millisecond of waiting, Birkoff's youthful, yet weary sounding voice filtered over the connection.

'Yeah' Birkoff said. Operations couldn't help but smile to himself, sheepishly. He really needed to have a talk with Madeline about doing something with that boy's nonchalant attitude. But, pushing that to the back of his mind for the moment, he replied.

'Any word yet from Michael and Nikita?' he asked. As he did, he peered down on the communication bay...the very life force and central hub of Section One. It was from here that all the shots were called. That all the missions were either won...or lost. It was here that he, the self proclaimed King of Section, reached out and pronounced his own form of justice. He decided who lived, who died. He decided what was right, and what was wrong. He held the very lives of hundreds of young operatives in his hands. And, he got a rush from it. He never denied that at all.

As he was reveling in his thoughts of power, and control, he had not heard Birkoff answer. 'Sir, are you all right?' Birkoff asked. Operations then, snapping out of his mental reverie took another drag from his cigarette, gazed once more down onto the lobby. He saw the image of Birkoff looking back at him. Not so much with concern on his face, but more a look of adjuration.

Licking his lips, and spitting out a tiny piece of tobacco, he pressed the intercom button again. "Yes Birkoff, I am fine. Now what news of Michael and Nikita?' Birkoff looked from Operations, to his monitor, to Operations again. 'They have not reported in at the designated time and place. They are not answering their COM links, so we can only assume they are out of range at the moment.'

'What about their cell phones? Have you tried that?' Operations queried.

'Yes, and they are out of range. What do you want me to do, sir?' Birkoff asked, and waited for a reply. After a few brief moments, a plan started to form in Operations mind, and he smiled, slyly. 'Give them three more hours, then send in team two. And get Madeline up here now.' Operations clicked off the connection then took one last drag off his cigarette. Placing it on the floor, he crushed it with his foot. He knew it was rough on the carpet, putting out cigarettes on it, but he could do whatever he wanted. He was the head honcho. Right?

He didn't have to wait long for Madeline to show. As she moved slowly and seductively over the threshold and into the observation deck, he could not help but smile. He wanted her. Just as much then, as the first day he had seen her, if not more. And, by all that he ruled over, he would have her as his again one day. This he silently vowed.

Madeline stopped within a few feet of him, and smiled wainly. He caught a brief hint of her perfume in the air, and his heart raced slightly. Telling himself *this is not the time or the place* he took a moment to get his emotions under control.

'You sent for me,' Madeline said, more as a statement than a question. 'Yes,' he answered. 'It seems that we may be having a very unusual stroke of luck in regards to the New Orleans mission.' He waited for a moment for the ramifications of what he had just said to sink in, then he continued. 'It seems that Michael and Nikita are not currently where they are supposed to be. And, being as how that can only be taken as an act of insubordination, and with the added urgency and delicateness of their current mission, we have only one recourse.'

Madeline paused a heartbeat before replying. 'Cancellation without mercy,' she stated, unemotionally. When she did, Operations slowly nodded his head, his smile growing even more vicious.