At first, Nikita had been thrilled when Michael purchased pops tickets. She’d had season tickets to the symphony all year and had enjoyed them enormously, but to go to something modern sounded fun. After all, how did she know what she liked until she tried everything? Perhaps, she thought, I ought to give opera a whirl. I know it’s for very smart people, but surely I could catch on ...

He’d bought the pops tickets two months ago just to be certain they’d have good seats. She circled the date in her calendar and he promised they’d both be in town to make the date.

And they were. But for five weeks before the concert, Michael had been stationed in Bolivia. Nikita hadn’t seen or heard from him in more than a month. And now, his first night home, they had a date.

Nikita didn’t want to go out. She wanted to stay in. With Michael. Alone.

She frowned at herself in the mirror. She looked fine. Black dress, black wrap in case the hall was chilly, hair up so it didn’t get in her way. She painted on some lipstick, and as she did, the light caught her faux engagement ring, nearly blinding her. Maybe it wasn’t a real engagement ring, but the stone was sure real -- besides, she thought, her expression softening, maybe tonight I can pretend it’s real. After all, Michael was there when she picked it out. Even if he had been a pain in the neck about the whole thing.

Wind pummeled the windows, shaking the glass in its frame, and Nikita shivered. It was snowing again and she wished that instead of wearing black velvet and nylons she were wearing her long flannel jammies and her -- or better yet, Michael’s -- slippers. She heard him knock on the door, and taking a deep breath, she went to answer it.

“Hi.” His eyes traveled from the top of her head down to her feet, and then slowly back up again.

What? Nikita wondered. Did I forget something? Wear one black shoe and one brown?

“I missed you,” he said softly.

Nikita bit her lip uncertainly. Michael’s cheeks and nose were pink with cold and his hair was a little damp where snow had caught in it and melted. He wore unrelieved black, from the knit scarf at his throat to his leather coat and gloves. He looks, Nikita decided, like a little black tortilla, all tucked up and tidy. She wondered suddenly how hands-on his last mission had been and whether he’d been injured, and then she had a nearly overwhelming desire to unwrap him so she could check him out and make sure he was unharmed.

Oh, please, she thought, disgusted with herself. Who am I kidding? I just want him to take off his clothes and for us to spend the entire night with each other. I want to make love to him so he won’t forget how much I love him, and if possible, I’d like some hot chocolate. A lot of it. Hot chocolate and Michael and a snow storm outside. Perfect. It would be perfect ...

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Michael would rather stay in when he said, “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“So have I,” Nikita said truthfully, and without saying anything else, she locked her apartment door and they headed down the stairs.

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

The theme for tonight’s pops concert was overtures. As they walked into the performance hall, Nikita looked nervously over the bowed heads, searching for one in particular.

“I have a surprise for you,” Michael announced as they reached their seats and the usher handed them programs. They were sitting on the end and Nikita went in first, giving Michael the aisle seat for his long legs.

“Oh?” Nikita’s eyes darted around the theater, still looking for her nemesis.

“Nikita, settle down,” Michael said. “Stop twisting around like that --”

“I’m looking for that wretched child,” Nikita grumbled. “Stop scolding and help me find her. She’s sure to have tickets for tonight -- her stupid mother will force her to come to this, I know she will --”

“Maybe,” Michael agreed, “But she won’t be sitting by us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” Michael said, unpreturbed, “I bought all the seats around us.”

“What?” Nikita twisted back around and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“I bought the three seats directly behind us, the three seats in front of us and the two seats next to you.”

Nikita blinked, then glanced around. Sure enough, all the seats surrounding them were empty. “You did that ... for me?”

“Yes. I did.”

Nikita’s gaze dropped and she mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?” Michael said.

“I said, I love you very much,” Nikita said, still not looking at him, but Michael laced his fingers through hers and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. He might have said something, but the house lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and the concert began.

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

Something was wrong. Michael felt it the moment Nikita opened her apartment door, and at first, he’d expected the worst: she was going to throw him over for someone else; Madeleine had forbidden their relationship again; she’d been tinkered with or had to go on a Valentine mission.

But she was dressed and ready to go, so Michael figured the best thing to do would be to play it by ear. After all, Nikita hated drawing anything out. If she were going to break up with him, she would have done it in the first ten minutes.

When they arrived at the theater and she hadn’t mentioned their relationship, Michael decided everything was all right ... at least, on that front. Perhaps she’d done something she was ashamed of. Something she didn’t want to tell him about ...

Well, whatever it was, she was tense. He felt it when he’d kissed her hand. They held hands throughout the first two overtures, then Nikita’s grip became less than comfortable. Michael brushed another kiss across her fingers, pried her hand from his, and put her hand flat on his thigh.

Now, he was beginning to regret that. Her fingers were digging painfully into his flesh, and he knew that tomorrow he’d have five round, perfectly spaced bruises from her fingertips branded into his skin.

The overture ended and the audience clapped enthusiastically; Michael sighed with relief when Nikita’s hand left his leg. He shook out his cramped muscles and wished he could concentrate on the music. Popular songs weren’t his thing, really, but at least that horrible child wasn’t kicking them in the back or throwing chocolates at them ...

Michael glanced over at Nikita. In the dim lighting, she looked a little flushed and he wondered suddenly if she were sick. That would explain the tension and her odd behavior. Michael put a hand on her arm and she jerked. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked over the applause.

“A little ... hot.”

Michael moved his legs and Nikita crawled over him just as the music for the next overture began.

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

Since it wasn’t time for intermission the bathroom was relatively uncrowded. Nikita turned on the cold water, wet a paper towel and leaned over the basin with the towel on her neck.

A cold neck was okay. But what she really needed was a cold shower. Just thinking about Michael made her flush all over, and he hadn’t even done anything. Well, unless you counted buying up all the tickets around them so she wouldn’t have to endure that awful child ...

Nikita’s knees buckled with desire and she hung on to the counter, then frantically splashed her face with water.

Two giggling teenagers dressed in tacky formals came into the washroom. They whispered back and forth about their dates, applied fresh lipstick and gave Nikita curious looks before they disappeared.

I’m just as bad as they are, she thought, disgusted. Teenage hormones. Good grief. The only difference is, I have better fashion sense.

She groaned, splashed some more water on her face and began to dry off.

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

Somehow, Nikita made it to the intermission without disgracing herself or Michael. She looked down at her program while the lights were up and the audience milled around, waiting for the second part. We’re more than half-way finished, she thought, trying to be optimistic and ignoring the ache in her midsection.

“Come on,” Michael said abruptly, standing.

“Where?”

“We’re going home.”

Thank God. Nikita felt the weight of the world slip off her shoulders. Home. In half an hour, she could be tucked in bed, preferably around Michael. But ... he’d really wanted to hear this concert, hadn’t he? What did it matter, really, whether they were home in half an hour or an hour and a half? “We can stay. I’m all right. Really,” Nikita assured him, tamping down the wave of desire that hit her. “I’m just a little ... ah ...”

“Yes?”

She waved her hands dismissively and sat down again. “I’d like to hear the rest. Really, I would.”

The lights flickered, and Michael slowly took his seat. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He looked uncertain, and gently ran a finger over her still-damp hairline. Nikita held her breath and she couldn’t help it -- her eyes slid shut and her heart somersaulted. The lights lowered, and Michael shifted in his seat, then folded her hand in his.

Crazy. He’s driving me crazy, Nikita thought, fighting to concentrate on the music and not Michael’s finger, which was absently rubbing across her thumb. As casually as she could, she extracted her hand and carefully moved over so she wouldn’t accidentally brush up against him.

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

Nikita made it through the second half of the concert, and when it was over, she stood, applauded and looked visibly relieved. Michael waited until the curtain went down for the final time, then he collected his program, his date and her wrap. “Come on,” he said.

They made it through the crush without talking; Michael picked up his coat at the coat check and turned to Nikita. “It’s still snowing. I’ll bring the car around.”

“It’s okay, Michael. I don’t mind walking.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. The cold will ... make me feel better.”

Michael folded her arm in his and, watching the sidewalk for ice, they walked the two blocks to where their car was parked. By the time they reached it, Nikita was shivering. “Nikita, you are sick,” Michael said, unlocking her door and helping her inside.

“I’m fine. Really.”

Michael shook his head, got in on his side, and started the car. “Home?”

“Please.”

The ride was quiet; Michael asked questions, but whether it was from cold or some other reason, Nikita gave him short answers and his feeling of unease grew.

Something was wrong. Something was very definitely wrong.

Michael often thought of his relationship with Nikita as a road trip. She decided the destination and he drove the car. Now, he wondered if perhaps she’d decided on a destination that he knew nothing about. I don’t care, he thought, as long as it includes me, I’ll do whatever she wants ...

They reached Nikita’s apartment. Michael walked her inside, and, fully prepared to say goodnight at the door, he was a little surprised when Nikita said, “Would you like some tea or something hot to drink?”

“Okay.”

They went inside and took off their wet shoes, then Nikita went upstairs to change. Michael made the tea, and when she didn’t come down, he carefully sugared her cup and took it up to her. “Nikita?”

He found her in the bathroom. She was in her bathrobe and had a wet washcloth on her neck, bending over the basin. “Nikita. You are sick,” he started, but her eyes came up to meet his in the mirror and he stopped. “Nikita?”

She turned around and suddenly, Michael found himself trying to balance himself, the tea and Nikita, who seemed to be everywhere at once. The minute her lips touched his, he knew exactly what was wrong, what had been wrong the whole evening. She wasn’t sick at all. She was desperate. He knew exactly how that felt: hadn’t he felt desperate for her touch innumerable times before? Sometimes he’d craved her so strongly he’d taken chances by meeting her in Section, of all places.

“Nikita --” He fumbled around and set the tea on the top of the toilet, then he tried to take control of the situation, but Nikita, for once, wasn’t letting him.

They awkwardly stumbled across the room, Nikita yanking on Michael’s tie and kissing him at the same time, Michael hanging on to Nikita because if he let her go, he’d either strangle or she’d fall, probably taking him down with her. They tumbled onto the bed, Nikita on top, frantically kissing him. If he’d been the driver in their relationship before, now he felt lucky to just be in the car. “Nikita --”

She gave his tie a particularly tight tug and his voice ended in a strangled sound, then, intent only on breathing, he tried to undo his own tie. He felt her hands at his belt, and gave a grunt when she pulled on his pants impatiently. She gave a little growl of frustration when he tried to help her, then, finally, he just gave up and moved his arms so she wouldn’t have such a difficult time. “I love you, Nikita.”

She stopped fighting with his clothes and stared at him, eyes wide. Then, hovering above him with her robe half-on, she kissed him, sweet and deep. He felt something wet on his face, and when he reached up to smooth a finger over her cheek, he realized she was crying. She was shaking so much she was having trouble unzipping his pants, and forget about his shirt buttons. He tried to move her off so he could unfasten them himself, but Nikita doggedly pushed his hands away and Michael stopped and let her do whatever she wanted.

Sometimes, it just wasn’t worth fighting with Nikita.

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

A little while later, Nikita, still shaking, rested her forehead in the crook of Michael’s shoulder. He could feel her uneven breathing and slowly he reached out and pushed her damp hair away from her face. She kissed his hand as it passed her lips, and Michael smiled.

“Sorry ... if I hurt you ...” Nikita whispered, sounding exhausted. Michael turned his head so he could look at her better.

“Nikita, you never hurt me.”

Her eyes traveled down his rumpled shirtfront and her face flushed with embarrassment. But under the embarrassment was the look of a woman well pleased with herself -- it was an odd combination and one Michael had never seen on Nikita. She didn’t look triumphant or proud, but she did look very satisfied. And very tired. He bent forward a bit and kissed her forehead gently, then maneuvered from beneath her. She moaned in protest as he sat up.

“Nikita, I still have on my shoes.”

Nikita bit her lip and her face flamed pinker. He took off his tie first -- it was twisted up near his ear. Then he took off his shirt and undershirt, turning it so Nikita wouldn’t see any blood from where she’d scratched him. He wriggled the rest of the way out of his pants and took off his socks and shoes, then lay back down, his head next to Nikita’s. He fumbled with his watch and heard it drop to the floor.

Sleepily, she traced the bright pink scratches on his chest. “Sorry,” she whispered again.

In a quick-as-a-flash move, Michael pulled Nikita on top of him and kissed her thoroughly. “Don’t apologize,” he said.

Her head dropped to his chest. “ ... so tired ...”

Well, no wonder, Michael thought. He helped her off with her bathrobe, tossing it on the floor next to his watch, and in less than a minute, she was snoring softly into his neck. He moved her off his chest so she would be able to breathe better, and her snores smoothed into even breaths. Michael rolled over, wedged a leg between hers and pulled up the covers, tucking them both in. With one arm around Nikita’s middle and his head near her shoulder, Michael fell asleep.

Another gust of wind rattled the windows and there was a draft of cold air. But neither Nikita or Michael felt it. They slept on, unconscious of the snow that blew into drifts in the corners of the window ledges and balcony.

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

Nikita woke up slowly, feeling achey and disoriented. The air was dry with electric heat. The sun that shone through the windows was magnified by the snow outside; Nikita squinted painfully against the glare and she vaguely saw a crumple of foil on her bedside table. She reached out, unwrapped the rest of a candy bar she’d left there the day before and took a big bite, hoping the sugar would help her brain begin to work.

Water was running somewhere. Had she left the sink on?

Nikita slowly sat up, her muscles protesting. She blinked. Michael ... Michael had been here. And she’d been ...

Nikita flushed again, remembering exactly what had happened the night before. She’d never ... he’d never ...

Maybe, she thought, I’ll get lucky and he’ll be gone. Maybe he’s already in Section ...

Already planning how to avoid Michael, Nikita got up, grabbed for something to put on, and clumsily tried to insert her legs into the arms of a sweater. Robe. Where was her robe? She swore softly, then grabbed the extra blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping it around her konga-style.

Nikita stumbled into the bathroom and ran straight into Michael. “Watch it --” he said, turning around and steading her.

Nikita blinked again, then sank onto to the closed toilet lid while Michael finished shaving. It wasn’t an old blade, but it wasn’t brand new, either; she watched dully as he rinsed his face, dried it, then stuck bits of toilet paper over the cuts.

His face wasn’t the only place he was wounded. He had a towel wrapped round his hips, but on his back were scratch marks and lower, there was a reddish bruise. The back of his legs were bruised as well, and she noticed he had a blister on his heel.

Nikita swallowed. “Michael.”

“Mmmm ...?” He squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush and began to brush his teeth.

“I’m ... I’m s-s-s-sorry about last night.”

Michael spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and replaced the toothbrush. Then he pivoted, squatted in front of Nikita and cupped her face in his hands. “I told you before: don’t apologize.” He leaned forward and kissed her, once, twice, then rested his forehead against hers, his hands still on her neck. Nikita covered his hands with her own.

“I’m sorry I was mean last night.”

“Very mean,” Michael agreed, his voice tinged with laughter. “Attacking me and forcing me to make love with you until I was completely exhausted ...”

Nikita smiled slightly. “I’m really sorry. It was ... not much like me.”

“On the other hand,” Michael said, “Sometimes it’s good to act on your impulses.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Madeleine.”

Nikita snorted. “If I’d acted on my impulses we never would have made it to the concert.”

Michael sat up on his knees, his arms going loosely around Nikita. She linked her legs around him and absently brushed his damp hair away from his face, watching as the strands curled around her finger, then she picked the bits of toilet paper off his face and kissed each tiny wound. Michael’s eyes slid half-way shut and he nudged her hand with his face.

“Something else is wrong,” he said. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding confused. “I feel ... funny. Maybe I should brush my teeth or something. I taste yucky.”

“You taste of chocolate,” he said, kissing her slowly. “And you smell like me. Maybe all you need is a bath and some breakfast.”

Nikita grinned, and Michael said, “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“We have the day off. Your mission was canceled. I’m on down time.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t feel like going in.”

Michael stood up and offered her a hand; she wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his shoulder. “What do you feel like doing?” he asked.

“If I tell you, you’ll think it’s silly.”

“Try me.”

Nikita was quiet for a minute, then mumbled something into his shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Michael asked, pulling back from her a bit. “What did you say?”

Nikita’s face flamed. “It’s because of the new snow. The last time it snowed I was on a mission and the time before I was stuck at Section and when I got out all the kids had mucked it all up.”

“What do you want to do? Make snow ice cream?”

“Angels,” she mumbled. Then, talking down her idea, she said, “I know it’s dumb. Only kids do angels, right? But it hardly ever snowed where I grew up as a kid and I didn’t get the chance to make snow angels. Sand angels, yes. Snow, no. The snow usually drifts on my balcony, there’s never enough to play in ... but it’s a stupid idea ... I mean, I’m the least angelic person I know. Who ever heard of an angel with a gun?”

“It’s only 8.30,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“So?”

“So,” he said, leaning down and starting the shower, “If you hurry up, I’ll make some breakfast and we can get to the park in thirty minutes. Maybe there will still be some untouched snow.”

Nikita’s mouth dropped open, and Michael reached around, grabbed her toothbrush and spread toothpaste on it. He shoved it in her hand, whipped off her blanket, and nudged her toward the shower. “Michael ... are you trying to seduce me?” she teased, stepping into the shower. “Is this another one of your romantic overtures?”

“No,” he said, his voice flat. Then, to her surprise, he stepped in with her, pinned her to the shower wall and gave her a hot, erotic kiss. “This is a romantic overture.”

He kissed her again, this time slower, and Nikita felt her body turn to liquid. She clung to him, toothbrush forgotten in her hand, water pelting her. “Mmm ... Michael.”

And then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he moved away. “Hurry up,” he said, and was nearly out the door when Nikita called after him.

“If that’s the overture, where’s the rest?”

She thought she heard him laugh, but she wasn’t sure. Slowly she got her balance back, and she staggered away from the wall.

Overture indeed, she thought, briskly brushing her teeth. She’d show him overture. She’d been very patient last night -- until the very end, anyway -- but his absence had driven her crazy. And the thing was, she hadn’t even known it till she saw him standing in her doorway last night.

Overture. Nikita snorted and rinsed her mouth out with warm shower water and reached for the shampoo. Just wait till the finale, she thought with a smirk.

End