When I was eight we had a neighbour called Mrs. Gramercy. I called her Mrs. Gram. She was kind to me and because I didn't have a grandmother I thought of her as the closest thing I'd ever come to having that sort of relationship with an older person. She seemed so old, ancient to my young eyes.

I remember she would spend hours and hours in her lawn chair on the porch of the rooming house she owned. We rented a suite from her for two years, the longest I had ever stayed in one place. She knit jumpers from the pages of Australian Women's Wear Daily with this weird set of needles looped in a circle. The needles clicked in her flying, nimble fingers. She never even looked at her hands. Whole garments would just form by magic. It seemed she'd just start one and it would be half done by the time I got off the school bus.

It sometimes got cold enough in Australia to wear a sweater, or jumper as Mrs. Gram called them, and I coveted the one she was knitting for her granddaughter, Kate. It was bright pink and had three cats playing with a ball of wool on it, one on the front and two on the back. The wool was green and a string of it curled and looped right over the shoulder of that fuzzy sweater.

I knew how soft and warm it was because Mrs. Gram asked me to try it on for her so she could see if it would fit Kate. I never felt so fine in anything as I did in that pink sweater.

One day I was out playing and Mrs. Gramercy called me over. She handed me the sweater. " I want you to have this Nik. Kate's getting older now. I don't even think she wants to wear jumpers knit by her old Gran now. Besides, it's pretty on you."

I was never so pleased. I wore that jumper to school, even in the heat. And then I was climbing the chain link fence at the school and caught a knitted loop in the metal. I pulled at the wool, dismayed, and when I got back into class I snipped the string, thinking that it would be fine. I noticed a hole and the string still hanging. I pulled it and the sweater seemed to unravel before my eyes right up to the level of my chest.

I remember walking home, crying, the remains of that unravelled sweater stuffed in my school bag thinking that I'd ruined something else. That was how God punished me for ever getting anything fine or pretty in my life. I'd always find a way to mess up. I hated myself.

I balled it up in the bottom drawer and I never wore it again. If Mrs. Gram ever wondered about it, she didn't say. But I still think about it until this day, the way those pink loops undid themselves before my horrified eyes and the way I just felt compelled to pull and pull and watch in mute fascination as something I loved disappeared into thin air.

I wondered how long it would take for things to unravel for Michael and me. He is beautiful and fine, like a gift. I coveted him, much like that pink sweater with the playing cats. How long will it take until I mess up, unravel those gossamer fine threads that have bound us together?

I was watching him sleep this morning. We've been togther for three weeks. I'm trying to think about us like that: Together. He says that he wants to be. I think maybe he is catching on to my reluctance about thinking of us in that way, so I try not to bring the subject up too much.

To me, just thinking of Michael and myself as being a couple seems strange, something that I can't quite grasp. It is something I have dreamed of and wished for, but in my life wishes and dreams don't often come true.

I am still walking on eggs a little. If together means storing toiletries at one another's homes then I guess we are together. If together means great sex, I guess we're that. He blows the top of my head off. I think, and this may be bragging, that I have rocked his world a little, too. I guess reading all those novels and fantasizing for three years has help me go from rather inexperienced to fairly creative.

I still can't stop thinking about what Section thinks about it. I have noticed the Big Head giving me some looks lately and I'm making a concerted effort not to ruffle his feathers. Madeline knows. She gives me this chilly smile now that gives me the willies and I want to yell at her and say: I love him. I love him more than I could ever express in stupid words. It's not just because he's hung like Buddha. But she couldn't grasp that concept, I'm sure.

My heart still gives a little start every time he comes in the room. I was sitting at the breakfast bar the other morning eating my Cheerios and sipping coffee and he walked in all sleepy and cute and winked at me. Maybe he just had goo in his eyes. His hair was sticking up all over the place and he had little pillow wrinkles on the side of his face. I just looked at him, pouring his coffee, that bare chest, a muscle jumping in his biceps, and felt as if my heart was going to come bursting out of my chest and go flapping around the room on wings. It's so weird. I had a Cheerio stuck in my throat and I could hardly breathe. I'm thinking: How did I get here? How did I get this lucky? When was anything ever this good?

I was thinking about that old proverb Bobbie used to quote all the time: All good things must come to an end. " Yea, Nik," she'd say to me after another boyfriend would leave, or she'd get fired, or we'd get evicted. " Life is that way. All good things..."

Michael sometimes sleeps in a little longer than me. I think it's because he's a fitful sleeper, even lighter than I am. He doesn't relax until exhaustion sets in. He said this morning after I woke him up, with a meaningful look from those gorgeous eyes, that it's because he's not used to nocturnal activity. He waited for me to start breathing again and gave me that playful grin that makes me blush. He knows the effect he has on me. I have to try to be cooler. I really try to look poised and serene and then I always melt into this limp pool of mush. He knows it. He knows he has the edge. He has only to touch those sculpted lips to my neck, play with my hair, nibble my ear.

I've been up with the birds now every morning I've been with him. That's the only time I get to scribble here. The man is kind of insatiable, if you get my drift, so if I want to get anything done I have to do it while he sleeps.

And I'm still at that stage where privacy is important. We aren't quite comfortable sharing a bathroom yet. My apartment's too small. I prefer his place. I have this need to get to that bathroom before him so I can shower and then blacken my blonde eyelashes. I think I'm going to get them dyed at the beauty parlour so I can relax. This new co-habitation thing is exhausting.

He can get ready and look beautiful in eight minutes flat, though he doesn't always shave in the morning. A lot of the time he shaves in the evening because he has one of those tough beards and I have fair skin. It's really very sweet and considerate of him to think of me that way and now I'm blushing again thinking about it. I blush thinking about everything we do and at the weirdest times. It's really hard to make sleepy love to Michael in the morning and then have to come in to Section and collect my weapon of the day. Somehow love doesn't meld with hunt and destroy.

Sometimes I'm at Section and I just start to smile for no damned reason. Walter raises an white eyebrow and grins at me, " Young love," he says and then chuckles.

I think I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It dropped today. With a thud.

Today sucked. Michael took over for Ops. I hope this is really temporary. I just stood there and clutched my jacket to my chest. I was thinking : The shit has just hit the fan.

I couldn't think of one good thing except maybe that he wouldn't have to go on a Valentine mission if he's in charge now. I haven't allowed myself to think about the prospect of his fucking someone else.

He's already doing what I don't want him to do. Playing favourite. Michael, I wanted to say, I don't want to be teacher's pet. I have never been the teacher's pet type. I was the one who never had a hankie and chewed my pencil. The other kid's kick your ass if you're the pet. I have never seen a man so pissed as Wallace was when Michael told him to keep his mouth shut.

I don't know why he doesn't understand how Wallace felt, how the others felt seeing me, figuring I was getting special treatment. It undermines my credibility. And it makes me feel useless. I guess that's why I gave Michael that look and that snippy comment. He told Wallace in essence that he'd better behave or there would be a big detention after school and then after Wallace left he gave me the Mr. Inscrutable stare.

Like he was saying: I dare you, Nikita. I dare you to say what I think you're going to say. And I said it. Did you expect me to just shut up and follow orders, Michael? I think you know me better than that.

I just wish I could know him as well as he knows me. He's a locked vault. I'm an open book.

You only have to bow to my authority here at Section, he said. And then I swear he looked at my boobs. I'm not falling for that, I thought, but inside I was seething and wanting him at the same time. I wanted to turn around and tell him that he left the toilet seat up again this morning, too. Nothing like finding out your new lover is now Dr. Doom and being dead asleep and freezing your ass on cold porcelain on the same morning.

What a barrel of laughs it was sitting in front of that computer screen all day. Spotting anomalies is nothing like Pokemon. Mintz is okay for a computer weenie. I could get to like him. He was nice enough to share his ham sandwich with me.

Wallace got killed today. Even Birkoff was a bit snooty when he told me how it happened. Skewed profile. Michael knew and that's why he took me out of the field. It made me feel sick. Sick with relief that it wasn't me in a body bag and sick with fury that he didn't feel he could trust me to be out there to succeed where Wallace failed. Okay, I may not have succeeded either, but it I don't want special favours.

I know what you're thinking. He always grants me special favours. And if he hadn't I'd be dead. But he wasn't the Big Head before. He was on my side. And somehow it was different then.

And he looked so cool and collected up there in Ops high perch looking down on everyone. Like he belonged up there. A gorgeous captain at the helm of a ship. He just needed the tight white breeches and the navy jacket with the gold trim. I would rather think of him as the pirate, though. Rumpled and free, his white shirt hanging open at his waist to expose that exquisite chest, tight black pants skimming those stunning thighs and of course, the ever popular over the knee boots. Michael has pirate written all over him.

I went up to the aerie to ask him why, to tell him I wanted back in the field. There's no reason why I can't take his former position and be in the field, too. I told him what I was feeling and he had the nerve to say. " Would you rather be dead?"

Sheesh, Michael. What the hell do you think? I would rather be rolling around free in the clover with you, stupid. But I can't have freedom at the moment, so I'm doing the best I can to survive. Don't make this any harder for us.

At least he agreed that I could do be in the field. And his comment about his having a lot to learn was comforting to me. There was a hint of my Michael in his voice. The shy man who plays chess in the park had surfaced for a second, bloodied a little by Dr. Doom, but surviving.

There's a big difference between this Section Michael and the one my mind and my love have created. I wonder sometimes if I will ever know who he really is. I was just leaving when he called me back.

I watched in amazement as he darkened the aerie and then he turned and gave me a look that could only belong to the sexiest pirate who ever sailed the South Seas. He prowled toward me. I expected him to say: Come here, vixen.

Oh, gosh. Maybe, I thought just before he reached me, touched his warm lips to mine, maybe there are advantages.

I must say that Captain Blood couldn't have done a better job at kissing a wench breathless. My knees were knocking as I went down the stairs. Sea legs, I was thinking. Gotta get some of those.

******

This sucks. Have I said that yet?

I am now having a torrid affair with the Big Head. I have to sleep with the Head Honcho, the dude in charge. He made love to me with that metal code thingy Ops gave him around his neck last night. It just hung down between us, touching my breasts, the dull black metal like an icy finger of doom. I couldn't help thinking that his lovemaking was different. Maybe a little more demanding, a little selfish. He just flopped and went to sleep. He didn't even cuddle. He just groaned and said thanks. That was good, Kita.

I looked at the thing all dull and cold against his beautiful, gleaming chest this morning and I felt like tossing my cookies.

" Can't you at least take that creepy thing off when we're together, Michael?" I asked him.

" No. It can't leave my body."

Oh, yuck, I was thinking. Yuck. The Big Head's in bed with me. " At least you could have dipped the damned thing in Lysol."

He just laughed. I didn't mean it to be funny.

Michael really is Operations now. I know he likes it. He's getting off on the control, but he's pacing at night and the dreams have come back. Last night he sat straight up in bed, panting, saying my name.

I rubbed his back. It was clammy with sweat. He told me to go back to sleep. He got out of bed. I heard him pacing. When I got up at six he was already gone. There was a note on the counter asking me if I'd get him some milk and Tums on my way home. He was going to be real late coming home and told me not to wait at work for him.

Sheesh. Tums.

I told you before I had something to worry about. I told you nothing could be perfect. I don't even think I can write now.

I keep thinking about Bobbie, tossing some man's clothes out the window onto the street, " All good things, Nik..."

He told me not to wait for him because of the meeting at Center,. I was thinking about that a lot today, what might happen to Michael at Center, what he might feel like. I wondered if that was why he needed the Tums. Nerves? He said nothing about it really, how he actually felt. We aren't quite at the point where we share that sort of thing. I'd like to be, but I don't see that happening quite yet. I don't think he'd ever be the type to moan and groan about the office.

What happens at Section is not supposed to intrude on our blissful domesticity or our steamy sex life. At least that's how I see it right now. I can't help thinking that's going to eat away at us both if we don't get that straightened out. Walter told me that I should have some stuff out with him. Get it out in the open. I don't want to do that. I figure one good battle and he's going to walk out the door. But that's just me. I don't know how to argue with the people I love. I can't trust enough to know that he's not going to leave me. I guess I have to learn.

I thought that perhaps he was apprehensive because of those nightmares he had last night, having to face those people at Center, having this huge responsibility. Ops is always making the allusion that it is he who decides the fate of the free world. I always laugh up my sleeve at that, but sometimes I have to wonder how much of what I decide is Op's bullshit is actual fact. I must say that I like the idea of the world resting on Michael's wide shoulders, rather than those of Ops. Especially after he told Madeline to get out of his face and go back to work for the second time today. Birkoff and I looked at each other and fought back the giggles.

He's no shrinking violet. In bed or out of it, the man has balls.

Michael is a man born to wield power. He should have been born a prince. He exudes authority. That's part of the reason this has me freaked out. I have seen this side of him before and found myself shrinking from it, I just never expected to be sleeping with him at the same time. I tell myself I didn't fall in love with that aspect of Michael. I fell for the gentleman, the generous lover, Adam's father, the loyal friend, not the control freak I perceive him to be around here. I don't always like or understand the man he is here. But I love him and that won't change.

I'm sure he doesn't like me much when I am the snivelling, whining jerk I can be sometimes either. I'm afraid that's what will change things for us. That or section will tell him that we can't be together.

I'm envisioning that to Michael all this must be somewhat like being the new kid at school. He's quite familiar with the process but there's a whole new set of expectations. He's a lot younger than all of them. He has to prove himself. He might have to bloody a few noses in the process but Michael will always go down swinging. The man is awesome, a brick in a crisis.

I wish I could be like that. I want to be. I want him to know he can count on me. I wish I didn't have this habit of leading with my mouth, of saying the first crappy thing that comes into my head and regretting it later.

I think I have to stop worrying about him. I find myself doing that a lot. I was sitting there eating my lunch today wondering if he'd taken the time to eat his. Geez. I hope he likes being mothered cause I'm just the woman to do it. I mean, I figure because our underwear is co-mingling in the washing machine and the fact that I've cleaned his toilet twice this week I ought to be allowed the luxury of wondering if his tummy is full and if he's getting enough sleep. Maybe I'm the one who's giving him the heartburn.

I just can't set aside this nagging feeling that all this power, this responsibility will change him. I can't believe that he'd actually want that power. Why? To protect me? Does he think that his being Ops can do that? What about what I want? I don't want to be stuck in here. Sheesh, me as the next Madeline? Does he really see that happening? I'd rather be in the field dodging bullets. If I have to be in this godforsaken place I'd rather be doing just that. I expect him to respect that about me. He's allowed to worry about me if he wants but he can't stop me from doing what I have to do. Just like I can't stop him.

He was here working very late last night. I waited at Section with Walter until after twelve. I fell asleep with my head in my arms. Before I drifted off Water was teasing me about being so tired. "What are have you been doing lately, Sugar? Your averages are going to fall. Your technique will suffer."

"Ops knows all about that. He says my technique is good." I gave Walter an evil grin. " I can handle this. I can make it work." Yea, so I tell myself.

" How is he doing?"

" He doesn't say anything about it. He just accepts everything they hand him here as a given."

" And you hate that, don't you? That he was meant to do this. That he might actually like it. Doesn't mean he can't love you at the same time, Sugar. Doesn't mean you can't just love him. Maybe you have to understand and accept that aspect of his character. He is ambitious. You're not. But opposites attract. "

I frowned. " I can't talk to him about it. It's too early."

Walter just smiled knowingly. " Ah, whether or not to bring the office home. It's a biggie. Most people who work together can't make it work at home. Ivana and the Donald. Sonny and Cher. Ricky and Lucy. "

" Ricky and Lucy?" I think I was still laughing when I fell asleep.

He came in around one. He was wet from his shower. He didn't say a word. I assumed he didn't want to wake me or that he was exhausted and couldn't talk. He sighed and settled on his back. I wondered what he was thinking about. I was still awake when his breathing became soft and regular. I turned over and looped an arm over him, unable to find sleep again for what seemed hours.

I'll make this work, I told myself. Somehow I will. I can't lose him to the Section again. Why can't I shake this belief that I already am?

I woke up at six-thirty, still bone-tired. He was gone and for moment I wondered if he'd ever been there. Sometimes I can't believe that he is mine.

Is he mine? Or does he belong to Section?

Maybe I had just fantasized that hard form beside me. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and go back to the delicious dream I'd been having about him and me. Did I imagine it, or had he bent over me and given me a kiss on the forehead this morning, covering my shoulders with the quilt? " See you soon, my love," he had said in a husky whisper.

I grinned. Maybe the last several weeks have been some long erotic dream with nightmare undertones. I flipped over the quilt and got out of bed. He's been there. His wet towel was on the bathroom floor and the toilet seat was up. That boy and I definitely have to have a talk one day. I wonder if Elena got pissed at him for this. Maybe he was better behaved with her because he had to be the perfect husband. I sighed. I picked up his towel and put it into the hamper.

If being leaving the toilet seat up is the only thing he ever does to bug me then I guess I haven't got all that much to worry about. Sometimes I am so glad I was born a woman. At least we don't have to pee standing up.

I dressed quickly in Section black and drank a cup of coffee. I was thinking over my Cheerios that I wouldn't mind being invited up into the aerie again by the dread Pirate Blood. God, he knows how to kiss. He has it down to a science. No man tastes as good as he does.

He was busy when I got there but as soon as he saw me he took the time to come over. My heart did its usual lurch when he smiled at me, that playful smile that slightly lifts one corner of his beautiful mouth makes those green-blue eyes light up. The gift of that smile made me want to kiss him right in front of everyone. I wondered how soon it would be before he could have some down time to be with me again. No more of this flopping into a dead sleep for two hours and then rushing off at dawn. I wanted to make dinner for him and lead him into the bedroom for dessert.

" Hi, Michael," I said. " You must have come in quite late. You should have woken me."

"It was late. You needed your sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

I smiled at him. " That was kind of you." He looked a little weary to me close up, slight shadows of violet beneath his eyes. " You're the one who needs the sleep."

" I'm fine." One note Section Michael answer." I want you to check your pad. There are some small changes to the mission parameters."

We walked over. I punched in my codes and scanned the information. Small changes? Okay. It appeared to me we were moving a little too fast on the Bergomi thing to me. I looked up at him expectantly. " We're going to go in and get the associate of Bergomi's today? Albert Lemay. "

" Yes. He may be able to help us find Bergomi."

" Michael, I think the intel on this mission is too weak. We should send out a preliminary team."

" No. Just do it. Go and speak to Mintz. He's waiting for you." He said it a little testily. I found myself, as usual, on the defensive. Before he became the Big Head he'd at least listen to my concerns, my ideas. I know as much about this crappy place as anyone else around here. I just do not understand his need to pursue this Bergomi mission when everyone else says it's a year off. Who does he think he is? Superman?

" I was just making a comment."

He gave me a look. The look. " Don't discuss this with Madeline."

That comment really frosted me. Like I was going to skip off and blab to her. As if I really care about Section resources being reallocated. I couldn't give a shit. Michael and the lives of the people that bust their backs out there are all I really care about. I wanted to say: Michael it's not that I don't think you can do this. It's just such a risk. A risk you don't have to take. I don't want you to screw up, but why take chances? Maybe you just aren't seeing the forest for the trees. You don't have to prove yourself to George or anyone else. Just chill. Just do what you can and don't make waves for us.

Selfish of me, maybe, but even Michael could fail. That's the last thing in the world I want to see happen. If Ops failed at something he'd get an ass chewing. Michael would get cancelled.

I nodded reluctantly and walked away from him. He gave me this look before I left. I felt as if he was begging for my understanding, my support. By the time I got downstairs I decided that I had imagined that look.

Mintz agreed with me. I knew he would, but it gave me little satisfaction. It was the weirdest thing that I felt like kicking his skinny butt when he dared to say that Michael was wrong in front of me. Like I was Michael's defender or something. " Just do what Michael says, Mintz." Sheesh. I think I know how Michael feels. I had a momentary flash of guilt for the way I had been challenging his authority.

Just a momentary lapse.

Everything went downhill from there. The mission was only half successful. One of the bodyguards got away from us. I shot him but he fell into the river. There was no way I was jumping in there to find out if he was dead or not. We lost Fossie. She was a really nice, friendly girl and a good operative. Her gun jammed up on her and she took a bullet to the neck. It just pissed me off that she bled to death in the van before we could get her back. I didn't want to blame him for it but it seemed like such a damned waste to me.

And there he was as soon as we walked through the doors, waiting, ready to leap down my throat. He didn't even mention Fossie. He just started in on me. I wanted to tell him that he'd been on plenty of missions that went wrong. He practically accused me of incompetence. At least, that's how it felt to me. I wanted to give him five in the eye.

" There was no satellite coverage. Fossie's gun jammed..." I put my hands on my hips and tried to stare him down. I'm pretty sure I looked belligerent instead of tough and in control.

" Any other excuses?" he said. I could hear the sarcasm. Or at least I think I heard it at the time. Maybe it was concern, maybe even insecurity. Can Michael let himself be human here in this cold place?

There was too much steam coming out of my ears to wonder about that at the time.

" I think we need a risk assessment, Operations." I added that to yank his chain.

He just looked at me. " Have your team ready in two hours."

I nodded. This isn't working, I was thinking. So much for dinner and dessert tonight.

He said something to me yesterday, something that I thought I'd never hear from anyone, let alone him. " Don't fail me , Nikita. You're the only person in the world I trust."

Is that really true? In a way that is almost the same as hearing him say that he loves me. My God, that is a lot to carry on these rather weak and very human shoulders. Did I blow it? Did I throw everything to the wind and let it blow away?

Does he know that I trust him, too? I trust him with my life. My heart. Does he really think that my unwillingness to hide my feelings towards him is treachery? A danger to him? I have to tell him how I see things especially if I feel that he is in peril. If I can't be honest with him I don't see how I can be with him. I can't see how that is failing his trust.

" I expected betrayal from Mintz, " he had said before uttering those words about trust. " Not you."

Betrayal? I just stared at him. Was what I said about the mission's questionable success a betrayal? I hadn't even considered sabotage as Madeline had suggested, not for one moment. I would never go against him. I only asked him to abort it for his sake. I was not trying to belittle him. Or betray him. How could he think that I would ever consider that?

The fact that he won't hear my side is shows a lack of trust in me.

Did he actually believe that I would for one minute side with Madeline against him?

Doesn't he know that I would die first?

Trust. Betrayal. I think I have to get his definition of each word. Does he expect blind trust? Doesn't he believe in honesty and communication between partners? Did he once look at what I would be feeling? That I might be afraid for him? I know Operations has sacrificed Operatives in the name of ambition before but I never thought Michael would be so cavalier. Was this Bergomi assault really for the good of Section or for the good of Michael?

Is he really that mercenary, that power hungry? The very idea that he is that way frightens me. That is what made me say that I don't know him.

" I don't know who you are," I said. I shudder in remembering. In a way it is true. I don't know him sometimes when he is at Section. I don't have a clue as to what he is thinking. He will not tell me.

I remember the look on his face as he thanked me for going in and retrieving the hard drive. I think he was pleased with me. Maybe he was a little in shock. I wanted a little more from him in the way of emotion. The mission wasn't as bad as we thought it would be but I was still shaken. So many dead and hurt. My limbs were still quivering from the aftermath of the adrenaline. I suppose I didn't have to go in there and play the hero but I wanted to get the damned drive for him. Not only to save his ass, but because he would have done the same thing when he was leading a mission. I learned everything I know from Michael. How many times did he go up against Ops when he was in the field and had a better view of the scene? How many split decisions had Michael been forced to make? I wanted him to understand that at least.

I really think he expected that I would do what i thought was best. He wouldn't have asked but he knows me well enough.

I wanted him to acknowledge that I would have died in there for him. So that I would never be accused of betrayal again. So that he would know that he placed his trust in someone who was worthy.

That's why I said I didn't know him. For the simple reason that he would not tell me why it was all so important to him. Nine people had forgiven their lives for that mission. I had come close to giving mine. To be told the discussion was over was like a slap in the face to all of us.

I only know who he is when he is in my arms. And when he is there nothing else matters to me. I looked out the window. It was raining, the wind howling, whipping the plants on my patio. It had been so unseasonably warm for early March. One month. A little more than one month. And now I stand here alone again waiting for him to call me.

Have I lost him already?

I didn't see him yesterday. He was with George. I thought about it last night while I was alone, seeing George gloating over a Scotch in my mind's eye, patting his new pet on the back. I hate to think of Michael in that way. There must be more to this than I thought. Operations came back today and Michael had to give back that ugly thing he wears around his neck.

But the shadow will long hang between us. The coldness still touches my skin.

I watched him at Section. He walked past me after he met with Ops. He looked at me as he strode by, stopping to stare into my eyes for a long moment, inscrutable as ever. I looked back at him. We haven't mastered telepathy yet. Pity.

I was thinking: Good job, my love. Hope he commended you rather than chewed you out. I may never know what passed between them. I decided that it would be an intrusion if I asked him to dinner or something. He had too much to do. Maybe he was still angry with me. If he was that was fine. He had a right to his feelings.

Just so long as he knows I have a right to mine.

He isn't coming tonight. Maybe I did go too far. Maybe I should have apologised to him. It's really so hard to say you're sorry when you don't believe you're wrong.

But I am proud of him. I should tell him one day.

I went to bed thinking that I would never sleep. I left the window open so the cold night air would blow in, give some freshness to the stale air. I was wearing a nightgown and socks because I had grown used to warming my toes against his strong legs. Who cares about looking sexy when you're all alone.

I was dreaming that I was little again. Mrs. Gram had knit that unravelled sweater back together. So easily. I tried it on. It wasn't quite the same, a little shorter, a little battered perhaps. But it was still warm and beautiful and it was still mine. " It was worth saving, " she said, brushing my hair back from my face. " What are a few crooked stitches in the long run? We mend things the only way we know how, Kita. With patience and love."

I thought at first that I was dreaming the hand that smoothed the hair back from my face. I opened my eyes and he was there, still dressed in black, his hair windblown and slightly damp from the rain. He looked so sad and beautiful he made my heart stop in my chest. Looking at him made me want to cry. " What time is it?"

" Midnight."

I'd only been asleep an hour or so. It seemed like much longer. He grinned at me, at the flannel nighty, I supposed. " It was cold tonight," I said in way of explanation.

" Yes. Today was cold. You don't mind my letting myself in? "

" No. I don't mind. I gave you my key. " Same as I gave you my heart.

" I missed you," he said in that soft, husky way of his.

" I'm sorry about what I said to you yesterday."

" No need for that. I can be an ass sometimes. " He lowered his head and nuzzled my cheek. One slender hand found my breast through the flannel. The other played with the buttons down the front of my gown.

Before I lost my train of thought completely, I uttered, in sleepy contentment. " I love you, Michael. We'll mend things the best we know how."

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