Below is " Let's Go Home"- Michael's Story. It is actually a companion story to "Let's Go Home"-Nikita's Story.

A gloomy mist settled over the sun and the sky, just before nightfall, as he entered his loft. He looked around the familiar surroundings and almost laughed at the irony, that today, had been his lucky day. God's mercy, or his punishment?

He threw his coat on a chair, and put on the kettle that she loved, and he'd insisted they buy. He tried to smile at the thought of their trip to the little shop, appropriately called, ‘The China Closet.'

He'd argued with her, till he was practically blue in the face, that he loved fresh brewed coffee, and that tea was for Chinese restaurants . . . She insisted that coffee wasn't good for him.

"I've read studies, where they've injected rats with caffeine," she started, then recoiled at the mere mention of that word. She made a terrible face. " Just imagine, those hated, furry, disgusting, ‘Things,' and caffeine. Uh. How can you drink that Stuff?"

"I'll switch to decaf." "No way! Decaf coffee, for your information, is FULL of formaldehyde," she'd answered, with the most serious expression on her face. He was totally in love with the way her first word of a sentence, could barely wait for the last word to come out of his mouth . . . It was as though, even their thoughts were so intimate, that she already knew what he was going to say, and had the answer ready. She did it all the time.

" Trust me. We're much better off drinking tea. You'll acquire a taste for it, then you won't know how you lived without it. Don't you just love this kettle?" She never even paused to take a breath.

When he hadn't answered right away, she stopped admiring the blue and white piece of art, and looked at him as she tilted her head at a saucy angle. God, how he loved that look. And she had been so right. Once you acquire a taste for something, you don't know how you ever lived without it.

"Well . . . What do you think? You don't like it." She'd answered her own question. Her eyes were like blue saucers, watching his lips intently, waiting impatiently for him to respond.

He'd pulled her into his arms, loving her even more for her ability to believe, if only for this moment, that we would outlive Section, and have to worry about caffeine and whatever the hell it was, being a danger to our lives. The silly little things we should have had the right to worry about." I love it," he'd answered truthfully, staring into her beautiful face. "It's Ours."

She'd hugged him tightly, as tears filled her eyes. " Yes," she whispered. " It's Ours."

As each day passed without her, every time he put the kettle on, since . . . the last time they were together, he'd try to pretend, it had only been yesterday. But he couldn't do that today. Today it seemed like a lifetime ago. Pain clutched his heart with icy fingers, as he poured her favorite tea, and took it over to the sofa. As he sipped the delicious brew, he had grown to love, he thought how happy she would be to know it. That she had been right. He took several deep breaths, trying to get past the rush of tears, he was forcing his eyes to absorb, and the lump that had formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. "Once you acquire a taste for something, you don't know how you ever lived without it." The repressed unwanted tears slid slowly down his cheeks. He grabbed his coat. His lungs and face desperate for fresh air.

He kept his head tilted down, against the onslaught of the first snow of the season. It covered his head and long lashes like fine dust. Drenched in thought, he walked ahead. Each step precise. A duplication of the one that passed before it, and was familiar to all who loved and feared him. As he turned the final corner to his loft, a blast of cold wind smacked into his face. An interruption. With gloved hands he turned up the collar of his coat, and settled his head deeper into its warmth. The soft, fallen snow, was noiseless under his fresh predictable steps, but held his attention, as he walked beside the only set of footprints in the snow, which were headed in the opposite direction.

In a dark, dank warehouse, in the very early hours of that same morning, he had almost lost his life. The terrorist's gun, pressed hard into his back, pointed into his heart. He pulled the trigger. The thoughts that flashed through Michael's mind, at that instant of certain death, still haunted him. Among this filth he would die, without ever seeing her face one last time. She wouldn't be holding him, as he took his last breathe, when his life slipped away. Death would come without ever telling her the unspoken truth, which had consumed him these last four years, and was his only reason for living.

The terrorist's clip had been empty. Michael quickly turned, and snapped the other's neck. God's mercy, or his punishment?

He'd been careless lately. His lack of concentration evident, in the flawed strategy that nearly cost him his life. His exhaustion also apparent in the dark circles under his haunted eyes. Too exhausted by memories to sleep, the endless, sleepless nights, had taken their toll.

At first he was relieved when Section had given her a week of downtime. Seeing her in Section every day, just beyond his reach, was a pain, no one should ever have to bear. She was fatigued, and preoccupied with their thoughts of one another, he was sure. She'd been off her mark on their last few missions. He'd spent all of his time, frantic he would lose her on one of them. The strain of the burden they carried, was obvious to everyone who knew them.

Now, the worry and pain he endured when she was in Section, was completely overshadowed by his desperate need to see her. Even time had become an enemy. He hadn't seen her for almost a week. Hadn't touched her in almost a month. Or was it a lifetime? If he had died that very day, it would have been a lifetime. The need to feel her arms around him was consuming his energy, his entire existence. He was so hungry for her passion, he thought he could taste it on his lips. But in truth, he was starving.

If she missed him as much as he missed her . . . . It wasn't possible, but if it were . . . He didn't want to think about it. He was tormented enough. His mind and body, like a twister, inside out. The fury and passion of the storm raged within. The calm, his usual exterior.

He continued walking, then suddenly stopped. His trained eye noticed instinctively, that the imprints that were so obvious, traveling beside him in the blanket of snow, though with a different destination, were now in front of his path. The trail didn't begin at any entry.

An anomaly? The footprints began just a few feet away, in the hidden shadows of an abandoned building, and left evidence of someone waiting. The muddled snow, a sign of someone, keeping watch, disturbing the virgin snowfall in their efforts to keep warm. He looked across the street, and up toward his loft, with the light shining softly from its window.

" Oh God." Had she been there? Had he missed her? His heart started pounding at the implication. The force of it flushing his face. He impulsively looked back, and strained his eyes through the falling snow. Of course, there was no one.

No, he thought, relieved, as he leaned his head back against the same brick building she had stood in the shadows of, not ten minutes before. It couldn't have been Nikita. Please. Not in this storm.

He tilted his face toward the sky. The gentle snow felt cool against his blushed features. Was he becoming paranoid? Irrational?

The slow methodical process, of destroying those who were responsible for this, was utmost in his mind. They were now, his bitter enemy. He kept a deliberate distance between them, for fear his disciplined nature, which he had mastered over the course of his life, would be compromised by his overwhelming hatred. Every time he had to see them, or be in their presence, it took all of his control, not to use his training, and snap their lives from them. It would only take a moment. It would have been his pleasure to send the Evil Bastards straight to hell. It almost amused him that they both sensed it . . . No, they knew it.

For years he had accepted the heart-wrenching sacrifices he had been ordered to make. Sacrifices which had taken a piece of his heart. But not this time. This time he and Nikita would be together. He swore they would. No one had ever belonged to his heart or taken possession of it so completely. Never before had his soul been besieged and conquered, which eventually led to its surrender.

He crossed the street, then looked back to the shadows he'd just left. He entered the building he refused to call home.

The stillness in the loft was his enemy now. Her presence had invaded its silent, colorless world, with her spirit, her unselfish love, and had turned it briefly into a rainbow. Where dreams were spoken of, and didn't die in the night. It was lifeless without her. He was lifeless without her. He turned on one of their favorite CD's to break the silence. The last time he had listened to it . . . was the last time they were together. His heart started pounding, as the soft jazz from the sax, brought back the vivid memory.

He took the stairs slowly to their bedroom. He hated himself already, for the agony he was about to put himself through. But he was powerless to stop it . . . He looked at the brightly wrapped package tied with ribbon on his dresser, and couldn't decide what to do. He went into the bathroom and removed her robe from the hook behind the door, and laid it gently on the bed. He returned his attention to the package.

He looked at the candles on their night stands. The one on his was a musky scent, the one on hers was peach. Their His and Hers candles, they had called them, laughing every time they'd go to light them.

______________________________

They had gone to a specialty candle shop together, in other words she had dragged him along, although not kicking and screaming, against his better judgement.

Once there, she had informed him that they should each choose three of their favorite scents, and then the other would get to make the final selection. He'd pressed his lips tightly together to prevent a long sigh from escaping. With raised eyebrows, he'd turned in a slow circle and evaluated this newest assignment. There were at least a hundred different flavors in the store.

He calculated that he could have the job done in three minutes. Nikita was another matter all together. He went to work immediately, trying to narrow it down to his allotted three. The fragrances from all the candles were really getting to him, and were making him half sick, but she was acting like it was all an exciting adventure, and to make her happy, so did he.

When we finally made our three selections, we faced a problem. Narrowing it down to just one. She picked her favorite scent from those he'd chosen. He'd smiled and didn't complain. Not once.

When he picked the one he liked best of her three, she was disappointed. " Are you sure this isn't your favorite?" She'd held another jar under his nose. " I really love this one. I think it's MY favorite."

"No," he was adamant. "I'm supposed to pick MY favorite. And I've already done that. A deal's a deal." They'd almost made it to the register.

"Maybe we should each pick two," she'd looked up at him smiling, with those big beautiful eyes, loving every minute of these serious decisions.

"No Nikita. We agreed to pick just one, from the other's selection, and that's just what we've done."

He'd won that argument for a change. As he paid for the candles, he slipped his arm around her waist, and as he pulled her close, he whispered in her ear. " Let's go home."

" Yes, Let's," she whispered back.

When they left the shop Michael mentioned they'd have to take three showers every day for the next week to rid their bodies of the smells from all those flavors.

" Well, I'm up to it, if you are," she laughed.

" You're on," he had accepted the challenge. In the car, on the way home, he glanced at her as she unbuttoned her cardigan sweater. " Are you warm? Do you want me to open the windows?"

" I'm warm all right," she laughed. " Aren't we home yet?" Realizing immediately the suggestion, he'd pressed his foot a little heavier on the pedal. Shortly after they reached home, they'd scrubbed each other laughing in the shower. When she lit the candles, she quietly announced, " His and Hers. They will join with each other, and be a perfect blend. Just like us." And they were.

_____________________

He looked again from the wrapped package to their candles on the night stands. He finally made a decision. He lit the peach and the musk. He sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted her robe and pressed it to his face. The lingering smell of lavender assaulted his heart. He laid the robe aside, and as his elbows pressed on his slightly opened knees, he rested his forehead onto his clasped hands. His desperation forcing him to revisit their last night together. The music and the joining scents tore at his heart as he remembered . . . .

He had completely undressed, and was sitting on the edge of the bed . . . As she came from the bathroom, he could almost see a mist of lavender, as her damp body carried the scent of her soap, closer to him. He felt the blood pounding in his heart, and throbbing in the hardness of his groin. She closed the distance between them, and he instinctively opened his knees, and her legs slipped inside them. His thighs held them lightly, as she enfolded his head in her arms and drew it to the soft silky skin that was just below her breasts, where her beloved heart beat. She held it there as she rested her beautiful face on the top of his wispy thick hair, and caressingly stroked the back of it over and over again. His arms encircled the contour of her hips, and clung to her, as if to a lifeline. It wasn't making love, it was much more profound. It was being loved. As tears coursed down his cheeks, and touched her heart, a feeling of peace and contentment he had never known before, had entered his.

Their slow deliberate lovemaking, a confirmation of their bodies joining perfectly together. They explored and shared every detail with the other. No secret of their flesh, was left unknown.

The moistness that was her passion, and the moistness that was his, joined their lips, tongues, and bodies together as they became one soul, one heart, and their final climax took them to a place they never wanted to leave. They called it home.

Michael wept into her soft robe that carried the scent of her. How long had it been? . . .It wasn't that long ago. He tried to reassure himself. It seemed like only yesterday . . . It seemed like forever . . . It was so painful to remember, something he never wanted to forget

Hours later, still clutching her robe to his heart, unable to sleep, he came to a decision. He dressed with urgency, took the brightly wrapped package that he bought not quite a month ago, hurried down the stairs, and stopped at his desk. He wrote something on his notepad, tore it off and folding it carefully, placed it in his pocket. He picked up his car keys, then decided to walk.

He entered her building and quietly walked to her apartment. He set the gift, her favorite candle, in the corner where the door meets the jamb. He placed his hands on her door and rested his forehead against it. So close to her, and yet so far away. His heart was pounding, as he slipped the note, that simply said,

I Love You.
Michael

beneath her door, and quickly walked away before his courage failed him, and he would have to stay.

When he left her building, he felt some sense of peace settle into his heart. Knowing that if something happened to him, she would have proof that he was there, constant, and always loving her. He noticed the snow had stopped. In the clear dark sky, the moon was shining and the stars were out. Tonight a storm. Tomorrow, the sun would be bright. War then Peace. Fire then Flood. Oppression then Freedom.

" Ours." He spoke the word aloud. Our love, and all of our favorite things, separated from each other now, would all be part of one home someday, where our hearts would live together in freedom. He swore it before God, under the brightly lit moon and stars, as he walked the long way home.

Send suggestions and comments to Abigail by clicking HERE!