He sat in the car for a long time. Nikita slammed the car door behind her and let herself into the house; from the driveway, Michael watched the living room lights flash on, then the bathroom.

During his training, like all other Valentine ops, Michael had been under the tutelage of Isa. Until then, he’d never met someone as physically unappealing as she. It wasn’t often that someone was described as simply “ugly,” but Isa was. And by the end of his training, he, like every other male, was half in love with her. It wasn’t that she was kind or funny or had “a good personality;” she was simply very, very good at her job.

The most important thing she’d taught him was how to train his body to respond to a mark’s without involving his mind. It was a tricky line to walk, particularly for male operatives. Michael had, after several missions, perfected the skill, and until now, he’d performed far above standard. But this last mission ...

Maybe it was because the mark was so different than Nikita. Sometimes he was able to shut his eyes and pretend the mark -- whoever it was -- was Nikita. It was difficult, but if he concentrated, it wasn’t impossible. But this time ... the body was all wrong, the hair wrong, everything was wrong, and Michael didn’t have it in him to be aroused. It didn’t matter what she did. She ended up being sorry for him -- sorry! For him! -- and gave him the information he needed, but still. It was embarrassing, but more than that, it was dangerous. Suppose he’d outlived his usefulness to Section?

The living room lights blinked off. Michael waited another half hour, then, when he was sure Nikita was asleep, he went into the house.

He turned off the porch light and crept up the stairs as quietly as he could. He brushed his teeth, then, still tip-toeing, he went into their bedroom, took off his clothes and got into bed.

“Where have you been?” Nikita asked crossly.

“I thought you were asleep,” Michael said quietly.

“How can I be? I was waiting for you.” Still sounding grouchy, Nikita rearranged herself so she had an arm around his middle. “I’m sorry I got angry.”

“I’m ... sorry I lost my temper.”

“Good.” She yawned and pulled him closer. “That’s settled, then.”

Suddenly, Michael realized something. He hated his life. He hated it that he had to seduce other people -- men and women -- at the whim of Section. He hated that the only time he could be with Nikita was when it was for a mission or to deepen a profile. He should always be with her. He should always have her arm thrown across his chest at night. He should always lay beside her. Even when she was cross and didn’t want to talk with him. This is where he should be.

Michael kissed her forehead, hard. Nikita kissed him back, a sweet, soft kiss, and tugged at his undershirt. “Michael ... please take this off ...”

He sat up and took off his underclothes, and Nikita fell on top of him, kissing his chin, his neck. Her hands spanned his chest, then moved lower. “Thank God,” she said, sounding very thankful indeed. She gave him another kiss. “I thought Madeleine had damaged you ...”

“No ...”

“Michael,” she pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at him, semi-seriously. “Have I ruined you for other women?”

“Yes.” Then he pulled her close and neither of them said anything else for a long time.

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

One Wednesday evening Nikita was on the front stoop working on her flowers. Some were dead; she pulled them out of their pots to throw them away and, very carefully, tucked Gerber daisies fresh from the nursery in their place.

Through the open door she could hear an occasional clank and faint curse as Michael repaired the sink. She’d twisted the water off last night after brushing her teeth and the faucet handle came off in her hand. Then, trying to screw it back on, she’d knocked her engagement ring down the drain. They couldn’t get a plumber, but Michael thought he could fix it, and so he’d come home early today.

Nikita yanked another dead marigold out of the pot. A long shadow loomed across her, and she looked up, startled.

“Hey,” a woman in a bright pink linen jumper with matching fingernail polish and lipstick grinned at Nikita. Her teeth were absolutely perfect and so white Nikita had to squint to look at her. “My name’s Scarlett Anne Prior Byrd. I was wondering if you’d be interested in signing a petition for me?”

“A petition? What for?” Nikita stood up and brushed her dirty hands across the back of her sunsuit.

“It’s for the public schools --”

“Well, I don’t --”

“-- Have children? But one day you will, and the schools here are the best in Dallas -- or they have been -- the board’s trying to change things, they do this every year, but I -- and a lot of other people -- think it’s just awful! They’re trying to ban prayer, and it’s just not right!”

“Ban ...”

“--Prayer, that’s right. Can you believe it? I mean, really. What’s the harm in prayer? It’s a good way to start the day. Even if you don’t believe in God, when has prayer ever hurt anyone, I ask you?” She shook out her crisp petition; it was half-filled with signatures. “Now, to sign, you just have to be a resident for 30 days. You don’t have to own property even.”

“I don’t think --”

The woman cocked her head and her blue eyes sparkled sympathetically. “Even if you’re not a church-goer, surely you can see the sense in keeping morality in the schoolroom? Children today need some guidance. They need some rules to live by. They need prayer.”

Nikita bit her lip. “What if I’m Muslim?”

The woman blinked and looked a little shocked, as if Nikita had suggested she was, perhaps, not quite nice. “Well, are you Muslim?”

“No, but what if I were? Or what if the principal were? What if he decided the kind of prayer to lead was a Muslim prayer?”

“Well, that’s not what we had in mind --”

“What if,” Nikita said, warming to her subject, “I were in charge of the school and I happened to be Jewish? Then I decided the only real way to pray -- to be really effective, you know -- would be to make sure all the little boys were circumcised?”

”What?!”

“We could hold a mass bris,” Nikita said brightly.

“A what?!”

“Bris,” Nikita explained patiently. “It’s when you cut --”

From behind her, Michael’s voice boomed down the stairs. “Nikita!”

“Yes?” she called up.

“I need some help,” Michael called down, and Nikita smiled brightly at her visitor.

“I’m sorry. My husband’s playing plumber. I have to go. But good luck on your petition.” Nikita smiled again and hurried up the stairs.

The woman on the stoop took a moment to collect herself, then proceeded to the next house.

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

“What do you think you’re doing?” Michael growled at her when she came to the bathroom.

“Just chatting with the neighbors.”

“Mmmm. Hold this.”

Nikita obediently held the wrench he passed her. She sat down on the ledge of the bathtub. With a tug and a grunt, Michael took the S-curve out of the sink, turned it upside down and slimy gunk slid out along with a dirty circlet of platinum. “Here.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Nikita stopped the bathtub up and washed off her ring, then slipped it on her finger. Michael reattached the drain and finally came out from under the sink.

“Next time, make sure the ring is on your finger or away from the sink,” he advised gruffly, turning the now-operating knob on the sink. Water gushed out and Michael washed his face and hands.

“Okay.” Nikita came up behind him and handed him a towel, then she propped her chin on his shoulder and kissed his neck. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He had a strange look on his face, and Nikita bit her lip.

“Michael, are you angry with me for some reason?”

“No.”

She frowned, studying his features, then, sure she was wrong, she said hesitatingly, “Did you hear that woman downstairs?”

“Yes.”

The look on his face intensified, and Nikita’s chin dropped. Then she put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, as if it were a great secret, “It’s okay if you want to laugh, Michael. I won’t tell a soul.”

She felt his chest contract and a soft snort against her hair. When she pulled back to look at his face, his eyes, if not his mouth, smiled back at her. “You’re a funny kind of a man, Michael.” Nikita traced his eyebrow, then down his nose. She leaned forward and kissed him. “And I really love it when you laugh. Even if you don’t make much noise.”

He chuckled again. Then, with a wrench in one hand and Nikita in the other, he led her out of the bathroom.

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

The days clicked by. Michael assigned homework and final projects, gave tests and graded them. That’s what he was doing now. Sitting alone at the dining room table, he had three stacks of neat papers in front of him: tests he’d graded, tests he hadn’t, and the one he was working on now.

It was late. Well, not too late; Nikita was watching the 10 o’clock news. She had the sound turned low so it wouldn’t disturb him and she sat in the middle of the living room floor in her nightgown, a short cotton affair held up by thin straps. The top of the gown was a wide swath of eyelet; the bottom came to her knees. One leg was hooked up; very carefully, she painted a final coat of scarlet nail varnish on her right foot. She pursed her lips and blew on her toes, her attention divided between the news and her feet.

Michael sighed. This is what he’d miss most when they returned to Section. Not the dinners when Gerry came over and not having date night like other couples, but just being at home alone doing mundane things.

The end of July is hot in Texas. Nikita had given up running for swimming. As a result, she’d acquired a light tan, and Michael could see the pale straps of her swimsuit on her back where the gown didn’t cover her. The ends of her hair, caught away from her face with a loose barrette, were tinted a pale green from the chlorine and her eyebrows were bleached white.

Michael propped his chin on a hand and forgot about grading tests.

Nikita wagged a foot back and forth, still watching the news. When they got to sports, she flipped the channels till she settled on something. Then, pulling her gown out of the way, she stretched out on the floor on her stomach, her legs bent and waving back and forth. The hem of the gown hit her mid-thigh. Michael could see -- or he thought he saw -- the pale blue vein that curled up the back of her knee, and his mouth watered.

He pushed his chair back soundlessly and, barefoot, went into the living room to crouch by Nikita.

“Hey,” she smiled up at him and reached up to pat his knee. “Finished? Want to watch TV with me?”

Michael studied the curve of her bare shoulders and the fragile bones in the hand resting on his leg. “What are you watching?” he smoothed a hand over her hair, rough from swimming in chlorinated water.

“It’s about surviving shipwrecks.” Nikita turned her attention back to the show; divers were falling backward into rough seawater to study a wreck.

“Sounds gruesome.”

“You never know.” Nikita shrugged, not looking at him. “One day we may be in a shipwreck. And frankly, I don’t like relying strictly on Section intel. Especially not after that last mission I was on.”

Michael ran a hand down her bare back, then over the thin material covering the rest of her. Though it wasn’t something he thought about much anymore, he was pleased that he no longer felt every dip and knob on her backbone; she wasn’t up to a normal weight yet, but she wasn’t as bony as she had been six weeks before. “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Mmmm,” Nikita glanced up at him. “Sounds good.”

They ate their ice cream, quietly watching TV. Nikita finished what she wanted, then glanced at Michael. He was finished, the empty bowl with the spoon at the correct placement to indicate he was through. His long legs stretched out in front of him and he was paying attention to the program.“Would you like the rest of mine?” Nikita asked, and when he would have taken the bowl, she scooted over to him and sat on his lap facing him.

He put his hands on her hips. She wasn’t wearing underwear and his thumbs absently stroked her hips through her gown. Nikita, staring straight into his eyes, gave him a spoonful of ice cream. “Michael.”

“Mmmm?”

“We’ll have to go in in a few weeks.” She waited till he swallowed and, with all the seriousness she devoted to preparing a canvas, she handed him another spoonful. He licked the spoon clean, and she helped herself to the next bite. “I think,” she said slowly, “I’ll miss this the most. What about you?”

“You’ll miss eating ice cream?” He guided her hand to his mouth for another bite. “Or you’ll miss me getting it for you?”

She grinned, a white flash in a pale brown face. “Yes to both.” Then she turned serious and held out the last spoonful of ice cream for Michael; he dipped his head close to lick it off the spoon. “I’ll miss this. Just ... being at home, doing things normal people do ...”

Michael licked the spoon clean, then took the bowl from Nikita and sat it inside his, spoons neatly curled together in the top bowl. “I don’t think you’ll miss painting.”

“Well, no. And I bet you won’t miss teaching, either.”

“No.” He brushed his lips across hers. One hand still rested on her hip; slowly, he moved it up till he reached the top of her gown. Nikita made a funny choking sound, and Michael kissed her, a long, erotic kiss that made Nikita unconsciously tighten her knees around him. “You asked what I’d miss most of all,” he breathed against her. “This. This is what I’ll miss most of all.” He kissed her again. “Being with you.” He moved lower, barely touching her neck with his lips. “Kissing you.” He moved a little lower. “Waking up next to you.”

“M-Michael?”

“Yes?” Just a whisper of a word; he felt Nikita swallow hard and he kissed her shoulder where a pale tan line snaked across her skin.

“Are you ... finished grading papers?”

“For tonight.”

“Good.” She held his head in her hands and kissed him.

Michael had often thought Nikita’s kisses were like wine. Not because they were intoxicating, though to him, they were. But because each one was different. Wine was like that too. He’d known operatives who could name the region wine came from and often the year the grapes were harvested based solely on the fragrances they tasted. Nikita was like that for him. It was true they didn’t really talk a lot. But in their case, they didn’t have to. He knew she could read his thoughts just by looking at his eyes. And he could tell what she was thinking through her kiss.

Now, he pushed her away and she stood up, holding on to his hand to help him. He kissed her again and her arms went around his neck, holding him close to her. His hands inched up her gown and she pulled away, smiling. Then she took his hand, flipped off the television, and led him to the bedroom.

Michael turned off the lights on the way. When they reached their bedroom door, he kissed her to the bed and in a jumble of arms and legs, they fell over, Nikita somehow landing on top. She sat up, smiled, and leaned over. “I’ll miss this, too,” she agreed. Then she kissed him.

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

As August approached, Nikita’s mission frequency increased. Now she went out once a week, usually for a couple of days, but sometimes more. Michael went out a few times, too, but only for the weekend; it was harder for him to maintain a profile as an instructor if he was never around to teach his students.

He began counting days. The last day of classes was Aug. 18. Then finals. Then a graduation. Then back to Section.

In a way, it would be a relief to get back to Section. Like Nikita, Michael felt misplaced in a normal city with a normal job and a normal life. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. On the other hand, Section wouldn’t be comfortable for him either. The few times he’d been back, Madeleine subjected him to several rather dehumanizing tests, though he hadn’t been sent out on a Valentine mission yet. He was beginning to dread going back for good. Suppose this ... problem didn’t resolve itself? She’d asked if she’d ruined him for others; on one hand, he was glad his body had apparently decided Nikita was the only one for him; on the other hand, there was self-preservation to consider.

The days slipped by. They went out on Friday nights, sometimes to Deep Ellum to hear live music, sometimes to a movie or a local community theater. They went to the Dallas Summer Musicals in Fair Park and Nikita, seeing the huge Texas Star Ferris wheel, lamented that they’d miss the State Fair in the fall. They ate barbecue and Tex-Mex and Popsicles. They mowed the lawn and went to church; Gerry came over for dinner once a week; Nikita continued painting; Michael graded papers.

Then one afternoon when he came home, he found Nikita in the living room, wrapping a picture frame in a T-shirt. Wrapped in towels and stuck in a cardboard box, he saw edges of other things: a carved mask that hung on the wall, sun catchers she’d hung in the windows, other picture frames.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing,” she said briefly. “All this will go into storage ...”

“The movers will do that,” Michael said.

“Section movers,” Nikita said, and then Michael understood: it was all right for Section to move them, but she didn’t want them touching their things. “I don’t mind about the books and the furniture,” she said. “But I’d ... feel better packing the little things.” She wrapped a small box decorated with soda bottle tops that she’d bought at an art festival the previous month in a T-shirt and dropped it in the box.

“It seems funny,” she said, standing up and taping the box carefully. “Next week at this time, we’ll be in Section. Or somewhere that isn’t here.”

Michael came up behind her and put an arm around her and she leaned back. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Maybe,” he answered, and she smiled faintly.

“When you and Chandra have your lovers’ quarrel, can you do it when I’m not around?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She turned her head and kissed him. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Let’s go out. I want to go to Mattito’s one more time for a chili rellano and a big old Margarita.” She kissed him again, and said softly, “Don’t be sad, Michael.”

Instead of answering, he kissed her hard and said, “You should get ready. I’ll call and reserve a table.”

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

The last few days were spent in a whirlwind of activity. Nikita quickly painted four mediocre pictures and spent the rest of her spare time packing. The Friday before they were supposed to leave, Gerry took them out for a farewell dinner. Dr. Parks asked Michael if he’d consider a full-time position in the future. “Not this year,” Michael said. “I’m taking the fall off and Nikita and I are going to Europe. She has a couple of shows she has to do, then we’re going to rest. She’s been working hard this summer and needs the time off.”

“What about you?”

“It’ll give me a chance to do a little writing,” Michael shrugged. “I have something else that’s supposed to come out in Physics -- probably in October or November, they said.”

“We’ll be watching for it,” Parks smiled. “Will you keep in touch?”

“Of course,” Michael said.

“We’ve enjoyed having you on staff, Michael.”

Michael’s classes ended and he gave final exams. He intended to grade them quickly at school, but people kept interrupting him -- Gerry returned some books, Dr. Parks came by again to remind him to turn in his grades, and the man at the end of the hall came back from vacation and began moving things around in his office. Finally, Michael packed up his briefcase and went home.

It wasn’t exactly quiet here, either. Nikita had the CD player on the porch playing something fast and bouncy and Italian. She was sitting in the middle of the floor packing up her supplies and she waved as he came up the stairs. “I have to work,” he said over the music, and Nikita, still singing along, nodded and went back to what she was doing.

Michael sat down at the dining room table. All around him were half-full boxes. The movers would come day after tomorrow, and Nikita was still trying to get what she called “the little things” packed and out of the way. Michael sighed, cleared off a place, and began to grade papers.

He didn’t notice when the music changed and he didn’t hear Nikita go to the kitchen and start dinner. “Michael.”

He looked up, finger on the page he was grading so he wouldn’t lose his place. “Yes?”

“Dinner’s nearly ready. Want to eat in the kitchen so you don’t have to move your stuff?”

“Five minutes,” he mumbled, going back to the test.

“All right.”

The door swung shut and Michael quickly finished the paper and got up. They had a quick dinner of left-overs and Nikita handed him a Popsicle for dessert. Michael returned to work, careful to not drip on his student’s papers.

He wasn’t sure why he took such time over these students, but maybe it was out of pity: he knew he was a mediocre instructor and he was sorry they had to suffer through summer school with him. The least he could do was give them fair grades. He finished a test and picked up another one.

By the time he was finished, it was late. He stacked the papers together and put them in his briefcase, then yawned and looked around.

It was quiet. Nikita had cleaned up the kitchen and he could hear the hum of the television set. He walked into the living room, her name on his lips, then he stopped.

She was in her nightgown, sitting on the sofa, fast asleep. The television droned on in the background, the Nature Channel flashing photos of the rain forest across the screen. Michael sat down next to her carefully and settled back against the cushions. Nikita rolled toward him; he opened his arms in anticipation and she slid against his side. He moved down a little and her forehead came to rest on his neck and jaw. He put an arm around her and changed the channel to C-SPAN.

A senator, face red and white shirt disheveled, had the floor. It was obvious he was preaching to an empty room, and Michael’s eyes began to slide shut. Nikita murmured into his neck and pressed closer. His head leaned into hers, and suddenly she woke. “Michael.”

“Mmmm ...”

“Michael.” She sat up, rubbed her eyes and gave him a shake. “Wake up.”

He yawned, cracked an eye and said, “Let’s go to bed.”

Nikita rose, turned off the TV and held out her hand. They flipped off the rest of the lights, and in the dark, made their way to their bedroom. Nikita stood on her side of the bed and Michael on his, and they pulled back the covers. Nikita flopped on the bed and yawned.

Michael took off his clothes and slid in. She leaned over to kiss him, and when she would have pulled back, Michael held her close. His hands moved over her body, just the right pressure here ... and here ...

“Michael ...”

“Mmmm ...”

She felt his hot breath on her neck, and she said, “It’s Thursday.”

“So it is,” he murmured.

“That means we can’t ...”

“What’s so special about Thursday?” One hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward his, his lips light across hers.

“Madeleine says ... three times a week ...”

“In the first place, I’m not interested in what Madeleine says ...” Michael kissed her again, a long, heart-thudding kiss. “And in the second place ... we’ve always been overachievers ...”

In the face of such common sense, Nikita gave in and pulled him closer.

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

As Michael and Nikita were discussing Madeleine’s ideas about sexual intimacy in a marital setting, Madeleine and Operations were discussing Michael and Nikita’s return to Section.

“You’re saying that this is some kind of passive-aggressive way to get out of Valentine duty?” Operations asked.

“In a way.” Madeleine shrugged. “It’s more than that though; Michael can’t control it. The loss of control makes him nervous, which only makes the situation worse.”

“He wasn’t this way with Nikita.”

“Chandra and Nikita are completely different personalities. Nikita never dated anyone; Chandra’s dated most of the eligible men in Section and a few of the ineligible. Michael knows it, and it frustrates him ... particularly when he’s in a situation with Nikita.”

“What does this have to do with Nikita?”

“Think about having to see your ex-wife every day,” Madeleine suggested. “Having to live in the same house with her, when your current interest is effectively removed from the picture.”

“Michael and Nikita were never that close.”

“Not in reality. But it is the way Michael thinks of it.”

“So.” Operations looked down onto Section’s main floor, trying to mask his impatience with concern over operations below. “What’s the solution?”

“We give them a break. Separate Michael and Nikita for awhile. Let him see Chandra ... in a controlled environment, of course. I’m interested to see whether his problem resolves itself when he’s with someone by choice, rather than our directive.”

“Well, don’t show me the video,” Operations huffed. “Just let me know the outcome.”

“Of course,” Madeleine smiled.

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

The last time to go to church together. The last dinner out. The last breakfast together. A graduation. A final paycheck. Already the house felt depressed and closed up, and they hadn’t even left.

Section movers would come tomorrow, very early, to pack Michael and Nikita’s belongings for storage. They planned to stay in a hotel their last night so they could get up at 8 o’clock rather than 5.30. They each had an overnight bag packed and ready to go; Nikita made one last, sad circuit through the house.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Michael held out his hand, but Nikita hesitated. “You know, Michael ... if we went to bed early it wouldn’t be so bad, waking up early.”

“You want to stay here another night?” Michael translated, and Nikita nodded.

“Would you mind?”

“Why do you want to stay? The hotel will be fine ...” Michael said.

“I know it would be. I just ... I like our big blue bed.”

Michael nodded. Instead of reminding her that she could have told him this before he packed a bag for tomorrow and they cleaned out the refrigerator, he merely said, “How about eating out at ZuZu’s, then? It’s close and we won’t have to wash dishes.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Michael.”

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

The next day, just as the sun was beginning to stain the sky, the front door of a duplex on College Drive opened. A man, tall and dark, came out and kept the door open for the yawning woman behind him. He kissed her cheek and she grinned up at him, patting back another yawn. She stretched, long and lean, and looked up at the lightening sky.

The man locked the door, reached up, and carefully put the key on the lintel. With fingertips barely linked, they strolled across the lawn, still wet with dew, and the man unlocked the driver’s side of a beat-up late model Audi. He got in, reached across the car and unlocked the other door for the woman.

She slid in. The man put an arm across the back of her seat as he turned around to back the car up. The car hesitated in the driveway, then slipped into gear.

Neither of them looked back as they drove down the street.

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

Nikita was not surprised when, upon receiving her work schedule, she was not paired with Michael. She was a little glad, in a way; everyone kept whispering about him and Chandra, and it would be very hard if she had to endure a mission with him while everyone was looking at them.

Still, she missed him. She missed having dinner with him and discussing the state of their lawn as if it were truly important. She missed him bringing her ice cream and she missed the look on his face when she forgot and ate the last orange Popsicle, leaving only lime, which he didn’t really care for. Most of all, she missed him at night and in the very early morning, when her sleep was restless and light.

It took her a full week to be able to sleep by herself again.

She wondered how long it had taken Michael.

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

Michael’s first mission, when he came back, was to make love to Chandra in a believable fashion without actually doing anything. It was a tough assignment, but he went to her apartment fully prepared: he knew where the cameras were, he’d disabled the audio, and he’d sent her an encoded e-mail detailing his basic plan. So when she flung her arms around him in the doorway and drug him inside, he was fairly pleased that she seemed to be such a willing cohort.

With her arms around him, he led her to the spot in the apartment where the camera angles were the best. She unbuttoned his shirt, her mouth close to his ear. “I got reassigned.”

“What department?” He gave her what he hoped was a passionate look; Chandra, who had her back to the camera, rolled her eyes and made a funny face at him.

“Systems.”

He pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. “Systems?!”

“It was easy,” she breathed against his mouth, “I got blacklisted on the Eastern Seaboard last month. They could have sent me to the Europe substation --”

Michael groaned; the European substation had a sky-high mortality rate.

“But right before I got blacklisted, I got extra intel -- I was supposed to collect intel from Frank Porac’s computer and on a whim, I got something even better.”

“Smart,” Michael agreed. He slid his hands up her shirt and she threw back her head in apparent passion.

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

From her office, Madeleine fiddled with the volume on her computer. Then she realized it wasn’t her; there was no audio in Chandra’s apartment. What were they saying? She squinted at the screen, but couldn’t read their lips.

Well. Not that it mattered. Both Chandra and Michael had their clothes half-off and were on the floor. Michael was on top so Madeleine couldn’t see his face, but she could see Chandra’s, and from her expression, Michael apparently had conquered whatever impotency problems he had.

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

Two weeks passed. Then three.

When she was on a trip to Pakistan, she heard through the grapevine that Chandra and Michael had a huge blowup fight, so explosive and public that few escaped hearing about it. Chandra slapped Michael, and Michael -- always so soft-spoken and controlled -- actually yelled! It was incredible, and other operatives couldn’t stop talking about it.

Publicly, Nikita shrugged when she heard about it and asked a few important questions: Were either of them to be canceled? Was Michael deactivated? When the answers were negative, she relaxed and was just glad she hadn’t been in Section when it happened.

Nikita was busy and rarely home. But no matter where she was, she still ached a little inside every night when she went to sleep. It was worse when she was at home alone, for some reason. She’d almost decided to get rid of her bed and get something smaller. This one felt so big with only one person in it. She wondered about their big blue bed; was it sitting quietly in a storage unit somewhere? Where were their blue sheets and the red couch she’d initially disliked? She imagined them swathed in plastic and it made her inexplicably sad.

Nikita turned over, one hand tucked under her rib cage, the other around her head. She missed him. Besides their crazy schedules, which kept them at opposite sides of the globe, she knew she was probably being monitored -- just another reason for him to keep away. But she would have done almost anything to hear him knock on her door.

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

The word around Section was that Michael was being kept away from Chandra, who had suddenly proven herself to be very valuable indeed. Recently, she’d uncovered someone on Section’s Green List who was not only a double agent, but also turning in inaccurate expense reports. In her spare time she’d redesigned a targeting system so it worked more effectively. But what made her the most valuable was, she’d begun to flirt with Greg, who, until now, channeled all his energy into making Birkhoff miserable.

Nikita had always liked Chandra. But it was this last thing that made her regard Chandra if not in saintly terms, at least as a true humanitarian. “He’s not so bad,” Chandra told her in the gym one day. “He just thinks he’s really smart. I guess he is. But there’s a lot he doesn’t know.”

“So, what are you doing about that?” Nikita asked slyly.

Chandra grinned. “Training him.”

Then, finally, Michael came back from wherever he was. He nodded curtly to Chandra, who had the presence of mind to blush and duck away from him; the surrounding operatives breathed a sigh of relief when Michael turned toward his office.

Nikita passed him without greeting. And when he pressed something cool and smooth into her hand, she didn’t even blink an eye. She just kept on walking.

And so did he.

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

Nikita tucked the passkey into her pocket to examine later. She nonchalantly reviewed her schedule; she had a day off, so she quietly packed a few things from her Section locker, told Birkhoff goodbye, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left Section.

On her way home, she stopped at a coffee shop to use the bathroom. Tucked away in a small stall, she pulled out the credit-card sized hotel room key and examined it. The Hilton’s name and address was printed on it in red ink, and scratched on the surface was a number. She held the card so the light glinted off the surface, squinted, then tucked the key back in her pocket and exited the bathroom.

On a whim, she bought a cup of tea and a bag of baked goods. Then she left the shop.

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

Well, she thought, surveying the room. It’s not the Mansion ... but it’ll do.

Actually, it was quite clever of Michael, she thought. A mid-priced hotel, a mid-town address ... what could be less suspicious? Best of all, she could assume it was unmonitored. Just to make sure, she ran a quick scan and smiled, satisfied. She took a drink of herbal tea, yawned and looked at the bed. She’d had a tiring mission the night before -- surveillance from the roof of a building, and it had been cold and windy -- and she could use a good rest.

She could also use a bath. Nikita stripped, bathed, then put on a nightshirt she had packed; it was something she often wore in Section when they were on close quarter standby. It was very modest -- you never knew who would come wake you up in Section -- but it was also comfortable and, most importantly, clean. That couldn’t be said about most of her other clothes. She’d been gone so much she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done laundry.

Nikita fell into bed with a sigh. Just for a few minutes, she thought sleepily. Just a few minutes ...

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

Feeling oddly nervous, Michael knocked quietly on the room door.

Nothing.

A prickle of apprehension crept up his spine, and he drew his gun. Then, very carefully, he slipped his key in the slot and opened the door.

Nikita was curled up on her side, neatly on her own side of the bed. She was asleep, but when he knelt down to run a hand over her cheek, she started awake.

“I didn’t hear you knock,” she said, yawning. She moved over and Michael sat on the edge of the bed, then, kicking his shoes off, he lay down beside her. She stayed on her side, not touching him.

“How have you been?”

“Missing you,” she admitted. “You?”

“I have something for you.”

She blinked. “A present?”

“Sort of.”

Nikita sat up in bed, her sleepiness forgotten. “Where is it? Wait: this isn’t one of those things where I have to open up the window and kill someone, is it?”

“If you mean, does Section know we’re here, the answer is no. It’s just you and me.”

“And no firearms,” she confirmed.

“Only what I brought.” Michael pushed his coat aside, and Nikita took his gun out of the holster, unloaded it and put it on the nightstand.

“So.” Nikita crossed her legs. “Where is it? My present, I mean?”

Michael crossed his hands under his head and the corners of his eyes wrinkled up in a smile. “The inside pocket of my jacket.

Nikita tilted her head, then, in one quick move, straddled him. She reached into his jacket and plucked out a pamphlet. Her fingers delved deeper and she asked, “Is this all?”

“Open it up.”

Nikita settled onto Michael’s abdomen and he watched her read the mailer. “Page three,” he prompted, and Nikita obediently turned to page three. Her eyes widened.

“Is this really going to happen?”

“Madeleine says yes. Apparently, Doc Parks can’t speak to the American Scientists this winter and he recommended me.”

“You’ve been scheduled to speak at things like this before and Section never sent you,” Nikita said warily. “What makes this time different?”

“Madeleine accepted it. And she told me to be prepared to speak on gaseous particles in space.”

“I didn’t think that was exactly your field.”

“I am,” Michael said, almost sounding happy, “Branching out.”

“Hey. Maybe I can take up sculpting, after all.”

“Maybe.” His hands rested on her thighs, and one finger wormed its way to the back of her knee. Nikita gasped and jerked in response, putting one hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

“When does this happen?” She flipped the flyer over, scanning it for dates, trying to ignore her body’s response to Michael.

“Not long. A couple of months,” he said, still stroking the back of her leg.

“Good.” She lay down on top of him, kissing his chin and wrapping her legs around his. “How have your missions been going?”

Michael made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat, then sighed. “Successfully.”

“Any Valentine ones?” She kissed him again.

“A few.”

Another kiss. “Michael.”

“Yes ...?”

“I was wondering ... how would you like to make wild, endless, conventional love to me all night long?”

“Very much. I’d like that very much.”

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

Horace Trublood didn’t ask a lot out of life. A frequent traveler, for the most part he required only valet parking, room service and a stocked minibar. He didn’t even care what hotel chain he stayed in, but his company preferred Hiltons. This was fine with Horace ... usually.

But this time, he was sandwiched between the elevators -- which wooshed up and down all night long -- and the ice machine, which tumped a load of ice every hour or so. And if that weren’t bad enough, his neighbors were loud. Well, not exactly loud. Just very ... active.

The wall behind his bed vibrated, and Horace sighed. He looked at the clock. He didn’t know how long those folks had been at it, but he had to admire their stamina. Surely, they’d get tired soon. Surely ...

Knock ... knock ... knock ...

The wall shook, and Horace groaned. He sent up a silent prayer: Please, God, make them go to sleep ...

Knock ... knock ... knock ...

Horace groaned again and gave up. He turned on the light, grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on. Then he turned up the volume, but that didn’t mask the vibrations coming from next door.

Knock ... knock ... knock ...

----- end ------