It was about 2:00am. Nikita fumbled with her key, cursed silently, and finally opened the door. A slight breeze disturbed the stillness, fluttering the gossamer sheers at the French doors on the far side of her apartment. Home at last, she thought, glad the mission was over -- for tonight, anyway. It hadn't been all that difficult, just reconnaissance, but it was late, and she was tired.

Nikita closed the door and tossed her keys on the counter. She pulled off her toque and coat, dropping the garments one by one as she walked to the kitchen. Tilting her head from side to side, Nikita uttered a long sigh, trying to release the day's tension. She remembered a bottle of wine was in the fridge and poured a glassful. Sipping generously, she pulled her hair from her collar, grabbed the wine bottle, and headed upstairs. She was just starting to relax and decided a long, hot bath was in order. After positioning the wine bottle and glass on the tub rail, she opened the faucets fully, adding her favorite scented bath oil.

She recalled the time Red Cell gunmen shattered the shower door in this room; Nikita had never replaced it, thinking that might help her forget. She tried to bury the memory of that night, along with other, more painful, personal ones from that mission, but from time to time it all crept into her consciousness. This was such a time.

Nikita flashedback to that terrible moment, replaying the events in her mind. Thinking of it now with pride, satisfied she had resolved the situation on her own. Instinct, adrenaline and training took control; she conquered her fear. It was only after the threat was defeated that the terror wrapped around her mind like cancerous ganglia.

But training did not protect her heart that night in Morocco when she learned Section, and Michael, had exploited her, used her emotions for their own ends. The bullet that ripped through her shoulder was nothing compared to the pain than ripped her heart. The physical wound healed quickly, her heart, however, was not so easily mended. Section, Michael, taught her how to survive the most dangerous situations, but it was because of them her life - and heart - were routinely in jeopardy.

Michael. She was too tired to think about him. He was the proverbial enigma, a force of nature that amazed and confused her; maybe the word oxymoron was even more descriptive. Michael could be cruel kindness, heartless compassion, bittersweet. The attraction that drew her to him was as powerful as the moon on the tides, and as unrelenting. He pulled her in with those incredible, unfathomable eyes and hypnotic voice, then pushed her away with lies and deceit. Nikita loved him and hated him all at once, her emotions always tittering on the edge of that fine line.

Michael had been particularly attentive lately, complimenting her clothes, her workouts, even a new hairdo. It was always a surprise -- a pleasant one, but she had learned long ago not to trust the obvious with Michael, what was apparent on the surface was not necessarily the truth.

No, she wouldn't, couldn't think about him anymore. She undressed and slipped into the soothing, oil-laded water. Taking a sip of wine, she leaned back and closed her eyes, resting her arms on the bathtub. Despite a concerted effort to say unfocused, Michael's image filled her mind. Nikita was too exhausted to force it away. She even admitted, on some level, she didn't really want to. His effect on her was omnipotent and she was drawn to him in spite of everything.

"Nikita...." Michael stood in the bathroom doorway, a slight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, his eyes wide at the vision of her physical beauty shimmering under the clear water.

Nikita opened her mouth to speak, but Michael captured her lips in a passionate kiss. He knelt beside the tub and looked at her with loving eyes. Nikita's breath caught in her throat, her eyes trying to read his expression.

Michael picked up the natural sponge from the shower caddy and eased it under the water near her feet. Gently, so gently, he massaged her right foot. The motion was slow and deliberate as he began moving the sponge along her ankle and calf, rolling it around her knee to her inner thigh. Michael's hand passed her most private place, his fingers touching her lightly as they trailed behind the sponge.

"Michael," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion and longing.

He caressed her face with his left hand, his thumb stroking her cheek as she leaned into his hand. Lifting and squeezing the sponge, Michael drizzled water over her breasts, repeating several times as Nikita arched her back in response. He watched her intently as the droplets tickled her tingling flesh. Nikita sighed contentedly and the wineglass slipped from her fingers, falling harmlessly on the bathroom rug.

Drawing herself into a sitting position, the bath oil glistening on her skin, Nikita tangled her fingers in his long, auburn hair. Releasing the sponge, Michael caressed a breast tenderly, then slowly stimulated the nipple with a delicate, circular motion. Nikita took his hand from her face and pressed a kiss to his palm, then drew his attention by sucking his fingertips. They looked at each other with laser intensity. Nikita pulled him to her and kissed him deeply, hard and long, with all the desire she possessed.

Michael succumbed willingly to her power, then returned her passion with his own. She could hardly contain her emotions as white-hot fire seared her senses. It was visceral - all consuming. With just a touch, a kiss, he transported her to unimaginable realms.

"Nikita...." That voice. Michael pronounced her name like no other, affectionately enunciating every syllable. "Nikita...Nikita...." That voice with just a hint of French inflection, called to her. But instead of the soothing lilt she expected, she noted desperation in his tone. It was only then that Nikita heard the rapid knocking at the front door.

"Michael?" She questioned, finally opening her eyes and finding she was alone. He was here, with me, she thought, trying to reconcile reality. Nikita was confused and disoriented, but she managed to get out of the tub and throw her robe around her.

"Nikita!"

"Ah...coming. I'm coming," Nikita called out, scurrying to the front door. She checked the peephole, gulped air, and opened the door.

"You're OK," he sighed, not hiding the relief he felt in his eyes or in his smile.

Nikita grinned nervously, diverting her eyes. "I was just taking a bath, and....uhmm...."

"I see," Michael replied, registering the damp, clinging robe and the water dripping at her feet.

Blushing under his scrutiny, Nikita managed to ask, "Why are you here, Michael?"

"Couldn't sleep," he offered hurriedly. "Still wound up from the mission, I guess." Michael knew he had not answered her question, but Nikita seemed too distracted to challenge him on it. Noting the clothes on the floor behind her, he wondered if she was alone and shifted his gaze to see inside the apartment, trying not to be too obvious, "May I come in?"

Nikita looked at him curiously, he seemed uncharacteristically uneasy. Unhooking the chain, she opened the door.

"I've been thinking about you," he said, as she closed the door behind him.

"Me too," Nikita said with a knowing smile, "I've been thinking about you, too."

"Have you?" Michael smiled back at her, his eyes caressing her face.

Nikita blushed anew, but decided to take the conversation in a different direction. She wanted him, that was clear enough from her dream, and she was in the mood, but she also wanted to find out why he was really here. Picking up her coat and hat, she tossed them on a nearby barstool and asked, "can I get you something to drink? I have some Merlot."

"Great. Whatever you have."

Nikita padded over to the refrigerator then remembered the wine was upstairs. "Be right back," she said, handing him a glass. She returned in seconds with the wine and her own glass.

"Interesting place to keep wine," he mused, "don't think I've ever seen a wine rack in the bathroom," he teased.

"Oh," Nikita demurred, "I was just indulging while I had a bath."

"Allow me," Michael offered, taking the bottle from her and pouring the wine. He extended the glass to Nikita as he sat down.

She touched his hand as she reached for the glass and smiled coyly, "Thank you."

Michael and Nikita had grown comfortable as mission partners, often displaying a sixth sense about the other's moves or circumstances, but the quiet times alone always proved difficult, so much was still unspoken between them. Nikita knew Michael cared for her, tried to protect her, even when she didn't want it, but he never clearly stated his feelings or intentions, and Nikita wasn't about to make any assumptions. Her heart was all she had control over and she refused to offer it without demonstrative proof of Michael's feelings for her.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here," Michael finally spoke, trying to start the conversation.

"It must be important for you to come by this late, or should I say early."

Michael nodded, struggling to find the words he really wanted to say. He needed her to understand him, believe in him, but convincing her of the voracity of his feelings would not be easy given their history.

"You look tired," Nikita continued.

"I am, a little. But mostly I'm tired of holding back." Michael moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Holding back?" Nikita was determined to make him speak his mind.

"So much is unsaid between us...." Michael took the wineglasses and set them on the coffee table. Nikita was surprised, but tried not to let it show as Michael took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. Searching her face for any sign of encouragement, he found it in her sparkling blue eyes. "You are a truly beautiful woman, Nikita."

"Yeah, dressed in all this finery," she laughed nervously, looking down at her damp robe.

"Dressed in anything...nothing." Michael's tone was seductive; he penetrated her with his intense green eyes. "I've always thought so," he continued, touching her cheek, "since the first moment I saw you."

"Another fashion disaster," Nikita quipped, remembering the white tank top and sweat pants she had on when she woke up in Section the first time. She fidgeted self-consciously, her nervousness now apparent. But her instincts told her Michael was being genuine, and she believed him -- that's what scared her. "I'm sure you didn't drop by to discuss my sense of style."

Michael frowned, this was difficult enough and she was being flippant. "No, I didn't," he said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. "But if you're not ready to listen, then...." He started to get up, but Nikita grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry, Michael, it's just.... Oh hell!" Unable to keep her desire in check, Nikita took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. She laced her fingers in his hair and leaned her forehead against his. "I've been wanting to do that since you got here."

"Nikita...." Michael sighed deeply, lifting her damp hair from the side of her face.

She put a finger to his lips, "don't talk - show me." Nikita picked up his hand and placed it on her breast, leaning in to nibble on his ear, "touch me," she whispered invitingly.

Her words enticed him like a siren's song to lonely sailors. Although his words might not be enough to convince her of his affection, he could worship her with his body, revealing the depths of his feelings, slowly, fervidly, with every touch, every kiss. That she wanted him ignited his desire like a wildfire in the wind, fanning the flames of his passion. Gently massaging her through the fabric of her robe, he covered her mouth in a burning kiss, tickling the roof of her mouth with his tongue. His intensity left her breathless, but hungry for more. Nikita moaned deep in her throat and she returned his kiss as if to devour him.

They focused only on each other; nothing could distract them, both so intent on experiencing every sensation to infinity. Michael untied the sash of her robe and pulled it off her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts to his esurient gaze. He took one hard nipple in his mouth, nipping it gently with his teeth, then taking her fully, his hand sensitively massaging her. Nikita arched her back, a million nerve endings exploded from the electricity in his touch.

Michael eased her down on the sofa and opened her robe completely, astounded by her amazing body, invited by her soft curves. His hands moved over her silky skin, fondling and caressing every luscious part of her. Nikita tugged at the edge of his sweater. Michael stopped his exploration just long enough for her to pull it over his head in one swift motion. Her hands danced over his smooth, flawless skin, stopping to squeeze his muscular pecs. Michael reveled in her touch and tilted his head back as she raised up to nibble his neck. He groaned at the powerful sensations surging through him, his arousal straining against his jeans.

Nikita leaned back then, and raised her left knee until it rested on the back of the sofa. Michael massaged the underside of her thigh as he bathed her taut abdomen with his moist tongue. Nikita grabbed behind her head, digging her fingers into the fabric on the arm of the sofa. Stretching his full length over her, Michael trailed his tongue across her neck and shoulders, then moved further down her lean torso, suckling each breast again as he traced the curve of her hips with his fingertips. Nikita mewled intermittently at his heavenly torture, her head rolling from side to side against the cushions.

Michael continued his intensive tongue bath, finally reaching her dewy femininity, her musky scent enticing him. She spread her legs willingly as Michael buried his mouth in her soft folds, his tongue teasing and caressing her clit as he pressed his fingertips to the soft flesh of her inner thighs, easing her legs open even more. Nikita was approaching meltdown; she groaned his name, lifting her hips to meet his oral embrace. Michael looked up at her with a satisfied grin, encouraged by her desire. Grasping the back of the sofa, Michael raised himself up, quickly discarding his jeans and underwear, shoes and socks.

Nikita smiled salaciously, staring at his beautiful, sculptured body; words failed her, then finally finding her voice, she invited him, "I want you...I want you inside me." Her hips swayed in anticipation as she reached up to him.

Michael lowered himself down on her glistening body, lapping at her lips with his tongue. Nikita reached down and gently guided his hard shaft to her. His entire body shuddered as the tip of his heat touched her moistness; he watched her intensely as he slowly penetrated her. Moving gracefully above her, he plumbed her depths, filling her again and again as their bodies moved as one in the rhythm of lovers. Their senses erupted simultaneously as they reached orgasm, both crying out from the affects of their long-anticipated union. They clutched each other in mutual exhaustion, listening to the drumming beat of their hearts. There was still much left unsaid between them, but their bodies had clearly spoken the language of love.

Michael got up reluctantly, and sat against the corner of the sofa. He held out his arms to her, and Nikita crawled onto his lap. She stroked his cheek, then combed his hair with her fingers. Michael kissed her forehead as Nikita rested her head on his shoulder. They just held each other for a while in a tender embrace as their breathing returned to normal.

After a time, Michael lifted her chin so he could see her radiant face. Looking deeply into her exquisite blue eyes, he whispered, "I need you, Nikita... so much." She smiled up at him as he tightened his embrace and continued, his voice strong and clear, "I love you, more than I ever thought I could."

Nikita's eyes flooded with spontaneous tears, her eyes wide with wonder. Michael frowned questioningly at the sudden tears, not quite sure how to interpret them. Nikita quickly wiped the frown away with a loving stroke of her hand, and smiled brightly, "I love you, too, Michael. I have for a long time."

"Nikita..." Michael sighed, kissing her softly. His tenderness and passion had told her more about his love for her than a thousand words.

"Tell me this isn't a dream," Nikita said, her lips against his ear.

"If it is, then we're both having it," he grinned, tenderly caressing her back.

"What are we going to do, Michael?" There was no need to clarify what she meant; they both knew.

"Make love until the phone rings." He kissed her again. "Stay with me in this moment, Nikita. Right now there is only us. No worries for the future, no regrets about the past." Michael knew reality would come crashing in on them soon enough. But now, he didn't want to think about anything but this amazing woman he loved, and what an epiphany this moment was for both of them. Nikita stood up and took his hand, "then let's make the most of it. Want to try another room?" Michael laughed and followed her upstairs to the bedroom. Their impassioned lovemaking continued to light up the night like fireworks in a dark sky. This night, the phone never rang.

-finis-

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