This story contains spoilers for all episodes, but particularly All Good Things and Third Party Ripoff. The characters of La Femme Nikita remain the property of WB, USA and Fireworks Entertainment. This story contains dialogue from Third Party Ripoff. All quotations are used without permission and remain the property of their authors.

To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. ~ Anonymous

~*~*~*~*~*~

Step.

Yes.

Step.

No.

First floor.

Leave.

Step.

Stay.

Step.

Love.

Step.

Duty.

Second Floor.

Step. He had taken the stairs up to her apartment. Four flights. The elevator would have taken him to her much faster. Step. He didn't want that. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to hear her say the words. Step. Didn't want to watch her beautiful mouth deliver what he knew would be a death sentence to his heart. The first glancing shot had already been fired in the aftermath of the Bergomi mission. She was afraid. He understood that. What he couldn't understand was that she was giving up so easily, she who was always such a fighter.

What did you expect? You've been telling her for three years that it isn't possible. You can't expect her to fall into your lap just because you've decided that it is. He suspected that Nikita had, at first, seen his pursuit of her as a shallow whim. That he had just woken up one morning and decided that he wanted her. The irony of it all would have made him smile if he wasn't so angry.

Her suspicion could not have been further from the truth. This was something he had agonised over for months. Years. Ever since he had brought her back into Section, for God's sake. Michael shook his head, trying to cool his thoughts. While the Vachek mission was still in play, there was nothing he could do. When he had finally lost Adam and Elena, Section's surveillance had been relentless. So he had bided his time. He had waited.

When Section had been compromised a month earlier and they had been forced to incinerate, he had seen his chance. He knew that he was taking a huge risk with both their lives, but Operations and Madeline were fully occupied with the reestablishment of the new premises, and he couldn't lie to himself any longer. He loved her, he needed her and he refused to wait any longer.

It made him wince to think about it now, but his initial overture during a rather awkward dinner at her apartment just over a month ago had been more nerve wracking than any deep cover double cross.

He didn't want her to just fall into his lap. He loved her stubbornness, her courage. Her strength of character. For her to be different would be unthinkable. And yet the thought that they no longer wanted the same thing was enough to send the panic barrelling through him in the worst way. That terrible conversation earlier in the week. The beseeching tone of his voice had surprised him, but he refused to hide his heart from her anymore.

We should stay together.

And she couldn't look at him. She just stared straight ahead, her eyes wet with the tears she was trying so hard to hold back. Her voice cracking as she said the words, words that hit him so hard that he felt winded.

I don't think I want that anymore.

Michael felt his feet moving, heard the soles of his heavy shoes scuff on rough cement as he climbed each step. Each step took him closer to a place his heart longed for, and yet did not want to be.

Third floor.

He had thought of nothing else all day, thought that if he created the scenario of what was to come in his mind, it might hurt less when reality came to pass. He had tried to picture her face...imagined her eyes glittering with bluish tears as she let him down as gently as she could, saying the words they both knew had to be said. We can't do this anymore. I love you but it's too dangerous. We can't be together.

It didn't work. It didn't numb him the way he intended. All it did was hone his grief to a knife-edged sharpness. In his whole adult life, he had never felt more vulnerable than he did right now. It had taken him so long to stop being afraid of the consequences of what he felt for her...even longer to convince Nikita that she could trust him with her heart. It had been a long, and sometimes too eventful, journey but together they had managed to negotiate the twin minefields of Section politics and their feelings for each other.

Michael knew that, given enough time, he would be able to talk her around, to convince her that what they had was worth anything Section might throw at them. But he had waited too long. They had gotten to her first.

He climbed the stairs, consumed with rage and the primal instinct to protect what was his. After the Velden mission last night, Madeline had spoken to him briefly in Systems. It had been obvious that she had disapproved of his decision to provide Nikita with backup, but she had issued no ultimatums. Not to him.

Then he had seen Nikita leaving Madeline's office an hour later, just before the formal debriefing, pale-faced and red-eyed. The sight had incensed him. He had been the one to break position, but Nikita was being made to bear the brunt of Section's displeasure. Infuriated beyond belief, he had gone after her. He needed to know what Madeline had said, although he was afraid he already knew. Madeline knew them both very well...knew that the best way to manipulate one was to influence the other.

Unaware of his silent presence, Nikita had paused for a moment in the corridor outside Comm., wiping her eyes almost angrily. When she'd caught sight of him watching her, her pale face had flushed, the tip of her nose turning bright pink.

"Are you alright?"

She gave him a smile, but her eyes were glassy with tears. "I'm fine." White teeth biting into the full bottom lip. A shrug. Then a lie. "You know how she is. Probably didn't like my dancing."

And then she was gone, walking away from him as though she was afraid of what he might say...of what she might say. During the debriefing that took place shortly afterwards, she had sat several seats away from him and hadn't once looked his way. It was only when the debriefing was over that she had let herself meet his gaze, and then only to give him a sadly hesitant smile before she walked from the room. Going home. Going without him, without talking to him. Despite the almost overwhelming urge to follow her and demand to know what had really happened in Madeline's office, he did the same. He went home without her to spend a sleepless night in his own bed. Alone. Furious. Desperate.

Fourth floor.

Apartment 412. He stood outside her door, longing to see her, but loath to hear the words he knew she would say. This is cowardice. Taking a deep breath, he rapped loudly on the door, his resolve strengthening with every rapid beat of his heart. He refused to believe that this was impossible. He had waited too long to just throw it all away now.

He was not giving her up.

~*~*~*~*~

There are always two choices. Two paths to take. One is easy. And its only reward is that it's easy. ~ Anonymous

Nikita threw the trashy romance novel she been trying to lose herself in onto the floor beside the couch and stared up at the ceiling. She hadn't even gotten past the first chapter. The adventures of the swarthy yet dashing pirate Vedren and his swooning female captive had nothing on what was happening in her own life at this particular point in time.

Damn Madeline. She shut her eyes, seeing again the coldness in the older woman's eyes during their little chat last night. Hardly a little chat. It was barely a conversation. Madeline had done most of the talking. Not to mention the telling.

Michael isn't letting go. You'll have to make him.

How could she make Michael let go when all she wanted to do was grab hold of him with both hands? Hang onto him so tight that she squeezed the breath right out of him?

I won't. I can't. Can't make me.

Nikita felt as mulish as any two-year as she muttered under her breath, but she didn't care. She wanted this to work. Wanted it more than anything in her life. To have waited so long, only to be told...Nikita let out her breath and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. She felt her palms sting and stared down at hands that were clenched into tight, desperate fists, nails digging into her skin.

She glared around the huge living room, at the empty space on the couch beside her. "This sucks."

One of the worst things about living alone...you tended to talk to yourself quite a bit. Ah, but you're never really alone when you're in Section, she thought with a twist of bitter humour. Well, Mystery Watchers, you can make of that highbrow statement what you will.

Nikita got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen, giving "Lust of a Pirate King" a token nudge with one foot, as it lay abandoned on the rug. She didn't even have the heart to trawl through all the schmaltz to get to the good bodice-ripping bits. She was definitely in a blue funk. Or maybe it was the fact that she'd actually been getting some real life bodice ripping action herself these days that had sapped her of the energy to read about other people's heaving bosoms and throbbing manhoods.

She felt her face grow hot as she considered the real life stuff. Deprivation definitely made the heart, and everywhere else, grow fonder. She and Michael had been through a whole year of nothing, then three astonishing weeks of everything. Her poor body didn't know what had hit it, and remembering the sight of Michael stifling a yawn during an early morning briefing last week, she suspected that his didn't either.

Nikita opened the refrigerator and stared unseeingly at its uninspiring contents. It wasn't just Madeline's directive that was making her miserable. A very liberal dose of guilt was making her literally sick to her stomach.

She had a problem. A big one. Having not had the guts to tell Michael the truth about her rather complicated extracurricular activities before they fell back into bed together, how the hell was she supposed to tell him now?

Nikita reached for a bottle of water, as if by some miracle she could wash away the sudden bad taste in her mouth.

The truth. What a joke. She'd lied so much during the last two years that she sometimes thought she wouldn't recognise the truth now if it came up and bit her on the backside. After endlessly ragging on Michael for keeping things hidden from her, she pretty much qualified as the world's biggest hypocrite.

She took a large swallow of water, the hot ache in the middle of her chest getting tighter. Sadly, there were three truths she did recognise.

One, Michael loved her. Truly loved her. It was there to see in his every word. Every look. Every touch. She had never felt so cherished in her entire life. With a sensual determination that had taken her breath away, he had decided that the time was right for them to be together. She hadn't stood a hope in hell of holding out, not that the thought of holding out had occurred to her for longer than two minutes, anyway.

Two, she loved him. Adored him with a passion that she could scarcely comprehend. Never in her life would she have believed herself capable of such raw emotion...such love.

And three? Nikita tossed the empty water bottle into the kitchen trashcan with a dull clunk, feeling her eyes water hotly. The third thing was that this relationship, as much as she wanted it to happen, had longed for it to happen, was a bad idea. Madeline had that part right, she just didn't have the faintest idea why she was right.

Exactly where, Nikita began to lecture herself with a sinking feeling, do you plan on fitting a relationship with Michael into this sorry mess you call your life? When things had started with Centre, she and Michael hadn't exactly been cosy. Back then, it had seemed the right thing to do. But now...

Nikita closed her eyes in despair. Now, things were very different. Cosy didn't even come to describing what was happening between her and Michael.

She reached up and touched the silver chain around her neck, the metal cool against her fingertips. He'd brought it back from Thailand for her last week. The thought that he'd actually shopped in the middle of a mission, even if it was only from a silversmith's stall, had made her laugh until she realised that she was crying, hot tears of misery that she couldn't begin to explain silently streaming down her face.

Her pulse quickened, remembering the feel of Michael's fingertips as they'd brushed lingeringly against the nape of her neck when he had fastened the clasp. The same fingers that had then moved through her hair to gently turn her teary face toward him, bringing her mouth to his with devastating accuracy. That had been a week ago, and until last night's mission, she hadn't taken the damn necklace off once, even when things had become strained between them. As if by taking it off, she would somehow be making a decision she wasn't sure she wanted to make.

Because she wanted to be with Michael. She wanted it so much that she could hardly bear to think that she might lose it.

But life with Centre and life with Michael were completely incompatible. A nightmare. And even though she knew now, without a doubt, which life she wanted more, it wasn't simply a matter of changing her mind.

The loud but controlled knock at the door made her heart flip over, sent her rummaging through her mental catalogue of visitors. It wasn't too late for visitors, just after ten, but it wasn't the time that bothered her. Only one person knocked quite that way, and she wasn't sure she was ready to see him.

You coward. She pulled back her shoulders and went to the door, her eyes darting up to the video security screen purely by habit. It was Michael, and he was standing outside her door, dressed as though he'd come straight from Section, looking almost nervous. The thought was so disconcerting that she hesitated, touching his image on the screen lightly, as though sneaking a phantom caress.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, but her planned casual greeting stuck in her throat. Michael looked as though he was half-expecting her to slam the door shut in his face, the dark hint of devastation in his eyes almost making her knees buckle underneath her.

Nikita swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned against the doorframe, more to stay upright on suddenly wobbly legs than to appear cool, calm and collected. "What's up?"

Michael stepped a little closer, his eyes dropping briefly to the necklace, then back up to burn into hers. "Did they talk to you?" She could hear the pain in his voice. He knew that Madeline had been pouring poison in her ear. He had come to her already expecting the worst. Oh god, I can't do this.

"Hmm...what do you mean?" When in doubt, stall. It was hard to think when he was so close.

His eyes never left hers. "Did Madeline suggest you stay away from me?" It was, she thought miserably, a brutally unromantic 'leader of the pack' scenario. Stay away from that boy with the leather jacket and motorbike, young lady. He's no good for you.

Nikita shrugged, barely able to look at him. "She called it a...type...one...directive." She could hear the bitterness in her voice, the sarcasm that dripped off every word. She looked up at him as she bit out the last word, seeing his face pale slightly, as though all his worst fears had been confirmed.

He took another step closer. She could feel the warmth of his body. Smell the clean scent of his skin. Feel his eyes sweeping her face, searching for an answer. "And how did you respond?"

The apprehension in his voice was almost her undoing. She looked down at his feet. Stared at his bootlaces. Anywhere but into those beautiful eyes that were dark with pain.

"I didn't." I couldn't. She dared a quick glance upward, and was lost. She saw the naked longing in his face and her heart nearly melted clean out of her chest.

He was so close that she felt as well as heard the unhappy sigh that escaped his lips. "They don't want us to be together."

"No..." Nikita swallowed the lump of despair tightening her throat and shook her head as she looked down at her bare toes. "They don't." She raised her gaze to his and saw with a pang the same defeat that was burning a hole in her gut shimmering in Michael's eyes. The hopelessness of it all made her want to throw her arms around him and bawl her eyes out against his chest.

She wouldn't have thought there was enough space between them, but he took another imperceptible step closer. Her skin prickled with awareness, her mouth going painfully dry. Michael's eyes were very dark, his voice so tight with unspoken fear that she shivered.

"And what about you?"

~*~*~*~*~

The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost. ~ G.K. Chesterton

When Nikita opened the door, it felt as though it had been days rather than hours since he had seen her. She looked at him for a brief moment, and he saw the sadness in her eyes. Leaning against the doorframe, she tried to give him a smile. "What's up?"

Michael found himself momentarily lost for words, all his carefully rehearsed arguments and angry dénouements flying out of his head. My god, she is beautiful. Despite his agitation, he took in the golden hair determinedly tucked behind her ears, the column of her neck pale and smooth above the pink sweater.

He let his eyes devour her beautiful face as he searched for the right words. A glimmer of bright metal snagged his gaze, and the breath caught in his chest. She was wearing the necklace he had brought back from Chang Mai. He knew that he was foolish to read anything into it other than the fact that she just liked it, but he did it all the same.

Any thought of making small talk or observing the proper pleasantries evaporated. His abruptness almost made him wince, but he couldn't bear to wait another second. He had to know. "Did they talk to you?"

A tiny frown appeared between Nikita's eyebrows, and he could have sworn that she shuffled her feet. "Hmm...what do you mean?" She was blushing, but not with pleasure.

She was silent, waiting for him to continue. Michael felt his heart pick up speed, its beat knocking unsteadily against his ribs. The magnitude of his feelings for this woman, tangled with the staggering realisation that she returned that love, was a phenomenon he could scarcely let himself believe. He had waited too long. He would not give it up. He had to make her see that this was right, that they were right...that there had to be a way to make it happen.

There could be no more games between them...now or ever. If ever there was a time for honesty, it was now. He moved closer, hands almost clenched into fists at his sides in an effort to keep from reaching for her. "Did Madeline suggest you stay away from me?" He could hardly get the question out.

Nikita blinked and looked away, but the tone of her voice made it quite clear that she was unimpressed. "She called it a...type...one...directive." She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes shining with unspent tears.

Michael felt something twist inside his heart. My God. It was much worse than he had feared. The mere fact that Section felt sufficiently threatened to take such a drastic step should have been enough to make him back away. His conscience pricked uncomfortably. It's too dangerous...you're putting her at risk by just by coming here, let alone pressuring her to stay together.

His conscience was fighting a losing battle. He couldn't walk away. Not now. Beating down a rising sense of panic, he moved closer, fighting the wild craving to touch her.

"And how did you respond?" He watched her eyes, desperately trying to see the answer there.

Nikita didn't prolong his agony. Her reply was swift. Decisive. "I didn't."

Relief swept through him at her answer but he knew it was a false sense of victory. Nothing more than an emotional placebo. "They don't want us to be together."

"No..." Nikita swallowed hard and looked down at her feet before gazing back up at him, her eyes luminous with sorrow. "They don't."

Another step brought him even closer. He could smell her perfume, a familiar, faintly exotic scent that never failed to stir his senses. Feeling as though he was about to step off the high wire without a safety net, Michael forced himself to ask the question that had been rattling around inside his heart for a week. "What about you?"

He held his breath.

Nikita looked down, a picture of indecision.

He waited.

Then she shrugged sadly and his heart jerked in his chest, as though pierced right through by an unseen hook. Despite her earlier conviction when she spoke of Madeline, Nikita now looked lost. Uncertain. Her lips parted, as though she would speak, but she stayed silent. An almost imperceptible shake of the head, a slight tightening of the lips, then she lifted her face to his.

"This directive..." Nikita hesitated, as though about to ask a question she didn't really want answered. "Has Section ever issued it before? Because of another couple, I mean?" She stumbled slightly over the word 'couple', looking almost embarrassed.

Michael shook his head. He didn't know the answer. Not yet. "I don't know."

Nikita folded her arms across her chest and sighed, tilting her head to one side as she looked at him. "Madeline didn't quite get around to telling me what would happen if we didn't comply, but I'm guessing that Section wouldn't be pleased?"

"No." He watched her as she looked down at the floor, her fingers unconsciously flicking over the silver chain around her neck. Weighing up the pros and cons, he thought apprehensively.

He couldn't let her shoulder the burden of choice alone. Not without telling her how he felt. "Nikita..." Their eyes met. Held. Choosing his words carefully, he edged closer, never taking his eyes from hers, keeping his voice low. "I don't know what Section will do if we ignore the directive." The fear that leapt into her eyes at his words spawned a fresh surge of guilt. But this was something worth fighting for. "I can't make this decision for you. All I can tell you is that I'm prepared to take that risk."

They stared at each other for an infinite moment. Nikita blinked and looked away, her eyes glittering with tears. He felt sick, his stomach roiling with the nausea of apprehension. After a few tense seconds, she pursed her lips and looked back up at him, and he finally let himself breath again. Everything she felt for him was there in her tear-stained eyes, in words that were thick with emotion.

"So am I." Feeling somewhat light-headed with relief, Michael cleared his throat. Nikita gave him a tiny, rather self-conscious smile and he felt his blood grow warm. They appeared to have come to a tentative agreement, even though the discussion was far from over.

"May I come in?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. ~ Ambrose Redmoon

Michael's eyes were very dark. "What about you?"

She looked away, hearing the catch in his voice, the slight thickening of his accent that signaled less than perfect control. Her mouth was dry. Her palms were damp. She felt almost sick with longing. Mute with misery, she could only shrug, Madeline's voice echoing nastily inside her head.

Michael isn't letting go. You'll have to make him.

Michael was right. Section did not want them to be together. Her heart felt eaten away, a hot gnawing pain taking up residence at the thought of losing him before she'd truly found him. She could feel his eyes on her. Waiting.

As it had earlier, one word came into her head. Coward. She had wanted this for so long. Now that it was hers, now that Michael was standing in front of her, practically handing his heart over to her, she was dithering around.

What happened to the girl who said she didn't care if she was cancelled if it meant they could live, really live, just for one day? To be honest, if she really thought about it, it was a relief not to be that girl any more, but what had happened to that fire...that passion? Michael was offering her so much more than just one day. He wanted to give her everything she had ever demanded of him...and then some. And she was keeping him waiting out in the hall.

Okay, maybe staying together wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but since when had she always done the sensible thing? She could hide behind the excuse of Centre all she liked, but it wouldn't change the fact that she was, purely and simply, afraid.

What would happen if they disobeyed Section's orders?

"This directive..." She paused, not really sure she was ready to hear another Section horror story, and yet she had to know. "Has Section ever issued it before? Because of another couple, I mean?" As soon as the word 'couple' was out of her mouth, she wanted to take it back. It was such a nice ordinary title that it didn't seem the right word to use.

Michael didn't seem to care about her choice of noun. He only frowned and shook his head. "I don't know."

She felt relieved and frustrated at the same time. If we don't know what we're up against...how can we even begin to fight back? She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the doorframe, her thoughts tripping down paths she didn't want them to go. "Madeline didn't quite get around to telling me what would happen if we didn't comply, but I'm guessing that Section wouldn't be pleased?"

"No." Despite her thoughts, Nikita couldn't help smiling to herself at Michael's succinct answer. Always such a master of understatement.

Her brief amusement faded as the reality of their situation hit home. Section wouldn't be pleased. That was a given. She was also pretty sure that blatantly disregarding the directive would be inviting trouble with a capital T. Nikita looked away, but she could feel Michael watching her. Waiting for her answer. Waiting for her to send him away. She touched her necklace, the metal cool against her fingertips, thinking about the look on his face when he had presented it to her. For god's sake, he had been in the middle of a Level Six takedown in Chang Mai. Stopping to buy her jewellery had been pure madness. And yet she knew why he had done it. She had been in his head, no matter what he was doing. Just as he had been in hers.

He made her feel normal. He made her feel real. After so many years of feeling like a goddamn ghost, having Michael love her was a heady rush that she wasn't sure she could live without anymore.

Yes or no. Obey or rebel. Really live or merely survive.

His voice broke into her thoughts. "Nikita..." She looked up at him as he moved even closer, until there was not even an inch between them. The intensity in his clear green eyes almost forced her to take a step back. "I don't know what Section will do if we ignore the directive."

Nikita blanched at his words, her heart plunging to the bottom of her stomach. This is too dangerous. I don't know if they'll go after Michael, or me, or both of us. And Centre won't lift a finger to help if Section decides to take us out. I can't do this.

Michael was watching her carefully with those beautiful eyes that never, ever missed a thing. He bent his head closer to hers, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "I can't make this decision for you. All I can tell you is that I'm prepared to take that risk."

Oh Lord.

Okay, she was afraid. She admitted it. What she felt for Michael terrified her...but the way he made her feel astounded her. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. Their eyes met in a look of mutual longing and apprehension, and every single argument she had given herself before he had knocked on her door quickly fell away. Her fear and doubt dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind just one frantic resolution.

I can't give him up.

His eyes searched hers urgently. She could feel the tension radiating from him as they exchanged a lingering stare. Her heart was in her mouth. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. All she could do was feel. I can't give him up.

The decision was suddenly easy. "So am I."

Her heart pounding, she watched anxiously as Michael's expression changed to one of relief, the tension in his body easing noticeably. Seeing this, she let out a soft sigh, feeling limp and wrung out, like she'd just crawled off one of those gravity-defying fairground rides. In silence, Michael's gaze roamed over her face, dipping down to brush her mouth in an almost tactile caress that made her shiver.

He cleared his throat softly, the sound bringing her back to earth. She gave him a hesitant smile, and his lips twitched before he bowed his head gallantly.

"May I come in?"

She stepped back, conscious of the sudden acceleration of her pulse. "Of course."

"Thank you."

Michael stepped past her into the apartment, so close that his arm brushed against hers. Her whole arm instantly felt as though it was on fire She felt so aware of him that she was like a tuning fork, as though that one touch had left her whole body literally humming. To her utter annoyance, Michael merely gave her a small smile, seemingly unaffected. He turned back, shutting the door firmly behind him. Unable to keep from touching him any longer, Nikita reached out, stilling him with a hand on his forearm.

They were standing very close. Nikita could feel the warmth of his body. She could have counted the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, could have tallied the number of dark brown whiskers that roughened the cleft in his chin. She could have drowned in the dark emotion in his eyes if she wasn't careful to keep both feet on the ground. The smell of him, skin and soap and heat, made her want to bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in until her head was spinning. Who needed oxygen?

Michael exhaled lightly and Nikita felt the hard muscles of his forearm twitch beneath her hand. A gentle tremor went through him and she knew that she was very wrong to think he was unaffected. Far from it. He was humming too. She saw it in his face; saw the potent mix of relief and desire burning in his eyes, eyes that were now staring at her mouth. He wanted her. Needed to be with her, very badly.

She wanted him too. But she also wanted to tell him everything that Madeline had said to her. They had to decide how to handle this. With a presence of mind she had no idea she possessed, Nikita patted Michael's arm before giving him a quick smile. She then turned and headed for the kitchen, trying to remember how to breathe.

'Very bad' was good. It was very good. But first, they needed to talk.

~*~*~*~*~

Honour isn't about making the right choices. It's about dealing with the consequences. ~ Anonymous

"May I come in?"

As though she had just become aware that she was barring the doorway, Nikita blushed and stepped back, allowing him to move past her into the apartment. "Of course."

Her back against the open door, she was so close that his arm brushed against hers, a fleeting touch that still managed to send his pulse racing. He swallowed hard, desire fogging his thoughts, his brain trying to remember the basic rules of etiquette.

"Thank you."

To say that his emotions were not quite under control was something of an understatement. The heady rush of relief had not dispersed the adrenaline that had been thrumming through him ever since he left Section. If anything, it had been intensified.

She wanted them to be together. She wanted him. The mere thought was enough to make him want to abandon any pretence at being a civilised man, to acknowledge the less than noble, almost paralysing lust that was currently demanding his body's wholehearted attention.

Door. Shut door. Feeling Nikita's eyes on him, he gave her a slow smile as he turned to shut the door behind him, wanting to forget everything and everyone that lay outside the threshold. All he wanted to think about was the two of them.

She was suddenly right beside him, her hand lightly resting on his forearm. The simple touch burned, through his jacket, through his shirt, clean through to his tingling skin. It had been a week since they had made love. A week since she had touched him like this.

They stood together in silence, just looking at each other. She was unconsciously stroking his arm with her thumb, the gentle caress sending little ripples of warmth up his arm and across his shoulders. She was so close that he could feel her warm breath on his face. Her eyes were very blue. Eyes that seemed to look so deeply inside him that he knew there was no longer any part of him that she didn't know. Her mouth, pink lips softly parted, only a whisper away from his. It seemed a very long time since he had kissed her.

He couldn't control the shudder that danced through him. A reaction to the desperation he'd felt for the last few hours. To have come so close to losing her...Michael felt his gaze slipping down to Nikita's mouth once more. He felt reckless. And decidedly lecherous, despite his best intentions to discuss the situation in depth before he let himself be enjoyably sidetracked.

Nikita's eyes widened slightly, as though he was projecting his rather indecent thoughts onto the white wall behind him, a private viewing of coming attractions. With an elegant twitch of an eyebrow, she patted his arm in an almost commiserating gesture, tossed him a brilliant smile and turned her back on him.

He watched her stroll into the kitchen and shook his head ruefully. The day she stopped surprising him was the day life became boring. Nikita moved around the kitchen, opening cupboards and taking out two chunky wineglasses. As though aware of his scrutiny, her hips had just that little extra sway to them...the long blonde hair being used to its full advantage, tossed perhaps a few more times than usual.

He watched her. There was an underlying sadness to her flirtatious manner, a tension that she was working very hard to conceal, desperately trying to pretend that everything was fine. She glanced over at him, her voice not quite steady.

"Wine?"

He slipped his jacket off and tossed it over the back of her couch. "Thank you."

Nikita eyed the discarded jacket and blinked before looking back at him, flushing as she held up a bottle of red wine. "Red okay?" She was chattering nervously, opening and closing drawers, hunting for the corkscrew with increasing agitation.

"Yes." He walked into the kitchen to stand beside her, close enough to touch, far enough away to keep his hands to himself.

Nikita snatched the errant corkscrew out from the third drawer. Her hands were shaking, both desire and sorrow written plainly on her face. "Grenache okay? I haven't tried this one before but..."

He reached out, gently sliding his hand up her arm, threading his fingers through her hair to cup the nape of her neck in his palm. "Nikita..."

The bright mask fell away, and she dropped the corkscrew onto the kitchen bench with a clatter. "Why are they doing this?" Her voice cracked, torn in two by anger and despair. "I don't understand. Why do they even care?" She lifted her eyes, brimming with tears, to his. The miserable confusion he saw in them made his heart ache.

Michael took her by the shoulders and gently turned her to face him. Nikita's apartment was not designated for surveillance during this rota, but he could no longer assume that to be the case. If things had progressed so far that Madeline had initiated a Type One Directive, then it stood to reason that surveillance would have been reactivated. Damn them.

However...if they were listening, perhaps he would give them something to think about. He reached up a hand to stroke her hair, abstractly studying the way the pale strands clung silkily to his fingertips.

"They're afraid."

A puzzled expression crept across her face. "Afraid?" She reached up and put her hand over his, gently tugging it away from her hair to cradle it in between her own. "Of us?" She sounded incredulous, but he hardly registered her disbelief. He was watching, rapt, as she traced the lines on his palm with her fingertips, scratching her fingernails along the fleshy mound beneath his thumb almost absentmindedly, lost in thought. To his discomfort, the simple caress, a caress that was more about seeking comfort than seducing, sent the blood rushing straight to his groin.

With a concerted effort, Michael ignored the miscreant blood flow, and refocused his thoughts. "They are afraid if we are together, really together, the balance of power within Section with shift." That, thankfully, made Nikita pause in her agonisingly tender exploration of his palm to look up at him sharply.

"Why?" With a distracted air of 'make yourself useful', she took his left hand and wrapped it around the neck of the wine bottle before dropping the corkscrew into his right. She smacked her hand down on the bench top in frustration and looked up at him, her eyes flashing. "Just because that's what they did to Adrian, they're assuming that we're planning to do the same thing to them?"

She was angry, her voice tight. Smiling to himself at her astuteness, Michael concentrated momentarily on the wine, carefully slicing through the foil before deftly pulling out the cork. When both glasses were filled, he handed one to Nikita, gratified to see that she had calmed slightly.

He paused to consider her words. "Perhaps." The threat of an impending internal coup was not the only thing that made Section's leaders nervous.

Nikita frowned at his answer as she sipped automatically at the wine he'd given her. "What else is there for them to be afraid of?" She was examining her glass as though it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen, avoiding his eyes.

Michael took a long swallow of wine and watched her over the rim of his glass. "How I feel about you."

~*~*~*~*~

Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets. ~ Paul Tournier

Ignoring the tremulous fluttering of her heart as best she could, Nikita took two wine glasses out of the cupboard and tried to find the right words.

In the end, she gave up. "Wine?" She darted a look at Michael only to be greeted with the sight of him shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto her couch.

"Thank you." He was watching her lazily. Nikita felt her insides go zing and blinked at him. Oh boy. Trouble. Big trouble. This discussion was in serious danger of being cancelled due to lack of interest.

She grabbed the first bottle of wine she could reach. "Red okay?"

"Yes." Michael strolled into the kitchen to lean casually against the bench top a few feet away, arms folded across his chest. He appeared to be highly amused by her search for the bottle opener. Nikita ignored him and continued looking through the kitchen drawers, feeling more than a little rattled. The warm glow of relief was fading, all those dark little fears were cramming back into her head. The idea that Madeline had been keeping tabs on everything they did together, making little notes about their relationship, made her sick to her stomach. Did she know that he was here now?

She was about to abandon hope of ever finding the corkscrew when she spied it, lurking in the wrong drawer. Bloody Mick, she thought with resentment. She tried to flick the corkscrew open but her hands were suddenly trembling. She felt close to tears, and it wasn't because Mick kept borrowing her bottle opener without asking. "Grenache okay? I haven't tried this one before but..."

She was babbling, and she knew it.

Michael did too. He closed the distance between them so quickly that he was beside her before she even saw him move. She felt his hand on her shoulder before he gently threaded his fingers through her hair, his hand a warm, comforting weight on the back of her neck.

"Nikita..."

A soft, loving warning. Don't pretend that everything is all right. You don't have to pretend with me.

It dissolved what was left of her control. Her conscience stinging, Nikita tossed the bottle opener onto the bench top angrily. "Why are they doing this?" She could hear the muted rage in her voice. "I don't understand. Why do they even care?" Tears of frustration stung her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked at him.

Then his hands were on her shoulders, adeptly turning her to look at him. She blinked away the tears to find him watching her with so much tenderness that her heart literally shook. His eyes searched hers as he lifted a hand to gently touch her hair, a light, soothing caress.

"They're afraid."

Confused, Nikita stared at him. "Afraid?" That Section could feel threatened by her relationship with Michael seemed ludicrous. But she remembered Madeline's words, the hard look in the other woman's eyes, and a chill ran through her. Needing to feel the warmth of his touch, Nikita reached up to her hair and gently stilled Michael's caressing hand, pulling it down to clutch it tightly in her own. "Of us?" God...how she wanted him to deny it! If Madeline and Operations were fixated on them, what chance did they have? They should damn well sort out their own mess of a relationship first.

Quietly seething, she looked down at Michael's hand in hers, the tanned skin resting comfortably against her own paleness. How could something so beautiful, capable of such tenderness, be so deadly? The long, elegant fingers that could melt her whole body with a single touch could just as easily crush an enemy's windpipe with a single blow. The thought should have unsettled her, but it didn't. It made her feel safe. Nikita ran her fingernails downward, lingering over the swell of his palm, just under his thumb. She heard Michael's breathing change imperceptibly, and hid a small, very female smile.

His voice, however, betrayed no sign of distraction. "They are afraid if we're together, really together, they will lose the balance of power. "

She abandoned her instinctive teasing of the erogenous areas of Michael's palm to stare at him. "Why?" But as soon as she had demanded the answer, Nikita wasn't sure she was ready to hear it. Because she had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew what it would be. I need a drink. She snatched up the corkscrew before maneuvering Michael into an appropriate wine opening position.

He took her less than subtle hint and turned his attention to the bottle of Grenache. Nikita watched him, feeling bemused and a little overwhelmed. Michael was standing in her kitchen, opening wine and smiling at her. Easily. Naturally. As though they'd been doing this for years rather than weeks. She was stunned by the easy domesticity of it all, and the prospect of losing what they had finally found with each other was suddenly, terrifyingly real. Nikita felt her temper flare as Madeline's imperious directive came back to her once more.

Michael isn't letting go. You'll have to make him.

How dared she? The injustice of it seared her to the bone. Overcome by the sudden urge to hit something, she slammed her hand down onto the bench top, wishing she had the guts to do the same to their superiors. Of all the highhanded...She glared at Michael. "Just because that's what they did to Adrian, they're assuming that we're planning to do the same thing to them?"

Nikita couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry. She was literally trembling with rage, but Michael seemed to take her outburst in his stride. As usual. He just continued opening the wine, giving the small task his undivided attention, his movements unhurried and sure. It was how he did everything. The thought made Nikita stare at her hands, feeling overwrought and foolish. A glass of red wine suddenly appeared in front of her, and she took it gratefully.

Michael was quiet, as though he was still considering her question. Finally, he answered, his voice soft. "Perhaps."

Perhaps? She scowled and took a sip, vaguely aware that it was quite a nice wine. Michael's ambiguous answer had set the alarm bells ringing in her head. Leading a double life did tend to make a girl more than a little paranoid. Unable to look at him, she stared at her glass. "What else is there for them to be afraid of?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Michael watching her intently as he drank his own wine, his eyes never leaving her face. "How I feel about you."

Smack. Direct hit, right to her heart. How I feel about you. Speechless, she turned to stare at him. During the past month, they had spoken of need and desire but, as though by unspoken agreement, the word love had not been mentioned.

Nikita licked her dry lips nervously. Her heart racing. "And how is that, exactly?" She could barely meet his eyes.

Michael carefully placed his glass on the counter and moved closer, close enough to take the glass from her suddenly trembling fingers. Close enough to slide his warm hands up her arms from elbow to shoulder, the light touch singing her through her thin woollen sweater. Close enough to lean forward and brush his mouth over hers in a delicately erotic kiss.

With a silent sigh, Nikita flattened her palms against his chest, feeling the steady throb of his heart beneath her splayed fingers. His mouth was warm and gently demanding, the wine scented taste of him making her skin shiver with lust. It was an achingly tender kiss that left no room for doubt.

He loved her.

One of Michael's hands tangled in her hair while the other slid around to the small of her back, urging her closer. She could feel his hardening erection pressing against her belly. The blood was singing in her veins, heat flowering through her whole body, blossoming into a hot ache between her legs. Heart hammering in her chest, Nikita slid her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe in her bare feet to push her hips hard against his.

Michael moaned, a low sound in the back of his throat. Nikita smiled against his mouth and daintily flicked her tongue along the seam of his softly parted lips. Then he was kissing her again, hard and desperate, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, turning her in his arms until her back was pressed against the kitchen bench. Kissing her so hungrily she thought her skin would catch on fire, his tongue exploring her mouth with devastating thoroughness.

Dizzy from lust and lack of oxygen, Nikita reluctantly broke the kiss, pulling back to gaze at Michael dazedly. He was watching her through half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, his breathing rapid and shallow. He was looking at her mouth as though he wanted to devour her whole.

He loved her. And that was all that mattered right now. She licked her lips again, and watched his pupils dilate. Hardly able to hear her voice over the pounding of her heart, she took his hand in hers.

"I guess we can talk later."

~*~*~*~*~*~

When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly. ~ Frank Outlaw

Michael took a long swallow of wine and watched her over the rim of his glass. "How I feel about you."

Nikita turned to stare at him with startled blue eyes. She blinked once or twice, then blushed. The pale skin of her neck and face tinged pink with warmth as she licked her lips. Lust flared, his groin tightening painfully as he watched her.

She seemed almost overwhelmed by his simple statement, and looked down at the wineglass in her hand as she spoke. "And how is that, exactly?"

The uncertainty in her voice both saddened and hurt him. My god, if you don't know by now...But he recognised the fear shining in her eyes, and knew that she had not intended to wound him by any lingering insecurity. God knows, he had given her enough reason to doubt him in the past. But that was then. The here and now was very different and Nikita needed to realise that difference if they were to have any hope of staying together.

Michael put his glass down before closing the gap between them to swiftly divest her of her own barely touched wine. His fingertips brushed against hers as he did so, making his skin tingle pleasantly. She was watching him almost warily, lips slightly parted. Nervous. Waiting. His words hanging between them.

How I feel about you.

He needed to touch her. Kiss her. Show her. Tell her. Sliding his hands up her arms, Michael bent toward her. He could see his reflection in her pupils, saw his own desire mirrored back at him.

Her lips were soft and warm. Welcoming. With an effort, he kept the kiss gentle, wanting her to believe everything that he felt for her. It wasn't just lust. It wasn't just obligation. It wasn't just need. It was love, a pure, raw emotion that left him feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life.

Nikita made a low humming noise, almost a sigh, and moved closer, leaning into him. Her hands were warm on his chest as she kissed him back just as gently.

A question asked. An answer given.

Almost of its own accord, his hand crept up to tangle itself in her long hair, inhaling deeply as the caress stirred the sweet scent of her shampoo. His control slipped, then rallied. He was already hard from wanting her, but determined not to rush, he contented himself with letting his hand slip down to the small of her back.

Then she was winding her arms around his neck, raising herself up on bare toes to rub against him, the erotic pressure making him shudder. He groaned softly and felt her smile against his mouth, as though pleased by the effect she was having. Then she kissed him, her tongue dancing lightly over his lips.

Control broke.

Uncaring of surveillance, forgetting his earlier resolution to be patient, he pulled her against him hard and took her mouth in a tenderly brutal kiss, a kiss that she returned without hesitation. And yet it wasn't enough. The blood thundering in his ears, he backed her up until her back was pressed hard against the kitchen bench, dropping his hands to her hips to hold her to him. Her mouth was hot and sweet, her body soft and trembling. He wanted her so much that he could barely breathe.

With a soft gasp, Nikita pulled away, breathing hard. Her hair was tousled, her blue eyes glazed. Her mouth was swollen, the bottom lip still bearing the faint marks of his teeth. They stared at each other for a long moment. Michael could hear his pulse, feel it slamming through his veins, pounding between his legs. He knew they had to talk but...