Chapter 12: Shifting Parameters (NC-17)

Hours passed. The sun shifted from the east to high overhead, and began its slow decline. Michael was stirring restlessly in his sleep. Nikita looked over at him worriedly, trying to decide if it was better to wake him up or let him fight his dream demons. He flipped onto his back and threw off the covering blanket, then settled down with a huge sigh and dropped into a deeper sleep. Nikita indulged herself and let her eyes roam over his body. His long hair was tousled and spread across the folded blanket he was using as a pillow. In sleep, his features had relaxed and the familiar lines of stress and glacial control were gone. He looked impossibly young, incredibly vulnerable. His broad muscular chest glistened slightly with sweat; Nikita's fingers itched to touch him. His strong arms were askew over his head, and she remembered the comfort of being held by him. He was so pale; she wondered idly if it was from exhaustion or simply that he never went out in the sun for fun, only work.

With an effort she tore her eyes off his slumbering form and looked out the window. A mole, she thought, remembering Michael's comment from the night before, a mole in Section. She considered the possibility that her enemy was Operations again; certainly he had no love for her. But somehow that didn't feel right, not this time. She was well aware of the times Operations had tried to have her cancelled, and she was equally aware that he would probably try again. But, if not Operations, then who? She replayed the affected missions in her head. With a start, she realized all the problems arose from faulty intelligence. OK, she thought, this is not operative error. Who would have access to intell? She immediately dismissed the possibility of Birkoff being the culprit. Not only was Section the only adult life he had ever known, but his affection for her was one of the few truths in her life. Operations' hatred, Birkoff and Walter's affection... and Michael's love were the few guarantees she had in her life.

Despite herself, her eyes drifted back to Michael. As if he could sense her attention, he slowly awoke and focused on her, his eyes unfathomable and unblinking. So often she had interpreted that look as indifference. Her eyes fixed on his. As she watched, his eyes darkened with emotion. For once he allowed her to see, really see, his feelings: he was scrambling to maintain his slipping control. His nightmare had shaken him, disturbed his usual composure. The subconscious turmoil she could sense more than see called her to him like a siren song. Without volition, she rose and went to sit next to him, her hand drawn to rest on his chest as if by an unseen magnet. He was warm. He always slept warm, she recalled, recalling previous missions where they pretended to be married. Sleeping with Michael was like sleeping with an electric blanket. Her memory flashed on more ... intimate ... memories and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Why did simply touching him bring up such thoughts? She moved her hand up from his chest to a safer position and brushed his hair gently. His brilliant green eyes regarded her intensely.

"Feel better?" She stroked his hair again, almost against her will. His hair was his crowning glory, thick and soft. Disheveled from sleep, it framed his face in all its coppery beauty. Something flickered deep in his eyes, and he reached up for her hand. He placed a soft kiss in her palm and she felt a warm glow spread through her body. Their eyes met, held. He rolled up onto his elbow and slipped his hand behind her neck, pulling her down for a deep, soft, passionate kiss. She leaned into his embrace, letting a small sigh slip out. He rolled on his back, taking her with him. Her hands were on either side of his face, cradling his scratchy two-day growth of beard. His hands went around her back, holding her close, one hand sliding into her hair. He kissed her tenderly, then with increasing desire. She felt an answering surge of passion run through her body and settle in her groin. Her fingers slipped into his hair, entwining in the thick curls. His tongue slipped into her mouth, caressing her. His hands began to slide down her back, pulling her close. His left hand crept under her shirt and stroked her flesh; her skin rippled into goosebumps at his touch. Her breath caught then went out in another sigh. She felt a tremor run through Michael's body. He rolled up again, and carefully lay her down on her back. He leaned over her, his eyes flickering over her face. She reached up to him and brushed his jaw and his cheek with her fingertips. He closed his eyes briefly and an undefinable emotion ran across his features.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. "I don't want to hurt you." She continued to stroke his stubbled jaw. She knew he wasn't discussing a physical injury.

"You won't hurt me, Michael." His eyes seemed to get diamond-hard.

"I can and I - " She pressed on his face with her hands.

"Michael, shut up kiss me." He looked taken aback for a heartbeat, then did as he was ordered.

When he was done kissing her, she was out of breath. He pulled back a little and gave her a half smile.

"Enough?"

"For now." She gave him a brilliant smile of her own.

His hands crept down her torso and slipped under the bottom of the T-shirt. He glanced at her, seeming to ask for her approval; she gave him another smile and stroked the top of his head. He slowly lifted the T-shirt up and helped her take it off. Not wanting to break their tentative connection, she carefully hid all signs of the discomfort her shoulder was giving her. She lay back down on the blankets, displaying her body for his perusal. He bent down and licked her stomach, from the waistband of her pants to just below the wound on her chest. Her back arched off the ground, following the warmth of his tongue. He kissed her again, intensively, then gave his attention to her breasts. He licked and sucked and kissed them. Her sighs changed to small moans of pleasure. He took a small nub in his mouth and bit it gently. Her breath caught and her body buckled in response. He leaned over and repeated his maneuver on her other breast. She gave a small cry, half in pain and half in pleasure.

"Michael - " she gasped. He raised his head to look at her. "Michael, please..."

"Please what?" He seemed to be taking perverse pleasure in her agony.

"Please love me." Her body bent toward him in invitation. He lifted himself so he was face to face with her.

"I do love you." His voice husky with passion, his accent more pronounced. "God help you, I do love you." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down to her, reaching up to capture his mouth with hers.

When she allowed him to come up for air, he quickly stripped both of them of their remaining clothes. He lay on her, his body warm and hard against hers. He positioned himself carefully to prevent aggravating her injuries, resting most of his weight on his arms and legs. She took a few minutes to touch him, to fondle him and admire his powerful physique. Her fingers trailed down his broad chest, slipped lower and wrapped around his erection. He groaned deep in his throat. She watched his jaw set as he clenched his teeth, struggling for control. Not letting go of him, she draped her left arm around his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. She ignored the twinge of pain the movement triggered in her shoulder. Her mouth opened, invitingly, and her tongue touched his. He stiffened for a moment, then plunged his tongue into her mouth. She relaxed into his ardent hold. He pulled his head back slightly and looked into her face, his eyes glazed in desire.

"Nikita, I can't... can't wait..." He shifted his body slightly and entered her. His heat seemed to radiate within her; his hardness stretched and filled her. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction at the sensation. His eyes darted over her face. "All right?" His voice was soft and solicitous; she reached up and laid a hand on his stubbled cheek.

"Michael, just love me." His head lowered to capture her mouth as his body began a rhythmic pulse. His hands slid down her arms, capturing and holding her hands, pulling them out away from her body. The position felt incredibly vulnerable and incredibly safe at the same time. She felt every inch of him, filling her completely. His hold on her hands prevented her from pulling him closer, so she wrapped her legs around him, encouraging him to thrust harder and deeper. Ever the consummate lover, he understood her unspoken desire and responded with a minute adjustment in their position that made her gasp. He picked up the pace of his lovemaking and she felt the tension building within her. At her peak, she gave a cry, arching her body toward his as if she would take more of him within her. He released her hands and gathered her hair in his fists as he spilled himself in her.

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Chapter 13: New Paradigms (MA-14, language and some implied violence)

They lay together in the afterglow of their passion, he on his back, she on her side, one leg nestled intimately between his. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, stroking her face and neck gently. She lay with her head in the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed, inhaling his masculine scent and enjoying the simple pleasure of lying with him.

"What do you dream about, Michael?" He turned to look down at her. She felt his body tense slightly. She reached out and stroked his chest, attempting to hold onto their emotional synergy. She tipped her head up and back to see his eyes. "You were having a nightmare. What was it about?" He took a long look at her face. His eyes gradually drifted away and he gazed over her shoulder at the wall.

"Nothing. It's fine."

"Michael!" She sat up, pulling a blanket up to cover her body. She watched him focus back on her, his eyes and face carefully blank. He was gone, disconnected from her again. She felt hurt, then intensely angry at his emotional withdrawal and lashed back at him bitterly. "I'm not your whore, Michael. You can't make love to me and then act as if I'm an inconvenience to you." She spat the words at him. He reacted violently, grabbing her wrists and throwing her down on her back. She gave a small whimper of pain as her shoulder connected with the hard floor. He leaned over her, his ice cold eyes inches away from hers.

"Don't say that again. Ever." His voice was soft and hoarse with repressed rage. She tried to twist away from him and he tightened his hold on her hands.

"Michael, let me go!" There was anger, pain and fear in her voice. He sat up suddenly, abruptly letting go of her arms and turned away from her. She sat up also and inched back from him, rubbing her wrists, which showed the imprints of his fingers. He slowly raised his eyes to stare opaquely across the room. She watched him cautiously, observing his struggle for control. She could feel his anger radiating off him. He swiftly rose to his feet and stalked around the room, his movements as fluid and dangerous as a panther's. Without warning, he suddenly whirled and slammed his fists into the wall, over and over. He turned, put his back against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest, breathing heavily. He stubbornly refused to look at her, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. She sat hesitantly, completely shocked at his fury and uncertain how best to respond to him. His eruption of sudden seething rage frightened her and she had never been frightened of Michael. In all their years working together, his anger had always been under firm control. She had seen glimpses of it, but had never seen him in such a state of disintegration. Some part of his emotional control had snapped and she realized they were both moving into uncharted waters.

Minutes ticked by and the room was completely silent. Michael stood, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the floor and his mind apparently miles away. Nikita watched him, considering what she should do next. Her emotional instinct was to comfort him; but her intellect, sharpened by her experiences in Section, realized that whatever had triggered Michael's rage was not something easily soothed away. She was aware of the enormous chasm that loomed before her: if she responded properly, Michael would, perhaps, open up a little bit of his heart and mind. If she handled this wrong, he would shut down from her and very possibly never let her near his emotions again. She slowly rose to her feet. After all these years of asking him for trust and confidence, she thought, I damn well better be ready to hear what he has to say.

She went to touch his shoulder, murmuring his name softly. He started, jerked back from whatever dark corner of his mind he had retreated. She pulled one of his hands out from his tight self-embrace and stroked the bruised and bloody knuckles, then pressed her lips to the raw skin. He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. She met his gaze calmly, trying to wordlessly convey her concern to him.

He lifted her hands, bringing them up to his mouth and giving each a soft kiss, then stroked her cheek and eyebrow gently. She suddenly realized she had been holding her breath, and she let it out in a long sigh. She stepped up next to him, wrapping an arm around his back and pressed herself to him. His arms slipped around her, holding her close. He rested his cheek on her head.

"Will you tell me what that was about, Michael?" She felt him tense again. She stepped in front of him, fixing her gaze on his face. "Please, Michael, I need to know..."

He met her gaze. His changeable eyes were a very pale green; she watched the internal struggle reflected in his eyes. He let his gaze slide off her, focusing instead on the wall opposite them.

"Have you ever wondered why you are a cold operative, not a valentine op?" She regarded him steadily.

"Madeline, I suppose..."

"... would have you in as many beds as she could possibly arrange." His voice was cold and hard, even as his arms held her gently. She absorbed both the information and his apparent bitterness silently.

After a pause, she asked the obvious question. "Then why?"

He glanced down at her, held her eyes with his. "Me. I wouldn't let them." The ensuing silence dragged on for several long minutes. She hid her distress as best she could. What was the price of that bargain? she thought. She felt a pain run through her, imagining what that agreement with Operations and Madeline had cost him.

She finally broke the strained stillness. "Why?" He broke their embrace and began to walk slowly around the room.

"Do you know how many valentine missions I have been on?" He glanced over at her. She leaned her shoulder against the wall and watched him carefully. "I don't." He stopped and looked her straight in her face. "Whores lose count." She reeled slightly, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. She forced herself to maintain her eye contact with him. His face was cold, expressionless. She steeled herself to maintain a calm and composed exterior. He was being deliberately cruel, testing her to see if she would retreat from his brutal honesty. I'm not your whore, Michael... Oh, God, what did I do... She blinked back the tears that regret and shock brought to her eyes.

She reached for him. "Michael -" He stepped back, away from her hand and started his pacing again.

He spoke didactically, as if he were teaching a lesson. "It takes a certain detachment to complete properly. To perform and not feel anything, especially not affection or even concern for the target." He fell silent for a moment, continuing his pacing. She waited. Finally he continued, his voice softening and becoming more personal. "I didn't- I don't- think you could do it."

She waited. When he didn't continue, she asked softly, "How do you do it?"

He stopped again, meeting her stare with hard one of his own. "I don't feel. Anything. Ever." She walked over to him, reached up to stroke his jaw.

"That's not true, Michael," she whispered. Their glances met, held. "I know you have feelings. I've been there with you, with your son..." He glanced away and she gave herself a mental kick for bringing up another painful subject. Don't retreat, Michael, stay with me. She laid her hand on his cheek, gently bringing his gaze back to hers. She spoke in a stronger voice, as if to convince him, "You just proved to both of us a few minutes ago how powerful your feelings are." She brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed the raw knuckles again. He watched her steadily, his emotions hidden behind his usual mask.

"Think carefully, Nikita. Think whether you want to be close to me, now that you know who and what I am."

"I know what they have done to you." Her voice was defiant. "I'm not afraid of you, Michael."

"You should be." His voice was cold, unemotional, factual. "You have no idea what I was like before I came into Section." He caught her hands and gave her another hard stare. "Don't convince yourself there's a kind and gentle man under all this Section material. There is no such man." His hands tightened on her. She could sense the latent violence and rage within him; this time, however, he had his emotions under his usual rigid control. He let go of her and walked away. She waited for him to work out his thoughts. He inhaled and expelled a deep breath and leaned his back against the wall, giving her a sidelong glance. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you."

She moved quickly to his side. "You're sorry? You're sorry? Michael, of anyone in this world, you have the right to be angry... do you do anything in this world without feeling guilty?" He gave her a blank look, but deep in his eyes, she could see his shock at her statement. She let her voice soften to a whisper and repeated herself. "Do you do anything without feeling guilty? Do you do anything just to feel good? For yourself?" He turned his head away. She took his chin firmly in her hand and turned his face back to look at her. "Michael, you are a human being, not a machine. You are entitled to a little guilt-free pleasure now and then. Just for yourself. Not because of a mission, only because you deserve it." He didn't respond, only looked unblinkingly into her eyes. She raised up on her toes and gave him a quick, soft kiss. "Think about it, Michael."

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Chapter 14: Necessary Secrets (MA-14, suggestive)

The house darkened slowly with the gathering twilight. They had decided to not use the electric lights, to keep the house looking unoccupied from the outside. Michael had scrambled some eggs and pulled more fruit and another loaf of bread from his bag. They ate by the light of a candle. The atmosphere crackled with the unresolved tension between them.

"How many of these hiding places do you have, Michael?" Nikita sat at the table, picking apart a pomegranate. She popped a few seeds in her mouth, watching the man sitting across from her. He gave her an inscrutable glance, then returned his eyes to the gun he was carefully cleaning. She held her gaze on him for a few more seconds, then sighed internally. After the emotions of the afternoon, he had pulled back again. That was to be expected; a typical Michael reaction. She pushed down her rising irritation at his aloofness. Had he retreated so far from her that they couldn't even have a conversation? She dropped her eyes and selected a few more seeds from the fruit.

"A few." He didn't raise his head; his attention was completely focused on the weapon in his lap. She nodded, hiding her pleasure at his honest, if only partial, response, then considered whether to continue this line of questioning. She opted for a comment rather than a question.

"Comes in handy." He gave her another glance. He finished with the pistol, checked and inserted the clip, and slid it across the table to her. She picked it up and put it into the waistband of her pants, draping her T-shirt over the heavy butt. Michael picked up the second gun and began to disassemble it.

"We'll move out tomorrow night." She raised her eyes to him. When he didn't continue, she decided to push for more information.

"Going where?"

"Section substation a few kilometers north of here."

"We're going to contact Section?"

Now he finally lifted his head to meet her gaze. "No, just Birkoff."

She was puzzled. "Birkoff?"

"I have a back door. When you and Birkoff set up the deep channel to get Chris Ferrera, we decided to keep it open."

She absorbed the information with a blink. "Why?"

His face was still emotionless. "We weren't convinced Operations was done trying to cancel you."

Her lips parted in a silent "Oh." A heavy silence fell between them. He returned to working on the gun. Several minutes later she broke the stillness, changing the subject. "You know our mole has access to mission intelligence."

He nodded. "I want Birkoff to rake the system. Make sure Operations and Madeline aren't involved. See if he can pick up any traces of the mole."

"I don't think Operations is involved this time." She kept her voice calm and composed, trying to ease the strain between them. He looked back up at her, the gun in his hands giving a sharp click as he slid the clip into the pistol.

"Why?"

She lifted her right shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like his style."

He nodded. "I agree. Then who?"

She picked up some more pomegranate seeds, rolling them between her fingers as she thought. The fleshy kernels broke and the syrupy juice oozed down her hand. She sucked her thumb absently, her mind still working out the possible scenarios. She suddenly focused on Michael, realizing he was staring intently at her face. Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. His changeable irises had darkened to a deep emerald green. The tension between them seemed to fill the room; she could feel the electricity sparking between them. Michael took the gun out of his lap and laid it on the table. He rose and crossed around the table to her, his eyes never leaving her face. Her breathing came fast and shallow. He crouched down before her, took her sticky hand in his and very, very slowly brought it to his mouth. The warmth of his mouth engulfed her thumb. He sucked it slowly, gently, running his tongue around it with exquisite precision. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations. His tongue moved over to the palm of her hand, licking her hand with long, sensuous strokes. She kept her eyes closed, sitting passively, giving him total control of the situation. His mouth moved on to her wrist, still tracing the lines of pomegranate juice. He began to kiss up her arm. He gradually reached her elbow and pressed a deep kiss on the joint. He paused and she opened her eyes. His brilliant eyes swept over her face, and she knew he could read the desire written there. Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he reached for her other hand and brought it to his mouth. She watched him caress her hand. She felt as if she could reach a climax simply from his attentions to her fingers. Her nerves were on fire; she closed her eyes to better concentrate of the feelings he was provoking.

He stopped kissing the palm of her hand. "Nikita, look at me," he ordered. She languidly opened her eyes. His pupils seemed enormous, dilated in the candlelight. His voice was husky; he spoke barely above a whisper. "Watch me. Watch me make love to you." A shiver of desire ran through her and Nikita needed to remind herself to breathe. She obediently kept her eyes on his as he brought her hand up to his mouth again. His eyes never left hers as he teased the palm of her hand with his tongue. Her perception narrowed to a pinpoint focus: his beautiful face, his limpid green eyes and the response his skilled tongue was eliciting. When his mouth had worked its way up to her elbow, he leaned into her, his face inches from hers.

"Nikita," her name sounded like a sigh, "will you come to bed with me?" She looked deeply into his eyes, seeing his barely controlled passion.

She brought her moist hands up and cupped each side of his face. "No regrets," she whispered. He leaned forward and gave her a deep kiss.

"No regrets." He extended his hand to her and she took it.

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Chapter 15: Lost (NC-17)

Michael held her warm sticky hand in his as they walked across the room. When he reached the jumbled bedding, he turned. Later, in retrospect, he thought he had intended to offer her the chance to walk away. But in reality, he looked into her blue eyes, huge and dark with her desire, and was lost. He slipped his hands into her hair, feeling the silken strands slip through his fingers. His body ached with need and desire for her. He took a deep breath, regaining his control. He simply held her close to him, her head tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around her soft body. A fragment of a conversation they had once had floated into his brain. He replayed the words he had said, this time to himself. "We fight each day to stay alive... let's not fight what's between us..." He tightened his grip on her and kissed the top of her head. Her hands moved up his chest, unfastening the vest. He dropped his arms down to his sides, allowing her to remove it. His hands ran up the outside of her thighs and he felt her body shiver in response. His hands raised her shirt and pulled the gun out of her pants waistband. He turned and lay the pistol next to their makeshift pillow. He turned back to see her watching his actions quizzically.

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He tipped his head slightly and raised one eyebrow. "Never make love to an armed woman." She gave a short burst of laughter.

"Lesson number one in Valentine ops?"

He let a small smile curve his mouth. "Lesson number one in loving you." He walked back over to her, reaching out to stroke her face, becoming serious again. "You are dangerous. What I feel for you is dangerous. We don't need to add a gun to the combination." Her eyes closed and she tilted her head into his hand. He lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, on her eyes. The desire for her was inflaming his mind and body. He struggled to restrain his passion, to express only tenderness now. It was the only way he knew to apologize to her for his earlier behavior, for frightening her with his rage. She gave a small sigh and wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing herself to him. He let a small groan slip out. Remorse or not, his control was rapidly slipping. She pulled her head back and opened her eyes. She had a small teasing smile on her face and she rubbed herself against his swelling erection, her eyes scanning his face to see his reaction. It was his turn to close his eyes, to try and grasp what little remained of his composure.

"Michael," her voice was soft in his ears, ringing in his mind, "open your eyes." He focused his eyes on her azure ones. "Look at me. Don't shut yourself away from me." She took two steps back from him toward the blankets and he followed her, still maintaining their fixed stare. Without conscious thought, he reached out and removed her shirt, slowly, savoring her beauty. She stood proudly, not trying to hide herself, keeping her eyes locked on his. His mouth was drawn to her breasts, as if by a magnet. His kisses were light, gentle, savoring her soft skin. Her arms wrapped around his head, holding him close. His mouth found and sucked a nipple. He felt her whole body respond to his actions: her back arched and her arms tightened as if to pull him still closer.

His hands slid down her sides and began to tug on her pants, his lips never leaving her breasts. When the pants finally yielded and slipped down, his hands moved around her back, caressing and stroking her buttocks. Her breath was coming in short gasps and she pressed herself tightly to his body. He lifted his head and kissed her, hard and deep. Her breath was sweet and tasted of pomegranate. His tongue touched her lips, softly, gently, and she parted her lips to give him access to her mouth. Her hands ran down the length of his chest and fastened on his pants. She jerked hard, trying to unfasten his pants, and he lost his balance, tipping against her. She tumbled to the blankets. He could not keep his eyes off her. She rolled back up onto her knees and completed her task of loosening his clothing. He felt the cold air surround him, then warmth as she took him into her mouth. His hands clenched in her hair, fighting for control. The sensation was too close to the one he really desired.

He pulled away and she looked up at him, questioningly. "Lie down." His voice was thick with desire. He lowered himself next to her, lying on his left side so he could caress her with one hand. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the candlelight as he stroked her. His fingers followed the curves of her body, over shoulder and breast and the swell of her hip, sliding down to the warmth between her legs. She was hot and wet and at that moment he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his whole life. He teased her a moment more; her head was tilted back against the pillow as she murmured soft cries in response to his touch. Unable to wait any longer, he rolled up and over her, their bodies touching every inch from shoulders to feet. He lifted his arms so they lay on either side of her head, his fingers threading in her hair. He lowered his mouth and kissed her with all the desire that was raging in his body. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him still closer to her. He lifted his head to look at her. Another memory sparked in his mind, and he repeated the words he had said to her long ago.

"Get ready." In her eyes, he could see a smile of recognition. He placed his knees between hers, gently nudged her legs apart, and thrust himself into her. Her eyes closed and her back arched, accepting him and inviting him to repeat the action. He drew back. She opened her eyes and he fixed his gaze on her. "Watch me love you." Her body shivered in response, but she kept her eyes on him as he thrust himself in her again. He felt he was losing his sense of self. Her huge blue eyes were absorbing his soul, even as her body absorbed his lovemaking. She began to spasm in her climax, driving him to his. He reared up on his arms and gave a final thrust, emptying himself, losing himself.

Afterwards, she lay on her side, her back and legs pressed to him, drifting off to sleep. He sat with his back against the wall, the blankets pulled up around his waist, not feeling the cold air surrounding him. The gun was in his hand again, resting in his lap, ready if necessary. His eyes traced the curve of her back and hips under the blanket. With a tenderness that surprised him, he pulled the blanket up over her bare shoulder. She gave a deep sleepy sigh.

"Sleep now," he whispered, "I'll stand guard." I'll watch over you until the day I die. Her voice was so soft; he nearly missed hearing her drowsy response.

"Michael, I love you." He made no answer and within a minute her breathing told him she was fast asleep.

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Chapter 16: Dark Reflection

A second night inched by. Michael eventually got up and got dressed; it was simply getting too cold to continue sitting naked and if he wrapped himself in the blankets he would probably drop off to sleep. He walked around the little house for a while, stretching his muscles and clearing his head. He would prefer to shut out the events of the evening, to forget all about them; but in his new-found honesty, he found he needed to think through what had transpired. He was aware of how much he exasperated Nikita. Being open and honest was relatively simple for her; for him each new feeling was a struggle, each intimate conversation overwhelming. He crouched down next to her slumbering form, his eyes sweeping over the curves of her body. Making love to her... had been the most instinctual act he had allowed into his controlled and emotionless life. He reached out to touch her, felt the silken strands of her hair slip through his fingers. When he had awakened earlier, he had been so shaken by his nightmare that turning to her for comfort had seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. She had asked about his dream. How could he tell her about the nightmares he had, the phantoms he fought, the grief and guilt that seeped past his conscious control and roamed free in his dreams? Years ago he had made the decision not to dwell on his subconscious terrors and he could not simply open that Pandora's Box, not even for Nikita.

"Do you do anything in your life without feeling guilty, Michael?", her voice taunted him. His mind flinched away from the question. Like a penitent putting on a hair shirt, he forced himself to deal with the question. No, he thought, no, guilt was a constant companion. Deep, abiding guilt. Guilt for the death of his parents, for leaving his sister so young and alone, for the death of Rene, who had been his friend and his sister's protector, for the countless others he had used and manipulated; guilt over Nikita, Elena, Adam. He gave himself a mental shake; no self-pity allowed. Guilt was a burden he was accustomed to carrying, one he deserved to bear. He rose and crossed the room several times, his bare feet moving silently.

He put his back against the wall and stood, arms crossed, regarding her. The first time they had made love, on the boat in Lyons, he had been so relieved and overwhelmed by her sudden reappearance that he had reacted without thinking, without a plan. He had simply needed to touch her, to hold her, to know she was real and alive and back in his life. The guilt he carried from that lovemaking was tied directly to her inexperience within Section. Once they had made love, she expected more; she expected to see him 'outside', to continue a relationship. He blamed himself for using her naivete. Hurt by his refusal to take any steps toward a more permanent relationship, she had been ridiculously easy to manipulate to entrap Jurgen. His exploitation of her ignorance had scarred her deeply and she had retreated from him. That had been for the best, he knew, even as the continual loss of her innocence hurt both of them. She had been too trusting, too open. The Section would have eaten her alive. As it was, it had been a near thing. He had long since lost count of the times he had protected her, covered for her, lied for her. The need to have her in his life was as much a part of his existence as breathing.

Tonight he could honestly say he had surrendered to his desire for her without any taint of guilt or remorse. She was stronger, more experienced and a great deal subtler now. What would happen between them once they returned to Section had not been discussed. But he was certain of her awareness of the inherent dangers of continuing an overt relationship within Section. A small frown crossed his face. He could live without a physical relationship with her. Just seeing her, talking to her, being with her was sufficient for him. But would it be enough for her? And did she, would she, see the dangerous path they needed to walk?

He moved to sit down at the table, positioning his body so he could continue to look at her. Just seeing her, talking to her was sufficient... How true was that? As she had become more aware of the dangers, and stronger in the face of Section's manipulations, he had become weaker. His legendary control had cracked. Somehow he needed to manage his emotions better. His hunger for her was overriding his self-discipline. He had not intended to make love to her tonight; he had acted on impulse, something that rarely occurred in his well-ordered life, and the situation had slipped out of his control. His need and his desire for her had simply pushed all other considerations aside. This - they - were the only thing that mattered at that moment. He needed, craved, depended on, that connection with her. He considered that thought. His connection to her had somehow grown to be an intregal part of his life. Giving up the link between them, however tenuous, was not an option.

He rose to pace, cat-like, around the room again. What was it about the middle of the night that made these thoughts come to the surface of his mind? During the day, such thoughts would have been ruthlessly pushed aside, not considered. In the night, they took on lives of their own and led him into areas of his life that he would rather not deal with.

Her love and trust in him, "You won't hurt me, Michael", scalded him anew. He had hurt her, had frightened her with his rage. Truthfully, he had startled himself with his anger. He had thought such fury long behind him. He glanced over to her with an apology in his eyes. He had never seen her flinch in fear of him. Despite her fear, she had stayed with him and listened to the ugly truths he had flung at her. How could anyone care for him, knowing what a monster he was? The pain, the betrayals, the deaths he was responsible for? Yet she did. At the cost of another part of her soul, of her innocence, she cared for him. Another load of guilt to be added to the pile. He felt a flash of anger, this time directly completely at himself. He swallowed the feeling, as he had done so many times before. Show no emotion. The response was ingrained in him; no anger, no frustration, no pleasure.

He glanced out the window, watching the sunrise brighten in the sky. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and stared at his own features. He gazed at the cold green eyes, the stern and unyielding face of the image. What does she see in such a man? His introspection was making him uncomfortable; he looked at his watch just as he heard her stir behind him. It was time for him to sleep. Everything would simply have to wait. He would have better control after he slept.

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

Chapter 17: Night Visitors

Antonio Luchetti sat at the communications desk. He had received a mysterious phone call earlier that night, instructing him to be at his post at the unearthly hour of 2am. He did not know whom he would be meeting, only that the disembodied voice on the phone knew all the proper security clearance codes. There was always a skeleton staff at the substation, but he had dismissed the regular communications staff brusquely. They would go fix themselves a couple cups of coffee, then come back in one hour. He trusted his unknown caller had estimated his time frame properly. Luchetti did not want to get in the middle of awkward explanations, God knew this would be hard enough to justify to his superiors.

He heard the soft footsteps and turned to face his cryptic contact. There were two of them, a man and a woman. The man was well built, with long auburn hair and piercing eyes, dressed in only a Kevlar vest and pants. . The woman... Luchetti had to suppress his inclination to do a double take. Tall, with long ash blond hair and eyes the color of the sky, she moved with a grace that implied she was an exceptionally dangerous operative.

"Are we ready?" The man's voice was low and musical. He had a faint French accent. Luchetti nodded and pointed out the communications console he had prepared for them. The man sat down and began typing rapidly. The woman moved to his shoulder. Luchetti watched them with interest; she first went to rest her hand on the man, hesitated inches from his bare shoulder, then changed her mind and linked her hands behind her back instead. The high pitch squeal of a modem connection whistled around them. The male operative picked up a comm earpiece.

"Birkoff?"

"Yeah, I'm here," a young American voice answered.

"I am sending you some mission information. I need you to review it and then rake the system to find any common indicators."

"The whole system?" There was an underlying question there, but Luchetti had no idea what it was and it wasn't his job to know.

"Yes." Whatever the problem was, the man wanted this done.

"Will do. When will you contact me next?" The man glanced over his shoulder at the woman who stood stiffly next to him.

"Tomorrow, same time."

"Michael, do you have Nikita?" There was urgency in the voice now. The woman leaned forward so her mouth was inches from Michael's mouth, and spoke into the comm link he wore.

"Yeah, Birkoff, I'm here." Her husky voice had a strong accent, Luchetti thought, Australian?

"Welcome back to the living. Signing off."

The operative called Michael removed the earpiece and turned to face Luchetti. Luchetti schooled his face into complete impassivity.

"You don't know us, we were never here." The accented voice was menacing. "When your superiors inquire about these proceedings, you will tell them it is a gray matter and refer to code 87745. We will be back at this time tomorrow; you will take the same precautions you took tonight." He looked directly into Luchetti's eyes. His eyes were a pale green, very threatening. Luchetti was grateful to be working with this man, not against him. "You did not hear our names." Luchetti nodded. "Code 87745." Luchetti nodded again. Michael got to his feet and walked out; the woman Nikita gave Luchetti a brief nod of thanks and left him in the quiet substation.

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

Chapter 18: All Clear

Birkoff sat at his terminal, running his hands through his short-cropped hair. He glanced at his watch again, the dial glowing in the low light surrounding his computer station. 2am, god, would Michael never call? As if responding to his unspoken question, his monitor emitted a quiet beep . Birkoff gave the area a quick glance; no one was nearby. He had sent his communications staff on some minor errands, which would give him enough time to communicate with Michael undisturbed.

"Birkoff," Michael's soft voice came over the comm link.

"Yeah, I'm here." He began to pull up the information he had processed for Michael.

"What do you have?"

"Nothing. I ran the parameters you gave me, there aren't any common factors. I tried targets, profilers, team members, everything. The only commonality was Nikita, and we knew that all ready." Michael was silent for a moment. Birkoff gave another look around to be certain he was not overheard.

He could hear Michael take a deep breath. "And the system check?" Michael was being more obscure than usual, Birkoff thought. Of course, someone from the substation is standing nearby. Can't let anyone know how much of Section's systems we can access.

"Nothing. I checked as many of the closed files," he hoped Michael would understand his euphemism for private personnel files, "as I could, given the time frame and the difficulty." Yeah, like the fact that Communications has staff wandering from terminal to terminal both day and night. "No indication that Nikita is presently a target."

"We suspected as much. We'll be in touch through official channels shortly." Birkoff could hear a muffled noise, then Nikita's voice came over the comm.

"Hey, Birkoff, thanks. We owe you one."

"I'll be sure to remind you often." She gave a short laugh and disconnected the transmission. Birkoff sat back in his chair, a small smile on his face.

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

Chapter 19: Tears and Fears (one bad word)

Nikita sat, as she had the previous days, at the table, watching Michael sleep. Tonight they would return to Section. It was time; Birkoff had not found any traces of Operations' or Madeline's scheming in the files and the longer she and Michael stayed out, the more questions would be asked. Funny, she thought humorlessly, we have never discussed whether or not to return to Section. It was understood and unspoken by both of them that they must go back. Nikita knew from her time outside Section that she could no longer expect to have a 'normal' life. The only life she could have, however pathetic, was within the Section.

Nikita sighed quietly and rose to silently pace around the kitchen. As if sensing her distress, Michael stirred in his sleep. She stood still until he settled back into a deeper sleep. She leaned her right shoulder against the window jamb and looked out into the yard, thinking over the past few days. After their emotional confrontation and lovemaking, Michael had completely withdrawn from her again. Part of her was extremely hurt and responded by being equally removed; she avoided touching him, did not start conversations. After their explosive discussion, she had a better understanding of him, of his fears and self-disgust. She had a deeper respect for his emotional control, and, as much as it infuriated her, she even understood a little bit of his need to retreat from her. It was such a delicate balance to manage: she needed his confidence, his explanations and his affection; he was accustomed to sharing none of these things. When they made a small connection (and she acknowledged he had made huge breakthroughs in the past few days), he needed to retreat and collect himself. She understood all this on an intellectual level. But to her emotional self, which, if she were very honest, was extremely insecure and needy, every one of Michael's retreats felt like a rejection. I'm just as sick a puppy as he is, she thought with bitter humor. She was fighting a constant battle with herself, to encourage him to open himself up with her, and yet not to demand, to need more than he was able to give. Sometimes it felt like a losing fight, to put aside her needs and desires and concentrate on his.

As she reflected over their tumultuous relationship over the past several years, her own behavior made her wince. She had behaved like a petulant, immature child, always crying after Michael to solve her problems and fill her emotional holes. After the forced maturation process that was Section, she was able to face the cause of her neediness: a neglectful, drunken mother and a series of "uncles" who moved in and out of her life. At least the early ones had only been oblivious of her. She wasn't sure which of the later "uncles" to hate more: the one or two that had actually shown some affection for her, only to walk away and never look back; or the ones that had beaten her. Or the one that had caused her mother to throw her out of her home. It wasn't that "Uncle" Charles didn't like her, as she had told Michael oh-so-many years ago, but that he had liked her too much. Although, she thought now, the experience with Charles had had one possible benefit: after enduring his mauling, she had determined that no one - no one- would ever touch her again without her permission. Perhaps that resolve had enabled her to survive those first hellish years in Section. That would be truly ironic: that the man who had been attracted to her childish innocence would be the one that enabled her to transform into a cold killer.

She wasn't sure if she was thinking of "Uncle" Charles or of Michael.

So you've been dealt a crummy hand,, she thought impatiently, so deal with it. But wasn't it enough for the Fates to give her a lousy mother and a nightmare childhood? She had to love a man who, by his own admission, didn't know what love was? Didn't know how to love her? A man who was so emotionally crippled that simply expressing his feelings was painful? If there was ever a definition of star-crossed lovers, we're it. Her thoughts were bitter. A man who cannot love and a needy insecure woman who needs constant affection. She would laugh if it weren't so goddamn painful.

Now she made herself think, coldly and unemotionally, like Michael would want her to. She was older and wiser in the ways of Section now; she knew not to expect or even hope that she and Michael could maintain any kind of emotional relationship 'inside'. A sexual or emotional connection between operatives was an impossibility; Operations and Madeline would either prevent it, or use it for their own purposes. Neither she nor Michael had any intention of being pawns for their superiors. Their lives were already not their own.

"I had a dream",she remembered telling Michael once, "you expressed certain feelings..." "Sometimes all we have are our dreams" his voice resounded back. She blinked hard, forcing back the prickle of tears that threatened her eyes. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. It was pointless, fruitless and painful to entertain notions of 'what if' and 'if only'. This will have to be enough, she thought, and turned to look at the sleeping man behind her. This memory will have to be enough.

The words felt cold and remote. This would never be enough, not for her, but it would be all she could have. The conflict between what she wanted/needed and what was possible was ripping her apart. After all these years, you would think I would be able to accept it and move on, she thought bitterly. But his voice echoed in her mind "I do love you. God help you, I do love you." He had never said those words before to her, except under mission constraints. Perhaps some progress had been made these past days, after all. "But not enough, not enough," she whispered softly to herself, and closed her eyes in pain.

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

Chapter 20: Truth

Michael awoke to find Nikita's eyes on him. Her face was composed, her eyes cool and aloof, yet his instinct told him she was troubled. He didn't question his intuitive reading of her; perhaps it was something in her body position, perhaps that her eyes seemed too shiny. But he knew she was upset and his protectiveness rose inside of him. He rolled smoothly to his feet and approached her. It hurt him slightly to see her draw back from him. He reached out a hand to prevent her from passing him.

"Nikita?" His voice was low and a little hoarse from sleep. Her eyes flickered up to meet his briefly, then she shifted her gaze away.

"Did you sleep well?" Her voice was rough and she cleared her throat as she tried to continue moving past him. He caught her left hand, repeated her name. She pulled her hand away from him as if he burned her. "Please don't, Michael. We need to get ready to go back to Section..." He caught her hand again and gently turned her face to his with his free hand.

"Nikita?" He kept his voice low and gentle. Her eyes flashed from side to side, as if she were a trapped animal. He tightened his grip on her hand, preventing her from pulling away from him again, and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. She closed her eyes, and stilled her face into a mask, preventing him from reading her expression.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. Now he could clearly see her distress, even as she attempted to push the emotion aside. "We need to go," she repeated woodenly. "We have to go back..."

He nodded even as he continued to stroke her cheek. "If we don't return, they will hunt us down like animals," he said gently. She nodded.

"I know." Her voice was nearly a whisper. He ran a callused thumb over her eyebrow.

"Then what is wrong?" She flinched, turning her head away from his caress. He moved closer, so he was standing directly in front of her, preventing her from walking away. "Nikita?"

"Michael, please let me go..." her voice cracked and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He watched the struggle evident on her face. He let go of her hand and brought both of his hands up to stroke her cheekbones. She closed her eyes and one tear trickled out. He caught it on his thumb, smoothed away the shiny trail it left behind and leaned in to give her a gentle kiss. Her breath caught and he felt her whole body tense with her effort to control herself. One of her hands slid delicately around his neck, pulling him closer to her. He stroked her face and her hair as he continued to kiss her softly. She moved infinitesimally closer to him and laid her cheek against his. He held her tenderly and gave her time to master her emotions. She took a deep breath and patted his shoulder, signaling him she was ready to break their embrace. He released her unwillingly, and his gaze flickered over her face. He could not read anything in her expression; she had herself under tight control. Part of him was very proud of her ability to control and hide her emotions, even as his hands tingled with the need to touch her.

Nikita moved over to the table and sat down, her legs spread and her hands dangling between her knees. She let her head drop forward tiredly. Not very lady-like, Madeline, she thought with quiet irony. She took a deep breath and began speaking, leaving her head down so she couldn't see his reaction.

"I need honesty from you, Michael." She changed her mind, deciding she needed to see his face and eyes, and raised her head to meet his gaze. His face was composed and solemn. "No mission, no Section, just you and me. Truth." Truth, Michael, knowing how difficult being open was for this complicated, enigmatic man. He moved over to crouch between her legs, balancing with his hands on her knees. His eyes were clear and unshuttered.

'I have given you only honesty since you found out about my family," he stated calmly. "I may not have been be able to tell you everything, but what I have told you has always been true." He tipped his head fractionally. "You are strong enough for honesty now." That surprised her. Strong enough? She pushed that thought aside for further reflection later. She needed to say this, before she lost both her nerve and her opportunity.

"You said certain things a few days ago," she started. She felt him tense and slid her hands over his, where they rested on her knees. She squeezed his hands slightly, forcing him to focus on her. "I need to know, Michael, whether those were just words spoken in passion, in the heat of the moment," she felt her color rise slightly, "or if you meant them." She looked him straight in the eye. "Do you love me Michael?"

His face was identical to the time he told her Adam was his son: open, honest and completely tormented. He gave her the same simple answer.

"Yes."

His face was full of misgivings after his 'confession'. Was he going to tell her again that he didn't really know what love was, or remind her again that there was no future for them in Section? She didn't give him a chance to speak, placing a finger on his lips.

"Ssshhh. You don't need to say it. Any relationship is impossible. We'll either be used by Section or cancelled." She took a deep shaky breath, making a sudden, impulsive decision. "Michael, you have given me a- a gift I will always treasure. What will happen tomorrow..." she paused, met his eyes and shrugged. "We'll go back to Section and our lives will continue as they have. But now..." she paused again, uncertain how to continue. His hands slid out from under hers and stroked her hair and cheeks.

He finished her thought for her. "Now is not about Section, it is about us." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, pulling him closer. His tongue touched her lips, probing gently and she opened her mouth to him. He rose easily, still kissing her as he drew her to her feet and pulled her close to him. She felt his restrained power, so strong yet so gentle, as he continued to kiss her softly. His hands ran down her back and cupped her buttocks. Suddenly he lifted her up, his hands beneath her rear as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He balanced her as if she weighed nothing and began walking. She closed her eyes and let him take her where he wanted, only to be surprised by the feel of a mattress beneath her when he laid her down. She opened her eyes to see they were in one of the little bedrooms of the house and Michael on all fours above her.

"A bed, Michael?" There was a trace of amusement in her voice. "Do you know this will be only the second time we have made love in a real bed?"

"In my bed, in my house," he murmured back. There was no amusement in his voice; he was intensely serious. "You are mine. There is nothing else beside us, right here, right now."

She put her hands on either side of his face and gave him back an equally intense look. "And you are mine. Nothing will ever change that."

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

Chapter 21: Promises in the Dark (NC-17, pretty explicit, for me... *blush* )

As passionate and near-frantic as their previous lovemaking had been, this time they proceeded very slowly; savoring and memorizing each taste, each touch, each sensation. She kept her eyes open, committing every inch of his body to her memory. -The feel of his beard against her skin, no longer scratchy, grown long enough to be soft; a gentle caress as stimulating to her as the touch of his fingers on her body.- His head was bent as his mouth worshipped first one breast, then the other. Her fingers ran through his thick hair, holding him close. He raised his head to meet her gaze and she stroked his whiskers.

"I wish you would grow a beard," she murmured. He was surprised into giving her a true smile, one that extended past his mouth up to his eyes. He playfully rubbed his stubbled cheek on her sensitized nipple and she twitched in response. He repeated his action on her other breast, then resumed his gentle suckling. -The touch of his tongue on her skin, warm and soothing.- She ran her fingers across his heavily muscled shoulders, then lightly scratched his back with her nails. She felt his skin ripple in response to her touch. He lifted his head and recaptured her mouth. She let her eyes close and her body melt into his, her curves fitting to his.

She pulled her mouth away from his and slid her lips down his neck, pressing them on his carotid artery. She felt his strong pulse beating beneath her mouth. He arched his head back, exposing his neck for her exploration. -The taste of his skin. The scent of his desire filling her senses.- She licked him from his collarbone to under his jaw and his body quivered in response. She glanced up into his face, seeing the desire flashing in his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, his lips slightly swollen, increasing the ever-present sensuality in his face. Lust writhed in her belly. She felt the urge to bite his shoulder, but confined herself to kissing it instead. They would probably undergo full physical evaluations when they returned; better to leave no marks.

He lowered his head and kissed her again, harder, demandingly, leaving her breathless. When he kissed her like that, she felt he possessed her, body and soul. She felt his arousal pressing along her thigh, and felt her own aching need for him grow within her. One by one his hands slid down her arms and he entwined his fingers with hers, pulling their joined hands up towards her shoulders. She tipped her head back, feeling his mouth on her throat. -The touch of his lips on her neck, the warmth of his breath, the restrained strength and power of his body. - He placed a gentle kiss at the base of her throat, millimeters above her healing cut, then adjusted his body position so his lips could proceed much, much lower. His hands slid down her body, but her fingers clung to his; she didn't want to break contact with him.

He placed several soft kisses on her inner thighs. Her breath caught at his caress and her back arched, urging him wordlessly to continue moving higher. When his mouth touched its desired target, Nikita felt if she would break into a million pieces. -His mouth was hot and wet and experienced. Bringing her closer and closer to the brink, but never over.- He used his tongue, stroking her where she most needed it, and she gave an involuntary cry.

"Michael, oh god, Michael..."

He continued pleasuring her, the sensations he elicited wiping her mind clear of any coherent thought processes. Hours? minutes? days? later he crept back up her body to kiss her deeply. She could taste herself on his lips. With an effort, she rolled over onto him, straddling him; he did not protest, but lay under her submissively. She began to run her tongue and hands down his chest, moving lower and lower on his body. His breathing became ragged, his hands slipped into her hair and his fingers clenched as he struggled for control. She put her lips on his erection and he groaned aloud. -The musky smell of his sex. The smooth, hard texture in her mouth.- She licked him slowly, from the base to the tip, and reveled in his reaction. It gave her an incredible sense of power over him: cold, aloof Michael moaning and quivering under her hand. She nipped him softly and it pushed him over the edge. Effortlessly, he lifted her up to bring her face to his, then flipped her over and reclaimed his position on top. His fingers threaded into her hair and held her head still. His mouth descended on hers and he kissed her, hard, passionately and demanding. She returned his kiss with equal urgency, lightly scoring his back with her nails.

His knees slipped between hers, pushing her legs apart. The compelling urgency to take and be taken suddenly left her and she was filled with a sense of desperation, a need to prolong this moment, to make their intimacy last as long as possible. He seemed to feel the same; his motions slowed and his breathing became more regular. He entered her slowly, carefully, gently. -The feel of him filling her, stretching her, completing her.- His gaze held hers, unblinkingly.

"Mine," he whispered thickly. "You are mine."

She had to swallow, forcing saliva down her dry throat in order to answer him. "Always."

He withdrew and she gave a slight whimper; then he reentered her, harder. She gasped. He did it again, still harder. The sensation was part painful, part pleasurable. And she wanted it again and again. He stopped, looking at her quizzically; she frowned back at him.

"You said something..." he murmured. She flushed, it wasn't supposed to be said aloud. He continued regarding her until she finally repeated herself.

"I said 'again'. Do it again." He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, then obeyed her. The force of his entry triggered her body to bend to his instinctively. "Again." Her voice was low and husky, her breathing erratic. His hands found hers, and their fingers interlaced, clinging to each other through the storm of their passion. He sped up his rhythm and she could no longer sense where she ended and he began. They were, for this moment, truly one. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him still closer to her.

"Mine." She uttered it softly. Her breathing was ragged and she could only grab enough air for the one word. He kissed her neck, directly below her ear, then whispered his reply.

"Toujours."

As impossible as it seemed to her, he increased both his speed and his forcefulness. She felt her internal organs reverberate with the power of his strokes. Her climax was rising within her. Her back arched toward him, her legs tightened as her entire body strained to take more of him in her. Her senses exploded around her and she shuddered spasmodically in her orgasm, vaguely aware of him climaxing only seconds after her, his grip on her fingers painfully tight and his breath hot on her neck as he groaned softly in his release.

After several long minutes Michael raised his head from her shoulder. She opened her cerulean eyes languidly to meet his gaze. He slowly withdrew from her warmth, and she gave a low moan at his exit.

He placed a hand on one of her shoulders and pushed lightly. "Roll over," he ordered. She blinked and looked confused. He stroked one soft cheek. "We have an hour or two before nightfall," he explained. "You could use a short nap, and I..."he stopped. She raised an eyebrow at him and waited for him to continue. He let his gaze slip to the side, unaccountably embarrassed. "I want to have you in my arms." He gave her a sidelong glance. She gave him a tremulous smile, fighting back tears, and rolled to her side, not answering him. He curved himself behind her back, spoon fashion, and wrapped his arms around her, each hand cupping a soft, warm breast. He kissed the nape of her neck softly. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you in a couple of hours." He felt her release a long, shuddering breath and relax in his arms. Unspoken between them was the certitude that these would be their last intimate moments for a long, long time.

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

Chapter 21: Back in the Fold

Walter sat at his worktable, concentrating on the minute electronic components spread out before him. He adjusted the self-lit magnifying glass that he wore, tipping it to precisely the right angle to enlarge the two tiny pieces he was soldering together. A shadow fell across the table and he reacted angrily, without looking up.

"Hey! I'm working here. You mind?"

"Oh, sorry, Walter. You want me to come back later?" At the sound of her voice, he looked up, his spirits rising rapidly.

"Hey, sugar! When did you get back?" The blond gave him a heart-stopping smile.

"Just now. I had to come see you first, right?" Walter gave her a matching grin.

"It's good to see you, sugar. I missed you." He paused and gave her a quick once-over. There were a few fading bruises on her cheeks, but she seemed all right. Something was different, though, he thought, trying to put his finger on the change. He tried the direct approach. "Everything ok?" His instincts were right; she gave him a quick glance, her smile fading.

"Fine, why?"

He backtracked. "Nothing, no reason. Just wanted to be sure you got through the mission all right."

"Nikita." Michael's voice came from the doorway. Walter glanced over at him; Michael was still dressed in his mission clothes: vest, pants and jacket. Walter looked over at Nikita, noticing for the first time how the shirt hung on her. Changed clothes, did we? He watched Nikita's face as she turned to Michael and caught the very slight alteration in her face and voice.

"Michael?" Her words implied nothing, had he not been paying close attention, he never would have noticed any difference between them. Walter felt a pleasure he had not felt in a very long time. Good for them. He'd better try to deserve her.

"Have you been down to Medical yet?" There was a very slight difference in Michael, too, Walter realized. Michael's guardian-angel mode had increased a notch. Walter wondered briefly if Nikita completely understood what all being loved by Michael entailed.. Sometimes, just sometimes, you get what you wish for, he thought with a bittersweet pang.

"You said you were all right, sugar. Why do you need to go to Medical?" Walter reached over the table to grab Nikita's arm as she turned to leave.

She gave him a sweet smile. "Nothing major, Walter. Just some minor injuries that need to be checked over."

Walter gave her a shrewd look. "Uh-huh. If you say so, sugar. Come back and see me before you go home, huh?"

Michael put his hand in the small of Nikita's back, courteously escorting her out of Munitions. "We have a debrief with Madeline after you've been checked by Medical." Nikita gave him a small nod. Michael let his hand drop as they left Walter's sector. The older operative watched them walk away. To all outward appearances, everything was as it had been for months. A good working pair, friendly but not emotionally involved. He hoped they could continue that façade for the spying eyes all around them. He shook his head gently, feeling both happy and sad for them. If he was able to sense the change between them, certainly the sharks that inhabited Section would do the same.

Operations stood in his aerie, watching Michael and Nikita crossing the main hall of Section. He heard Madeline's footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. He turned slightly, keeping the newly returned pair in his sight as he spoke to his second-in-command.

"So?"

"They're back." Madeline stated unnecessarily. "Nikita has a few minor injuries, she's already been down to Medical and they've cleared her to go home and recuperate."

"Injuries?" Operations' voice was cold; he didn't really care about Nikita's injuries, but prodding Madeline to continue.

"A few bruises. A knife cut, healing nicely. A dislocated shoulder. Apparently Michael reset it for her in the field." Operations nodded absently, watching Michael and Nikita turn the corner and disappear from his sight. A moment passed in silence, then he turned to give Madeline his complete attention.

"And?" he prompted. She stood silent a minute more, obviously gathering her thoughts.

"Michael indicated he suspects someone has been tapping into our communications or computer systems. Our invisible enemy knew exactly where they would be in Italy. He and Nikita hid in a secret location to be sure they weren't compromised, then came back in."

Operations frowned. "Secret location?"

"Michael wouldn't be more specific and Nikita says she doesn't know where they were. I think she's telling the truth." She looked at Operations, sensing his disquiet about the lack of specific information. "Michael is Level Five, he is allowed to have his own system of outside sources," she reminded him.

"I know, I know..." Operations was still unhappy, but he waved the problem away. "So what do you think?"

"I think they're telling the truth, but not all of it." He gave her a sharp glance. He had great respect for her intuition. "I think they have been intimate."

He nodded. "Will this be a problem?"

"I don't know yet. It depends on what happens now."

"Very well. Do we need to start surveillance?"

She shook her head. "I don't think that's necessary yet. Keep a watch on them during their next few missions. Let's wait and see their next move."

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

Chapter 22: Communications Failure

Nikita was pacing around the communications center. She was on tactical, Michael was out with the team. She didn't like being left behind, but that was the way the profile had been designed and Michael had chosen not to alter it. She paced behind Birkoff, her boot heels clicking with her strides. Birkoff gave her a sidelong glance over his glasses; she understood his unspoken warning and forced herself to sit down next to the resident genius, resisting the urge to tap her toes, bite her nails, anything that might give her nervousness away.

"Birkoff, we're in position." Michael's soft voice came over her earpiece.

Birkoff began typing. "OK, Michael, you're clear. Start sequencing." She heard Michael order the teams to move out. She kept her eyes fastened on the computer display in front of her. Get in, download the information and destroy the computer, and get out. It was a cut-and-dry mission, she thought, she should have been on the first team.

The past three weeks had been the longest in her life. The first week she had been allowed to rest at home, 'recovering'. She had been called in for a few missions in the following weeks, but only on tactical support. Although she understood Michael's concern for her safety, they had still not been able to find any concrete indication that the recent complications had been anything more than a run of bad luck. She made a mental note to discuss Michael's tendency for over-protectiveness with him again when he returned. She fidgeted in her seat, caught herself doing it, and forced herself to sit still. For some reason, she had a very bad feeling about this mission and wished for the umpteenth time that she were in the field with the team and Michael. As if I could protect him better than he can protect himself , she thought ironically, and brought her full attention to the display again. There was a loud burst of gunfire, startling her.

"Michael, what was that?" Birkoff's voice was urgent.

"They were waiting for us. All teams -" Michael's voice cut out in a burst of static. Nikita waited for Birkoff to clear the channel.

"Michael? Michael!" Only static answered him.

"Birkoff, get communications with the team." Nikita ordered. She got to her feet and crossed to stand behind him.

He whirled in his chair. "You don't get it, Nikita. I can't get them back. Communications are down."

"Down? What do you mean?"

Operations' voice came through the speaker. "Birkoff, status." Birkoff swallowed hard and glanced at Nikita.

"We've lost communication with the team, sir." He glanced up at Operations' station, high above them.

"Get it back, NOW."

"Yes, sir." The computers around them blinked, went down and then came back up. Nikita spun around, looking over the various monitors and keyboards.

"Don't touch anything." Birkoff ordered. He pushed his chair across the floor, rolling from computer to computer, checking over all the indicators. Satisfied with what he found, he tapped a few keys.

"Birkoff?" Nikita's voice with tight with tension. He shook his head at her.

"Communications are up. The team is gone." They stared at each other.