This is the third in the Safe As Houses series. It follows Convent and Family Affair.

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

"I'd like to transfer," Nikita began, standing before Madeleine.

Madeleine looked up, taking in the baggy sweatshirt and worn-out hightops. "Why?"

Nikita shifted from one foot to the other, and studied the hole in her shoe. She shrugged. "Change of scenery?"

Madeleine put her pen down and motioned toward a chair. Nikita slumped into it.

"What's this about?" Madeleine asked.

Nikita shrugged again, plainly unhappy. "I want to be somewhere else."

"We all want to be somewhere else. Is this about Michael?"

"No." Nikita denied quickly.

Madeleine's eyebrows raised slightly. "Are you sure? Michael will be back next month. It's been almost five months since you've seen each other," she reminded. "Maybe you should wait on requesting a transfer till then."

Nikita didn't need reminding; every day she missed him. "Things will still be the same next month as they are now," Nikita said stubbornly. "Please, Madeleine. I'll go anywhere, I don't care."

Madeleine tapped her fingers together, studying Nikita. "Instead of transferring, how about a vacation? You have one coming, you know. Two whole months. When you come back, you may discuss it with me again."

Nikita looked at her suspiciously. "Last time I took a vacation, you sent Michael with me. Could I go by myself this time?"

"I don't know. Could you?"

Nikita frowned, and looked directly into Madeleine's eyes.

Madeleine smiled. "I think you could. If you don't come back, we can always cancel someone you care about."

A finger of fear traced Nikita's heart. "Such as ...?"

Madeleine's mouth smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "A month ago, I would have suggested Michael. But we both know he is currently unavailable, besides being indispensable right now. And somehow I don't think he would be a good enough ... incentive. You've been working with a new recruit, I understand. Janet."

"Yes," Nikita said, dreading the next sentence.

"If you fail to return in two months, she'll be canceled." Madeleine picked up her pen again, shuffling through the papers on her desk.

"Some vacation."

"Take it or leave it. I'm not transferring you until Michael returns," Madeleine said flatly. "Now. Where do you want to go?"

"Someplace warm, maybe. Hawaii. Maybe ... maybe Puerto Rico. Or Cuba?"

"No unless you want it to be a working vacation," Madeleine said.

Nikita smiled a little. "Australia, than. It will be warm this time of the year."

"Homesick?"

"A little," Nikita said.

Madeleine studied her again. Something was not quite right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She hadn't seen Nikita in a while ... six weeks, maybe? Her face looked different. A new hair style? Maybe it was the clothes -- Nikita usually preferred form-fitting ones, and these hid her figure. Madeleine tapped her pen on the desk. "I'll get the paperwork done and the ticket to you this afternoon."

"Thanks, Madeleine." Nikita forced herself to walk lightly through the door, then bounce down the hall. She paused outside Michael's dark office; but she didn't go in. Too many things to do. And this corset was just killing her.

_________

The plane ticket was couriered to Nikita's apartment that evening. She fingered it, wishing more than ever that Michael was near, or at least that she could get in touch with him. She went to her jewelry box and opened it, unwillingly. Her necklace he had given her was inside, and she slowly took it out, holding it in the light. It was silver and heavy, and on the underside, St. Jude shone dully in the light. All she had to do was activate it, and he would contact her. She clasped it around her neck, St. Jude close to her skin, and looked at her reflection seriously in the mirror, reconsidering her options, then she shook her head slightly. No. She could do this herself. She had to.

Finally, she curled up in bed, wiping her eyes on her pillowcase, and went to sleep for a few hours.

________________

"Do you want me to tail her?" the operative asked, uncertain.

"No." Madeleine smiled. "Not exactly. Here's your ticket. Meet her plane when it lands in Sydney, and make sure everything is on the up and up."

"Of course." Janet smiled back, accepted the ticket and turned to leave.

"Janet."

"Yes?"

Madeleine apparently thought better about what she had been going to say. "Have a nice trip," she said. "I'll see you in a week."

"Thanks."

_________

The plane left early in the morning. Nikita loaded her bags and her corseted self into a taxi and went to the airport. She checked all but one bag and disappeared into the restroom. If anyone had been watching for her to reappear, she would have been disappointed. Many women exited, but none of them resembled Nikita.

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

The train trip was relatively short. She changed trains and identities once, and after awhile began to relax. If she had been detected, they would have already brought her in.

Countryside streamed past the window, and she reflected on the complicated turns her life had taken. Two years ago, she had been free, living at the convent. Too bad Michael had fetched her back. If he hadn't, she wouldn't be in the predicament she was in now. Still ... when she thought about Michael, she was still able to smile. She hoped things were well with him, and wished more than ever that she could have communicated with him, but it just wasn't possible.

She hadn't cabled ahead, or called. When the train finally stopped, it was dark. She hoped Ella wouldn't be asleep.

___________

"Maria!" Ella threw her arms around Nikita, almost crying with excitement. "You should have written, called ... I can't believe you're here ... where's Michel?"

"He couldn't come," Nikita grinned at Ella's obvious joy. "Work," she explained, and Ella's smile dimmed.

"He is all right?" she asked anxiously.

Nikita smiled. "You tell me."

Ella grinned back. "He's tired, I guess. No funny dreams, though."

"Good."

Ella took Nikita's bag and led her through the halls of the church. By mutual consent, they silently stopped under a stained glass window and each lit candles. Then Ella took Nikita's arm and they strolled to the back of the church, letting themselves into the guest quarters of the convent.

"I haven't heard from you since the wedding," Ella said sociably, sitting on Nikita's bed and watching her unpack her small bag. "Tell me everything."

Nikita took off her new coat and hat, smoothing her hair in the tiny mirror above the dresser. She took a deep breath, then turned. Ella's mouth dropped open, and a smile blazed across her face. She bounced up, immediately laying hands on Nikita's stomach. "When?" she asked.

"Soon. Two months, the doctor says. I may need to borrow Sister Paul."

"Of course, of course," Ella murmured. Then, Nikita's words sank in, and she looked up at her.

"Does that mean you'll be having it here, then?"

Nikita's eyes changed, and she looked away.

"Maria? What's wrong?"

Nikita sat down on the bed, and patted the space next to her. "We need to sit down."

Ella slowly took her place, then gently took Nikita's hands in her own. "Tell me everything."

Nikita nodded. Slowly, she built up a scenario that Ella could be comfortable with, while not putting her in danger.

"I wasn't going to come here," Nikita said hesitantly. "Not because I thought you didn't want me," she said quickly. "But I didn't think Michael would like it. But I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"If you don't have anywhere else to go, than here is a good place to be," Ella said logically. "What's wrong, Maria?"

"This child isn't Michael's."

Ella grew very still. "Whose, then?"

"I was coming home late one night. Michael always says, take a cab, but I didn't have any money on me. He had just left on business."

"Maria. What happened?"

Nikita began to cry. It wasn't very hard; she was already exhausted, and nervous that Ella wouldn't buy the story. "I must have surprised them. There were two of them, waiting outside our apartment. They raped me ..."

"Hush, hush," Ella's arms went around her, rocking her gently, and Nikita cried even harder, because that was a trick of Michael's. "Did they find the men?"

Nikita shook her head.

Ella held Nikita at arms' length. "Where is Michel?"

"I told you. Work. I haven't seen him since it happened. We haven't spoken or written ..."

"He doesn't know about this?" Ella lay a gentle hand on Nikita's middle.

"How could I tell him?" Nikita demanded, miserable. "If I did, he would have come home immediately, jeopardizing himself and not doing me any good. It already makes him crazy, being away from me. And I can't worry him, the work that he does is too .... I don't want to break his concentration."

"So, then, what about this?" Ella motioned toward Nikita's stomach.

"I can't keep it," Nikita said, emotionless. "All I want to do is forget it ever happened. I thought you could help place it in a good home, and I could get on with my life. Ella, will you help me? Please?" Nikita held her breath.

"What a question! Of course, I'll help. Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask. You know you'll always be safe as houses here. Now, though, you need to sleep. It's been a long day and you look exhausted."

"I am a little tired," Nikita admitted. "Thank you, Ella. For everything."

Ella smiled. "Good night, then. See you in the morning. Do you want me to wake you for prayers?"

"Yes, please."

Ella quietly shut the door, and Nikita pulled on a convent nightgown. She fell into bed.

She suspected pregnancy before Michael left, but delayed telling him. She told herself it was because she wasn't sure. The truth was, she was afraid of what he'd do ... or make her do. If she waited, abortion wouldn't be an issue (she hoped); then, too, there was always the possibility of him not returning. It wasn't something she liked to think about, but it was a realistic option. Luck had been with her; not only was she just starting to show without her brace on, but she hadn't been sent on any difficult missions in the past three months. The doctor at the free clinic she went to was pleased with her prognosis, and all in all, except for the stress factor, it had been an easy pregnancy.

She planned things carefully. Nothing could go wrong. She thought, briefly, of running away, but that meant leaving Michael, and she just couldn't do that. They could leave together, but he wasn't available to discuss it. Staying in Section with the baby was not an option, but she refused to terminate it. She had done a lot of bad things in the past -- and so had Michael. Neither of them could go back and change it, but this child had the potential of bringing good out of evil. Well. Like Michael said, it wasn't what she would have chosen, for herself or the child, but one did what one had to do. Nikita curled up in a ball and cried herself to sleep.

____________

"What happened?" Madeleine's voice was mild, but her eyes were sharp and not very pleasant.

Janet swallowed. "Her luggage made it, but she didn't. I didn't miss her."

"Obviously, you did," Madeleine disagreed. "Or we would not be having this conversation. What about the trackers?"

"Still working. But we only placed them on her luggage that she sent on. She sent you this." Janet pulled an envelope from her pocket. "It was in her suitcase."

"What does it say?"

"It's addressed to you. I don't read other people's mail. Walter said there's nothing explosive in it. There's one for Michael, too."

Madeleine accepted both envelopes and slit hers open. The message was short and to the point. I don't like being followed. Don't worry, I'll be back. I just needed some time by myself. Don't bother Michael about it, everything is fine. I'll see you in two months.

Madeleine crumpled the note into a ball and lobbed it into her wastebasket. "That will be all, Janet. Thank you."

The operative left quickly, and Madeleine punched a number into the phone. "Burkhoff. I need two things. The first is, we need to find Nikita."

"The trackers didn't work?"

"They worked, but she somehow found out they were placed. She's traveling light, possibly with another passport. Check it out, will you?"

"Sure. What's the other thing?"

"I need to get in touch with Michael. Set it up."

Burkhoff sighed. "It'll take me two hours."

"Notify me when you get a connection."

Madeleine broke the communication, and put her head in her hands. Why was it that Nikita was more trouble than almost any agent she had worked with? The only one that even came close was Simone. She sighed, and poured herself a glass of water, wishing it were something a bit stronger.

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

Nikita slipped back into convent life with scarcely a ripple. Sister Paul examined her, said everything was progressing properly, and released her to work with the others. It was winter, so the outside garden lay dead and the hothouse was too warm for her to work in. So she spent her time in the kitchen, or helping Ella. St. Francis closed its grade school, so Mary and Martha instituted a school of its own, and Ella had become a teacher. This year it was second grade, and next year, she would move up with the children to third. Nikita could tell she loved it, and she was good with the children. She kept her promise to help Nikita place the baby; every evening, they went over the adoption applications, dividing the prospective parents into three piles: yes, no, maybe.

"We need to start interviewing," Ella said. "They look great on paper, but ..."

"You're right." Nikita stood, stretching her back. "Sister Paul says it might be sooner than I thought."

"She should know. She's been a midwife for years. When does Sister Paul think ...?"

"About four weeks. Good thing too. I can't wait to be back to normal. Whatever that is."

Ella looked at her warily. "Are you going to cry again?"

"No," Nikita said.

"Good. Now, these are the ones I want to talk to. What about you?"

Nikita flipped through the applications again. "They look fine. Will you set up the interviews?"

"Sure. You'll be there, too, right?"

"I guess," Nikita said unenthusiastically.

Ella patted her knee. "It'll all be over soon."

___________

"What do you mean, gone?" Michael asked, trying to breathe normally.

"She asked for a transfer," Madeleine explained. "When I refused and sent her on vacation, she gave the operative that was sent to watch her the slip."

"How long ago was this?"

"A week."

"Who did you send?"

"Irrelevant, and you know it. Do you want me to read your letter?"

"Please."

Madeleine slit the envelope. "'Don't worry, Michael. I'm safe as houses, just tired of being watched. Hope the job goes well and I'll see you in a few months. Nikita.' Safe as houses, Michael?"

"Just a saying. Doesn't mean anything."

"Are you worried?" Madeleine asked, refolding the scrap of paper and returning it to its envelope.

"Do you want me to come in?" Michael countered.

"Not yet. What is our time frame now?"

Michael frowned, his image coming out a little blurry on Madeleine's computer. "I can wrap it up in two weeks."

"Good. I'll see you then."

The connection broke, and Michael sat back. When he first heard the news, he felt an almost crippling panic, followed quickly by intense fear, and then a leaden despair. The onslaught of emotions left him feeling nauseous. Gingerly, he took a sip of Coke to settle his stomach, and he began thinking.

A transfer? That didn't make sense. A transfer meant they'd be apart, and from all indications, that was the last thing Nikita wanted. It wasn't even practical. The only place they needed people now was Switzerland; she hadn't mastered Italian well enough yet. Also, she had promised to behave while he was gone, and he couldn't think of a reason for her to break her promise. She was able to take care of herself; he couldn't imagine anyone bullying her or making her uncomfortable or unhappy enough to leave. And she didn't care enough about her reputation in Section; even if, for some reason, she had been ostracized, he couldn't think that it would bother her.

One possibility was she just needed to be alone. That made sense -- sort of -- and certainly fit Nikita's personality. Perhaps she thought Section suspected their relationship. Or maybe she decided to try to escape for good. He didn't want to even think about that. For one thing, she promised. For another, it meant that perhaps she wasn't taking their whole twisted relationship as seriously as he was. It was odd, he admitted. No one knew about the marriage; they didn't live together; in their first year of marriage, they had been together a handful of months. He'd been gone almost six months now. Maybe things had changed. He knew she wasn't loyal to Section; but he had been sure she was loyal to him. Wasn't she?

Nausea washed over him again, and he took another sip of Coke. Two weeks stretched out indeterminately. Maybe he could finish it in one.

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

The weekly examination over, Sister Paul helped Nikita on with her dress. "Have you found the perspective parents yet?"

"I think so. We've narrowed it down to the Tremaines. I really like them. He's a teacher, she's a nurse. She'd quit and stay at home with the baby until it reached school age."

"Sounds like you have only good choices, then."

"I think so."

"Any word from our Michael?"

The light went out of Nikita's face. "No." She buttoned her dress up the front.

"Well." Sister Paul gave her a little pat. "You let me know when the contractions start. Should be soon."

"Okay."

___________

"How is Michael doing?" Operations asked.

Madeleine frowned. "He's had to revise his time line. It will be three weeks at least, instead of two."

"Why?"

"We didn't go into the details. Transmissions to him take two hours at least to set up, and have to be limited to a few minutes for his own safety. If his cover is blown, we're back to square one."

"Don't remind me. Any news on Nikita?"

"No, but she has four weeks left," Madeleine said. "I'm sure we'll see her then."

Operations grunted. "I don't agree. She's gone, and all we're doing is letting her get further away. Does he have any idea where she is?"

"He says no."

"What about that letter she left for him?"

"Similar to the one she left me. Reassurances about her safety and her eventual return."

"Was it in code?"

"I don't think so."

Burkhoff interrupted them. "I've got a transmission from Michael. Bringing it online ... now."

"Speak of the devil," Operations muttered, and Madeleine smiled.

"Hello, Michael," she said.

He nodded, then looked off screen. "Things fell suddenly into place today. I'll be in day after tomorrow."

"Good," Operations approved.

"You were successful, then?" Madeleine asked.

"Very." He didn't ask, but blurry as the communication was, Madeleine saw what he wanted to know.

"We haven't heard from her," she told him. "But if you'd like, you can try to locate her on your own."

"She has a couple of weeks left," Michael reminded them. "It might be better to leave her be."

Their faces shimmered on his screen, but the connection wasn't bad enough to distort the look that passed between Madeleine and Operations. Michael sighed. "I'm on my way."

Madeleine smiled. "Good."

___________

Nikita was carrying a basket of apples up from the cellar when pain knifed through her. She staggered, let the basket fall from her head, and gripped the railing to keep from falling. Blackness began closing in, but she was able to breathe slowly and surely, and gradually, her vision cleared and she relaxed her hold on the banister. Apples rolled disconsolately down the stairs, and a pool gathered at her feet. Shakily, she went up the stairs.

"Sister Mary." She enunciated carefully, still feeling distinctly odd. Sister Mary turned, dropped her spoon on the stove top and rushed to Nikita.

"I'll get Sister Paul, dear," she said quickly, settling Nikita in a chair. "Don't move." Nikita nodded in agreement, then lay her head on the table. She focused on her silver St. Jude's medal and tried to breathe steadily.

_________

The first thing Michael did after the transmission broke was to check his watch. It was connected with Nikita's necklace, and ever since her disappearance, he had been hoping for the homing device to activate. It was dead, as usual. So either she didn't need him, or she couldn't activate it. Neither thought was pleasant. Well, first things first. He tucked his passport in his pocket, gathered the equipment Section needed and left everything else. Housekeeping would come soon and clean it up, along with the body in his bathtub.

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

"How is she?" Ella asked Sister Paul anxiously, out of earshot of Nikita.

"Just fine," Sister Paul smiled. "Usually, the first baby takes its time. Somehow, I don't think that will be the case with this one, though. The Tremaines are here, then?"

"Yes, just outside. Father Jeffrey is talking to them."

"Good," Sister Paul approved. "That means you can help me with Maria. I'm glad the paperwork was completed last week. We want this to go as smoothly as possible, for Maria's sake. Poor little thing ..."

Nikita groaned and gripped the white infirmary sheets, and the two nuns turned towards her.

"Well, my dear," Sister Paul said, smiling, "Let's do our best, shall we?"

Nikita nodded, and focused her eyes on Ella's.

__________

Michael really didn't have to think too hard about where Nikita was. If she specified Australia, it was a pretty good bet she would be as far away from there as was physically possible. He stood in her apartment, studying everything. The sunglasses hung, unmoving, from their nooses; sunlight filtered dustily through the windows. He went to her closet and took a quick inventory. She had left all her heels, all the evening clothes, her coats. The galabiya he bought her in Cairo was gone; so was a muumuu she had acquired in Hawaii a few years ago, and, inexplicably, his slippers. Odd choices for traveling clothes. He checked the bureau. Her favorite jeans were there, and so were her favorite pajamas. Underwear and T-shirts lay in tidy, undisturbed piles.

Tapping his chin, Michael went into the bathroom. Her shampoo was gone, and so was her toothbrush. Some cosmetics were missing, but her perfume still stood on the counter. Finally, he opened the jewelry box. Not only was her watch gone, but so was St. Jude. Good. At least she could contact him ... if she wanted to. He dumped the tangle of necklaces and bracelets on the bureau, searching for her rosary. It wasn't there.

Still frowning, Michael sat on the unmade bed. He gingerly lay back on the pillow, his head fitting into the indention Nikita had left behind. There was still a faint scent of her, and as he turned on his side, he noticed the black pillowcase was slightly discolored. He smelled of the stain, then carefully licked the cloth. Salt. Not blood, as he had first feared. Michael slowly sat up. Feeling very Sherlock Holmes, he made another pass through the apartment, then carefully locked the door behind him. Safe as houses, indeed, he thought, fingering the well-worn note tucked in his jacket pocket. What could she have been thinking? The only sign that he was angry was a twitching muscle in his temple.

_______

Michael took the train, and just as Nikita had, he doubled back, changed tickets, and confused his trail. Satisfied that no one was tailing him, he tried to relax, but was so angry, his muscles wouldn't respond. He was even too angry to read, and by the time his stop finally came, he had worked himself into a fine fury.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and decided to walk. It was two miles and it was dark, but perhaps the physical activity would calm him down.

He walked quickly, steadily, and by the time the convent loomed over him, he had regained a bit of his composure. He took a deep breath and pulled the bell.

"Yes?" The novice was a stranger to Michael, and he managed to smile.

"I'd like to see Sister Gabrielle, please."

"And you are ...?"

"Her brother. I'll wait in the sanctuary, if that's all right."

The novice shook her head. "I'm sorry. She's with someone right now, and can't be disturbed. If you like, I can get someone to show you to a room, and you can see her in the morning."

"No, I must see her tonight," Michael said firmly. "Please, just tell her I am here."

"I'm sorry, I can't disturb her," the novice said, just as firmly. "But wait here, and I'll find someone to help you."

Instead of sitting down on the bench in the entryway, Michael made his way to the kitchen. There was always someone there, and the kitchen was the heart of the convent. He knocked softly on the door and poked his head in.

"Sister Mary," he greeted her, and she swung around, a paring knife raised.

"Michael!" The knife clattered to the cutting board, and she wrapped him in a quick motherly embrace. "I'm so glad you're finally here, my dear. We've been worried half to death."

"My wife is here," Michael stated, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Yes, of course, and she's going to be just fine," Sister Mary assured him. "The Tremaines are just lovely people, I know they'll be perfect..."

"I need Gabrielle," Michael interrupted. "Can you get her for me?"

"Of course, just as soon as they're done," Sister Mary agreed. She turned back to her cutting board and continued dissecting apples for a pie. She glanced up. "It shouldn't be long, now. Want to help cut?"

"Sure," Michael said, defeated. He picked up a knife and joined her. Whack. The apple split. Whack. Split again. A quick flick of the wrist, and it was cored. Four quick movements, and the peel lay in a sad little heap. Sister Mary watched, and let out a low whistle. "You'll have to teach me how to do that sometime," she said.

"All in the wrist," Michael muttered. "Tell me how my wife is."

"Pretty well, considering. She was further along than they thought, at first. It was awful, what happened to her," Sister Mary said, cutting apples rapidly. "We all felt so terrible. Poor little thing. It's a dreadful experience, but she did the right thing, coming here. She's managed quite well, though, you can be very proud of her. How did your job go?"

Michael felt a flash of panic. "Very well," he said cautiously. What was going on?

"I'm glad of that. She wouldn't tell us what it was, just that it was important for you to get it done with no distractions. We were praying for you, you know."

Michael thought of the duties this particular job had required, and his stomach twisted.

"Maria was so worried about you, she wouldn't even think of contacting you. Said you needed to concentrate on your work. I'm glad it was worth it, whatever it was."

Michael put down his knife with a snap, his anger returning in a rush. "I have to go see them."

Ella suddenly burst in the door, face wreathed in smiles.

"Sister! It's all right," she said, voice ringing with relief. Then, seeing Michael, her smile grew even brighter. "Michel! How -- when --"

Michael gave her a quick hug, and Ella let out a squeak of protest. "Not so hard, Michel," she complained, and he held her at arms' length.

"We need to talk," he commanded, in a steely voice.

Ella dropped her eyes in confusion. "Of c-c-c-course," she stuttered.

"Now, Gabrielle." He propelled her out of the kitchen with a iron grip, and she stumbled along in front of him.

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

When Nikita woke up, it was to her own room. She lay quietly, absorbing the familiar sounds of the convent. Without opening her eyes, she said, "I can tell you are angry by the way you are breathing. Are you angry because I came here, or because I didn't tell you?"

Michael got up from the chair, and loomed over her. "Both."

Nikita finally opened her eyes, and painfully moved over. Michael squatted by the bed, folding his arms on the mattress so he could look into her eyes.

"I had no choice," she said defensively. "I've done a lot of bad things, and this was one thing that was good. I couldn't abort it, Michael. I just couldn't."

"No," he agreed, his anger slowly melting.

"I couldn't stay in Section and have it," she said.

"No." Gingerly, he smoothed her hair away from her face.

"I am sorry about bringing Ella into it," Nikita admitted. She caught his hand in hers, and his fingers tightened slightly.

"She thinks you were raped," he said flatly. "She was very sympathetic."

Nikita swallowed. "I thought about telling her we fought, but I didn't think I could pull it off."

Michael was silent, his thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles, and Nikita, who was still very tired, almost drifted back to sleep. "What are they like?" he asked.

She sleepily opened her eyes again. "The Tremaines? Nice. What I wish we were. Did you meet them?"

"They already left with their new child."

"Good. I didn't want to see it."

"Why?"

"It's already too hard," she sighed. "I'm trying to do something good here, Michael. I don't want to ruin it by being selfish. Had I seen it, I would have wanted to keep it. And the less I know about it, the better for all concerned."

She was falling asleep again. He gently extracted his hand from hers, but she clutched at him convulsively. "Don't leave me," she muttered.

The bed was small, but there was enough room for him. He cautiously fit himself around her, careful not to rest too heavily on her. She sighed in her sleep and turned, resting her head on his chest, fingers gripping his shirt. But it was a long time before Michael's eyes closed.

_________

Nikita really needed at least two weeks to recuperate. She had only one before her vacation was up, though, and so Michael pilfered Sister Paul's arsenal of medications to help her through the next few days. Her hormones were all out of kilter, not to mention the changes her body experienced. All in all, it was a very cross and emotional Nikita that was ushered into Section.

"Ready to go back to work?" Madeleine greeted her, eyeing her outfit. She was wearing a peacock blue floating cotton dress with a fisherman's sweater over it and cowboy boots.

Nikita frowned, and Michael cleared his throat. "I need her to help me, if that is all right, Madeleine."

Madeleine focused her attention on Michael. "And just what will she be doing?"

"Surveillance. Operations has a lead on Parker. We'll be watching him until he makes a move, then we'll take him out."

"Very good," Madeleine approved. She smiled at Nikita. "Still want that transfer, Nikita?"

"Doesn't matter what I want," Nikita said crossly. Her tone was light, but she was a little pale. Michael took an unobtrusive step backwards to brace her. "You'll do what you want, anyway. Can I go now?"

"Yes, you may," Madeleine agreed. She watched Nikita walk slowly, but steadily, toward the door, then she turned to Michael.

"Where was she?"

"In the outback. Camping," he replied briefly. "I need to get some information from Burkhoff before we leave. May I?"

"Certainly. Where will the surveillance be taking place, if I may ask?"

"An apartment in New York. Burkhoff has the specs."

"I'm sure he does. I hope you are successful."

"Thank you."

Michael walked quickly to his office; Nikita was sprawled in his chair, head back, eyes closed.

"Are we okay?" she asked.

"Safe as houses." He went around his desk and lightly laid his hands on her shoulders. She opened blue eyes and stared at him, a little dully.

"All right?" he asked.

"All right," she sighed.

"Good. Let's go." He folded his laptop and extended a hand; Nikita hauled herself up, wincing a bit.

"How long will I be sore?" she asked.

"Awhile. I'll help you," he said quietly.

Her eyes were troubled, and she looked down at their intertwined hands. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "The baby will be safe where it is. It would never have lived long if it had stayed with us. At least now, there is a chance."

"Then why do I feel so lousy?"

Michael helped her with her coat, then put his on. Nikita absently reached out and straightened the collar, and Michael shouldered his computer, his briefcase and Nikita's purse. She smiled, and took her bag back.

"You look too much like a husband," she chided, and he smiled faintly.

"We have half an hour before we need to catch the train," he said. "I thought we might drop by a church."

"Sounds good."

They left the office, Michael shutting the door behind him. From her perch in the glass box above them, Madeleine watched the two exit Section. Nikita moved slowly, and Michael matched his pace to hers, pausing only to open a door for her. His head was cocked, listening to something she was saying, and now and again he made a comment. Her bright head bobbed up and down, agreeing with him sometimes, disagreeing others, and as they reached the door, she familiarly tucked her arm through his.

He didn't pull away.

-End-