In the end, Neil decided to discharge Madeline from the hospital, as she requested. It was best for everyone involved. Neil planned to take Madeline home with him, where he would be able to take care of her, now that she had been stabilized. Michael had already left the hospital, desperate to be with Nikita, but he had told Neil that Birkoff was going to Neil’s house with the children, just in case Nikita was contagious. Neil agreed that it was best to keep the children away from Nikita, and Nikita was too weak to protest.

Since Declan and Walter had been caring for Nikita, since her illness began, it was mutually agreed that they would stay at Michael’s house, to prevent inadvertently spreading that illness. Neil would have allowed Declan to join Birkoff at his house, to aid in caring for the children, but he was concerned about the possible risk to Madeline’s pregnancy. So Declan, as frustrated as he was at being left out of the loop, received all his information about Madeline secondhand. Sensing that Nikita needed to be with her father and her husband more than him, Declan withdrew to the kitchen, to try to tempt Nikita into eating or drinking to rebuild her strength.

Michael entered the house finally, leaning against the door as it locked behind him. He slipped the deadbolt home and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to expect when he saw Nikita. He was terrified that she might be really sick, and part of him, that part that always assumed the responsibility, and ultimately, the blame, said it was his fault. He repeatedly castigated himself for not coming home earlier, when all his instincts virtually screamed at him to do so. But now he needed to get past that feeling of helplessness that descended upon him when Declan called the second time. He couldn’t help Nikita if he felt powerless.

He pushed away from the door and went into the kitchen, seeking Declan. Declan turned away from the stove at Michael’s footsteps. "There you are, at last!" Declan sounded as though he were reproaching him as well. "Bloody hell, but you took your time!"

Michael closed his eyes briefly in pain. "I came as soon as I could, Declan. I didn’t know how bad things were here."

Declan surveyed the older man for a few moments, evidently coming to a conclusion of sorts. "Sorry, Michael. I know you wouldn’t deliberately stay away. It’s just that Nikita’s gone down so rapidly."

"I tried to get Neil to come home with me, but he was going to stay at the hospital with Madeline. He finally decided to discharge Madeline home, but he’ll be a while yet. I told him that Birkoff was bringing the children there. Thank you for thinking of them, Declan."

Declan nodded. "I didn’t mean to alarm anyone, but I had to use the beeper for the first time. I was afraid that Sey would bring the kids straight into the house, without me seeing them first, and then they’d be exposed to whatever this is."

Just the thought of that made Michael cringe. His entire family under attack by some unknown virus. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

"I hate to burden you with my concerns, Michael, but I’ve been so worried about Maddy as well. Can you tell me how she looks?"

Michael smiled weakly. "Well, that’s the good news, Declan. Her blood sugar and her blood pressure are under control, and Neil is on top of things now."

"That’s great." He turned back to the stove and stirred a large pot filled with chicken noodle soup. One of Nikita’s favorites. He ladled some soup into a bowl and handed Michael a spoon.

"Your turn to try to get her to eat something. She’s had nothing all day, to speak of, and now this...."

Michael took the soup to the room where Nikita lay ill. When he pushed open the door, he saw Walter bending over her and his heart stopped for a moment. As Walter moved away from her, Michael got a better view of Nikita, but whatever he’d prepared himself for, this wasn’t it. Her face was ashen, the only spots of color her cheeks, which were curiously flushed now, probably with fever. She looked ravaged, as if some fiendish monster had attacked her, only to spit out the few pieces he didn’t manage to chew and swallow.

"Kita..." he breathed harshly. Walter’s head swung around, and Michael saw the pain etched into his face. "Michael!"

Nikita’s tear-drenched eyes met his. Michael almost dropped the hot soup he was holding. "Oh, God." Michael put the soup down on the nighttable and looked at Walter briefly, painfully. Walter stood up, one arm supporting the small of his back. He patted Michael on the back, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t want to frighten Nikita. They would talk outside, if they needed to. But right now, Nikita needed Michael.

Michael took Walter’s place on the bed, after the older man left the room. He touched Nikita’s face gently, feeling the heat coming off her skin. "My poor Kita..." he murmured, taking the wet cloth from the nighttable and using it to sponge her face very lightly.

"Mi-chael..." she croaked, her throat dry. Now that he was closer to her, he could see that her lips were cracked. She was literally dehydrating before their eyes.

He took some A & D ointment in his hands and gingerly applied it to Nikita’s lips. "There...does that feel better?"

She barely nodded. "Michael...I thought I was having...morning sickness...but that’s not what...this is...is it?"

Michael shook his head slowly. "No, doucette. Was this the only reason you thought you were pregnant?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes..."

Noting her reaction, Michael wasn’t sure if it was her illness or that she had really wanted to be pregnant again. He wet the cloth again and gently applied it to her neck and her upper chest. "Did you want to be pregnant again, Kita?" he asked softly, not sure what her answer might be.

A tiny line appeared on Nikita’s forehead, as if she were under some unseen stress. "Maybe a little bit," she finally said.

He knew she was feeling more than she was sharing. He leaned over and kissed her, feeling how dry her mouth still was. Like cracked leaves. Or parchment. "My poor Kita..." he said, frustrated by his seeming inability to touch her. She seemed so fragile, and he was so afraid of hurting her.

"Michael, don’t. I don’t want you to get sick, too."

"Am I hurting you, doucette?" Michael’s green eyes darkened with pain, his fingers moving restlessly against hers.

"No, no, you could never hurt me that way. I need to have you here with me, Michael. I felt like I was all alone, even when Declan and Daddy were here...I need your touch. That’s what heals me."

Nikita believed that. No matter how sick she was, or would get, she believed that Michael had a special power to heal her, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Michael kissed her fingers, one at a time, slowly. He believed in it, too. He had to. How many times had she brought him back from the brink? With a word. Or a touch. Or a kiss.

He picked her up, very tentatively, off the bed, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body relax against his. The heat of her body registered briefly as fever, then only as Nikita. "Thank you, Michael," she exhaled, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to stay in control. He wanted to cry and scream and protest the toll that this mysterious illness was taking on Nikita, but he couldn’t. He could only hold her and love her, for as long as God would allow. "I love you, doucette," he whispered into her ear.

He felt her give way suddenly, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He pulled back gently, seeing her face now slack and peaceful. Then he realized that she was not asleep. She was unconscious.

Unconscious. Michael opened his mouth, and this time, he knew he would scream.

"Walter!"

Walter burst through the door, Declan not far behind him. Even the idea of Michael screaming for help frightened them both. They saw him half-crouched over the bed, Nikita lying limply in his arms. Walter was the first to react.

"Sugar! Is she--?"

Michael almost cried. "No, but she passed out! Declan, call Neil! I don’t care what you have to do, threaten him if you have to, but get him the hell over here!"

Michael was crazed with pain. He didn’t even bother to hide what he was feeling from either of them. He sank down onto the bed, still holding Nikita. He couldn’t bear to let go of her. He buried his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder, his tears wetting her skin. Her skin was red-hot now. She was burning up with fever.

"Kita, Kita..." he just kept saying her name over and over, unable to focus on anything else. Now he could let go of his fear and his pain. Now that she couldn’t see it.

Walter cleared his throat. "Did you get anything into her? She needs fluids so badly..."

Michael whipped his head around, his green eyes sparkling with tears. "I know that! Does it look like I got anything into her? I--"

Walter backed up till he was near the door. "I’m s- sorry, Michael."

Michael turned anguished eyes on Walter. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "I’m sorry, Walter. I’m just so...scared."

Walter nodded. He moved towards Michael and sat next to him. Gradually, he extended both his arms so that he could embrace both of them, Michael and Nikita. One, the daughter not of his blood but of his heart. The other, the man who guarded that heart with his own life.

"She’s going to be okay, Michael."

"God, I hope so. I don’t know what I would do without her."

***

Declan reappeared in the doorway a few minutes later, his expression unreadable. That worried Michael further. What wasn’t he saying?

"Come," Michael commanded.

Declan swallowed. "Neil says...he won’t come, Michael. He says his first concern is Maddy... He doesn’t want to risk taking whatever this is back to her."

Michael stood up, and Walter was afraid. Afraid that Michael would totally lose control. Afraid that Michael might hurt Neil, even kill him. Nothing mattered more than Nikita. Nothing.

"Let me talk to him." Michael’s voice, in those few moments, had gone from broken to ice-cold. There would be no reasoning with him now.

Declan shifted uneasily. Now he knew why Birkoff used to say Michael intimidated him. That was one hell of a powerful look he had. And that voice. He was more than ready to do whatever he said.

Walter grabbed Michael’s arm. "Michael...you know how I feel about Sugar. If Neil loves Maddy half as much, how could he justify risking her life to save Sugar’s? Do you see what I’m saying? If it were you, would you let Neil jeopardize Nikita’s safety?"

"No," came the sibilant whisper. Michael closed his eyes, knowing that Walter was right.

"If she’s that sick, maybe we need to get her to the hospital."

Nikita moaned on the bed, evidently hearing the last sentence. "No, no hospitals. Please."

Declan forgot he was holding the cell phone in his hand. When it rang, it startled all of them. He jumped guiltily and pressed a button. "Hello?"

He put his hand over the receiver. "It’s Birkoff," he whispered.

Declan listened for several moments, then terminated the call with a seemingly dispassionate "I’ll talk to you later". "Neil is sending a nurse."

Michael began to protest, but Declan held up his hand. "Listen...he’s sending someone he trusts, someone who won’t ask questions...she’s an older woman, a former critical care nurse. She’s going to start an IV, and she’ll be in constant phone contact with Neil for further orders."

Michael sagged against the bed, his anger gone with the seeming resolution of their problem. Walter caught him and put an arm around his shoulder. "Michael, Neil is trying to do the best he can. For both of you."

"I can see that now," Michael whispered. Nikita reached for him, her arms weak and struggling. "Michael..."

Walter pushed Michael back down onto the bed, towards Nikita’s outstretched arms. "Go hold your wife," he said softly. He turned towards the door. "I’ll take care of the nurse."

***

Walter studied the nurse carefully before he let her into the house. Keen, intelligent features. Not bad looking. Full, compassionate mouth. Hazel eyes. Honey- blonde hair. Worn chin-length. "How old are you?"

"Excuse me?" Few things surprised Miranda Walsh, but this rugged-looking gentleman did. She raised an eyebrow carefully.

"You’re so tiny, you must be a mere child." Walter smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was on the verge of demanding to see a photo ID and written documentation that Neil had sent her.

Ah, that was a common problem. People had a tendency to equate stature with strength or capability. "I am highly capable, sir, I can assure you," she said, trying not to feel offended. The man probably preferred tall women.

Walter snorted. "I’m sure you are, dear. But you haven’t answered my question." He waited impatiently.

"I’m old enough to know better. Maybe you don’t need a nurse, maybe you need someone to look after you? How old are you?"

Walter whistled. Now the smile reached his eyes. "You’ll do, honey."

***

Walter walked the tiny nurse back to Nikita’s room, pausing now and then to explain Nikita’s situation. She nodded, never stopping him to repeat something, apparently taking in everything without any difficulty at all. They stopped in the doorway. He turned to Nurse Walsh, seeing her purse her lips expectantly. "Nikita is...well, special."

"All patients are special to their families, sir. I’m sure you know that."

"Yeah, but...Nikita is like...my daughter."

"Ah, I see," she said compassionately. Actually, she did see. He was obviously a man used to keeping his own counsel, and not at all used to explaining himself or his feelings to strangers.

"And Michael is like...my son. But he doesn’t know that, please don’t ever tell him I said that. Jeez, I must be losing it." Walter muttered to himself, unable to get his worry about Nikita and Michael out of his mind.

Miranda touched Walter’s arm, then realized that might seem unduly forward. "I am a personal friend of Neil’s," she said softly. "I don’t ask foolish questions, nor do I tolerate them. I can be counted on to be discreet."

For some reason, Walter believed her. Together, they pushed open the door. Nikita was thrashing around in bed, and Michael and Declan were struggling to hold her down, so she would not hurt herself.

"Enough."

The words were spoken in a low voice, nothing especially memorable or compelling about that. Yet the voice issued forth from a body that was unique. Petite, yet athletically built. This was not a woman who did not know how to defend herself.

Michael and Declan parted as if by prearranged plan. Michael stared at the little woman, clad in a white nurse’s uniform, white stockings and white shoes. Capless, her honey-blonde hair shone. Her hazel eyes glowed with compassion and...something else. Power?

It better be. It was something she was going to need, in abundance, if she hoped to control Nikita. "She’s burning up with fever. I think she’s delirious. She doesn’t seem to know what she’s saying." Michael looked vaguely embarrassed. "I don’t know about this, Walter."

"Trust me, Michael. She can handle herself. Can’t you, honey?"

"I can. And don’t call me honey," she said, albeit too sweetly not to be sarcasm.

"Sorry," Walter said quickly, flushing.

Michael raised an eyebrow. Very interesting. A woman who could render Walter speechless. This did bear looking into.

Miranda rolled up her sleeves and opened her medical bag. "Neil said he wanted an IV started. Holding her down isn’t going to work. She’ll just pull out the IV once it’s in. Wasted effort."

"If there is anything I dislike, it is wasted effort." She took out a syringe and expertly drew up 2 mg of Ativan. "I hate to do this, especially when I haven’t had a chance to get to know the patient, but the IV takes priority."

Michael looked uneasy. "What are you going to do?"

"I’m going to sedate her. This won’t last all that long. But she needs the IV fluids, and she needs to rest, more than anything else right now." She knelt on the bed, and indicated that the two men should restrain her.

Nikita was combative, and she resisted their attempts to roll her onto her stomach. God, it hurt Michael to see her like this. He knew she wasn’t capable of understanding what was happening. She might even think that someone was going to violate her. He squeezed his eyes shut as Miranda administered the injection into Nikita’s dorsogluteal muscle.

"You may release her now." As the men’s hands dropped away, Nikita spun around, spitting in the tiny nurse’s direction.

Michael was stunned. "Nikita!"

Even Walter’s mouth dropped open. Declan seemed less surprised, but then, he didn’t know Nikita quite as intimately as they did.

"That’s all right." Miranda smiled tightly. "We’ll come to an understanding soon enough."

Michael blinked. The nurse removed an IV bag and calmly proceeded to clear the line, priming it to be hung. "Can you find me something I can use for an IV pole?"

Declan immediately volunteered, taking the opportunity to leave. This was a woman who would put the fear of God into a man. Or woman.

She swabbed the inside of Nikita’s left arm, and the younger woman suddenly regarded Miranda with something like anxiety. "Needle! Needle! Michael, she’s going to use a needle on me!"

"Yes, Kita," he offered calmly. "But it’s okay, it’s not what you think. She’s not going to give you drugs."

Miranda glared at him. "I never lie to my patients. Why did you say that?"

"You don’t understand. She thinks you want to give her drugs."

"Like I said, I never lie..."

Walter interrupted. "You don’t know Nikita’s history, Nurse. Her mother was an alcoholic and a drug addict, not to put too fine a point on it. Needles scare her, for obvious reasons."

Miranda flushed, duly chastened. "I’m sorry. That never occurred to me."

Michael nodded silently. A person who could admit their mistakes was infinitely more valuable than one who covered them up and blithely carried on.

Miranda explained the procedure to Nikita, and gradually, whether due to the medication, or due to the compassionate nurse’s patient explanations, Nikita began to relax. Once the heplock was inserted and the site secured with Opsite, Miranda flushed the site with normal saline. She hung the IV fluids shortly afterward.

Taking a step backward, Miranda surveyed her handiwork. "Well, guys," she said, hands on her tiny hips. "How’d I do so far?"

Michael dozed off in the chair next to Nikita’s bed. He wanted to stay awake. Truly, he did. But he was so tired. And it had been such a long day.

His arm dropped to his side, and his body leaned alarmingly close to the edge of the chair, but he didn’t fall off. Whether it was luck or good balance, Miranda did not know. But he was a fascinating man to watch for any length of time.

She quickly assessed Nikita’s IV and re-adjusted the flow, as it was sometimes positional. Color was beginning to return to the young woman’s face already. She had contacted Neil several times regarding Nikita’s condition, and she knew, appearances to the contrary, Neil had always been, and would always be, a compassionate man. He felt that Nikita’s high fever was likely due to severe dehydration as well as whatever infection she had picked up. Her lack of sleep coupled with her lack of appetite no doubt contributed to her rundown condition, making it easier for her to become ill. Miranda concurred. She could see the young woman was far too thin for her height, though she still had attractively female curves in the right places.

She thought back to an hour ago. She introduced herself to Michael and Declan, and eventually, through the normal course of conversation, Miranda had revealed something of herself to them. She was somewhere around 50, though she declined to be more specific, and no one pressed for further details on that particular issue. Not only was she a former critical care nurse, but she had done an extended stint in the Army. She was in actuality a retired U.S. Army Captain. Declan had no trouble believing that.

He had already dubbed her Captain Randy, though he would never call her that to her face. He managed to sneak in a furtive call to Birkoff, somewhere around midnight, and Birkoff’s sleepy voice cheered him up no end. "I miss you, Sey."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you tell that to everyone." Birkoff laughed, but he missed Declan, too.

Declan replied dryly, "Well, not everyone."

They spoke for several minutes, mostly about nothing, mostly just to hear each other’s voices. Right before he hung up the phone, though, Declan mentioned that he met Super-Nurse. "She only comes up to my elbow, I swear, but she’s got more guts than Attila the Hun. Even I wouldn’t have wanted to tackle Nikita on a day when she’s completely out of control."

Birkoff laughed. "Oh, and Sey, I think Walter has a bit of a thing for her already."

"No way."

"Yes. I’m serious. Now there’s a pair for the record books, Mr. Laid Back and Captain Randy."

"Wonder if it’ll go anywhere..." Birkoff mused, half-asleep.

"You never know."

***

Nikita was restless, despite the Ativan, and she struggled with the bedcovers for a long time before Miranda was reassured that she would not hurt herself. That was when it got interesting...

Nikita’s fever peaked about 1 am, and she started to say the most revealing things. Walter was almost snoring in his chair, in the corner opposite Michael. Michael stirred awake when he heard Nikita’s voice shouting. He barely managed to focus one green eye on Nikita when he heard, "I love you, Michael!" He smiled, trying not to feel self-conscious because there were other people in the room.

His smile faded with the next sentence she uttered. "Michael," she sighed seductively, "can we use the rocking chair?" Walter sputtered in his sleep, and Michael’s face flamed bright-red.

Miranda didn’t honestly know what to make of it, as she had no frame of reference, but she would bet cash money that Walter knew. Now if only he were awake. She grinned devilishly to herself, hiding her face, knowing it was quite unprofessional to have such thoughts about a client or a client’s family. But she found Walter very attractive in a rugged, half-ravaged kind of way. Her kind of man. She loved westerns. Walter might not be as laconic as Clint Eastwood, but he definitely had the actor’s craggy charm and...that smoky voice. She imagined honey pouring over hot pancakes when she heard that voice. It made her melt.

Just when he supposed that it couldn’t get much worse, Nikita flashed on yet another memory, this one more interesting than the first. "I can’t get the zipper down, Michael, the leather is too tight! It’s stuck!"

Walter’s eyes opened on that one. He stared at Michael, his mind recalling a certain night when Nikita had run downstairs, grabbing a tray of ice cubes, only to bolt back upstairs. "Michael...I always wondered what she needed that ice for...she didn’t really put it--"

"Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Walter." Michael closed his eyes, unable to meet the direct gaze of the new nurse, who was beginning to look amused despite her admonitions to herself.

"She did! Sugar put the entire tray of ice down the front of your pants?" Walter chortled merrily.

"Well," said Miranda, "at least, all her memories seem to be happy ones."

Michael opened his green eyes and blinked incautiously at Miranda. Was that stiff as a ramrod Army woman laughing at him? She had a sense of humor? Damn, if that wasn’t a twinkle in her eyes.

Walter smiled at Miranda. "A woman after my own heart."

Miranda kept her thoughts off her face for the moment. A woman after my own heart. That was a prophetic statement if she ever heard one.

Miranda touched Michael on his wrist, gently waking him once more. "You wanted me to wake you if there was any change."

He struggled to open his eyes. He wiped the sleep from them with one hand and looked at Nikita, who seemed curiously still now. "Why is she--? Is she--?"

Miranda smiled. "She’s sleeping, Mr. Samuelle. That’s all. But it is a change from her earlier restlessness and delirium. Her fever peaked at 1 am. I think it’s going to break soon. See the sweat on her forehead?"

Michael reached out and touched Nikita’s forehead with his thumb. "Is she going to get better?"

Miranda hated false reassurance. It hurt more than it helped. But in this case, she was glad she didn’t have to resort to subterfuge. The news really was good. "I think she’s going to be fine."

Michael felt his eyes fill with tears. "Thank God," he choked out, unable to hide the emotion overwhelming him.

Miranda looked away. She didn’t wish to embarrass the man. But she had rarely seen such love and devotion to anyone, even a wife, and far from making her feel uncomfortable, she realized how privileged she was to witness the special bond that existed between the two.

Michael woke Walter, knowing that he would want to know the good news as well. Walter came to awareness slowly, stretching his arms expansively. "She’s going to be okay."

Walter matched Michael’s expression, though his smile had more intensity. "I knew it! That’s my Sugar."

Michael stroked Nikita’s hair, now less afraid to touch her, now more certain than ever that his touch had healed some part of her. "I prayed, you know..."

Walter was not all that surprised at that admission. He had noticed a growing spirituality in Michael, if not for organized religion, for something with moral and ethical implications. Having children did that to a person, he supposed. So did coming to the end of one’s life. Not one to confront those kinds of issues, he managed to avoid the question. But he understood.

"The only thing in my life worth anything is lying right here, Walter. I love the children, you know I do. But if I had to live without her...I couldn’t go on...not even for the sake of the children...none of this would mean anything...without her."

"You don’t mean that, Michael," Walter said, knowing how much Michael loved his children.

"Yeah, I think I do..."

"You would leave them alone, to fend for themselves? Poor little Fee? Poor little Lucky?" Walter was aghast.

"They’d have you, Walter. You’re a better father to Nikita than anyone related by blood ever was."

"Michael...I never meant to tell you this...cause God only knows, you’ll be hell to live with, if you ever even remotely grasp your own importance here...but...I love you...as if you were my own son." Walter dropped his eyes, heartsick at the turn the conversation was taking, but knowing that he had to finish what he started.

Michael’s face worked, as if he were fighting the release of some emotion held tightly under control. Scraping his chair back, Walter crossed the room to Michael’s side. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Michael, and Michael crumpled suddenly, falling forward into Walter’s arms. He clung to the older man, finally letting go of the tension, the frustration, and the angst that had threatened to consume him all day and the rest of the night.

He lay his head on Walter’s shoulder and cried silently. Walter held him, knowing his own eyes were welling up with tears. "No matter what happens...you’ve got a piece of Nikita in both of those kids. You can’t give that up, no matter what... She wouldn’t want you to."

"I know...I know..."

Nikita stirred for the first time in a long while. Was she coming around finally? Would she still be delirious? Combative? Hostile? Or would she be cooperative?

Michael stared at that beloved face he knew better than his own. "Kita?"

Walter abruptly released Michael, knowing he needed to touch Nikita and reassure himself that she still lived. Michael bent over Nikita’s face, gently but steadily pushing her hair back. "Kita?"

He touched his lips to hers in a chaste kiss that bespoke of the great tenderness he felt. "I love you, doucette," he whispered against her mouth. He waited impatiently for an answer of any kind.

"I love you, too," Nikita said, her voice gruff from lack of use. She coughed once, then fell silent again.

"Walter! Did you hear that?" He stared at Walter, incredulous, then smiled.

Walter returned the smile. He wasn’t surprised. Sugar was as strong-willed as her adoptive father.

Michael put his head down on her chest and listened to her breathe. Her lungs sounded clear to his untrained ear. He rubbed his head on her chest again, savoring the feel of her beneath his face. Halfway out of his chair, he could easily sleep this way, knowing that part of him was in contact with her body. Slowly he realized that her hand was reaching for him, and he closed his eyes as she began to run her fingers through his hair. Everything was going to be all right. He could sleep now.

***

Screaming.

A terrified woman was screaming.

Wait, it was so close. Maybe she could help.

She reached the woman’s side, but she was lying face down in the street. Perhaps she was wounded. Perhaps she was...

...dead.

Nikita clamped both hands over her ears, so she couldn’t hear the screaming anymore. "Please...make it stop..."

How could a dead person scream?

Miranda bent over Nikita, thrusting the light from her penlight into each eye, checking her pupillary reaction. Nothing untoward there. She checked bilateral hand grasps, and they were equal. Nikita had been thrashing around in bed when she awoke, so there was no need to check if she was able to move all extremities freely. She clearly had full range of motion.

Miranda sighed as she looked at Walter. "No change in neurological status."

Michael strode back into the room. He had gone to phone Neil when Nikita woke them all, screaming. Hideous, piteous screams.

"Do you know what’s wrong with her?" Michael asked.

Nikita glanced at Michael affectionately. "Why don’t you ask the patient?"

"You don’t remember screaming bloody murder a few minutes ago?"

Nikita shook her head. "No, should I?"

Miranda studied Nikita. "She could be thought- blocking."

Walter groaned. "English, please."

Miranda explained. "Maybe whatever she was dreaming was simply too traumatic to remember."

"A repressed memory?" Michael asked. She nodded.

"How can we find out what she’s repressing?"

"Is it important that you know?"

Michael looked at Walter, and Walter nodded. "I think it is. She’s been through a lot lately."

Nikita agreed. "Maybe you could hypnotize me. Like Maddy did that time."

Michael didn’t much care for the sound of that. Neil’s arrival cut any further discussion short.

Neil ushered everyone but Miranda out of the room, including Michael. He examined her, pronounced her a victim of the worst short-term virus he had ever seen, and called Michael back into the room.

"Your wife is going to be fine. Are we friends again, Michael?"

Despite his clever repartee, Neil looked vaguely anxious. Michael didn’t even have to think about it. He hugged Neil, which took Neil off-balance, initially, but Neil soon returned the sentiment.

"You know, I would like to hospitalize Nikita, just to be on the safe side, though."

Michael looked at Nikita, who looked fearful. "No, please don’t send me to the hospital! Please!" She started to scream again.

"I’m sorry, Michael, but I’m going to have to insist."

Michael said, "She’s afraid of hospitals, Neil. It’ll make her that much worse."

Suddenly Nikita began to scream more coherently. "If you put me in the hospital, I’ll die!"

Neil was unable to reassure Nikita. She was convinced that she would die, if she went to the hospital.

"Nikita, why do you think you’ll die?"

Michael glared at Neil. "You can’t explain an irrational fear away, Neil. That’s why it’s irrational."

Neil blinked. "Well, it was worth a shot."

Miranda said, "Try something else."

"Like?" Neil queried.

"Like this dream she just had. Made her wake up screaming."

Neil looked at Miranda as if she had lost her mind. Miranda merely bypassed Neil, and went directly to the source. "Nikita..."

"Yes, Miranda?"

"What did you see just before you woke up?"

"I don’t remember."

"Hypnotize her, Neil."

"I-I don’t know. That’s more Maddy’s field than mine."

Michael stood face to face with Neil, his nose almost touching Neil’s. "I don’t want to have to explain to Maddy what almost happened to Nikita last night, Neil, do you?"

Neil perceived that as a threat, and rightly so. Michael would use whatever leverage he had to heal Nikita.

"Fine," Neil agreed, exasperated.

***

When Nikita was finally under the influence of the hypnosis, Neil began to ask her questions, basic stuff, like where she lived, what her name was. This was to establish a baseline so he would know how she was reacting to his real questions.

When he asked her what her dream was about, she mumbled something no one could make out. After two more tries, he was rapidly getting nowhere. Then with a suddenness and a clarity that stunned both Neil and Michael, Nikita screamed, "If you send me to the hospital, I’ll die!"

Neil pressed home his advantage. "Why?"

"Cause the man in black is coming!"

Neil looked at Michael. It meant nothing to Neil, but it clearly meant something to Michael. "What’s the matter, Michael? You know what she means, don’t you?"

"Nikita! Tell me what you see!"

Nikita flinched. "The woman. She’s screaming. Screaming. She’s lying in the street. I run to her. But I’m always too late. Too late!"

"What happens, when you’re too late, Nikita?"

"I turn her over, and she’s dead! She’s dead! She’s dead!!!"

Michael knew how many dead people Nikita had seen in her life in Section. He knew it bothered her, he knew she could not kill in cold blood. But he didn’t believe she would have this kind of emotional reaction simply to seeing someone dead.

Michael asked Nikita, "Who is the woman, Kita?"

"It’s me! Me! Me!"

Nikita was hysterical, the tears streaking down her cheeks. Michael couldn’t bear to continue and he said so. "Any information we might gain this way is hardly worth upsetting her this much, Neil."

Neil agreed. "She’s upset because she sees herself dead. That would be a frightening sight to anyone, but especially to someone as sensitive as Nikita."

Michael said nothing.

Neil snapped his fingers to bring Nikita out of her hypnotic trance. She immediately stopped screaming, but tears continued to bleed from her eyes. Silent tears.

Nikita stared at the two men. "Did I say anything useful?"

Michael shook his head.

Neil started to say something, then clearly thought better of it. Still, he was curious. "Nikita, can you describe this man in black? Is it someone you know? Someone you fear?"

"Yes."

Michael stared at Nikita. That was not what he expected her to say. "Kita, who is it?"

"Operations."

Neil shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. But it did to Michael.

"Kita, Operations is dead."

Nikita shook her head. "He’s coming, Michael."

"He’s coming."