Standard disclaimers--LFN belongs to its creators and such. The Crow was originally created by James O'Barr so I'd give him the primary credit on that, since it was his vision that's inspired me to watch the resulting movies and now TV show. Crow:STH and its characters belong to their creators...no copyright infringement meant and no money to be earned from this...

Eric tried not to flinch as the cold blade of the dagger was dragged across his skin. He glared at Leder, not for a moment fearing for his life but, rather, fearing the evil that seemed to emanate from the man. An evil that boded ill for the living. "What do you want from me?" Eric demanded.

Leder laughed, drawing the edge of the blade over the perfect skin that covered Eric's rock-hard bicep. "I want your soul," he whispered softly. "That...and all that you know about Section One."

"My soul isn't up for grabs!" Eric hissed. "And as for Section...All I know is that they're an entity I can live without." There was no reason for Eric to protect Section after what they had done to him, but he found himself doing so anyway. It was the lesser of the two evils somehow.

"What a pretty Crow you are," Leder purred, his hand now running over Eric's smooth skin. He was pleased when the young man shivered. "Don't you like me?" Leder queried, his mouth quirked in a cruel grin. "I like you, Eric. Very much."

Eric knew what this was leading up to. "I won't turn, Leder," he stated emphatically, his eyes burning like twin coals. "I'll die a Crow."

Leder sighed. "You don't know what you're missing, little one," he drawled. "But that can be remedied. Very easily." That said, Leder placed the point of the knife against Eric's throat.

Michael studied the red blip on the screen of the handheld tracking device. "Got him," he said softly.

Madeline's voice came floating back to him. "Go in," she ordered. "We want both Draven and Leder."

"Who's priority?" Michael questioned.

There was a long pause before Madeline replied, "Draven."

Michael blinked, but that was his only reaction to the surprise he felt. "Understood," he stated, then he pocketed the tracker and turned to face his team. He gave instructions then they moved out. The six man unit would cover the perimeter while Michael went inside to make the retrieval. A simple plan, but he could not predict the consequences of the mission. Not in his wildest dreams.

Leder sensed that something was wrong. He turned too late, feeling the dart enter his flesh, quickly followed by another. But his constitution was strong and he was able to draw his gun and turn and fire before the sedative took effect.

Eric had been blind to what was occurring. He was in transition, changing from sub-human to Crow...to something else. Leder had stabbed him in the heart with the Snake dagger, then he had mingled their blood. More for ritual than anything else and Eric now fought against the darkness. If he let it take him he was lost. He would be the darkness. A snake. Only as Leder fell did Eric see the figure in black. Knew it even though a mask covered the face. "Michael..." Eric whispered, then he gasped as the other man crumpled. The strength of his transition enabled Eric to break his chains and he forget his nakedness as he moved to Michael's side. Pulled off the mask to check for a pulse and gasped as what he saw.

A flash of images filled Eric's mind. Nightmare images of Michael's death. But it was not a lasting death, for the other man was one such as Eric. Should Michael die he would become a Crow. "Shit!" Eric hissed, then he jumped as a voice echoed in the air. He realized it came from the comunit Michael was wearing. One of the other operatives asking for orders. "Get the hell out!" Eric shouted, for he knew that all hell would break loose soon.

Just then the door to the room opened and Eric was ready. He downed the guard that entered, one of Leder's men, and quickly stripped him of his black jumpsuit and boots. Eric swiftly dressed then hauled Michael over his shoulder. He would return for Leder some other time. If there was time, for Eric could feel his soul burning. Time was running out. Right now he had to think of Michael, so he headed for the window and leapt out into the night.

Operations was not a happy man. He glared at Madeline as she entered his office. "Bad news!" he hissed.

Madeline nodded. "Yes," she confirmed. They had learned of the loss of Draven and Michael minutes ago, but had held out hope about Leder. "Target has disappeared," Madeline stated. "No trace, but I've told Birkhoff to work on it till the trail is dead."

"I want them all back!" Operations shouted.

"Of course," Madeline replied, then she exited as quietly as she had entered.

The pounding on his front door roused Dr. Dorsett from sleep, struggling to unentangle legs from the blankets that had wrapped around them. Tossed across a chair beside the bed was a robe and he fumbled his arms through the sleeves, blinking rapidly to clear the fog from his eyes as he staggered to the dresser to retrieve his glasses. Stumbling over the shoes he'd discarded earlier on the floor, he barked his shin on the corner of the dresser, the pain sharp enough to make his eyes water.

Rubbing his leg with one hand, he hooked the glasses over his ears with the other as he made his way to the front door of his apartment. Running a hand over rumpled, thinning hair to smooth it, he tugged the robe closed as he undid the padlock and hauled the door open, to blink owlishly at the two figures that stood before it.

"Eric?" he said, blinking again in disbelief.

Eric Draven stood in his doorway, supporting the slumped figure of another man who--at a first casual glance--bore an eerie resemblance to Eric, pale and clad in black as he was. But this one bled in a way that Eric didn't...

"Need your help, Doc," said Eric softly and automatically Dorsett moved forward to take one limp arm, helping Eric to carry the man to the nearby couch, laying him out on it. The man's head rolled limply to one side, long lashes fluttering briefly only to still once again, his skin bearing an ashen tint and a sheen of sweat. From under the left shoulder of his shirt came a trail of white cloth, providing the bulge in the breast of his shirt, and Dorsett lifted the material away, grimacing as he saw blood-stained cloth.

Lifting his eyes he met those of Eric and flinched at seeing burning dark eyes set in the white mask of the Crow. Remembered the lab of the Lazarus project and those glittering mad eyes glaring at him, the spirit of the Crow in complete control of Eric's body, the steadying balance that Eric's soul provided gone.

"What...happened?" stuttered Dorsett.

"He's been shot. He needs your help," said Eric tersely.

"Help? But--but--I'm not a--I don't have the license to--"

The words died at the hard look Eric gave him, the young man leaning forward a little and one hand lifting as if he would grab Dorsett...only for the fingers of his hand to curl tightly together, clenching as his hand lowered. Drawing in a deep breath in a visible effort to steady himself, Eric said softly, "If you don't help him, he's going to die. And if he dies, he'll become like me..." He laid a hand on the man's forehead and the man stirred under his touch, a frown creasing his brow, stilling only when Eric removed his hand. Eric's head lifted, to show not the white mask but his own familiar features, a plea in his dark eyes. "Don't let him die."

It had been a long time since medical school--his training had been limited to the areas of the mind-- "I'll do my best," said Dorsett, mind already whirling with thoughts of treatment as he looked down at his new patient. "How do I contact--" He looked up only to see the door shutting...and Eric gone.

Sighing, Dorsett went to get his medical bag.

"Any progress?"

With an effort, Birkhoff held himself still, resisting the urge to squirm in his chair. He shifted his attention from the screen before him to Madeline, standing just behind his chair, and swallowed hard before replying.

"Leder and Van Dresser--we haven't been able to locate either."

Madeline gave a curt nod, having already accepted that eventuality. "And...?" she prompted.

"The signal on Draven, it's fluctuating too much to gain a lock." Birkhoff swallowed again as Madeline's eyes narrowed and hastened to add, "But I think I've gotten a location from Michael's comunit. A team has been sent to investigate."

For a long moment Madeline merely stared at him, till he felt sweat trickling down from his forehead, and then spun on her heel to stalk away. "Keep me apprised," she tossed over her shoulder.

Letting out a shaky breath, Birkhoff turned once more to his screen, nervously running a hand over the top of his head. And wet his lips as he set his attention once more to locating Draven.

With a sweep of his arm, Eric sent the door to his apartment closed and stumbled inside, one hand going out to the nearest wall. Slowly he slid down it, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and closed his eyes, turning his attention inward.

He could feel the Snake's blood in him--its influence--as a dark tendril worming its way through him, leaving a heavy lassitude in its wake that threatened to drown him. A voice whispering in his mind, exhorting him to give in to the darkness, to let loose all his anger and hate, a seductive purr that was so very hard to shut out--

He freed one hand to feel for the necklace he still wore and the ring he had given Shelly...but a hand laid over his to stop him. Eric opened his eyes to see Shelly kneeling before him, clad in a long white lace gown, her heart shaped features framed by auburn curls tumbling down to her shoulders. A smile curved her lips as she folded her fingers around his and brought his hand up to press a kiss against the back of it.

"Shelly..." Tears pricked in his eyes at seeing her and he averted his head, feeling the darkness surge in him. Didn't want to taint her with it--

"It's alright." She cupped his chin in one hand and lifted it so that his eyes met hers again, her other hand lifting to stroke his cheek. "It's been so hard for you--you have struggled so much--" Eric closed his eyes at the soft stroke of her fingers, the warmth of her touch calming him in a way nothing could. "When all you had to do...was give in..."

Eric's eyes flew open to stare in disbelief at Shelly, her fingers winding in the chain of his necklace. The smile that curved her lovely mouth turned cold and hard as she gave a yank to the chain, breaking it. Tossing it aside, the ring he had given her tinkling as it rolled across the floor, and then rising, laughing as her features blurred, her form elongating...

"Did you think I would give up on you so easily, little Crow?" grinned Leder as he crouched before Eric, chuckling at seeing the horror in the young man's eyes. And reached down to grasp one arm, hauling Eric up to his feet, his other hand rising to stab something into the side of his throat and sending him down into darkness.

Madeline held Operations' gaze. "We have nothing," she calmly announced.

"Nothing," Operations repeated, his tone as ice-cold as his pale eyes. He was not pleased. Twenty hours had passed without any information on the whereabouts of Michael, Eric Draven or Leder. "When do you suppose we'll have...something?" Operations queried, keeping his temper in check only with effort.

"I don't know," Madeline confessed, somewhat painfully. She was not used to feeling helpless, but that was how she felt at the moment. They had no way of finding Michael or Eric, and no connection to Leder at this time. It was almost as if the three men had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Operations let a cold smile curve his thin lips. "Call me if the situation changes," he ordered, then he stalked from the room. He had no doubt that Madeline would do everything in her power to find Michael and Eric. She knew that, regardless of his feelings for her, he would cancel her in a heartbeat if she failed.

Dorsett studied the young man on the bed. He didn't look so good. Already pale, the man looked like death warmed over. His skin was clammy and his breathing shallow. He had lost far too much blood for Dorsett's liking and it was probable that he would die. "I don't even know your name," Dorsett whispered.

"Michael."

"You're awake." The statement was one of total surprise.

Michael shifted on the bed and instantly regretted it as pain washed over him. "Where...am I?" he asked, each word costing him precious strength.

Dorsett grimaced. "My place," he answered, realizing that he was being obtuse. "Uh...I'm a friend of Eric's. He brought you to me. I'm...a doctor."

"Where...is Eric?" Michael prompted. He couldn't recall ever having felt so tired, but now was not the time for weakness. He had a mission to complete.

"I haven't a clue where Eric is," Dorsett confessed, one hand pressing against Michael's chest when the young man tried to rise. Wasn't neccessary to restrain him for Michael was far to weak to stand.

Wincing in pain as he strained to force his muscles to obey his commands, Michael finally collapsed back against the pillows, unresisting as darkness washed over him. Today was a good day to die. His only regret was that he would not be able to say goodbye to Nikita.

Eric paced the confines of the room he was locked it. No windows, only a metal door, and the walls were made of stone. It reminded Eric of a medieval cell and he shivered from the cold that seemed to permeate his bones. This place emanated evil.

"Hello, little Crow." Leder was smiling as he entered the cell, the metal door creaking as it closed behind him. "How are you feeling?" The drug he had injected Eric with had been very strong. Even for the constitution of an immortal.

"What do you want from me?" Eric demanded. He stood with his feet apart, arms folded over his chest. Battle ready stance, Eric realized. He was prepared to fight for his freedom. Prepared to die.

Leder laughed, a cold echo of sound that seemed to bounce off the stone walls. "What do I want?" he repeated, his voice a slow drawl as he began pacing around Eric's slight form. "I want you to join me, little Crow," Leder announced. "I want you to embrace the darkness."

Eric let a smile curve his lips as he taunted, "You've got a better chance of seeing God." A pause, then he continued, "And we both know that's not gonna happen in this lifetime. Or any other."

"You don't really have a choice, Eric," Leder reminded the young man. "You can feel my blood in you already...can't you?"

"I feel slightly nauseous...if that's what you mean," Eric shot back. He did feel the darkness and the evil, but he'd be damned before he'd admit it to Leder. Not that he didn't already feel as if he was damned. Life as a Crow was no picnic.

Leder heaved a sigh, but he wasn't really upset. Draven was rather amusing, and he had a power...an aura...that excited Leder. "We belong together...little Crow," he crooned, as he glided closer. Then he attacked, slamming Eric back against the cold wall and pinning him there with his larger bulk. "We are the perfect blend of good and evil, Eric. Light and dark melding together into an allegiance of unstoppable power."

Eric shifted against Leder, trying to find ground so that he could toss the other man away, but Leder was too strong and Eric was still feeling the effects of the drug. "I'll die before I become like you!" Eric hissed.

"But you are me," Leder announced, as his fingers curled in Eric's long hair, yanking the young man's head back so that he could stab him with another needle full of drugs. He caught Eric as the young man collapsed, then carried him from the room. It was time to complete the change.

The room was not small...but to Eric it felt cramped, confined, as if the walls were moving slowly and inexorably inward. For the last few hours he'd sat huddled in a corner, drawing as tightly in on himself as he could, knees pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around them, consumed by alternating waves of heat and cold as he tried to battle the darkness in him. Knowing it was a losing battle...but unable to stop struggling, even to the end. Even so he was nearing the end of his strength, his resistance flagging as mental and physical exhaustion claimed its toll. It would be so much easier to just give in, to let it take him--

"Hey, cousin."

Eric raised his head at the sound of a familiar voice and gave a toss of his head to clear sweat-dampened hair from his eyes, blinking as the salty tang of sweat burned his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw a figure squatting before him and it took a moment for his weary mind to process who--or what--it was: the Skull Cowboy. He blinked again, to see if the image would vanish like the mirage he thought it might be, but the Skull Cowboy grinned back at him, raising a finger to push the brim of his round black hat back on his forehead as he studied Eric.

"You don't look very good, cousin," he said critically, wrinkling his nose as he took in rumpled clothing and tangled dark hair.

"Why are you here?" Eric demanded hoarsely.

Shaking his head slightly, the Skull Cowboy made a tsking sound, ignoring Eric's question. "Yeah, you look like you're just giving up, cousin. Thought you had more fight in you than that," he added chidingly, shaking his head sorrowfully.

"What more do you want from me?" The cry came from deep within him, vocalizing all the pain and grief and anger, the uncertainity and fear and hopelessness that had lurked deep inside him for so long. It gave him the strength to push himself up to his feet, hands knotting at his sides as his slim form trembled as much from anger as exhaustion. "What more do I have to give? What do I have to do to make it right? To get...back?"

Smoothly the Skull Cowboy rose to his feet, the mockery and humor gone from his dark eyes. "Be true to yourself," he said simply.

The anger fled Eric in a rush, leaving him shaken and spent, sinking back down to the floor. Be true to yourself--how simple that sounded...but it wasn't simple at all. Not when he was no longer sure who he was...

"There's someone that needs you, cousin. Someone that's tottering on the abyss right now...and all it'll take is one little push to send him over. Someone that can do far more damage than a Snake ever dreamed of..."

Eric lifted his head to look up into the grave features of the Skull Cowboy. "Michael..." he breathed, remembering what he had seen. That Michael would become like him should he die...or worse.

Folding his arms over his chest, the Skull Cowboy regarded the young man as he slowly gathered himself together, drawing on hidden reserves to battle the darkness in him. Knew that it was the only way to reach Eric, to give him someone else other than himself to focus on. For himself Eric might give up the fight...but for another soul he'd fight to the end. Allowing a satisfied smile to curve his lips, he stepped back, fading away.

Dorsett held one limp wrist between his fingers, eyes on his watch as he checked the young man's pulse. Looked down at his patient and his stomach twisted at seeing the other's pallor. He'd done what he could, but the young man was still losing blood and fading at an alarming rate.

Lowering the young man's wrist to the bed, Dorsett rose to pace restlessly around the room, stroking his chin. He had to take the young man to a hospital, where he could be tended properly--needed blood transfusion, maybe even surgery...

And there would be police involved, reports to file, questions to be answered...which of course he had no answers for. If the young man was in trouble, then his situation would be even worse--

Worse than dying? asked a sarcastic inner voice.

Heaving a sigh, Dorsett strode quickly to the bedstand and the phone that lay there, snatching it up to dial 911.

It had been six hours since Eric's last injection, and Leder unlocked the door to his cell, confident that enough time had passed for Eric to be changed. With Eric beside him, there would be nothing he could not do, the world would be his to take. His first goal would be to destroy the Section, simply because they'd had the temerity to attack him...and from there...the opportunities were...endless.

Opening the door, Leder stepped into the cell, pausing before the huddled figure of the little Crow. A cruel smile curved his lips as he asked softly, "How are you feeling, Eric?"

Eric's head lifted and through a damp, tangled curtain of dark hair shone the white mask of the Crow, mockery glittering in dark eyes as black lips curled in a feral grin. "Oh, just peachy keen. But you--you're in for a world of hurt, Mr. Snake." And came to his feet faster than Leder would have thought possible, one long leg flashing up and out to clip him hard on the chin, sending him staggering back. Another kick sent him down to his knees and the Crow swooped down on him, grasping the shoulders of his coat to throw him hard against the wall.

From his pocket clattered another syringe and Eric snatched it up, eying it with exaggerated curiosity. "Ohh...and what's this? I wonder what it does..." Even as Leder tried to rise, Eric was on him, stabbing the syringe into his throat and depressing the plunger. "Say goodnight, Gracie..." he crooned as he released Leder to fall limply to the ground, waiting until the Snake was still before he retrieved the keys and got out of there.

Once again Dorsett was roused from sleep--not by the pounding on the door but a grip on his shoulder, shaking him till he came up from uneasy sleep. He focused on Eric before him, an Eric looking frayed around the edges but otherwise whole, his hand tightening on Dorsett's shoulder to give him another shake.

"Michael--where's Michael?" demanded Eric.

"Michael...?" repeated Dorsett dumbly, struggling to remember who "Michael" was...and sagging as he realized it was the name of the one Eric had told him to save. "He's at the hospital."

"How is--" Eric broke off at the bleak look in Dorsett's eyes and hauled Dorsett to his feet, fingers curling tight in the material of Dorsett's shirt. He couldn't be too late, he just couldn't-- "Take me to him," he whispered.

Nodding, Dorsett reached up to uncurl Eric's fingers from his shirt, not meeting the young man's eyes as he led the way.

He lay on a stretcher, a white sheet drawn up just past his waist, the pale skin of his chest streaked with blood and a tube extruding from below his ribs, another tube inserted between his lips. His eyes were partially closed, showing a hint of white, and pale features were slack, as expressionless in death as he had been in life.

Eric reached out a trembling hand to touch Michael's cheek and halted short of contact, clasping his hands together. From behind him Dorsett stepped closer and spoke in a soft, hushed voice. "They did what they could...but it was too late. There was damage to one of the arteries and he bled out--"

Eric nodded slowly, knowing that if he touched Michael, he would see what they had done to save him...efforts that were not enough. Efforts that hadn't been enough to save Shelly either--

"Eric..." He turned his head as Dorsett laid a hand on his shoulder and drew in a deep breath before stepping up to the stretcher. He slid one arm underneath Michael's knees and the other around his shoulders, lifting him gently from the stretcher and turning to face Dorsett. A frown creased the older man's brow as he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I have to get him out of here," said Eric softly. Before the Section tracked Michael down...and took him away. The Section would realize quickly what a weapon it had...and exploit it ruthlessly. And that was something Eric was determined to stop. He had failed to save Michael's life...but his soul...that was still there. There was still the possibility that could be saved... "Please," he said to Dorsett.

Heaving a sigh, Dorsett nodded and went to the door of the morgue. "I'll...distract them or something." He shook his head as he went to do just that, providing Eric with the opportunity to slip out of there, Michael in his arms.

His first impulse had been to take Michael to his apartment, but he'd known that it would be one of the first places the Section would look. And so Eric had brought him down to an old quonset hut on the waterfront, laying Michael gently out on the ground and taking up position to watch him. Not at all certain how long it would take for him to rise, if it would be hours or days or months--however long, he would wait it out.

One day blurred into two and then three, as Eric waited for Michael's return. Prowling the hut restlessly as he waited...only to halt as out of the corner of his eye he caught a jerk of movement. Quickly he went to Michael's side, watching anxiously as his arms and legs jerked spasmodically, Michael's head lolling to one side. His eyes fluttered open to stare blindly at Eric, trembling hands lifting so that he could study them, and Eric extended a hand to him, but Michael shied back, confusion darkening his gray eyes as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"What--what--" Trembling fingers plucked at the white sheet that covered him, pulling it up, and Michael lifted his head, eyes wide and lost as he stared at Eric.

"It's okay, Michael. It's me, Eric..." Slowly Eric inched forward, hands lifting to place his palms on either side of Michael's head. Licking his lips, Eric closed his eyes and opened himself up to Michael, letting him see what had happened.

He felt Michael jerk under the flood of images and tried to control what the other saw... but like a babe seeking nourishment, Michael drew greedily on the memories, seeking to restore what he had lost. And abruptly the connection was broken, Michael pulling away as Eric sank back on his heels, as shaken from their rapport as Michael, to watch Michael curl in on himself.

"I...remember..." His lean form trembled spasmodically and slowly Michael lifted his head to show to Eric the same visage he'd glimpsed in a broken mirror, the first time he had changed. Gray eyes pale and glittering in the white face, burning with the need for vengenance...as Eric had. "I remember...everything." whispered Michael, rising smoothly to his feet.

"Michael--" Belatedly Eric reached for him, but caught only the trailing edge of his sheet, Michael vanishing before he could even think to stop him.

Eric forced himself to remember the images he had received from Michael, going back to when Michael had first come to Section. He had to try and figure out where Michael would go. Eric's first thought was that he would want revenge on Section, but he reminded himself that he was projecting his own emotions in that regard. Michael was a different cat. He did things his own way. Methodically and scientifically. Emotions were easily cast aside by Michael. Only problem being that a Crow was pure emotion.

That was the other thing that bothered Eric. When he had touched Michael to give him the memories of what had happened to him, Eric had sensed that something was wrong. That Michael was darker than he should be. And in that moment realization occurred. Michael was not a Crow, he was a Snake. "Impossible!" Eric hissed to himself. He had touched Michael's soul. He knew that the other man was good deep inside. He should not be a Snake.

"It's not all about what should or shouldn't be," purred a musical voice.

Eric whirled to see the Skull Cowboy standing behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Eric snarled. He was in no mood to be preached at. But then he absorbed what the Cowboy had said. "What do you mean?" he prompted.

The Skull Cowboy shrugged. "Your friend is...good. But he doesn't believe it of himself. Mind over matter, Eric. If he thinks he's been a bad boy...then a bad boy he shall be."

"I don't believe that!" Eric shot back. "I was the ultimate bad boy...and I came back a Crow."

"You had Shelly's love wrapped around you, Eric. It was a part of you," Skull Cowboy explained. "You believed in it, and believed yourself worthy of it. You believed in her. That's what made the difference. Shelly was a good judge of character."

Eric refused to except this line of reasoning. "Michael loves a woman...and she loves him. She's good...pure. An innocent forced to do bad things. That should have made him a Crow."

Skull Cowboy shook his head sadly. "Ah...but does she believe in him?" he challenged. "That is...the question." That said, the Skull Cowboy vanished in a silver haze.

"Shit!" Eric muttered. He hated when the Cowboy popped in an out on him like that, but supposed it was only fair since he did the same thing to Albrecht. "Where are you Michael?" Eric wondered aloud. Then he headed for the door.

Michael did want revenge, but first he wanted to be dressed, so he broke into a clothing store, outfitting himself in black leather pants, a black t-shirt and a black leather duster. Black leather boots completed the outfit. Becoming like Eric wasn't such a big change for Michael. He had always been the Man in Black. What had changed was that now he was indestructable, the way Section had always liked to believe. The way he had pretended to be for so long.

The oddest thing about the change was how he felt. The guilt was gone, but his mind was filled with a million questions. Why had he been chosen? Michael believed that Eric had come back to right the wrong done to him and Shelly. But Michael deserved his fate. Deserved Section. He was not an innocent. Never had been. Perhaps it was the death of his own soul that he was here to avenge. No matter now. Michael had a plan of action. He would take back the soul of a true innocent. Nikita. He could not give her a new life, but he could make the one that had been forced upon her...better. Section One had turned into something vile. Nikita could change it. He would pave the way for her to do so. It was only a matter of timing now.

With a smile curving his lips, Michael stepped through the door and into the night.

Eric made the only decision he could. He headed back to Section One. Knew the path he had to take thanks to Michael. It was the only way he could protect Michael from doing something stupid and rash. Not that the other man was prone to such actions, but there was always a first time. Especially when the love of a woman was involved. And Eric knew, without a doubt, that Michael loved Nikita. That he would die for her gladly. Only now he could not die, which scared the hell out of Eric. That, and the fact that Michael was a Snake. That made him far more dangerous an enemy than Leder could ever hope to be. To Eric, or Section One.

From his station, Birkhoff saw something that nearly made him fall out of his chair. He contacted Madeline immediately. "Eric's back," Birkhoff announced.

Madeline was silent for a moment. Somewhat stunned. "Back...where?" she queried, her eyes flickering over to Operations, who was perched on the corner of her desk.

"Back here," Birkhoff stated. "He's at Egress. Area 13."

"Send an escort for him," Madeline ordered, then she cut the connection, swiveling in her chair to face Operations. "What would you like done with young Mr. Draven?" she questioned.

Operations smiled. "I'll trust you to do what it takes," he replied, then he exited the room.

Flanked by two operatives, Eric entered Madeline's office to find the woman seated behind her desk, awaiting him. At a curt nod from her the two operatives departed, leaving them alone, and Madeline gestured to the chair before her desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, Eric ignored the seat, moving to face her, and Madeline leaned back a little in her chair to regard him.

"To say that I'm surprised to see you back here would be an understatement," she said dryly, an eyebrow arching quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"Not by choice," responded Eric frankly. "I'm here about Michael."

"I see." Steepling her fingers, Madeline's gaze sharpened, her voice deceptively soft as she asked, "What has happened?"

Eric was silent for a moment, studying the woman before him for some clue as to how she felt about Michael and seeing nothing. Considered for a moment touching her and attempting to get an understanding...but realized that he didn't want even a second's glimpse into this woman's soul...if she had one. "He's...dead."

There was a flicker of something in Madeline's eyes, too quick for Eric to put an emotion to, and then gone, her eyes narrowing a little. "But not gone," she stated flatly. "Like you."

"Yes," agreed Eric reluctantly.

"Interesting..." said Madeline reflectively, her eyes going distant for a moment as she contemplated the news. In her eyes he could see cold calculation as she determined what advantage this would offer her and the ruthless master she served, sending a chill down his spine as she focused that cold gaze on him again. "Again, I'd ask--why are you here?" There was a note of curiosity in her voice.

Taking a step forward, Eric laid his hands down on the surface of her desk, leaning forward a little. "You had Michael in life. I'm not going to let you have him in death."

"Really?" Amusement showed in a lazy smile, Madeline leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap as she regarded him.

"What he is now...he's beyond your control. You might be able to cage him for a time... but you'll never really hold him. Not again."

Madeline gave a slight shrug, her eyes hooding. "We have the means to control him."

Eric shook his head and pushed away from the desk with a sound of irritation. "He's not Michael anymore. He's...different." He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, remembering what it had been like when he'd first come back. Not knowing at first who he was or what had happened to him...not till he'd stepped through the door of the apartment he'd shared with Shelly. And then it had all come crashing down on him, nearly smothering him under its oppressive weight. If not for her influence, he would have been lost a long time ago...

"You couldn't really keep him in line by threatening his life--now...you can't kill him. You can try to dangle Nikita's life before him..." he added, mouth twisting at seeing her brief nod of acknowledgement to his intuition. "But what good is that if he decides that she's better off dead and with him, instead of trapped here?"

From the slight narrowing of her eyes Eric knew that he'd scored a hit, her expression smoothing a moment later. "You'll find him for us," she said silkily.

Again Eric shook his head. "No. I don't know why the hell I'm bothering...but I'm here to save you--Section--from Michael. And to save Michael from himself." It had occured to him that he could grab Nikita and take her away from here...but that wouldn't solve everything. With Nikita gone, Michael's focus might turn back to the Section...and that would prove his downfall. Hadn't been able to save his life...but Eric would do what he could to save his soul.

"I think you are forgetting what we have against you," said Madeline.

Eric showed his teeth in a feral smile. "I'm not forgetting--I've taken care of it. My friends are somewhere that you can't reach them." It had taken far too much precious time to convince Albrecht to go underground but he'd managed it, knowing that Albrecht wouldn't have any real trouble convincing Darla to come, along with Sarah. "I'm not here to play Let's Make a Deal. You don't want my help...then I'm out of here." At her silence, Eric shrugged and turned to go for the door, pausing to toss over his shoulder. "Of course you know as well as I do the first person he's going to see as a threat to Nikita. And I'm sure you know how Michael will deal with that threat." Continued silence and Eric moved to the door, only to stop at Madeline's soft call.

Slowly he turned back to face her, Madeline rising from behind her desk to move around it. "You want something from us."

The knot of tension between his shoulders loosened a little. "Just a little cooperation. Access to certain resources. And your promise that you'll let me deal with him."

"Certainly," said Madeline smoothly.

Eric blinked at her quick agreement, eyes narrowing as he studied her but there was nothing to read in her expression or eyes...and he was more certain than ever that he did not want to try to pick up anything from her by touching her. "One more thing, Madeline. If I were you, I'd start being very concerned about Nikita's health right now. She's probably the only thing that keeps Michael balanced right now." And with that he stepped out the door.

It was easy for Michael to gather what he needed. Across the world there were hundreds of safehouses for operatives in the field, where they could connect with the Section, send communiques and receive debriefs, plus any supplies they might be needing. Michael had made a point in the past to locate those seldom used, in case he would need an anonymous place to hole up, and it was to one of them he went now, to retrieve the intel he would need. Access to the intel was difficult to get but not impossible--he wouldn't ever be on Birkoff's level but he'd learned enough over the years to be formidable in his own right.

Trying to remove Nikita from the Section was impossible. Section wouldn't let her go, they'd hunt her for the rest of her days. He could stay beside her, try to protect her, but eventually someone would make it past his guard and Nikita would die. And so she'd have to stay with Section. But that didn't mean he couldn't remove those that were a direct threat to her life and soul...

Take out Operations. And Madeline if she was elected his successor.

Operations' home address was among the intel he'd seized. He would observe the other man's daily routine and determine the best time to take him. Kill him. Destroy him as he'd destroyed so many others. Tear him limb from limb--

Michael shook his head to clear those dark thoughts from it but he could not suppress the small dark voice that spoke in his head. That urged him to make Operations suffer as he had...

Shivering, he stood still as a statue in the shadows, watching as Operations emerged from a limo to stride up the sidewalk to his house.

Operations entered his house and headed straight for the livingroom. There was a wet bar in the corner and he poured himself a liberal amount of Scotch. It had been a trying day. He was still replaying his conversation with Madeline over in his head. The things she had told him about Michael, and the deal she had agreed to with Eric. Of course, they would only be using Eric to get to Michael. Both men would end up in Section's possession in the end.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts and in the taste of the Scotch as he rolled it on his tongue, Operations did not see, or sense, the shadow that entered the room. Too late he realized that he was not alone. In the blink of an eye he fell into darkness, but he saw the face of death staring down at him. Michael.

Nikita was worried. She had spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to get information out of Madeline. Something was wrong with Michael, Nikita could feel it. A part of her was afraid that he was dead. Tears filled her eyes at the thought and she headed for the exit. Once outside, Nikita began walking. She walked for hours, finally ending up in a park near her apartment. For a time she watched children playing, but that only made her sadder. As Nikita forced herself to rise, intending to head home, she sensed a presence. She turned and gasped. "Eric..."

"I need your help," he whispered, reaching out to Nikita to draw her into the shadows. The moment Eric made contact with Nikita's hand he saw a flash of images. Her and Michael making love. The two of them working as a team in spite of their differences. Love and hate at war with each other. Nikita loved Michael, but sometimes she didn't like him much. But the love would win out, Eric knew. He was counting on it to save Michael's life. To safe Nikita's life as well. Eric knew that giving a choice between Michael and Nikita, Section One would choose Michael every time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Nikita hissed, even as she followed Eric. From the moment she had meant the young man, Nikita had felt drawn to him in some way. She knew that he understood her better than she understood herself. A part of Nikita needed Eric to make sense of her confusion. But she had thought he was gone for good. "Section will be looking for you," Nikita warned.

Eric smiled, but it was a cold curve of his lips. "They already found me," he allowed. "Or...rather...I found them." Eric shook his head and raised a hand to stall Nikita's questions. "All that matters right now is Michael," he said, gazing deep into Nikita's eyes. "He needs you."

Nikita felt relief wash over her. "Then...he's alive."

"More or less," Eric replied, honestly.

"What the hell does that mean?" Nikita shot back, as a chill crept over her spine.

Eric pulled her away. Time was of the essance now. "I'll explain later," he promised. "Right now...we have to save Michael's soul."

Nikita dug in her heels, coming to a stop. "I'm not sure he has a soul to save," she whispered.

"He does," Eric assured her, and he touched Nikita's face to let her see Michael's love and torment. It took only a moment, and Eric caught Nikita when her knees buckled. Then he waited.

"Let's go," Nikita decided in a heartbeat. Determination and tears glittered in her eyes and she followed in Eric's wake.

He sat in a chair, arms and legs bound cruelly tight to it, rough rope drawn across his chest to keep him upright, the inner flesh of his wrists red and abraded from the rough rope. Somewhere there was the monotonous drip-drip of water, unnaturally loud in the sudden silence--or maybe it wasn't water at all. Maybe it was blood, blood from poor Jeffries drip-dripping as the young soldier hung from his ankles. With an effort, he turned that thought aside, focusing blearily on the person that stood before him, his vision slowly clearing.

And with a jolt Operations realized that it was Michael who stood before him, not the VC interrogator that had worked so diligently to break him. That he was not in a thatched hut, with rough-hewn planking beneath his feet, but in what looked to be a basement. Cement walls around him, a pipe running overhead, moisture leaking from its smooth surface providing the drip-drip he'd heard. Strapped into the chair that held him and securely restrained, as he found when he made a single effort to rise, subsiding to give Michael an icy glare as the younger man stepped closer.

"Well?" he rasped, resisting the urge to wet dry lips.

Michael came to a halt before him and Operations felt a chill go down his spine at seeing the dark fury in the younger man's normally unexpressive eyes. He had seen Michael give vent to that fury that lurked somewhere deep inside him perhaps twice... and both those times there had been someone--or something--that had pulled Michael back from the abyss, from allowing the rage to utterly consume him. But now--

Michael's hand reached for him only to halt just inches away, a tremor going through him as fingers curled into fist, and he took a step back from Operations, forcing fingers to uncurl and averting his eyes from the challenge in Operations' pale ones. Despite the older man's show of antagonism, he could smell the fear underneath it--fear...fear of him. A fear that the...thing...that lived inside him drank in greedily, drawing strength from the other's fear.

Kill him, whispered the Crow in a sibilant hiss. Do it. Do it now. You know you want to...

In his hand he could feel the cold metal of his gun, his fingers molding to it, knowing it as intimately as a lover. He didn't even remember drawing it but here it was, a familiar weight in his hand, an extension of himself, as much a part of him as an arm or leg.

He deserves to die...

Michael shuddered as the words were whispered seemingly in his ear. Could almost feel an arm sliding across his shoulders, the press of a body against his and the Crow's warm breath in his ear as it spoke to him. He's taken from you everything that you've loved. Everything that you've held dear. Your sister...Simone... A brush of fingers along his cheek and then the Crow's whisper. Adam... Another shudder coursed through him, the words striking a deep chord as the Crow had known it would. After all, the Crow was a part of him...and who better knew how to hurt you than your own self?

He'll destroy Nikita, purred the Crow. He'll take her soul--like he took yours. Like he took so many others. He'll make her like you--just another killing machine for his use. And she'll be dead...just as surely as if he put a bullet through her head.

"No..." whispered Michael, taking another step back from Operations, unaware of the sharp uneasy glance the other man gave him.

Can't kill Daddy? mocked the Crow. Then let me do it. Let me out...and I'll kill him. He could feel the Crow's eagerness, the fury and hate radiating from it, its desire to inflict pain solely for the pleasure of it. A part of himself that Michael didn't like to acknowledge existed...and yet did. Kill him...and that bitch... An image of Madeline flashed through his mind, on her knees before him, his gun to her head. Kill them...and Nikita will be safe. You know that...

"Shut up..." whispered Michael, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, as if he could block out the Crow's voice.

Nikita...she's so close. She's just teetering on the brink. One step...and thar she goes. Past redemption...like you. Do you want that for her? demanded the Crow. Let me out... and I'll take care of it. I'll make it all better, Mikey...

"Let me go, Michael." Michael's head snapped up at Operations' order, the other man's eyes glinting as he stared at Michael. "And I might forget about all this--"

"Shut...up!" His hand came up to smash across Operations' mouth before he even realized what he was doing and the older man's head rocked with the blow, a thin trickle of blood coming from split lip. The Crow rose eagerly in him, drawn out by his fury and violence, and Michael struggled to hold it at bay even as he hissed, "I can kill you...right here, right now."

Operations' lip curled. "You don't have it in you," he sneered.

Grasping a handful of Operations' shirt, Michael leaned closer, teeth bared in a vicious smile. "You don't want to see what I have in me. You really don't." With an effort, he loosened his grip on the other man's shirt and forced himself to turn, striding quickly away from Operations.

Once Michael's footsteps had receded, Operations let himself sag into the chair and berated himself for pushing just a little too hard. For a moment, he had been sure that Michael would pull the trigger...

The door was closed but the doorknob turned under Eric's hand, allowing him and Nikita entrance to the hall. From its cool surface he got brief impressions of an odd mix of weariness, determination, and regret...but nothing from Michael. He went inside first, quickly scanning the rooms to find them empty, and returned to the living room, to find Nikita kneeling before the wet bar, picking up a small shot glass. She ran a finger along the inside of the glass to find it still wet and touched the tip of her tongue experimentally to her finger.

"Scotch..." On the bar was an opened bottle and as she allowed her eyes to travel down the length of it she saw a smear of blood along its surface. "Here..." she said to Eric, gesturing to the bar.

"Michael's already got here." Eric touched the bar, seeing Operations before it, drink in hand, turning as he sensed someone--something--in the room. And seeing Michael before the darkness took him...

"He's taken Operations?" asked Nikita with a frown.

Eric nodded. "We've got to go--there might not be much time--"

"Whoa!" Nikita caught his arm as he started to go past her and pulled him to a halt. "Time for explanations, Eric."

Eric pulled free of her hand with a sound of irritation. "I told you--there's no time. We have to find Michael and stop him--"

"Before he kills Operations?" Nikita shook her head, crossing arms over her chest. "Why bother?" she asked bitterly.

"This isn't for Operations, this is for Michael, Nikita. If he kills Operations, he's damning himself. Because once he lets the genie out of the bottle, it doesn't want to go back in. And believe me--it can be a very evil genie." He'd had his own struggles with his Crow...but Michael--as repressed as he was, his Crow would probably be even stronger. And newly risen he would still be confused, more inclined to listen to it...

Again Nikita shook her head. "I still don't get it--what's made him change like this?"

Striving to smother his impatience, Eric ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he heaved a sigh. "He died, Nikita. Died...and came back...like me. And now if we don't stop him, he's going to lose the only thing he has left to lose...his soul." This time when he grabbed her arm, she came along with him willingly, too shocked at the news to offer a struggle.

Michael crouched in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. He had been there, watching Operations, for the past two hours. The older man had tried reasoning with Michael, oblivious to the fact that the Michael he knew no longer existed. It had been the Crow's idea to gag him.

Minutes ticked by slowly for Michael as he waged a battle deep inside. He wanted revenge, yet his pain went to deep to be healed by such trivialness. There was nothing the other man could do for redemption of his sins, any more than Michael could. Operations death would not make things right.

But it would make you feel better, Mikey...

Michael ignored the voice in his head. Ignored that other part of himself. But it was getting more difficult to do. The voice spoke so many truths. Truths that Michael had almost forgotten since his soul was forged in lies. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to remember his pain. To let it all wash over him, crashing down likes waves on the sand. And in that moment he knew what to do.

Operations felt a chill creep over him as he watched Michael rise to his feet and glide over to him. It was a chill of fear. The beautiful young man was...changed. Not the Michael he knew. The man he had broken down, bit by bit, rebuilding into the perfect operative. More machine than man now. Yet he was more than even that in this moment. looking into the jade-green eyes, Operations saw something that terrified him. Emptiness. A cold, detachment that was not human. But burning within was something he recognized. Rage. Pure and white. He held his breath as Michael knelt before him. Tried to pull away from the hands that reached out. But fingertips brushed his temples, and in that moment Operations was swept into a void and plummeted into hell.

Michael let his emotions run wild. All the pain and hate and rage. His fury gilded the images that he sent. All of his memories, all of his nightmares come true. He flinched when he felt them hit the other man, then Michael shuddered as he relived them too.

"NO!" Operations screamed in agony. The pain was not physical, but a figurative knife blade slashing at his soul. He had never known such pain. And then there was the darkness, like a giant shadow, blinding him to all that was good and pure and light in the world. Leaving only evil and death to gaze upon. A hell no man should have to endure.

"I am what YOU made me..." Michael whispered.

Kill him... The Crow was livid now. He wanted to take action. Wanted out of the prison of Michael's conscience.

Operations slumped against the bonds that held him as he was released from the images. He felt the warm wetness of tears tracking down his cheek. Blinking, he looked up to meet Michael's gaze and saw only sadness now. A sadness that cut into him like a knife.

Michael removed Operations' gag. He wanted to hear what the other man had to say. Not that he would allow forgiveness, but he was willing to forget. If only he could forget.

"You have every reason in the world to want to kill me, Michael," Operations began. His voice was low and husky with emotion, and he felt himself trembling. Regaining his composure was proving difficult.

"I don't want to kill you," Michael whispered. He rose to his feet and moved to stare out a dingy window. The only window. "Your death would be meaningless," Michael continued, knowing that he had surprised Operations with his words. "I want your soul."

Operations shook his head, uncertain of what Michael was asking for. "I don't understand," he confessed. "How can I make things right between us, Michael?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael made to answer, but in that moment he felt the rage he had been holding in check break free of its bondage. The Crow had battered down Michael's defenses.

"Michael?" Operations sensed the sudden change in the younger man and another chill rippled through him. Something was very wrong.

"Look ma...no hands," singsonged the Crow and he whirled around to face Operations. He grinned, his black lips stretching into a thin line. Gliding toward the other man he continued. "I think that I have never seen, a better night to die...says me. And if you cry, or beg...or plead. I promise not to make you bleed." The Crow threw back his head and laughed as he wrapped his fingers around Operations' throat. "Too much," he amended, and then he began to squeeze.

Eric halted without warning, not feeling Nikita as she collided into his back. "No!" Eric hissed, as he fell to his knees. His connection to Michael was stronger than he had realized, for he could see and feel the other man now. The Crow was loose. They were too late.

Stumbling back from her collision with Eric, Nikita watched him sink to his knees, a hissed denial escaping him, and she moved hesitantly forward, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Eric! What's wrong?" A harsh caw brought her attention up in time to see a crow swoop overhead, an inky streak in the gathering darkness, and when she looked down again it was to see Eric was gone.

"Great! Just great!" she groused, kicking at a stray can to send it skittering across the pavement as she turned a complete circle in a vain attempt to identify which way Eric had gone. With a muttered curse, she trudged back to her car and slid behind the wheel, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of her hand before sinking back against the seat to wait.

Under his clenching fingers the Crow could feel the rapid fluttering pulse in the old man's throat, could feel his fear and panic as his body thrashed uselessly in its bonds and laughed aloud in sheer glee. "How does it feel to be on the receiving end, Ops, old boy?" The images he received from the contact--of the old man dealing out punishment and death like some barbarian king--fueled his own rage, strenghtening him, aiding him in his bid to keep poor Mikey where he belonged...in the darkness of his own soul. Weak Mikey...who didn't have the stomach to do what needed to be done...

The old man's eyes bulged, his features turning a lovely shade of red, and the Crow tightened his grip as the old man's struggles became little more than spastic twitches of his limbs. Close now...so close...just a quick twist and his neck was broken--with an effort he loosened his grip just as the old man came to the brink, wanting to delay the moment--

Hands gripped the back of his coat and he snarled as he jerked his head around to see who it was...only to stare in consternation at the eerily familiar white mask. In surprise the Crow loosened his grip on Operations' throat and was hauled back to be thrown across the room. Scrambling to his feet and hissing like an angry cat, he faced the other Crow, a snarl distorting his features.

"Back off!" ordered Eric, casting a quick glance back over his shoulder at Operations, slumped in the chair and gasping for air. Should have let him die... whispered his own Crow and Eric ruthlessly smothered the voice. You could kill him...but who was to say that the one who took his place would be any different? And could conceivably be worse...

"He deserves to die!" hissed the Crow that wore Michael's body. Familiar...and yet alien, the transformation completely subjugating Michael and producing a different creature.

"Maybe he does..." conceded Eric. "But that's not a decision for you to make. That's Michael's decision. Let Michael tell me that."

The Crow laughed, an ugly, jeering sound. "Mikey's gone away...and he's not coming back. Not if I have anything to say about it."

Eric stepped forward, careful to keep himself between the Crow and Operations. "You are Michael...just like he's you. You're his anger and pain and grief. You're the sadness that brought him back, to set things right. This isn't the way to do it--Michael knows that." Another step forward and the Crow retreated before him, eyes narrowed into slits as he watched Eric warily. "You need Michael--he's your balance. Without him you're nothing...just as he can't exist...here and now...without you." He came to a halt before the Crow and extended his hand. "Let me help you find the balance..."

The Crow stared down at his hand, features twisting as he fought an inner struggle, and then struck the hand away...unprepared for Eric's sudden vicious assault. Grasping handfuls of his coat, Eric threw the Crow hard back against the wall, once, twice, till eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped limply in Eric's grip. "One way or another..." muttered Eric grimly and grasped one limp arm to sling Michael's unconscious form over his shoulder.

Turning he looked back at Operations still bound to the chair and his lip curled. "I'll send somebody after you...eventually..." he said, not caring whether or not Operations could hear him, and shouldered his burden as he strode for the door.

"Phone call, Madeline."

At the sound of Birkoff's voice, Madeline turned from her study of the monitor and picked up the receiver. "Yes."

"It's Nikita. I have Operations."

Madeline closed her eyes briefly, the only reaction she would allow herself. "Give me your location."

"Uh-uh, Madeline, not so quick. I want some assurances from you first."

Madeline smiled slightly. Once Nikita overcame her inflated sense of morality, she would be a worthy opponent indeed...but till then it was still ridiculously easy to manipulate her. "What would those be?" she asked softly.

"Your word that you'll leave Michael and Eric alone."

"Of course," responded Madeline readily, no hesitation at all. No matter that she wouldn't hold to that word if she deemed it necessary...

A sigh from Nikita. "I know you're lying to me, Madeline. But there's really nothing else I can do, is there?" She gave the location and disconnected before Madeline could acknowledge it. Replacing the receiver, Madeline found herself smiling again, with a touch of admiration for the young woman. Perhaps there was hope for her after all...

A howl of rage and the scrape of heavy chains against metal signalled the awakening of his guest and Eric rose from his crouch by the door, striding across the empty floor to stand just out of reach of the figure that struggled against the chains binding it. He'd tested the chains himself and was certain that Michael--rather, the Crow--couldn't break them. He would remain here for however long it took to bring Michael back...and give him the balance he needed to co-exist with the Crow.

The Crow surged forward at seeing Eric, snarling as he yanked desperately at the chains that secured him to the wall. "You can't keep me here forever!" he howled.

"I can...and I will. Till Michael comes back," responded Eric calmly.

The Crow grinned at him, a baring of white teeth. "I won't let him come back!"

"You will. Because you need him...even more than he needs you. Without him, you're nothing." Eric sank down to a sitting position on the floor to watch the Crow as he continued to pull at his chains, snarling angrily. Yes, he could wait here forever...

Hours passed turning day into nightfall. Eric sighed as he paced the confines of the small room. He had brought Michael underground, to a place that he had stumbled over once in his heydays with Hangman's Joke. In the days before Shelly. It would service him now for no one would be able to find them. Not even Section One.

"Make you a deal," purred Michael's Crow as he clanked the chains that bound him to the wall.

"No deals," Eric repeated, wearily. "I want Michael back...period."

The Crow sighed, but his dark eyes glowed. "I'll let Mikey come out and play...for a while," he wheedled. "Sounds like a fair deal...dontcha think?"

Eric stopped pacing to face the Crow. He shivered as he stared into eyes that were dark ice. This Crow had no soul, not even a soul of darkness. It was...empty. That frightened Eric like nothing had before "You can't live without Michael," he reminded the Crow. "You think you're strong enough...but he's your strength. If you destroy him...you die."

"You don't know that," the Crow shot back, eyes flashing. He felt a stirring within him and knew that it was Michael. But that soul was weak and battered, easily stifled. The Crow shut it down and smiled at Eric. The enemy. "You're afraid of me," he drawled.

"Yes," Eric conceded. He saw no reason not to tell the truth. Michael was in there, somewhere, and he needed to reach the other man. Eric was beginning to realize that the reason the Crow was so strong was because Michael didn't want to fight to control him. He simply didn't care anymore. Michael believed his life to be forfeit. Believed that he should be dead. Wanted to be dead. To be rid of the pain of existance. A part of Eric couldn't blame him. He felt the same way because of Shelly. Since they couldn't be together in life, or death, he wanted simply to no longer exist. But it wasn't that easy. "You don't know what you're capable of without Michael's control," Eric continued. "You have no reason to value life, or death."

"Ain't it cool!" The Crow cheered, clanking his chains once more. "No fear of anything. No conscience. No emotions or senses. Nothing. Isn't that what YOU want...Eric?"

Eric closed his eyes, unwilling to see the truth in the Crow's dark gaze. "I want to do what's right," he whispered.

The Crow laughed, a guttural sound of amusement "What's RIGHT?" he echoed, shaking his head. "Who decides what is right, Eric? Who has that right? God? The devil? Me?"

"Killing...murder...that's not right," Eric shot back. "I don't need a God to tell me that. But that's what you want to do. You want to kill and create chaos. You want to destroy, simply because you can."

There was a sudden sound of clapping, coming from behind Eric and he whirled to face the newcomer.

Skull Cowboy grinned at Eric. "Well put," He commended the young man. "You have been listening when we've talked."

"What are you doing here?" Eric demanded. He was in no mood to play games with the Skull Cowboy.

"I'm here to help," countered Skull Cowboy. He slipped by Eric to stand before Michael's Crow. "He's different," Skull Cowboy whispered. "Not evil but...beyond."

Eric shook his head. "What the hell does that mean?" he hissed, feeling his impatience warring with his frustration. "He's not a snake, he's a Crow. He can be brought back."

Skull Cowboy sighed, then turned to face Eric. "He can only come back if he wants to, Eric. You know that."

"Michael's been punished enough," Eric declared, fighting for Michael's soul for all he was worth. For he was the only one who truly understood Michael's pain. Who knew the depth of Michael's sacrifice when he had been among the living. "There has to be a way to save him."

"There is," Skull Cowboy allowed.

Eric grimaced, for he knew he was not going to like what came next. But he had to ask. "What is it?"

Skull Cowboy locked eyes with Eric, letting the young Crow see into his own soul. "Are you willing to be Michael's pain?" Skull Cowboy queried. "Will you sacrifice yourself for him?"

"I don't understand," Eric countered. "Sacrifice myself...how?"

"Touch his soul," Skull Cowboy whispered. "Touch Michael's soul with your gift. Absorb his pain and let him see your soul, Eric. Can you let him inside of you. Let his darkness devour your light?"

Eric was silent for a long moment, trying to make sense of what Skull Cowboy was saying. But it wasn't until he heard Shelly's voice in his head that Eric understood.

Let him feel our love, Eric... Shelly breathed. Let him touch the part of you that is a part of me...

"Will I die if I agree to this?" Eric asked, of both Shelly and Skull Cowboy.

Skull Cowboy was the one who answered. "Maybe. That's up to you, my friend." He smiled then waved before vanishing into the shadows.

Eric took a deep breath then turned to face Michael. If he understood correctly, he would die. And in death he could be with Shelly. It would be worth the sacrifice. So Eric stood before Michael's Crow and reached out with one hand. Ignoring the voice that whispered in his ear. Shelly's voice.

No, Eric...NO!

But it was too late, for Eric touched Michael's face and he was swept into a void of darkness and pain.

The darkness swirled around Eric, hooking great fiery claws into him to pull him down deeper into its inky depths, and from the void roared a multitude of voices, laughing and crying and screaming in pain and rage. If he'd had hands for it, he would have clapped them over his ears to try and shut them out but nothing would have blocked them. Michael's ghosts, living forever in his mind and soul, reminding him always of the sins he had committed, ghosts that his subconscious fed and nourished, keeping them alive in some twisted form of penance. So many of them, so much pain, more than anyone should have to endure, and they clutched eagerly at him with phantom fingers, drawn to the light in him, their voices melding into a great cacophony that would drive him mad--

Eric!

Shelly's voice and a tiny point of light in the darkness, reaching out to him. Hard to shake off the ghosts that clung to him, yowling as they sought to pull him back, to take him into their darkness, but step by dragging step he came closer to her light, to feel it close around him in a bright flare and driving the ghosts back shrieking into the void. The brightness of her spirit surrounded him, protecting him from the darkness and strenghtening him, tethering him to the body that slumped on cold cement floor.

Show him our love, Eric. Show him the love that brought him back here. A parting caress of the light and she faded with one last whisper. Show him there is redemption...

With more care, he moved through the darkness, seeking the true Michael, the part of his soul that had survived all the years by hiding away so deeply inside himself that even he was no longer aware of its existence. A Michael that sought to hide from Eric as well...but unable to resist reaching out to him, to touch his light.

Look... Eric bade him and opened himself to Michael, showing him the love that had bound Eric and Shelly together, a bond so strong it had survived death. A love that had saved Eric from the darkness of his own soul, kept him from falling into that darkness. He could feel Michael drawn to that love, like a moth to flame, and then shy away from its brightness.

I don't know love. I know only pain... whispered Michael.

She is love... Eric brought forth an image of Nikita, bright and shining, hoarded deep in Michael's heart. She knows you in a way you will never know yourself. She sees the good in you...

From Michael came denial and despair as he started to retreat. I will only destroy her...

But Eric would not let him go so easily. She's stronger than you think, Michael. Accept her love for you...and accept your love for her. He could feel the connection between them wavering, stretching farther and farther till it would inevitably break, and called one last time. She can be your strength...but only if you let her.

Abruptly he was once more in his body, sprawled limply on the floor, the sound of clinking chains penetrating dazed mind. Placing the palms of his hands he pressed himself up, arms trembling from the strain, and gave a shake of his head to clear dark hair from his eyes, looking anxiously to where his captive still sat slumped against the wall.

And felt a giddy relief sweep through him to see not the white mask of a Crow...but Michael's familiar features. Fumbling through his pocket, he came up with the key and unlocked the chains, freeing Michael. "Welcome back..." he said with a grin.

Michael blinked, looking like one rousing from a deep sleep, and gave a slow shake of his head as he slipped cuffs from his wrists, wearing an odd expression on his normally impassive features. A mix of hope, relief, and despair...plus an almost fatalistic calm. "Is it that easy? Redemption?" he asked softly, eyes lifting to Eric's.

Staggering to his feet, Eric extended a hand to help Michael up. "I wish I could tell you...but I really don't know any more. Like I've been told--" He cast his eyes heavenward with a rueful grimace, hearing a soft chuckle. "It's not a matter of someone keeping score. You just...do what you can..." he added, lifting his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

"Help people. Set things right..." whispered Michael, looking down at his hands. Seeing the blood that stained them, the blood of the innocent as well as the guilty. If he was here to atone for what he'd done...then he was here for eternity; at the gentle touch of Eric's hand, he looked up into the other's eyes, seeing compassion and understanding.

"I think that the toughest judge you ever face...is yourself. And by forgiving yourself for what you couldn't prevent...that's taking a step forward." Eric offered Michael a shaky smile. "I know it's not much...but that's all the wisdom I can offer you. Such as it is..."

Michael laid his hand on Eric's shoulder and gave a brief squeeze, managing a small smile. "Thank you..."

Eric nodded in acknowledgement, dark eyes somber. "The Crow can be your strength...and your weakness. As long as you stay in control of it...then you'll make it." He hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward to fold his arms around Michael and give him a quick hug, feeling the older man stiffen in his embrace...and then slowly relax. Releasing him, Eric stepped back and watched Michael turn to leave the room without a backward glance, his shoulders sagging as he watched the door swing closed. He hoped he was doing the right thing in letting Michael go...but in the end, Michael was the key to his own salvation. He was strong enough to survive the ordeals he'd suffered throughout his life--now he had to be strong enough to overcome his own personal demons.

With a sigh, Eric left the room as well, taking the stairs up to the street. Once outside in the cool night air, he lifted his face up to the sky, closing his eyes briefly as he sought within himself for that spark that was Shelly. The call of a crow brought his attention back to his surroundings and he raised his arm in invitation for the crow that swept down from the night sky. Crow perched on his shoulder, he walked off into the night.

Return to Part One
Return to Authors Page
Return to Crossovers Page
Return to Titles Page