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Nikita eyed Madeline warily as she stood before them. Many agendas balanced on the outcome of this meeting. Reminding herself to have faith in her training, her skills and the profile, she said, "Please, sit down."
Madeline seated herself in the chair placed before the table as the doors slid closed behind her. She was still, awaiting her judgment; sphinx-like as always in her ageless serenity, focused on a distant horizon no one else could see.
Nikita dropped her gaze to the computer on the table, a stylized refusal to acknowledge the penitent waiting before her; a tactic learned at the feet of the master who trained her. That they were the same woman was sweet victory.
Nikita broke the silence. "I'll just be a moment. Sorry."
She fiddled briefly with the controls before looking up, grateful that Jones (whom in her heart she still thought of as Mick Schotpel, fixer extraordinaire and extremely irritating neighbor) was acquiescing to her request to take the lead. It made the next steps easier than they might have been. "On January 10 of last year, Operations abdicated control of the Section for twenty-six minutes based on a recommendation by you."
The date and the event had not been chosen at random; rather it had been carefully selected to highlight, as the only significant issue in her tenure with Section, Madeline's emotional involvement with Paul Wolfe and the power she wielded as a result.
Madeline all but shrugged. "I'm not familiar with the date, but if you say so."
"It was an unfortunate decision. If you recall, we ended up sustaining loss of life because of his absence."
This reminded all the watchers, seen and unseen, of the high price Section paid for its outcomes. Nikita had fought hard for the phrase 'loss of life' over 'lost two operatives' because she wanted to emphasize the deadliness of Section's missions rather than suggest Section haphazardly misplaced its resources. It was a pleasure to use the words now.
"Yes, I remember. It was two operatives, both level one. Frankly, I don't know if the two incidents were related."
Nikita made sure her voice, smug and arrogant, contradicted her words. "Maybe not."
She looked up in time to see Madeline stand to declaim, "How dare you two have the presumption to judge my contribution to this organization on one single event?"
"It's not the event; it's the relationship between you and Paul that concerns us. You two do not complement each other."
"I really don't need to hear what some ad hoc internal affairs bimbo thinks of my work. Get to the punch line."
Jones interjected for the first time. "If you insist."
No matter how many times Nikita had argued that this moment could not, should not, happen, no matter how much she had protested that the Sections desperately needed Madeline, and her skills, it had come. She objected again anyway, her eyes never leaving Madeline's. "No."
Jones's voice was weary, and firm. "We've discussed this, Nikita."
Nikita did not let her gaze waver. "And you know where I stand. This is not the way."
Jones replied, as he had every time she had brought it up. "There's no place for her here."
"Maybe not in Section, but she does have assets."
"Is this a personal plea?"
"Yes."
Jones addressed Madeline. "You understand, this decision is mine and mine alone."
Madeline raised her chin, a defiant glimmer deep in her eyes. "No. You understand. I'll make my own decision regarding my fate."
Madeline reached behind her head, and from the hair above the nape of her neck pulled free a pill. With motions so gracefully deliberate that Nikita felt she was watching a film in slow motion, Madeline resumed her seat, slipped the pill between her lips, chewed and swallowed. After what felt an age, but tapes later proved less than ten seconds, a small tremor passed through Madeline's limbs, then she slumped gracelessly over in her chair, the poison having accomplished it's task.
Nikita stared at Madeline's lifeless body, curiously numb, and filled with a sense of waiting -- though she was not sure for what. A beat later, she realized with a shock that she was waiting to hear Birkoff's voice in the headset she was not wearing. Birkoff's ghost-voice lingered in her ear. "First team at entry. On my mark, three, two, one, go."
Jones said, "I shall miss her fortitude."
Nikita looked over at her companion and wondered, as she often had these last few weeks, what hack British playwright was churning out his dialogue. She kept the thought to herself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ten hours later Nikita let herself into a small room in a back corridor of Housekeeping's domain. The lone occupant was lying still on the bed, but turned her face toward the door when Nikita cleared her throat to say, "Ad hoc internal affairs bimbo? That was your dying insult?"
Madeline smiled without raising her head. Her voice was faint, but full of her own brand of rich humor. "I didn't want to be regretted."
"They are fools."
"No. Only focused on their own end game."
The gentle reprimand didn't sting as much as it once would have; Nikita knew she had done well. Very well. "I saw Paul."
"And?"
"You were right. The playground unsettled him."
Madeline, still lying flat on her back, managed to bow her head in acknowledgement of Nikita's words. "Of course."
"I've also finished Michael's evaluation."
Madeline merely waited.
"He's in full stoic mode."
Madeline smiled again, managing to give the impression she had chuckled, though she had not made a sound.
Nikita continued. "His mission leaves in six hours, with transit time I should be back here by 02:00. Will you be ready?"
"Yes."
"It's sort of freaking me out that you haven't moved yet. You said that you would be mobile by now."
"That was the minimum recovery window."
Nikita gave Madeline her best 'don't shit with me' glare.
"I will manage Nikita."
Nikita nodded, and then let herself out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Madeline was more worried than she wanted to be by the heaviness of her limbs and the sense of exhaustion that made even breathing seem a conscious effort. However, great rewards carry great risks, and this profile was of her own design.
Her last coherent thought before she drifted off to sleep again was to wonder what Nikita's back up plan for moving her might be.
Two hours later Madeline woke with a start and realized she needed to use the facilities. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she sat up, only to immediately slump over again when the wave of dizziness hit.
She took her next attempt much more slowly, and by degrees was able to make it to the bathroom.
After a warm, revivifying shower, Madeline made her way back into the sleeping area to find a small tray with various foods all laid out on a table and an electric kettle ready to make her favorite tea.
The sound of a discreet tap on the door as she was finishing her meal drove Madeline to her feet. "Yes?" she called softly.
The door opened and Mitsua slipped in. Mitsua had worked for housekeeping for as long as Madeline could remember. He spoke little and moved silently. He was also old, and longing to retire to a small garden somewhere, making him an ideal co-conspirator.
He carried with him a small satchel of supplies, and taking note of the remains of her meal, he nodded to the chair.
Madeline resumed her seat, and Mitsua slipped behind her to begin his work.
While Mitsua was engaged with the business of turning her into someone else, Madeline reviewed the encounter that had set this profile into motion two months earlier.
Five days after Madeline's escape from the destruction of the Red Cell base, Nikita had invited Madeline to join her for a cup of coffee. Madeline accepted the invitation with surprise and curiosity, both amply rewarded by the meeting that followed.
The information Nikita had collected during her three-year connection to Center was fascinating and valuable. Even more interesting was Nikita's answer to the question, "Why are you telling me all this?"
"I need some help. And so do you."
"I need help?"
"Center is planning to cancel you in the next two to three months."
"What do you want from me?"
"Profiling. I'm juggling at least five different missions that will all come to a head at once. I need to be able to control the order of events, but I couldn't find the key. Until I realized it was you."
Nikita had gone on to reveal that Center wanted her to create an internal crisis at Section that would result in dramatically lowering Section's success rating, so that Center would be able to justify moving in and replacing most of Section's current leadership. Replacing meant cancellation for those on the list, and three of Nikita's off-profile missions involved trying to spare or free those on that list.
"Who else?" Madeline had asked, certain she knew the answers
"Walter. Michael."
"Not Paul."
"He's not on the list."
"Offering me my life in exchange for Michael's. Quite a carrot."
"That isn't all."
And it wasn't. Nikita was also concerned because she was convinced that certain re-configurations of alliances Section had been tracking among second tier criminal and terrorist organizations were signs of a significant putsch for more power -- something she had only recently been able to convince Paul to agree to track more aggressively. Madeline had supported Nikita's assessment. Nikita had a gift for seeing connections in unlikely places that Madeline thought it was foolish to ignore. The tracking was already turning up some alarming new data, however Center was proving even slower than Paul to take this new threat seriously, much to Nikita's frustration. "With Paul distracted and isolated, this new group could coalesce into a powerful threat. With you outside, free to give it your full attention, I've been playing with a profile that would push them faster than they would go on their own. If they get too big, too quickly, the entire organization will be unstable -- and that much easier to pull down. Once it's destroyed, you'd be free to do what you will."
Madeline had smiled then. Her first true smile in many, many months, and a partnership was born.
"There." Mitsua tapped her shoulder, bringing her back to the present, then gestured to the bathroom. "All finished."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nikita paused outside the door to Madeline's temporary room, rolling her neck and shoulders, trying to work some the kinks out of her knotted muscles. She had not slept in what felt like weeks and exhaustion was starting to take its toll.
Punching in her entry code, she reminded herself that she had worked out a back up plan weeks ago, just in case Madeline had over-estimated her resilience. After their last meeting, she had put the preliminary steps into motion. The tricky part would be forcing Madeline to acknowledge enough weakness to agree.
When the door opened, Nikita was momentarily frozen by the sight that greeted her.
"Come in and close the door."
Nikita did as she was bid, walking into the room and slowly circling Madeline, who was standing alone in the center, marveling again at the secrets the world kept.
Coming to a halt once she was in front of Madeline again, Nikita observed, "I would never have suggested the motorcycle-dyke look for you, but it is excellent."
"I thought you would approve."
Nikita grinned. "I do. I do indeed."
In the time Nikita was gone, Madeline had transformed herself. Her hair was a shock of white spikes, her dark eyes heavily lined with kohl, her ears glinting from multiple silver studs and tiny hoops, the pale skin of her arms and throat set off by her dark tee and leather vest. Her leather trousers and her boots, solid and heavy, completed her transformation. She looked at once very sexy, very fierce, and much older than Nikita remembered her looking even the last time she had seen her.
Nikita raised her eyes to Madeline's. "Ready?"
Madeline shrugged into a hip-length leather coat then turned to Nikita. "Yes."
An adrenaline high carried Nikita out of Section and all the way to their divergence point, despite the utter effortlessness of the short trip.
Standing on the edge of the crowd on the Metro platform, Nikita looked at Madeline and wondered what to say. Over the last seven years Madeline had been her teacher, her tormentor, her guide, and sometimes, on a few crystalline occasions, her friend. Now she was her accomplice, her conspirator, and perhaps, her ally. Nikita neither liked nor trusted her, but she admired her. She always had.
Nikita broke the silence between them. "He believed me."
"He was supposed to."
Tears prickled the back of Nikita's eyes and made her throat itch. "No he wasn't."
"He will see the lie. Most likely he already has."
"I wish I could've told him." They had debated it many times. Michael's skills were unmatched and their profiles would have benefited from his participation. But he would not have agreed to their plans, and once knowing them, he would have gone off on his own to change their outcomes. And that was unacceptable.
"He is an alpha male, Nikita."
Nikita snorted to cover up the little sob that might otherwise have escaped. "Will you be checking on Paul?"
Madeline merely raised her eyebrow.
Nikita grinned in wry commiseration, but said nothing.
After a pause, Madeline said, "you have done very well. Perhaps the best student I have ever had."
"I'm a shitty student, and no one knows that better than you."
Madeline's laughing eyes made Nikita want to kick herself. She pasted on a half grimace. "I mean, thank you."
"You are more than ready to be on your own."
Nikita smiled from the heart this time. "Yes."
"Good luck, Nikita."
"You too, Madeline."
Madeline stepped back, then turned on her heel and joined the crowd. In a moment even her shock of white hair was invisible in the rush hour crush.
Nikita crossed to the other platform, and in twenty minutes, was riding into the future.