Michael watched silently as his team limped into the van. As leader, he’d stayed in the van to run the mission. They’d started out with six; four came in. Andy was holding up Childs, who had a broken leg. Emily and Nikita were both moving under their own steam, but Emily was limping and Nikita looked pale.

“Go,” Michael said quietly, and the van accelerated. He turned back to his computer and continued to monitor the site; once the building blew, the mission would be truly over, but until then there was a small possibility they’d have to go back in.

Andy and Emily helped immobilize Childs’s leg, then Emily sat down and Andy wrapped her twisted ankle.

“Nikita, are you all right?” Emily asked.

“Fine. I’ll wait till we get back to Section.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad. The bullet grazed me.”

Michael watched the screen, waiting ... waiting ... then, there was a tell-tale flash and sudden expansion of color. The building was demolished; the mission was finished. “We’re clear,” he said quietly, and the driver nodded, speeding up. Soon they hit pavement, and the van moved even faster down the freeway.

The four operatives settled down in the back, getting as comfortable as possible. It would be a long trip back, at least two hours. Childs took up one whole seat, but he’d taken a pain pill and was nearly asleep. The other three were wedged in the other seat, Emily sandwiched between Andy and Nikita, who was nearest Michael.

The hum of the highway and the dark night worked with the sudden let-down from a mission, and all four slept. As she relaxed, Nikita’s hand fell from her arm, where she’d been applying pressure to her wound and her head rested on the side of the van.

Michael continued to work. He still had an open line with Birkhoff, but Birkhoff was quiet, busy with his own tasks. Michael pulled up some profiles he’d been working on. There wasn’t enough room for him to sleep, and anyway, he didn’t sleep well in transit. Besides, Nikita was too close. This was their first mission together since she told him she didn’t love him anymore, and for Michael, the wound was still fresh and sharp. He missed her. Not just waking up with her or meeting her in the bowels of Section; he missed talking to her and just ... being near her. He missed touching her. She shied away from him, almost as if his touch hurt her in some way now.

He glanced back at Nikita. In the faint greenish glow of his computer screen, she looked pale and tired. She was slumped against the wall; the van slowed and changed lanes and Nikita slid onto Emily, whose weight was mostly on Andy, who was wedged close to the back door. Like dominoes, Michael thought, almost amused.

Well. Get to work. Michael turned back to his computer and, blocking out memories of other van trips when they’d done nothing more dangerous than hold hands while everyone else slept, he began editing profiles.

Two hours passed quickly for him. By the time he was nearly done, the van was nearing Section. Michael finished up and turned to wake the others.

The van pulled up to egress and someone from the outside opened the doors. Andy got out first and he and Michael helped get Childs out. Emily got up and limped toward the door and Michael held out a hand to help her down.

“Nikita,” Michael called, leaning back in the van.

She hadn’t moved from her seat.

“Nikita?”

Emily got out of the van, glancing over her shoulder at Nikita, and Michael, sighing, got back into the vehicle. He reached over to nudge her shoulder. “Nikita, we’re at Section.”

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy, nearly opaque.

“Nikita?” Michael took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly, but she slipped out of his grasp. Then he noticed her arm was covered in blood. He hit the dim overhead light and saw blood pooled in the molded seat where she and Emily had been sitting; it dripped onto the dark floor.

“Get another medical team,” Michael called, and he lay Nikita down on the seat, her injured arm toward him. He cut off her sleeve as best he could.

Was she injured worse than she thought? Was the bullet still inside her? Michael couldn’t tell, there was so much blood and he began wiping it off, trying to see the extent of her injuries. One of the nurses got into the van, and between them, they got Nikita on a stretcher and on her way to Medlab.

Michael watched them roll her quickly away. He looked down at his hands, red with Nikita’s blood, and slowly he turned back toward the van.

Nikita’s injuries weren’t serious. She’d just been grazed. And she’d never been a free bleeder. You couldn’t be and still be an operative. There were too many variables in the field to be worrying about someone bleeding to death. Michael’s eyes narrowed and he wiped his bloody hands on his pants, then got back into the van. He picked up one of the high powered flashlights and turned it on the dim interior.

Blood. It was everywhere. All in the seat, on the floor. She’d been sitting there asleep, and if the ride had been longer, she could have bled to death. The indoor/outdoor carpet was squishy under his feet. How much had she lost? More than a pint, he guessed, but how much more it was impossible to tell.

Michael squatted on the floor, thinking. Normally, he wouldn’t have given something like this a second thought. He would have classified it as an anomaly and gone on. But there were too many odd things about Nikita recently. First, there was the whole I-don’t-love-you-thing, which still bothered him. He knew Section had something to do with it, but he didn’t know what. It was almost like brainwashing ... or mind-control ... or ...

Michael froze, then rose and got out one of the sample collecting units every mission van carried. He filled three vials with Nikita’s blood, then pocketed them.

Someone slapped the outside of the van. “Hey, you about done in there?”

“Yes,” Michael answered. He picked up his laptop, gave the bloody seat one more look, and exited the van.

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

“Walter.”

Walter turned and cocked an eyebrow at Michael.

The past few weeks hadn’t been easy for Michael, and he hadn’t been easy on anyone around him. That included Walter. Michael knew he’d behaved badly but he hadn’t been able to help it; now, he hoped he hadn’t damaged his relationship with Walter too much. He waited while Walter decided whether to talk to him or not.

“Hey, Michael, what’s up?”

Michael let out a breath. “I need a favor.”

Walter stared at him for a moment, then nodded his head. “Come on back.”

Michael followed Walter to the back of munitions, then, when they were out of camera range, he withdrew one of the vials he’d collected earlier. “I want you to run this.”

“Okay.” Walter took a vial and held it to the light. “Is it contaminated?”

“I got it off the mission van. It’s Nikita’s.”

“I heard she got winged.”

“Yes.”

Walter looked at him. “But not badly, right?”

“The injury wasn’t serious,” Michael said slowly. “But she wasn’t clotting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they had to give her a transfusion when she got in.”

Walter adsorbed this information, concentrating on the maroon-colored tube in his hands. “So ... what are you thinking? Drug interactions?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s a side effect.”

“Yeah ... but of what?”

“I went by and talked to her when she was getting her blood.” Michael focused his eyes on the tube in Walter’s hands. “If she’s taking anything, she’s not aware of it.”

Walter sighed. “That leaves the field wide open, Michael. She could be taking it in through her skin, maybe through her water supply at home, maybe through her vitamin pills, maybe ... oh, it could be a hundred different things, you know that.”

“I know.”

“So, what do you want me to look for?”

“Something ... mind-altering. Something that changes mood, feelings ...”

“Well, that helps me out a little bit. How many of these you got for me?”

“Just three.” Michael produced the other tubes of blood and handed them over.

“And I can’t go to the source because she’s just gotten a whole bunch of new blood, which would skew the results,” Walter said. “Well, this should be enough. And if it’s not, we’ll wait a month, run her blood again ...”

“I don’t want to wait a month.”

“Like I said ... this should be enough.”

“Good.” Michael turned to leave, but Walter called him back.

“Michael? What are you going to do when we find out what -- if anything -- is in here?” he asked, holding up a slender blood-filled tube.

“Fix it,” Michael said simply.

“Right,” Walter muttered to himself. He watched Michael leave, sighed again, and put the tubes of Nikita’s blood in his shirt pocket.

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

“I heard Nikita went to medical?” Operations tilted his head, studying the floor of Section laid out before him like a board game.

“Yes,” Madeleine said quietly. “She lost quite a bit of blood.”

“So, apparently she’s reacting to this treatment ... poorly.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Madeleine turned to face him. “Nikita’s suffered a reaction. It’s common. We’ll test her weekly and make sure nothing else is affected.”

“Such as ...?”

“This treatment can be cardiotoxic in some cases. In others, liver function is impaired. We’ll monitor her, make sure nothing ... untoward happens.”

“How long will she need to be on this treatment?”

“I’d like to continue it for six months. By that time, her relationship with Michael will have deteriorated to a suitable point, and we can gradually wean her off the drugs.”

Operations sighed, sounding annoyed. “I dislike this method of dealing with what should have been a straight-forward situation.”

“If you had been willing to reconsider your final decision, none of this would have been necessary,” Madeleine pointed out.

“Rules were made for a reason,” Operations started, but Madeleine cut him off.

“Yes. I know. But you should know by now that not everyone reacts the way you do to certain stresses and situations.”

Operations blinked. “I believe that was an insult.”

“Not an insult. Merely a fact.”

He stared at her for a moment, then abruptly turned back to the window. “Continue the treatment. Keep me updated on the progress.”

“Certainly.”

As Madeleine reached out for the door, he called her back. “And Madeleine.”

“Yes?” She turned.

“Make sure she doesn’t bleed to death,” he said in a bored voice. “The whole reason we’re giving her this treatment is to preserve a good operative.”

“Of course.”

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

The following week Nikita was back on active status. Michael knew she was seeing Madeleine twice a week, and this, coupled with the other changes in her personality, bothered him.

She didn’t talk to anyone. No chit-chat with Walter, no teasing Birkhoff. The chair in Michael’s office sat empty. As far as Michael knew, she went to work, she went home and that was it. He tried to tell himself she was remodeling and didn’t have time to socialize, but he didn’t really believe it, and when Walter called him aside, all the nagging doubts were laid to rest.

“Well, I’m not sure what it is,” Walter said, “But it’s potent and it’s mood-altering, just like you said.”

“What is it?”

“A little of this, a little of that. I’ve not seen anything exactly like it before, and by itself, it’s not enough to cause major changes in perceptions or feelings. There has to be a catalyst to jump start it -- at least, there has to be with other drugs that are like this. Find out how she’s taking it in and cut her off.”

“What about side effects?”

“Well, if it’s anything like it’s brothers ... this family of chemical will give her DTs, stuff like that. Some hallucinations. But quitting cold turkey shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

“Shouldn’t?”

Walter shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t seen this particular drug before. I don’t know what the exact side effects are or if there are permanent changes or damages ... but if I were you, I’d do something about it.”

“Thanks, Walter.”

“Sure.” Walter nodded to Michael and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Tell her I said hi, will you? Haven’t seen her around much. Now I guess I know why.”

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

It had been nearly a month since Michael had been to Nikita’s apartment. The last time he’d come she’d practically thrown him out ...

No. He steeled his mind against remembering any more, and raised his hand to knock at the door.

Silence. He knocked again, then put his ear to the door. Finally, he pulled out his key and unlocked the door. “Nikita?”

He let the door shut behind him. Somewhere he could hear water running; he slowly went up the stairs to her bedroom. “Nikita?”

She was standing in front of her sink. The faucet was on and lined up on the counter top were a row of bottles and a full glass of water.

“Nikita?”

She jerked up, eyes wide, and frowned. “Michael. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Michael looked at the bottles, the water, and, now that he was in the bathroom, the gun on top of the commode tank. On top of the closed toilet lid was a copy of the Physicians’ Desk Reference, face down. “What are you doing?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Now go on, get out of here so I can do this in peace. Please, Michael. If you still love me at all, let me alone.” She unscrewed a bottle and shook out a handful of pills. Michael picked up the book and glanced at the page, then sat down on the toilet.

“Nikita, what are you doing?” he asked again gently, and her eyes filled with tears.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything. Everything’s wrong and I don’t know ...” her voice shook and she let the pills slide onto the counter top, bright pink and white capsules. Some dropped into the basin and swirled away in the rushing water. Michael didn’t have to read the prescription label; he knew they were painkillers. He rose, put the PDR on the bathtub ledge, and seated Nikita on the potty. She put her head in her hands. Her sobs mixed with the sound of the running water, making everything sadder somehow and Michael crouched at her feet.

“Nikita ...”

“Michael, I don’t ... I don’t know what’s wrong. I think I’m going crazy. I can’t think of any other explanation,” she said finally, when she was able to talk without crying. “I ... the things I used to feel, I don’t anymore. It’s like I have novocain in my brain. Only everything hurts, instead of being numb. I can’t ... I can’t do this anymore.”

“So you thought killing yourself ...?”

“I thought it would be better than doing it on a mission. Besides ... I shouldn’t go out on missions, Michael. I don’t ... I don’t trust myself.”

“What about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you trust me?” He stared into her bloodshot eyes, hoping she could see the love and compassion he felt for her, and slowly, she nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He took one of her hands, but she drew away and he broke eye contact with her for a moment. “We’re going on a mission tomorrow,” he said, his voice quiet and professional. “I want you to stay close.”

Nikita stared at him for a minute, then she nodded finally.

Michael stood and offered a hand to Nikita. She shut off the faucet, and Michael, not looking at her, emptied all the pills into the toilet before he left.

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

When Michael got home that night, he went to one of his kitchen cupboards and took out a magnet.

He’d acquired the magnet on a mission; they’d used it to erase some files. It was a quick, though low-tech way to do things, and afterward, he’d neglected to return it to Section. It was heavy, at least five pounds, and packed quite a punch. He had to keep it away from anything metal, and already he’d accidentally magnetized half his silverware.

Making sure to keep it on his left side, Michael set the magnet down on the table with a thump. Then he took an neutralizer from his coat pocket. He took off his shirt, sat down and pulled the magnet towards him.

He wasn’t sure where his tracker was. At one time he’d had one in his shoulder, but something had gone wrong with it and they’d had to implant another one at the same time he’d had surgery on his right arm to repair a gunshot wound. He knew he didn’t have any pins or rods in that arm; Section tried to use plastic whenever possible because it didn’t show up on metal detectors. But the trackers had to be metal.

Slowly, Michael moved his arm down the magnet. He felt a pull in his forearm, under his elbow, so he pressed closer to make sure.

It was imbedded fairly deeply. He could feel it tugging to the magnet and he pulled back before he damaged his tissue. He got the neutralizer, making several passes over the throbbing pain in his arm, and when he was fairly sure it was inoperable, he put the magnet and neutralizer away and went to sleep.

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

This time when they armed up for the mission, Walter watched Nikita closely.

She inventoried her equipment, making sure she had everything necessary. But she didn’t look at him -- or at anyone, for that matter -- and the only thing she said to him was a muttered “Thanks,” when he handed her another clip.

“Take care, Sugar,” Walter said, and Nikita nodded, still not looking at him. After she turned to go to van access, Walter asked Michael, “Have you given any thought to --”

“Yes.” Michael tucked an extra gun in the back of his pants, put an extra clip in his front pocket and shouldered his pack.

“And --?”

“It’ll have to wait till after the mission,” Michael said, preoccupied.

Walter ran a synthesizer over Michael’s frame to get the correct frequency for his tracker -- a task he’d done for everyone else on the team, and something that was so routine he was actually surprised when the tracker failed to initialize.

“Oh, well, hell,” Walter muttered.

“What is it?”

“You’ve screwed up another tracker, Michael.” Walter put down the synthesizer and rooted around in a bin for a temporary. “Put this near your skin.”

Michael placed the tracker on his right arm, just inside his wrist, and Walter ran the synthesizer over it, sequenced the frequency, and nodded. “When you get back, we’ll have to plant another one in you.”

Michael shrugged, picked up his panel and nodded to Walter. “See you in a few hours.”

“Yeah ... good luck.”

“Thanks.” Without a backward glance, Michael left munitions, his stride unhurried.

And that was the last Walter saw of him.

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

Birkhoff monitored the mission rather half-heartedly. It was something this particular team had done dozens of times before: Infiltrate a gathering of people, steal data while the principles were engaged, then get out.

“Security’s off,” Birkhoff said, and he watched the team go to their first marks. “Team One, began your approach. Team Two, stand by.”

One got into position, then Birkhoff gave Two the order to proceed.

In this scenario, Team One was on point. Team Two was the distraction. Birkhoff watched the second team, which consisted of four people, circulate in a room full of people. They used a classic formation and were able to isolate the target.

Meanwhile, the first team, Michael and Nikita, were on their way to the database. Birkhoff watched them enter the room. Michael stood lookout while Nikita got the intel

Then, right in front of his eyes, Birkhoff saw a text-book, easy-as-pie mission go suddenly sour.

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

“Hurry up, Nikita.”

Nikita’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she began to send the intel to Birkhoff. “I’m going as fast as I can.” A few more minutes passed, then Nikita announced, “All finished.”

“Disconnect,” Michael ordered, and Nikita gathered her equipment, making sure she left nothing behind.

“Okay,” she said, turning toward him, ready to leave.

“I’m very sorry, Nikita,” Michael said, tucking his gun in his jacket.

“Sorry? What for?” Nikita asked, puzzled, but before she had time to ask him anything else, he drew back a fist and socked her on the chin. She let out a little moan and toppled backward.

Nikita wasn’t sure how long she was out, but when she came to, she hurt. And not just her chin, which felt like it was about double its normal size. Her left shoulder was sore; it felt like something was pinching her. She groaned and felt a familiar hand come down on her mouth.

“Quiet,” Michael breathed against her, and Nikita nodded. Michael removed his hand and relaxed beside her.

She opened her eyes. It was pitch dark and too warm. She would have even been hotter if she’d had on clothes; she still had on her mission pants, but her shirt was missing. She felt of her shoulder and encountered soft gauze.

Somewhere, she could hear footsteps, quick ones. She froze. Beside her, Michael stopped breathing. Then the footsteps receded, and they both took a breath. “Are you ready to move?” Michael asked softly.

“What the hell is going on?” Nikita demanded, her tone low. “And where is my shirt?”

Michael reached out for her and Nikita tried to move away, but they were in such close quarters there wasn’t anywhere for her to go. “Put on this instead,” he ordered.

Nikita reached out blindly and felt soft fabric. She sorted out the arms and neck and finally drew it on, wincing as it brushed her shoulder. “What did you do to me?”

“I had to remove your tracker. I’m sorry. I don’t have any pain medication with me. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

“Michael, they’ll just put it back in. Why --?”

“Come on.” Michael rose and lifted her to her feet. “Take off your pants.”

“I certainly will not!”

“Nikita, they’re drugging you. I don’t know how. They may have treated your mission clothes with something. Take them off. Even your underwear.”

Nikita peeled off her pants, holding on to Michael for balance. “How do you know this?”

“I had Walter analyze your blood. Put these on.”

She felt around, found Michael’s hands, and took the fabric. “What is it?”

“A skirt. Hurry up.”

“I told you before ... I’m not taking any drugs.”

“Not knowingly,” Michael agreed. “Come on, get dressed.”

Nikita finally got herself together -- whether anything was right-side in or out, she had no idea -- and said, “Whose clothes are these?”

“I planted them here yesterday. They’re new, never been in Section.”

“Where are we going?”

Michael paused, one hand on the doorknob and the other on Nikita’s arm. “Out,” he said simply, then he opened the utility closet door, and together, they slipped from the building.

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

“Uh ... sir?” Birkhoff swallowed nervously.

“What is it, Birkhoff?”

“There’s been a problem with the mission.”

“What kind of problem?”

“We seem to be missing some operatives.”

“Missing?” Operations stopped pacing and pivoted, his eyes boring into Birkhoff. “Who?”

“Michael. And Nikita.”

“Trace them through their trackers --”

“Uh ... I did. I tried to,” Birkhoff corrected. “Michael’s isn’t working and Nikita’s has been removed.”

“Removed?”

“Two members of the second team have been trying to locate them. They sent the intel we needed, then ... disappeared. Boris found Nikita’s tracker in the office, along with Michael’s hand-held and a temporary one he was wearing.”

“Send in a backup team. Comb the premises. No one comes in until they’re found, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Birkhoff swallowed and bit his lip, and Operations’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Michael sent a message. Through his hand-held,” Birkhoff said nervously.

“Well, what the hell is it?”

Birkhoff moved aside and Operations, peering through his bifocals, frowned. “Kidnaped? He can’t be serious.”

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

Nikita looked at Michael. “Kidnaped? Are you serious?”

Michael put the car into gear and eased it past the line of parked cars, careful to not turn on the lights before he got away from the parking lot.

“It’s only temporary,” he said.

“I see.” Nikita was quiet for a minute, then she said, “So, tell me, are you planning on robbing any banks tonight?”

“What?”

“Thought you might want to see how many illegal things you could do in one evening. So far, we’ve done breaking and entering, illegally transferring private information to Section, kidnaping and stealing, if you count the car.”

“We haven’t killed anyone.”

Nikita looked at him sharply. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Michael didn’t answer and Nikita muttered to herself. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said, I should have killed myself when I had the chance.”

They reached the edge of town and the streetlights began to disappear. Oncoming traffic was reduced to an occasional pair of headlights. “Michael, Section will find us. You know they will. And when they do, they’ll kill us both.”

“What do you care? I thought you were going to kill yourself anyway.”

“Well, I’d kind of like to go the way I want to go,” Nikita said grumpily. The car was warm and the radio, which had been on when they jumped it, was playing quiet classical music. She yawned and relaxed into the plush seat. “Where are we going, Michael?”

“To a safe house. One of mine, not Section’s.”

“Why?”

“To be safe.”

Nikita’s eyes slid shut. At the time, Michael’s answer made perfect sense. Lulled by the music, the regular vibration of the car and the dark night outside, Nikita slept.

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

“The demands are not, in my estimation, unreasonable,” Madeleine said, her eyes on the computer screen.

“This is totally unacceptable,” Operations fumed. “Why are you acting as if we’d go along with this scheme of his?”

“Because you’re looking at this the wrong way,” Madeleine said reasonably. “You see two operatives who have deliberately decided to leave Section.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see another opportunity -- our first in a long while -- of something to reward and punish Michael with. He wants this beyond all reason. If he didn’t, he never would have gone to such lengths. Why not give in ... this time ... and see what happens? Our rewards in the end could be far greater than we can imagine right now. Besides ... it’s no more than what he was promised, and you know it.”

“By sanctioning this, it could be the end of Section.”

“It’s a love affair. Not a plot to overthrow the Section,” Madeleine said firmly.

“What about Nikita’s adjustments you’ve been making?”

Madeleine shrugged. “There’s no way of telling how entrenched her new thought processes are. Without the medical stimulation we’ve been providing, her progress will either be halted or reversed. I have no way of knowing which.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either. But until we get a lead on them, I don’t see that we can do much of anything.”

Thinking out loud, Operations said, “We’ll reallocate our resources. We’ve got ten missions pending; we can contract out two or maybe three of them ... that’ll loosen up at least nine people ... if we can get Michael and Nikita back within a few days ...”

“Reallocating resources could have serious effects with Oversight,” Madeleine said. “And our numbers have not been what they should have been lately. With Michael gone, they’ll fall further. I’d suggest using a skeleton crew to locate Michael and Nikita, and proceeding with the other missions as planned.”

“You sound like you’re on his side.”

Madeleine shrugged. “I’m just being realistic. If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. It’s foolish to waste good man power to locate him. When he’s ready to contact us, he will. Until then, I’d suggest we concentrate on what we can control.”

Operations cursed quietly, then said, “I’m going to see Birkhoff. Then I’m going to find a crew to locate Michael and Nikita. The sooner they’re back, the better.”

“I agree,” Madeleine said mildly. She watched him leave and sighed. If Michael wanted to disappear, all the intel and special teams in Section One wouldn’t make a difference. He’d come out when he was good and ready ... and not a minute before.

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

The house was small and in a quiet neighborhood. He’d just bought it; the “I’m Sold” sign caught the glare of his headlights as Michael pulled into the driveway and up to the garage. “Nikita ... wake up. We’re here.”

“Where?” Nikita asked sleepily.

“Here. Come on.”

They got out of the car, Nikita a little unsteadily. Michael took her hand and led her through the knee-high weeds to the front door; he reached up behind the porch light and took out a front door key.

He went in first, his gun up and ready. They made a quick circuit through the house, but no one else had been there and Nikita sat down on the couch.

There was one large main room, a dining room and living room combined. The kitchen was partly open and from where she was sitting, Nikita noticed canisters on the kitchen counter. It was as if they’d stepped into someone else’s home, and she’d bet good money Michael had food in the refrigerator. Yet ... it was plain no one lived here. There weren’t any pictures on the wall. The TV was tiny and sat awkwardly on a side table, as if someone had put it there with no thought to placement. The couch was new but the rest of the furniture looked like garage-sale finds. The curtains were obviously left over from the last tenants. “How long have you had this house?”

“About a month,” Michael answered.

“How long will we stay here?”

“As long as we need to.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Michael’s eyes shifted cold and he said simply, “Because.”

“Because ... why?” Nikita rose and put her hands on her hips. “Tell me.”

“Because I won’t let them do this to you. It’s not right.”

“Maybe I just don’t love you anymore. Maybe they didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Maybe,” Michael said, unperturbed.

Nikita stared at him for a moment. “Forget it. I’m not staying.”

Michael tried to sound reasonable. “Nikita, it’s two a.m. Why don’t you get some sleep and if you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll go together.”

“I don’t want to wait. Section’ll already be out looking for us. The longer we stay out ...” She wavered, and briefly shut her eyes for a moment, as if she were dizzy. “ ... the longer we ... stay out ... the worse ... it’ll be ... M-Michael?”

In two quick strides, he was at her side, helping her sit down. “W-What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Nikita. Nikita, look at me ...”

She forced her wobbly head up, trying to focus on his eyes. “M-M-Michael?”

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “You’re just going through a withdrawal from something.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“How long will it last?” Another tremor went through her, and her face turned ashen.

“I don’t know.”

“What ...” she shuddered, and shut her eyes against the spinning room. “What do you know?”

“I know it will be bad,” Michael admitted, holding her. “But I won’t leave you.”

Nikita groaned and held on to Michael as the room tilted and she felt her stomach heave.

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

Nikita’s withdrawal followed a fairly predictable pattern and Michael was glad that if he didn’t know what she’d been on, at least he knew the classification of the drug. She went from sleepy to nauseous to shaky in a few hours, and from then on, it was downhill as far as he was concerned. She turned wild. He took her gun away, not that it made much difference, and would have immobilized her if he’d had the heart. Instead, he stayed up with her ... for 33 hours straight.

Nikita had always been an energetic person. Now, deprived of whatever drug she’d been on, she turned into a whirlwind. She couldn’t sit still or stand still, and she couldn’t stop talking. Michael had a headache the size of New York City and was so exhausted that when Nikita finally collapsed, he nearly did, too. He hid their weapons in case she woke up first, and carried her to bed, making sure he kept a hand on her sleeping form so he’d notice if she left.

He’d never been so tired in all his life. He fell asleep with one shoe off and the other shoe on, and he didn’t move a muscle for the next 10 hours.

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

Nikita woke slowly. Every muscle in her body hurt. Her shoulder still ached from Michael’s impromptu surgery and her eyes felt like dried up peeled grapes. She was hot and her arm hurt. She groaned, and the ring of pain around her arm tightened.

Nikita opened her eyes and looked down. Michael was sprawled out beside her. He gripped her forearm tightly, and Nikita blinked. She pried his fingers loose and shook her arm a little to get some feeling back in it. It was already ringed with purple bruises from his fingers. She cleared her throat experimentally; her mouth was sandy dry and she looked around for something to drink.

She sat up slowly, stretching sore legs out in front of her. “What do you think you’re doing?” Michael said sharply, sitting up suddenly.

“ ... water ... thirsty ...” she croaked.

“I’ll get it.” He climbed over her and stiffly made his way to the bathroom. He brought back a tumbler of water that Nikita drained in one gulp; silently, he refilled it twice and let her have her fill before taking any himself. He kicked off his other shoe and sat down beside her on the bed, arms resting on his knees and head down. “How do you feel?”

“Like a truck ran over me.” Nikita flopped back on the bed.

“Do you want some aspirin?”

“Uh-huh ...” Nikita’s eyes were already sliding closed, and Michael yawned. He tucked her in and left her to sleep.

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

Nikita dreamed. Odd, disturbing images. Rats ... rats in cages. Then the rats turned into cockroaches, the big, nasty black kind that crawled too quick to kill. Nikita shuddered in her sleep. Then the bugs were gone and she dreamt of Medlab. But not exactly Medlab, because Madeleine was there. Madeleine was ... what? The technician? She wanted to give Nikita an MRI ... no, Nikita told herself. Not an MRI. It’s something else, something that’s going to take something away from me. It will take Michael away ...

Then, a sharp pain. Motion. She was going inside the machine ... Michael ... where was ... Michael ...?

“Nikita?”

She blinked, confused. Michael stood in front of the open bedroom door, light shining across her bed. “Are you all right?” He came in and she sat up, still disoriented.

“Michael?”

“Yes?” He sat down on the bed, and she could tell he was concerned -- he had that little wrinkle between his eyes that said he was worried.

“How long was I asleep?”

Instead of answering, he said, “It’s Tuesday night. It’s supper time, if you’re hungry.”

Nikita looked down at her knees. “Can I ... can I take a bath first?”

“Of course.” Michael got up and helped her stand, but when she got to the bathroom and drew back the shower curtain, a big black cockroach scuttled out of the way.

Normally, Nikita wouldn’t have blinked an eye over killing a cockroach. But she wasn’t quite up to par yet, and her dreams were still fresh in her mind. When she started to cry, Michael poked his head in the bathroom door. “What’s wrong?” His eyes zeroed in on the roach, and he gave her a puzzled look, then, without a word, he killed it, scraped it up, and flushed it away. “It’s just a bug, Nikita.”

“I k-k-know,” Nikita sobbed, and Michael finally leaned her against the wall, scoured the bathtub, and once it was clean, began to fill it up for her.

“Okay?” he asked, and Nikita gave him a jerky nod. Shaking his head, he turned, intending to leave her to her bath.

“Please,” Nikita choked out.

“Yes?”

“Stay. Please.” She knew she sounded pathetic, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t think ...”

“You can close your eyes. Please, Michael ...”

Michael sighed, closed the toilet and sat down. He heard Nikita take off her clothes and step into the tub, then the sound of the shower curtain rings over the rod. “Okay,” Nikita said, and Michael opened his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Nikita asked.

“That it’s pointless for me to close my eyes when I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” Michael answered honestly. “Why?”

“I was afraid you thought I was a pain in the neck.”

“You are a pain in the neck,” Michael agreed mildly.

“Then why --?”

“Finish your bath,” Michael said abruptly, and Nikita heard him shut the door behind him as he left. More tears welled up in her eyes and she rested her forehead on her knees, letting the tears mingle with the bath water.

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

After a good dinner, Nikita sat on the couch feeling like an invalid and watched some TV on the tiny set. She dozed off sometime after the evening news and when she woke up it was close to midnight.

Michael had tucked a blanket around her, turned off the television and left one light burning. Nikita sat up. Something was ... wrong.

She swallowed and put a hand to her stomach. Not nauseated. Her head didn’t hurt. For the first time in days she felt nearly normal and fully rested. But she felt a nervous tension hovering in her chest and her hands felt a little clammy.

Her senses were suddenly assaulted with textures and feelings. The blanket in her hands felt silky soft. The couch material under her legs was nubby, almost scratchy. The clean T-shirt she wore was freshly laundered; it still retained a scent of detergent. Her head reeled and she pulled herself up and stumbled across the living room, feeling hot and cold at the same time. A faint light shone around the bedroom door and she knocked softly. “Michael?”

She turned the knob, and Michael looked up from his book. “Is something wrong?”

Nikita couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Heat washed over her, and all the vague, uneasy feelings coagulated into one mass of desire in the middle of her chest. She just stood there, rooted to the carpeted floor as if she was going to take up permanent residence in the doorway.

“Nikita?”

Nikita felt her mouth drop open just a fraction and she swallowed reflexively. He frowned at her briefly, a quick play of muscles across his face, then his green eyes narrowed in concern. She watched as Michael shut his book, fingers folding over a page to mark his place. Unexceptional hands ... unless they happened to be on her hips, or skimming over her naked back.

Nikita shivered.

“Nikita?” He lay the book aside, and, fascinated, Nikita watched him move toward her. He spoke her name again, and her eyes fastened on his neck. She remembered exactly how it tasted. Soft and warm and completely Michael-ish. A vague buzzing sound filled her ears, and she shook her head slightly. She watched his lips form her name, and she traced the gentle curve of his mouth with her eyes.

He touched her. He just put his hands on her arms, but his touch sent a bolt of electricity through her and she couldn’t help herself. She leaned forward, closed her eyes and kissed him on his beautiful mouth, just as she had kissed him countless times before.

More than a little surprised, Michael opened his mouth to protest and Nikita took complete advantage of him. He’d thought she was sick again. What else was he supposed to think? She’d been white as a sheet and she looked ... itchy. That was the only word he could think of.

“Michael ...”

“I don’t ...”

“Yes, you do,” Nikita said certainly.

Well, maybe I do, Michael thought. Nikita fell on top of him, a tangle of arms, legs, wild blonde hair and bed sheets. One of these days, Michael thought, she’s going to give me a heart attack.

But what a way to go ...

Michael had always set the pace when they’d been together. This time, he didn’t even have the chance to voice an opinion ... about anything. It was all he could do to catch up. But when she cupped his face in her hands and whispered his name before kissing his swollen lips again, he realized it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except Nikita.

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

Nikita tried to be quiet. But she was still half-asleep and she hadn’t paid attention last night when Michael had fed her. She opened all the canisters, looked through the cupboard and finally, just when she was beginning to lose her temper, she found the coffee in the refrigerator. She measured it into the coffee maker and leaned against the counter, waiting impatiently for her fix.

She yawned and popped a piece of bread in the toaster. Michael must have gone shopping while she was asleep yesterday ... Nikita yawned again and stretched. She poured herself a cup of coffee and spread some butter on her toast.

A hand came around her waist pulling her back, and Nikita turned a crummy mouth toward Michael. She smiled and swallowed. “Good --”

The rest of her greeting was muffled by Michael’s lips.

Soft. Nikita turned in his arms, wrapping herself around him, and he gently kissed her, his hands making vague patterns on her back, her stomach ... his touch was so light, it was hard to believe this was the same man she’d made love to the night before. She gave a contented murmur and felt him take the toast out of her hand and push her coffee away, then, somehow, they were back in their bedroom and he was untying her bathrobe.

Now, how did that happen? Nikita wondered, but didn’t protest.

Last night, they’d made love single-mindedly, re-charting one another and making up for any lost time or territory Madeleine had taken away. More than anything, it had been a reaffirmation of their relationship. But this time it was different. Michael gently retraced his way down Nikita’s body. So soft. So quiet. So ... Michael.

A murmur, gently shushed. The movement of familiar bodies against one another. And finally, as Nikita lay shuddering under him, he kissed her jaw, her neck, his rough hand gentle on her face, he spoke. “Good morning.”

Nikita kissed his hand, then brought his face down to hers. “I love you, Michael.”

His eyes became guarded, and Nikita pushed him over, gently curling up on top of him. “I love you.” She kissed his chin, his mouth, his cheeks. “I love you.” She kissed him again. “Do you believe me?”

“I --”

“Michael ... I love you ...” she felt his arms relax around her. She stretched in his embrace, pushing against him, then relaxed completely. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

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

Nikita cracked her eyes open sleepily, trying to decide whether to wake up or go back to sleep.

“Good morning ... again.”

Nikita’s eyes popped open, and she smiled at Michael. “What time is it?”

“Late. Nearly noon.”

Nikita yawned and stretched. “I wish it could always be like this,” she said lazily. She threw her leg and an arm around Michael, settling her naked body against his.

“What if I told you it could?” Michael ran a slow finger up her backbone and Nikita shivered.

“Don’t. It’s cruel of you, Michael,” she said quietly, turning her face into his shoulder.

Michael pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I found a way for us to be together.”

“Yeah ... kidnaping me,” Nikita said. She propped herself up on an elbow and smiled sadly at him. “And it’s been great. I wish all kidnapings could be like this. But we’ll have to go back in ... you know we will.”

“Aren’t you even interested in my demands?” Michael asked.

“Demands? Of me?”

“Kidnappers always make demands,” Michael said.

Nikita felt her heart stop and the color drain away from her face. She reached out to Michael. “What did you do? What did you promise them?”

“I didn’t promise anything. It’s they who promised me. I’m just reminding them that we had a deal. A contract.”

“What kind of contract?”

Michael shifted and sat up, and Nikita scooted back in bed, resting against the headboard. She pulled up the sheet, suddenly cold, and Michael sat in front of her, cradling her hand in his. “A blood cover requires a certain operative to carry it out. You can’t just have anyone do it. You have to get someone truly dedicated.”

“You’re talking about Elena?”

“Yes.” Michael paused and Nikita waited, watching faint emotions skitter across his face. Slowly, he said, “There were several candidates for that mission. They seriously considered Jurgan for a time. But in the end, they chose me.”

“Why?”

“Because I agreed to go in for an unspecified amount of time and I guaranteed success.”

“How could you do that?” Nikita asked, puzzled.

“It was easy to promise. They offered me something I wanted at the time ... a life with Simone. If I completed the mission to their satisfaction, they promised a better quality of life for us.”

“So what happened?” Nikita wound her fingers around his.

“They thought once Simone was gone, the contract would be null. Voided. But I don’t think that’s fair. I want something else.”

“What? What kind of life do you see for yourself in Section?”

Michael looked at her thoughtfully. “I thought after the Vacek mission, we could have some kind of life together. We tried it every way possible ... being covert ... being obvious. And nothing worked. I don’t want to live like we do anymore. I want something else, something with you, and I’ll do anything to get it, even if I have to call them on the old agreement.”

“So ... I’d be taking Simone’s place?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I just thought ... it would be a way for us to be together. If you wanted it. I couldn’t ask you before because of the drugs Madeleine was giving you. You wouldn’t have given an honest answer. So I’m asking you now: do you want something else, something with me ...?”

Nikita chewed on her lower lip. Finally, she said, “What do I have to do?”

Michael reached out and traced her eyebrow. “Just say yes, Nikita,” he said softly.

Nikita closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “Yes. Michael, yes. Yes.”

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

They spent the rest of the day tunneling into Section’s mainframe, waiting for a message that Michael’s demands had been met.

“Even a ‘no’ would be something,” Nikita worried. “It’s been days. Why haven’t they answered?”

“Their resources are stretched,” Michael said thoughtfully. He’d burrowed through Birkhoff’s back doors -- most of them, anyway -- and pulled up several active missions. “They’ve allocated one small team to finding us.”

“Will they?”

“Possibly, but not for a few days,” Michael answered.

Nikita paced the room. The hours ticked by slowly, and finally, Michael closed down the computer. “They won’t answer today,” he decided. “Let’s get out of here, go to dinner, try to relax a bit.”

“Anything to get out of this house,” Nikita agreed.

They got ready; Nikita painted on bright pink lipstick and as they went out to the car, she raised an eyebrow at Michael. “What happened to the other car?”

“I left it in the 7-11 parking lot for someone else to steal.” Michael unlocked the car and they got in. “This one I bought yesterday when you were sleeping.”

“Busy man,” she said.

They drove out of the neighborhood and Michael hit a main street. Nikita began scanning the shops that lined it and finally stopped Michael when they got to an Italian restaurant. “I feel like a lot of olive oil,” she said. “And something spicy. With garlic. Yum ...”

Michael’s mouth quirked up and he parked the car.

Inside, the food was divine and the service horrific. Nikita ordered one thing and received another; Michael never did get his coffee. Oddly, neither of those things mattered. Nikita kicked off her shoes and rested her ankles in Michael’s lap. They waited for a bill, and when none was forthcoming, Michael left a wad of bills on the table and they left arm in arm.

They went back to the safe house, full of wine and pasta and positive feelings. Michael checked his messages again and sighed, then typed out a message of his own and sent it. He received a terse and immediate reply.

“Michael?” Nikita stood in the doorway, a hairbrush in one hand as she struggled to get the tangles out of her hair. “Any luck?”

“No.” He turned off the computer and went to stand before her. She put the brush down and raised a hand to his face, gently rubbing his cheek. He bent his head and kissed her eyebrow gently, then the bridge of her nose.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting tomorrow,” he said softly, kissing her eyelid, then moving down to her cheekbone.

“With who?”

“Whom,” he corrected gently, kissing the side of her nose.

“With whom?”

“Oversight.” Michael kissed the corner of her mouth and waited. Nikita’s hands tangled in his shirt front.

“Oversight ...? Michael ...?”

“If Operations won’t meet my demands ...” Michael kissed her chin, her cheek, the ridge of her jaw, “Then I’ll go to the top.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“It’s the logical course of action.”

“Then I’m coming, too,” Nikita decided, rubbing her hand across his face again. He’d shaved for her; his skin felt smooth and rough at the same time.

“You can,” Michael agreed, kissing the palm of her hand. “But it will be more effective if I go alone.”

Nikita wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, not voicing any of her worries, but Michael said, “I’ll come back. And I won’t lose.” He moved her hair away from her neck and kissed her gently, and Nikita’s arms tightened around him.

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

“Whatever you’re planning, you’ll have to stop,” Madeleine said quietly, and Operations, who’d been standing at his large window contemplating his schedule for the next day, turned around.

“Oh?”

“There’s been a meeting called. Oversight wants to see you tomorrow at noon.”

His mouth quirked in a smile. “I hope that means they’re treating me to lunch.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Madeleine said drily, coming to stand beside him. Her hands were clasped loosely in front of her and she gazed out at the view, not really seeing the operatives that crossed her field of vision. “It’s about Michael,” she added.

His mouth tightened. “What about him?”

“He’s pressing his contract.”

Silence. Furious, Operations stared down at Section’s main floor. A muscle twitched in his jaw; otherwise, he was still.

“I warned you this might happen,” Madeleine said softly.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, but she continued.

“When dealing with Michael,” Madeleine said slowly, “It’s always best to respond promptly. He has a long fuse, it’s true, but even he has his limits.”

“What are my options?” Operations finally asked.

“There aren’t many,” Madeleine said, her voice quiet and remote. “You’ve effectively destroyed any chances at a quick and easy recovery. But if you go to the meeting with a suitable agenda ... there’s a chance we still might save face.”

He turned away from the ant-like people scurrying across his field of vision and focused his attention on her. “Tell me what they are.”

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

Nikita flopped down on the couch and stared out the window.

It started to rain sometime in the afternoon; now, the sky was a soft gray and rain still pattered down on the streets and sidewalk. Thunder roiled in the distance, a faint growl of displeasure, and Nikita wondered if she should try to cook dinner.

They’d both spent a restless night, Nikita because she was dreaming and Michael because even in his sleep, he’d been profiling his meeting. He had left early this morning. He’d woken her with kisses. They’d watched the sun rise and made love; afterwards, exhausted, Nikita had fallen back to sleep. When she woke, he was gone.

She’d spent the day cleaning house. After all, if it was their last day in the safe house, they might as well leave it clean. She’d found two more roaches and disposed of them without a shiver, then she’d run a few loads of laundry. Michael hadn’t provided many changes of clothes for them in the first place, and now she wondered how long he expected to be out of Section.

Nikita watched the wet day darken to night. She folded the last of the laundry and turned on CNN to see what Section was up to, then she made herself a bite to eat. She cleaned her gun. Then she cleaned Michael’s. She half-heartedly profiled a mission Michael had left on his laptop. But all the time, her ears were straining to hear the sound of his car on the driveway outside.

She bathed with the door open so she could hear him if he came in. Then, she slowly made up the bed with clean sheets, hoping she wasn’t going to have to sleep by herself tonight. Finally, she checked her e-mail to see whether he’d left a message for her.

Nothing.

Nikita sat on the couch and chewed on a fingernail. She stared unseeing at the television until her eyes turned gritty and the clock on the microwave showed midnight.

She yawned. She’d slept so poorly the night before, she wondered if she ought to go to bed, but she was sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing what was happening to Michael.

On the television, vertical multi-colored stripes signified the end of viewing, and Nikita switched the channel to cable. Very slowly, her eyes slid shut.

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

The headlights of Michael’s car cut through the drizzly rain and he pulled into the driveway. Nikita had left the light on for him, and as he fit his key into the lock, he considered calling out to her. You never knew with Nikita: she might have a gun trained on the door right this minute.

Smiling faintly, Michael opened the door slowly.

She was stretched out on the sofa and wrapped in a warm bathrobe, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Her forehead wrinkled and she mumbled something. Michael bent over her and kissed her. She started awake.

“What happened?”

“It’s okay,” he answered, and she sat up, blinking sleepily. He sat down next to her, and she looked at him expectantly. “They agreed,” Michael said.

“But what happened, Michael?”

“It wasn’t that dramatic, Nikita.” He sighed, and said, “I just reminded them of their original agreement. Operations --”

“He was there?”

“Yes. He said he couldn’t understand how he’d overlooked the particulars of the case ...”

Nikita snorted, and Michael gave her a look.

“In any case,” he continued, “Everyone agreed to our demands.”

“You didn’t have to give anything up?”

Michael rested his elbows on his knees and he was silent. Nikita’s eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t ... did you have to give up ... Adrian?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been holding on to that information for a long time, Michael. It’s like your trump card. Did you have to give it up?”

“I would’ve. But it wasn’t the time or place to discuss Adrian,” Michael said.

“Then --?”

“It was a long day, Nikita. I had to remember things I’d just have soon not.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, then finally Nikita said, “We go back in tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look at him, and Michael suddenly straightened up and looked at her. “Is this situation agreeable to you?”

Nikita bit her lip and nodded. “It’s just ... it’ll be strange. It will take some getting used to. But I’d like to give it a try.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s more than trying, Nikita. This is a kind of commitment. We can’t just give up if things don’t work out.” He looked faintly embarrassed, and he said, “It’s not a marriage, or legally binding ...”

“I understand,” Nikita said. “This is a partnership, is that what you’re saying?”

“Well ... in a way.”

“We’ve never been partners.”

“No.”

“We’re both going to have to compromise.”

“Yes.”

Nikita stood, and Michael slowly followed, watching her closely while she thought through their situation. “Well,” Nikita said finally, “It will be a lot of work. But I really believe it will be worth it. Don’t you?”

“If I didn’t,” Michael said honestly, “I never would have kidnaped you.”

She grinned at him and gave him a great, smacking kiss. “I’m so glad you did. Now, take me to bed and have your wicked way with me.”

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

It was still dark outside when Michael woke.

Usually Nikita got up first, made some coffee, brushed her teeth ... but now, she lay curled beside him, one hand reaching out for him.

He loved to watch her sleep. A mundane pastime, but then, they’d had far too few mundane pastimes during their relationship. Michael sighed and turned on his side, tucking his hand around hers. Her fingers fluttered in his hand and she turned her head into her pillow.

There had been a time when she’d reached out for him whenever she could. A chance to be alone, was, to Nikita, a chance to express the way she felt about Michael. He’d gone nearly out of his mind in those early, dark days: between Jurgan, Operations and Madeleine and then Nikita’s insistent longing, he’d wondered many times if bringing Nikita back in had been a good idea.

She wanted him. Or did she? Michael wondered. He was good at what he did. Section made sure of it, and a physical relationship, particularly for Nikita, was new and seductive. Maybe she longed for the contact, not necessarily for him. He pulled back, telling himself it was because of Jurgan or Elena or Adam or for Nikita’s own good, and when he’d said ‘no’ to her so many times, she finally stopped trying.

It nearly killed him. And it was all his fault. He’d never forget the look on her face when she visited him in Medlab after he’d temporarily lost his memory. She’d reached out for him and then snatched her hand back, looking almost afraid of him. Even now, she still held back until he made the first move. It wasn’t a matter of trust, exactly. It was more of a habit.

Michael rubbed a thumb across Nikita’s knuckles thoughtfully. Habits can change.

Michael leaned over Nikita and brushed her forehead with a kiss. She muttered and turned away, and Michael smiled slightly and kissed her shoulder. Then her arm.

“What are you doing?” Nikita opened sleepy eyes and looked at him suspiciously.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She groaned. “It’s still dark out.”

“Wake up. We have to go back to Section today.”

Nikita groaned again and turned over on her back. “Michael, where are we going to live?”

He didn’t answer immediately and Nikita asked, “How will we be at Section? Will other people talk? What about Madeleine? What about --”

He stopped her with a kiss. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

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

Ten days later, Nikita watched intently as Walter demonstrated his latest toy to her and Emily.

“You can have as many as four operatives on the system.” He flicked a switch and they heard a faint humming noise. “After it gets warmed up, there’s no noise. Here, Emily, try it.”

“Mmmm?”

Walter a glanced over at Emily; her attention was definitely divided. Instead of watching him, she was focused on something across Section’s main floor. Not something; someone. Andy. And he was coming closer.

Walter looked at Emily more carefully. She didn’t look like a woman in love; she looked miserable. Andy glanced at the group and altered his steps, veering off to Systems instead of Munitions, and Emily looked down at her feet, swallowing hard.

“Nikita.”

Walter jumped; Michael had come up so quietly behind him he hadn’t heard him.

“Hi, Michael.” She held up Walter’s newest communicator and smiled. “Look what Walter has. It works within a range of 20 miles. Only four people can be on one circuit at a time, but he’s working on that. And it’s lighter than the others we usually use.”

Michael gave the communicator a cursory glance, then said, “Are you nearly ready to go home?”

“Sure. I can leave now.”

“Then let’s go.”

Nikita smiled a good by to Walter and Emily, and Walter watched as she and Michael loped across Section’s main floor.

Emily sighed, and almost to herself, she said, “They make it seem so easy.”

“Who do?”

“Michael and Nikita. How long has that been going on?”

“A while. But don’t kid yourself. It’s not been easy.”

“Looks that way to me,” Emily said sadly. She fingered Walter’s communicator and sighed again, then she slid off her stool and walked away.

Walter smiled faintly.

Michael had paused by Birkhoff’s station and was discussing something with him while Nikita waited, more or less patiently. When she had enough, Walter noticed her touch Michael lightly on the elbow. No words. No protestations. Michael glanced at her and wrapped things up with Birkhoff, and together, he and Nikita headed toward across the floor. They didn’t touch again till they reached the exit. Then, Michael crooked his arm at her and Nikita slid her arm through his, her fingers light against his bicep.

--End--