Michael entered his cold loft. He absently checked the place, searching the room for any possible signs of intrusion. A habit so imprinted in him he didn't even register it anymore.

This time though, it made him stop in his tracks. He inhaled heavily acknowledging that not so long ago he couldn't have cared less if anybody had been trying to threaten his life. He had almost hoped somebody would. As he moved to engage his security system, he wondered if he would have tried to stop them or would have let himself be killed. What would have prevailed, his desperation or his survival instincts?

In the end, it seemed his will to live had been the strongest as always. But Michael didn't feel like he had chosen life. His existence in Section couldn't be qualified as LIFE! Michael didn't believe in God or Heaven and therefore he didn't believe in Hell either. But he knew for certain there was a purgatory. He lived in it!

He didn't bother to shed his long black coat and moved towards the CD player. Section had provided him with new furniture, simple and efficient, dark mostly. Among it, was an expensive stereo system but he had had no time and no desire to buy any records.

After his coffee with Nikita though, the perspective to return alone to this place had made him shiver. He had stopped in front of a music shop on the way home and checked the CDs just to give himself an excuse not to go back just yet.

He had retreated towards the classical music department away from the crowds of youngsters strolling along the techno/rap/pop music sections. As he tried to gather the energy to go back to his place where he knew the cello and Adam's frozen picture were awaiting him he noticed a particular CD.

He caressed the cellophane covered case almost amorously. Then, his decision taken, he moved towards the counter. After buying it, he had found the strength to go home.

Now several weeks later, he still hadn't found the energy to listen to it. But tonight was different he decided and he moved to retrieve the CD and began to open it.

As he placed it into the CD player, his cellular phone rang. He immediately answered it.

"Jacques," said a disembodied voice.

"Yes," Michael simply answered before hanging up.

He briefly closed his eyes and longingly looked the CD case he still held. As he forced himself to shift back to mission mode, he reminded himself that Section always managed to get in the way of his heart's desires.

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

"Nikita, take point," ordered Michael with his Section voice.

She immediately obeyed and left the cover of the forest to approach the terrorist base.

While waiting for the assault command, she mentally reviewed the profile she had studied several hours ago. *But what's the point*, she thought. She knew it by heart, plus it was business as usual. Another mission, another country, another terrorist group to stop.

She didn't feel like questioning Section's objectives anymore. She still voiced objections when individual lives were concerned but she globally accepted Section's vision of the "greater good."

After all, she had made a conscious decision when she had chosen Section over Adrian. She desperately hoped she had made the right choice. But she wondered if she would ever be sure.

Her track of thought was interrupted by Michael's softly accented voice.

"Team two, move," he said.

Nikita took a second to verify the position of her team. It gave her a definite sensation of power to lead her own men to the fire. It was not the kind she had tasted under Petrosian's new regime but a more overwhelming feeling, the certainty that these lives were under HER responsibility. She didn't know them personally, she didn't truly care for them, but she would have gladly taken a bullet for any of them rather to see them die. Their safety lied in her hands. She often considered it was the only way Section would ever let her experience something close to a maternal instinct.

She started to lead her team through the halls of the base eliminating incoming hostiles on the way.

She reached her destination, the command centre with its computers, with all her team members.

"We're in," she informed Michael.

"Plant the charges and go back to the van," he ordered.

She could hear the distinctive sound of bullets being repeatedly fired behind his voice. The resistance on that side of the base was supposed to be fiercer. He and his team had attacked the most heavily guarded part.

"Do you need back up?," she felt compelled to ask already knowing his answer.

"No, proceed as planed," he commanded.

She sighed as she gave the order to plant the explosives.

She knew it made no sense worrying for him but she couldn't help it. After the loss of Adam and his hesitation between life and death, he had come back as strong as ever. She trusted his judgement on the field. His skills were incredible, but she hated when he turned down her offers to help him. It was too reminiscent of their current personal situation.

There was a sort of status quo between them. Like a truce of sorts. Nikita had given him space to lick his wounds, staying just close enough to remind him through a smile or a gentle touch that she was there for him if he wanted to.

Michael gently acknowledged her presence. He treated her more like an equal on the field. He listened to her suggestions while profiling missions even if he didn't always taken them into account. He had always shown concern for her safety but now his expression of it radiated with more warmth. But all in all, they weren't closer, only less apart.

Once all the charges were in place, Nikita contacted Birkoff back in the mission van.

"Charges set, we retreat," she informed him.

"Okay, I start the sequence," he replied.

Nikita ordered her team to go back to the van and began to retreat but she stayed a little behind. She changed her comm-link frequency to contact Michael again.

"Michael, the sequence has begun," she warned. She knew he knew. Birkoff had informed him but she needed to make sure he was all right.

It took him a few seconds to answer over the deafening sound of gunshots.

"Acknowledged. Leave," he just said in a tense voice.

Nikita closed her eyes. She could picture him caught in the enemy's fire. She checked on her team outside the base, they had already reached the woods and were running towards the van's location.

She took a deep breath and made up her mind. She turned and ran towards Michael's position. She knew she would have to deal with his anger later and probably a lecture from Madeline. She could already imagine Operations' look of disapproval and contempt. But she couldn't care less. They had approximately two minutes left before the explosion. She focused on counting the seconds before the detonation while she ran to rescue Michael.

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

Nikita heard and felt the explosion. Suddenly heat enveloped her and she fell on the ground.

She was just at the north entrance of the base when it had occurred and Michael was nowhere to be seen.

She got up and heard Birkoff's worried voice in her ear: "Nikita. Nikita! What's up!"

She didn't bother to answer, she suddenly saw Michael lying down on his back a few meters away from her. She ran to him, her heart sinking at the sight of his still body.

She knelt close to him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Michael! Michael!," she called afraid.

She registered he was breathing and felt her panic diminish. The violence of the blast had knocked him unconscious but they had to get out of here fast, soon the place would crawl with hostiles.

"Michael wake up, we gotta get back!," she urged him. He had a very bad cut on his leg and another smaller one above his left eyebrow. She carefully probed his body looking for any bullet holes but found none.

Michael slowly opened his eyes looking lost for a moment.

"Ni-ki-ta?," he asked.

She smiled relieved.

"Michael please focus, we need to get back to the van before being spotted," she pleaded.

With that, Nikita could see the change in him. His Section mask suddenly replaced the look of dismay on his face.

"Nikita, go to the van now!," he ordered.

He struggled to get up.

"Not without you, come on." She moved to help him to his feet but he pushed her away.

"I won't make it in time, go!," he urged her.

Before she could answer Birkoff spoke: "Michael? I can't wait much longer!."

"We're on our way," Nikita snapped "Come on Michael!"

She moved to support his body to help him walk. The cut on his leg must have been pretty bad because he didn't seem to be able to stand on his own much less run.

Michael caught her forearm and pressed his fingers hard into her flesh.

"You leave now! That's an order!," he nearly screamed.

"Not without you," she shouted in his face. *Damn the mission*, she thought. They were in an hostile country and the van was supposed to leave the site as soon as the mission was completed. The authorities alerted by the explosion would soon send troops and Section couldn't afford sending back up.

"Michael?," Birkoff called. "Michael?"

"Ni-ki-ta," he warned. He was hurting her arm but she couldn't care less, she wouldn't, couldn't leave him behind.

"No!," she said and slowly moved them towards the van.

Michael's eyes changed from enraged to defeat in a second before he let go of her arm.

"Birkoff, wait for us," Michael said as he let Nikita help him walk.

Grinning at her victory, Nikita led him back to the van as fast as she could. Michael was still out of sync and had trouble walking. He stumbled several times but after a few minutes, they finally reached the safety of the van.

As Michael sank into a chair, he commanded "Let's go."

Nikita retrieved the medical kit and sat next to him to tend his wounds. He had closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall. He looked in excruciating pain.

She gestured to clean the blood on his forehead but he violently pushed her hand away.

"Hey!," she screamed.

Nikita looked disbelieving at him. He was looking away from her doing his best to ignore her.

He had lost his whole team but that wasn't the first time and she knew it wasn't the reason for his bad mood. *You can't even accept this kind of help*, she thought. She shook her head with a snort. She had expected his anger. But she had thought he would wait to be in the privacy of his office to chastise her for risking her life for him.

She inhaled deeply trying to calm down. She looked around her trying to gauge how the others had reacted to their little scene. Every other operatives were -or pretented to be- asleep. Only Birkoff looked incredibly busy, typing furiously on his laptop and carefully avoiding any eye contact with Michael or her.

She got up to sit as far from Michael as possible. *So that's the way you want to play it Michael*, she thought. Everytime she believed they had made progress he found a way to take them back to step one. She was sick of it and had every intention to let him know once they were alone.

Several hours passed before the van crossed the border and reached the allied military base where an aircraft carrier was waiting for them.

Everybody got up to move out but Michael who asked :

"Birkoff, tell the pilot to wait for us. I need 5 minutes alone with Nikita."

Birkoff nodded, glad to leave the van before the blow. Just one look at Nikita's angered face convinced him he didn't want to be there a second longer.

When they were alone, Michael kept silent for a while looking at the floor. Nikita was standing up in front him waiting for his lecture, bracing herself for a good verbal fight.

"So what?," she finally snapped.

*Two could play that game*, she thought. *If he wants war, that's what he will get.*

"Can you bring me the sunglasses Birkoff keeps under his desk, please?," he softly asked.

Nikita emitted a short ironic laugh.

"Michael, you can't seem to accept any kind of help, so I think you should fetch it yourself!," she mocked him.

She looked at him for a reaction. But he just sat there, assessing her, his eyes cold. After a moment he just said quietly :

"Nikita, I'm blind."

Nikita shivered. All her anger dissolved in a second. She reached for him and this time he didn't push her away. She stroke his shoulder and searched his face, desperately hoping he wasn't serious and knowing for certain he was.

His gaze was fixed. His beautiful changing eyes cold. But weren't they always? She suddenly felt ashamed at the thought. How come she hadn't noticed it before? She bit her lip. As much as she cared for him, her doubts and fears needed little encouragement to show their ugly heads with full force everytime Michael pushed her away. She had mistaken his struggle to hide his blindness for anger against her.

*That's why he couldn't run*, she thought. His leg injury had nothing to do with it. That's why he had urged her to return to the van without him. She felt like scolding him for trying to make her abandon him. But she knew it was useless and in a way she was glad he acted that way, for his protectiveness was the only love proof he ever gave her.

She sat next to him again and retrieved the medical kit. She then began to gently wipe the blood dripping from the cut on his forehead as if it could clear his sight.

He let her tend his wound, sighing and closing his eyes.

"Michael...," she whispered when she was done. She cupped his jaw and lifted his face to her.

"You don't see... anything?," she asked in a worried voice.

"No," he calmly stated opening his eyes. She observed his failed attempt to connect his green gaze to her blue one. She grabbed one of his hands.

"How do you feel? And don't you dare tell me you're fine!," she gently warned.

"I'm... okay... My head hurts.. a little," he answered wearily.

Nikita stroke his cheek lovingly. For him such an admission only meant he was in terrible pain. *Good for you, I majored in Michaelism*, she absurdly thought.

"You're gonna need some stitches," she finally stated. She couldn't wait to be back in Section to have him properly taken care of. If the doctors in Section were good at anything it was at allowing the operatives to return to their full potential. She was confident Madeline would make sure Michael had the best people to cure him.

In the meantime, she began to check his leg. He had a clean cut but not too deep. She silently began to bandage it.

Despite the pain, Michael didn't make a sound.

When she was done, she studied him carefully. His section mask was firmly in place.

"Nikita, the sunglasses, please," he asked.

She got up, remembering he had wanted them. She moved to retrieve it thinking *He must hate feeling so helpless*.

She placed it in his hands and he immediately wore them. She felt the change in him as if he suddenly felt more confident.

"You're gonna be fine, Michael," she reassured him gently. "Back in Section, they'll find what's wrong."

He turned his face to her and opened his mouth when Birkoff's voice suddenly reached them from one of the van speakers.

"Sorry, but the pilot cannot wait much longer," he cautiously warned.

Nikita moved towards the young cyber genius console and answered him : "We're on our way."

She moved back to Michael saying "Come on, we gotta go, I'll lead you to the plane."

He got up without her help and gripped her arm "No," he said.

He didn't give her time to recover from her surprise. He suddenly grabbed her shoulders and held her at arms length.

"I want... no, I NEED your help," he admitted. "But not like that..."

"I need you to cover for me, Ni-ki-ta. Nobody must know that I'm blind!," he insisted.

Michael didn't need his eyes to sense her dismay.

"I can't hide it forever. I only need a few hours before they find out," he explained. "I can't do this without you."

The truth she had refused to face suddenly dawned on her.

"You think it's permanent, you think they'll cancel you!," she said stunned.

"I don't know," he honestly replied. "I didn't say anything after returning to the van because I hoped it would pass. But it's been several hours now and there's no improvement. The headache is only increasing. They might cure me back in Section... But if they fail... I don't want to take any chances. I just need a little time before I'm confined to Medlab." With that, he suddenly let go of her.

Nikita shook her head and then painfully registered that he couldn't see that.

"This is crazy," she said. She couldn't accept the possibility that he might be right, that he could be blind for life. No, not for life, she mentally corrected. She knew Section wouldn't hesitate to get rid of him if he ceased to be useful.

She realized that after all these years, she had taken his survival within Section for granted. After all, he was Section's best operative and a front runner for Operations' succession. Sure, she feared for his life during missions but he always managed to come back. She had never seriously thought he could be cancelled like the rest of them unless HE wanted it, unless he gave up all hope and chose cancellation as a form of suicide.

"Will you help me?," Michael asked his tone insistent.

Nikita stared at him. She took in his calm and handsome features and felt the urge to touch him again. She hoped he wouldn't mistaken it for pity. She briefly caressed his cheek. Tenderly cupping it for a few seconds.

"Of course, Michael. Come, let's go to the plane," she offered.

She took his hand and moved to support him as if he couldn't walk because of his leg injury.

He leaned on her whispering "Thank you" under his breath.

Nikita held him closer. "Let me guide you," she said.

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

Leading Michael in and out of the plane had been easy. Nikita pretented to help him walk and gave him directions under her breath.

But as they drove back to Section inside another van, Nikita reckoned that fooling Madeline and Operations would be another matter.

Michael knew his way around Section by heart, so Nikita would not need to give him any more directions there. Plus, his hesitations while walking could be blamed on his injured leg. But she wondered if the sunglasses would be enough to hide his blindness during his debrief.

If he made it that far he would go to Medlab. There was no way to lie to the doctors but she was sure Michael would have no problem convincing them that the exam didn't need to be too thorough. Then, she could take him back home and see what was so important that he should lie to Section about his current state.

As they reached Section, Nikita took a deep breath, gave Michael a last glance and exited the van. She saw Madeline and Operations waiting in the hall.

"They both wait for you, 10 meters ahead, Ops is on her left," she whispered to him as an operative was hiding her from their masters' line of vision.

Michael slowly walked over to Madeline and Operations.

Nikita remained slightly behind, not ready to leave his side until the very last minute.

"The mission was a success but you wasted time, Michael," Operations scolded him.

"I was knocked out by the blast. It took me longer to reach the van," he just said, slowly removing his leather gloves.

Michael could just imagine the look of annoyance on Operations' face.

"Were you? And Nikita was she knocked out too?," he ironically stated. "You both lost several crucial minutes that could have had global repercussions. I thought I made clear during the briefing to leave no trace of Section's involvement in this. You took a risk that was uncalled-for when you made Mr Birkoff wait for the two of you."

Michael idly wondered if the whole operation had been cleared with Oversight. Probably not, he decided.

"Leaving us behind would have been a greater security risk, I had to weigh the two options. I made the appropriate changes to the mission profile," he calmly explained focusing on the place where Operations' voice came from.

From behind, Nikita was studying Michael's stance. His performance was perfect so far, they didn't suspect anything. She crossed Madeline's piercing gaze and felt a shiver down her spine. She was the one to be feared, she noticed everything. Nikita held her gaze until Madeline refocused on Michael.

"Michael completed the mission successfully and that should be acknowledged," Madeline finally said putting an end to Operations and Michael's argument.

Operations reluctantly nodded. Michael sensing that the balance of power had shifted turned his head towards Madeline's voice.

"Michael, what's the exact state of your injuries?," she inquired.

Nikita braced herself. She recognized no real concern in her question. Was she suspecting something?

"Nothing major," Michael replied.

Madeline's dark eyes detailed his body.

"Your leg?," she asked.

"A little sore," he confessed.

"Your eyes?," she added, trying to catch his gaze behind his sunglasses.

Nikita's heart pounded so loud she was convinced Madeline could hear it.

"The light hurts since the blast," Michael reluctantly conceded.

Madeline remained silent for a few seconds before adding:

"You may want to go to Medlab first, the debrief can wait."

"No I'd rather debrief first, I'm fine," he calmly replied.

"Good, then join us," she gently offered.

Michael nodded and obediently followed Madeline and Operations' footsteps.

Nikita held her breath as she watched them leave. Michael, still limping slightly, seemed perfectly at ease despite his blindness.

When they disappeared behind a corner, she leaned on the wall for support. She stayed like that for a few seconds before moving towards Walter's counter.

She needed to make sure of one last thing during Michael's debrief.

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

Several hours later, Michael was back in the safety of his office. He believed his debrief with Madeline and Operations had been successful. After entering Madeline's den, he had refused to sit down despite his leg injury. He could picture in his head where they were both sitting but had no idea where the extra chair might be.

So, he stood up despite the pain. He knew his attitude would not raise more concern than usual. His stoicism was his trademark as much as his coldness. He was confident they didn't suspect anything. Yet...

Michael moved to his desk and shut the blinds. He sat down heavily in his chair and reminded himself to turn on the light even though he didn't need any. He also activated the scrambler that would secure the room.

Thank god, Section was a neatly organized structure where everything was always in its right place. It had been easy to avoid bumping into pieces of furniture or devices that could have blocked his way. Avoiding people had been even easier. He didn't know if somebody had saluted him as he limped through the halls towards Medlab but they wouldn't have been surprised if he had refused to acknowledge their presence. His machine mode persona had come handy.

He palpated his injured leg. The doctors had replaced Nikita's clumsy bandage and cleaned his wounds. He had needed 5 stitches on his brow but most of the headache was receding thanks to the painkillers.

For once, Michael had been a docile patient letting the nurses probe his body and analyse his blood for drugs. But when a male nurse had tried to take his sunglasses off, he had efficiently blocked his hands. The man had emitted a low cry and carefully retreated. A female doctor had then asked him if he had lost consciousness, was feeling dizzy and if his head hurt... He had lied on all counts.

He didn't know if she had believed him or not but she had advised him to stay in observation for the night. He hadn't answered and just gotten up to leave. Again his attitude hadn't surprised anyone.

He had then found his way to his quarters, a private room with a bed and a bathroom for when he was on close quarters standby, to take a shower and change clothes.

He opened his laptop and laid his fingers on the keyboard with familiarity. He rapidly began to access his personal files. He was very organized and his excellent memory allowed him to find his way through the myriad of documents on the disk without difficulty.

Behind a curtain of passwords and hidden documents Birkoff would have been proud of, he retrieved the file he was looking for. He caressed the screen and then hit the send button.

If the instructions were not refreshed within a week, the file would be sent directly to Nikita's home computer as an encoded e-mail. He was sure she could secure Birkoff's help to decipher it and erase all traces of the message.

The file didn't contain his final words to her. There was nothing personal about it, no love letter, no goodbye missive, no final advices. And absolutely no apologies. He didn't need to curse her with his love now. What he was sending to her was far more important than that.

Inside the file, he had carefully compiled all the information he had gathered about Section since his recruitment. His complete knowledge as a Level 5 Op, the exhaustive list of his contacts -the ones Section knew about and the others- plus confidential intel.

This intel could be damaging for Section's rulers. It was not the kind of information Jurgen had extorted, nothing that sensitive and potentially dangerous. Michael was a careful man and knew better than to threaten Section's existence. But knowledge was power anywhere and even more inside Section. With that kind of expertise Nikita could efficiently protect her life... Like he had in the past.

Michael rubbed his brow. He took his sunglasses off and lifted his hand close to his eyes.

"It's no use," he whispered.

He put the glasses back in place. For a moment, as the dizziness he had felt was slowly disappearing thanks to the medication, he had hoped maybe his sight would improve. He sighed. He had waited until the last possible moment but he couldn't waste any more time.

The file was not the reason why he had asked Nikita for a few hours before he told the truth. He risked his life everyday and had taken steps long ago to ensure that the necessary information would be transferred to her if he died.

There was only one thing he needed to do before being confined to Medlab under Madeline's surveillance.

He closed his laptop and retrieved his cellular phone. He rapidly entered a code to protect the line and dialed the number. It rang twice before his secret contact answered.

"Ici Michel," Michael said.

"The code?," asked a suspicious male voice.

"Baker 181171," he replied.

"How are you, Michael?," said the voice with some relief.

"I need a favor," he explained.

The voice remained silent for a long moment.

Michael's heart was pounding in his chest. *Keep your word*, he silently prayed. *Don't forget your promise*.

"You remember our agreement, Michael. One favor only. After that, my debt will be paid," the voice reminded him.

"I remember well. If I call you back within a week, you'll forget this conversation but your debt won't be paid." Michael paused to make sure the other man agreed. When he didn't contradict him he resumed. "If I don't, my debt will be passed on to another person."

"Who?," the voice asked.

"Her codename is Joséphine," Michael slowly said.

"Joséphine? Humm, like Joséphine Baker... And the operative's name?," the voice inquired.

"Ni-ki-ta," he breathed, his tongue rolling amorously on the syllables.

"I see...," the voice replied in understanding.

"If you don't hear from me soon, you're in HER debt," he insisted. "I left her the proper protocol to reach you."

"I gave you my word, Michael," the voice reminded him. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you, George," he finally added before ending the conversation that would ensure Nikita's safety when he was gone.

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

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

During Michael's debrief, Nikita had gone to Walter and Birkoff to make sure that Michael's loft was not under surveillance. They had relented at first especially Birkoff, who was doing everything by the book lately, but she sounded so desperate that they had indulged her. After checking, they assured her that there were no cameras or listening devices activated.

She was truly grateful and vowed to make it up to them. After that, she had written her report. Once it was done, she had taken a long shower and changed clothes. As she stood in front of the closet trying to decide what to wear, she painfully remembered that this time, it truly didn't matter.

She always dressed with Michael in mind. She couldn't help it, even when she was angry at him. But for now, it was useless.

"It's temporary," she silently reassured herself, "only temporary."

She picked up a light dress. Black, a no color. It was perfect, she decided. The dress was made of a very soft silk and if Michael couldn't see for the moment, he could still touch, she thought smiling.

She put the dress on and swirled in front of the mirror. The silky fabric made a slight "shhhh" sound with every of her move. She was sure he would hear that.

The dress was simple, cut above the knees and sleeveless, but it fitted her figure perfectly.

She applied her make up absently and decided to let her hair down. It brushed on the silk and added to the low "shhhh" sound. Plus, she didn't know why but she was convinced he liked her hair better that way.

She carefully chose her perfume. She was sure that since his sight was impaired, all his other extremely acute senses had already compensated for some of the loss.

She didn't put too much of the spicy fragrance but applied it strategically to create a discrete halo of sweet scent.

As she examined the final result in the mirror. Her lips began to tremble. She realized she had dressed like it was her last date with him. Suddenly, the darkness of the outfit made her look like she was ready to attend a very elegant funeral. She closed her eyes and fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

She didn't know where but she found the inner strength to win the battle. Her clear blue eyes opened again and she scolded her reflection in the mirror:

"This is not the last time," she vowed.

She then left to meet Michael in his office wishing his debrief with Operations and Madeline had been successful. As she walked decisively through the cold halls of Section, she also prayed that maybe, just maybe, his sight had returned in the meantime.

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

In his office, Michael moved to unlock the door then sat back in his chair. He had done what he had come back for and now it didn't matter if Section found out about his state.

He weighed his options: he could go back to Medlab now and reveal the truth. Or he could wait for Nikita...

He knew it wouldn't be long before she joined him. They hadn't made any plans while they came back to Section after the mission but he was sure she would come to check on him and help him go back to his apartment. And then...

He sighed. Would she grant him one last night? Could she, after all he had done? He desperately needed to believe that she would always be there for him if he reached out for her. Even if he didn't plan to. It was incredibly selfish and she resented him for treating her like that. But loving her was far too dangerous. It would be her undoing.

Michael had accepted as his destiny long ago that he should lose everyone he cared for. In case he forgot, Adam's loss had been a reminder of that. He brought only pain in the end. The love he could give to Nikita didn't matter. As much as he loved her, it could never equal the pain he would eventually bring upon her. That was one of the only certainties in his life.

Another one was that he couldn't stay away from her. And maintaining the right equilibrium between closeness and distance was a daily struggle. Especially now that his blood cover mission was over.

Michael could fight his need but hers was another matter. If she should one day find out the depth of his love for her, if she still loved him then despite the lies, he would not be able to resist her.

He was still trying to decide what he would do tonight when he heard her knock on the door. She didn't leave him time to speak and entered.

He heard her move to sit down on the chair in front of him. Her high heels clicked rhythmically on the floor and whatever she was wearing emitted a sweet sound when the material brushed her skin.

He suppressed a sad smile on his lips. He felt like laughing at the irony of the situation. His wound was truly a blessing in disguise. Fate had granted him to be delivered of the visual torture that was Nikita but no matter what, he could still "feel" her.

"Are you alright," she asked in a worried tone.

"Yes, we can talk," he explained, gesturing at the scrambler that was securing the room.

"No, I mean...," she started, licking her lips.

"Am I still blind? Yes Nikita, I am," he calmly answered.

He could hear her sigh.

"What now?," she carefully asked.

When he didn't answer lost in his thoughts, she got up to move next to him. He felt the change in the air as she approached and the discrete fragrance of her perfume mixed with the natural scent of her skin.

She took his sunglasses off and turned his face to her.

"The more we wait, the worse it could get," she said concerned.

He silently noted that she had said "we" instead of "you." The trainer in him wished to remind her that words could easily betray her. The man he was because of her just died to kiss her silent.

Instead he just kept his face blank.

"If I show up in Medlab now they'll wonder why I waited and will try to find out what I have done in the meantime," he stated as much for himself than for her.

"They'll wonder why no matter how long you wait," she replied. She too wanted to know why he had returned but decided not to press the point. If he wanted her to know, he would eventually tell her.

"Yes, but I'll be able to provide a valid explanation tomorrow morning," he suddenly realized as he spoke.

"I can tell them that I woke up blind after feeling dizzy all night," he added.

"They know you hate Medlab but they still will be suspicious," she reminded him. "I'm sure you can come up with better than that."

He turned his face avoiding her gaze unconsciously. His move nearly made her smile. He probably had no idea how unnerving this could be, especially now that he couldn't see her anyway.

"I have a better explanation," he conceded.

She waited, knowing what he was thinking about. But, what she wanted more than anything was to be able to read the meaning behind his words.

"They can be made to think I wished to spend one last night with you... In case my state is permanent," he slowly whispered.

Nikita swallowed hard. Was she part of a master plan again or did he really need her tonight? She studied his strong profile and nearly avoided his blind gaze when he turned to face her. *I can watch you as much as I want now, Michael*, she painfully realized.

"Then, I'd better take you home," she finally said.

Michael released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He wasn't ready to go to Medlab now and Section had little to do with it. He wanted to bathe in her presence for a few extra hours. He needed to be able to... What? Talk to her? Touch her? Love Her?

He got up and absently buttoned his dark vest studying his options.

As a master strategist, Michael was trained to foresee any contingencies. But his skills were not enough when it came down to her. One word, one smile, one look triggered a myriad of emotions within him. She unknowingly created a chain reaction with each of her changing moods. Everytime he thought he was immune to her, she found a new way to touch his heart. He had no idea what the night would bring.

As he followed her out of the room, he sighed. Loving her was like trying to solve a complex equation with too many variables. Only chaos theory could apply to its resolution, for the tiniest fluctuations had to be taken into account. The slightest changes risked to wreak havoc into the delicate structure. The fragile balance of their relationship could be unsettled at any moment. He only hoped that in the next few hours he wouldn't have to destroy it.

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

Nikita drove silently. Getting Michael out of Section had not proved difficult. They hadn't bumped (literally) into Madeline or Operations and once out, she had tenderly placed her arm around his to lead him to her car. The sun was still high enough to justify his dark glasses.

To any possible watchers, they looked like a couple in love on their way home. In a twisted way, Nikita enjoyed that what Section's rulers had always denied them could now be used against them.

She checked in the rearview mirror but didn't have the feeling they were being followed. She eyed Michael sitting quietly his hands in his lap. He hadn't complained once about his blindness. It didn't even seem to bother him. But he was so difficult to read sometimes... She tried not to think about it and focused on the road instead.

Funny. He could feel her eyes on him. Every operative developed a kind of sixth sense after a while and his was extremely sharp but Michael believed it had little to do with it. He could always tell without looking when she entered a room.

Maybe this was the reason why his blindness didn't bother him as much as he had thought it would. Or maybe it was because he didn't have to worry about being a cripple for the rest of his life. Section wouldn't leave him time to. He was either salvageable, or not. Alive or dead.

He had never been afraid to die. Actually, he had often wished to lately. He had always believed he would die on a mission or in Medlab as a result of his injuries. And he had vowed to commit suicide rather than being cancelled if the threat became one day too obvious. But it seemed Fate had decided otherwise. He had no choice than to wait and "see" if he could be cured. Once in Medlab, his fate would be sealed.

He absently wondered who would do it. Madeline, probably. She might even give him the gun as a sign of respect. Or maybe just as a final test to see if he would try to kill her before he killed himself.

He didn't mind dying but he didn't want to leave Nikita. He knew his death would hurt her. He just hoped she would not experience the kind of excruciating pain he had felt after losing Simone the first time. It was an horrible thing to say but the second time had been easier because SHE was there...

He didn't want to admit his disappearance could destroy her. It would mean she loved him as much as he did and he had given her little reason to. Plus, the last thing he wanted was to be the cause of her death.

He felt her hand brush his knee as she changed gear. She always drove fast. Much too fast. He turned his face to her and let a small smile curve his lips as he began to realize that he didn't mind not seeing her.

He didn't miss her eyes, her mouth or the sight of her gracious body. He had always been able to watch her -had even been ordered to do so- whenever he wanted but he ached no far less.

What he constantly missed was the right to touch her. He was rarely allowed to, plus she knew he had used it to manipulate her in the past. But even if his eyes and mouth had betrayed her, his touch had been honest. His velvet voice spoke lies but his hands told the truth.

It was his inability to touch her, to love her that made him feel like a cripple. If he felt the need to see her, all he had to do was use his memory. His mind had compiled thousands of images of her. And now, he could only use the few happy ones.

The way she giggled under his hot gaze during her training while Madeline tried to teach her to behave more ladylike. Her smiles and her still innocent beauty during their first date before he gave her the gun. Her unguarded face and her look of complete trust during their lovemaking. The glory of her naked body, then. And the color of her eyes during her final release.

"Here we are," Nikita said as she slowed down.

Michael was shaken out of his reverie as she parked in front of the building.

They got out of the car and he gave her his keys. As she took them, he silently held her hand for a few seconds. Nikita searched his face but he gave away nothing. She couldn't help dreading that he was putting on a show in case they were being watched. When he let go of her hand she wished for the thousand times that she could read his mind.

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

Once they were inside the loft, Nikita noticed that Michael's place was finally furnished. It was scarce and functional but at least it wasn't as empty as the last time she was there.

She registered that the TV wasn't on. The frozen image of Adam on the screen had gone, thank god. And he had either locked or gotten rid of the cello.

Michael did his best to move confidently in the room, taking off his dark jacket.

Nikita wrapped her long cream coat more tightly around herself. She wasn't sure what to do next...

"May I take your coat," Michael offered from across the room.

Nikita sighed, was he doing this because he thought there were cameras? For a moment, she was nearly tempted to let him think Section was spying on them. She glanced towards the bed then closed her eyes. *No, not like that*, she thought. As much as she wanted this, she couldn't let their time together be a pretense.

"I talked to Walter and Birkoff, they're positive there aren't any bugs or cameras. We're safe," she confessed.

"Are you sure?," he asked suspiciously.

"Trust me," she said.

Michael nodded, he wouldn't lay his safety in the hands of Walter or Birkoff the way she did, but he trusted her judgement.

He slowly moved behind her and slid his hands on her shoulders. Nikita forgot to breathe and felt her heartbeat accelerate at his closeness. He gently began to take off her coat and his breath stirred her hair when he spoke.

"Good, because we need to talk."

He then folded her coat on his arm and placed it on a chair along with his jacket. Nikita retrieved her ability to breathe once he was gone from her side. She wondered if he knew what he was doing to her. *He probably does," she thought. Blind or not, he had an eerie ability to read her, to sense her every emotions.

He called her from the kitchen asking if she wanted a glass of wine. She voiced "yes" even though she badly needed something stronger, vodka, whisky, tequila... Anything as long as he made it double!

She joined him next to the kitchen's counter careful not to invade his space though.

He heard her footsteps plus the delicious "shhh" of her clothes. When he had taken off her coat his fingers had brushed against the sensual fabric he had identified as silk. He mentally added this information to the picture of her he was trying to paint in his head. He decided she was wearing an electric blue dress, the color always became her.

He easily retrieved two glasses and the opener but frustration marred his features as he stood over the wine rack.

"Can you tell me which bottle is the burgundy?," he asked reluctantly.

Nikita silently took his hand and led it to the right bottle. He felt her naked arm pressing against his as she helped him. His body immediately reacted to her touch but his mind refused to give in.

"Thank you," he quickly said as he moved away to uncork the bottle.

Nikita remained silent. He was acting so confidently since the accident she had trouble remembering there were things he couldn't do anymore.

She leisurely admired his body as he was filling the glasses. God, he was so good looking. His beauty was utterly masculine, which was reflected in the strength of his shoulders and the muscles of his thighs. But at the same time, there was a definite grace about him. His eyes were nearly feminine with their long thick lashes and his movements radiated with a natural sensuality that no blank stare could ever hide. Whether he liked it or not, he was a man made to feel, touch and love. His Section persona tried hard to cover that fact but for Nikita he was simply a walking contradiction.

She quietly followed him to the living room a look of appreciation on her face. He handed her one glass and they both sat on Michael's new black leather couch, careful to leave a comfortable distance between them.

Nikita sipped her wine in silence enjoying the rich fruity flavour. She wasn't sure she wanted him to talk at this point. Words had always been their downfall. She only wanted to listen to his body language. But he spoke.

"There's one thing you need to know," Michael started.

Nikita held her breath studying his profile. He was "looking" straight ahead. She suddenly felt the need to see his eyes even if he couldn't use them. She had so often searched them for the truth. Finding nothing most of the times, but nevertheless she needed more than ever to examine their green depths.

"Take off your glasses, Michael," she urged him before he could go on.

He turned a surprised face to her before he indulged her.

"That won't make you uncomfortable?," he asked.

"No," she simply said refusing to elaborate.

He slowly took the sunglasses off and laid them next to his glass on the floor. His eyes remained fixed on his hands for a while before he tentatively lifted his head. She recognised his effort to hold her gaze and placed a palm on his cheek to help him "focus" on her face. She let go of him and read a "thank you" in his blind eyes. After a few seconds, he felt confident enough to speak again.

"I left a file for you with instructions in case...," he began. He felt her change position on the couch, her body reacting violently to his words.

"Nikita, this is important," he insisted. "You need to know this."

Her face openly displayed the despair his dead eyes couldn't register as she waited for him to continue.

"The file is supposed to be sent to you as an encoded e-mail, there's valuable information in it. It will help you," he resumed.

"Help me do what?," she asked in a sad voice.

"Survive," he whispered.

Nikita shook her head silently. She didn't want to think about that. For God's sake even during her six months of freedom, she had felt torn without him. How did he expect her to survive in Section after he was gone? How could he think she even wanted to?

"But that's not the most important. There's a man who owes me a favor. Only one favor," he stressed. "Turn to him as the last resort, only if it's vital. He cannot grant you your freedom but short to that he's almighty."

She didn't leave him time to finish.

"Then why don't you use the favor for yourself, Michael?!," she interrupted him.

He swallowed hard, he could hear the hope in her voice.

"I may not need it," he tried to reassure her.

"What if you do, Michael? What if tomorrow they can't cure you and decide to cancel you? You must contact him then!," she insisted.

She could see no reason why he shouldn't if he had such a powerful friend.

He caught her agitated hands in his and placed her glass on the floor.

"I won't have time," he lied. It was not the real reason but he couldn't tell her that.

"Then do it now!," she urged him, painfully gripping his hands. She moved closer to him. "Or tomorrow, I'll do it."

"No," he said shaking his head.

"Why?," she shouted in despair.

*Because I always kept this favor for you only, Nikita, not for me*, he thought.

"He cannot grant me my freedom from Section, Nikita. I can ask whatever I want BUT that. If I'm useless, Section will cancel me and there is nothing he can do about it," he explained.

Nikita made a muffled sound and Michael wondered if she was crying.

"Then don't go back, run Michael," she urged him.

Michael knew this was coming. He let go of her hands and got up from the couch.

"Ni-ki-ta, don't. You know I can't," he sighed.

"You can, I'll help you. I'll go with you. We can stage our deaths, they'll never know...," she babbled.

"They will find us. It would be hard to hide a blind man," he countered.

"But they don't know about that!," she angrily stated.

"They will eventually find out," he pointed out. "Running is not an option. There's no other choice than to go back. It's too risky."

"Risky? Michael, they could kill you, how risky is that?," she nearly shouted. She got up from the couch and firmly gripped his arm, forcing him to face her.

"Outside, I won't stand a chance. Back in Section, they could cure me," he offered.

"We could find a doctor, take you to the hospital," she insisted, her fingers sinking in his flesh to convince him of her resolve.

"That's the first place they'll look. Nikita, drop it," he warned.

His face was cold as he disentangled her fingers from his arm firmly. He could hear her ragged breathing. *She's so scared*, he realized. He allowed some warmth to soften his features.

"Ni-ki-ta, please, there's no need to worry for now," he tried to soothe her.

She desperately searched his face, shaking her head in denial. It was the second time he refused to run with her. And it hurt much more than the first. It was so much like him to accept his fate so easily.

For the first time, since the beginning of this craziness, she clearly pictured him in the White room, Madeline holding a gun to his head as he stoically let her pull the trigger.

"Don't you wanna live, Michael?," she tearfully asked.

"What I want is irrelevant," he reminded her.

She gave a short tired laugh. She covered her pain with anger as she added:

"Always the perfect Section operative, humm, Michael! You made an exception for ME but you agree with everything they do! Well, I don't! Do you really think I'm gonna let them kill YOU without trying anything!"

Michael was on her so fast she didn't see it coming. He grabbed her hands in a fierce grip and drew her body to his.

"And what makes you think I would want to live like that, forever blind?," he angrily stated, nostrils flaring. "What makes you think I want to be free in the first place?"

Michael's mind was working fast. She was ready to jeopardize all his efforts in a futile attempt to save his life. Her devotion would have moved any other man, but not him, it only enraged him.

"You will NOT try anything foolish tomorrow," he ordered her.

Nikita recognised the voice of her trainer. The man who had instructed her for two years. The man she was supposed to obey without thinking. Too bad, she had never been good at taking orders.

She didn't try to break free and instead mold her body to his.

"You can't stop me, Michael," she challenged him with a husky voice.

He felt the limit of his control slip rapidly but her closeness had little to do with it. He quickly blocked her hands behind her back and used his right hand to keep them in place, he then pressed the other one to her neck.

"I'll knock you senseless and call Section now, if you don't give me your word you'll behave," he warned.

She lifted her chin in defiance despite the seriousness of his voice and the resolve of his face. Sensing her incredulity, Michael pressed his fingers on her throat, expertly blocking the air from her lungs and her brain.

Nikita gasped and tried to fight him but she couldn't breathe enough air. Her eyes widened and she tried to beg him to stop but his face was deadly cold. He wore his killer mask, his ruthlessness firmly etched in his features.

"Mi-chael," she managed. She was beginning to faint and her body slid against his.

"Your word," he relentlessly asked as he let go of her hands to wrap one arm around her waist, supporting her weakening body.

"Yesss," she emitted as her vision was blurring.

His fingers immediately left her throat and she could breathe again. She inhaled deeply, coughing and struggling to regain her balance.

Michael still held her close to him, his hands now soothing her back. Once she felt better, she tried to push him away but he wouldn't let her.

His blind eyes searched her face, begging her, but not for forgiveness.

"Please Nikita, you must promise me you'll keep your word," he asked in a low voice.

The second before she was ready to slap him but now she was hypnotised by his grey-green gaze. She read the pain and the fear that mirrored her own. She fought her tears and shook her head in denial. She couldn't grant him that, it was too much too ask.

Michael moved his hands to cup her face.

"Please," he asked again more urgently. "This is a battle you can't win."

She wondered if he meant her fight against Section or him. She heard a voice in her head whispering that he was right, that she couldn't save him from Section. But she still refused to give up.

"Sometimes it's important to fight even if you know you cannot win," she explained, trying to relay to him that his life was worth fighting for, that she would gladly die trying.

"Yes, but it's not your battle Nikita, it's mine. You cannot win it for me because I don't want you to," he replied pointedly. One hand moved to caress her neck soothing the skin he had bruised earlier, the other still pressed against her cheek.

She leaned her face in his hand with a slight sob. She gave free reign to her tears acknowledging her defeat against him. Even if she could save him from Section, she couldn't save him from himself. He had made clear he didn't want to leave.

"I promise," she whispered and tried to move away from his warmth.

He still wouldn't let her. He held her fiercely as she sobbed against his chest. His hands soothed her back until her tears ran dry.

When she had calmed down a little, he moved the hair from her face and licked his lips. "There's one last thing I want you to know...," he started.

Nikita lifted her head from his shoulder, her shining blue gaze sad and hopeful.

"You need to memorize this code...," he continued all business.

Nikita listened to the rest of his instructions over the sound of her heart breaking.

***********

***********

Defeat. That's all Nikita could feel. She had passively let Michael take her back to the couch. She had memorized the damn code, repeating after him obediently. She had then downed her wine in one gulp and asked for a refill. She wanted to feel numb.

For the first time in her life she began to comprehend the reasons that may have pushed her mother to drink so much. Had she felt compelled to deal with the pain that way? Had she experienced the same desire to never feel again, even for an instant? Was it because love could hurt so much that she couldn't care for her own daughter?

She was pondering all that as she urgently drank her wine. Maybe Madeline knew of a drug that could block all feelings. Yeah, she sure did, she must have tested it on herself first and Michael second. Oh, Michael....

She closed her eyes. *Please, please*, she silently prayed to God. *Don't take him away from me. Not yet. Not ever. I'll be a good operative. Or no, I'll never kill again! Whatever! But please, let him live, I beg you let him live, I'll do anything...*

"What are you thinking about?", Michael softly asked. She had been silent for too long, it wasn't her style. After her outburst, he hadn't expected her to be so quiet.

"Nothing," she lied. She finished her wine and moved to grab the bottle but he sensed it and stopped her hand.

"You had enough", he stated.

*Oh no, Michael. I didn't even get started*, she thought.

"As you want", she conceded.

Michael frowned, it was so unlike her... But then, so was the situation. He had felt relieved after her promise to behave and after giving her the code. He felt his mission was complete. He had done all he humanely could to protect her. He had no control on what would happen next in Medlab but he could deal with it. Maybe it was for the best. He had taught her all he could. She'd have to figure the rest for herself. Some lessons could not be taught, only learnt from experience. But she was tough, she would find a way to survive. Plus, Birkoff and Walter would help her through. The alternative, that his death would kill her spirit, was unacceptable.

Nikita was sadly studying him in a desperate attempt to understand the mysterious man she had fallen in love with. He "cared" enough to wish to protect her beyond the grave but a love word would never leave his mouth. She shook her head at a loss. This didn't make sense.

She watched out of the window as the sun was slowly setting behind the horizon. Time was flying so fast, it was escaping her. How long before he would decide to go back to Section? Morning he had said but what time? How many hours before they parted, maybe for good this time?

She glanced at the bottle of wine. After tomorrow, either she'd laugh at herself for her behaviour tonight or would commit to finish the bottle and many of its sisters into oblivion. But for now, Michael was very much alive and within reach. She refocused on his handsome features and let a sigh escape her lips.

She could pretend for a while that they were on a date, that Section didn't exist. That she was spending the evening with the most attractive man she'd ever met and that they had all the time in the world. The night would soon be there and darkness was made to dream of what could not be.

All she asked was the permission to spend the next few hours with him. To bathe in his presence, to gently aybe if she was lucky, he'd let her fall asleep in his arms. She didn't dare believe he would grant her more than that. For a reason that was his only, he didn't seem to feel the need to touch her. She was aware that she needed his warmth much more than he needed hers, that, at the possible eve of his death, she was the one seeking comfort and not the other way around. This didn't make sense either. But her life had never made any and she was scared the worst was yet to come.

As fear filled her being she searched for some reassurance that everything would be okay and she decided to indulge the urge to touch him, if only briefly.

"Does it hurt?", she asked, carefully brushing his brow below the stitches.

"No", he said, relieved by her question. He didn't like when she was so silent. Especially now that he couldn't look into her eyes to see what was wrong. He repressed a sigh. Of course, he knew what was wrong. He didn't know how to comfort her, though. And he couldn't think straight when her fingers caressed him like that.

"How about your leg?", she inquired. God, his skin was so soft it was addictive.

"Much better," he replied. He closed his eyes as her fingers lightly trailed down his face stroking his cheek then his jaw...

"Good", she breathed and he could feel her body heat as she moved closer.

Hope was a difficult thing to kill. And as Nikita drew her body close to Michael's she remembered she had never been able to crush this feeling. She had survived on it actually, long before Section.

As a little girl, she had salvaged her sanity and some part of her innocence thanks to her daydreaming. She couldn't help hoping one day her mother would stop drinking, she had never stopped waiting for her father to reappear out of the blue. When she had landed in the streets, she had found joy in simple things: a beautiful moonlight spoke of future love vows in its glow, the warmth of the summer breeze on her skin felt like the tender caress she would one day feel...

Her capacity to hope in spite of everything was the source of her inner strength. She always found reasons to go on.

But it was also a terrible curse. She had never been able to get rid of her dreams and she was incapable of moving on. As she couldn't move away from him now.

Dreaming in Section was not a healthy thing. Years ago, when Madeline had finally crushed her hopes of freedom, she had wanted to die. She would have if it hadn't been for Michael... Now that he risked cancellation she knew she couldn't go on without him. His death would finally destroy any dreams she'd ever had. She wished he could understand this truth about her.

Michael felt the change in her, heard her silent plea. The sensual tension between them filled the room. Her fingers were sending bolt of electricity through his body. She overcame his senses, she made him FEEL. He didn't want to. Did she have any idea how painful this could be?

"Ni-ki-ta", he sighed as her fingers traced his lips languorously. She didn't play fair. His mind's eye assaulted him with visions of her inviting mouth.

"Mi-chael", she breathed against his skin. She wanted him so badly it hurt. She wanted to seduce him, to overcome his defences. She looked forward to his surrender. Whether he would do it out of love or out of lust was irrelevant for now. They had so little time... She didn't want to waste it with questions or doubts. She had been waiting for this for too long.

Michael clenched his fists in a desperate attempt for control when her lips touched his cheek. Two voices were shouting inside him. One urged him to crush her body under his to explore all her depths. The other insisted that he thought about the consequences of his actions.

"Nikita... wait", he managed to utter, heart pounding. She stopped her movement towards his lips, but her hands roved on his neck and her mouth kissed his brow instead.

She made rational thinking impossible but Michael held on his sanity long enough to assess the situation. He craved for her. But there was nothing new about that. He ALWAYS wanted her. Her body and her soul. It wasn't just sex and he knew that she didn't feel this way either. She was a sensual creature whose needs had been denied for too long. He knew so well how her mind worked. He could almost hear the reasons she had invoked to rationalize her need for him. Fleeting time, uncertainty, fear. He was willing to reassure her, to welcome her in his arms and rock her until she fell asleep. But if they made love now, he would have to crush her feelings again tomorrow.

He began to push her away gently but firmly. Nikita who was about to kiss him made a choking sound of frustration.

"Why?", she asked angrily.

*Because if I live, I don't want to give Section another weapon to use against you. Because if I die, you'll live with the memory of my love for you for the rest of your life and I know you, you'll never let yourself forget about me. My love is a curse, mon amour, can't you see it*, he thought.

Michael got up from the couch needing to distance himself from her warmth. He couldn't answer her question, so, he came up with his only way out.

"You should leave now, Nikita," he reluctantly said.

Nikita knew it was coming. To tell the truth, she had even expected it sooner. But it did nothing to diminish her anger. Couldn't he grant her just a few hours?

Everytime he pushed her away, he hit an extremely sensitive nerve within her. She had been rejected all her life. Noone had ever wanted her, not even her own mother. Only Section had welcomed her! Talk about irony!

With no family, real friends or lovers to provide her comfort and care, she had developed her own survival instincts growing up, relying only on herself for everything. But everytime she trusted someone and was discarded she broke into a million pieces. It hurt coming from anybody but when it was Michael... She felt like dying... or killing... Kill HIM.

She clenched her fists and swallowed hard. She had helped him for Christ's sake! She cared for him! Was it too much to ask to let her stay with him?

"You don't need me anymore, Michael?," she ironically asked, trying to control the quiver in her voice.

Michael turned to face her. He searched his memory for an image of the "hurt and angry Nikita". He was pained to realize he had many to choose from.

He didn't want to part on an argument. He didn't particularly need to leave her with a good image of himself. If he were to die, it would be better if she forgot about the man to focus only on his teachings as her trainer. The thought made him shudder internally. He had taught her how to survive, how to defend herself, but he was also responsible for her education in betrayal, pain and deceit. Suddenly, the idea he risked leaving this earth after hurting her one last time was unbearable.

"It will be easier for you if you leave now, 'Kita," he tried to explain.

Nikita felt like a huge weight had been taken off her chest. *That's what it is all about*, she thought.

"Still feeling protective of me?," she mocked him.

*Until my dying day*, he silently vowed.

"I told you before I can take care of myself," she reminded him getting up from the couch to join him.

"I know that," he assured her. He had never trusted anyone as he trusted her. On and off the field.

He heard her approach, recognized the sound her dress made, inhaled her scent, sensed her warmth as his own body temperature was rising. He carefully took a step away from her.

Nikita stopped in her tracks. If she hadn't known better she would have sworn he was afraid of her. She studied the guarded expression on his face. His shields were definitely up.

"You really want to make things easier for me, Michael?", she asked suspiciously.

"Yes", he answered without thinking.

"Then, let me stay tonight", she whispered. She hated begging him but she was passed that. She could picture herself going home to her empty bed and she was terrified. She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, she was too scared for him. The desire to make love to him was now replaced by a necessity far more urgent. The overwhelming need to just BE with him.

Michael breathed heavily. He closed his eyes. It usually allowed him to regain a bit of control against the assault of her charms. But this time, her seductive image was clearly imprinted in his brain. And there were no eyelids for that. God, he needed her, in each and every way. He wasn't sure he would be able to resist her if she tried to seduce him again.

"Just tell me Yes or No Michael, nothing else," she stressed, her voice trembling a little.

She stayed away from him sensing that maybe her earlier attempt to seduce him had scared him off somehow. Maybe he would let her stay if she kept her distance. Part of her hated feeling so needy but the other half knew she would regret leaving, the second she was out of the loft.

Michael opened his eyes, realizing how hard it must be for her to make such a request. She was so proud that he was sure she was at war with herself. Her pride against her heart. She had clearly given in to her heart's desires. It pained him that she should compromise herself over him like that. He sure didn't deserve it. But she acted like she would survive the night better if she could stay next to him.

On the other hand, for him, every second spent in her presence was a slow torture. His mind and his body were constantly at odds. When they were not alone, it was relatively easy to fight his need. But when he couldn't avoid being alone with her he was experiencing the punishment of Tantalus. He often felt temporarily relieved when she left... before he began missing her again soon after.

That was the way he felt now. It would be so much easier for HIM in a way if she just left. He didn't want to wish for things he could not, SHOULD NOT, have. But his own desires were once again irrelevant, only she mattered in the end.

"Yes", he finally granted her. He would just have to fight harder to resist her if she tried to touch him again.

Nikita gave a sigh of relief and he could feel her smile radiating from her.

"Good. Are you hungry?," she asked joyously.

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

Nikita could cook and she was good at it. It was not surprising coming from a girl whose mother usually passed out by lunch time. Nikita had learnt early how to fix a hot dinner. Even at 8 you eventually grew tired of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"Thank you, that was good", Michael said finishing his plate.

Nikita smiled broadly. Their quiet dinner had helped her regain her composure. She was grateful he had allowed her to stay and was careful not to upset him by an unwanted display of emotions.

Michael silently appreciated her efforts. He had listened to her while she was preparing dinner. She had rummaged for a while through his fridge and cupboards. He didn't have much in them. He never knew when he would be back from a mission and rarely bought fruits and vegetables.

Finally, she had settled to cook pasta and had uttered a little cry of victory when she had found the chicken and the fresh cream. With that she had managed to prepare a delicious dinner: tagliatelle with chervil and cream served with chicken escalopes cooked in white wine.

They hadn't talked much after that and were now sharing a glass of wine in the kitchen as the full moon was rising in the sky.

"Can I put some music?," she asked as she got up to move to the CD player.

"I'd rather not," he stopped her as she was brushing past him holding her wrist.

She looked at him quizzically. He let go of her arm but didn't explain. He didn't wish to listen to the music he had bought with her in the room. He didn't think his heart would stand it.

"But I could play for you instead," he suddenly offered.

Nikita was completely taken aback by his suggestion but pleasantly surprised. She had wanted to ask him to play but was afraid memories of Adam might resurface.

"I'd love that," she smiled.

He rose to get the cello he had hidden in a closet.

Nikita admired his ease and grace. He moved as if he could still see, perfectly remembering his surroundings.

He sat on a chair in the living room and began to tune the instrument.

Nikita ignored the couch to sit in front of him cross-legged on the wooden floor.

After a while, he started to play a slow and melancholic melody that spoke of wide spaces, stormy winds and togetherness.

At least that's what Nikita imagined. She drank in the sight of him. His eyes were closed and he focused on moving the bow expertly on the cords. She was once again amazed by his beauty. She tended to overlook it at times. He worked so hard at being ruthless and muzzling his emotions that she sometimes forgot how good it felt to just watch him. How achingly good.

She had only seen him play once, but he hadn't been completely himself that day. Or had he? He had played Adam's disturbing lullaby over and over calling and crying for his lost son. But now as he was playing for her, his face was so peaceful... She could see the emotions the music stirred in him but his features remained calm as if his soul was soothed by the melody. Nikita wondered how he could act so cold while he could play with so much passion.

Michael played for a long time and Nikita who had rarely been touched by classical music was overwhelmed.

When he was done she remained silent for a while. The room had darkened considerably but Nikita was reluctant to turn on the lights.

"That was beautiful, Michael, thank you," she finally said.

Michael opened his eyes still holding the cello. His silhouette was outlined by the candles she had lit on the kitchen table and she could barely read the expression on his face.

"I didn't think I could play again," he whispered.

"There's a lot of things you can do without your eyes," she tried to reassure him.

"No, not because of my eyes, because of Adam," he explained in a tired voice.

Nikita bit her lip. She had been afraid the cello would bring back such memories. She moved closer to him on her knees. She took the cello from him and laid it on the floor. She then took the bow from his hands as well. He absently let her do it, lost in his thoughts.

Nikita desperately searched for a way to end his melancholy. She tenderly stroke his jaw and caressed his short hair behind his ear.

She believed she heard his breathing change but discarded the idea. Instead, she decided to interrupt his train of thought with a lighter subject.

"Why did you cut it?," she asked one hand still caressing his hair.

"For Adam," he voiced.

Nikita sighed. *So much for the change of subject*, she thought. She felt like kicking herself and was about to murmur an apology when he began talking.

"His hair had grown so long," he remembered. "He was afraid to go to the hairdresser but wouldn't admit it. Everytime Elena tried to make him go he would make a scene." He paused smiling at the memory.