Renewal

I jump at the knock on the door. I know who it is even before I look through the peephole, but I still find myself unprepared for this. I open the door.

Michael's standing outside the door, in something other than his usual black ensemble. His white shirt and blue jeans surprise me. I don't know why...he's a chameleon. No matter what the job, he can become whatever the part requires. I guess he feels he'll need the element of surprise tonight. Looking at him, it doesn't seem possible. He doesn't LOOK like a killer. But, I guess, neither do I. I must look like the world's biggest sucker. I probably have the word "idiot" stamped on my forehead in bright red ink. He's coming over to ask for my forgiveness. How many times has he done this before? Once, twice...I've lost count of the number of times that he had betrayed me. I've always forgiven him. I've blamed everybody but him. The Section, myself, anything, everything. Everything but him. Surely it could never have been HIS fault. How easy I must have made it! All he had to do was look into my eyes, and I was lost. I thought that I'd hidden my feelings, that I presented only what I wanted him to see, but now I realize how completely wrong I was. Madeline, Operations, and Walter - even Birkoff - knew. I was probably the only person who DIDN'T know how strong my feelings were for him.

Now, he's standing at my door. Staring into my eyes, looking at me as though he would do anything for me. How I craved that look mere days ago! His face, his slightly hunched shoulders, his tentative smile, they all show me that he wants my forgiveness. I look, and suddenly I realize...Michael doesn't exist. The Michael I loved was never real, any more than Santa Claus, or an honest politician. He was just another character created this Section One operative. He was a blend of strength and vulnerability, confidence and insecurity, designed to appeal to my mind and my heart. Knowing this, his visit takes on a new significance. No longer do I dread his presence...now, I take control of things. I hold the cards. He wants something from me. My forgiveness. And now I know that forgiveness is something he's not going to get from me.

In the seconds that it has taken me to reach this conclusion, Michael's discomfort has made itself known to me. He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight from side to side, and stops only when he glances up and catches me watching him. Our usual roles are reversed; now he's trying to figure out what's going on in my head and, for once, my emotions aren't reflected on my face. I allow him a few more seconds of uneasiness, then I speak.

"Michael, it nice to see you," I say. He looks up sharply, trying to determine exactly how I meant that. I give him one of Madeline's small, reassuring smiles and continue, "is there some particular reason you're here?" I silently commend myself on the steadiness of my voice, the complete lack of nervousness.

"Nikita," he begins, looking for any sign of forgiveness or understanding on my face. Seeing none, he resumes speaking. "I'm sorry for using you, hurting you."

"Oh, Michael, don't worry about it. I've already forgotten it. I understand that you were just doing what you had to do in order to save the Section. I would have done the same in your place." I say this in my most serious voice, even as I struggle with laughter. He has to know by now that something is wrong. I've never made this easy for him. I've always argued, yelled, or refused to listen. He knows me well enough not to credit my behavior to a sudden maturity, or respect for Section policies. His disbelief at my statement is obvious, as his mouth goes slack for a moment. I've surprised him. Good!

"Are you sur-" I cut him off.

"Of course, Michael." I look at my watch and feign surprise. "If you don't mind, I'm expecting company in a few minutes. Thanks for coming over." I can't keep the mocking tone out of my voice. He looks up, but finds nothing in my face that betrays my glee. Madeline would be proud.

"Goodnight, Kita," he says, as I escort him to the door, using the diminutive of my name he'd used so many times before.

"Goodbye, Michael," I say, emphasizing the first word. I shut the door behind him and savor the moment.

THE END