The mission van pulled to a stop outside of the loading dock. Its doors opened and Curtis, the team leader, stepped out and headed quickly toward command central, not bothering for the rest of his team to disembark. He was like that, impatient. But he was also efficient if not a little cold.

Ruiz and Hargrave followed more slowly. Ruiz because he was by nature, laid back... quiet. Hargrave on the other hand had a bullet wound in his right thigh. A medic team arrived just as he stepped out of the van, helped him into a wheelchair, and took him away. Nikita, the only woman on the team, exited last. Tired and more than a bit grimy, she hoisted the high-powered rifle she had used on this mission onto her shoulder, picked up her duffel bag, and moved silently forward.

She took her time walking through the corridor, listening to the muffled sound of her boots against the cement floor. Even in full combat gear she felt chilled though she doubted it was so much the air conditioning that caused a shiver to pass through her, as it was Section in general and her life within its realm.

How many weeks now had it been since the Zalman mission? Four? Five? Nikita recalled the mission with mixed emotions. There was a time during that particular mission in which she felt her relationship with Michael was finally beginning to come together. A time when she wanted to believe that he was finally beginning to see what she wanted him to see all along. That she was there for him.

But it didn't turn out that way. Michael wanted her - that much she had been able to discern - but he had reservations of whether he could offer her what she wanted. Instead, he had offered her what he could ...

A casual relationship.

In the days that followed, she often wondered if she had made a mistake in telling Michael she couldn't accept that. Maybe once upon a time she could have. She would have accepted anything he offered her. But that time had passed. And though she understood Michael had been hurt endlessly by Section in the past, she hoped he understood that she would not bear the brunt of that pain. They both needed healing. Nikita wanted that healing to be with Michael, but he was afraid to love her and she was afraid of the devastation his rejection would cause her.

And so they parted ways.

The separation was working but she still struggled with the loneliness that seemed destined to be her companion. At work they reverted to a level of respectful politeness. He gave the orders and she, for the most part, obeyed.

But she missed him...

In the wee hours of the night.

In the heat of the day.

While he was half a world away.

Or sitting right beside her.

She missed him.

Nikita sighed, not knowing whether to laugh at her idiotic thoughts, or cry. Rounding the corner she encountered a team on their way out. Nikita side-stepped them, not bothering to say anything. Her gaze was drawn though to the last operative who lagged behind the rest of the team by several steps. Her pulse quickened, her mouth became dry, and she wondered if she would always have this reaction upon seeing him.

Michael stared at her briefly, his gaze blank. Then he looked away and she passed him silently.

************

Nikita came out of the bathroom wearing a black two-piece swimsuit, walked over to her suitcase and withdrew a short matching sarong which she promptly tied around her hips. Michael looked up briefly from the computer, his eyes blank as he took in her outfit, then shifted his gaze back down to the screen.

Section was tailing Evan Byole, a real estate tycoon suspected of being the supplier of several terrorists factions in the middle east. Intel provided to Section by Michael's contacts in the region stated that Byole would be holding a meeting with Ione Kreiz, the founder of the LCO, one of the largest of those terrorists groups. Nikita and Michael tracked Byole to the Bahamas and were assigned to retrieve both him and Kreiz. It was the first time they had worked one on one in weeks. So far everything was progressing relatively well. Michael was in machine mode and she was in denial.

"Back-up teams are in position," Michael informed her, his voice even as his fingers tapped quickly on the keys. Nikita nodded absently as she slipped on her sandals and gathered her bag.

"Any last instructions?"

Michael's eyes remained glued on the screen in front of him. "No."

He didn't stop his typing until he heard the door close behind her. Hazel eyes, still void of any emotions, flicked up and he stared without blinking at the spot where Nikita had just been. Being physically close to her yet, emotionally, a world apart was harder then he thought it would be. The awkwardness between them was compounded by the fact that both were unwilling to acknowledge its existence. Michael pretended everything was fine and Nikita made no objection. It was as if she accepted what he had once told her; all we have is our dreams. So why wasn't he satisfied, he wondered. Why couldn't he find solace in their agreement to maintain a purely professional relationship?

A tremor rippled through Michael and he breathed deeply, stilling the resounding ache within him. He pushed his chair back, rose quietly to his feet, and walked over to the window. From the table nearby he picked up a pair of binoculars. Peering through them, he focused on the entrance to the hotel pool several floors below. As if on cue, Nikita strode through. Her bag swung idly at her side, her hips swayed with subtle sensuality, while her eyes remained shielded behind dark sunglasses. He watched her cross to the far end of the pool, close to where Byole lay sunning himself. He saw the appreciative looks cast her way. Felt the familiar stirring of desire as Nikita casually removed her sarong, draped it over the back of the chair, then raised her arms up to wrap her hair in a loose knot on top of her head. Gracefully, she lowered her lithe form and stretched out on the lounging chair. Her movements were deliberate, meant to draw the target's attention, yet Michael wondered if Nikita knew he was watching. Or if she even cared.

His mind told him that this severing of the bond between them would, in the long run, benefit them all. But it didn't stop him from secretly searching for her as he walked down Section's halls. Or from seeing her in his dreams. Or from wanting to feel the smoothness of her skin beneath the palm of his hands.

Through the com unit he wore, Michael heard a conversation begin. He looked through the binoculars again and saw that Byole was standing beside Nikita. With cool confidence she pushed her shades to the top of her head and looked up at the target with mild interest. Michael listened as Nikita expertly drew Byole into conversation. He watched as she smiled, then lowered her lashes. Within a matter of minutes she had Byole asking her out to dinner. He had trained her well. But as Michael watched Nikita, he found that the knowledge brought him little comfort.

************

Nikita slipped her sunglasses off as she entered back into the hotel room. Immediately her eyes settled upon Michael who was sitting at the table, just as she had left him nearly an hour earlier, typing away and effectively ignoring her. It was almost comical, this silence that existed between them. Almost, but not quite. Locking the door behind her, she stepped out of her shoes, bent down to pick them up, then headed for the bathroom. Half-way, she stopped and turned back.

"Michael?"

"Yes," he replied without looking up.

Nikita bit down on the spark of anger that flickered within her. Couldn't he even stand to look at her now?

"We have several hours before I have to meet Byole. Is it alright if I go out for a while?"

Her request surprised Michael and he turned to meet her gaze. "That's not a good idea, Nikita. What if something happens to you?"

Nikita blinked and she felt her demeanor warm toward Michael. He was worried about her safety? "I'll be careful, Michael," she said, her voice softening.

"I'm sorry. I can't take the risk of something happening to you and the mission isn't yet over."

Mission? He was worried because the mission wasn't over yet? Nikita's face turned a little pink and her lips compressed into a thin line before she spun on her heel and marched off to the bathroom. "Of all the...." she caught her breath and counted to ten as she closed the bathroom door firmly behind her. Nevermind that it had been her idea to maintain only a professional relationship. That didn't mean he had to treat her so callously. As if she were just a... a... colleague. Did being professionals mean they couldn't be friends? Her eyes stung and she suddenly felt like walking back outside and slapping Michael. The only reason she had asked permission to go out was to help alleviate the tension that spending the next few hours alone with him in the hotel room would bring, but to say that he didn't want anything to happen to her because the mission was not yet completed, Nikita fumed - that was cold.

Outside, Michael's gaze lowered as the bathroom door slammed. This wasn't working out so well. Nikita hadn't raised any objections when they had arrived at the hotel and found that Section had booked them into a single room. True, they weren't being paired as a married couple, but they were partners. They had shared rooms numerous of times in the past. And besides, as far as Section was concerned, there was no need to splurge on two rooms. The profile did not necessitate separate quarters. It was obvious to Michael though that Nikita didn't want to spend any more time then was necessary in his presence.

His face remained impassive but inside, Michael felt a stirring of anger. Was she so determined to cut off all contact with him? Yes - he understood when she said she couldn't handle a casual relationship with him, and he had tried to give her the space she needed, but this was bordering on the ridiculous. He had hoped that this assignment would provide the neutral ground on which they could begin to form some sort of new relationship. One that allowed them to be colleagues and friends. With a sigh of frustration, Michael turned off the computer, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.

When Nikita came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, she found the room empty. She tensed, immediately worried that something had happened to Michael. Nikita quickly scanned the room for signs of a struggle, then she moved over to her bag and withdrew her gun.

"Michael?" she called softly, as she made her way over to the balcony doors. It was closed and there was no sign of foul play. The computer was shut off. Nikita looked around the table for a note but there was none. Slowly she lowered her gun. Well this was just great. She wasn't allowed to go anywhere but he just ups and leaves without even telling her where he was going. And what the hell was she suppose to do if something happened to him? Damn him! Weren't they partners here?

Nikita plopped down on the single sofa in the room. She stretched her legs out, arranged the robe she wore modestly about her, then leaned back and closed her eyes. She had half a mind to get dressed and go out looking for him, but someone had to remain in the room in case Section tried to contact them.

A few minutes later, though, Nikita heard the sound of the door opening and she looked up to see Michael entering. Relief flooded through her, then anger, but she managed to remain silent. Michael walked over to where their bags lay side by side on the floor and he picked up his, then walked to the table and folded up the laptop. Nikita said nothing out loud, but her eyes looked at him questioningly.

"You can take this room," Michael said quietly. "I'll be in the next one." He almost reached the door before Nikita found her voice.

"Why?"

Michael paused, his hand on the door knob. He turned his head partially, looking over his shoulder at her. "Its better this way," he answered. His gaze locked with hers as if he were waiting for her to argue. Instead, Nikita nodded and looked away.

"I suppose it is," she said flatly. Then a few seconds later, she heard the door click softly close as Michael left.

************

After Michael left, Nikita sat for a long time hurting. In part, she felt foolish and wanted to run after Michael, throw him up against the wall, kiss him with all the pent-up desire that she felt inside for him, and plead with him to stay with her. The thought of her doing that made her both, smile at the humor of it, and gag over how pathetic she was in her weakness. Why couldn't she be strong like he was? What she wouldn't give to be able to look Michael in the eye with a stare that was as blank as the one he gave her. No. That wasn't true, Nikita thought after a moment. What she really wanted was to be able to stand up to Michael and give him such a heated look it would burn right through that cold front he presented to her, making him grab her in a frenzy, rip her clothes off, and make love to her all night long. Nikita made a sound that was midway between a laugh and a sigh. Michael -- in a frenzy? That would be the day. With a groan, and feeling more pathetic then ever, Nikita stood and walked over to the bed. Pulling back the covers, she crawled in, curled up on her side and soon fell asleep.

She was awakened several hours later by the sound of the phone ringing. The room, she noticed, had grown dark. She stumbled around as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, zeroing in on the sound of the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

Michael could tell by the husky tone of her voice she had been asleep. "Nikita, its past 7 o'clock." He heard her swear softly, then:

"I'm up," she mumbled. Nikita hung up the phone then felt around for the switch to the lamp on the bedside table. Finding it, she turned it on, then got out of bed. She stood a moment gathering her thoughts when there came a knock at her door. Tying the belt of her robe more securely about her, she hurried over to answer it.

"Who is it?"

"Nikita, its me."

She opened the door, allowing Michael in. "I'm sorry," she began to apologize. "I forgot to set the alarm." Her dinner date was for 7:30.

"Never mind," Michael replied, his voice quiet as he closed the door. "Get dressed."

Nikita nodded as she headed back toward her bag. Rummaging through it she grabbed the lacy underwear set that wardrobe had packed. This wasn't intended to be a valentine operation but in order to place the audio devices in Byole's room, Nikita knew she might have to do a little seducing. She prayed that it wouldn't come to that, but one never knew. She slipped on the panties, then let the robe slide off of her shoulders as she put on the matching bra. Michael was at the closet, bringing her dress out. Nikita turned to him and he held the dress up, helping her into it.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice still soft. Nikita obeyed and stood still as he zipped the dress up.

"Thanks. Can you get my shoes too, please. They're in the closet."

She hurried into the bathroom and began to brush her hair out. Next she quickly applied mascara to her lashes. A minute later Michael came in and squatted beside her. She felt him touch her foot. Nikita raised her foot as she continued applying her make-up. "I can do that," she said, referring to Michael's slipping on her shoe and fastening the strap around her ankle.

"Do your make-up," he ordered, and Nikita felt a smile tug at her lips. It looked like the few hours apart did them both some good. Or was it the urgency she inadvertently created by oversleeping that had lessened the tension? Michael shifted over to the other foot and Nikita balanced precariously on one heeled foot, her hand automatically reaching down to Michael's shoulder to help steady herself. Once the shoe was on, she resumed applying her lipstick as Michael fastened the strap. Then he stood, just behind her, and her eyes met his in the mirror. Wordlessly, and without looking away, he reached into his pocket and removed a small plastic case. Then he brushed her hair aside and pressed the tiny communication unit behind her ear. His warm fingers lingered and Nikita, unable to say anything, felt her pulse race at his touch.

"Will you do me a favor?" Michael asked as he continued to stare at her reflection. His eyes, incredibly, were open and Nikita saw a glimmer of the man she was in love with, staring back at her. She placed the lipstick she was holding down on the counter and twisted around to face him.

"What is it?" she asked.

Michael's eyes flickered back and forth over her face. "Promise me you'll stick with the profile."

There was silence for a few awkward moments, then Nikita's mouth formed into a reluctant smile. "I always stick to the profile," she said, knowing full well that Michael's request was justified given her record of doing just the opposite.

"I'm serious, Nikita."

She took a deep breath as the smile on her face faded away and was replaced with a look that made Michael want to pull her close, but he didn't. "Alright," she agreed. "I promise."

Michael gave her a small reassuring smile as he stepped back and gave her appearance a once-over. "You're ready," he said, then led the way back out into the room. "Do you have the audio devices?"

"In my bag," Nikita answered, as she stopped to pick up her purse.

"Try to plant all three of them, but if you can't, try to place them as close to the living room area as possible."

"Yes, Michael." Nikita stopped herself from rolling her eyes as she stepped past him. "I know the profile. Don't worry."

Michael reached for her arm, stopping her as she was about to open the door to leave. "I do worry, Nikita," he said, as he stared piercingly into her eyes. "I'll always worry about you."

In answer Nikita raised her hand and touched it softly to his cheek and she smiled. "I know that," she said, the expression in her eyes soft. "Partners?" she asked, arching her brows, and he smiled briefly:

"Partners," he answered quietly, then reached past her to open the door as she slipped out and hurried to meet Byole.

The End.