“Well, now,” a gentle voice drawled. “Let’s see what I’ve got. I can get someone over ... Monday morning.”

Nikita blinked. “But it’s only Friday.”

“Hon, we’re all booked up. I’m sorry. Now, I know Ralph over at Cool Breeze may have an opening, but with this heat, all the repair men are busy. You want me to pencil you in?”

“Use ink,” Nikita decided. “Monday morning? Really?”

“I’m sorry, honey. If we can get someone out sooner, we will.”

Nikita hung up. Sweat trickled down her back and her hair stuck to her neck. She heard her refrigerator sigh, sounding just as resigned as she felt.

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

Nikita smiled as the cool air from the Sciences building eddied around her. Heaven. She took a deep breath -- the smell of chalk, chemicals and explosives calmed her -- and, glancing down the hall, she started searching for Michael’s office. She’d been only once, to help him bring some books in, but she found him easily enough.

His office faced Gerry’s. Both doors were open; Gerry had the office on the right, Michael the one on the left, and someone else -- who wasn’t here this summer -- occupied the one in the middle at the end of the hall.

“Michael,” Gerry called through her open door, “Do you have a copy of Etherson here? Mine’s at home --”

“Sure.” Nikita heard his chair roll away from his desk and he crossed the hall to Gerry’s office, the book in his hand. “Nikita? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Nikita,” Gerry said cheerfully, taking the book from Michael.

“Hi,” Nikita returned. She smiled at Michael, twined her arms around him and said, “We agreed I’d pick you up this afternoon. Remember?”

“Ah ...”

“For our anniversary weekend, Michael,” Nikita prompted. Michael made a faint, strangled sound, but Nikita covered it up by saying brightly to Gerry, “Men. Sometimes I think Michael’s got a brain like a sieve.”

“About some things,” Michael agreed, recovering. He checked his watch -- it was after 4 o’clock -- and said, “Well, shall we go?”

“I’m ready,” Nikita smiled. “Bye, Gerry.”

“Have a good weekend,” Gerry smiled back.

Michael silently gathered his things from his office and Nikita waited for him. Then, still not talking, they walked out of the building and to the Audi.

“So.” Michael’s voice was oddly flat, and his face was blank. “Where’s the mission?”

“Mission?”

“The one we’ve been assigned. Or ... is it just me this time?”

“Oh, Michael. No.” Nikita reached over across the gear shift and cupped his chin in her hands. “There’s no mission. The air conditioner broke. It’s hotter than an oven in our house and we wouldn’t be able to sleep. So we’re going to have a nice dinner and stay at a hotel. I brought some clothes for you ...” Her voice trailed off and Michael looked down at the floorboard.

“When you came in and started talking about anniversaries ... I thought it was a way to get me out of school for an indefinite period of time,” he said finally.

“I’m sorry. I had to think of something.” Nikita started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “The thing is ... what we’re doing is sort of breaking profile.”

“How so?”

“There’s a ton of conventions in town. One downtown at the convention center and several more in hotels. All the hotels near the airport are booked up. Actually, all the hotels are booked. Even the Anatole.”

“So, where are we staying?”

Nikita cleared her throat a little nervously. “That’s the problem, Michael. I could find rooms farther away, but you’d have to wake up in the middle of the night to come to school on Monday ...”

She turned down College, then made a left on Preston. “I tried the Fairmont. It’s not too far away, you know. But when I checked in, the room was ... they had a little plumbing accident. And there wasn’t anything else left. So ... well, we’re staying at the Mansion. I know,” she said quickly, “It’s a little ... ummm ... fancy. That’s why I had to make up the anniversary. We can say we splurged. Which, if you were really a schoolteacher, we would be.”

Michael thoughtfully watched the scenery as Preston changed to Oak Lawn. Traffic was a little heavier here, and Nikita finally turned off on Turtle Creek, where traffic wasn’t as bad. “Actually,” he said, “Your income is more than mine.”

“That’s so,” Nikita said. “That’s even a better story, Michael. You can tell people your crazy artist wife, who has no common sense, splurged on a $350-dollar-a-night room. So, tell me something, Michael ...” Nikita pulled into the valet parking at the hotel and smiled at the young man there. “How does it feel to be married to someone who makes more than you do?”

“It feels ... fine.”

Nikita glanced at him and smiled. “Good.”

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

Nikita had spent a lot of time with Michael in elaborate hotel rooms. They seldom stayed the night. They completed their mission, whatever it was, and were in Section by daylight.

So this time would be special. Michael, a little tired from teaching, shluffed his shoes off and lay eagle-spread on the bed, eyes closed. Nikita followed suit, curling up beside him and yawning. “I thought we might go out tonight. But maybe a little nap would be better?” she suggested sleepily.

“Nikita.”

“Mmmm ...”

“Do you think our sex life is ... boring?”

Nikita’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Well,” Michael said, looking a little uncomfortable, “We aren’t especially ... creative.”

Nikita propped her head up on an elbow and stared at him. Then she slung a leg over him, pulled herself up and sat on his stomach, hands on either side of his face. Slowly, she bent down and kissed him. “Michael,” she breathed. “Are you bored?”

“No.”

“Maybe ...” she kissed him again, lowering herself so her elbows were on either side of his head, “we should take off all our clothes and not go out for the whole weekend.”

“N-Nikita ...”

This time when she kissed him, she stretched out over him and said gently, “Creativity is for the job. You know? When it’s just us ... I like us to be just the way we are.”

“Good.” Michael rolled them over and kissed her, hard.

“Besides ... creativity is ... objective ... don’t you think?” Nikita ran her fingers through Michael’s hair and he kissed her again, this time feather-light. “Maybe some people would consider us boring ... but, personally, I’ve never thought we were.”

“Let’s stay in tonight ...” Michael breathed, his mouth lightly touching the soft skin on her neck.

“Mmmm ...”

He kissed her again, lips warm and smooth. “We can order up room service ...” he murmured.

“Okay ...”

He tangled his hands in her hair, then slowly, one hand began journeying down her side. Nikita brought up her leg, and his finger caressed the crease in her knee. Nikita groaned faintly.

“And we’ll have boring, endless sex.”

Nikita smiled. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

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

“So.” Operations smiled at Madeleine, who smiled politely back. “How are our two doing?”

“Don’t you mean, ‘What are our two doing?’”

“I have a pretty good idea of what they’re doing, Madeleine.” Operations sighed and turned away from the plate glass window that separated his office from Section. “I want to know how they’re holding up.”

“Their weekly progress reports are prompt,” Madeleine said. “Michael has submitted another article to Physics. Nikita performed adequately at the last charity event in New York. She’s actually been offered a commission to do some murals in a restaurant.”

“In Dallas?”

“No. New Orleans.”

“What did she say?”

Madeleine shrugged. “She refused, of course. The work wouldn’t have started till October. And she knows she’ll have to be in Section by then.”

“So ... she’s keeping her focus?”

Madeleine paused. “She seems to be.”

“And Michael?”

“It’s difficult to tell.”

“We should have put surveillance in their apartment,” Operations sighed, annoyed.

“Surveillance equipment isn’t necessary in an operation like this,” Madeleine reminded him.

“It would have told us the nature of their relationship.”

“Perhaps.” Madeleine paused again, then said, “Of course, there are other ways of doing that. That is, if you feel it’s really important.”

“You don’t?”

“If Nikita thinks they are closer as a result of this mission, it’s good for the end result.”

“And if they’re not?”

“That’s not a crime, either,” Madeleine said lightly. “You and I have worked together for a good many years and we aren’t particularly close.”

“True,” he said, a little dryly. “Well. If you’re satisfied ...”

“Oh, I didn’t say I was satisfied.”

“Twenty-four hours, Madeleine,” he warned, staring into her eyes. “And that’s final.”

“Agreed.”

“All right then.” Operations relaxed. “Now. About Chandra ...”

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

Nikita couldn’t honestly say she was any closer to Gerry than she had been before. No matter how many of Michael’s Encyclopedia of Sciences she read, Nikita still felt very stupid around her. But she was careful to be nice to her. Michael liked her. He liked discussing things with her that he couldn’t discuss with Nikita. So, though she wouldn’t have been Nikita’s choice for a friend, Gerry was regularly invited over for dinner.

Usually she came on Thursday nights. That’s when Nova came on, and they ate, then watched television. Nikita usually washed the dishes while Michael and Gerry started watching the program; Nikita generally caught the last half of the program, curled up against Michael on their red couch, with Gerry sitting in one of the easy chairs.

One Thursday, soon after they’d got the air conditioner repaired, Nikita was just adding milk to the potatoes before mashing them. The meatloaf sat on top of the oven, cooling a bit before cutting, and the green beans were bubbling away. They were almost ready. Michael was putting ice in glasses; Gerry lounged against the cabinet, discussing something Nikita privately labeled “spacey” with Michael.

The doorbell rang. Nikita added a square of butter to her potatoes. “Michael -- could you --”

“Excuse me,” Michael smiled at Gerry, and she finished filling the glasses, then took them to the dining room.

Nikita turned on the mixer and quickly mashed the potatoes; she didn’t hear Michael come back in the kitchen, and when he touched her on the shoulder, she jumped.

“Nikita. Look who’s here.” Something in his voice made her tense up, but she was careful to keep her face neutral. She glanced over her shoulder, and for a minute, she thought she was imagining things.

She didn’t know what surprised her more: the fact that Madeleine was here, standing in her kitchen, or the fact that Madeleine was wearing a short-sleeved cotton knit dress and ... sandals. Beyond her, Gerry looked on with interest. Nikita blinked. “Madeleine?”

“Surprise!” Madeleine smiled, then, to Nikita’s horror, gave her a quick hug. “I should have called, I know. But I wasn’t sure how long I’d be in town ...”

“Well ... how long will you be in town?” Nikita smiled cheerfully at Madeleine, chiefly for Gerry’s benefit, but also because she wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Just over night,” Madeleine shrugged.

“Well ... you got here just in time.” Nikita put the mashed potatoes into a serving bowl, stuck a spoon in and handed it to Madeleine. “We’ll have to set another place for dinner.”

Another place was set; they sat down for dinner, and, as usually happened when Gerry was over for dinner, Michael led a quick blessing. Nikita bowed her head briefly, but looked up through her eyelashes at Madeleine.

She wasn’t even pretending to pray. She was looking at Michael thoughtfully, her face still and listening. And that’s when Nikita began to be afraid.

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

Because of the impromptu company, Gerry didn’t stay for Nova. “You’ll want to visit your cousin, Michael,” she said, then, to Madeleine, “It was nice to meet you.” She extended her hand and Madeleine shook it warmly.

“Likewise. Hope your classes are easy tomorrow.”

“Oh ... Friday’s are never bad. See you tomorrow, Michael.”

The house seemed very quiet when Gerry left, and Nikita silently began collecting plates. Michael didn’t move to help her, and she felt both of them slipping into the old roles of student/teacher. When the table was cleared except for Michael and Madeleine’s half-empty wine glasses, Nikita hesitated, but Madeleine made the decision for her.

“I’d like to speak with Michael alone, please, Nikita.”

Nikita nodded and went back into the kitchen. She strained to hear their conversation as she automatically washed the dishes, put away the left overs, then, when the kitchen was spotless, she started a load of laundry. The sound muffled whatever conversation she might have heard, and Nikita sat down at the kitchen table, her forehead supported by her hands.

Michael knocked on the closed kitchen door and Nikita jerked upright. The door swung inward. “She’s ready for you,” he said quietly. Nikita nodded and rose.

“Michael?”

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking by the way he looked at her. “I’ll make up the couch for Madeleine,” Michael said instead, and Nikita nodded.

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

“So, Nikita.” Madeleine looked calmly at Nikita, and Nikita waited. “How has the summer gone?”

“All right. It’s been hot.”

“I received notice from the accounting department that you charged a room at the Mansion a few weeks ago ...?”

“The air conditioner broke. I couldn’t find another room.”

“I see.” Madeleine ran careful eyes up Nikita’s frame and Nikita resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. “Have you gained weight?”

“Yes. Some. I weigh 121 now.”

“You aren’t gaining it as quickly as we hoped.”

Nikita felt a flash of anger that she quickly squelched. “I’m eating,” she said blandly.

“Yes, I noticed at dinner.”

The clock ticked loudly in the room; Michael quietly entered the living room without looking at them and began making up the couch for Madeleine.

“How is your relationship with Michael?”

“My ... relationship? In what sense?” Nikita asked, seemingly confused.

“Are you two getting along?”

“I suppose.” Nikita still sounded puzzled. “Shouldn’t we be?”

“Of course. Have you been seen in public together often?”

That was easier. “Sure. We go to church on Sundays; Gerry comes over once a week for dinner; we went to the New York thing together.”

“So there’s no reason that anyone would think you are other than what you seem to be?”

“Not that I can think of,” Nikita answered.

Silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita watched Michael tuck in the bottom of a sheet on Madeleine’s make-shift bed.

“Are you having sexual relations?”

Nikita blinked. “I wasn’t aware that was part of the mission. No one’s monitoring us.”

“No,” Madeleine agreed. “Still ...”

“I know, I know, three times a week,” Nikita rolled her eyes. “And shall we fight about in-laws, too? Just for our own enjoyment?”

“I’m sure,” Madeleine smiled, “That you can think of many things to fight about without bringing fictitious in-laws into the picture.”

“No doubt,” Nikita agreed dryly.

The clock struck 9 o’clock. Madeleine continued to study her, and this time Nikita let her impatience show. “Is that all, Madeleine?”

“Why?”

“I’m a little tired today. I got up early this morning.”

“Why?”

“Michael snores,” Nikita lied, then smiled. “Something’s blooming that he’s allergic to. You’re lucky you get to sleep on the couch. It’s really quite comfortable.”

“I don’t snore,” Michael denied, coming into the dining room and picking up his wine glass.

“He’s also,” Nikita said to Madeleine, “In denial. Well. If you’re finished with me, I’m going to bed.”

“Good night, Nikita,” Madeleine smiled at her.

“Good night. Good night, Michael.”

“Good night,” he answered.

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

Nikita went through her usual evening routine and lay, stomach down, on their big blue bed. All the lights were off in their bedroom, but she was too nervous to sleep. Finally, she got out a penlight and pulled the B encyclopedia off the night table.

There wasn’t anything to read in their house except scientific books. Most were too esoteric for Nikita, but the Encyclopedia of Science was written with easy-to-understand language. It actually was kind of interesting. She was half-way through B.

The bedroom door opened and faint light spilled on the floor in an angle. Like a disobedient child, Nikita snapped off her flash light and quickly turned over in bed.

“It’s me,” Michael said softly, and Nikita answered him.

“Is she asleep?” she whispered.

“Soon.” Michael took off his clothes in the dark, letting the fabric lay where it fell. Then he climbed into bed and reached out for her. “What’s this?”

“My book.” Nikita felt around and, as quietly as she could, slid the book back on the table.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” she whispered, sounding irritated. “If you hadn’t bought such a big bed --”

Long arms pulled her closer to him, and somewhat confused, he asked, “What is all this? What are you wearing?”

“A nightgown.”

“Why?”

“Michael ... Madeleine’s in the next room ...”

“Trust me. She won’t come in.” Michael felt around for her and lifted her face to his, giving her a rough kiss. Then his hands went a little lower. “You should take this off ...” he breathed.

“Michael ... what are you doing? Are you crazy?” Nikita tried to fend him off.

Instead of answering, Michael began to single-mindedly remove her clothing. “Michael,” Nikita hissed, and then, finally, her brain began processing exactly what was happening. She drew a quick finger across his damp lips and tasted him. Then she rolled away and heedless of whether Madeleine would notice the light coming from under their door, she flipped on the bedside lamp.

Several years ago Section had perfected a drug meant to help operatives with valentine missions. A stimulant, it was called by a number of rude names among operatives, but the truth was, it was useful in many applications. There were side effects, some pleasant, others less so, and not everyone could take it. Some operatives became violent, others had adverse reactions. One woman, long before Nikita’s time, had a heart attack in the bed of her would-be lover.

Nikita didn’t know whether Michael had ever taken the drug. She thought it likely that he had at some point in his career. But he hadn’t taken any drugs lately -- not even an aspirin -- and so whatever he took now would have more of an effect. Also, his body chemistry had changed over the years. Maybe he’d been tested for adverse reactions five years ago, but he’d been kidnaped several times since then and at various times injected with all types of chemicals.

She’d tasted the tell-tale tang of sharp raspberries on his lips, and now, in the dim light, he looked confused. “Michael?”

As she watched him, his face lost its flush and paled to a delicate green. Nikita came quickly to his side and pulled him up. “Come on --”

She got him to their tiny half-bath and closed the door so Madeleine wouldn’t hear him throwing up. Then she straightened their bed, smoothed the sheets and readjusted her nightgown. When she didn’t hear any more noise from the bathroom, she softly knocked on the door. “Okay?”

She heard a faint moan, and she opened the door. Michael was slumped against the wall, his face the color of putty. Nikita got him upright, handed him a toothbrush, and put a cool washcloth on his forehead, his shoulders ... Michael rinsed his mouth and they slowly went back to bed.

“The bad news is ... I don’t ever want to eat meat loaf again. The good news is ... this proves she found the electronic trail to Chandra,” Michael said faintly.

Michael -- or sometimes Nikita, using Michael’s access codes -- wrote to Chandra at least every other day. Nikita sighed. “How is she doing? Can you tell from what Madeleine asked you?”

“Don’t know,” Michael sighed, worn out.

“She must be doing pretty well if Madeleine thought it was necessary to drug you for us to have sex,” Nikita answered her own question. “How do you feel?”

“Not good.”

There was an opened can of Sprite on Nikita’s side of the bed, but she hesitated. “I’d feel better offering water from the tap.”

“Anything.”

She got him some water and wiped his forehead again with the washcloth.

“You know,” Nikita said, holding the glass for Michael while he drank, “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered that Madeleine poisoned you. Evidently, I was expected to fall into your arms ...” Nikita swallowed and Michael sank back with a soft moan. She sat the glass near the bed, turned off the lamp and turned on the closet light, shutting the door nearly all the way. Then she extended the Morris chair, grabbed her pillow and curled up in the chair so Michael could have the bed. And that’s where she stayed the rest of the night.

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

Nikita woke up late, when sun was already flooding through their room. She rose and stretched, pulling stiff muscles and rolling her neck from side to side. She checked Michael; his skin was a normal color and his breathing regular, so Nikita splashed some water on her face, brushed her hair back in a tight pony tail, pulled on a bright Lilly Pulitzer sundress and tiptoed out of their room.

“Madeleine?” she spoke softly, and Madeleine answered in the same tone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine, thanks,” Madeleine answered. “You?”

It was no use lying; Nikita had seen how drawn her face looked in the bathroom mirror. She frowned. “I’m stiff from sleeping in the chair.”

“Why?” Madeleine’s eyebrows didn’t raise, but they may as well have.

“Michael was sick last night. How do you feel?” Nikita asked, as if she’d just thought of it. “Stomach okay?”

“Fine. You’re a good cook, Nikita.”

“Well, he must have eaten something bad at lunch.” Nikita yawned. “So. What’s the plan for today?”

“I need to get back to Section. I was about to call a cab.”

“I can take you to the airport.” Nikita picked up the keys to the Audi. “You got something to eat, right? Juice? Coffee?” Take anything, Nikita thought, her anger well hidden but bubbling away inside. Just get out of my house.

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” Madeleine smiled and Nikita smiled back. Then she picked up Madeleine’s overnight bag, threw it over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“This is a good time to leave. Between morning rush hour and lunch hour traffic. We can get you there in half an hour,” Nikita promised.

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

When Nikita returned to their house an hour later, she slammed the front door, stomped up the front stairs, and, absolutely furious, went directly to the refrigerator. She pulled up the trash can -- empty, fortunately -- and begin throwing stuff away. She didn’t even keep the bowls that leftovers had been stored in. Everything went. The meatloaf. The potatoes. The milk. Mustard. And the wine. Especially the wine.

“Nikita?” Michael, pale but upright, stood in the door, supporting himself on the frame. “What are you doing?”

Nikita jumped at the sound of his voice. She dropped the bowl of green beans in the garbage, then turned toward him. Tears welled up in her eyes and she walked into his arms.

Michael held her for a few minutes, and when her sobs changed to furious unintelligible words, he pushed her gently away and used a tea towel to wipe her face. “I hate her,” Nikita said through clinched teeth. “I hate her.”

“It’s over, Nikita.”

“You ... you could have d-d-died. Like that girl who had the heart attack.” Fresh tears threatened to flow, and Michael, towel ready, dabbed her cheeks.

“I didn’t,” he pointed out. “Besides, death is a certainly for us both. And I can think of few places I’d rather die than in bed with you.”

Nikita scowled at him and hugged him hard, her face tightly pressed to his neck. After a few minutes, Michael said, “Now. About today.”

“Did you call in?”

“Yes. I said it was a stomach virus.” He looked in their over-flowing trash can and suggested gently, “Maybe we should go grocery shopping.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” All I want to do is put on my pajamas and stay in bed all day long with you. Instead of saying what she really wanted though, Nikita said, “Let’s get take out. Something we can’t get sick off of. Something Madeleine’s not touched. Okay?”

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

June melted into July. There was an Independence Day party at TEC; Nikita and Michael contributed to the faculty picnic and watched the fireworks and slapped mosquitos with everyone else. Michael’s first summer semester ended and another one started. At church, someone asked Nikita if she’d like to help with Sunday School. She politely declined and wondered what the congregation would say if they found out who she was.

There were times she forgot she belonged to Section. Living with Michael was so comfortable, in a way, she felt like they’d been together forever. The little lies came easier to her. When people asked how long they’d known each other, where they met, how long they’d been married, where they went to college ... the answers slipped from her lips as easily as if it were the truth.

It got hotter.

Nikita began taking off a couple of hours in the afternoon for a short nap. Usually she woke refreshed and ready to tackle yet another dreary painting. But one Monday afternoon, she had such a vivid dream that she woke in a sweaty panic.

Michael. Something has happened to Michael.

Nikita sat up and pushed her hair back.

Downstairs, she heard the squeaky-grating sound their front door made when it was unlocked. They’ve killed him. And now they’re coming for me.

Nikita looked around frantically for a weapon. Anything. She stood up, but her leg had gone to sleep on her and wouldn’t bear her weight. And all the time, someone was coming up the stairs. Unable to move, she stared at the doorway, petrified.

“Nikita?” Michael reached the landing, entered the room and looked at her, puzzled. His briefcase was in his left hand, and his jacket was folded over his right. He put down the case and draped the jacket over a chair and came toward her. “Nikita? Are you all right?”

She burst into tears. “What’s wrong?” Michael, still sweaty from his walk home, folded her loosely in a warm embrace.

“Sometimes I think you’re really a physics instructor and I’m really a bad artist who makes a lot of money and I don’t think about Section or how to shoot a gun or whether you’ll come home alive because Michael, no one tries to kill science teachers but we’ll have to go back -- we’ll have to go back --”

“But not for several more weeks, Nikita. We have nearly six weeks left.” He rubbed her back gently and pushed the damp hair off the back of her neck.

“I don’t want to go back, Michael.” Nikita rested her forehead on his jaw. “I want you to be a school teacher. I want to be a bad artist.”

“I’m not a very good teacher,” Michael said softly. “And teachers don’t make any money; we’d be poor and have strange friends that think about smashing atoms for fun.”

“I want to be poor,” Nikita said stubbornly. “I want strange friends. I want to talk about smashing atoms.”

Michael smiled at her, rubbed the back of her neck and said tenderly, “First, you need an accelerator --”

The phone rang, and Michael broke off. He went to answer it, and when she heard the way his voice changed, Nikita’s heart froze. No. Please, please, no ...

Michael reappeared, calm, collected, composed. “Nikita.”

“Yes?” She tried to look normal, tried to sound normal.

“I need to go to the airport.”

No. Call them back and tell them no, Michael.

But then Nikita looked at Michael’s face. Maybe he seemed calm, but there was anguish in his eyes and Nikita took a deep breath and gritted her teeth.

It’s cruel to make this any harder on him than it already is. He doesn’t want to go, any more than you want him to.

“I’ll -- I’ll take you.” Feeling like she was moving through molasses, Nikita found her purse and the keys to the Audi. “Do you -- do you need anything? Can I help you pack something?”

“No. Everything’s provided.”

The drive to the airport was silent. It took longer than usual because rush hour traffic was just beginning. For once, Nikita was glad of the terrible traffic -- it took all her concentration to not wreck. She pulled into the airport, paid the toll fee, and asked softly, “What airline?”

“United.”

She watched for the terminal. The Dallas/Fort Worth airport was tricky; there were several terminals and if you missed your turnoff, you had to circle around and try again. She pulled into the terminal and stopped the car. Michael didn’t move.

Michael said quietly, “I’ll be a few days. Maybe more. You’ll have to call in at school for me --”

“I will.”

Still, he put off opening the door. Finally, Nikita took a deep breath and said, “You should go, Michael. You’ll miss the flight.”

He looked at her, gauging her mood, then he leaned over the gearshift and kissed her, a long we-have-all-the-time-in-the-world kiss. Then he got out of the car and disappeared into the terminal.

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

Nikita made it home without crying. Traffic was still bad; by the time she pulled into the driveway she was a bundle of nerves. Thinking she’d call out for dinner, Nikita looked through the collection of menus laying by the phone. Then she went to her refrigerator and peered in.

She’d gone to the grocery store the day before, and still heartsick at Michael’s departure, she decided the best thing to do would be to occupy herself with something besides self-pity.

She’d cook something. That’s it. Something simple. No -- something complicated. That way, she’d have to concentrate on what she was doing.

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

At 8.15, Gerry Leslie’s telephone rang. Thinking it might be her son Harold, who usually called on Tuesdays, not Mondays, she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Gerry? It’s Nikita.”

“Oh -- hi.” A terrible thought occurred to Gerry, and she asked quickly, “I wasn’t supposed to come over for dinner tonight, was I? Because Michael didn’t mention it if I was.”

“No -- that is, we hadn’t planned for you to. But ... have you eaten yet?”

“No ... I stayed late at school.”

“Good. Would you like to come over for dinner, then?”

“Well ... sure, I guess. What can I bring?”

“Just yourself,” Nikita answered quickly, sounding relieved. “And a really big appetite.”

Disregarding Nikita’s instructions, Gerry brought half a bottle of wine with her. When she stepped into the foyer, she was assaulted with warm, toasty smells that made her mouth water. “Lord have mercy, Nikita, it smells great. What did you cook?”

“Kind of a lot of things.” Nikita sounded a little uncertain, and as Gerry followed her up the stairs, Gerry grinned.

“Well, I can’t wait. Smells wonderful. What can I do to help?”

“Just set the table.”

“Sure. Where’s Michael?”

A shadow passed over Nikita’s face, and she said, “He’s had some bad news. Well, not really bad, but ... his dad died last year and the estate was tangled up in a lawsuit. It was a real mess, and they’ve only just now resolved the issue. So Michael had to go up to Ottawa on the spur of the moment to sign a bunch of papers and help out his aunt ... she gets the house ... then there’s something else he has to do with the will ... well, it’s bad timing, but he had to go.”

“That’s too bad. Why didn’t you go with him?”

“I have an appointment in New York tomorrow. I didn’t think I could get back in time; we don’t know how long Michael’ll have to be gone. Probably three days.”

Gerry made a face. “Parks’ll hate that. That means he’ll have to teach all Michael’s classes.”

“I know. I already called him. He was very nice about it, though.”

“So ...” Gerry followed Nikita into the kitchen and blinked. “Let me get this straight. You’re going out of town, Michael’s out of town, and you decide to cook enough food for a small army? I mean, most people clear out their refrigerator, not load it up.”

Nikita bit her lip. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Michael and Nikita had a smallish kitchen. A counter top ran the length of the room, broken by a deep sink, which was now piled with dirty pans and dishes. The rest of the counter was loaded with food. One platter held a roast, onions, carrots and potatoes. There was a bowl of green beans. Rolls -- homemade, from the smell of them, and a huge spinach salad took up the rest of the room. A plate of deviled eggs balanced precariously on the end, and when Gerry turned around, she saw a cake cooling on the table.

“So ... what’s going on?” Gerry asked.

“I just ... I needed something to do.” Nikita flushed a little, then said brightly, “You can take home lots of leftovers.”

“Mmm ... and maybe you can freeze some of it,” Gerry said doubtfully.

“Well, at least take the cake. You can give it to your students tomorrow.” Nikita took out plates and silverware and handed them to Gerry. “But for right now ... let’s just have a good dinner.”

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

Nikita stayed up late on Monday night cleaning house. She started with the kitchen, since she’d used every pan they owned, and then she worked her way through the rest of the house. She thought for sure she’d be so tired she wouldn’t wake till morning, but like clockwork, every two hours she woke up looking for Michael. It was strange to not have him asleep beside her. The third time she woke up, she gave up and decided it was close enough for morning to get up for good. She packed up a picture and went to the airport, caught an earlier flight than she was scheduled for, and spent the day in New York, delivering her picture and doing some window shopping. She caught the last flight back to Dallas and came home to an empty, silent house.

On Wednesday, since her house was clean, Nikita rearranged all the furniture in the living room. She tried it three different ways and at the end of the day, she was exhausted. She took a bath and fell into bed.

It’s Thursday tomorrow. One more day, and Michael’ll be home. One more day ...

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

Michael came into the house quietly. It was nearly 2 a.m., and their neighborhood was sound asleep. He closed the door silently and tiptoed up the stairs.

The flight back had been long and dry. All he could think about was getting a tall glass of water and falling into bed beside Nikita. He went into the living room, intending to cut through to the kitchen, and promptly fell over an end table.

He carefully picked himself up and turned on the lights.

Everything was different. Same furniture, different places. The couch was near the windows now; the arm chairs in a cosy corner. Even the desk had been moved out to the middle of a wall. Michael blinked, got his water, turned off the lights and went into their bedroom.

Nikita was sprawled out, face up, in the middle of the bed. Michael smiled faintly and gently moved her over, then bent down to kiss her.

He only meant to brush a kiss across her lips. But something very peculiar happened. He couldn’t move. It was like she was magnetized, and he was the metal. Instead of kissing her, undressing, and getting into bed as he intended, he closed his eyes and kissed her, a long, tender kiss.

Nikita moved underneath him, and before he knew what was happening, she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled. He landed on top of her, his lips momentarily breaking contact with hers. Then he kissed her again.

Maybe she wasn’t awake when she put her arms around him, but she was now. She let out a squeak as his belt buckle dug into her stomach, and Michael, full of apologies but unable to voice them through a mouth otherwise occupied, pulled himself up and tried to take off his clothes. He undid his pants, intending to pull them off; Nikita’s hands were right behind his, touching his skin, inching down his pants; her hands moved higher, trying to unbutton his shirt frantically.

“Nikita ...” he breathed, trying to slow her down; she whimpered, locked her legs around him and, with considerable difficulty, he removed his shirt, his trousers, and her nightgown. Then, finally, he lay down beside her and she pulled him towards her, her hands no longer quite so frantic and her kisses no longer quite so desperate now that her goal had been partially attained.

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

Nikita woke up slowly, and as she did, a gentle warmth spread through her. She’d had the most erotic dream about Michael. He’d once asked her if she thought their sex life was boring; maybe, she thought lazily, it is ... if I had a dream like that. His mouth had been everywhere; his hands gentle, demanding, and touching every inch of her. Almost she could still taste his skin on her tongue. She smiled sleepily and turned over.

One foot made contact with something ... someone else.

Her eyes flew open. Michael lay beside her, unclothed except for one sock and his watch. Nikita blinked and rubbed her eyes. He was on his stomach, his face toward hers. Across his back like misplaced gills were four long scratches.

Nikita flushed. I did that?

She sat up and looked down at herself. She had whisker burn on her stomach. And her hips ... had she actually sprained something? She gave an experimental wiggle and winced.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked softly, and Nikita jerked her head around.

“I didn’t mean to wake you --”

“Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” Nikita said, yawning and smiling down on him. “But ... Michael, I seem to have ... ah ... damaged your back.” She gently traced one angry red mark and Michael, to her surprise, smiled.

“I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He rolled over and gently pulled her down. She wrapped her arms around him and gingerly pushed one leg between both of his. They were quiet for a minute.

Then Nikita said softly, “Remember the time when you asked if our sex life was boring?”

He murmured an assent.

“I don’t really think you need to worry about that anymore,” Nikita said. Making a huge effort, she rolled on top of him, kissed his chin, then his mouth, then rested her head on his shoulder. One of his hands stroked the back of her thigh, then his fingers lightly played on the back of her knee. “You came back early.”

Another wordless reply.

“Was it ... was the mission successful?”

“It was,” he sighed, then he yawned, rolled Nikita off of him and into his arms, curving himself around her. “I nearly killed myself in the living room, though.”

It took her a minute to understand what he meant. She flushed again. “If I’d known you were coming back, I would have left a light on.”

“Why did you rearrange everything?”

“I missed you.” Michael’s body warmth seeped through Nikita’s bones and she sighed.

“I missed you, too.” Michael kissed her shoulder. Within ten minutes, they were both asleep again.

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

The following Thursday, Michael came home early. He was teaching two classes and two labs this semester, but neither of the labs was late afternoon, and he’d started bringing papers home to grade rather than grading them at school.

Now that it was high summer, it was broiling hot. Near the beginning of July, the thermometer bobbed up to the 100s; now, the mercury stayed there. Children stayed in during the afternoons, unless they were in a swimming pool; only insane people and dogs were out in the heat of the day.

Michael wondered which category he fell into. Trudging home -- Nikita wanted him to take the car, but he actually liked the exercise and it was only a few blocks -- he felt sweat trickle between his shoulder blades. His hair stuck to the back of his neck in sweaty tendrils. He had off as many clothes as he felt was decent in public, which meant his jacket was slung over a shoulder and his sleeves were rolled up. He no longer wore an undershirt. It was too hot and no one else at school wore one either.

It was almost 5 o’clock. He rounded the corner of their block and saw a pony-tailed Nikita, barefoot and in a faded sundress, sitting in front of their house, thoughtfully sucking on a Popsicle and regarding her marigolds.

She’d planted them in pots, and she chose marigolds because they were colorful, sturdy, and loved the sun. Each front step had a small clay pot full of cheerful yellow and orange flowers. When she spotted him, her face brightened and she stood up. “Hi,” she smiled.

“Hi yourself.” Without touching any other part of her body, Michael leaned in and kissed her cold lips. “Orange,” he smiled.

“Want the rest?” Nikita handed him the partially eaten Popsicle, and draping his jacket over the iron porch railing, Michael sat down, licking the frozen treat.

“How was class?”

“Fine.” He caught a drip with his tongue and looked over the yard. “I thought I might mow.”

“It’s awfully hot. Maybe you should wait awhile.”

Michael finished the Popsicle and tapped the sticky stick on his hand. “What did you do today?”

“Nothing. Same as usual,” Nikita sighed and dropped her head to her knees. “There are parts of this profile I really like. I like living like a normal person. I like grocery shopping and knowing that I won’t have to leave unexpectedly and come home to a refrigerator full of rotten food. I like living with you. I like waking up in the middle of the night and seeing you there. But I really don’t like being an artist.”

Michael put a hand on her bare neck and gently rubbed a thumb across the top of her spine. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I like creating things. I love working with clay,” she said dreamily, “It’s so squishy and cool, and I’d like to try pottery. I like doing stuff with wire ... but I really don’t like oil paints. They don’t do what I want them to do.”

“Well, maybe you could branch out.”

“No.” She shook her head and sat back, her weight on her hands. “The thing is, I like making stuff, but I like making it for me. I like doing it because I like doing it. But this artist thing ... it’s just a front and besides, I have to paint for the people who are buying it. I’m not doing it for me.” She looked at him and sighed. “I guess it doesn’t make any sense. I just don’t enjoy it. Plus ...” Her voice trailed off and Michael looked at her expectantly. “Plus,” she finally continued, “I’m kind of worried about loosing my edge. What if I get back in the field and I can’t perform because I’ve been lazing around all summer?”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

“I almost wish they’d call me in,” Nikita said, sounding a little desperate. “Then at least I could see how I’d perform. Is that sick?”

“I think,” Michael said, “You underestimate yourself. But if you like, I’ll practice with you tonight.”

She quirked an eyebrow up. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. How’s your strength?”

“Endurance is fine. I’ve been trying to run in the mornings before it gets hot; I can do 12 miles before the heat gets me. And I can swim forever. Reflexes ... I’ve tried to do a dance class at the Y, but it’s kind of ... wimpy.”

“Have you boxed lately?”

“Michael, ladies don’t box at the Highland Park Y. They’d break their fingernails.”

He shrugged. “So we’ll buy a bag, hang it up and you can practice here. I’ll spar with you if you want.”

“Okay.” She reached over and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know, Michael ... you’re getting a little shaggy around the ears. And your neck looks hot.”

He could feel hair sticking to the back of his neck. “I haven’t had time to get it cut.”

“I could do it.”

He raised an eyebrow and Nikita grinned. “It’s just hair,” she chided him. “It’ll grow back if I mess it up.” He didn’t protest, so she hopped up. “I’ll just go get the scissors. Want another Popsicle? Or something to drink?”

“Sure.”

Michael contemplated the neighborhood while Nikita fetched her supplies. Across the street a tired, hot dog lay in the shade. Traffic was getting a little heavier; they lived on a busy street and people were starting to come home from work. Shadows lengthened almost imperceptibly, and overhead, the trees were loud with the sound of cicadas.

“Okay,” Nikita announced, handing him another Popsicle. “All we have left is green. Sorry. I’ll get more tomorrow at the store.”

“Green is fine.” Michael unwrapped it and offered the first lick to Nikita, who bit the first inch off and munched it up.

“Lean back.”

Michael leaned back, and Nikita, who had forgotten to bring a bottle of water, watered his head with the watering can she used for the flowers. The water was tepid and Michael closed his eyes. She watered his back a good deal too, which cooled him off considerably. Then she combed his hair out and very seriously began to cut.

A breeze puffed by, swirling little pieces of Michael’s cut hair into the grass. He silently stared out at the street. Nikita’s fingers gently pulled on his hair, and the snip-snip-snip of the scissors was relaxing. He shut his eyes and hoped she didn’t lop off an ear.

“I forgot how curly your hair is when it’s wet,” she muttered.

“Just get it off my neck,” Michael said. “I don’t care what the rest of it looks like.”

“Mmmm ...”

“Nikita --”

“Michael, I can’t concentrate when you’re so chatty.”

He subsided and, except for the sound of her scissors and passing cars, and the occasional hum as an air conditioner kicked in, they were quiet. Michael finished his Popsicle and methodically stacked the second stick on top of the first one. Presently, Nikita sat back. “I’m done,” she announced.

Michael ran his fingers, sticky with Popsicle, through his hair.

“Does it feel better?”

“Yes. Cooler.”

“Good. It looks better. I think it does, anyway. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow to see for sure, probably.” Nikita stood up and wiped off her scissors; little tendrils of Michael’s hair littered the front stoop.

“What do I owe you?”

“Owe?” She looked at him, confused, then grinned. “Just a kiss,” she said smartly.

Michael stood, brushed the hair off his shoulders, collected his jacket and discarded briefcase, and opened the front door for her. They went into the dim hallway and Nikita held her cheek up for payment.

Michael kissed her chastely on the cheek, but when she would have turned to go upstairs, he pulled her chin toward his and gave her another searing kiss. His hand went to her neck; he could feel the blood pounding under her sun-warmed skin, and he kissed her again. When she finally got her breath back, she gasped, “Michael ... it wasn’t that great of a haircut.”

“Is that a complaint?” His eyes bored into hers, and she flushed under her tan.

“Never,” she said, leaning up to kiss him again. She ran her fingers through his newly-shorn hair. Michael dropped his briefcase with a thump and the jacket slid to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her. Something else clattered to the floor -- the scissors? Nikita pressed herself into Michael’s warm body and moaned.

The phone rang.

“Damn.” Nikita pulled away and started upstairs, thumping on each step. “Damn, damn, damn ...”

Michael smiled, picked up the scattered things in the hall, and followed more slowly. When he reached the top of the stairs, Nikita was just hanging up the phone.

“Wrong number?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said, and something in the tone of her voice made Michael’s heart flop. “It was Section. I have to be at DFW in an hour.” Nikita bit her lip, then she said, “Michael, the next time I wonder when I’m going out again ... remind me to not tempt fate.”

“What do you need to take?”

“Just me.” Nikita sighed. “I’m going to jump in the shower. Then can you take me to the airport?”

“Of course.”

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

This time, it was Nikita who gave Michael a blood-boiling kiss goodbye, and as she traipsed into the airport terminal without even a suitcase, he felt a sharp, uncomfortable feeling of misgiving.

She’ll be fine.

But what if, he wondered, pulling away from the curb, she was right? What if her skills have ... not atrophied, but deteriorated? His first mission back was a fairly easy one; he’d ended up killing two hostiles and wounding four others. But he wondered about Nikita.

The drive back to the duplex was long because it was nearly 7 o’clock and there was still a lot of traffic. He let himself in the quiet house and went upstairs. His briefcase was in the hall, right where he’d left it, and he picked it up. He might as well get some work done.

Michael spread out test papers on the dining room table, got himself a glass of iced water, and started grading. A few hours later, he entered the grades neatly into his grade book, sat back and looked at the clock. It was too hot to eat and too early to contact Birkhoff to see if Nikita had made it in safely; on the other hand ... maybe Birkhoff could give him some kind of idea how long Nikita’s mission was expected to last. It couldn’t be long because she still had to maintain her profile with him. Feeling optimistic, Michael contacted Section and waited for the correct files to load.

As text began to scroll down the screen, Michael’s heart sank. Not only would it last four days, but it would be a difficult to have a positive result, even if everything worked correctly. SIMs indicated a 45 percent success rate; Nikita’s part in the mission would be pivotal and, unfortunately, carried a high injury rate. The only positive thing was, Birkhoff would be on-site and running the mission from the van.

In a bad mood, Michael turned off the computer and tried to watch mindless TV. Then, he picked up a book and tried to read. Finally, he gave up, took a warm shower to relax himself, and went to bed.

Nikita ate in bed. Her preferred bed food was, naturally, cookies. They had a fairly high calorie count, which was good for her weight problem, and they didn’t require utensils. The crumbs got everywhere though. It didn’t matter how much she smoothed the sheets when she made up the bed. Michael slid under the sheet. Little Nilla Wafer crumbs grated against his clean skin. Feeling extremely sorry for himself and even sorrier for Nikita, Michael moved to her side of the bed and breathed in her scent left behind on her pillow.

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

“I need my copy of Grayson back,” Michael nearly snapped the next morning, and Gerry jumped.

“Geez, Michael, give a girl a heart attack, why don’t you?” she complained. She looked around her office, located the borrowed book and handed it to Michael. “What’s wrong with you? Some student get under your skin?”

“No.” He took the proffered book and then ran a finger across the bridge of his nose.

“Headache?” Gerry fumbled in her desk and came up with a bottle of Tylenol. Michael took them dry and she winced.

“Nikita’s out of town.”

“For how long?”

“A few days.” Michael sounded glum and Gerry smiled.

“You should have seen what she did when you left a few weeks ago,” Gerry said. “I’ve never seen one person cook that much food just to keep herself busy.”

“What do you mean?”

“She missed you,” Gerry shrugged. “Some people clean house when they’re stressed. Some cook. I guess Nikita’s a cooker. I still have half the roast in my freezer ... want to come over tonight and we’ll eat it?”

“I’d rather eat out.”

“It’s Friday night. Let’s go to the El Fenix down town,” Gerry said. “Why don’t we grab Parks and make him and his wife come eat dinner with us?”

“All right.”

Michael turned and stomped out of the room, an uncharacteristic gesture for someone normally quiet as a ghost. Gerry’s mouth twitched in a smile and she went back to work.

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

Since Nikita was gone, Michael spent as much time away from home as he could. He hated walking into their house now that she wasn’t there. It seemed dead. The air was quiet, her porch, where she painted, was deserted and the paints were scattered as if she’d just left them for a minute. Michael couldn’t even look in the room; he avoided it. It made him too cross.

He spent the weekend moving from one chore to the next. He fixed the leak in the kitchen sink. He mowed the lawn. He’d noticed Nikita left her watch behind, then he realized it was broken or the battery dead; she probably hadn’t had a chance to take it to be repaired, so Michael took it to a nearby jewelry store. He went grocery shopping, remembering the Popsicles, but forgetting the lemonade. On Sunday, he went to church ... alone. Well, not really alone; he sat with Gerry and afterwards they went out for barbecue. It wasn’t the same, though.

The first night Nikita was gone, Michael couldn’t sleep. The second night, he only woke twice. The third night he didn’t wake up at all. On one hand, he was glad he was getting enough rest; it was hard to teach when he was groggy. On the other hand, it depressed him that he was able to adapt so quickly to her absence.

She was supposed to be gone four days. Michael X-ed them off an imaginary calendar each morning when he woke. On Monday, he woke up feeling almost cheerful. She’ll be back today. Probably tonight. But maybe this afternoon.

He showered, changed the sheets on the bed, and went to work. Today was his long day; one lab lasted till four, but he zipped his students through and dismissed them 15 minutes early, then he went across the street, bought a big bunch of flowers, and went home.

He opened the front door, stepped in and stopped.

She wasn’t home.

Maybe she had been. Maybe she’d come home and then -- but no, he’d had the car. Michael slowly came up the stairs, put the flowers in a vase and waited. To pass the time, he made dinner -- nothing elaborate, but it kept him occupied. Seven o’clock passed. Then eight. Then nine. At 11:30, Michael contacted Birkhoff. His eyes narrowed when he read the words on the screen.

Delayed. Mark didn’t show. Expect her tomorrow.

A man of few words, Michael normally appreciated brevity in others. In this case, Birkhoff annoyed him. Delayed -- why? Why didn’t the mark show? Intel said he was regular as clockwork -- what made him different today? Michael typed off a quick love letter to Chandra, which put him in even a worse mood, and stomped off to bed.

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

Nikita let herself in quietly. It was only 1.30, but all the lights in her neighborhood -- including the duplex -- were off. She took off her boots downstairs and tiptoed to the bathroom in the dark.

She closed the door, turned on the light, and blinked at her reflection in the mirror.

She hadn’t bathed since ... when? Not yesterday. The day before? She’d crossed too many time zones to really know for sure. She stopped the tub up and turned on the hot water full blast. All she wanted was a nice bath and to go to bed. She shucked off her clothes and, with a sigh of relief, stepped in, sinking down into the hot water.

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

Michael dreamt of being in a submarine. There was that peculiar sound the water made as the craft surfaced; he rolled over in bed and woke up slightly.

He still heard running water.

Michael frowned, sat up and rubbed his eyes, then he grabbed his bathrobe and padded to the bathroom. He knocked softly on the door, and when he didn’t hear an answer, he opened it. “Nikita?”

She jerked up with a splash. “I thought you were asleep.”

“How was the mission?”

She settled back in the water and closed her eyes. “Long. Dirty. I’m really tired.”

“I can see that.” Michael closed the toilet and sat on the lid.

Some of their more interesting conversations had been conducted in bathrooms. In a wired environment, where every conversation was recorded, sometimes it was the only place they could have privacy. But even when they weren’t under surveillance, they had productive chats in the bathroom. Nikita thought best when she was relaxed; what better place to relax than a hot bath?

“Did you have closure?” Michael asked.

“Yep,” Nikita answered sleepily.

Michael studied her body. No odd bruises; she’d scraped her knee raw, but that was the only injury he could see. She was still very thin, but she’d been gaining weight, if not quickly, at least steadily. “Have you eaten?”

“I don’t remember when,” she answered. “But please don’t make me eat, Michael. I will tomorrow, I promise.” She yawned, and Michael, noting the murky water, the wet soap and wrung-out washcloth, stood up.

“It’s time for bed, Nikita. Come on, you’re clean enough.”

She stood and he wrapped a towel around her, then, since she didn’t have a nightgown in the bathroom, he draped his robe over her and led her to the bedroom. She fell into their big blue bed with a groan.

“It’s good to be home,” she sighed, then she quickly corrected herself, “I mean, back. It’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you home.” Michael pulled his robe off her and draped the sheet around her. Nikita reached out for him, and he put an arm around her. Then she turned his face toward hers and kissed him.

She fell asleep mid-kiss. Michael tucked her in, turned her over, and, his hand on her bare stomach, followed her example.

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

Nikita woke up to the smell of coffee and something she couldn’t quite identify. She blinked at the clock. It was early; just 7.30, and Michael normally left the house at 8, since his first class was at 9 o’clock. She stretched, yawned, and contemplated going back to sleep.

“Nikita.”

She groaned.

“Come on, I know you’re awake.”

She felt twin weights on either side of her body, then Michael leaned down, his weight on his hands, and kissed her. She opened her eyes, smiled, and linked her arms around his neck. He sat down on the bed and Nikita sat up, leaning against him, her arms still loose around his neck.

“Tell me about the mission.” Michael’s large hand spanned her bare back and she settled against him.

“Crawford was the leader. He did an okay job. Better,” she said honestly, “Than I would have done in his situation. We lost two operatives -- Miller and Mary Anne -- and Crawford took a bullet in the shoulder.”

“How is it you remained uninjured?”

“I ... uh ...”

“Nikita?” He pulled back from her a little bit and looked into her eyes. “You,” he realized, “did something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Not exactly,” Nikita said quickly. She bit her lip, then admitted, “I didn’t exactly follow mission profile, but our end goal was attained. We started out with six. Miller was point; Mary Anne back up. The rest of us were spread too thin; I just listened, then helped out where I could.”

“What does that mean?”

“I broke position,” Nikita admitted. “But if I hadn’t, we would have lost at least two more members of the team and possibly three.”

“Would you have been one of those lost?”

“Probably. They had charges set,” she said. “Our intel was faulty; Birkhoff didn’t detect them till they blew and by that time it was too late.”

“I see.”

He was very still and his eyes were blank. Suddenly feeling naked, Nikita pulled up the sheet, but Michael pulled her close and she rested her head on his shoulder instead. Finally, he said softly, “I have to go to school.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to eat something.”

“Okay,” she said unenthusiastically.

“There’s something in the oven for you.”

She blinked and stared at him. “You cooked for me?”

“Yes.” He kissed her, once, twice, then finally let her go. “It’ll be done in 10 minutes. So please, try and eat. Then you can go back to sleep if you want.”

“Okay.”

Michael rose and went to the dresser, picked out a tie and methodically began tying it. Nikita stretched. She caught his glance in the mirror and flushed slightly. “Sorry.”

He picked up his robe and came back to the bed. “Put something on,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her again. “Or I’ll never get out of here.”

“Go, go,” Nikita said, amused. “Get out of here. I have too many things to do today; I can’t spend all day long in bed with you.”

He kissed her again and helped her put her arms through the robe. “As appealing as that sounds, neither can I,” he said. Then, before she could say anything else, he left and a minute later she heard the front door shut.

The timer on the oven went off. Nikita smiled, tied the robe and went out to see what Michael left her.

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

One Sunday afternoon after an orgy of lawn mowing, Nikita was in the bathtub wondering if Michael was going to come home or if he’d be delayed. If he was delayed, she’d have to call the school and make up a good excuse.

Let’s see: she’d given Michael a cold, a dental appointment, a migraine headache, a dead father’s will, a sick grandmother ... what could she say that would be believable?

Still thinking, she slipped down deeper into the water.

The phone rang. It’s a telemarketer, she decided. I’m not answering.

The phone stopped ringing. Then she heard another sound -- familiar, yet unfamiliar. Nikita cursed and jumped out of the bathtub, skidded down the hall and grabbed her cell phone. “Hello?”

Without even identifying herself, Madeleine said, “We have a small problem.”

“Do I need to come in?”

“No.” A pause, then Madeleine said, “Michael was unable to perform his mission last night.”

He’d been on a Valentine mission. At least four simultaneous fears surfaced in Nikita’s mind: he’s been killed, he’s been hurt, he was left behind, he killed someone he wasn’t supposed to. Keeping her voice low and calm, Nikita drawled, “Did we get the info?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Michael had a problem ... performing.”

It took Nikita a minute to understand what Madeleine meant. Well, she thought angrily, he didn’t have a problem performing with me Friday morning! If Madeleine’s damaged him in some way ... I’ll kill her, she thought furiously. I’ll just kill her.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Nikita said only, “Is that so?”

“I wanted to know whether you’d noticed anything ... out of the ordinary with Michael?”

She wants me to snitch on him? Say what he’s like in bed? Nikita cleared her throat and said, “As you know, Michael and I don’t --”

“I’m interested in any dietary changes, any changes in habit, drug usage, drinking, that kind of thing.”

“Test his blood,” Nikita said stiffly. “I haven’t noticed anything.” When Madeleine didn’t say anything, Nikita asked, “Is he coming here tonight? If he is, I’ll leave on a light before I go to bed.”

“He left a couple of hours ago.” Madeleine paused, then said, “Check your folder tomorrow. Birkhoff should have something uploaded for you regarding your next mission. You’ll leave on Wednesday.”

“Great,” Nikita said. “Is that all?”

“That’s all. Good night, Nikita.”

“Good night.” Nikita punched the phone off and threw it down. She went back to the bathtub, rinsed the soap off of herself, dried off and put on a clean sundress. Then she sat down in front of the computer and uploaded Michael’s mission to see what exactly had happened.

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

When Michael came in, it was near 7 o’clock. Nikita took one look at his face and grabbed her purse in one hand and him in the other and drove him downtown.

There was a section in downtown Dallas near the hospital that locals called Deep Ellum. The name stemmed from the jazzers and country people that came to the city in the ’20s and corrupted the street name Elm into Ellum. Deep Ellum was far down Elm, past the book depository where President Kennedy was shot, past the fancy hotels, past Central Expressway. It was lined with funky little shops, restaurants, nightclubs. This was the place to get a body part pierced or an interesting tattoo. There were specialty shops: the Jell-O shooter place, the games store that specialized in chess sets, the condom store, dozens of shops with home-made jewelry, crafts, soaps, candles, greeting cards, vintage clothing and furniture. Artists lived here and sometimes musicians if they could find a loft for not much money.

Nikita favored Sambuca, which had a smoky interior and live music most nights, but tonight they headed for Deep Ellum Cafe, a cheerful albeit off-center eatery that served homey food. There had been a street fair over the weekend, and the cafe stayed open late. Most people were sunburnt and drinking copious amounts of iced tea before getting in their cars to drive home. Nikita and Michael were seated and Nikita, without looking at a menu, ordered for them.

They didn’t talk. At the table next to them, some college girls chatted about classes, boys, parents, transportation woes. They were killing time before a show, and Nikita shamelessly listened in.

Their food arrived. The only thing Michael asked when he saw Nikita’s plate was, “What is it?”

“Chicken fried steak.” Nikita cut a strip off, dipped it in white gravy and bit into it. “It’s good for you. Lots of calories. Want some?”

“No, thank you.” Michael slowly began eating his meal -- grilled chicken -- and then said again, “But what is it?”

“It’s steak that’s been beaten flat, then fried like chicken. Sure you don’t want some?” She held out a fork and Michael hesitated. “Just a bite, Michael.”

They ended up trading plates. Nikita didn’t mind. Anything to get that look off his face. As normal people began filling up the restaurant, she could see him relax. He listened to the conversations floating around them, and the frown in the middle of his forehead smoothed out.

They finished their meal, and hand in hand, walked down the sidewalk. Nikita paused at a few store fronts that were closed and peered in at the wares. “I could do that,” she muttered to Michael, looking at twisted wire sculptures. “I wonder how much they’re asking --?”

They went down another block slowly. It was a little more crowded, mostly with people eager for some nightlife. A girl in purple chiffon and mahogany hair passed by; she had mission boots on and Nikita raised her eyebrow. “Who knew we were in style?” she murmured, and Michael’s eyebrows went up in amusement.

They crossed the street and came back up until they were directly across from the cafe. They approached a black-painted building; where the windows used to be were now boards plastered with concert information, and a line snaked down the sidewalk. Nikita spotted the college girls from the cafe and looked at Michael speculatively. He wasn’t paying attention, and, with her arm linked through his, she led him to the girls. “Hi,” she greeted them. “Who’s playing?”

The tallest girl smiled. “Darden Smith.” When Nikita didn’t react, she said, “A guy from Austin. We totally fell in love with him at school last year. When we heard he was coming to Dallas, we had to get tickets.”

“Is he popular?”

“In Austin he is. Not so much here, though. He’s kind of ... folksy. Guitar ... I don’t know, he’s good.”

“Cover charge is 10 bucks,” said one of the other girls.

“Well,” Nikita said, “You can’t go wrong with that.”

“Come on, stand in line with us,” the first one urged. “We’re waiting on some more friends that are supposed to meet us.” The man behind her rolled his eyes, but Nikita smiled at him.

“Would you mind terribly?” she said sweetly.

So that was how, at the end of a nightmare mission for Michael, he found himself in a nightclub called Trees sitting at a table of women, with Nikita’s hand tucked securely in his arm.

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

The college girls they were sitting with ran into the people they were waiting for; their table grew by five, two girls and three guys. Nikita scooted over to make room for one of the boys.

“Where’s Veronica?” one of the girls asked, and the boy looked sad.

“We aren’t together anymore.”

“Oh, Joe! That’s too bad,” said another girl -- Janice? Michael couldn’t keep them straight.

“She just up and left,” Joe said, taking another long drink of beer.

Up and left. Michael pondered the phrase. Did it mean that one day Veronica woke up, took one look at Joe, wondered what she was doing with him, then left him? Or was ‘up and left’ just one of those strange Texas phrases? Like ‘fixing to’ instead of ‘about to.’ And what kind of woman would leave Joe? He seemed like a nice enough fellow. Maybe a little morose, but then, he was half-drunk and depressed. Michael took another drink of his beer and sighed.

The band began playing. They were amplified, but Michael and Nikita were not sitting next to the speakers so it wasn’t too bad. Cigarette smoke stung Michael’s eyes and, not for the first time, he wished he hadn’t given it up. Smoking was a great dirty habit. Maybe that’s what was wrong with him. He need to take up smoking again.

He looked around. Most of the people here were familiar with the songs being sung. There wasn’t any dancing; they were too intent on the performance. The audience hummed along, and every now and then, between numbers, the guy on stage would tell semi-funny anecdotes. Nikita laughed with everyone else; Michael simply endured.

Half-way through the performance, Michael excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back, Smith was just starting another song. “Now,” he was saying, “I know ya’ll know this one. And it’s the only time I’m singing it tonight ... let’s just get it out of the way ... ah, hell, you know the ropes.”

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd and he began playing a hip-hop bubble-gum song that had people tapping their toes.

Frankie went to China Looking for a girl Frankie didn’t mind Taking the time to travel half-way around the world. Frankie had to find her, even if it meant China ... So Frankie went to China Looking for a girl ... Looking for a girl ...

“All right, you know the drill,” the performer on stage called out, and the entire audience belted out the chorus.

Oh ... there ain’t nothing you can do Oh ... one day love is going to find you Oh ... just like Frankie and Sue. Just like Frankie and Sue.

Michael paused, then, to his amazement, the audience which had until now been quite docile, begin to rise. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw a long swing of blond hair twirl around. He leaned over to get a better look: yes, it was Nikita. And she was dancing. With Joe. The one who’s girl up and left him.

Now, Susie went to China. Broke Frankie’s heart. She didn’t realize Frankie couldn’t stand to be apart. Frankie acted tough He never let on about the tender stuff, So Susie went to China Broke Frankie’s heart.

Once again, the audience sang together:

Oh ... there ain’t nothing you can do Oh ... one day love is going to find you Oh ... just like Frankie and Sue Like Frankie and Sue.

As Michael got closer to Nikita, he realized Joe was leading her in a Texas Two Step, which was neither a two-step, nor, Michael suspected, from Texas. Or maybe it was: trust Texans to further complicate something that was perfectly simple. Like that chicken fried steak. Sure, it tasted good. But it was a crime to do that to steak. His temper mounted the closer he got to Nikita.

Now, Frankie found Susie It was ‘baby, please’

He paused and the crowd erupted in a slightly off-tune, “Please, baby, please.”

I’m begging you now the only way I know how ... Susie. You don’t belong Over here in Hong Kong Oh, Susie ... baby please.

Susie said, ‘Frankie, I’m really touched. I always figured that you loved me but I couldn’t figure out how much And if you really mean what you say, I’ll come back with you to the USA Oh ... Frankie, I’m really touched.’

Michael reached the wildly whirling couple. Either Joe was a poor dancer or Nikita had momentarily lost her senses, because they were not exactly rhythmic. Michael reached out and tapped Joe’s shoulder, and Joe turned around.

Oh ... there ain’t nothing you can do. Oh ... one day love is going to find you ... Oh ... just like Frankie and Sue. Frankie and Sue ...

Michael didn’t even pull back his fist. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that tipped her off, but Nikita took one look at him, shoved Joe out of the way and latched on to Michael. “You hit him, that’s assault of a minor, Michael,” she breathed furiously into his ear. “And I don’t want to call Doc Parks tomorrow and explain why you are in jail. And I really don’t want to call Madeleine and ask her for bail money. Okay?”

He nodded, and Nikita, knowing that her mission had been only partially accomplished, dropped a handful of money on the table to pay for the pitcher and escorted Michael out of Trees.

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

They walked back to the car silently. Nikita was angry; Michael didn’t blame her. He unlocked the door and she climbed into the Audi and reached across the seat to unlock his door. He got in and put his hands on the steering wheel. “You know about the mission.”

“Michael, nothing excuses your behavior in there. You were going to beat the snot out of that kid.”

“I lost my temper.”

“Yes, you did.”

Michael started the car and carefully drove down Elm. By the time it turned one-way, he was wondering if she was ever going to say anything.

“What happened?” she asked finally, just as they passed the school book depository.

Michael got on the highway, merging carefully with the traffic. He shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“What did Madeleine say?”

“She wasn’t happy.”

They were silent; Michael turned onto Oak Lawn and they went through several lights before Nikita said, “Well. At least we know there’s nothing wrong with your testosterone.”

Michael didn’t even bother to answer.