-- Note: this story takes place approximately one month after "Unacceptable Risk" --

"Son of a Bitch!" Nikita cursed as she stormed into her apartment. In seconds her shoes were kicked into a far corner of the room, her jacket tossed onto the sofa and her sunglasses slammed against the countertop.

She repeated the curse again, softly yet with much greater menace. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins and she wanted nothing more than to vent her fury against the man who had the ability to drive her so insane. Michael.

She loved him, yet there were times in which she hated him. Times like now.

That low down dirty skunk had cheated on her. It didn't matter that he'd slept with the mark as part of a mission… Oh no, because Nikita had seen the mission profile. The decision to consummate was optional.

Optional!

And he'd taken it. More to the point, he'd taken her… the mark… to heights of passion that went way beyond mission parameters, knowing the entire time that Nikita was plugged in via com-link to every sigh, every moan, every gasp of wanton pleasure that he elicited.

Was he playing a game? Did he find the situation amusing? Was he trying to titillate her while he allowed another woman to rediscover religion in his arms? The phrase "oh God" repeated over and over again in Nikita's mind as it had earlier that evening…

He could have used a drug to knock the woman out, but no… He'd used a more 'natural' method. Complete and utter physical exhaustion.

"Son of a BITCH!" she spat again, taking fervent pleasure in the feel of the phrase rolling off of her tongue. If her foot wasn't so sore from standing in 3-inch heels for hours on end she would have stamped it in frustration.

Grabbing a bottle of red wine and a glass, she snagged a corkscrew and headed outside to her patio. She knew alcohol wasn't a solution, but at the moment she didn't care. She wasn't thinking clearly. She hadn't been thinking clearly ever since she'd walked into that club and been forced to watch Michael chum up to his mark.

It had only been a month since Nikita's capture by Red Cell, and only two weeks since she had returned to active duty. During that time period she and Michael had forged a tentative romantic relationship, heavy on sex, short on talk. Despite the fact that Michael had declared his love for her, he remained aloof. At times, it almost seemed as if he was resentful of Nikita's place in his well-ordered existence. Like he wanted to punish her for making him fall in love with her. Which was stupid, she knew, and yet there were times like tonight when the idea didn't seem so far-fetched after all…

The mission was a cookie-cutter information gathering scenario in which Michael was expected to seduce the mark, gain entry to the house, steal some computer files and then get out. Why a valentine op wasn't executing the mission, she didn't know. Then again, perhaps she did… Nikita figured it was Madeline's way of gauging the strength of her connection with Michael. Section may have sanctioned their relationship, but the approval was contingent upon the successful completion of all missions. If any personal matters between her and Michael bled into their work, they would be separated. Nikita imagined that meant she would be transferred to a substation since Operations would never let Michael stray too far from headquarters.

And so it seemed a series of delicate 'tests' were in the works. There was no other reasonable explanation for Madeline's decision to place Michael in a seduction role with Nikita as primary surveillance. In fact, there had probably been another Section team in place to monitor her while she monitored Michael, she thought with just a trace of paranoia… The entire evening had probably even been videotaped…

With a loud sigh Nikita aggressively opened the bottle of wine, twisting the corkscrew with the same passion she would have used to wring Michael's neck had he been brave enough to stop by for a 'visit.'

"Jerk," she muttered derisively as she flopped on a chaise lounge.

Settling into a semi-reclining position, Nikita poured a glass of wine and closed her eyes as she took a long, satisfying gulp of the warm liquid. It did nothing to soothe her anger, but it did soften the tension in her muscles. Finishing the glass and pouring another, she allowed herself to relax as a pleasing lassitude spread through her system.

As much as she tried, however, she couldn't keep the events of earlier that evening from invading her thoughts.

The 'meet' had taken place at Volaré's, the club where Petrosian had arranged a discreet dinner date for her and Michael not so very long ago. They had only shared a drink on that occasion, but the site still had meaning. It was one of the first times since Jurgen's death that the two of them had spoken privately.

Nikita felt surprisingly territorial about the location… There were so few places outside of Section in which she and Michael had met as friends, not agents, and it irked her that she would now associate it with Michael and another woman, not Michael and herself. Had Michael chosen the location, she wondered, or had Madeline? Not that it mattered, really…

Sipping her drink more slowly now, she recalled the moment when she first saw them. She was perched on a stool at the bar having an inane discussion with an account executive named Jim while simultaneously listening to Birkoff's feed in her ear. The dual conversation had given her a raging headache, which was not helped by the martini she was delicately sipping.

Deciding to rehydrate, she signaled the bartender for a club soda. At that same moment she became aware of Michael out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed all in black as he had been earlier that day in Section. Nikita knew that a dark look was expected as he was posing as an art buyer, but she resented the fact that he hadn't changed clothes. Somehow she could accept that he was playing a role when he was dressed in color. When he was dressed in black, however, she felt possessive. He was hers.

He never even glanced her way as a hostess guided him and his lavender-scented companion to a booth not ten feet from where Nikita was sitting. The woman he was with was of medium height with dark red hair, whiskey-colored eyes and an olive complexion. It was an arresting, if not beautiful, combination. Even her name was elegant… Amber.

Nikita hated her on sight, a feeling which only intensified as the evening wore on. She hated the musical sound of her voice, her obvious intelligence, the way in which she would lean forward and grasp Michael's forearm whenever she stressed a point in conversation. Even more, Nikita hated Michael. Hated the way he sipped his wine and looked at Amber with obvious approval, the way he allowed her touch to linger, the way he laughed seductively at her jokes.

But most of all, Nikita hated the fact that Michael looked at Amber the exact same way he looked at her. The eyes, the half smile, the amused grin. How many times in the past few weeks had she looked at him across a room, across a table, across a bed, and seen that same expression?

It was that realization that had chilled Nikita to the bone, causing goosebumps to ripple down her arm despite the sweltering heat of the restaurant. She felt them again, now, as she slowly swirled the wine in her glass. Her earlier rage was rapidly turning into despondency as she found herself questioning the depth of Michael's feelings for her. Standing there in that club listening to him have an intelligent debate about modern art with a beautiful woman had scared Nikita in a way she had never been scared before.

When he'd seduced Lisa Fanning, Nikita had been more outraged than jealous. She had felt protective toward the younger woman, thinking of her more as a girl than an adult. And Michael had obviously been playing a role, dressing casually, grinning incessantly, letting his hair go wild. There had been no real connection.

But tonight at that club she witnessed her Michael be seduced by another woman, not the other way around. Her Michael, the one who dressed for funerals, who listened intently, who bestowed smiles like rare gifts… The one who could set her pulse on fire with a brief smoldering look. A look like the one he had given Amber when she had suggested returning to her place for a 'nightcap.' Nikita supposed she couldn't fault his taste, as much as she wanted to. Amber was intelligent, sexy and funny. She wasn't tainted by Section or any illegal activities. She was pure. Their intel indicated that she was completely unaware of the files on her home computer as they had been placed there by her brother, Garrett.

Nikita poured herself another glass of wine with wobbly hands as she recalled what it was like to sit in a Section van and listen to Michael have sex with another woman. At first, she hadn't thought he was going to go through with it. She figured he was just leading Amber on until whatever drug he'd slipped into her nightcap kicked in. Soon, it became glaringly apparent that he hadn't drugged her after all. The sounds, the nuances, were embedded in her memory.

Nikita would never forget how she had felt in that moment when she realized he had made a voluntary decision to sleep with Amber… Betrayed, angry, hurt… But more than anything else, unloved. Unlovable. Had Michael truly cared, he would have found a way out. That he chose not to spoke volumes.

Even with all the abuse she had endured from her mother while growing up, Nikita had no idea how much one human being could hurt another until now. She'd been naïve to assume that once Michael had told her he loved her that everything would magically turn out for the best. While she had never been happier in her life than she had been these past few weeks, she had also never known such pain.

If this was love, she wasn't sure she wanted any part of it.

Curling up into a defensive ball, Nikita placed her glass on the patio floor and drifted off to sleep. She awoke a while later to find Michael perched on the end of her chair, absently tracing his fingers across her calf.

His presence startled her, and she flinched.

Nikita sat up and tried unsuccessfully to pull her leg away from his touch. She wasn't prepared to talk to him right now as she didn't know how she felt. What she wanted to say. And yet, a part of her just had to know. "Why?" she asked, her voice practically breaking. The lack of light outside had caused her pupils to dilate, making her eyes seem even larger and more accusing than usual.

"Why, what?" His fingers continued their exploration.

"Why did you sleep with her?"

His fingers stopped moving.

Michael was confused. What did she mean by the word 'why'? Did she think he had a choice? Amber had turned out to be far too intelligent a person not to notice being drugged, so he'd had to sleep with her. As much as he cared for Nikita, the mission came first. It always would. He could not risk Amber later mentioning the incident to her brother and having him suspect that the information had been compromised.

Besides, the reasons why didn't matter as they in no way affected his feelings for Nikita. Couldn't they just put this behind them? It had been a long day, a long mission… And all he really wanted was to go to sleep with his arms wrapped around the woman he loved. "It's just sex, Nikita…" And to him, it was.

Nikita was floored by his response. She had long ago accepted the fact that Michael did not respect himself, but it shocked her to hear him blatantly admit to not respecting her, either. "Just sex?" she repeated, her voice rising several octaves at once. Did he think that made it okay?

He stood up and held his hand out to Nikita. "Come on."

"Where?"

"To bed."

"My bed?" she clarified as she rolled off the chaise lounge and stood to face him. As she peered into his calm face she realized that she would probably never be able to figure him out. How could she ever have loved a man who was so cruel as to sleep with another woman voluntarily and then have the unmitigated gall to dismiss it as 'just sex' and expect her to pretend it never happened? He really was sick…

Did he think she was some chew toy he could toss in the corner until the next time he wanted to play?

Dropping her voice back down to its normal register, she let loose. "If you want to go to bed, Michael, I suggest you do so in the comfort of your own home… Wherever that may be… Tonight, and potentially for the rest of my life, I am sleeping alone!"

If Michael was surprised by her sudden show of temper, that thought was buried deep beneath his impenetrable outer shell. Making no attempt to leave, he merely gave her a sideways smile and said, "Jealous?" He was half-joking, although at the moment it was the only explanation he could think of for her behavior.

She was so insulted she didn't even bother to dignify his comment with a reply. Instead, she repeated her request for him to leave.

He stared at her for a moment with a quizzical expression on his face, trying to account for her hostility, then looked away. Realization dawned as he located the nearly-empty bottle of wine by the edge of her chair. Deciding she was in no condition to have a rational conversation, he silently turned and departed.

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but after Michael left Nikita could have sworn that the scent of lavender lingered in the air. Collapsing back down in her chair, she let the tears fall.

*****

When Michael called Nikita in to Section the next morning he could tell she was still in a foul mood, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the militant valkyrie who strode toward him across the main communications area.

It looked as though someone had dumped a gallon of paint thinner on the veneer of sophistication which she had acquired under Madeline's careful tutelage. Black boots, black sunglasses, low-riding jeans with more holes than fabric, and a stretchy lycra top that left nothing to the imagination. Absolutely nothing. Her hair was teased into a cluttered mass that was more horizontal than vertical, and unless his eyes had deceived him she'd acquired a temporary belly-button ring. A belly-button ring!

All in all, she looked… confrontational.

He almost considered taking a step back as she stalked up to within six inches of his frame, placed her hands squarely on her hips and demanded in a low voice, "You wanted to see me?" Of course, he gave no outward indication of that thought, nor did he take the step back. Instead, he ignored her baiting posture and replied in an even monotone, "Yes, we have a briefing at eleven o'clock."

Nikita leaned even closer in, once again causing him to consider the idea of retreat. The fists which were balled at her side looked ready to strike. "That's why you called me in? For a BRIEFING?" He wasn't even going to TRY to apologize?

Something was definitely wrong, Michael decided. Something serious. He hadn't seen her this angry since she'd realized that his attempted seduction of her at her apartment last year was nothing more than a manipulation to keep her from trying to escape with Eric. But what could it be? Realizing the only way to find out what she was really thinking was to see her eyes, he slowly lifted his hand and gently raised her sunglasses so they lay on top of her head. "Should there have been another reason?"

As responses went, it was typical of Michael's professional persona: cold and insensitive. It left Nikita practically spluttering with rage, incapable of coherent speech. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort only to find she couldn't even begin to express her feelings. His total lack of understanding had rendered her mute.

Michael watched the play of emotions across her face as her mouth gaped open in astonishment, then closed. He saw rage tinged with disbelief. Pain. It occurred to him that the rims of her eyes were suspiciously red, as if she had been crying, and he wondered at the cause.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, genuinely concerned for her welfare.

What's wrong? Nikita thought in disbelief as her body shook with controlled rage. What's wrong? He'd ripped out her heart and he was so self-absorbed he didn't even NOTICE. How could he stand there with such an innocent expression on his face? Was he totally blind? Did it not even occur to him that she would be upset? Feel betrayed?

"Nothing's wrong," she ground out between clenched teeth, "Unlike you, I just didn't SLEEP very well last night."

Michael could only stand and stare as he absorbed the full impact of her reply. Closing his eyes to regroup his thoughts, he wondered why it was that she still could not accept the job. That she refused to acknowledge the necessity of separating their personal and professional lives. Did she really think that his encounter with Amber invalidated his feelings for her? Opening his eyes to peer deeply into hers, he could see that she did.

After what they'd just endured with Red Cell, how could she think that his love for her was not real? How many times, and in how many different ways, was he going to have to prove himself?

Why did he even bother?

Of course, Michael knew exactly why he bothered… As much as he fought against it, he loved her. Even when she was behaving like a hostile street rat.

He knew he had to find a way to reassure her that last night had meant nothing to him. The question was how he was going to accomplish that feat. In her current state, he didn't think she would be terribly receptive to reason. Still, he had to try…

As he opened his mouth to speak he caught sight of Birkoff and Simon watching their exchange with undisguised interest. The minute the pair realized they'd been caught spying they quickly averted their eyes and continued whatever discussion had been interrupted by Nikita's flamboyant entrance. Not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary, Michael decided it would be best to continue the conversation in a less public place.

"May I see you in my office for a moment?" he asked softly, his eyes entreating her to agree.

Nikita considered ignoring him and walking away, then decided against it. She could see that he had finally clued as to why she was so mad and she was curious to know how he was going to try and explain away this one… Which tack would he take? Was he going to be sorry? Was he going to expound on his theory of compartmentalized emotions? It pained her to realize that whatever he said, she most likely wouldn't believe him. After watching him with Amber, how could she? He was a chameleon. It was astonishing to think that he had once been married. Had he treated Simone with the same disregard? What had their relationship been like?

"Fine," she finally replied, tilting her chin up in a gesture of defiance. Let the explanations begin…

Not bothering to acknowledge her response verbally, he nodded, then turned and walked toward his office, leaving Nikita to follow at a discreet distance like an obedient puppy.

*****

Unbeknownst to Michael and Nikita, their entire exchange had also been witnessed from the observation deck of the command center.

"Trouble in paradise already?" Operations began sarcastically, pulling his eyes from the retreating figures of Michael and Nikita as he turned to address Madeline. "It's only been a month."

"I imagine Nikita objected to his actions with Amber Carson last night," she replied as she met his amused gaze.

"Why? He was within established mission parameters."

Madeline was silent for a moment as she considered his response. She would have thought that he would be a little more sympathetic considering how upset he'd been over many of her own valentine missions. "Somehow, I don't think Nikita views it that way."

"Simone never objected," he countered.

Madeline turned away from his gaze to regard Nikita again as she exited the common area. She took in Nikita's combative stride, her disheveled mode of dress and the nuclear state of her hair. Her body language simply exuded pent up rage. "Nikita is not Simone."

"No…," Operations agreed slowly as he followed the path of Madeline's eyes and watched Nikita round a corner, then disappear from sight. "She's not." Whether he meant that statement as a compliment or a criticism was open to interpretation.

Turning away from the window to look Madeline in the eye, his face became serious. "Should we consider using an alternate team?" He wasn't about to jeopardize a mission because two of his operatives were having personal difficulties.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary."

Operations merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"Michael can handle Nikita," Madeline elaborated. "He's been doing it for quite some time."

*****

By the time Nikita entered Michael's office he had positioned himself behind his desk and was quickly disabling the audio surveillance. Once he was through, he stared out his window for a moment, composing himself, then turned and faced Nikita.

"I thought you might want to talk," he finally managed, looking oddly uncomfortable. He'd have rather faced an assault team than been forced to justify himself to Nikita. Explanations were not his forté.

"You think we should talk?…" she mimicked in a high pitched voice, not bothering to disguise the look of surprise on her face. Repeating the sentence in a softer tone, she raised her eyes and stared at the ceiling. How many times over the years had she craved to hear him say that very phrase? Then, she started to laugh. It was a hollow, mocking, rusty sound very different from her usual displays of gleeful amusement.

She realized she didn't care to hear what he had to say… Her wounds were just too fresh.

Lowering her eyes to meet his inquiring gaze, she straightened her back and closed the distance between them. When she was practically flush against him, her breasts mere inches away from his chest, she tilted her head and spoke in the deep, sultry voice which she knew he found irresistible. "Tell me something, Michael. Aren't you the one who routinely says that actions speak louder than words?"

Her eyes dipped to consider the line of his mouth, the set of his jaw, before trailing back up to meet his confused gaze. He hadn't bothered to reply to her statement, but the answer was in his eyes.

"I thought so."

She nodded, more to herself than to him, then leaned in even closer. "Since that's the case, I don't think there's anything you have to say that I want to hear…" Pulling back, her entire demeanor shifted from seductively hot to icy cold. Her lips curled into a sneer. Her eyes narrowed to hostile slits. "…You did more than enough talking last night."

Disgusted, she turned to leave only to find her exit blocked by Michael. When she went to step around him, he grabbed her forearm. "Nikita, please…" he implored.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "Not now, maybe not ever!"

He was unwilling to let go as he stared at her with what could only be described as a bemused expression on his face. "You *are* jealous." He uttered the sentence with a sense of discovery… Simone had never cared about his valentine operations, he found it flattering that Nikita did.

His words unleashed a torrential speech from Nikita, who once she had started venting found herself unable to stop. "I am NOT jealous, you egotistical jerk… I am MAD… I saw the damn mission profile, Michael. I saw it! The decision to consummate was optional. You CHOSE to sleep with that woman, knowing that I was listening the entire time. How do you think that made me feel? Do you have any idea?" She snapped her arm free and used both hands in an unsuccessful attempt to push him away. "Do you?" She continued to push against his chest, but he remained steadfast.

Michael let her vent her anger, until his chest actually started to hurt from the abuse it was taking. Is that what she really thought? That he'd done it because he wanted to? Didn't she trust him at all? Hoping that she was ready to listen, he grabbed her wrists with both hands and tried to explain. "The profile was flawed."

Nikita snorted in disgust. "Really? Which part of your anatomy came to that conclusion?"

"Ni-ki-ta…" he replied in a lightly admonishing tone as his thumbs began to lightly caress the insides of her wrists. The gesture usually had a calming effect, however since Nikita had seen him do the exact same thing to Amber over the table at Volaré's, it backfired.

She saw red.

Before Michael had a chance to even react she snatched her arms away and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "Go to Hell!" she practically screamed. Then, taking advantage of the fact that Michael was stupefied by her actions, she escaped.

He stood rooted to the spot for some time after she had left, trying unsuccessfully to pinpoint where exactly he had gone wrong.

As he had listened to her outburst he had suddenly become aware of her perspective. She wasn't mad, really. Her angry facade was masking the real source of her regression back into a volatile recruit… She was hurt. She doubted his feelings for her, and she was lashing out. She was trying to punish him for causing her pain.

If the stinging sensation against his cheek was any indication, her attempts at retaliation were successful. Juvenile, perhaps… but successful.

*****

Madeline was forced to revise her opinion of Michael's ability to handle Nikita when he showed up for the briefing with a red handprint on his face. The air of tension between him and Nikita as he lowered himself into the seat next to her was palpable, particularly because it was such a departure from the heat that they'd been generating ever since she and Operations had sanctioned their personal relationship.

Wondering if that approval had been a mistake, Madeline gave Michael a penetrating look. He met her questioning gaze unflinchingly, his thoughts unreadable behind his patented blank stare.

Nikita ignored them both and stared straight ahead, her hands clasped loosely on the table, her emotions safely concealed behind darkened glasses. Inside, she was still fuming… What was perhaps most irritating to her was the fact that even as angry as she was at Michael, she still loved him. Even as she had been yelling at him, a part of her wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn't like fighting with him, she never had.

Was the profile flawed? Or was that merely a convenient excuse for Michael to justify his over-active libido?

Farther down the table sat Mentz, Gia and Birkoff, who were as intrigued as Madeline by the mark on Michael's face. Mentz looked at Birkoff with an expression that seemed to say 'what's up with them?' Birkoff could only shrug his shoulders. After witnessing their confrontation earlier that morning, he'd been wondering the exact same thing himself.

Operations sailed into the room a short while later, putting a stop to any and all speculation as to how Michael, Section's most formidable hand-to-hand combatant, had allowed himself to be slapped across the face.

"Thanks to Michael's efforts last night…" he began, not noticing that all eyes turned to Nikita to see her reaction to his opening comment, "… we have managed to pinpoint the link between Garrett Carson and Ernesto Cortez…"

He clicked the remote device in his hand and a video clip of a thirty-something Latino appeared on screen.

"…Javier Xander." Operations stated the name in an amused tone of voice. "Now, as you know, Mr. Xander is an active member of our Green List. We use him frequently to gather intelligence, so it shouldn't be a problem to bring him in and shake loose some information.

"Remember, this operation is a favor for the DEA since Carson is one of their own. They've suspected him of working both sides of the fence for some time, but they have been unable to gather anything concrete. All we have to do is collect a little evidence, then feed it back to the DEA so they can implement their own internal procedures and hopefully bring down Cortez in the process. Any questions?"

When no responses were forthcoming, Operations nodded, then turned to Madeline to see if she had anything she wanted to add. Seeing that she did not, he ended the briefing. "Good. Michael, you're familiar with Xander… Go get him. Dismissed."

Nikita did not even look in Michael's direction as she pushed back her chair, stood up and exited the area. Deprived of a show, the other operatives soon followed in her wake. Michael remained where he was, pausing for a few moments to sit at the table and sort through the best way to bring in Xander. Finally deciding on a plausible course of action he slowly stood up and headed for his office.

"Michael," Madeline called softly before he'd had a chance to take more than a few steps. "A moment, please." As he turned toward the sound of her voice she shifted her gaze to look pointedly at the mark on his cheek, then back to meet his implacable stare. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How are things with Nikita?"

"Fine."

Madeline was starting to understand part of what was probably driving Nikita so crazy. Getting information from Michael was like trying to squeeze water from a stone. She could only imagine what he'd said when confronted about his decision to alter the mission plan with Amber Carson. Knowing Nikita's inability to separate having sex from making love, it had probably been a stellar confrontation.

Feeling oddly maternal, Madeline decided to give Michael some advice. "Nikita isn't Simone, Michael," she began delicately as she reached up and brushed her palm across a wayward curl of his hair. "She requires explanations… Reassurance."

Michael was well aware of who Nikita was, and what she required. He didn't need Madeline to design a mission profile for his love life… He could do it himself. "Is that all?"

Madeline removed her hand, then murmured, "Yes."

With a brief nod, he turned and continued on toward his office. Once there, he worked to design a mission to secure Xander that would provide him with the opportunity to explain to Nikita exactly why he'd had sex with Amber Carson. He knew her well enough to know that the only way he would be able to speak to her rationally would be on a mission involving a public scenario in which she would not be allowed to lose control without endangering the end game. No matter how much she might want to punish him for hurting her, she was a professional. She would do the job.

*****

"I'm your date?"

Nikita stood in Michael's office, hand on hip, reading the evening's mission profile from her PDA. The expression on her face was a fascinating blend of amused indignation. Was he toying with her again? "Is this a joke?"

Michael paused his hands over his keyboard for a moment to fix her with a quick look, then resumed typing. "No."

"No?"

Michael heaved a sigh, then closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. The stress of fighting with Nikita was giving him an unbelievable headache. "The parameters are set, Nikita. You don't have to like it, you just have to do it."

She scrunched her eyes together and peered at him intently, wondering what was really going on. Reminding herself that she was dealing with Michael and would therefore probably never know what was going on, she spat out "Fine!" and left.

If he wanted to play games, she could play games…

*****

The next time Michael saw Nikita was at egress. He was standing at the entry bay door, ushering Birkoff, Mentz and Gia into the van when she rounded the corner.

She was dressed in a gown that was probably illegal in some states. It was a shimmery scrap of copper silk that dipped low, rode high and showcased miles of tanned leg. She'd donned a pair of dark brown stiletto heels that seemed to ricochet off the walls with each staccato step she took. Her hair was unbound, falling freely about her face and shoulders… She was devastating.

Nikita saw Michael's jaw drop when she rounded the corner and mentally congratulated herself on a job well done. He wasn't the only one who could use sex as a weapon…

She sashayed up to him, smiled, then gave him a condescending pat on cheek and headed toward the van. Michael couldn't help but notice that her underwear matched her dress as she lifted her leg and stepped inside. Taking a deep breath, he followed her into the van and prayed that he would survive the evening relatively unscathed.

*****

Michael stood in the corner of the van briefing his team for their 'rendezvous' with Xander. All eyes were on him as he spoke except those that he cared most to see: Nikita's. She sat on the opposite side of the vehicle, as physically and emotionally distant as she could possibly be. Her eyes stared straight ahead, seeing all but revealing nothing. He could only assume that she was paying attention.

"…Mentz, you and Gia take position by the entrance," he continued in a level tone. "Report the minute Xander enters the club. He doesn't trust valet parking, so we should have a five minute window to grab him before his bodyguard finishes securing the car…"

Mentz and Gia nodded in understanding, causing Michael to turn his attentions to Birkoff.

"…We'll send you two pulses when he arrives, so have the van ready in the alley. We'll take him out through the back entrance." Giving the team a quick once-over, he asked, "Everyone clear?"

"Where's my position?" Nikita chimed, finally joining the conversation.

Michael gave her a blank look. "You'll be at the bar with me."

Nikita fixed Michael with a sickly sweet smile that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight up. As she slowly brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of her left breast, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "Whatever." What she meant was, *you asked for it.*

Michael heard the message loud and clear.

*****

From her position at the end of the bar Nikita decided that the dance club was… hot. A potent mixture of summer temperatures, humidity and latent sexual tension. Couples moved in unison out on the hardwood floor, their bodies fluid in the muted light. The music was a slow, sinuous rhythm that insidiously worked its way into her system until she found her foot tapping in time to its beat.

So far she'd managed to ignore Michael for the better part of a half an hour, neutralizing his attempts at conversation with biting one-word replies. Birkoff had secretly switched to an alternate channel and was rating her retorts on a scale of one to ten. Her latest rebuff had earned an eight… Her highest score yet.

Noticing Nikita's subliminal desire to dance, Michael seized the opportunity to make his move. He angled off the barstool he'd been occupying next to her and allowed his chest to brush against her back. Nikita took a quick breath as he ran his forefinger slowly down her exposed arm and murmured, "Dance?"

Steeling herself not to fall victim to his sensual charms, Nikita swiveled her head and sent an arctic stare his way. "I don't think so." Michael decided that she was playing dirty, dressing to tease. Torturing him with her beauty as she flayed him with her voice. Madeline had taught her well.

"Remember the profile, Nikita."

The temperature of her stare plummeted even further. "Perhaps I think the profile is flawed."

"Ni-ki-ta," Michael began in a warning tone, "You are jeopardizing the mission."

"Why, because I won't dance with you? You said I was supposed to be your date, Michael. It's just as realistic for me to sit here bitching at you as it is for me to go out on the dance floor and let you manipulate me."

Michael brought his hand up and switched off the outgoing audio on Nikita's com-link, taking time to brush his palm gently against her cheek in the process. Pinning her with a piercing gaze, he reached up and disabled his own unit as he asked, "You think I'm trying to manipulate you?"

"Aren't you?" Nikita had watched him in the van on the way to the club. When he wasn't ogling her dress he was staring at her with an intent expression on his face as though he was formulating a plan to bring her in line. To bring her back under his control.

"I'm trying to explain," he offered, finally settling on honesty when all other attempts at coercion had failed.

Nikita considered him for a moment as she searched his face to see if he was serious. Deciding that he was, she stood up and allowed him to take her hand and lead her slowly on to the dance floor.

Michael swayed against the body in his arms, his hands gently resting at the small of her back, her chest flush with his. The subtle scent of vanilla wafted from her hair, an oasis of femininity in the smoke-filled room. He closed his eyes as he lightly traced her spine and placed a gentle kiss against her long, blonde hair.

"Stop that," she uttered in an irritated voice. He supposed to be explaining things… Did he think if he seduced her she would just forget how mad she was?

"Stop what?" he murmured slowly as he leaned down and trailed a series of soft butterfly kisses from her ear lobe down to her shoulder.

She sighed and grasped his shoulders for support. "That…."

"This?" He nipped at her shoulder, then suckled it gently.

"Oh."

Nikita could only close her eyes, lean her head back and grant him full access as he worked his way back up the arch of her neck. His hands traced circles against her back, testing the boundaries of her dress. Soon his lips were on her face, pressing softly against her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips. She shuddered against him as his tongue lightly traced the contours of her mouth, darting occasionally inside, then quickly retreating. Her hands gripped his biceps for support, then slid around to slowly stroke his chest. She inhaled his scent, finding him so utterly, deliciously male. So… Michael.

Michael?

She suddenly snapped back to reality and pushed him away. Aroused green eyes met angry blue. Nikita could barely speak she was so livid, but tried anyway. "I thought you brought me out here to explain."

Michael sighed, focused his gaze on the far side of the room, then turned back to meet Nikita's challenging stare. "I told you earlier, the profile was flawed…"

"Define flawed."

"…We underestimated both Amber's intelligence and her tenacity. She pursued me, not the other way around. She's an alpha female. Knowing that, do you honestly think she would have accepted that she suddenly became tired and went to sleep?"

Nikita stared in stony silence at Michael, painfully admitting to herself that he had a point. She knew from her own experience that once she decided she wanted Michael, nothing short of a mission would get in her way. Even then, she sometimes found ways to get lucky.

"Not wanting to risk Amber informing her over-protective brother of the incident and having him realize he might have been compromised, I made a judgement call." Michael looked away, once again focusing on something in the distance. "It's just sex, Nikita…"

After a moment he turned the full force of his gaze back to her. "…it doesn't affect how I feel about you."

Nikita was slightly dumbfounded by his explanation. Peering intently into his eyes, she responded in a voice tinged with wonder. "You really mean that, don't you?"

Michael held her gaze as his eyes silently communicated the truth of his words.

In a gesture of peace, Nikita stepped into his embrace and resumed dancing. Her voice was tart as she said, "Next time, try not to enjoy it so much." It was the closest she would come to admitting that she understood.

Michael pulled her tightly against him and smiled against her hair. The evening had turned out much better than expected. He resumed his exploration of her outfit, slipping his hands underneath the soft fabric to caress the even softer skin underneath.

Nikita nuzzled his neck, teasing his earlobe as he playfully pinched her. Her lips moved upwards until they met his, capturing him in a slow, sweet, lazy kiss. The world around them ceased to exist.

Michael was startled back to reality as two quick bursts reverberated in his com link indicating that Xander had entered the room. Standing straight up he disengaged, pulled his hands free of Nikita and focused completely on the mission… Fully aroused, Nikita took much longer to come up for air. By the time she'd registered that Xander was present Michael was already heading towards the back of the club to intercept Mentz and Gia.

It stung how quickly he had abandoned her, and inevitably lead her to wonder if she hadn't just been played. Again.

How was it that Michael was able to remain so completely unaffected? Was he concentrating on the mission while he was simultaneously seducing her? How much did he care… really? Her initial elation at learning he had only slept with Amber for the mission faded. It was replaced by a familiar feeling of unease, one which was starting to become her constant companion.

*****

The mission was completed successfully without error. Xander entered the club alone, allowing Mentz and Gia to efficiently 'escort' him out the back door. Madeline and Operations received the intelligence they wanted. It looked as though Garrett Carson's days with the DEA were numbered. So why did Michael feel so uneasy?

He'd thought that Nikita finally understood why he had behaved the way he had, but in the van on the ride home she had been distant. Rather than looking happy, she looked deflated. Defeated. When he'd tried to talk with her, she brushed him off. What was wrong?

Looking back, she'd been fine until Xander arrived… She'd been fine until he had pulled away to focus on the mission. Was she pouting because he'd put Section first? Did she still not understand that it would always come first?

What did she expect?

*****

Nikita was curled up on her sofa pondering the past twenty-four hours of her life when the distinctive knock came. She wasn't surprised. She had known that he would come. After the way she had behaved earlier that evening, earlier that day, how could he not?

Standing up slowly, she took a fortifying breath and walked over to her door. As she pulled it open she realized that she had no idea what to expect. And that, she supposed, was part of the whole problem. She loved him, but she didn't understand him. His thoughts were a mystery. If he'd been willing to share more of himself over the past few years, she would have been able to read him better. To anticipate him… But he hadn't been willing to make that sacrifice, because to do so would limit his professional ability to manipulate her. And as he'd told her time and again, the job came first.

What twisted quirk of fate had caused her to love him? She knew he was bad for her… He lied to her purposefully, relentlessly… And even though she knew he did it for her own good, each manipulation chipped a tiny piece off of her soul. She supposed it was her innate desire to heal, to fix that which was broken, which drew her to him. She sensed his pain and wanted only to comfort him…

And then there was the chemistry between them… Spontaneous, magnetic, undeniable… It made rational thought impossible.

Bracing herself, she swung open the door to find Michael wearing his standard black suit and an impenetrable expression. Blue eyes met green as each tried unsuccessfully to gauge what the other was thinking.

"May I come in?" His voice was toneless, giving no hint as to his motivations for coming over.

"Of course," she replied as she usually did, then pulled the door wide so he could enter.

Michael silently entered the room and assumed his standard position in the far corner. He declined her offer of a drink, choosing instead to stare intently out her window. In reality he was watching her reflection in the glass, but Nikita did not know that.

She meandered over to her counter after pouring herself a drink of water, then leaned back and waited for him to speak. Unlike on previous occasions when she had felt compelled to ease his conversational burden, to prompt him into revealing his reasons for landing on her doorstep, she remained silent. She would wait.

Minutes ticked by as she sipped at her drink and he stared blindly ahead.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, his voice soft in the silence of her apartment. The question was uttered without inflection, providing no hint as to the emotions which prompted it.

Nikita's mind was swimming, thinking of a million answers at once… But only one that mattered. "I want you to let me in."

Michael turned to face her, his features betraying his confusion. Let her in? "You are in."

Nikita responded with a sad smile. Of course Michael would say that… Worse, he probably believed it, too… Unfortunately her definition of 'in' and his differed significantly.

How could she explain? Placing her glass down on the counter she walked over to the couch and sat down. After composing her thoughts for a moment, she spoke in a tired voice. "Michael, you say that you want a relationship with me, but you want it on your terms…"

Michael opened his mouth to reply, but she waved him off with her hand.

"…You risk everything to save my life, then you won't come near me for days. You say you love me, but I don't even know your last name… I don't know where Section stops and we begin. I can't compartmentalize my emotions like you… I don't know how…" her voice trailed off, confused. Was she making sense? Did he understand?

Michael could see the bewilderment in her face. The frustration… What had she expected? he wondered silently. A happy ending? In Section no such thing was possible.

"Start learning," he replied brusquely, hoping she understood it was the only way their relationship could survive.

Nikita cringed at the tone of his voice. He sounded so uncaring, so… cold.

Michael wasn't being cold, however, he was being realistic. When Operations and Madeline had informed him that he could have a relationship with Nikita, the stipulations had been clear. He could be with Nikita provided he always put Section first. The day he started jeopardizing his missions out of consideration for her life, or her feelings, they were both headed straight for cancellation. Did she really comprehend that? he wondered… Or did she think that once he'd said he loved her that everything would work out for the best? That they wouldn't have to hurt each other any more?

"Did Simone learn?" she wondered out loud.

Michael supposed it was inevitable that sooner or later she would ask. He would have preferred that she had asked later, but perhaps sooner was better. Perhaps it was time that he told her the truth and disabused her of the notion that it was possible to love in Section without pain.

"Do you think my marriage with Simone was easy?" he asked softly, joining her on the couch. Looking at the astonished expression on her face he could see that's exactly what she'd thought. She's been comparing their relationship to her fairy-tale version of his marriage to Simone and found it lacking. Found herself lacking.

He couldn't tell her that he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone, or anything, in his entire life. That information would give her too much power. But he could tell her the facts about his relationship with Simone, and in doing so let her know that he wasn't singling her out for abuse. The pain that she had felt over his imagined betrayal with Amber was nothing compared to what Section was likely to dish out in the future.

"…It wasn't," he finished slowly in a measured tone of voice. "We started out as lovers, then one day we imagined ourselves to be in love… and then we were married."

Nikita sat back and watched with a flabbergasted expression as Michael stared straight ahead and talked, really talked, about his life and his feelings. It was a watershed moment that she would remember for years to come.

"We didn't see each other very often," he continued, nervously rubbing his hands against his trousers. "Section saw to it that our missions rarely coincided. When they did coincide, we were told to use each other, manipulate each other… We fought constantly about trivial things… But at the end of the day we recognized that the small comforts derived from being together were better than being apart…"

His voice trailed off, as if lost in thought. In truth he was in another world, his mind going back to really think about the time he had been with Simone. Had they ever been really happy? He'd thought that they were, he'd mourned her, grieved for her… And then he'd met Nikita, and as he came to care for her he'd wondered if he'd every really been in love with Simone at all.

He and Simone were like twins, each with similar ideas about duty, honor and commitment. It was their passion for their work which had initially drawn them together. Simone never complained about his seductions of other women because she had understood how his actions related to the larger picture. She was never wounded by his behavior. Not like Nikita. Was it that she just hadn't cared as much?

Nikita was a puzzle that Michael was still trying to figure out. She was light where Simone was dark, effusive where Simone had been brooding. Selfless where Simone had been selfish… Had Nikita been captured by Glass Curtain, Michael liked to think that she would have chosen life with him over suicidal revenge. In short, Nikita was Simone's opposite, and therefore Michael's perfect complement. She completed him. She nourished his soul, compensated for what he felt to be his own inadequacies.

Michael snapped out of his reverie and turned to face Nikita, who was sitting silently on the couch watching him with an expression of abject sympathy. She'd had no idea… all this time, and she'd had no idea… As jealous as she had been of Simone's memory, it had at least given her comfort to know that once upon a time Michael had been truly happy. That he had loved, and was loved in return. Her heart ached for him… He'd been right that day in the cages when he'd told her that he didn't know what love was. Had he ever? She reached over and gently placed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb against his, conveying her understanding. Her forgiveness. Somehow, in light of his confession, her earlier anger over Amber seemed trivial. Her fear that he had played her back at the club seemed irrelevant.

"Were you friends?" Nikita asked solemly.

Her question startled Michael, who'd never really stopped to consider if he'd been friends with Simone or not. After thinking for a while, he slowly said "no," drawing out the word over several seconds. Their relationship had been highly physical, passionate. Almost cathartic, as if each used the other's body to reaffirm their own existence. But they hadn't really confided their innermost thoughts as friends would… How could they, considering how often Section used them against each other?

Nikita's voice was tentative as she asked, "And us… Are we friends?"

Were they friends? How could he explain the uniqueness of his relationship with Nikita? The fact that her mere presence, a passing smile, could restore his equilibrium. They certainly talked more than he and Simone had, largely because Nikita forced the issue. Simone had respected his silences, so he had rarely broken them. He'd certainly never told her about René, or his sister. "What do you think?"

She smiled to herself as a long ago but not forgotten conversation with Madeline came to mind. "I think a friend is someone you can trust."

"You don't trust me?"

"Apparently not, or I wouldn't have jumped to the wrong conclusion when you slept with Amber…" She gave him a sad smile, then continued. "I trust you with my life, Michael, I just don't know if I can trust you with my heart…"

Michael closed his eyes against the pain that her words caused. He couldn't blame her, but it hurt nonetheless to hear her say that she had lost faith in him. In them.

"…But I want to try."

Michael's eyes opened, his face calm but hopeful. He stared down at his lap where her hand was resting in his. Covering it with his other hand, he gave it a light pat and said, "Me too." His words were so soft as to be almost inaudible, but Nikita heard them. She felt them in her heart and soul, and they nourished her as her smile had nourished him.

When he gently pulled her into his lap and wrapped her in his arms, she allowed herself to relax against him and enjoy the comfort of silence. They stayed that way for quite some time, savoring their hard-won harmony, until Michael quietly uttered the word "Samuelle."

"What?" Nikita asked absently, stirring.

He smiled and delivered a chaste kiss to her forehead. It was a sexless gesture, but one that never failed to make Nikita feel cherished. "My last name… It's Samuelle."

Nikita rewarded Michael's confession with a sparkling smile, then burrowed deeper into his arms. As she placed a light kiss against the base of his throat she murmured, "It's a start."

They both hoped that she was right.

THE END

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