Sous-Entendu NC-17

Don't think
that I don't know
that as you talk to me
the hand of your mind
is inconspicuously
taking off my stocking,
moving in resourceful blindness
up along my thigh.
Don't think
that I don't know
that you know
everything I say
is a garment.
--Anne Stevenson

They had been on this mission now for seven days--five while being monitored by Armel and two before it to help establish their cover. Armel's people had come in to set up their cameras while Nikita had supposedly been out buying groceries.

She had gotten to go out that once but had now been stuck in this house for a full workweek, usually with Michael. It wasn't that things had been going particularly badly between them, but the whole situation made her tense--especially the nights.

She slipped into bed beside Michael. She appeared normal, but she was holding her breath slightly.

There had been no sexual contact between them yet. They had touched or kissed frequently for the cameras but nothing very sensual, mostly polite tenderness.

His proximity, however, stirred up her every conflicted emotion. She wanted him to touch her--to hold her, but she knew she would never survive him becoming her lover again if it was only because he was under orders.

She needed so much more from him than simple physical contact. Nikita had, therefore, been keeping her distance--as much as she could while maintaining their cover. It didn't help, though, that Michael seemed to take every possible opportunity to be close to her. "Several months of nothing and now . . .," she thought ruefully.

Michael looked at her, as she settled into the bed. There was no artifice at work in her appearance; she needed none. Even dressed in a simple slip, she was so beautiful. She turned her back to him quickly, though, as she had several other nights that week. She wasn't being cold in any overt way which would transfer to their watchers; their cover wasn't in danger, but he could feel the way she was closing in to protect herself--a bit like a hedgehog rolling itself into a ball. He couldn't blame her; he knew how hard these assignments were for her. . . . He didn't find them particularly easy himself.

He couldn't just let her lie there and ignore her, however; they had a cover to keep. Besides, he suddenly wondered something. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

Nikita continued to settle herself away from him. "Not today." She tossed her pillow off the bed, knocking off several items from the bedside table in the process. . . . Damn it. This was just cruel.

He pressed his point, hoping she would know he was sincere this time, despite the situation. "Well, you are . . . beautiful." He curled up close to her back and started to nibble her ear, his hand lightly trailing over her stomach; he could feel it quiver slightly under his touch.

Inwardly, Nikita tensed further and then caught his roaming hand. She wanted him, but she didn't feel at all certain of his motives; if they did this, and she was later exposed to those blank mission eyes--reminding her that it had all been a "necessary" deception, she knew something within her would die.

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

She extracted his hand from under the covers, gave the cameras a lame excuse, kissed his fingers, and then deposited his arm behind her--not even allowing him to hold her, while they slept. She knew she would become far too aroused with him that close.

He accepted this with a joke, as she kissed him dismissively, but was a little hurt. Their week together was making him, once again, fear that any emotion she had once felt for him was gone. He rolled back over away from her, wishing he could reestablish their bonds.

Nikita thought for a moment. She suddenly realized that the cameras could actually be used in her favor; it was a bit of a revelation.

"Michael?"

"Yes." He seemed annoyed.

"I love you." She sounded almost surprised; it was the first time she had ever really let herself admit it. She waited for his response.

Michael's breath caught, although nothing was evident to the cameras.

. . .

Damn her. She had been slightly icy for days and now this. . . . It was calculatedly cruel. She knew, with their watchers, that he could only give one possible answer to her statement.

It wasn't that the words were untrue; it was more that he wasn't ready to say them . . . and--he was sure, at the moment--that Nikita didn't return his feelings. He closed his eyes, as he slurred the words back to her, unable to fully form them. "I love you, too."

Nikita smiled. He was just playing his part, of course--was just playing her, but--for a while--she could pretend. She closed her eyes and drifted quickly and happily off to sleep.

Michael, conversely, lay awake for some while, feeling almost physical pain, wishing he could think of a way to win her back.

Sometime during the night, however, Nikita rolled over. When he woke up, he found her curled up near him, holding onto him.

The same thing had happened every night so far. They started each one near the other but on opposite sides of the bed. By the time they awoke, though, one or the other had changed positions, shifting to be close. Most of the time, it was Nikita. One night, however, a few days ago, she had woken up to find him wrapped tightly around her from behind--his arm draped over her stomach, holding her so close it was almost painful. He had held her as though he were alone in a vast ocean, about to drown, and she was his only chance of survival. She had no idea how true that was.

Michael smiled and looked down at her, now curled up next to him. He kissed the top of her head and held her close. He looked over at the clock; he had an hour before he had to rise.

She didn't love him anymore, apparently; she just wanted comfort, but--for a while--he could pretend. He sighed, holding onto her, and--for once--drifted into a peaceful sleep.

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

The mission continued on as planned. Armel abducted them, his lackeys unable to pick up on the visible tension the couple showed--the way Nikita would pull away from or deflect Michael's attentions. Possibly, given their experience with women, they thought this was normal.

Armel bought it, too, since he saw little of their day-to-day interaction.

When they were brought to him, they appeared to be, understandably, frightened and held onto one another, seemingly afraid that--if they let go--the other might be taken from them.

The truest sign of Michael and Nikita's affection, however, was one Armel never saw; it came when he asked, "Have you ever lost someone you loved?" Instinctively, the Section operatives squeezed each other's hands, remembering past separations and fears all too clearly. Armel never knew just how close to home he had struck.

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

Once Michael and Nikita were released and were allowed, by the use of Section's videotape feed, to return to headquarters, Nikita was beginning to grow suspicious. Birkoff's information about Armel's son was too good. She hoped she wasn't just being set up once again.

Breathing the air of Section, however, was a surprising relief to her. The tedium of housework combined with the tension of possibly being Michael's latest assignment had been getting to her more than she realized. Seeing Walter was a comfort, too. In fact, his presence--and the lack of Armel's surveillance--allowed her the courage to finally ask Michael about the origins of their mission.

Nikita had decided, since Michael's manipulation of her and Jurgen, to never let him off the hook again when she needed to know something from him.

He allowed her new directness and determination, as well. Many times since then, he had answered her further than he had ever really meant to.

Michael wanted to just tell her his Section reason for choosing her for the mission, the main reason he had given Madeline and Operations. He knew, however, that he would lose her forever if he closed her out completely again. After some pressing, therefore, he admitted: "We're convincing as two people in love." The hidden meaning behind this he left up to Nikita to decipher, as he lovingly searched her face.

Nikita's tension diminished somewhat after this. He wasn't with her simply because of orders, then. She felt a little happier. In fact, up until her meeting with Madeline, she was feeling far more relaxed.

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

"The average couple who have been married under five years have intimate relations at least twice a week." Nikita kept replaying Madeline's words in her head. The older woman had delivered them as though she were simply quoting Masters and Johnson statistics, giving little outward sign--beyond a slight smile--of her real order: have sex with Michael tonight.

As Section orders went, of course, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like the idea was anathema to Nikita. . . . Hardly. In fact, she still thought about it frequently--especially since they had been sharing the same bed. She had never successfully seduced him, though, and she was beginning to wonder whether he was no longer interested in her. Also, she didn't want to simply be his assignment. She couldn't bear just being a pretense for the cameras; she needed his soul to be involved, or she would never survive.

Nikita thought relentlessly over the past week with him--every action and word. In light of his admission that afternoon, she could see some real emotion in his actions now.

He had chosen her, after all, she thought, as she hurried to get into position before the tape ended. She suspected, now, that his decision *was* partly based on his feelings for her. "So, this past week hasn't just been a lie," she pondered. She took off her nightgown.

She watched him, as he got into bed. God, he looked good--not that this was anything new; he knew very well how to use his appearance. She started a fairly convincing husband-wife conversation about business, which he brought back to Armel. For the first time that week, though, he leaned over to kiss her only briefly--when she tried to reassure him; seeing her half nude, lying across the bed toward him, he moved back to his own side after the kiss. . . . This was going to take more than proximity, then, Nikita decided.

Michael tried to think as little as possible about her mostly nude body so close to his. She had made it clear, for the last week, that she didn't want him. He tried desperately to control his body's reaction to seeing her this close, although one rebellious hand stroked over her hair--playing with her ear. She didn't want this, he knew; he tried to give her a way out:

"You should get some rest. You must be exhausted."

She stayed close. "Not really." Her meaning was clear.

"Madeline," Michael thought suddenly. "Damn her." She had ordered Nikita to sleep with him. It hurt him slightly that Nikita would do this. He didn't want her simply because she had been told to seduce him. The thoughts clicked by in seconds.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to sleep unless . . .," she said, stroking his chest.

"If you need to relax tonight . . .," he stated, his implication clear. He watched her eyes closely, trying to read her thoughts.

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah."

Her eyes didn't look determined or steely, more . . . seductive, maybe slightly playful. "It may be an order, but she's a willing participant," he realized. He leaned closer to her, allowing her to make the final move; her decision to kiss him or not would determine their fate. She closed the gap in seconds.

Her soft kisses made him feel a desire which was almost fierce. He kissed her back and rolled on top of her, as she reached for his shirt and pulled it off, starting to touch his back.

Her first caress, however, hit a very large, angry bruise on Michael's lower back, the result of a fight on a recent mission with a terrorist who knew very well that the first thing to go for was your opponent's kidneys. The spot was still tender. He took her hands and drew them up, pressing them into the pillow on either side of her head. He paused for a second, his lips near hers; then, he leaned down to give her a hard kiss, before beginning to roam down her neck with his lips, leaving her lips already kiss-swollen. Nikita sighed and leaned her head into the pillows, lost in sensation.

Although the position was far more submissive than usually appealed to her, she didn't complain. On a sexual level, she trusted Michael more than any man she had ever known; she knew he wouldn't hurt her, here. She knew, too, that Michael understood that her submission here was not a foreshadowing of her ceding control over any other aspect of her life; whatever happened between them in this time and place, he would never own her.

Michael knew all of this. His desire, however, was aflame. He needed Nikita completely; for the next few hours, he had to have total possession of her.

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

They realized that what was beginning between them would not be gentle. Although they didn't want to cause each other pain, there was too much repressed need being set free to expect either to be delicate.

Michael began biting her neck lightly, holding her firmly in place beneath him. She let out a groan. She had completely forgotten the cameras.

Michael hadn't entirely. Part of the ferocity of his desire, therefore, was linked to his anger at their situation. That they were following orders was frustrating, and that he could only be close to her when they were being watched was infuriating. He couldn't make love to her gently, furthermore, because his intimacy with Nikita was too precious--was inviolable; no stranger would ever watch them make love--he was determined. If they had to perform, they would do so with their need.

This wasn't to say, however, that Michael felt no love for Nikita, at this moment. To the contrary, his love was the spark for his anger and his desire.

Further, it was another reason he was determined to stay on top of her; that way, he might be exposed to their watchers' view, but Nikita was hidden.

Michael moved his mouth to kiss up her throat, till he ran his tongue along the underside. His movements were hard; Nikita was groaning. She wanted to put her arms around him, but Michael refused to release her hands. She settled, therefore, for interlocking her fingers with his and clinging tightly to them. He had already grown incredibly hard, and she could feel him pressing against her. It was wonderful.

He moved to bite down the other side of her neck and left a bite at the soft flesh at the base which made her groan loudly. He kissed his way back up and nibbled at her earlobe.

Michael switched his hands so that his left held both of hers over her head, his fingers half-intertwined with hers. His right hand first reached over to turn off the lamp--leaving their watchers in the dark--and then stroked down her body until he reached her breast. He caressed it, his thumb stroking her nipple, as his lips ran back to her mouth and kissed her deeply and demandingly. She whimpered.

He continued there for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of lying over her, touching her. Her desire was making him hungrier, though. He pinched her nipple, and she let out a loud groan, through the kiss.

That one noise did it. He took her hands and placed them behind her head, before pulling back to look at her, silently asking her to let him take the lead. Her eyes shined dangerously back at him, and she leaned up to give him a hard, brief kiss of agreement.

Michael began to kiss down her throat, pulling the blanket up over him, as he worked down her body. By the time he reached her breasts, the blanket hid most of his head and all of her body below the shoulders from their observers.

His tongue stroked insistently around the nipple he had teased before.

Nikita groaned again. He took it in his mouth, suckling firmly, occasionally grazing his teeth over it.

"Yes," Nikita moaned. It was taking all of her control to keep her hands where he had placed them; she wanted desperately to hold him to her. She lifted her breasts up to him further, as he began stroking her other nipple as well.

A minute or so later, he switched off, taking the new nipple in his teeth and grazing along it while running his tongue along the tip.

Nikita's hands came out from behind her head, and she grabbed on to the pillow tightly. "Michael . . . God, yes," she moaned. "More."

Michael put his hands behind her and suckled her, biting at her occasionally, the pressure of his teeth exactly as much as she wanted. She was moaning constantly now.

After a minute or so more, he moved down her stomach, under the spread--leaving it to lie over her now incredibly-sensitized nipples. His tongue ran down her center, and he stopped to nibble along her abdomen, as his hands removed her underwear and tossed them off the bed from under the blanket. He stopped straddling her, and allowed her to spread her legs--raising them up until he was lying between her parted knees.

He stroked behind one knee, while nibbling lightly along her inner thigh.

Nikita started whimpering again, her hips thrusting unconsciously toward him.

Michael switched to tease her other thigh, while her desire grew uncontrollably.

"Michael," she pleaded.

He yielded to her request enough to move to her center and blew a cool stream of air into her hot flesh. A groan got caught in her throat.

"Please," she begged, barely breathing, feeling him so close to her.

Michael smiled slightly and then put out the tip of his tongue to taste her.

Nikita gave a sound like she was about to melt down, and Michael lapped his tongue into her briefly.

"Ohhhh," Nikita groaned.

It was the final sound he could stand. He drew his tongue down into her, running it down one of her walls, while she moaned, practically crying. She had almost ripped a shred out of the pillow. Michael's tongue continued to explore her, finding the tenderest parts of her depths. One hand stroked along her thigh, which was now on the bed; the index finger of the other stroked up to draw light circles over the delicate flesh between her legs.

"Michael," she whispered, moaning. Her hips were moving in a rhythm with him now, as his tongue stroked her. His finger on her bud became more insistent. She was shuddering slightly now, as his free hand went behind her to hold her closer to him, his tongue stroking deeper.

"God," she whimpered, but it got stuck in her throat. She stopped breathing, as Michael pinched her bud.

"Mi-chael," she breathed, in some combination of a cry and a whimper, as she exploded--overwhelmed.

Michael put both his hands behind her and continued tasting her, as she came.

Her scent and arousal--her sounds were intoxicating. He was almost shaking with his need.

It took Nikita quite a while to come down. Once she finally did, Michael had disrobed and worked his way back up her body; he was now kissing along her jaw and throat. He had taken hold of her hands again--intertwining his fingers with hers. He looked up at her. He held his hips away from her, but she could feel his arousal throbbing.

She wanted to touch him--to give him the sort of pleasure he had given her, but he had her pinned down. "Michael . . .," she protested.

He shook his head slowly, eyes locked with hers. "Not tonight, `Kita," he whispered. His eyes held a combination of need and love.

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

He leaned down to rub his lips lightly across hers, his arousal mimicking his movements lower down.

Nikita gave up on her earlier desire and gave in to her need. "Yes," she whispered and leaned up to capture his mouth.

Neither one thought about using any sort of protection. Section, after all, saw that general birth control methods were taken with their operatives, and the use of condoms by a married couple with no apparent extensive sexual background might have been seen as suspicious.

Michael returned her kiss full force and began to push into her. Nikita pushed her hips up at him, as he lowered himself into her completely, twisting his hips slightly, once inside her.

She leaned her head back from the kiss. "Yes-s-s-s-s-s," she moaned. Her hands tightened on his.

Michael had to close his eyes for a second. Her desire for him threatened to drive him insane. The fact that she still needed him was too potent; if he wasn't careful, his lovemaking was likely to turn almost violent.

He was still motionless in her. Nikita tightened her internal grip. Michael's breathing was shuddering. He groaned and leaned over to whisper in the ear which didn't have a link behind it. "You don't know what you're doing," he warned. If she unleashed the fury inside him now, it could be incredibly dangerous.

She leaned up to his non-link ear. "Take me, Michael. . . . *Now.* Or I'll go insane."

"`Kita," he begged. She had no idea what she was asking for.

She bit his neck and then his earlobe. "*Now,*" she demanded. She looked back at him with fierce intensity and then began to ravish his mouth. Michael's will disintegrated. All he could feel was his controlling need.

He pulled most of the way out, then rapidly thrust himself down into her, incredibly deeply.

Nikita broke away from the kiss and cried out. He was certain he had hurt her. "God, yes," she barely managed to breathe. "More, Michael . . .please."

Michael groaned. He leaned in and kissed her savagely, placing her hands back on the pillow and then holding her head to his. He began stroking her in a rhythm which was almost brutal.

Nikita wrapped her legs around him and thrust back just as hard. Her body was more alive with sensation than it had ever felt before. Her need for this man was indescribable. It threatened her sanity.

This was no mission. They weren't following orders; neither one even remembered that they were being watched. Their need for one another was almost instinctive. At this moment, neither one felt whole or human without the other. Nothing outside of the two of them and this union even existed.

Michael continued kissing her but ran his hands down behind her to hold her as he stroked. He began to change his pattern, pulling almost all the way out before stroking all the way back in, in very deep thrusts.

Nikita couldn't hold onto the pillow anymore. Her hands grabbed Michael's hair in balls, as she began to cry out in short groans with every thrust, breaking away from the kiss, her eyes closed. Her legs wrapped more tightly around him. Her lips trailed over his cheek to his ear. "More," she whispered to him.

Michael closed his eyes; he felt like he was losing track of who he was. There was only Nikita. She was the only thing in the universe that existed anymore. He took hold of her hips and began to rub up and down one of her walls with every hard stroke.

Nikita's hands caught his shoulders, her nails biting into them. "Oh, God, yes!" She moaned.

They continued like that for several minutes, the only sound in the room their moans and ragged breathing, each one absolutely lost in the other.

Nikita wasn't even feeling rationally anymore. She couldn't tell entirely where she ended and he began. . . . Michael felt the same.

Suddenly, they both opened their eyes and looked at the other again. A second later, they were locked in another fierce kiss, and Michael began stroking even more insistently, his hips twisting, as he thrust violently into her.

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

Nikita was beginning to feel slightly bruised, but she couldn't care less.

Their mutual need was somewhat akin to using space shuttle fuel as a fire propellant.

Michael's hands were on her lower back now. He was deep within her, never stroking very far out, rocking into her--beating in her in short, deep, strokes. He was watching her face with unmasked, wanton need, grimacing slightly.

Nikita's legs wrapped so tightly around him it was a miracle she hadn't caused him any injury, especially given his previous wound. It wasn't like Michael would have noticed, if she had, however. All he could assimilate right now was his need for her, how incredibly good she felt wrapped around him, and his insatiable desire to spend the rest of his life in her arms. Nikita's nails had almost broken the skin on his back; her head was back, her teeth clenched, and she was gasping through them. "More," she growled finally, all sanity a long-lost memory.

Michael's hands took hold of her hips, his fingers sinking into her flesh. He pulled himself so deep, so hard into her that he was half certain he would cause her damage.

Time stopped for Nikita. She ceased breathing; she was caught in a climax unlike anything she had ever experienced or dreamed. She didn't make a single sound. Her nails stopped clawing at his back and instead held his shoulders as close to her as she could; her face was twisted slightly, her lips trembling. She was caught up in an overwhelming infusion of light. Michael watched her in wonderment. He knew what was happening to her, although she hadn't uttered a sound. It was a reaction so intense, he had only seen it a few times in his life.

He could feel her vibrations, her pull around him; he continued thrusting into her, lost in the sensation. That he could give her pleasure of this sort was almost impossible to believe. He felt the tremors in her grow even stronger around him, and he took a sudden, sharp intake of breath. His hands ran up to tangle in her hair, holding his cheek next to hers, as she trembled beneath him.

He finally thrust deep into her, letting his tremendous desire go. "`Kita," he whispered in her ear, a second before he exploded in her, his body trembling and weak with the force of it. For a second, he felt that he had no life before or after this moment. . . . He knew that nothing outside of her existed.

"Michael," she let out in a breathy whisper, a tear running down his face from her cheek.

He let out a gasping groan and buried his face in her hair, as he felt himself thrust convulsively into her twice more before collapsing shudderingly on top of her, all of his energy destroyed.

Nikita held him tenderly, kissing his temple, catching her breath. "I love you, Michael," she whispered in his ear finally, her hand stroking down his hair as gently as a loving new mother caressing an infant.

Michael felt a tear slip out to run down her face. "`Kita" was all he managed.

She held him more tightly, overwhelmed by her love for him and still revelling in the aftershocks of her overpowering release. His body had told her what he couldn't; he loved her. It was enough for now.

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

They held each other very close that night, moving only enough to roll Nikita on top of him, Michael making sure she was still protected by the spread from the camera's prying eyes. Nikita fell asleep very quickly, her body fit snugly into his. He looked down at her; she seemed so relaxed, occasionally nuzzling closer to him and sighing contentedly. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "How could I have let this happen?" he wondered.

He couldn't tell himself it was only a mission; even the Section part of him didn't believe that. You didn't feel so deeply in love with--so completely lost in--simple targets. . . . No. He had needed her, and she and the mission had given him an excuse. . . . It was unforgivable.

Michael closed his eyes and kissed her head. She murmured something in her sleep and held him closer.

He loved her. He had known that for a while. He shook his head and placed his cheek on her hair. He just couldn't say it; it made them *far* too vulnerable.

Michael knew, as well, that he needed her. . . . As surely as he would die without oxygen, as much as he needed blood to pump through his heart and veins, he would die without her. Her presence--physically and emotionally--in his life was a prerequisite for his existence.

He sighed and looked up, putting his chin on her head again. He would have to pull back from her after this mission. How could he do it, though, knowing what her reaction might be? He couldn't bear another time like the last one, after their night in Paris; he wouldn't survive hurting her that deeply again.

He couldn't believe now that he had allowed what had occurred between them to happen. It couldn't continue in Section, could only occur again if a mission required it; he would have to pull away to a certain extent. . . . How would she get through it this time?

It was 5:30 when he finally decided to get up, disentangling himself from her slowly. She moaned in her sleep and reached for him. He caught her hand and kissed the fingers, looking down at her. "I love you, Nikita," he thought, brushing the hair from her face. Then, he got out of bed.

She woke at 6:00. The only thing she felt even vaguely unhappy about was his absence. She wasn't really worried, though--for once. After last night, she wasn't sure she would ever worry again. She stretched and put on a robe, pulling it lightly around her.

She hadn't felt this good in . . . well, in forever, actually. Even with the cameras, which she was only beginning to remember existed, last night had outdone their one other time together--mostly, though, because she wasn't terrified and confused about her future; she knew he didn't have to leave.

She smelled the coffee, as she wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a bit, adding some cream and sugar, and picked up part of the paper he had left behind before going to join him in the dining room, where he was seated at the table. She leaned against the wall, watching him, smiling. "You're up early."

He looked up at her. "I didn't sleep well." It was a lie, of course; he hadn't slept at all.

Her senses started to return to her. She noticed how incredibly pale he looked; she hadn't seen him this ghostly-looking since he had returned from mandatory refusal and rescinded his dinner invitation. She put down her cup and paper, starting to worry. "Is everything okay?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah." He looked haunted. "Yeah," he whispered.

She walked over to him and propped herself against the table. "Michael."

"What?"

"What's wrong?" She began stroking his face, rubbing the stubble he hadn't yet removed. It was a small, tactile pleasure.

He looked at her but then turned away from her hand slightly. He paused.

"It was a mistake."

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

Nikita pulled back from him and closed her robe tightly. He couldn't possibly have hurt her more deeply if he had suddenly back-handed her across the room. . . . He didn't care; it hadn't been real. He had used her again. . . . She felt something in her start to die.

He saw her look and paused for a second. He could destroy her completely at this moment, simply by keeping silent; he could free her of him. His love--his need to be near her overwhelmed him, however, and he rose to be close to her, touching her arm. "What you're doing for Armel is gonna get you hurt." He tried to explain his fears, to stop her from thinking the worst.

"You can't expect me to support that." He was telling her his feelings as plainly as he could, given their surveillance. He started stroking her face.

Nikita began breathing again; she straightened his tie, touching him to let him know she understood his real concern. "Well, I never expected your support."

"If I had, I'd be bitterly disappointed by now," she thought.

Michael looked a little confused, slightly hurt.

Nikita kissed him; he stayed close to her, stroking her face and hair, leaning in to kiss her again.

She prevented the kiss. "But I do expect your love." She waited for his reaction.

He looked at her deeply, still stroking her face. He could see it in her eyes; she understood. She knew last night couldn't be repeated in Section, but--as long as he treated her with love and respect--she was telling him she could handle it.

He had never felt more in love or more connected with her than at this moment. He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, twice; the second time they both closed their eyes. Then, they looked at each other again. There was no need for words, even if the cameras had allowed for them; any they might have used would have been insufficient.

They both understood. Their future was tentative, but their feelings were not; it was a depth of emotion far beyond language.

The rest of the mission went as planned. Nikita was vaguely hurt, but not very surprised, to learn the truth about Armel's son. She wasn't sure whether to be angry at Operations' explanations of Section's heartless policy or relieved that at least it wasn't Michael telling her their rationalizations this time. She really didn't give a damn about Ops.; Michael's lies hurt.

After everything was over, Michael caught up with her in the hallway. After making sure that she had already been debriefed--thereby being assured that this conversation wouldn't be official, he stopped walking. "Was it difficult for you?"

After a brief--possibly intentional--confusion, Nikita answered him. "At the time, no."

"And now?" he pressed. He had to know.

She looked at him, then looked a little upset and turned her head away. "Well, that sorta depends on you," she answered honestly before looking back at him. "How do you feel about it?" She waited.

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

He told her the truth, knowing she needed it as much as he did. "Conflicted."

She nodded; she understood. Then, she thought about it; maybe this was an opening for them. "Well, maybe I can help. We can talk about it."

Michael looked a little upset. His breath was shuddering slightly. "I'd love to, but, what you need to hear, I can't tell you yet." He was opening himself up more than he had in years.

She didn't believe him; she half looked away. "Yet," she repeated, slightly sarcastically.

He explained, his breath still shuddering. "You know a lot about me, Nikita, but not everything. There are some things that have to remain hidden."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "It has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

Nikita nodded and looked away again, not believing a word. She wasn't really even processing what he was saying. To her, this was just another "Sorry--necessary lie" speech. She had heard them too often to want to focus on it.

Michael looked deeply at her before walking away.

He had done the best he could. Relieved that it had been real for her, he had admitted--in his labyrinthine and covert way--that it had real been for him, as well, that--no matter what she may think--he loved her. It took Nikita a few seconds after he left to process his meaning, though; she had been too busy protecting herself, before, to really listen. Now, however, his words were sinking in to her.

She looked up and took a few steps after him. In his own, purposely convoluted way, he had just told her he loved her. She felt a bit thunderstruck but incredibly happy.

It seemed appropriate, somehow, that Nikita was standing over a growing, visible crack on Section's floor. Any real love in this organization, after all, could destroy its very foundations--could send it crumbling. Nikita blinked. . . . He loved her. She half-smiled; she had never felt more hopeful in her life.

[The End]

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