I told him that I couldn't sleep because I was nervous about the mission. It was not a lie. I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about us. Since we became lovers everything to do with Section has become more tedious. Years ago when I was naive, I thought we could have an affair and it wouldn't matter to anyone but us. He told me differently. I didn't believe him at the time.

Now that he wants me, I am the one who is anxious.

"What is it, Kita? " He was sleeping on his stomach. He lifted his head and peered at me, his weight resting on his elbows.

I smiled at him, as usual quite unable to believe that a man can be this beautiful and that he is here with me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, Michael. Go back to sleep. We have an early call." I reached over and smoothed a lock of brown hair from his forehead.

"What's wrong? Are you worried about something?"

"It's stupid. I just don't want to dance tomorrow." It was a lie. Well, half a lie. Of course I didn't want to put on that dopey costume and dance for some creep on the mission, but I had to. I have steeled myself for those kinds of missions. I couldn't tell him that I was thinking that the odds of our affair lasting until the end of the month, before they found a way to end it, were pretty damned good.

"Dancing? Really? That bothers you? "

"Yes. Of course it bothers me."

"You've done it before."

"I'm not a very good dancer."

"He's going to get one look at your gorgeous body and he won't care if you dance like Donald Duck."

I was both flattered and disturbed. My lips twisted. "Do you think I dance like Donald Duck? "

"Well...no," He grinned and leaned over me, kissing me lightly on the mouth. "More like Daisy. But I'm not saying that I don't like the way Daisy shakes her tail feathers."

"You wouldn't be so smug if you'd ever had to do it. Dance for some sleazy stranger."

"I have."

I stared at him. He wasn't smiling. I think he was blushing. It was light in my room so I could see his pink cheeks quite clearly. When I'm at home I have to have night lights. It all goes back to childhood. It's something he grins and bears. At his house we sleep in the dark. "You have danced for sleazy strangers, Michael ? When? "

"It was a few years ago. I think I'd been in Section two years. I had to strip actually. At a club."

Holy cow, I was thinking. Wish I'd had a ticket for that. "One of those Chippendale's things?"

"Yea. That was big then. In the eighties. From the look on your face I should never have told you. A few of us had to do it."

"Who? "

"Nikita." He sounded exasperated.

"Tell me or I won't let you sleep."

"Me and Davenport. But not at the same time. We each had our own gig, so to speak. Do you think I might get some sleep now? "

"Davenport? You mean Chris Davenport with the shaved head? "

"It wasn't shaved then. He had hair down to his shoulders. Like I used to have."

"What was your act? Did you wear a costume?"

"Kita, if I thought I'd get the third degree I'd never have mentioned it. You seem exceedingly fascinated. Don't tell me you frequent those places?"

I was still recovering from the males stripper thing and then he said 'exceedingly fascinated '. Sometimes just the way he says a word sends shivers up my spine. I am totally gone on him. If I lose him I'll be lost.

"Did you?"

"No! And would it be so awful if I did? My mom used to go. It sounds embarrassing actually. But I saw The Full Monty eight times. What did you wear?" This was getting really interesting.

"Not much." I prodded his ribs. " Okay, if you'll go to sleep I'll tell you. I was wearing a tux. And a top hat and a cape with red satin lining. The pants had velcro down the sides but the shirt had snaps. I took it off to that ZZ Top song. Sharp Dressed Man. I was awful. Once I bopped myself on my nose with my cane. Another time I was so nervous I threw my hat into the crowd and brained an old lady. "

"Jeez, I was hoping you were the cowboy. I have this cowboy thing."

"Chris got to be the cowboy." He sounded slightly resentful.

That made me laugh. "What was his song? "

"I can't remember. It had a line: "'She's so mean but I don't care.' Come to think of it that line reminds me of you."

"I'm the meanest broad you'll even know." I settled down on my back and imagined him taking his clothes off to music. " Maybe you could show me your moves sometime."

He buried his face in the pillow. "Don't count on it."

"I'm not tired at all now. Maybe you could show me now."

"I don't have my hat. Go to sleep."

"I'll put a dollar in your -- "

"Kita, shut up. I'm worth at least a hundred bucks. "

"Maybe ten."

He shut me up quite nicely with a kiss and then he showed me a few moves. Horizontally. I sort of relaxed for a while after that.

I was thinking about that as we drove to the club, trying to forget how itchy the glitter was making my neck feel. The wig was hot but I kind of liked the colour. The four inch clear plastic fuck-me-shoes were a big mistake. I looked like a six foot two glitter Barbie. I was going to fall on my butt. I looked over at Michael across the van. He gave me a slight smile. He looked nice in a fitted leather blazer and a black tee shirt trimmed in bright blue ribbing. I smiled back at him, my heart just welling up with love, thinking about how good and whole and happy he makes me feel. One day I'll get him to show me those Full Monty moves.

The mission was not a great success. I did dance like Donald Duck, but you try dancing on a plexiglass cylinder in plastic heels and see how graceful you are. It was okay until I ran out of time and Michael got concerned about me and changed the parameters. I was happy as hell to see him charging in there like Zorro to save me, but I couldn't believe he'd charged in to my rescue that way. It's not something he hasn't done before but I couldn't help thinking that it was the wrong time to be chivalrous and protective. I was right. When I got in Madeline called me in to her office.

She was furious. I could tell by her snapping eyes. "Michael was protecting you. He left his position to do that. You could have lost the whole team."

"I didn't ask for Michael's help, Madeline. It was his decision." I slouched down further in my seat. I was not trying to blame him. The thought that he'd do that, protect me when I could do it myself, disturbed me, too. And thrilled me a little I had to admit. She went on to tell me about Michael's percentages. He was off one percent or something. Sheesh, too bad he can't be perfect, I wanted to say. Are any of us? I wanted to roll my eyes.

She gave me a look. "Have you heard of a type two directive? "

"No." I've heard of a type two personality and she had that going on. I looked into those fathomless black eyes feeling like I was going to be sucked into hell.

"It means a decision has been made regarding an operative. It has not gone in your favour. Section wants you and Michael to stop seeing each other. "

I just stared at her. All my fears had come true. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

She said nothing. She looked prickly. She had spoken to him and he had given her grief. He had refused. Something made me want to hug myself and dance around the room. Michael is a brave man. My man.

"I am speaking to you now. I want you to end it."

I said nothing.

"End it, Nikita. It will be him who suffers."

I think she said that because she knew I would heed that statement. The words made me want to retch.

"As of this moment, the affair is over. You're excused."

I just took a deep breath, rose to my feet on trembling legs and left. I wanted to drop kick her in the throat with those four inch plastic shoes. And to think I'd been giving the old witch the benefit of the doubt lately.

I walked by Walter's area hoping he'd talk to me. As I passed I noticed he was with that red headed Russian profiler. They were kissing. The woman is half his age. I was struck again with the unfairness of it. Why could other ops have affairs and not Michael and me? Was I just too trashy for him? Did they figure that I'd bring him down? Mommy and Daddy Section's golden child.

"Kita? Are you ready to get home now?"

I started at the sound of his voice. Home. He said it like it was a given for him, that he now believed we share that together. Home is such an evocative word. I have never had a home, not really. The thought of losing the one I'd found with him, in him, made me ache inside.

He leaned a little closer to me. He had just showered and he smelled heavenly. " Uh, I -- " I ran my hand through my hair. " I-uh-have to cancel tonight. I have some important things to do. Sorry, Michael."

"What's so important? " He looked concerned. He had to know about the Type 2 thing. He must have chosen to defy them. I didn't think I was so brave. He has a hell of a lot more to lose than me.

And if he loses it all, if they make his life hell, where does that leave us? How can he even look at me again knowing that I'm the one who brought him down?

"Nothing's really that important. I'm just too tired. I'll see you at work tomorrow." I just tore my gaze away from him and walked away. I could feel his eyes burning holes through my back.

I looked in the mirror, my hands shaking as I fastened my favourite necklace around my neck. To me the piece of silver jewellery is more precious than diamonds. He's bought it for me on that fake honeymoon to Greece. It hadn't cost much but I'd remarked at how pretty it was and he'd gone back to buy it for me. I remember the way he fastened it around my neck, how his fingers felt, warm and rough against my nape. He'd told me in this husky voice that I was beautiful and then pressed his mouth against my skin.

He likes to initiate lovemaking that way. He moves in behind me, presses his lips to the sensitive place at the nape on my neck and I melt for him. He is a most attentive and unselfish lover. It isn't his training or his experience with other women. It's something I can't define, just this way he makes me feel when we are making love. Like I am the most beautiful woman on earth. He gives me his undivided attention, as if I am the object of an obsessive craving. I know that he is the object of mine.

Maybe it's just love. Maybe it feels so perfect because I love him.

Love makes the loneliness more empty.

I fingered the little silver baubles on the necklace, thinking about facing a night alone without him. We don't always have to make love. Sometimes we talk or watch a movie. Sometimes we just read. The silence is pleasing. We don't have to make inane conversation or entertain each other. He's a quiet sort of man and chatter doesn't come easily. Sometimes I'll look over my novel and he'll grin at me, sheepish because he'd been staring. Just watching me read. Just looking at me like he can't get his fill.

The buzzer rang. I walked over to the monitor. He was there, his head down, waiting. My heart started to pound and my hand went as if on its own volition to touch his videotaped face through the glass screen. I had to take deep breaths to calm myself before I opened the door.

I tried to sound disinterested. "What's up, Michael? "

He fixed me with those jade eyes. There were tight lines around his mouth. His grip on the door jamb caused his knuckles to look white. "Did they talk to you? "

"What do you mean? " Oh good retort. When all else fails play it dumb. I just didn't know what to say to him when he looked at me like that, with that intense, tormented expression.

"Did Madeline suggest you stay away from me? " His French accent was very pronounced. It is that way when he is agitated.

I nodded. I still hadn't asked him in. "She called it a type two directive."

"They don't want us to be together," he murmured. He was searching my face. Looking at my mouth.

I tried to be cool, but the words were hard to get around the thickness in my throat. "No, Michael, they don't want us to be together." I lowered my eyes. It was hard to look at him, the way his gaze burned into me.

"What about you? Do you want to be with me? "

I couldn't answer. I just swallowed. I just wanted to throw myself into his arms.

"Don't be scared," he said softly. "Let me come in."

I knew what would happen if I let him in. I wouldn't be able to say no to him. When could I ever deny him anything? My fingers went to my neck, unconsciously toying with the gift he had given me in Greece. I stepped away and let him pass me.

He smiled at me, a sad, sweet, seductive smile. "I remember the day I bought that. I was thinking that it wasn't good enough, that it ought to be sapphires, the exact colour of your eyes. I remember when I gave it to you, the way you smiled at me, the way your hands shook. Such a little thing, Kita, and yet it made you so happy and then so sad, too. I hadn't wanted to make you sad."

"I wasn't sad, Michael. I was overcome."

"Overcome. Yes. I felt like that, too." He nodded. "I remember the sunset, the colours and the way the breeze stirred your hair. I remember exactly how you felt in my arms, Kita. I remember that bed. I remember every kiss, every touch of your hand. I've been so lonely for you "

"Michael." I couldn't hold back the tears that slipped through my lashes.

"Don't deny us this. I don't care what they've said to you. I only know what I feel. What you feel. We've waited too long. Too damned long. Nothing is going to take you from me again. No one." He lifted his arms. "Come here, Kita. I want to hold you. And then I'll leave if you want me to. Just tell me and I'll go."

I went to him eagerly, pressing my face against his shoulder. "Don't leave, Michael. I can't let you go either."

He made a strange sound, almost like an exultant sob before he took me in his arms and buried his face in my hair. He kissed me again and again, as if his kisses could drive away the army of dark souls who stand between us. He made love to me slowly and with deliberate care, such a contrast to desperate words, those astonishingly fervent kisses. His quest was to please me utterly, in a way both extravagantly ardent and totally unselfish.

Like it might be the last time he could show me how he felt.

I lay there beside him afterward while he slept, unable to come down, sleep elusive. He held me close, his breath warm and steady on my shoulder, his arm locked tightly around me. Even in sleep he seemed unable to let go of me.

You are deep inside of me Michael. I can so live without you as I could without breathing. If I have to let you go it will be the same as opening a vein and letting my life's blood drain away.

I lay there against him, surrounded by his body, his protection, knowing that I will be the one to bring him down, to cause his downfall. Why, when they need him so desperately, do they seek to make him suffer? Take so much away? How many times can a man be beaten before he rebels? He will rebel and he will pay the ultimate price. How can I mean that much to him?

I do not understand it. I cannot comprehend what he sees in me. I don't know how I am worth all this pain.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. I thought that when he gave his heart to me there would be no more tears.

His cell phone rang, startling me. He picked it up, spoke, sighed and turned to me, brushing the hair back from my face. I couldn't face him. He'd know I'd been crying again.

"We have to go in."

I wish I had turned my face away before Davenport told Michael that he was not leading the team. I saw the bleak look in his eyes. He looked at me, not in remorse, but resignation. He looked like a warrior knight facing battle with an enemy too imposing to best.

The mission was easy. A joke. Davenport knew it. He is a fine man, and while not a confident of Michael's any longer, a loyal comrade. They had both trained under Jurgen, but Michael had quickly surpassed Chris in the ranks. He did everything he could to spare Michael pain. I wanted to put my arms around him and thank him for his generosity.

"It's started," Michael told me as we left, "They want to take me down."

Ops greeted Chris like the returning hero. It was silly, an obvious act. Chris was ashamed.

"Why are they doing this? "

"To take away my authority."

"I know. I meant: Why? What's in it for them? What have we done besides care for each other?"

"It's a game they play," he said, his jaw tight, his shoulders stiff. "If they want me to play, I'll play."

I wanted to say: Michael, this is not chess. "Does it mean something to you? The authority?"

"No. They think it does."

I just looked at him, shaking my head, exultant that he was turning his back on them and yet fearful that he was doing just that. How had he deceived himself into thinking that he could live without his authority. That he could just throw away all his status?

He took my cold hand in his warm one. "What ever I do, I do the best I can. That is what means something to me. You mean something to me. Don't worry."

When we returned Madeline was stripping his office. They looked at each other like two cats fighting over territory. I know in my heart that Michael is the better of her, but her position gives her the power. How much of this animosity is rooted in the distant past? How much is rooted in Michael's power play when he was Operations for such a short time?

"I've taken you off tactical oversight. You won't be needing an office on this floor. You'll be on six with everyone else," Madeline told him. I could almost hear the cackle in her voice.

I wanted to scream at her as she walked away. She gave me a look. This is your fault, she seemed to say with those hell-dark eyes, all your fault. I responded with a rush of guilt so strong it made my knees weak.

He tells me that it doesn't matter. He is brave and gallant, but he is devastated. I see it in his eyes. I hear it in his dreams. I feel it when he touches me. It is only a matter of time.

When I try to talk to him about it he says a few words and then he tells me that he doesn't want to speak of it. I try to draw him out and I feel like a nag and a shrew, though he will never say so. He doesn't often smile and when he makes love to me now he is either remote or almost aggressive. I can see the shame in his eyes when Chris hands him his assignments. He does his job without complaint, but I can see that he hates it. He is wasted where they have stuck him. Even I have more authority than he does.

We were in the bath together, in his big tub. I was leaning against his chest, one of his muscular hair-roughened legs pressed against my side. He had suggested it to try to ease away some of the aches and pains of the last mission. I'm glad my back was to him because when he is wet he is so damned beautiful, the words just escape me. And I had to say some things before they drove me crazy.

He told me that they had three go down, one casualty. It was hard to get even that much out of him. "Davenport is competent."

"He isn't you," I said. "Sometimes mere competence isn't enough."

"It'll be okay. I can live with it."

He says that a lot lately. I know it is not true. Living with half a heart is hardly living.

"Maybe. Maybe you just think you can live with it You're not the same, Michael."

He said nothing, but I felt the hand under the water tighten around my waist.

I think that I gave up when Madeline's hand-picked lackey, McDaniel started in on him as we were picking up our weapons, saying Michael had taken his PDA. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that he's one of her toy-boys. He's just her type: built like a brick shithouse and totally vacant upstairs. A weenie.

I had heard him before, gossiping, making snide cracks about us. "Looks like Michael's pussy whipped," he'd said at one point. It was all I could do not to knee the guy in the balls but I didn't think Michael would appreciate my trying to defend him. If something happens out in the field, I, for one, won't be expending any energy to cover McDaniel's ass.

I saw Michael's face when McDaniel said that Michael had less power now than I do. It was as if those few words had stripped him of his last shred of dignity. I was glad he went after him, but my heart was just pounding in fear. I had to steel myself from getting into it. I was glad when Davenport stepped in. Michael had already pulled back but Davenport let everyone know that he was on Michael's side. That stopped it. He had that shiv at McDaniel's throat before I could even blink.

They had us both on look-out. Don't think the fact that I was placed there went over my head. I am being punished as well. I think my heart started beating again when Michael took over and I bless Chris Davenport for being man enough to let him. It was there that I made my decision. I had to do the same as Chris had, set aside my pride and let him do what he was meant to do.

He said it again after Chris thanked him. " Nikita, let's go home."

Home. I almost lost it there. I almost nodded my head and said: Let's go home, my love. Damn them all.

I couldn't. It wasn't anything Madeline had threatened. And that business about making him stop loving me? How did I do that? Grow my armpit hair? Stop bathing? Act like a jerk? He'd see through anything I did to try to make him stop loving me. It would be a lie. And he can see through lies. He knows me too well. Just as I know him.

He is too good a man to suffer all this.

And so I told him. We need you, Michael. We need you to keep us alive. If you're not there it's a job half done and we all suffer. I give up. I love you too much to see you wither away and deteriorate, though you will stand up straight and tall and proud as ever and say it's not true. I have done this to you, so I have to be the one to let you go. And you have to be strong enough to let me do what I have to do. If we do it now maybe our friendship will see us through.

There was a second when I saw his face light up just after I said something. "Maybe I do know a way," he said, but I was too tired and too distraught to pursue it. As I think about that light in his eyes, an almost revengeful, devious light I had never really seen there before, I have to smile.

I could barely look at him at the time, however. And when he touched my face and when his eyes got glassy with unshed tears it was all I could do to walk away from him. My legs felt like they could barely hold me.

You win, Madeline. You win, I was thinking as I left him there alone. Damn you to hell.

I sat alone on a bench in the area outside the women's lockers long after the others had gone. I had showered and dressed, but I wasn't going to debrief. Let then kick my ass for it. I didn't care. I was hiding. I was afraid that I might see him again. I didn't want to go and face my empty apartment. Everything was going to different now. I didn't think I can face my lonely old routine.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. How much can one person cry? I think I ought to just hang a bucket round my neck.

"Hey, Nikita, why aren't you going home? "

My head snapped up. I knew I looked awful, red-eyed, my nose running. Chris Davenport was standing there. He's a big man. He commands a lot of space.

I just shook my head and felt my lip trembling and the tears squirting out. I was mortified.

Chris sat down on the bench next to me. "I don't understand why they're doing this to you. You'd think they'd bend over backwards to let a man like Michael be happy. I think those two are running scared." He reached over and wrapped a huge arm across my shoulder. "Don't count Michael out, kid. Have some faith. I've known the man a long time." He handed me a old-fashioned clean linen handkerchief. "Here. My ma always made sure that I had one of these. Never know when you might run across a girl who needs to blow her nose. Don't worry it's clean."

I smiled at him. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. "I wanted to thank you for what you did."

"No problem. He's saved my butt more times than I can say. Only reason I'm alive is because of Mike."

I nodded twisting the linen square in my hands. "Would you be there for him? If he needs to talk to someone. He likes to pretend that he's invincible."

He smiled at me. "All men are like that. But sure, I'd be glad to offer him an ear. He's not the type to seek a guy out though."

"Thanks. I think I'll be okay now." I told him I'd launder the hankie and give it back. "I'm not going to debrief. I don't feel like it. I hope that doesn't get you into any hot water."

" I can handle it."

" Nik? "

" Yes."

"I can see why he'd do it. Give it all up for you. You're good for him. At first I thought you were too young, too rebellious and maybe a little silly, I have to admit that. I was thinking you were way too different from Simone, but I think now that's a good thing. Once I got to know you I changed my mind. The last month he's been happier than I've seen him in twelve years. He actually laughed once last week at some stupid joke I told. I thought hell had just froze over."

I smiled at that.

"If Michael wants something he'll have it. Heaven or earth won't stand in his way. He's that kind of a man."

I sat on my couch not quite knowing what to do with myself. My hand strayed up to my neck to worry the baubles of the necklace he'd given me. If I closed my eyes I could feel him, smell him. Last night as I tried to sleep, I buried my face in his pillow. It still held his scent and I am loath to change the slip for that reason. When I went to the bathroom his red toothbrush was laying on the counter, his razor and his shaving gel was there, too. I thought about returning them to his desk when he wasn't there, but I think I'll keep them around for a while just so that I can remind myself that it really happened, that he was here and that he loves me.

He loves me. I tell myself that a lot, hoping that it will ease the pain somewhat.

I was fixing myself a cup of tea when the buzzer rang. Probably Mick, I thought, going to the monitor. My heart almost stopped when I discovered it was him. I had to take several deep breaths. My hands went to my hair, to my hot cheeks. What did I do? Pretend not to be here? Or open the door and pretend to be nonchalant.

Maybe he had come to get his stuff.

I was sure he'd see right through me. The fake smile. The false cheerfulness. There were shadows beneath his green eyes and he hadn't shaved in a few days. " Hello, Michael. Come in."

"No. I can't stay," he said in that husky way that sends shivers through me. "I came to tell you something.

I nodded my head, quite unable to speak. I was clutching the door handle for dear life. I almost gasped when his strong, warm hands covered mine. His fingers wrapped around my hand. He rubbed the knuckles with his thumbs.

"Don't give up on us, Nikita. I'll find a way for us to be together. I just wanted you to know that." He raised my hand to his lips, closed his eyes slowly so that his dark lashes lay like perfect, dark fans on his cheeks and pressed a kiss to the backs of my knuckles.

I watched him as he walked away, shoulders straight, head up, magnificently determined. My hand was burning, that place where he had placed his mark.

I couldn't help it. The smile that rose up and washed over me stretched ear to ear. I was thinking about what Davenport said.

Heaven and earth, Michael, I thought. Are you ready for that?

Chris said it best. You are that kind of man. Damned well worth fighting for.

I will try my best to be that kind of a woman.

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