Michael woke on the second ring. He sat up, grabbed the phone and, rubbing his eyes, said, “Yes?”

A short pause. Then, “Hi, Michael. It’s me.”

He sighed and lay back down. “Nikita.” He glanced at the clock and blinked, trying to make sense of the time. “It’s four in the morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. My head is killing me. Plus, I can’t remember ... you remember Harrison Morgan?”

“Yes,” Michael said, wondering where this was going.

“Dead or alive?”

“Dead,” said Michael, more confused than ever. “He got caught in crossfire. Remember?”

“Yes,” Nikita said, but she sounded hesitant. “Sylvia Markham?”

Another informant. Michael’s eyes narrowed and he replied, “Alive, last time I checked. Why?”

“The good news is, I think I’m dreaming again. The bad news is, I think it’s nightmares,” Nikita said, sounding almost cheerful.

“But you’re not sure?”

“My throat is sore. Either I woke myself up screaming or I’m getting sick.”

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep,” Michael offered, then wished he hadn’t; he missed her nonsense phrases in the middle of the night and the way she sometimes muttered half a conversation into his bare shoulder.

“Huh,” Nikita said. “Maybe I should check the tapes tomorrow. They’re still keeping tabs on me, right?”

“Probably.” Michael rubbed his gritty eyes and sighed. “But they may just be doing visual, not audio, surveillance.”

“Oh.” Silence. Then, after a few seconds, Nikita finally said abruptly, “Well, I’m sorry I woke you. But I couldn’t remember about Sylvia Markham or Harrison Morgan. What about ... what about Peter Nivin? Dead, right?”

“Right,” Michael confirmed. “Blown up.”

“That’s right,” Nikita agreed. “Two years ago in ... Syria. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good,” Nikita said, sounding pleased. “Well. Sorry again for waking you. Good night, Michael.”

“Good night.”

He replaced the receiver, rubbed his eyes and sighed. Lately, she’d not been sleeping well. He’d first noticed it on a mission. Everyone else had fallen asleep; she’d prowled the van, nervous and jittery. And her headaches were getting worse since she’d cut down on the painkillers. Tomorrow, he thought sleepily. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

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

The next morning, Michael got dressed, drank a cup of coffee, read the paper, and when he thought Nikita was probably awake, he brushed his teeth and headed out the door with an empty thermal coffee holder.

Three knocks. He stood away from the door and looked expectantly into her monitor, and the door finally opened.

“Michael? What’s up?” She was awake and dressed in a loose black sweater and black pants; behind her, the dishwasher hummed busily.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. What are you doing here?”

“I ran out of coffee,” Michael lied, holding out his empty mug. “And your place was closer than the bakery.”

“Closer to what?” Nikita set the mug on the counter and measured water and coffee into the coffee maker.

“The zoo.”

It had been several weeks since Nikita’s apartment was flooded by the upstairs neighbors. They’d been trying to soundproof their condo and some pipes burst, flooding Nikita and Mick’s apartments, plus the ones underneath them. The association was so angry, it prevented Nikita from doing any more construction work in her apartment, so she’d had to hire a contractor.

Her walls were now a flat commercial white and the furniture was minimal. There was a sofa -- black leather. A coffee table -- glass. There was a bed upstairs, but there wasn’t any artwork on the walls and the carpeting -- the association insisted a certain percentage of her apartment be carpeted -- was dark gray. All in all, it looked like a temporary home, and Michael still wasn’t really comfortable here.

“Why are you going to the zoo?” Nikita asked curiously.

“I’ve got a life-time membership. And I like the zoo.”

“Since when?”

“Last year for Adam’s birthday I donated a bunch of money to the zoo anonymously for children’s programs. He always liked the zoo; I thought he’d enjoy it. But did you know anonymous donors aren’t really anonymous?”

“What do you mean?” The coffee finished brewing and Nikita carefully poured it into Michael’s thermal cup, then snapped the lid on.

“People still know it’s you who donated it. They aren’t supposed to, but they do. I get invited to all kinds of things. Parties. Social events. I haven’t gone to one yet. I just like to watch the animals.” Michael shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a good day to go to the zoo, so that’s where I’m going.” As if it just occurred to him, he said, “Would you like to come?”

“Oh, I don’t think --”

“It’s really nice outside.”

“I have a lot --”

“They have bats there,” Michael said, trying to tempt her. “And an exhibit with polar bears.”

“Oh?”

He knew the polar bears would interest her. “They’ve just adopted a new bear, his name is Eli.” He suddenly changed his tactics. “It’s a nice zoo, but small. You might not enjoy it, after all. They don’t have many reptiles. Or monkeys.”

“I never liked the reptiles. Do ... do you know if they have jellyfish?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He waited a moment, accepting the coffee, then shrugged again. “So, do you want to come?” The sun shone fiercely through Nikita’s windows. She didn’t have drapes anymore, so the harsh, bright blue of the sky was clearly visible. A lark soared past her window, settled on the ledge, then took off again.

“Okay,” Nikita said.

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

The polar bear exhibit was popular and multi-level. On the upper level there were steep white rocks for the bears to climb on; two of them were sunning themselves in the crisp, bright weather. The third was in the pool.

The pool was at the bottom of the exhibit. The lower level was underground; the pool had glass sides so spectators could watch the bears swimming, rather like an aquarium exhibit. Michael and Nikita had gone below first. Now they were at the top level.

There was a placard telling about the bears’ natural habitat and another telling the ages and names of the three bears in the enclosure. Nikita read it carefully then sat next to Michael on the bench. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the chain-link fence that prevented children from climbing over and falling into the pit, and was quiet.

Michael sat back, his weight on his arms. One bear was in the water, doing the same routine over and over again: slide into the water, head for the window, push off with his back feet, float on his back, turn, struggle out onto the rock, shake the water off, then slide back into the water again.

“Did you know their fur is actually colorless?” Nikita said dreamily. “It’s their skin that’s white.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm ...” Nikita sat back, mimicking Michael, her weight on her arms, her eyes half-closed behind her sunglasses. “It’s nice here, Michael. Thanks for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her face was relaxed -- for once, she wasn’t having a headache, though he’d watched her pocket a small tin of aspirin before they left. As they went through her door, he’d asked if she had anything stronger and she’d frowned at him. “Shush,” she cautioned. “I’m not taking that other stuff any more. But Madeleine doesn’t know. Don’t tell, okay?”

In any case, she hadn’t taken anything and she’d not rubbed her forehead once since they’d been out. He knew she felt good because she was so amiable -- when she felt bad, she was crabby about everything, and today, it looked like nothing could mar her good mood.

She only wore black or gray now. Even her socks were conservative, and her hair, rather than being haphazard, was generally tucked neatly away from her face, which, nowadays, was devoid of makeup. Today, she wore a loose black sweater and faded black pants. But as she leaned back on her arms, the sweater slipped on her shoulder and Michael caught a glance of a bright red bra strap.

He blinked and said the first thing that came into his mind.

“What color underwear are you wearing?”

“Excuse me?” Nikita straightened up and stared at him, and Michael flushed a bit but persevered.

“Your underwear. What color?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought we agreed: no seduction.”

“How is this seductive? I just want to know --”

“This is a conversation that should be conducted between strangers on a phone line,” Nikita said, shaking her head. “And to think: I’m the one in therapy. You’re the one who’s crazy.”

“Forget it,” Michael finally said.

Children and parents periodically drifted by, watched the bears for a few moments, then went on to other exhibits. Michael and Nikita stayed, not saying much of anything except an occasional, “Look --” when one of the bears did something.

“What do you think they think?” Nikita wondered. “Do you think they’re glad to be here? Do they dream of snow? And what about in the summer?”

“They put out big blocks of ice,” Michael informed her. “The bears lay on top to keep cool.”

“They’re trapped, I guess,” Nikita said. “It’s not like they can go for a stroll or anything. But still ... it’d be nice to be a bear, I think.”

Michael was quiet, then he pulled out the zoo map and handed it to her. “Shall we go look at the bats?”

“Okay.” She rose, stretched, then leaned against the fence again, this time checking to make sure nothing unseemly was showing. “Michael ... do you think you could do a favor for me?”

Keeping his voice light, he said, “If it involves money to feed the ducks, yes, I brought change.”

She grinned. “It’s not that. Though that does sound fun.” She linked her arm through his and they descended the stairs, then slowly walked down the path. “I’m tired of going to therapy. Do you think you could get me on a remote mission? Someplace far enough away that I wouldn’t be able to come in three times a week?”

Michael frowned. “I don’t know if that would be possible, Nikita. Madeleine won’t approve any missions like that for you, you know that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Madeleine.” Nikita waved her other hand dismissively. “She’s going to discontinue my therapy, I’ll see to that. But I want to be away from headquarters so she doesn’t change her mind.”

“Well, I can probably get you on the Benedict mission,” Michael said slowly, “But I’d like you to explain how you’re going to get her to discontinue your therapy.”

“Don’t worry,” Nikita repeated. They reached the bat house and she pulled the heavy wooden door open. “I’ll make it be her own idea. I just don’t want her to change her mind.”

“But --”

She looked back at him and all she said was, “Please.”

“I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”

She stopped in front of the long glass window; bats whirled and buzzed behind the dim glass. She smiled, then slipped her arm back through Michael’s.

“But I don’t --” Michael started to say.

“Oh, Michael, hush.” She playfully put her hand over his mouth, then, when he flinched at the sudden contact, she grinned at him. “Stop being such a worry-wart. I can’t tell you any more because it might not work and I don’t want you to obsess over it. Besides, I don’t want to talk about work anymore. I just want to look at the animals. Okay?”

She had him wrapped around her finger, Michael thought ruefully. But he shrugged, said, “Okay,” and, since it had been two hours since they’d eaten, he gave her the rest of the Life Savers to tide her over till lunch.

They didn’t spend the whole day together. They finished the zoo and had a late lunch, then Nikita caught a cab for home.

She raised her hand and a yellow car pulled to the curb. “I’ll see you at work,” she said, and Michael nodded, opening the door for her. But before she slid in, she turned around and said, “It’s turquoise. Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Nosy.”

Without bothering to reply, he shut the cab door and watched as it merged into traffic.

Turquoise. And a red bra. Maybe she still wore somber colors on the outside where people could see. But underneath, there was some part of Nikita that was coming back. It was slow and she was taking pains to hide it, but walking to his car, Michael couldn’t help smiling.

History was full of examples of regeneration. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Pulling into traffic, Michael wondered how he could have been so dense. When there’s a forest fire or a volcano erupts or there’s a nuclear accident, there’s total destruction. But afterwards -- usually in a much shorter time than people think is possible -- things begin to grow again. The soil is fertile; trees began to sprout; wildlife comes back.

Nikita’s coming back, too, he thought. There’s a remnant left of her old self, and it’s coming back. He almost wanted to laugh out loud. Then, he started thinking about their conversation about therapy and his elation ebbed.

She was going to somehow try to convince Madeleine to discontinue her therapy. Michael couldn’t disagree with that -- he’d suspected the therapy was more brain-washing than anything else, and apparently Nikita did, too. But Madeleine was a master manipulator. Nikita was good -- she could certainly manipulate Michael -- but she was no where near Madeleine’s status.

But the next day, Michael wondered. They were all sitting around the briefing table. Michael’s mind was still on the profile for the Benedict mission. He’d manipulated it so Nikita would be required; it wasn’t difficult, he’d originally profiled her in because she was known to the main sources, but Madeleine had told him in no uncertain terms that Nikita was to stay at home.

The hologram screen flickered, steadied, and Operation’s voice droned on about the current mission at hand. It was a quick retrieval, nothing unusual, but suddenly, at the far end of the table, Nikita burst into tears.

The room froze. Unbelieving eyes riveted on her -- it was the most convincing display Michael had ever witnessed. Still sobbing, Nikita excused herself, ran from the room, and after a few moments of shocked silence, the briefing resumed.

Later, when Michael returned from the mission, he handed in his weapons and Walter called him to the back of munitions.

“Look, Michael, something’s definitely up --” Walter started.

“Nikita.” Michael sighed, resigned.

“Yeah. Listen, after she freaked out in the briefing this morning, she lost her temper with Birkhoff. I mean, she lost her temper. Had him in a headlock and if Smith hadn’t disarmed her ... Birkhoff has bruises like you wouldn’t believe, and he’s been given down time.”

Michael’s eyebrows raised: Birkhoff seldom, if ever, had down time.

“I’m serious,” Walter said. “Then, Miss Icicle starts flirting with Elizabeth.”

“What?!”

“That’s right,” Walter confirmed. “Madeleine’s talking with Nikita now. Elizabeth was so upset she misconfigured a SIM and is having to redo it -- it’ll take her hours to get it right.”

“How long has Madeleine been with her?”

“An hour or so. Anyway ... just thought you might want to know.”

With an absent “Thanks,” to Walter, Michael went to his office and reviewed the Benedict profile. He waited for Madeleine to call him. When she did, he closed the profile, shut off his laptop and went to her office.

“About Nikita,” Madeleine started, then she paused and looked carefully at Michael. “How’s the Benedict profile coming?”

“All right,” Michael answered. “There are a lot of variables to it, since I had to profile Nikita out of it and myself in. Our success rate is lower by 15 percent, which I’m not entirely comfortable with.”

“Fifteen percent,” Madeleine echoed. “Why so low?”

“There are a number of reasons, but the primary one is, Benedict liked her. According to the psych profile we have on hand, he doesn’t like change. Using another operative will mean we’ll have to go in immediately, so the mission will be longer -- it will take probably three weeks, the first two to gain his trust, the last to actually do the work.”

“That means you’ll be out of Section for nearly a month.”

“That’s right.”

“With Nikita, we could be finished in a shorter amount of time?”

Michael shrugged. “Probably 10 days. I’d still want the team to get there early to do thorough recon, but I think that time frame is reasonable. I understood that Nikita wasn’t to go out in the field, though.”

“After speaking with her today ... you witnessed her breakdown during the briefing; what do you think?”

Michael thought carefully before he answered. “It’s difficult to tell. As you know, our relationship is somewhat ... different ... than it was before.”

“Are you able to have a professional relationship?”

“Certainly,” Michael said.

A little restless, Madeleine stood and examined her plants. “Sometimes when someone is adjusted there are unpredictable results. I’d like you to reconfigure your profile again, Michael. I’m sorry, but it’s necessary. This time, include Nikita. And make sure she’s able to perform all her duties on this mission. Perhaps I was wrong to keep her inside for so long ... we need to test her in the field.”

“Of course,” Michael said blandly.

Madeleine swung around. “Will this be a problem for you?” she asked bluntly.

“Not at all.”

“Good.” She smiled, and Michael, rather than returning it, merely nodded politely and stood. “I know you are still fond of her, Michael. So am I, in a way. If I weren’t, rather than adjusting her, we would have disposed of her. That still may be an option, depending on her performance with Benedict.”

“Of course,” Michael repeated, sounding even more bland than he had before.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Madeleine smiled, dismissing him.

Michael turned, walked out the door, and wondered again what Nikita was up to.

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

Michael couldn’t help worrying about Nikita. The first few days of the Benedict mission, he requested hourly updates. Then, he was sent to Edinburgh for three days and when he came back, there was a new face in Section.

“Her name is Cynthia,” Walter informed him, as Michael returned his gear from the mission. “She’s from Section Four and is here on a new rotation program they’ve started. She’s been working pretty closely with Birkhoff.”

“She’s in Systems?” Michael asked, digging in his pockets for any extra fuses or tracking devices.

“For now. But she’s supposed to be assigned to you, soon ... for profiling.”

“Madeleine wants to talk to me, then.” It wasn’t a question, but Walter nodded. Michael took off his vest and gave it to Walter, then put his shirt back on. “How’s Nikita?”

“If you mean, how her mission is going, it’s fine. If you mean, how is Nikita ... last I heard the team was calling her Zombie Girl.”

Good, Michael thought. She’s still fooling everyone ... so far, anyway. He’d have to remind her to not over do it, though ...

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Walter asked.

Michael, his mind still on Nikita, frowned. He never thought of her as pretty. He understood the components that made up her physical appearance were desirable -- blonde hair, blue eyes, tall -- but it wasn’t those things that had captured his attention in the beginning. It was her mind. The way she thought and reacted to situations was, in his opinion, her greatest attribute. Logically, he knew she was attractive. Men turned around to look at her, which always aggravated him. Probably on the Benedict mission there were scores of men, all of them turning around to gawk at her. If he were with her, that wouldn’t be happening, he thought, his irritation building.

“Young,” Walter said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know what she did to deserve Section ... but then, who really deserves Section?”

Michael put an empty cartridge on Walter’s desk and frowned again. What did he think he could do, anyway? Shoot all men who came on to her? He could just picture himself leveling his gun at some little toad of a man who was giving Nikita the once-over ...

“How old do you think she is?” Walter speculated, and Michael snapped back to the present.

“Who?” he asked, confused.

“Cynthia,” Walter said. “Who else have we been talking about?”

“I don’t know how old she is,” Michael said impatiently. “Who cares?”

He pivoted and strode across Section’s main floor toward his office. He had to debrief in an hour and if he worked quickly, he could get a couple of reports done before he had to see Madeleine ...

Moving on autopilot, Michael nearly plowed into a slight girl. He stumbled back, grabbed her shoulders so she wouldn’t fall, apologized briefly, then went on his way, not noticing much about her except she was very young and had shiny hair. A minute later, sitting at his desk and opening up the program he needed, he’d forgotten the encounter.

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

“Good afternoon, Michael.” Madeleine smiled at him, and Michael, not altering his expression, felt a sudden twist in his stomach. A cheerful Madeleine was a bad sign.

“Good afternoon,” he said, smoothly taking a seat in front of her desk.

“I’ve got someone I want you to work with. Her name is Cynthia; she’ll be with us for an indefinite period of time.”

Michael nodded, not particularly interested. “What am I to teach her?”

“Profiling. I want to know what you think her potential is. She’s young, but she scores quite high and Birkhoff has been pleased with her work the past few days. I want her to continue with Birkhoff in the mornings; but in the afternoon, she’s yours.”

“All right.”

Madeleine punched a button and spoke into the console. “Please send Cynthia up.”

They waited in silence; in a few moments, the door slid open and Cynthia appeared.

Michael rose, shook her hand and resumed his seat.

Cynthia was pretty. Small, dark, with blue-black shiny hair, she was very young. Michael guessed she couldn’t be more than 18 and, to him, it was perfectly clear why she was going to work with him: she was his compensation prize for the whole Nikita affair.

Not affair, he thought quickly. What we had wasn’t an affair. Perhaps disastrous, certainly dangerous, but not a light-hearted affair.

A few years ago, Cynthia would have suited him. She was young, true, and he wasn’t overly fond of teenaged girls, but she was pretty and according to Madeleine, smart.

Michael was unable to suppress a slight sigh. Madeleine turned to him, evidently expecting some sort of answer, and since he had no idea what she’d been saying, he rose, nodded curtly at Cynthia, and said, “My office. One o’clock. Don’t be late.” Then, feeling irritated at the world -- and particularly Madeleine -- he left her office.

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

Every day, Nikita felt a little bit better.

The first few weeks after she’d stopped taking Madeleine’s drugs, Nikita had suffered terrible headaches. Now the headaches were mostly gone; occasionally one came ripping through her skull, pain so terrific she literally couldn’t move until it subsided. Afraid to let Madeleine know she wasn’t on the medication anymore, Nikita tried very hard to appear ... normal. The trouble was, Nikita sometimes forgot what normal was.

A lot of things were different now. For one thing, her dreams were wild. She’d always considered herself to be a normal dreamer -- sometimes she had nightmares, but usually she didn’t remember what she dreamed. When she’d been medicated, she hadn’t dreamed at all. Now, it was as if her subconscious had saved up all her secret thoughts and was spinning them furiously into dreams, the louder and brighter, the better. It was exhausting. On the positive side, her sense of taste was finally coming back, and with relief, she was able to put away the new cookbook she’d had to purchase. There were a lot of scary things about the past few weeks, but having to use a cookbook for the first time in her life was by far the most frightening. To Nikita, it was tangible proof that something was very definitely wrong with her mind.

Nikita had grown up with an unpredictable mother who didn’t remember mealtimes. As a result, Nikita had always been a good cook and could usually make a meal out of whatever was available. The first time she’d noticed something was wrong was when she’d made Michael some chicken soup when he was sick. She’d whipped some up -- she’d made hundreds of pots of chicken soup -- and they’d both eaten it, but when she took the left-overs to Walter, she got a surprise.

He was eating at his station. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but sometimes he got hungry in the middle of bomb building. He heated it with a laser, and as Nikita fastened her equipment on, he took a bite. Then, he promptly spit it out, put the top on the container, and threw the whole thing away.

“Walter? Is something wrong?” Nikita asked, puzzled.

“Who made that soup?” Walter wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took a long drink of Coke.

“I did. It wasn’t good?”

“It’s awful. What did you put in it?”

“The same things as always, I think.” Nikita shrugged and packed the rest of her things, then headed out, still wondering what she’d done wrong. Michael hadn’t complained. Of course, he’d been sick; he couldn’t taste anything, either. After that, she tried a couple of things -- easy things she’d always made -- and tried them on other operatives. She got the same result every time: surprise, followed by shock, followed by horror. Then, whoever was the guinea pig usually spat Nikita’s food out. After three failures, she bought a cookbook.

The Benedict mission wasn’t difficult, but it was grueling. Nikita ended up with a concussion and a fractured rib, both painful and slightly debilitating. She returned to Section, got her skull X-rayed and her ribs wrapped, and went to Madeleine for debriefing.

Nikita was tired because she’d been dreaming for the past few nights. She was irritated because her head and side hurt and what she most wanted was to be in her own bed. Instead, she took a deep breath and pushed Madeleine’s door open.

The initial debriefing went fine. Nikita was careful to keep her voice neutral and her answers textbook. Then Madeleine dimmed the lights, asked Nikita to relax, and the session really began.

Since she wasn’t on medication anymore, the sessions were easier for Nikita. Now, she was able to keep a firm grasp on her consciousness. She stretched out, getting as comfortable as she could, and stared vacantly into Madeleine’s lightbox, focusing on one of the plants. Madeleine’s voice droned on behind her, a lulling, easy sound, like water in a stream ...

“Nikita? How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Nikita answered truthfully, trying her best to sound detached and remote.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Nikita lied, her eyes on an orchid and focusing on the pain in her side. Pain helped her stay aware; she didn’t want to be hypnotized on accident.

“Tell me about the mission.”

Nikita obliged, telling Madeleine the same synopsis they’d discussed only minutes ago. There was a pause after she finished, then Madeleine said, “How are your dreams?”

Nikita’s heart flipped over. Dreams? Did Madeleine know ...? Lazily, Nikita replied, “I don’t remember my dreams.”

“Are you resting well?”

Yes? No? Taking a wild guess, Nikita slowly answered, “Yes ...”

“Does your head hurt?”

Pain was throbbing through her, but Nikita, relaxed and sounding half-asleep, said, “Nothing hurts ...”

“You know that you’re back in Section now.”

“Mmm ...” Nikita murmured, agreeing.

“You may have to work with Michael in the future. How do you feel about that?”

“Michael,” Nikita said dreamily. “Michael ... who?”

“Michael Samuelle,” Madeleine said, and for the first time since their session started, Nikita detected a bit of impatience in her voice. “Your trainer.”

“Yes ... I remember.” In a flash of inspiration, Nikita admitted, “We were lovers.”

“At one time,” Madeleine said, her voice, once again, soothing and soft. “How do you feel about him now?”

Nikita was quiet for a moment, her body relaxed, her eyes half-closed and her brain working furiously. Finally, as if the concept were foreign to her, Nikita said hesitantly, “Feel?”

“Yes. About Michael. What do you think about working with him?”

“He has a high success rate,” Nikita said, keeping her voice soft and pliant. “We would probably succeed ... depending on the mission.”

Madeleine asked a few more asinine questions, brought Nikita slowly out of hypnosis, and sent her on her way with a reminder to take medicine for her concussion. Right, Nikita thought, smiling politely. Maybe it’s medicine. Maybe something else. On her way home, she stopped by the gasoline station, used the bathroom and flushed the pills down the toilet.

Madeleine was worried about her relationship with Michael. Nikita didn’t think Madeleine knew about their trips to the zoo, but she couldn’t be sure. One thing she did know was, she couldn’t show any affection for Michael, but that wasn’t a problem. He treated her like a colleague and friend. It was easy to respond in kind, and apparently no one else thought this was odd. Michael was the only one she trusted in Section and the only one who knew what she was going through.

Still thinking about Michael -- and how lucky she was to have such an understanding friend -- Nikita drove up to her underground parking and pushed the button for entrance.

Nothing happened.

She pushed it again.

Still, nothing.

Nikita cursed, thinking longingly of her bed, backed up and went around to the front of the building. She got out, got her groceries out, and trudged to the front door.

It was locked. She fumbled for her keys in the dark, cursing again because apparently the light had burned out, when a voice startled her.

“Hi, sweetness.”

Nikita dropped her keys and whirled around. “Jesus, Mick. Give a girl a heart attack, will you?” She looked at him, disgusted, then shoved her groceries in his arms and felt around the ground for her keys.

“Er ... sorry. Truly.” Mick clutched her lumpy bag of groceries.

“Don’t squish the bread,” Nikita snapped, finally locating her keys. She turned around and felt for the keyhole.

“They’ve changed ‘em,” Mick informed her.

“Changed who?”

“The locks, precious.” Mick put down her groceries and sat down on the stoop, motioning for Nikita to join him.

“What’s up, Mick?” Nikita sighed, flopping down.

“You remember your upstairs neighbors? The ones who bloody well flooded us out a few weeks ago?”

A feeling of dread crept through Nikita ... or was it her headache? “What about them?” she asked.

“Apparently they were installing a new ventilation system, one of those fancy HEPA ones, when guess what they discovered?”

“Gold?” Nikita hazarded, hoping he’d hurry up.

Mick snorted. “Now, you know I love you, love, but do you think I’d be here, freezing my arse off if there were gold running about loose?” He looked at her fondly, then said, “Asbestos.”

“What?”

“Asbestos. And when they had to redo your apartment, and mine, and the people below us, it wasn’t done properly. The men who were installing the new ventilation system nearly had a fit, I swear to you. So they’re redoing the building, taking out all the asbestos insulation and replacing it with something else. Otherwise, we’d all die a horrible death ... lung cancer, you know.”

“You and I aren’t lucky enough to die of asbestos, Mick,” Nikita snorted. “It takes years of breathing the stuff --”

“Yeah, well, despite your ... er ... opinion, sweetness, rules are rules, and the fact is, removing asbestos is pretty tricky.”

“How tricky?” Nikita asked suspiciously.

“They’ve vacated the building. There’s a letter in your mail telling you all about it. Of course, you can’t get your mail, since they’ve sealed the building ...”

Nikita cursed, and Mick looked shocked. “That’s no way for a lady to talk. And I should know. I’ve had a couple of them in my lifetime.”

“Don’t make me throw up,” Nikita said crossly. She cursed again, then said, “How long will it take?”

“They estimate a month. Asbestos removers are, apparently, in very high demand.” Mick rose, picked up Nikita’s groceries, and walked her to her car. “They aren’t relocating us, but they will pay for all your expenses. Myself, I’m up at the Four Seasons. I figure if they’re inconveniencing me ...”

“Oh, please.” Nikita rolled her eyes and popped the trunk for Mick to deposit her bag. Then her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, then?”

“I heard you were coming in today and I knew you wouldn’t know about the building. Didn’t want you to break in ... would be a lot of trouble ... besides, it was on my way to Cherisse’s.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but then Nikita realized she didn’t really want to know about Cherisse. “Well, I appreciate it. Can I drop you somewhere?”

“Nope, got my wheels, right over there. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Nikita got in her car, still grumpy, and said, “I’ll see you next month, then. Let me know if something changes.”

Perfect, Nikita thought. She drove out of the roundabout in front of her building, went to the corner, and stopped at a light. Where to? Not the Four Seasons, that was for bloody sure. Living next door to Mick was bad enough. Still ... it was awfully nice of him to come and find her ...

The light changed and Nikita drove, not thinking of where she was going until she ended up in front of Michael’s building.

Well, why not? She parked the car, got her groceries and went upstairs.

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

“Yes?” Michael’s voice sounded suspicious, but maybe it was just because he was talking through the door.

Nikita stood back, looked up at the camera and said, “Let me in, Michael. The ice cream’s melting.”

He unlocked the door and it swung open. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” Nikita came in and went straight to the kitchen and began to unload her bag.

“Oh, no one. What kind of ice cream --?”

“Chocolate swirl.” Nikita set the carton on the counter and Michael got bowls and spoons. “Did you have dinner?”

“Sort of,” Michael said evasively.

Nikita glanced in the trash can and frowned. “Michael. Normal people do not have a can of green beans for supper. They sit down and have a nice meal. Maybe some meat. Maybe a potato or some rice. But not just a whole can of beans.”

“It’s easy.”

“Did you at least heat them up?” Nikita looked at the stove and the sink, searching for an empty pan, and narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t, did you? You ate them cold.”

He shrugged and took a bite of ice cream. “It was quick. Think of it as healthy fast food.”

Nikita snorted and took her own bowl of ice cream, wondering over to the couch. She looked around: The only real room in Michael’s place was the bathroom. The rest of the loft was completely open, and unlike Nikita, Michael had furniture. Not a lot, but more than she did now: he had a huge bed, several comfortable chairs, a large dining room table, a couch, a couple of wardrobes. And everything looked ... tidy. “Oh,” she said suddenly, looking embarrassed. “You said you were expecting someone --?”

“Not really.” Michael sat down beside her and they ate in companionable silence, then, finally, he asked, “So, what are you doing here?”

Nikita bit her lip and looked sideways at him. “I was hoping,” she said finally, “that I could borrow your couch.”

“It’s awfully big to borrow,” Michael said, purposely misunderstanding her.

“I meant, I wanted to sleep on it tonight,” Nikita clarified.

“Another flood?” Michael asked interestedly.

“Asbestos.”

“I see.” Michael scooped up the last of his ice cream, licked his spoon, then reached for Nikita’s bowl.

“You are such a little pig, Michael,” Nikita said, amused.

“You shouldn’t insult people when you want to sleep on their couch,” he reminded her.

“So, can I? I promise tomorrow I’ll find someplace else, but I’m too tired and I don’t think I can stand to be in these clothes much longer.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What exactly were you planning to put on?”

Belatedly, Nikita realized all her clothes were in her apartment. She flushed, then said, “I guess I’ll just wear these --”

“Tell you what,” Michael said, getting up. “I’ll give you some clothes, fill up a bath for you and change the sheets on the bed ... if you make breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?”

“I want that toast that’s fried. With fruit salad. And maybe bacon.”

“Do you have all that stuff?” Nikita wondered.

“I’ll order it from the grocery,” Michael said. “It’s not that late. Is it a deal?”

“Throw in a bottle of aspirin and you’ve got yourself a new roommate.”

“It’s in ... oh, never mind, you know where the aspirin is. Headache?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She filled her own bath, and when Michael came in to give her clothes, he asked, “How was the mission?”

“Long.” Nikita stripped off her shirt. Underneath she was wearing the wrap to keep her rib from hurting too much and under that, an undershirt. Michael undid the Velcro fastening and lifted her shirt, looking at the bruises. “Do you mind?” she asked, amused.

“I just wanted to see what happened.”

“Nothing. I fell off a building.”

“Concussion?”

“Minor. But I’ve been taken off active duty for two weeks till it heals up.”

“Hmmm.” He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t look particularly pleased. Nikita reached over to turn off the water -- it took Michael’s tub a long time to fill because it was big -- and looked expectantly at him. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I’ll ... order the groceries.”

“Yes, do.”

The door shut and Nikita hollered after him, “And could you get some conditioner? Mine’s at the apartment.”

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

The first night, Michael and Nikita had a brief argument about sleeping arrangements. Because of her rib, it hurt for Nikita to bend and she had to bend if she were going to make up the couch. Michael refused to help her.

“You aren’t sleeping there,” he said flatly. “I’ve told you before -- it’s not big enough and you end up with a backache.”

“Michael --”

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll attack you in the night?”

“Of course not --”

“Then come to bed.” He switched off the lights and Nikita was left with no choice but to follow him to his bed. She got in on her side, punched the pillow under her head, and was asleep in minutes.

Michael got between the clean sheets, easing himself slowly down so he didn’t disturb her. He listened carefully, then, when he was sure she wouldn’t wake, he brushed a kiss across her lips and settled on his own side of the bed. His eyes slid shut and he smiled.

He was glad she was back. He was glad she was in his bed. Fleetingly, he thought of Cynthia and nearly was annoyed, but Nikita sighed in her sleep and turned over, tugging the blanket up. Michael leaned over, pulled it up and tucked it around her, then, his hand tucked under hers, he fell asleep.

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

The next morning Nikita slept late, the result of wild dreams and exhaustion. Michael got up and showered, dressed and got ready to make coffee.

Making coffee was a process. First, he got out the coffee beans. He kept them in an airtight container in the freezer and every morning he did the same thing: he opened the package, took a deep breath of the cold fragrance, then measured out the proper amount into his coffee grinder.

But this morning, when he pressed the top down to grind the beans, he was interrupted.

“What is that?” Nikita shrieked, sitting bolt upright in bed, her hands pressed to her ears.

“What?” Michael turned around, confused. “That -- that noise.”

“This?” Michael pressed down again and the high-pitched whir filled the air.

“Stop! Stop it, Michael --” She clapped her hands to her head again.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“It hurts. When you do that, it hurts my ears.”

“Nikita --”

“And can you make it not so bright in here?” she squinted at him.

“I thought,” he said suspiciously, coming to stand near the bed, “You had a minor concussion.”

“It is minor.” She flopped back into bed and closed her eyes.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes and tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.”

“Oh, go away.” Nikita swatted his hand away and turned over. Michael’s cell phone rang and Nikita groaned, then pulled the pillow over her head.

Michael finished his brief conversation, folded the phone up and put it in his pocket. “Nikita.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I am. I’m going to Section. I’ll call you later to see how you feel, all right?”

“I am not an invalid,” she said, pushing the pillow away and blinking up at him.

Ignoring her, Michael said, “I have a new recruit I have to work with this afternoon, but I should be home at dinnertime.”

“I won’t be here,” Nikita said confidently. “Remember, I’m finding a temporary place to live.”

“Of course,” Michael said, just as if he believed her. “Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

Nikita heard Michael leave and she fell asleep for a few more hours. When she woke up, it was noon. She still felt tired and maybe a little depressed, and instead of looking for a place to stay, she took another long bath in Michael’s sinfully big tub, stole some more of his clothes, and mopped the kitchen floor. By that time, it was almost five o’clock and it seemed pointless to try to find a place to stay when she was already here and Michael didn’t seem to mind her. So instead of looking for a hotel, Nikita made a cake.

Michael came home at 7 o’clock and seemed pleased to see her. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. I --” He stopped abruptly and looked at the cake, then at the floor, and his eyes narrowed. He set the packages he’d been carrying on the counter and said, “Did you want something?”

“What do you mean?” Nikita bit her lip.

“You cleaned the kitchen. You baked a cake. In my experience, when a woman does these things, she wants something.”

“I don’t want anything. Except ... I’m off tomorrow, too, unless something happens and I’m called in. Can I borrow your zoo card?”

Michael pulled the cardboard slip out of his wallet and laid it on the counter. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

He started unpacking the take-out he’d brought and set the table. Nikita, who couldn’t drink because of her head, poured them both water and they sat down to eat. And this time, when he was done eating, he took their plates to the sink, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher. “You don’t have to clean, you know,” he said, his back to her. “I have a woman in once a week who cleans.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “Her name is Olandra. I practice Spanish with her and she brushes up on her English with me. She’s not Section.”

“Hey ... how was the new recruit?” Nikita leaned against the bar and took another sip of water.

“She’s smart. Young. Trainable.”

“How young?”

“She said she just turned 18.”

“That’s younger than I was when I was recruited.”

“She’s not a recent recruit. She’s been in the Section for three years.”

“Geez. What’d she do -- blow up a school or something?”

“Or something,” Michael said, and Nikita knew that was all she’d get out of him. Changing the subject, he asked, “Want to go for a walk? I’ve been behind a desk all day and you look like you’ve been sleeping all day.”

“I wasn’t,” Nikita denied, grinning. “I was slaving away, trying to make you happy so I could stay another night. Go walking by yourself.”

“Can’t,” Michael dead panned. He put his shoes back on and handed Nikita’s to her. “I’m afraid to walk by myself at night. Come with me for protection.”

Nikita snorted, but she put her shoes on and followed him out the door.

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

Later that night, Michael switched off his laptop and stretched. Because he’d been training Cynthia all afternoon, he hadn’t had time to get everything done and had stayed up working.

His loft was quiet. Across the room, Nikita lay tangled in his bed. She’d had a nightmare earlier and he’d watched her tossing around. No wonder I was tired when I woke up this morning, he thought. Nikita was probably fighting someone all night long.

Michael switched off the small lamp he’d been working near, throwing the apartment into darkness. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dark and he stared out the windows.

The warehouse he lived in was one of several that lined a canal. At the turn of the century, it was more economical to be near the canal; during summer, supplies were floated downstream. In the winter, they were loaded on huge sleds and “skated” down to the next town.

Now, staring out his window at the canal and the park across the way, his mind wandered over the day’s events. He was still concerned about Nikita; the nightmares were troubling, not to mention bright lights and loud noises bothered her. He told himself if she didn’t improve in the next few days he’d have to insist she see a doctor in Section.

Michael sighed. He was not an old man, but lately -- especially this afternoon with Cynthia -- he’d felt every one of his 37 years. Actually, he’d felt older. At least a hundred.

Cynthia was bright and caught on quickly, which was what Birkhoff liked about her. Michael could see nothing yet to recommend her to profiling, but then, he’d only spent a day with her. He doubted she knew she was supposed to seduce him. For one thing, she’d called him ‘Sir’ all day long. For another, she’d taken every opportunity she could to visit Birkhoff’s station.

And why not? Michael was 20 years older than she was. And he had no sense of humor.

Irritated with Madeleine and unreasonably irritated with Cynthia, Michael rose, got a drink of water, and went to bed.

Nikita was stretched out, taking up as much room as she could. Michael undressed to his underclothes, then moved her gently over, murmuring as he did so, and slid into bed.

Nikita mumbled, sounding cross, then curled up on the other side of the bed. Restlessly, she turned on her back, then her side. Michael was almost asleep when she punched him on the arm.

“What? What is it?”

“Michael. Get up.”

“What? Why?” He obediently sat up; Nikita looked crossly at him.

“You’re on the wrong side.”

“Side?”

“Of the bed,” she said impatiently. “I can’t sleep over here.”

Muttering to himself, Michael got out of bed, went to the other side, and got back in. “Better?” he said, his voice tinged with acid.

“Yes. Thank you.” He heard her smile in the dark, and his bad mood lightened.

“As long as you’re comfortable,” he said, with exaggerated politeness.

Nikita giggled, then sleepily said, “People say you don’t have a sense of humor ... but they’re wrong. You can be very funny when you want to be.”

Michael was quiet and Nikita, who hadn’t really been very much awake, slipped back into sleep.

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

After the first two or three days, neither of them mentioned Nikita leaving. She managed to get some of her clothes from Section and went shopping. Since she wasn’t on active duty, she went to Section on half-days. She ran into Mick one afternoon at the mall and he informed her the asbestos removal was going slower than anticipated.

“So, what else is new?” Nikita complained. “The contractors the condo association uses are awful ...”

Mick cocked his head and grinned at her. “Come and have a cuppa, cupcake. The Four Seasons has a truly excellent tea and we can charge it to the bloody association.”

Maybe absence makes the heart fonder, after all, Nikita thought. “Okay. Let’s order double of everything.”

“You’re on. And, may I say, you’re looking particularly fetching today. The all black look is a bit on the somber side; did someone pass over I don’t know about?”

“Pass over?” Nikita asked, puzzled.

“Died. Bought the big one. Vamoosed. Kicked the bucket. Shipped out. Headed toward the distant --”

“No,” Nikita said, interrupting him.

“Taking our fashion sense from Michael, are we? Well, I know they say black goes with everything --”

“Oh, shut up, Mick. Buy me some tea and talk sensibly.”

“But child-of-me-heart, sensible ... it’s just not Mick. Know what I mean?”

“Maybe we should make it ice cream. To go,” Nikita said, regretting her acceptance.

“Naw, I’ll be good. Promise. Now, tell me all the dirty gossip in Section.”

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

“I saw Mick today,” Nikita said sleepily, laying beside Michael. The room was dim but not completely dark; outside lamplight spilled across the opposite wall.

“How is he?” Michael turned over on his side to face Nikita.

“Fine. Did you know Madeleine approached him about becoming a double agent?”

“Mick? Mick Stoppel?”

“The one and only. He wanted my advice.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That any time Madeleine thought something was a good idea he should watch out.” She yawned and stretched out on her back, arms around her head. “How was the new recruit?”

“Okay.”

“When do I get to meet her?” Nikita had been in Section sporadically, and whenever she was present, the new recruit was either training with Walter, holed up with Birkhoff or in Michael’s office with an ‘engaged’ sign posted on the door.

“Whenever you want.” Michael yawned. “Scores are high ...” he mumbled. Then he yawned again. “Good night ...”

Nikita mumbled back at him. And in minutes, the loft was silent.

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

Michael woke up in the middle of the night, dreaming of cats.

Now, Michael had no special affinity for animals in general. He sometimes dreamt of being attacked by guard dogs, but he’d never dreampt of cats and certainly not meowing cats.

He opened his eyes; the funny mewing sound continued.

Confused, he sat up and looked at Nikita. She was curled into a ball and whimpering in her sleep. But this wasn’t a nightmare; they’d gradually subsided over the past few days. And her ribs had healed nicely. His eyes narrowed and he tried to remember what day it was, then he tried to remember if she’d had a headache the day before. He yawned, then unfolded one of her hands, weighing it in his own. In the dim light, he could see her fingers were swollen, a sure sign of premenstrual problems.

Michael got out of bed, stretched, collected a heating pad and a bottle of Motrin and returned to bed. He plugged in the heating pad and put it on low, then he nudged Nikita awake. If he didn’t wake her up all the way, chances were she wouldn’t remember in the morning. “Nikita. Wake up ...”

“Mmmph.”

“Come on, love, open your eyes.” He shook out a few pills and her eyes slitted open.

“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just painkiller. See? Motrin.”

“You first,” she mumbled, and he shrugged, popped the pills and took a swallow of water.

“Now you,” he said, wedging an arm under her and tilting her forward. She obediently opened her mouth and gulped them down with a drink of water. He lowered her back into bed and plopped the heating pad on her stomach; she closed her eyes and was asleep in seconds.

Good. She wouldn’t remember.

Michael yawned again, returned the medicine to the bathroom cabinet, and collapsed into bed.

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

As her instructor, Michael expected to only teach Cynthia the rudiments of profiling. But he quickly found out she learned better by doing, so he allowed her to profile a small, relatively unimportant mission.

“Now,” he said, once he’d approved it. “We’ll carry it though.”

“We? You mean ... Section, right?” Cynthia looked nervous, and with good reason: the profile was acceptable, but there was a high probability at least one operative would be wounded.

“No. I mean we. You and I. Why? Want to change anything?”

“I guess not.”

“Good. Prepare for tomorrow night.” He turned on his heels and marched out of Section, laptop tucked under his arm; he could finish the rest of his work at home.

When he got there, he found Nikita slicing apples. “You’re home early,” she greeted him.

“I have to work tonight, but I got hungry.”

“Well,” Nikita said, pretending to be serious, “If you’re in a hurry, there’s a can of corn. Or I think there may be a can of green beans. I know they’re your favorite.”

Michael pretended to consider her offer, then asked, “What are you having?”

“Chicken surprise, apple salad and rice. The chicken will be ready in half an hour, if you’re interested.”

“What’s the surprise?” he asked suspiciously.

“Wait and see,” Nikita grinned. “How was Section?”

“Fine. I didn’t see you today.” He put down his laptop and a package he’d picked up on the way home and washed his hands at the sink, then got out silverware and dishes.

Nikita shrugged. “Med Lab checked me out and pronounced me fit, finally. I’m scheduled for a mission on Friday. Till then, I’ll be working with Birkhoff till he gets someone new. How’s Cynthia?”

“Fine. We’re going out tomorrow night.”

“I still haven’t met her.”

“Come along,” Michael offered. “She doesn’t know who you are; you can be a bystander and observe. It’ll be good to get an objective opinion of her performance.”

“You’re not objective?” Nikita began to dice walnuts and frowned a bit.

“I’ve been working with her for a week or two,” Michael shrugged.

“Well ... maybe I will come.” She noticed the brown wrapped package near his computer and nodded. “What’s that?”

Michael grinned. “Something I picked up today. For you.”

“A present? I’m the one that should be buying you presents ... you’re the one that’s had to put up with an extra roommate.”

“Open it.”

Nikita put her knife down and unfolded the paper. Inside was a small square box with a type of covered funnel and a crank attached. “What is it?”

Instead of answering right away, Michael said, “I found it at an estate sale this afternoon. Watch ...” He got out the coffee beans from the freezer, measured the proper amount into the funnel, put on the top, then turned the crank. It squeaked a bit, and Nikita winced. After a few minutes, he opened a little drawer at the bottom and showed it to Nikita. “It’s a coffee grinder. Non-electric. No noise.”

Nikita stood perfectly still.

“I can oil the crank. Then it won’t squeak. What do you think?”

“I like it better than the Braun,” Nikita finally said. She traced a finger around the top of the grinder, admiring the dull sheen of the metal. “It’s pretty. And quiet. Thanks.”

***********

Late that night, Nikita lay awake long after Michael had turned off his computer and come to bed. She shifted a bit, adjusting her heating pad; she felt crampy, but that wasn’t why she was sleepless.

She hadn’t mentioned it to Michael, but along with the physical check-up, Madeleine had performed a psyche evaluation on her. It was the same-old, same-old ... How do you feel about Section? How do you feel about Michael?

I feel like I’m falling in love with him, Nikita thought. And all because of a coffee grinder. If Madeleine knew, what would she say? Nikita imagined Madeleine would consider her truly insane and either do a nice round of electric shock therapy or give up on her altogether.

When he’d showed her how the coffee grinder worked ... when he’d pulled out the little drawer to show her the black specks of coffee, then when he’d carefully sifted it into the peculator ... her heart had given a somersault and she’d had to grip the edge of the counter top to keep herself from giving him a big kiss.

She sighed and stretched, careful to not wake him. The contractors were moving so slowly on her apartment building. It’d be another three or four weeks before they finished. She wasn’t sure if she could stay in such close contact with Michael. Maybe ... maybe it was time to move out.

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

Sitting in the restaurant the following night, Nikita contemplated the couple across the room from her.

Her eyes swept over the back of the man’s head and settled on the woman, who was facing her. She was very young and very pretty. Her hair was dark; in the dim restaurant it looked like shiny obsidian, but as soft as down and wavy. Cynthia pushed her hair away, revealing a creamy pale shoulder and a glittering diamond necklace.

Only old ladies should wear diamonds. Girls should wear pearls. Advice from Madeleine came echoing back to Nikita, and though she had never paid much attention to Madeleine’s opinions about jewelry, she found herself mentally taking off points for Cynthia’s preparation.

She looked ... perfect. She wore red; it was a good color on her. It brought out her cheeks and the color of her lips, and even though Nikita knew Cynthia was wearing cosmetics, she looked very pretty and fresh. Nikita imagined she was wearing some kind of sweet fragrance: jasmine, perhaps, or rose.

I hope, Nikita thought, she’s wearing lilac scent. Michael’s allergic to it.

At just that moment, she saw Michael lean up, extract his handkerchief, and wipe his nose. Nikita smiled.

Her eyes wandered to the target, another pretty woman sitting with another pretty man. Cynthia’s profile called for her to extract a small address book from the woman, while avoiding the man ... not an easy assignment, and Nikita had already decided she’d try to gink it up.

A man sided up to the table; Nikita glanced up. “Are you ... alone?” he asked, and Nikita smiled gently.

“I’m waiting for my lover,” she said politely, and the man blushed scarlet and scuttled away.

Cynthia was going to make her move soon, Nikita could tell. She looked nervous. And she should be, Nikita thought ... but she shouldn’t look like she was nervous. Nikita mentally took another point off Cynthia’s score, then sighed, took a big drink of water, licked her lips and sauntered across the room. “Hi,” she said, smiling widely at Cynthia’s target and her date. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Nancy. Remember me? Nancy Summers?”

The blank look on the date’s face vanished, replaced with false cheer. “Of course, I do! Nancy, how are you? I haven’t seen you since ...” he paused, uncertain of what to say, and Nikita helped him out.

“Senior year in high school,” she said, smiling again. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. Honey,” he said quickly to Cynthia’s target, “This is Nancy Summers. We knew each other way back --”

“It’s nice to meet you.” The mark gave Nikita another false smile and shook her hand.

“Well ... hey, you’re not alone, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Nikita lied. “I’m meeting a friend.”

They chatted inanely until, as Nikita planned, the mark stood, excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. Nikita took her seat, still chatting, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cynthia head for the washroom.

A few minutes later, there was a shrill shriek and a break in the restaurant conversation. Nikita glanced quickly at Michael; he faced her now, and he looked uncomfortable. “So,” Nikita continued, “Who else do you keep in touch with?”

A few minutes later, the mark emerged from the bathroom. The front of her dress was damp, and evidently, Cynthia had managed to nick her pocketbook, which meant she’d been successful. Nikita rose quickly. “What happened?”

“There was an insane child in the bathroom. She splashed water all over me, then practically tackled me ...”

“Oh, dear ...” Nikita tried to wipe some of the water off with a napkin, and the mark gave her a killer look. Nikita dropped the napkin.

“I think,” the mark announced, “I’d like to leave.”

“Of course,” her date said, rising quickly. “Nancy ... it was nice seeing you again. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Sure,” Nikita agreed, but catching an ugly look from the mark, she thought, Not bloody likely.

Great, Nikita thought, returning to her table. I think I’ve been spending too much time with Mick. I’m starting to think like him. Not a good sign.

She passed Michael and Cynthia’s table. They were already gone.

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

Nikita gave Cynthia a fair evaluation. She and Michael spoke briefly of the mission, then Michael made Cynthia profile something else which took them both out of the country for two days.

For the first time in three weeks, Nikita was left in Michael’s loft ... without Michael. It was weird. Quiet. And she couldn’t help wondering about Michael and Cynthia’s mission.

Cynthia was young. She was too young for Michael. But she was attractive. She was dark, and Nikita knew Michael had a weakness for dark-complected women. She was small, too. Even Nikita felt faintly protective of her. Surely Michael must feel the same way.

The day Michael was to come home, Nikita made a nice Chicken Surprise, this one with an entire garlic inside and several more cloves diced and rubbed on the outside. Then, to make sure he’d smell and taste unattractive, she made a big Onion Yum.

There, she thought, feeling satisfied as Michael’s house filled with the smell of cooking food. That should keep her away.

She wondered, fleetingly, why she cared. But then she shoved the uncomfortable thought down and cleaned up the kitchen.

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

Michael stood in the kitchen in front of the open clothes washer and looked at the pile of clothes at his feet.

Nikita was in Bolivia for two days, and since Olandra came tomorrow, he thought he’d try to straighten up a bit. Then he discovered the apartment didn’t need straightening. Nikita had done it.

She hadn’t done laundry, though. That was one chore she abhorred. In fact, when he’d returned a few months ago -- the first time she’d moved in -- the thing that surprised him most was, all his clothes were clean. Nikita hated to do laundry. She’d sooner go without than wash a load of underwear.

He’d separated the clothes, but as always, the biggest pile was black. Black socks, black shirts, the odd black sweater, black jeans. There was a medium-sized pile of white, which was mostly his underclothes, towels and a pair of sheets. Then there was the smallest pile of all: Nikita’s underwear. It looked like a rainbow had collapsed and turned to cloth.

He shook his head, set the washer on low, and tossed in the little bits of satin that passed for Nikita’s underthings. Turquoise, red, bright pink, blue. Green. Who had green underwear? And this pair didn’t even have a back. How did women figure out where their legs went? Good grief. Multicolored bra straps tangled up in each other, and Michael patiently sorted them out, hooked the backs so they wouldn’t wreck his washer and put them in. For one person, she had a lot of underwear ... Michael wondered if he hid them all and gave her five pair if she’d be more inclined to do her own laundry.

Probably not, he thought. She’d just go inside-out. And she thinks I’m a slob ...

Michael booted up his computer and got some leftover Chicken Surprise out of the ice box. The surprise to this chicken was the garlic and orange he’d found tucked inside. It was good; his skin still sweated garlic, it was so strong. He poured a glass of beer and alternately gnawed on the cold meat and took sips of his drink.

He worked on his profiles but he felt a little jumpy. Then he realized what it was: his house was too quiet.

Nikita never made a lot of noise, but she was usually there in the evenings.

Now, it was completely silent except for him. Michael got up and put the chicken bones in the trash. He was still hungry. There was a little bit of Onion Yum left over ... he got a slice out, microwaved it for a minute or two, then turned on the radio low. He changed the clothes around, putting Nikita’s underclothes in the dryer for 10 minutes. She’d scolded him the first time for shrinking all her underwear to practically nothing; now, he took everything out when it was still damp. Michael sighed, started the washer again, and began loading the towels in.

An old married couple, he thought, feeling depressed. That’s what we are. Only without the sex. Great.