Nikita scampered playfully after Walter and Birkoff. They were all going to play a new game. The game was called Gun. Nikita liked games. She also liked the new lady with the warm brown eyes who came to her house. Maddy. Maybe she was her mom. No, Nikita remembered, with a whimper, she didn’t have a mom. But she had Michael. She brightened. Michael was going to teach her to play Gun.

Michael saw Nikita coming towards him and looked over his shoulder at Madeline. "This is sick, Madeline."

"Michael, listen to me. I’m going to use hypnosis to put Nikita under the influence. Once she’s under, I want you to ask her specific questions about the abuse. It’s important, Michael. When she starts to get upset, I will give you a sign. You will then start teaching her how to use that gun. And Michael? Don’t even think about using that gun on yourself. I want it back as soon as we finish."

He smiled at that. "Of course."

***

Madeline smiled patiently at Nikita. The younger woman looked well, despite her emotional impairment. Her blue eyes were clear and guileless, as only those of a child can truly be. "Hello, Nikita."

"Hello."

"Did Michael tell you we’re going to play a new game?"

Nikita clapped her hands excitedly. "Yes, Maddy. I like games." She bit her lip and grinned, her enthusiasm strangely infectious. "Michael knows all the best games."

Michael shook his head. "That remains to be seen," he muttered to himself.

Madeline beckoned to Michael, all the while maintaining her gracious facade towards Nikita. "Michael," she whispered harshly into his ear, "when I start talking to Nikita, I don’t want you to say a word to break the trance, do you understand?"

He smiled at her in a way that would look convincing only to a very small child. "Maddy, would I do that to you?" His eyes were frozen grey. He leaned over as if he were going to kiss Madeline, whispering just as harshly to her, "And if you do anything to hurt Nikita, I’m going to kill you. With this gun."

Madeline got the message.

***

Madeline showed Nikita the shiny stone she had in her pocket for special occasions. Nikita sat on the ground between Madeline and Michael, her legs crossed Indian-style, her eyes transfixed by the stone Madeline held above her head. It swung slowly back and forth. Nikita was riveted. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was so pretty. She could watch it for hours.

Madeline’s voice was low and charismatic, and in her regressed state, Nikita was actually a better subject than she would have been as an adult. She entered the trance, and Madeline breathed a sigh of relief. Michael had not spoken a word since their last whispered conversation. He didn’t need to. She knew how dangerous this could be. But extreme situations called for extreme counter-measures, as Section had taught her.

She nodded at Michael, indicating that he should begin questioning Nikita carefully about the "bad men". She just hoped it worked.

"Nikita..." Michael’s voice pulled at Nikita, and she smiled. Michael’s voice always made her feel good. It was like being bathed in sunshine. She sat with her arms outstretched, hands turned palms upward, and she closed her eyes.

"Yes, Michael?" she answered.

His mind stuttered for a moment, as if he were an actor who could not remember his line. He wanted to tell her he loved her, he was so afraid that this would backfire somehow. God knew, he had enough guilt to live with. If he were responsible for Nikita getting hurt or killed, he would have enough guilt to die with.

"Kita, remember the bad men, doucette?"

She frowned, her entire face changing. Her eyes fluttered, though they stayed closed. "I don’t wanna..."

"Kita...do as I say...we need to talk about the bad men..." He forced himself into mission mode, trying to maintain a certain distance from her. If he started thinking about what she was feeling, he would never be able to do this.

"Ohhhh...kay..." she said, her voice sing-song.

"What did the bad men do?" He deliberately occupied his mind with trying to recite a list of prepositions, almost physically unable to listen to Nikita’s answer. Aboard, about, above...

Nikita’s voice dropped to a whisper. "They want to touch me..."

"Where, Kita?"

"You know...."

"Where?"

She bit her lip, in fact, tortured it to the point where it bled. "Ummmm..."

"You have to answer, Kita...it’s part of the game..." Oh, God.

"Where I go...to the bathroom..."

"Did you let them touch you, Kita?"

She shook her head so vigorously, her hair flew out in all directions. "No! No! No!"

Michael’s eyes were clenched shut, but tears leaked from around the edges. "Did they make you touch them?"

She began to cry. "Do I have to say, Michael?"

"Yes, doucette. You have to." His voice broke, and he fought for control, refusing to open his eyes and actually see the pain he could hear so vividly.

"They made me...kiss them...down there...it hurts, Michael..."

Madeline watched Michael carefully. His breathing was erratic, but he was staying the course. He cleared his throat. "I know, pauvre..."

"I wasn’t a bad girl...I wasn’t! I wasn’t! Mommy said! Mommy said!"

"What did Mommy say, Kita?" Michael buried his face in his hands.

"Mommy said...better be good...better be nice...to the bad men...you bad girl...bad girl......bad...bad..." She started to chant the word "bad" over and over, until Michael thought he would scream.

"You weren’t bad, Kita."

"I wasn’t?" She sounded almost hopeful, as if she wanted to believe him, but couldn’t quite get her young mind around the thought.

"No, you weren’t. It was the men who were bad."

"Bad men..." she repeated dutifully.

"Yes, Kita, bad men..."

"Bad Mommy," she said suddenly, with a vehemence that sounded too adult to be coming from a five-year old’s mouth.

Yes, Kita, I have to agree. Your Mommy was bad. Michael wrenched himself back to the present with a visible lurch.

Michael wrapped his arms around Nikita. He had the gun in one hand, and her hand in the other. He felt the rings on her left hand and almost couldn’t go through with it. But he had to.

"Ni-ki-ta..." he said slowly. "Take this," he added, making her hand grip the gun.

"Do you see the bad men, Kita?" He gently guided her hand along the barrel of the gun and onto the trigger.

His hand fit over hers, like it was meant to. Don’t think. Don’t think.

"Yes, Michael..."

"How do they make you feel, Kita?"

"Ugly...ugly...bad...and ugly...bad Nikita..."

He swiftly kissed her cheek before Madeline could object . "No, Kita, you’re not bad..."

Madeline flashed a warning at Michael, and he stared back, blankly. "What do you want to do to the bad men, Nikita?" He hoped and prayed that she said what she had a hundred times before when he asked her this.

"Stab them...shoot them...kill them..."

Michael pulled Nikita to her feet, taking care not to dislodge the gun from her hand. "Go ahead, Nikita, pull the trigger...shoot them..." He whispered into her ear.

Nikita frowned. "Bad girl..."

"No," Michael corrected gently, "bad men..."

He held her carefully in position, anticipating the recoil from the weapon. It was a live bullet. That was what made it so dangerous. "Kill the bad men, Nikita..."

"Pull the trigger..."

"Please..."

"For me...Kita...do it for me..."

Michael didn’t even realize he was pleading with Nikita to shoot the gun. He molded his hand around hers and together, they pressed the trigger. The explosion was deafening. Immediately, two things happened. Nikita fainted dead away in his arms, and Michael caught her.

Madeline and Michael held their breath. A moment later, Nikita came to with a vengeance. Instead of lying limply against him, Nikita jumped to a full standing stance, gun drawn. "O-kay...Michael...what the hell is going on here?"

Michael could do nothing but watch as Nikita slowly lowered the gun. Ignoring Michael, she turned and saw Walter, standing there with tears in his eyes. He held his arms out to her, inviting a hug.

"Welcome back, Sugar!" He said, almost tearily. She launched herself at him so fiercely, he swayed backwards from the pressure. He patted her on the back, feeling every inch the father that Nikita had designated him.

She looked over Walter’s shoulder at Birkoff, noting how the boy she thought of as a younger brother was curiously shy to come forward. She beckoned him forth with one hand, still clinging to Walter. He stuttered forward gingerly, and when he got within range, Nikita grabbed him and kissed his no-longer-crewcut head. Suddenly, they were all embracing and hugging and cheering.

Michael looked on, feeling more than ever like an outsider. Even within his new family. Why was Nikita rejecting him now? They had been so close, he was the only one able to pull her back to the real world. Why was she hurting him this way? He glanced at Madeline furtively, then slid away from the happy group. He couldn’t bear to see this. His friends. His wife. He didn’t understand. Truly, he didn’t.

Madeline walked slowly after Michael, finally catching up with him. She linked arms with him, feeling he needed the physical contact with someone who cared right now. He stared at her, pain evident in his wounded eyes.

"Michael, Nikita isn’t cured. Far from it. She’s going to be okay, eventually, but she’s going to need counseling. She’s still very angry, and she may take out that anger on you. But please, be aware, it’s not because she’s angry with you. It’s because she feels safe with you, she can explore those feelings without feeling like she’s going to come apart."

"Right now, that doesn’t mean a lot to me, Madeline. I hurt in every part of my body," he whispered hoarsely, "and she has a kind word and a hug for everyone but me."

Madeline looked back at the small group of friends, joined in easy camaraderie again. She sighed in frustration. "I can’t explain it either, Michael. But perhaps she’s embarrassed because the two of you became so intimate."

Michael snorted angrily. "Wrong choice of words, Madeline! We haven’t been intimate since the regression."

"But you’re deliberately misunderstanding me, Michael. You know what I meant. You’ve been taking care of Nikita as though she were a small child. I don’t know what part of that she remembers now, but she might feel awkward about it."

"Now who’s protecting her, Madeline? If we’re all supposed to be so emotionally honest with each other, tell me why she actually looked at me like she wanted to shoot me. Not the bad men who abused her. Me. I felt it." His throat choked with emotion, Michael gave up any further attempt to speak. He just hung his head, sticking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

Madeline moved forward cautiously, knowing that Michael had rejected any attempt to be touched by her in the past. She tentatively touched his arm, then when he didn’t flinch, she pulled him into a hug. He lay his head on her shoulder, looking like a small boy who had lost his way. His other arm crept around her shoulder, and he hugged her back, albeit weakly.

"Thank you, Madeline."

They stood together like that for several minutes. Then Michael drew away, searching his pockets for the car keys. "I’ll go wait in the car."

***

Nikita finally wandered over to where Madeline was standing, looking thoughtfully after Michael. "Madeline, I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude. I wanted to thank you."

Madeline smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She loved Nikita, but sometimes, she hurt Michael more than was good for either of them. "Nikita, as I was explaining to Michael, you will be okay, eventually, but you are going to need counseling on a fairly frequent basis. You will still have flashbacks from time to time, but you should not reach the state of acute regression you just left behind."

Nikita smiled expansively. "That’s great! Isn’t it?" Nikita’s bright smile dimmed. "Okay, what aren’t you telling me?"

"Nikita...you were delighted to see everyone. Everyone but Michael. Can you tell me why?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "I didn’t realize that."

Madeline knew a manipulation when she heard one. "Oh, come on, Nikita, tell the truth. You were angry with Michael. Why?"

She stared at the ground. "I dunno. His voice was the only voice I remember hearing." She closed her eyes for a second, remembering. "I think I felt like he was part of it somehow. Like he was watching it with me. I didn’t want him to see that. It was so ugly."

Madeline braced Nikita’s shoulders with both hands. "Nikita, he’s been with you, day and night, for over a week. He hasn’t slept, he hasn’t eaten, he’s just been living for you. He loves you."

She started to cry. "He won’t love me if he sees the ugly parts that are still inside me, Madeline."

"So what are you doing, Nikita? Pushing him away before he can reject you? He wants you. He loves you. He’s proved it over and over again. You have to accept that. You have to stop pushing him away, Nikita. You’re destroying him."

Nikita wiped a tear from her eye. "I’m sorry, Madeline. I didn’t realize."

Madeline hugged the younger woman briefly, pausing only to whisper in her ear, "He needs you as much as you need him, Nikita. Maybe more."

Nikita knocked on the driver’s side window. Michael rolled the window down and stared at her, his eyes now hidden behind dark glasses. "Michael, let me in."

He didn’t answer right away, then he opened the other door. She ran around to the other side of the car and slid inside, before he could change his mind. He continued to look straight ahead, while she slowly crept closer and closer to him. "Michael..."

He exhaled a deep breath, as if he’d been holding it for a while. "What?"

"I’m sorry...Madeline explained to me what you’ve been doing for me, and I just--"

"What? Now you’re grateful? Or you feel sorry for me?" Michael’s tone was clipped, even terse, as if he were holding back his own anger now.

"I--No! I don’t..." She sighed heavily. "Let me start over. Michael, I’m sorry I acted the way I did before. It’s not your fault. I feel like there’s this ugliness inside of me, still...and I felt like you could see it." She tried to peer under his dark glasses, but he wrenched his head away.

"Don’t!"

"I’m sorry, Michael. I have this fear of losing you...and I was so scared that you were going to stop loving me...I pushed you away first..." Her voice faded to mere whisper.

He turned to face her, his expression incredulous. "What do I have to do to prove that I love you, Nikita? Tell me, I’ll do it. Whatever it is."

She started to cry, her emotions closer to the surface than they had been before the regression was resolved. "I’m so...sorry...Michael..."

He grabbed her by the arms. "Stop saying that!"

She looked so shocked that he grabbed her, he abruptly released her. "I apologize, that was stupid."

"Michael..." She grasped his chin in her hands and forced him to look at her. "We have to forgive each other and go on from here." Tears sparkled in her blue eyes, and Michael wanted to look away, but Nikita refused to let go of him. "You were there for me when I needed you. I’m going to take care of you now for a while. Okay?"

He nodded. "Just come back to me, Kita. That’s all I really need."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he held her there a moment, as if dying for her touch on his skin. "That’s what you really need. To know that I love you."

He stared at her without speaking. "I need to know that you know who I am."

"You’re my husband...my love...my life." Each phrase was punctuated by another kiss. Michael closed his eyes and savored each one, storing each in his memory for later. A tear ran out from under the glasses and down Michael’s cheek. Nikita wiped it away with her finger, and Michael suddenly grasped her finger and kissed it.

"I missed you so much, Kita. You have no idea." He sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

"I’m beginning to."

Everyone sensed the change in the atmosphere when they piled into the car. Nikita was lying on the front seat with her head in Michael’s lap, while he stroked her hair almost absently, as if the mere touch of her were reassuring. The threesome looked at one another and smiled, automatically opening the back door of the car. They were not about to disturb the reunited couple sitting in front.

When they were settled, Madeline cleared her throat and addressed Michael. "I think for the next week, Michael, you have two jobs."

He frowned, looking in the rearview mirror at Madeline. "Two jobs?"

"Yes," she smiled warmly. "Job #1 is to get some food. Both of you need to gain weight, from the look of you. And Job #2 is to get some rest. You’re both suffering from sleep deprivation, and you know where that leads, Michael."

Michael shuddered, remembering his near-psychotic break. "I remember, Madeline."

"Take us home, Michael." Nikita said from her unique perspective.

She liked the feel of Michael’s thigh under her, feeling it tense and relax as he drove, and emboldened by their new rapport, she cautiously ran her hand underneath his shirt, totally taking him by surprise. He caught her hand and kissed it, then returned it to her. "Warn me next time."

She stuck out her tongue. "Oh, you’re no fun."

Walter laughed from the back seat. "Hey, Sugar, don’t distract the driver. We want to make it home in one piece."

***

When they arrived home, Nikita felt like she was seeing her house through brand new eyes. It was like falling in love all over again. Michael walked Madeline to her car, and she cautioned him about trying to push things too far too soon.

"What do you mean, Madeline?"

"I mean...the two of you should feel free to be openly affectionate with one another. But I wouldn’t recommend that you make love to Nikita just yet. I don’t think either of you could stand another rejection this soon, and I want you both to start feeling positively about your relationship again."

"We do, Madeline. Thanks to you." Michael paused, and almost as an afterthought, added, "Do you have any idea how long we should wait?"

"Trust your instincts, Michael, not your libido." She smiled generously at Michael, who was now holding Nikita’s hand. "Let Nikita make the first move. When she feels comfortable enough...she’ll let you know." She turned to Nikita. "It’s important that you feel in control, Nikita. Don’t be afraid to stop Michael if it doesn’t feel right."

Michael flushed. Madeline chuckled. "Sorry, I slipped into therapist mode for a moment there. I’ll call you about setting up a time for your counseling. In the meantime, eat, rest, and be nice. I know you can do it, both of you."

She started to get into the car when Michael called her back. "Madeline, what about Birkoff?"

"Birkoff is doing well, thanks to Walter and you, Michael. He told me how you sat with him all night. I think he could use counseling, too." She turned, her smile once more enigmatic. "And since I no longer work for Section, I’m thinking of opening my own practice."

"Madeline, that’s great!" Nikita looked genuinely pleased.

"Does this mean we’ll be keeping you as a neighbor of sorts?" Michael asked with a curious half-smile.

"Why, yes, Michael, I believe it does. You see, I’ve decided to move in with the doctor who treated Nikita."

Michael’s smile grew wider. "Professionally or personally?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Both, actually." She waved farewell as she put the car into gear.

When night fell, all four of them sat outside on the front porch. Trying to feel the good in the dark night air, instead of the pain it had brought Birkoff and Nikita. Trying to feel the love and affection that bound them together, instead of the hate and disillusionment that drove them apart.

Walter sat at one end of the porch, Birkoff at his feet. Michael and Nikita sat on the steps, as they were wont to do. Once again, Nikita lay with her head in Michael’s lap, as he stroked her hair tenderly. Every so often, Nikita would stop Michael’s hand and kiss it, and he would look down at her, his green gaze brilliant but unreadable in the waning light. Then he would resume stroking her hair, as if she had never interrupted him. They sat silently, like this, for almost twenty minutes, before anyone thought to speak.

Walter sighed. "Sure is peaceful out here tonight. Nights like this are made for wishing, my mom always used to say."

Birkoff sniffed politely. "You’re making that up, Walter."

"Maybe so, maybe so, boy, but it sure sounds like something we should all do ‘fore we turn in and go to bed for the night. Couldn’t hurt."

Nikita said sleepily, "Do they have to be secret wishes, Walter?"

"Not at all, Sugar. They can be anyway you like." He smiled, and his teeth glinted faintly in the dark.

Birkoff laughed. "Okay, okay, I’ll go first. I wish that...I find a girl as beautiful and charming as Nikita to love me."

Nikita smiled. "That’s sweet, Birkoff."

Walter snorted. "I said make a wish, not dream the impossible, Birkoff." But he rubbed the boy’s head lovingly.

"Okay," Walter said, "I’ll go next." He paused, pondering the many alternatives that came to mind. "I know. I wish that Nikita and Michael be happy..." Nikita started to clap, but Walter stopped her. "Wait, wait, I ain’t done yet, Sugar. And I wish that the baby is born healthy."

Nikita closed her eyes as she felt familiar tears sting them. Michael sensed something different in the tension in her body, and he leaned over her carefully. "It’s a beautiful wish, Kita."

She rolled over in his lap, pressing her face against his abdomen. "I know, Michael," she whispered. She said a bit more loudly, so Walter could hear her, "Thanks, Walter. That was nice."

"You’re welcome, Sugar. Hey, Michael, I didn’t make her cry, did I?" He looked worried.

Nikita shook her head at Michael, and he smiled. "No, Walter," he lied, pressing his thumb to the tears threatening to fall.

Birkoff called out to Nikita, "So what’s your wish, Nikita?"

She thought for a moment, then said huskily, "That we all be together like this, this time next year."

Walter yelled, "Great wish, Sugar! Way to go!"

Nikita giggled, and the tears that had threatened to fall soon abated. Michael said, "I wish...that all our dreams come true, even those yet undreamt."

"Hey, no fair, that sounds like poetry, Michael." Birkoff protested.

He smiled and whispered to Nikita, "Poetry is a pretty good name for what we made out of love, Kita. I want our child to be healthy and happy and surrounded by people who love and cherish her."

Nikita knew she was going to cry again when she heard that. "Oh, Michael, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard you say."

Walter grinned at Birkoff. "Hey, you guys, no fair whispering."

Michael stroked her hair back from her face and knew it was as if they were completely alone. "I love you, doucette." He bent and kissed her mouth, his lips warm and moist against hers.

"I love you, too, Michael." She smiled against his mouth and kissed him back.

"I heard that," said a gruff voice filled with laughter, from the other end of the porch. Michael smiled peacefully, feeling hope stir in his heart once more.