He had filled her completely now, but there was still more of him left. She closed her eyes for a second, a small smile on her lips. He was just too exquisite.

He was shaking above her, panting, when she looked back at him; her look of sheer, sensual joy made his shaft jump within her. He wanted her so badly it ached in his bones.

"Yes," she whispered finally. She wanted all of him, wanted every last inch of him deep within her--wanted to understand the unspeakable perfection of him alone.

It was his turn to close his eyes. He gave a small stroke half out of her and then further back in, as she whimpered in delight. "More," she begged.

He lowered his head to place his forehead against her neck; his hands trailed down to her lower back. They both quaked for a second, before he gave her three deep, rotating strokes to finally sink himself into her to the base.

Everything seemed to cease then; there were no words between them in that moment. There was nothing but sound and sensation--the shuddering gasps of breaths, the loud beat of hearts, the fit of bodies made for one another alone, finally in unison, . . . the feel of two loving souls no longer separated.

He moved his hands further up her back and simply lay there for several long minutes, as her lovely fingers came up to stroke through his hair. It was just too amazing a sensation to tamper with yet.

That amazing moment did pass, however--and with its passing came a desire again--one so ravenous for them both that it seemed to well up from their souls, left them quaking. They had to have each other, and as much of each other, as possible.

He looked up at her finally, knowing she was ready for him. Their eyes met as though they were two parts of a mated pair together once more; their need was instinctual and all-encompassing--devouring.

Her hands reached up into his hair and pulled him down into a nearly-fierce kiss; he held onto her, groaning. The need had built in her so desperately that she didn't feel capable of anything except desire anymore.

She rolled him over, then, holding the kiss for another few seconds, catching his moan. When she looked back at him, too, it was with eyes that demanded absolute loyalty; he gave it.

She growled slightly at the desperately yearning look in his eyes and threw her hair back. He felt so good inside her--so big, so perfect. She was starving, was insane for more of him.

She licked her lips, therefore, and held onto his shoulders. Then, she began to ride him in long, amazing strokes--ones which commanded him completely, which commanded herself.

His hands were on her hips, were helping her controlling movements, as he watched her, eyes wide. Nothing had ever felt so good before, had ever given him quite such an example of naked desire, need, and love. Her incredible, silken, honey-slick walls were clinging to every inch of him, as she rode, her perfect body on display for him alone. He was aching with pure need.

He was letting out a soul-deep, rumbling groan, as well, with her every deep stroke onto him, with his every stroke into her sweetly-singing core. She felt him grasp her hips more tightly, pulling her along more steadily--meeting every stroke with a soul-loving perfection. She groaned and rode him faster, as she looked back at him. . . . He felt so *damn* good.

Their eyes met and bound them further. He saw that she wanted control for now, so he ceded it without question--adoring her undisguised need for him. "More," he whispered deeply.

She quaked slightly above him with the pure desire of the request. "Yesssss," she ground out.

Her eyes closed again, and she began to take him deeper, holding him more tightly within herself, as she stroked along him. She could hear his rough, growling moans, as she rode him harder.

His hands on her hips tightened further; his breathing was shaky. God, he hoped he could survive the erotic onslaught of her. He had to have more.

She opened her eyes to see him lying back, eyes closed, mouth open and gasping, as he pulled her along himself more roughly. She let out a growl of triumph. He was hers, she knew--was lost to her. . . . Oh, yes--that was what she wanted.

Her hands stroked down his chest, and she began to stroke the nails of her thumbs over his small, hard nipples. A growl of ruthless need rose from him, as he opened his eyes again; her look of total, devouring desire did in his last shreds of will.

His hands became vise-like on her hips. She licked her lips and dropped her head back, eyes closed, knowing the storm that was coming toward her--wanting it more than any conscious will could express.

He was being ruthless with her now, was pulling her tight, caressing depths along his thick cock, while she melted in sheer delight with every perfect inch of sensation. After just a few strokes, in fact, she was trembling, was holding onto his arms, was begging for the release he held in store for her.

He smiled more tenderly at her, but his relentless pace continued. The look on her face was like she was waiting for a revelation; her whole body was shivering. God, she was beautiful. . . He wanted her ecstasy so badly he could taste it.

He moved one of his hands to stroke down through her russet curls and began to stroke her in time to their unceasing thrusts, and she let out a desperate little whimpering noise. Everything she could feel made her tremble. His incredible length stroked her in a way that made her soul bright; the talented touch of his fingers, as well, made that brightness swirl.

More than anything else, though, was the feeling of *him*, of his soul, within her. She could feel his call, his love, . . . and nothing else--*ever*--had felt even vaguely so perfect.

He saw how close she was; he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to have her ecstasy now.

He brought her down low onto him before he thrust up at her roughly, hitting her most lovely, perfect spot--the one he had been concentratedly turning into a quaking, delighted mass; his fingers pinched her aroused bud.

She opened her eyes to stare at him, her mouth open--beyond words. Everything inside her was a powderkeg beginning to ignite.

He gave her the sweetest smile and held her deep on him; the tip of his long shaft moved just against the perfect spot in a friction which was undeniable. "I love you," he said quietly. His nail flicked just across the bud, while he gave her one last, unbearably deep, igniting stroke.

She let out a screaming cry--completely overwhelmed, falling apart in exquisite delight. Exploding, crackling ecstasy combusted within her, leaving her shaking with a destructive, perfect pleasure.

There was only one more thing she needed. "`Ki-ta," she begged, her eyes connected with him completely, begging for him.

He leaned up to hold her then, tenderly, taking her absolute joy into himself. The way her perfect walls were massaging him so tightly made him shudder uncontrollably. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, but he was simply too lost to her to care.

He kissed her cheek. "Ssh," he murmured. "I love you."

He was holding her close, in every sense, now--his soul mingling with hers. She was crying into his neck, overwhelmed by the sheer revelation of it. She had to tell him some small part of what she felt. "I love you, `Kita." She was holding him very close. "Oh God, I love you."

He took in a small, gasping breath. The words were too much, overloaded his ability to cope with the pleasures he was receiving. His desire for her exploded.

She felt him shaking uncontrollably, as he held her, and she realized that she was about to be caught in an absolutely fierce storm. She held him even closer, her own desire exploding further. "Yes," she begged.

He leaned her back to the bed and caught her gaze, as his hands stroked over her face desperately. His eyes were so insanely needy they had tears in them. "Michelle," he breathed.

"Yes," she moaned again.

He captured her in a deep, needy kiss, as his hands ran down to clasp her hips once more. Her walls were still massaging the whole of him in a way that made him quake.

He began then to give her long, smooth, very deep strokes, as he shuddered above her with each one. She was moaning, holding him closer. He felt so right like this; she wanted--needed his ecstasy absolutely, was hungry for it--and she loved knowing that every muscle in his body was tensed with the coming explosion.

Her hands ran into his hair, caressing him close to her in the kiss. She needed his total fulfillment now at least as much as he did.

He was lost completely to her; there was no such thing as conscious thought anymore. All there was was Michelle--the beauty of her soul, the caress of her tender body, the love of her heart. Every stroke into her had him mesmerized and trembling, made him lose himself even more to her alone. . . . She just felt *so* right.

He broke the kiss finally, but his face stayed near hers. She examined it closely, lovingly. He was so beautiful--especially like this. She wanted to watch, wanted to revel in, every last second of his shattering climax.

He was letting out soft cries now. His long, needy strokes were creating the most perfect friction over the most tender spot inside her. Her guttural groans were growing louder, as her nails dug into his back slightly; the orgasm she had yet to be released from began to rise even further.

She caught her breath, then, unable to concentrate solely on his pleasure anymore. She held her cheek near his. "Oh God, yes!" she begged.

"Mmm," he moaned, kissing her soft face.

They continued like that for the last few, lengthy heartbeats which they were able to hold on for. Every rocking, lovely stroke sent a tremor between them both, built the coming frenzy within them up another insanely tremendous degree. The friction between their most sensitized parts was godlike.

The breaking point was coming, however; they couldn't both hold on forever. The light between them was building to an unspeakably blinding peak. They both felt it--body and soul. "Yes," she breathed, as they reached it.

Their eyes opened, and they focused on one another again. There were tears in both of their eyes; their souls were wrapped so tightly around each other that the friction there was godlike as well.

His hand stroked down her face. "Michelle," he whispered.

"`Ki-ta," her lips moved, no sound quite making its way out.

The wracking, ecstatic light came a second later. He put his hand on her hip and pulled almost entirely out of her before giving a slow, thorough, and unspeakably deep stroke back in, burying himself in her to the base and beyond; their hips ground together, as well, for one last, rough moment--and then they were both lost completely to the light.

He grabbed her hand, pressing it into the bed, as their fingers clung to each other. He was coming into her with his soul, with a release more fierce and total than any, he was sure, that had ever been experienced by anyone before. His whole body seemed converted into shuddering brightness, a brightness which surrounded his beloved completely. He was screaming.

"God," her tiny voice let out. Nothing earthly could even begin to describe it. The seeping heat of his perfect release permeated her, warmed her, made her shudder in levels of ecstasy which seemed inhuman, as her tight walls caressed and welcomed his joy--but it still was nothing to the touch of his incredible soul. That, indeed, was angelic--and it somehow made her perfect, too, saved her. She was whimpering ceaselessly.

They watched one another through it all, unable to truly form words for it. There had never been anything else even half so holy.

They were caught like that for a space of time, then, that would have been impossible to calculate. Beautiful ages later, it seemed, though, when it finally began to pass, they were still staring deep into each other's eyes, were lost there, as their ecstatic tremors began to rumble off somewhat.

The feeling, truly, was indescribable, but they both understood it, both knew it to be true. They had lived lifetimes together like this--enraptured, whole, and perfect. And all they ever wanted to do in the future was continue the same pattern once more. . . . Nothing else would ever matter again.

*********

After they had reconfigured themselves somewhat the night before, they had both slept peacefully for many hours; their bodies were still entwined now. Just the fact that they had slept without waking for so long, however, was amazing--for them both, was the first time it had happened for either of them in many years. . . . Even their dreams had been utterly contented.

Neither of them, as well, looked on this fact as any less than the miracle it obviously was, once they began to wake sometime around 10 the next morning. Michelle was the first up. She came to consciousness slowly, her every breath filled with his scent; his hands held her close. Her head was on his chest, as well, and she could hear his soft breaths, his steady heartbeat. She closed her eyes again and kissed his skin softly. Bliss.

Her eyes opened slightly once more. She hadn't felt so perfect, so calm and soul-soothed, for as long as she could remember; she realized, indeed, that it had never quite happened in this life.

Still, it felt absolutely right, felt like something she had missed for a very long time. It was a feeling, in fact, she half-thought now that she had caught in fleeting glimpses in half-remembered dreams: bursts of passion that were absolutely blinding in their intensity, which were controlling and unspeakably intense, followed by long, lovely moments of utterly sated, contented peace--a peace of the heart, a warming of the soul.

They were glimpses which she had dismissed, at the time--however, which she had simply tried to forget; they had just hurt too much, compared to her life at any point before now--even when she had been most in love. Now, though, she felt as though she had rediscovered all of these dreams, had rediscovered something she had never consciously known in this lifetime--a love which came from the soul. She had known the kind which came from the heart before-- intensely once, but never this, never anything this absolutely life-defining.

Still, there *was* something different about this present from those few images she remembered, was some change between herself and her beloved which seemed to lie just beyond her conscious grasp. It was a tangible change in them, too--a very obvious one; her mind searched, reaching out through the tiny portal into the infinite her mind held for her answer. . . . No. Nothing. It wouldn't come to her. She sighed slightly. Maybe, indeed, it was unimportant, anyhow. She and her beloved were still themselves, in essence--she was sure; anything else must be far more transitory, then.

She rubbed her cheek over his skin, as he sighed in his sleep, holding her closer. Even the position they were in now, though, felt a little odd to her; she, frequently in her life and memory, seemed to be the one who did the holding, when she had a choice in the matter--was the one who took control. Now, though, she sensed an equaling out of roles between the two of them, a balance point--and she realized that, perhaps, her less dominant place here was not a bad thing. Perhaps, indeed, they both needed more control.

She closed her eyes once more, as she continued to hold him to her, relaxing further. She wanted to just rest and simply savor the peace of the moment--simply enjoy their tender bond. . . . It had, indeed, obviously been made for no other purpose but pleasure.

She only lay there for a few minutes, however, before her eyes opened once more. Her mind had switched over, indeed, despite all her efforts, to less happy thoughts.

She knew, of course, that she wanted this to last-- knew now that something within her truly *needed* this bond in order for her to survive. Her mind, though, simply couldn't see a way that he would stay with her forever, even if she felt sure those might be his intentions now. He just didn't know everything about her, after all. He just didn't know the truth.

She would have liked to keep her sorrow to herself, of course--would have liked to protect him from it, but this just couldn't happen. Somewhere in the happy space which Nik had been floating in, indeed, a darker cloud began to form, began to grow. He made an unhappy noise and began to wake. . . . It was only then that he realized that the lack of peace came from her.

She felt him waken and lifted her head to focus on him, smiling--trying to hide her darker thoughts. "Good morning."

He wasn't fooled, though; his eyes clearly showed his concern, as he began to stroke along her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

Her attempts continued, her face becoming rather emotionless with the effort. "Nothing. I'm fine."

He shook his head slightly and pulled her toward him, giving her a light kiss before refocusing on her. "What's wrong?" he repeated quietly.

His gentle blue eyes bored into her softly, and she realized that she could only avoid telling him by hurting him further, by diving back into herself deeply and slamming down her fortresses once more. She didn't want that.

She decided, then, to tell him part of the truth, sighing softly. "I was just remembering."

He seemed to see into her thoughts. "Who were you remembering?"

The clear green analysis of her eyes looked into him, only half-surprised anymore that he was able to see into her so accurately. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for her partial revelations. "I was in love once before."

He nodded, not surprised. She was far too beautiful, was far too desirable, to have gone for a lifetime without love. "What was his name?"

She looked down at his chest and gave a, slightly sad and ironic, smile which lasted for only half of a heartbeat. "Si . . . Simon." Her pronunciation almost made the name sound like "Simone."

He was stroking her cheek softly, listening intently. He had waited so long to hear something of her past, to find out more of her heart. "You were married?"

She still wasn't making eye contact; she shook her head. "No. That never quite happened." She paused. "There were too many . . ." She closed her eyes, shaking her head once more, before she went on. "Things just seemed to get in the way."

He continued stroking softly over her cheek. "Will you tell me about him?"

The sad half-smile ghosted across her face for half a second again, before it fled; she was still bracing herself slightly. She looked up at him finally, however, her resolve to talk set. "He was an artist; his parents were Vietnamese, but he had been raised in Paris."

His eyes watched her lovingly, his voice gentle. "Go on."

Her eyes wandered off to stare blankly at a wall; some of the pain always dissipated when she was with Nikita-- it was true--but the memories were powerful, nonetheless. Her voice was quiet. "He had a gentle spirit, was tender-hearted, although his work sometimes had a harder edge." She was silent for another minute or so. "He was beautiful."

He ran his hand softly over her shoulder now; she was still staring away from him. He remembered now noticing some of the paintings in her living room; he had liked many of them, but some--some he had found almost disturbing, as though they had depicted an unknown force, out of control, coming to carry away both viewer and artist. He repressed a shudder; he had a sudden fear of where this story might end, but he wanted to know more before he asked. "How did you meet him?"

She smiled and refocused on him; her eyes reflected her memories. "He owned two galleries; they showed his work and his friends'." Her gaze went distant again. "He came in for our help, to have the galleries looked at for security purposes." She looked back at him. "He'd had a recent break-in."

He nodded again; he was still processing all of this with what she had told him last night. "Your parents were security consultants, too."

She nodded and looked down at his chest once more. She seemed to be fighting back the memories now, to be trying to rid herself of them.

He watched the battle for a minute before he spoke again. "Why didn't you marry?"

She shook her head, still not looking at him. "Family conflicts." Her voice sounded more harsh, much more flat.

He wanted to know why she seemed to be so closed about this question, of course, but he suspected, as well, that she simply wouldn't answer, if he pressed her--and he had no desire to make her close herself off from him further. Michelle, he had learned, only let people in by conscious decision; he would have to wait for her to make that for him.

He decided to step away from this part of his questions, then--leaving her some of her secrets. There were other things he wanted to know, anyway-- although he feared that giving the answers might bring her new pain. "What happened to him?"

She focused at him again, thinking once more that he saw too many of her thoughts. When the look passed, she half-focused on the wall once more; she could still barely talk about it, after all--and she couldn't talk about it while looking into his eyes. "He died."

His eyes were sad; he had suspected as much. He partly didn't want to press her further, but he also did want to know--and he suspected that she at least half needed to talk about it. "How?"

She paused for another second before she answered; her face and voice had gone flat once more. "He committed suicide."

He closed his eyes, taking on her pain for her-- torn inside by knowing how much she must have suffered. His hand cupped her cheek once more, as his gaze took her in again. "I'm sorry, Michelle."

She shook her head once more, still not looking at him--not even seeming to really acknowledge him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

He respected her request, of course--and her reason for making it; still, he did truly want to know one more thing now. He paused for a second, then, trying to work himself up. "Can I ask one more thing?"

She closed her eyes, barricading back an inexpressible number of emotions from his too- insightful gaze, before she focused on him again; her look was still rather flat--distant. "Alright."

He continued to caress her face, although he wasn't sure she was really noticing. "Is that why you left France?"

He could almost see the barriers being erected behind her eyes, as she answered. "It's . . ." She broke herself off, changing her mind. "Yes."

He knew she was holding back many things from him, but immense fortresses seemed to be in place inside her--and he had no desire to try to storm them. He would wait to be invited in.

Still, he knew little to really say now, little way to express his immense sadness at her grief. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a half-smile. She seemed to finally realize that his hand was on her cheek, and she turned her head to give it a soft kiss. Then, however, she pulled away from him entirely and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

He sighed quietly. He hated that he had done this to her, that he had somehow brought her to this place of sadness. It hurt him a little, too, to think that he was simply a replacement for her dead love, but he couldn't find it in himself to turn away. He just needed her too much.

He sat up to be near her, then, trying not to invade upon the invisible barriers around her too seriously. He stroked her shoulder softly, though, letting her know he was here. He may not be the love of her life, but he would be here for whatever she might need of him anyway. "I'm sorry you lost him." He shook his head. "And I'm sorry I've made you sad. I never want to do that."

Somewhere deep inside herself, where Michelle had gone to hide, his words made it through to her--and she realized from something in his voice, from some sense of sadness that seemed to flow into her from him, that he had gotten one, very wrong, idea. . . . She couldn't allow it to continue.

She turned back to him, then, taking him in once more. Her eyes were really focused on him again for the first time in many minutes; they probed into him deeply, her gaze intense and undeniable. Her hand cupped his cheek, stroking it softly. "I miss him," she said simply. She took a quiet, deep breath, bracing herself to tell him the truths she needed him to know. "But nothing makes me regret being here now --now that I've found you." Her eyes burned into him softly. "*Nothing*."

He swallowed slightly, his hand coming up to stroke over her cheek as well; his eyes were so loving. "Michelle," he whispered softly.

God, he was so beautiful. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him for a minute, reminding him in it just how much desire and love she held for him alone. He moaned.

She pulled back from it finally with a faint trace of teeth along his lower lip; her look was seductive once their eyes met once more. "You're mine, Ni-ki-ta." She shook her head. "I'm not going to let you forget that now."

He gave her a small, sweet smile, before he leaned in to return her previous kiss with one which seemed comprised of steam and sensual insinuation. He heard a moan rumble in her, and he deepened it further.

He pulled back from her a minute later, however, his blue eyes dancing. "Good," he said simply.

Their smiles met. They were leaning in to share another arousing kiss, as well, when the buzzer by her front door sounded; she looked slightly confused for a minute, unable to remember anyone who was supposed to come by.

He met her confusion for a second, before his eyes widened. "Julie! She's here for lunch."

Her smile had a sensual light, as it graced her lips; her eyes traveled down his lovely body and then trailed to her own as well--reminding him of their utter state of dishabille. She met his eyes once more. "She's in for quite a shock, isn't she?"

His eyes widened further. "You're enjoying this!" The small smile lingered around her lips, but she didn't answer.

He shook his head. Michelle was always wonderful, but her lighter moods usually were more redolent of general pleasure rather than open mirth. Now, though, he looked into those--playful--green eyes and saw humor . . . and a very small sense of victory.

He shook his head and looked down at the bed. He had no choice, really, but to share a bit of her mood. "I can't believe it." His eyes met hers once more. "You were jealous." His eyes were dancing slightly.

She leaned in to him, pulling him into a deep, hot, and utterly erotic kiss; his involuntary moan trembled through it, before she finally pulled back to refocus on him several seconds later. Her eyes had a seductive, and very possessive, light in them. "Now why would I be jealous of something that's already mine?"

He leaned back a little, in vaguely mock indignation. "Oh, I'm yours, am I?"

The look in her eyes caught fire; she leaned in closer, her words breathed heatedly over his lips. "Yes, you are."

She pulled him into a kiss, then, which took away his breath, which made his blood run wildly through his veins. He let out a low, desperate moan through it. The buzzer sounded again.

She let him go finally, her eyes still hot and knowing. He took in a jagged breath, trying to remind himself that oxygen was a necessity. A smile broke out across his lips, though, as he looked down. "Point taken."

She laughed slightly, enjoying his capitulation. The buzzer rang once more. "Am I letting her in?" Nik looked back at her, eyes intent. She nodded. "Very well." She kissed him once more, more tenderly, and then stood up and walked into her living room; she was absolutely naked, but she had every bit as much confidence and poise as she usually had fully dressed.

He shook his head, watching her. God, she was beautiful.

She arrived at the intercom beside her front door, finally answering it. "Yes."

The doorman spoke; she had forgotten, probably fortunately, to leave him instructions to simply allow her luncheon guest up. "Ms. Samuelle, there's a Ms. Worth here to see you." The doorman's tone seemed a bit put out; he obviously wasn't thrilled with the quality of her visitors.

"Yes, she is my guest," Michelle quietly chastised him. "However, I'm not quite ready to see her yet. Would you ask Ms. Worth to wait for 10 minutes, please?"

"Of course," the doorman gave in. The intercom clicked off.

Michelle looked back to see Nik staring at her through the doorway. He shook his head, slightly appalled. "We've got *10 minutes* to get ready?"

She walked toward him, smiling. "Can't do that?"

He was more serious now, the truth of this situation having struck him. "I don't want her to see us like this."

Her sarcasm was deadpan. "I was thinking we'd get dressed, instead."

He rolled his eyes, before searching the floor for his clothes. "You don't understand. Julie's . . ." He broke off, having found his underwear, wrestling them out from his discarded jeans. "It's complicated."

She was taking the opportunity to interrogate him slightly, she realized; she hated that her quiet stance at the moment reminded her of her mother--except that her mother was always more dressed. Still, there were things she needed to know. "Did you love her?"

He was putting on his underwear distractedly, but he looked up at her. "No, not like you mean." He sighed. "She's been my best friend for a long time, and . . ." He stopped, shaking his head.

"And your lover?" she filled in.

He had looked down, noticing that he was putting on his underwear backwards. "Damn." He looked back at her. "What? Uh, no, . . . yes, . . . once . . ." He stopped, shaking his head, beginning to right the underwear. "Look, can we talk about this later? We've only got 10 minutes."

"8 minutes, 35 seconds," she assessed calmly. He looked up at her, exasperated, as he pulled on his shirt. She nodded finally and closed in on him; her hand ran down his chest softly, through the, still open, material--stopping his attempts to dress; her stare penetrated his soul. "I've told you about my one other love, Ni-ki-ta." Her eyes ran down to his lips before recapturing his. "I just want to know the same about you."

He sighed, knowing she had a right but still needing to hurry. He put his hand over hers, as it lay on his chest, and nodded. "I'll tell you my entire sexual history tonight, if you'll just get dressed now."

Her eyes still looked into his. That hadn't been her meaning, and he knew it.

He sighed again, understanding the silence, giving in; his tone grew softer. "I don't love her," he told her honestly, "not in the way you mean it. I'll tell you whatever you want to know about it tonight. Now," his eyes took on a pleading light, "please be nice to her. She'll know what's happened, but please . . ."

She took her hand from his quietly and put her fingers over his lips, stroking them softly--her attention there for a second, before she recaptured his eyes once more. "I'll be nice." She let out a soft smile. "I just needed to know." She kissed him tenderly and then headed for her bathroom.

He let out a very soft, bemused laugh, giving in. "You could just ask next time."

She turned back to him, meeting his eyes once more. "This was more fun," she smiled softly. Her eyes stroked down him. "Pants might help with that outfit." She smiled once more and then disappeared into the bathroom.

He stood there for several more seconds, shaking his head. He had known that Michelle was many things, of course, but who would have guessed that torture through dry humor was one of her skills? He smiled. Amazing how even that fact made him love her more.

*********

Julie wasn't waiting particularly patiently for her 10 minutes to pass. She had already suspected what was going on between them, of course, but the wait was only confirming it. . . . They were sleeping together.

She kept herself from pacing, as she thought back; the snotty doorman was already staring enough to get on her nerves. She had kind of figured that this new twist was happening between Nik and his . . . whatever she was, of course; she had tried calling him this morning, in fact-- partly as a reminder of their lunch date, partly to see whether he had survived last night intact--whether, indeed, there were any reason for her to be coming here at all. Her suspicions had been formed, then, when he had never answered the phone, but this was really the clincher. She needed no more proof now--although she was very much afraid that she was going to get it.

She sighed. It wasn't, of course, that she had wanted Nik to be unhappy when she had called, which he would-- she thought--have necessarily been had he broken up with Michelle last night; she had no desire to see him depressed.

She couldn't say that this new turn had made her any the happier, however. It was still, too, not so much that she believed that she and Nik had a future together romantically, as nice as that idea would have been. No, it was something different. It was more that there was just some lingering sense of hurt within her, a sense of continuing sadness that the woman he had been with last night hadn't been herself.

She closed her eyes, thinking back to that one night she had shared with him once again. She could remember every second of that one encounter with Nik *so* clearly, in fact, could almost tangibly relive it in her head, as she thought back. He was such a gentle and such a passionate lover--was always a considerate one, as well, while still being interested in his own pleasure.

She opened her eyes once more. She had missed him in that way from the moment she had woken up the next morning to see the sadness and self-recrimination he was trying to hide in his eyes. . . . She would probably always miss it, indeed.

She took a deep breath. Still, she knew she had to face facts. Nik was in love with this woman, and--no matter how petulant she herself became--she wasn't going to be able to change that. She set her determination. She might as well, then, try her best to like her.

It had been quite rushed trying to get ready by the time Julie got to the door, of course, but Nik and Michelle had managed it--just. Nik was still a little flushed and panting, in fact, with his efforts to make himself presentable; Michelle, though, had simply moved with her usual slow grace --as though there were no pressure at all. She had smiled at him softly from time to time, as well--once moving toward him and planting a gentle kiss on his lips, whispering "Calme toi" against them, before moving off to start some tea and coffee. She had been ready, indeed, with about a full two minutes to spare.

He was, as always, amazed by her quiet grace, as he looked her over now; he himself had never possessed such qualities. Still, he had managed to be vaguely presentable and had stopped panting by the time Julie knocked. . . . It was the most he figured he could hope for right now.

If he had hoped to fool his friend into thinking that anything other than the obvious had gone on between her two lunch companions, however, he had hoped in vain. She took one look at him, shook her head and noted quietly, "Nice hickey," before moving off to greet Michelle.

Nik just blushed slightly and pulled his shirt collar closer. He guessed being in *exactly* the same clothes as last night would have given him away, nonetheless.

He began watching the two women he cared about closely, then. He knew them both to be proprietorial, but they were trying hard, were attempting not to make things any more difficult for any of them.

This wasn't to say, though, that the atmosphere was relaxed and congenial; that definitely would have been a . . . falsehood, at best. Both women, indeed, were sizing each other up in some ways, were assessing the intruder upon their relationship with Nik. And, while neither of them had any intentions of battle, they were both determined not to see the man they both so deeply cared for hurt.

The two of them talked, then, about many inconsequential things, although they did both throw in some points of their history with the man in question, marking him with their words. Nik, though, for all his experience with them, wasn't entirely sure where the conversation was at any moment, but he felt, at times, a bit like some object which was being contested. He wasn't sure at all that he liked it, either, but he was at least pleased that they were both being civil.

He continued to watch, then, slightly stymied, for at least ten to fifteen minutes. At one point in the conversation, however--during one of her own "I know more about Nik than you" moments, Julie turned to him; it was, really, one of the first times he had been included in the conversation, except as its subject. "Y'know, I picked up some forms from the Student Loan Corporation the other day." She shrugged, trying to allay his irritation. "Just to see."

Nik's eyes were warning; he forgot, for the moment, the weird confrontation he had been observing to focus on this ongoing battle with his friend. "We've been through it. I don't want to be thousands of dollars in debt by the time I get out. Forget it."

Julie shook her head. "Those credits won't be good forever, y'know. You don't use them soon, you're back to square one."

He gave up slightly, sighing, and stared at the floor. He still wasn't really able to see any way out of this particular dilemma.

After a few seconds, though, he realized that Michelle was staring at him with only thinly-veiled curiosity. He looked up at her and shrugged. "The tech. school associate's degree I got; it lets me transfer credits to a four-year college."

She nodded, understanding now. "But you don't have the money."

He smiled up at his friend and then back to her. "Julie pays well, and some of the tips are good, but it's nowhere near enough for school."

The redhead sighed. "Nik, you're a citizen. All you need to do is ask for the money; the programs are there. God knows, you got good enough grades." She looked to Michelle. "He made the President's list every semester--straight As."

He shrugged, not focusing on either of them. "It was a *tech.* school." He looked up ironically.

Michelle shook her head slightly, her eyes probing him gently. "I doubt that was the reason."

He shrugged again, getting a little agitated; he always did when the subject came up. He wanted, very badly, to be able to finish his education, after all --to get a degree which, maybe, if he were lucky, might actually lead somewhere. . . . Still, there just wasn't a college anywhere nearby which he was going to be able to afford in this lifetime.

Michelle was looking at him deeply, was intrigued by this new facet of her beloved. "What were you planning on studying?"

He got a little smile on his face. "Psychology." He laughed, looking up. "Not sure how great a shrink I'd be, though."

They were all silent for a minute; both of the women who loved him were quite aware of his abilities. Julie finally broke the quiet. "I'm going to leave the papers at the bar tonight, Nik. Just look at them, okay? Maybe you could get registered for the next school year."

He shook his head, about to protest again but looked up to see the determined expression on her face. He decided, then, just to drop it.

After she let this subject go, Julie was offered, and accepted, some of the same sort of tea which Michelle had steeped for Nik. The half-veiled conversation he could never quite make out the deeper meanings of picked up once more then, before continuing on for at least another 15 minutes.

It was at that point, however, that Michelle decided to take action; she had plans, after all, which needed to be carried out. She smiled at him. "We invited Julie over for lunch, `Kita. All she's gotten so far is a hot drink." He wasn't picking up her insinuation, though, so she continued. "Why don't you go downstairs to the deli and buy us some sandwiches? I think you probably know what we'd all like best."

He felt a little chill in him. Yes, he knew that they had both been on their best behavior up to now, but both of these women he cared so strongly for were formidable--and very, very possessive. He didn't really expect anything as stupid as a catfight from them, but he was still fairly wary about leaving, nonetheless--even if he had little idea of anything which was happening before him, as it was. He said nothing, then, but he looked entirely uncertain.

Julie and Michelle met eyes for one moment, before Nik's old friend turned to him, as well. "Sounds good to me. Just don't forget to get all the fixings."

He took them both in warily, but realized that he had just been effectively dismissed. He sighed, worriedly, but finally agreed. "Okay." He gave both of them warning looks, however, before he left them alone.

The two women's eyes met once more, once the door had closed behind him. Julie spoke first. "How long's the downstairs deli usually take?"

"About 20 minutes, on a good day."

Nik's old friend nodded. "Good. So what did you want to say to me?"

Michelle took in a deep breath. She had already been able to assess that simply speaking to Julie one-on-one would probably be the best approach here; she was content to see that the other woman agreed.

She looked down at the floor, though, before she started, gathering her thoughts. "I know you don't trust me--and I know you have no reason to yet." She met her eyes once more. "But I do love him." She paused. "And I have no intention of seeing him hurt."

Julie's eyes narrowed at the insinuation. "You think I want to see him hurt?"

The older woman shook her head. "No. But I think we both will, if we don't come to some sort of understanding."

Her companion looked tentative, still unsure of where this was leading. "What sort of understanding?"

Michelle focused on the floor once more, preparing herself to explain. "Nik loves us both, if in different ways." She looked up, allowing Julie to see in her eyes that she hadn't meant the statement as either a challenge or an insult but only as a simple statement of truth. "If we make him decide between us, we take something away from him; we hurt him." Her look grew more meaningful; she needed her point to be clear. "And we hurt ourselves."

She was agreeing generally, but she challenged the last statement. "Don't you mean one of us gets hurt?"

Nik's lover shook her head. "No. If either of us takes away something he loves, there'll be a distrust in him, a hurt. He couldn't trust us anymore." Her eyes were truthful. "I don't want to see that happen."

Julie nodded. She agreed with everything so far--as she was sure that Michelle had predicted about her. Still, she wanted to see where this was heading before committing herself too much. "What are you suggesting?"

Michelle sighed, as her unusually open gaze looked into her younger companion's. "I don't know whether we'll be friends or not; I can't say." Julie nodded. "For Nik's sake, though, I think we both need to accept each other's role in his life, to let him have the comfort and friendship we each can provide him, without the sort of suspicions and mind games which might tear him apart."

That, she thought, had been going too far; the young redhead looked a little angry. "Are you suggesting that I'm planning to play mind games with him?"

"No." The older woman shook her head slowly, her eyes quiet but meaningful. "I'm suggesting that, if we don't come to some sort of understanding here, we both will. We both care about him too much," she looked into her deeply, "and I suspect that neither of us likes to lose."

Julie sighed. She wasn't particularly happy, in some ways, with this plan, simply because her rival for Nik's affections had come up with it first; still, she knew that it made sense, that she was right. She nodded, then. "Okay." She shrugged. "How do we go about it, though?"

Michelle evaluated her for a few more seconds before she spoke. "How about with several minutes of total honesty? Let's see what's really going on, before we both start to draw conclusions."

The younger woman smiled ironically. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

Her counterpart nodded once more, sagely. "Perhaps, but I think we're both mature enough to be able to handle it." Julie was silent. "Agreed?"

The redhead took in a deep breath, but then finally nodded. "Agreed." She analyzed Michelle again for a minute. "Can I go first?" The older woman gave a small nod. "You and Nik slept together last night."

Michelle nodded. "Yes, but you know that already. What do you really want to know?"

"Was it your first time with him?"

"Yes."

Julie looked into her, a little suspicious. "Why'd you wait?"

The older woman smiled, but then her focus grew slightly distant for a few seconds. "It wasn't for lack of desire." She shook her head a little, as she looked back at the woman before her. "But it just wasn't right before then."

Julie looked down at the floor. That answer in itself told her a lot--more than she really wanted to know, in some ways. She was silent a moment longer. "Do you love him?" Her eyes met Nik's lover's once more; her intense gaze warned her not to dissemble.

Michelle's eyes were clear, her gaze absolutely straightforward. "Yes, I do."

"Then why'd you hurt him yesterday?"

The auburn haired woman's eyes dropped; she was chastened--and saddened. Her focus seemed distant, as she answered slowly. "I didn't mean to. I . . ." She looked back up at her. "I made some very stupid comments, in an attempt to get him to protect himself on the streets more. He took offense." She focused away once more, before looking back, her eyes honest and clear in her self- criticism. "He should have."

Julie's gaze warned her still. "How'd you make it up to him?"

Michelle's look grew distant again. "I promised not to try to get him to change himself for his own protection." She focused back on her. "I promised to try to hold in my fears."

Julie nodded, accepting this. "And the sex had nothing to do with it?"

The older woman's eyes burned for a long moment, but she held in her anger; it was a question she would have asked, as well, had their situations been reversed. "It wasn't sex."

Her younger companion's face grew sad, as she nodded her head, looking down. She understood.

Michelle saw that this was the end of Julie's questions for now; she took her turn. "How long were you and Nikita lovers?"

The question broke the redhead from her old reverie but started a new one; her look was still distant. "Once."

"Why not more?"

She looked up at her, her eyes hurt--a little warning. "That wasn't my decision."

To Julie's surprise, the older woman's eyes held both comprehension and sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said softly. Julie looked away, understanding; they both knew just what she had lost.

"You're still in love with him."

Nik's old friend turned her eyes back to her questioner; she repeated her earlier phrase. "You know that. What's your real question?"

Michelle took a deep breath. "Are you planning to try to win him back--or turn him against me?"

She shook her head. "Not if you don't give me reason to." Her eyes grew a bit darker. "But if you hurt him in any way--if I see him again in the tortured state he was in yesterday," she shook her head, "you are going to regret the *hell* out of it."

The older woman's eyes took her in equanimously, accepting this. "Agreed."

Julie watched her for a second and then laughed slightly; she really could see no duplicity here. She was warming to her just a bit.

There was one more thing the young woman was wondering, however. "One more question. How old are you?"

She noticed now the small lines around Michelle's eyes, as she smiled before answering. Again, had the situations been reversed, she would have asked the exact same thing. "33."

She nodded. "Does Nik know?"

The older woman shook her head. "No." She paused, wondering. "Do you think he'd care?"

Julie let out a slightly snorting laugh; she had seen the way he looked at her, after all. "Not even vaguely."

Nik returned to the apartment then to find both of the women smiling at one another, an understanding--maybe even the beginnings of a trust--being born in their eyes. He closed the door and approached slowly with their food, evaluating them. "Are you two going to tell me what I've missed?"

Both of the women laughed just slightly. "No," they said in unison, if each in their own totally different manner.

He looked at them closely now, evaluating them, and saw what they both knew. They had come to an agreement; there would be no power plays for him. He smiled. . . . Whatever had happened here, then, he was very grateful to them both.

*********

It had become a sort of tradition with the staff at Julie's, one they all looked forward to, more and more, as that time of year approached: Thanksgiving at Nik's. The food was good and communal, the company was almost always convivial, and the air was always tinged with laughter. . . . No one who worked there ever particularly wanted to miss it.

It had evolved, however, a little slowly. Nik and Julie had been having dinner together with his Uncle Walter on that day for as long as Nik had lived in the country. Even though it was a holiday he hadn't had much experience with, it hadn't taken him long to realize that it could be a good opportunity to eat and visit friends. With only a minimum of encouragement from Julie, then, he had taken to it rapidly.

It had been a few years, however, after its humble beginnings as a party of three, or sometimes four--if Belinda, Walter's "permanent main squeeze," as he termed her, had the day off from her nursing job--that it had formed into the event it now was. The first year Julie had taken over the running of the bar, in fact, it had begun to spread; she had a tendency, after all, to take in strays--people or animals. . . . And it was a tendency Nik had never tried to break her of.

This was only the third year that the staff of Julie's had taken part, then, but the first two had taught them to anticipate. True, Nik's apartment was incredibly small and not particularly stylish, but one of the women from the bar's joys was being able to tease him about this; he was good-natured enough, indeed, to just roll his eyes politely, while hiding his smile. And, while the company was always in flux--depending on who was working at the bar at the moment or had decided to come back for the event and what their various family plans were--the spirit of welcome which Nik and Julie always gave the guests never changed. They were the event's guiding forces.

This, year, then, was a tad different. It was true that Sarah had attended one of the previous year's feasts, but she had still been in her shy phase then, and had simply hung around the corners of the room as much as Nik had allowed her to, which wasn't as much as she would have liked; she hadn't really been hostess material, at that point. Michelle, though--she was different. She was older, infinitely more confident and refined--was, in fact, a woman who no one would have any trouble imagining hosting large official dinners as the wife of a head of state--or as the head of state herself, for that matter. She, then, was not likely to be a wallflower.

Nik had had a bit of silent trepidation, therefore, about what might happen at this event, about how she and Julie might mix here. It was true that it had been about a month and a half since the two women had, as far as he could tell, made some sort of pleasantly conspiratorial agreement not to fight about him over lunch at Michelle's, but this was an event he thought might challenge that accord. While his beloved and his friend had begun to get along much better, after all, he wasn't at all certain how Michelle might act when Julie served at his apartment as the master--or was it mistress? hmm, maybe neither--of ceremonies.

He had been pleasantly surprised, then, when Michelle had shown no resistance to any of Julie's plans for the day--or to her organizing spirit. Julie, too, had tried to include his beloved a bit, had--as far as he could tell--gone out of her way to make sure she didn't step on any toes. It had amazed him slightly, given both of the women's rather possessive natures--despite their month or so of polite conduct, but he had been thrilled to watch the interaction, nonetheless.

His happiness, however, didn't mean that he was incapable of still being a little astonished by them both. The two women, in fact, had taken to making most of the holiday meal themselves--aside from what the others were supposed to bring. While he enjoyed seeing their new comradery, too, he had to admit to himself that it did make him feel a little left out--as he usually was the one who was cooking with Julie.

Still, he couldn't deny that both of the women were superior cooks to him. Julie, in fact, was the bar's main chef, fixing the few snacks the place was known for; she also, though, routinely made some large dish--lasagna, beef lo mein, chicken with broccoli, whatever struck her fancy--for the bar employees' nightly meal, allowing each of them to heat it up on their break. Michelle, too, had fixed him more than one meal which had astounded him; he had tried to reciprocate for her, but his own repertoire was small. He sighed. Because of all this, then, he decided to just take to amicably following their instructions today, contenting himself with simply watching.

This, indeed, was what he was doing now--was simply sitting back, watching the two women he cared so much for making a feast for an army; they would probably all be eating leftovers for a week. Occasionally, too, one of them would ask for help or give him an order, but mostly he was having a little time to reflect. . . . And he was enjoying it immensely.

His reflections, too--as always, it seemed--started with Michelle. The past month and a half with her had been incredible; they had become lovers, of course, but that was only a small portion of his joy--as absolutely mind-blowing as their encounters inevitably were. He was still amazed, indeed, at the unbelievable amount of joy he seemed to be able to bring her, the incredible contentment he could feel flowing into his veins from her in their splendid aftermath. It surprised him not at all that she surpassed every fantasy of his, however. He had always known, after all, that she would be heaven.

Still--his mind finally came back from this pleasant diversion--this aspect of their love, as astounding as it was, was truly the least of his pleasure now. What amazed him more was just the simple joy he gained from being near her, the happiness he knew that they both shared whenever they were together.

It didn't matter, either, what they were doing. They had continued on, in many ways--in fact, along the same paths as before their relationship had started on its wonderful new phase of physical intimacy. There were still self-defense lessons--Michelle's instruction becoming more complex and detailed as time passed--were still lunches, museums, parks, and late night tea and coffee. Now, too, though, they frequently just spent their time talking, or sometimes even in simple silence. . . . And it was those latter times, indeed, which he almost enjoyed the most.

He sighed, continuing his thoughts. He had, for most of his life, however, been a man who wanted either conversation or action; he had never quite learned to sit still. Maybe it had been the result of a youth spent learning that to be still could mean the threat of attack, indeed; maybe, too, it had been born in him from the painful silence which that same youth had enforced. Whatever it was, however, he tended to want that verbal communication--that confirmation of emotions--in order to feel entirely safe.

Michelle, though--beautiful, deeply-looking Michelle--had changed all that for him. She had taught him the comfort which silence could bring, its peace--had shown him that it didn't have to represent a lack of emotion, that it was, occasionally, representative of its very reverse. It was she who had allowed him to simply learn to be, to enjoy the flow of unspoken love which lay between them, even in the deepest of silences. . . . And it was a blessing he wasn't certain he could ever repay her for.

They weren't always, weren't usually, entirely physically separate in these times, though. Many times, indeed, they would simply hold one another, would stroke softly over hair, would enjoy the simple pleasure, the simple reassurance, of love that soft touch could bring.

They switched off, as well, as to who held who; he had long ago seen that Michelle needed a sense of control to feel safe, but she had also allowed him to have the control she so needed, had given her need to lead over to him--had trusted him enough to allow for it. For both of them, then, the simple exchange of caring had healed many old wounds.

Their relationship, therefore, had stayed the same in many ways, even while it had seen tremendous changes. It had started with the basis they had formed in those first few weeks of their acquaintance, indeed, and had grown, had blossomed into something absolutely beautiful. . . . He wasn't sure, truly, that it was possible to be happier than this.

Michelle threw a loving look over her shoulder from the kitchen to see Nikita lost in pleasant reverie; he felt her eyes on him, though, and gave her a heart-warming smile. She felt something in her shudder pleasantly. . . . Lord help her, she could never get enough of that.

She returned the smile, then, before focusing back to her work. Her mind, though, continued to run over the last several weeks, even as she consulted from time to time with Julie on their preparations.

She knew, without any sense of even vague uncertainty, that she had never been happier in her life than she had for these past several weeks. Every day of it, indeed, had brought with it bliss of the most intense and personal kind--had brought the sort of pleasure in which souls were reborn. It was far better than any fantasy, truly, had she ever allowed herself to really have any before. This was real--and it was absolutely healing.

Her heart warmed further, as she thought about it. Nikita was the creator of the new, brighter soul which was being born within her. He had given her back emotions and abilities which she had given up in earliest childhood. He had given her peace.

It wasn't any one aspect of their relationship which had allowed her this rebirth, either. It wasn't just the absolutely soul-moving passion and fulfillment which he always gave to her--as astounding as that was; her mind circled here for a minute. He was, though, a lover unlike any she had ever known--touched some vital and half-forgotten chord deep within her which brought a song of redemption from her heart and soul. To make love to him was an absolutely fiery and sparklingly brilliant event. She smiled to herself. No, there would never be enough of him, in this way--even if, in all the good ways, there was quite a lot of `Kita to go around.

She took a deep breath a second later, however, and began to pull her mind away from this pleasant path. As wonderful as it was, there would still be quite a few hours before she could have him alone again. She needed to be patient.

This one side of him, too, really wasn't even the most precious to her. For all of these amazing truths, indeed, the intimate side of her relationship with Nikita was almost the least important. What astounded her even more was the communication she shared, was the intimacy she felt with him.

It didn't matter, either, that she still hadn't told him much of who she was; he was still closer to her than anyone else before. Of all of the handful of people whom she had loved before, indeed--the ones who had known her inner truths, Nikita still ranked above them all for sheer understanding. . . . Prior knowledge just didn't matter.

She sighed a little, as her mind shifted from this wonderful truth, however. This didn't mean, though, that she was without fear. Indeed, the more she grew to love this man, the more she began to fear the--possibly inevitable--day when she would have to reveal to him all of the details of her past. While she hoped, too, in some ways, that he would be able to accept them, would be able to still love her, there were more parts of her which feared that this simply wouldn't be the case, which feared that losing him would be unavoidable, once he knew her past. And that fact shook her--frightened her--to the very core of her being.

She repressed a very slight shudder. Still--she started to pull her mind back--this wasn't something she felt it necessary to focus on all the time. She had decided, in fact, that the best approach to having found the embodiment of her soul's angel was to simply enjoy it while it lasted. . . . She feared, indeed, that it might be over too soon.

She forced her mind down another path, then. Most of the people who would be here today would be ones she had met repeatedly at the bar; Davenport and she, in fact, had struck up a mild friendship based on some similar career knowledge; he had once been a personal bodyguard. He had been convinced to give up this path, however, by a combination of having amassed a decent savings account and an unfortunate bullet wound to the leg. After that, indeed, being a bar bouncer had seemed like child's play.

All of this, then, had given Michelle a common ground with him--had given her someone to talk to at the bar when Nikita was very busy. He had even helped her in her training of her beloved by agreeing to spar with him from time to time, not always to the more lengthily-trained man's advantage.

Her mind switched back toward its original destination again, refusing to allow her to delay her thoughts any longer. One person she would meet today would not be a known factor, though; one of them, in fact, she was going to be meeting for the first time: Nikita's Uncle Walter.

She took a quiet, deep breath, trying to still herself--to prepare herself for the inevitable. She was, she admitted, rather nervous. Her beloved, after all, had told her many things about his uncle, but he had--purposely, she had realized--never mentioned his job. She suspected, indeed, that she might not like what she found out about this today.

It wasn't, though, that she feared that Walter might be into anything criminal; everything she had heard about him from `Kita seemed to go against that impression. Also supporting this suspicion, there was simply the fact that Nikita was so very fond of him; her beloved did, indeed, have very good instincts about people, she was learning more and more often. If Walter had won his favor, then, there had to be a reason for it, one which had little to do with the older man having helped save him from the streets--although this last fact also argued in his uncle's favor.

All of this aside, though, she knew, by sheer instinct, that this part of Walter's life was not what would be considered "normal." Helping this impression, too, was her observation of Nikita whenever he spoke of the man's career; her beloved, after all, was terrible at lying--always giving himself away. She sighed. That was something she suspected she could never teach him--and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to.

She pulled her mind back to her previous path; she had a great deal of mental evidence to prove her suspicions about Nikita's uncle, as well. The first of these pieces, too, was simply the man's sudden disappearances--sometimes for quite a long period of time. `Kita always seemed to know where he was, of course, so she guessed that he tended to send him messages, but the absences were frequently prolonged, nonetheless.

On top of this, as well, was an even more suspicious fact: 'Kita's American citizenship. She took in another quiet, deep breath--trying not to gain Julie's attention. Michelle, after all, knew more than a little about gaining this item from her own experience--and she knew, both from small slips that her beloved and Julie had made and from a little of her own digging, that he had gained it *far* too quickly. Yes, as the son of an American citizen--and with family here--he had a right to apply for it, but this would, in normal circumstances, in no way mean that the process would be either fast or simple. For some countries, of course, citizenship was astoundingly easy to gain, but America was notoriously different--especially for anyone who was not fabulously wealthy. Something, then, had happened to change that--some sort of strings had been pulled. . . . Now she just wondered what they had been.

It wasn't, of course, that she in any way looked down on or questioned 'Kita for this anomaly; she had no foundation to look down on anyone there. She, too, after all, had made an exchange of favors in order to receive her own citizenship in a less than entirely legal manner. She, though, had had the background in "security" to be able to do this. She wondered, then--as well, if Walter didn't share the same history.

There was a flicker of something which almost resembled fear within her. She could tell, from all that Nikita said about the man that he was not an ogre; indeed, he had obviously gone to some pains to protect the nephew he had barely known. Still, anyone who shared her background would also share her suspicions and her resources. . . . She would need to, then, be very careful in what she said and did.

The early lunch party began properly when the guests started to arrive. Most, indeed, came in the first batch with Davenport, as the man seemed to want--or maybe just expect--to be called, who had done the taxiing.

There were hugs all around, too--even though almost all of them would see one another just a few hours later at work. Julie smiled at them, as they began to settle. "So, how'd you all fit in that gnat-like thing that Dav here calls a car?"

"Well, it helped that Carla didn't have a boyfriend du jour this year," Gail teased.

Carla's eyes grew slightly wicked; she spoke softly enough to not be overheard by Birkoff, who was across the room, presenting his coat to Nik. "Oh, like you minded having to sit on Birkoff's lap."

Gail blushed. "Well, um, it was an . . . interesting seat." And, for part of the ride, a rather, well--hard one. She blushed further.

Birkoff joined them, looking around at the smiles which seemed to be directed at him. "What'd I miss?" He looked bemused.

Carla let out a vague giggle, but stifled herself slightly at Julie's look. The relationship between Gail and Birkoff hadn't gotten far enough yet to tease them too openly. Gail answered, then. "Just ribbing Carla about her not having a boyfriend this year." She shot her friend a devious glance.

Carla's eyes widened slightly. Birkoff let out a "um, okay," knowing that he was missing something. Once his back was turned, too, his almost-girlfriend and the woman she was teasing stuck out their tongues at each other--and then fell into giggles.

Nik clapped Birkoff lightly on the back, as he led him over to the drinks. "Ignore 'em. They'll stop giggling by about midnight." The younger man just shook his head.

Michelle watched all this with a slight smile. She had no memories of close family occasions; this, then, was rather amazing to watch.

Julie smiled at her bouncer. "So, Dav, glad you could join us this year. Your grandmother didn't want to spend the day with you?"

Nik watched the man being addressed; he had seen more than once that all gruffness categorically disappeared in him when he addressed Julie. He was just waiting to see if his friend ever noticed.

"She's still settling into the retirement home." A small smile appeared on his face. "She's doing her usual--organizing the whole place. She's set up their dinner for them and is playing matchmaker."

"And she didn't want you to stay for that?" Julie wondered.

His smile went deeper. "I think she's got a thing for the guy across the hall from her. She's trying to draw him out." A slight chuckle rumbled in him. "If he's not careful, I'm going to have a new grandfather soon." Julie laughed, as she led him toward the drinks.

Michelle, too, was just helping Fredricks out; he was only the relief bartender at the bar, because he was going back to school. She had inquired as to his first name once, but he had reluctantly informed her that it was "Irving." She had referred to him as "Fredricks" ever since.

He was attempting now to unload the armful of tins, plates, plastic ware, and other food containers that he had been dumped with. "How did you end up carrying all of this?" she asked politely.

"I guess I just look like I do good scut work," he smiled.

"Whoa!" Chuck came over just in time to catch a Tupperware tin that had almost decided to commit suicide. "We shoulda brought a box."

"Next year," Fredricks decided.

Carla--first beer now securely in hand--looked around her. "Y'know, Julie, you do hire some good-looking men." Chuck smiled over at her.

"What can I say? I like a good boy toy or two." She gave her employees teasing grins.

Chuck nodded. "Oh, *now* I understand why you hired me as a cocktail 'waitress.' You weren't *just* looking for me to bring in the women."

"A girl's gotta have amusements, ya know," she grinned.

Nik noticed that she and Davenport seemed to lock eyes for just a second. Interesting.

"Well, too many amusements aren't always good for you," Terry threw in. She had only found out about a month ago that she was pregnant, but she was happier about it than she would have expected to be. "Still," she raised a knowing eyebrow, "there's no such thing as having too much of something good."

Gail gave her, still not overly large, abdomen a smartass look, before meeting her eyes again. "I guess you should know, huh, Terry?"

The older woman smiled back knowingly, her rich voice crooning. "You watch yourself, or I'll stop giving you advice on sexual techniques." Gail blushed again, and Terry let out a small chuckle. Point won.

At this point, an older man with long white hair and a bandana poked his head in the door. "Is this where I come to find the mental health rejects?"

"Walter!" Julie and Nik let out simultaneously.

Julie got to him first. Davenport helped out the older man by taking the pie he was holding from him before she could launch herself in his arms.

He returned her tight embrace. "Hey there, sweet thing." He pulled her back from him to look her over. "Mmm, you look good enough to eat." His eyes were sparkling.

"Why do you think I made you bring the pie, instead?" she grinned.

"Tease," he murmured happily.

He looked up then to Nik before drawing the younger man into an even tighter hug; he had made the decision long ago not to worry about the fact that he was demonstrative. The kid needed all the support he could get. "So, how's my favorite nephew?" He let him go and grinned at him.

"Helps that I'm your *only* one, of course," he returned the smile.

"Smartass kids," Walter smiled again. He patted the younger man on the cheek for a second. "So where's this new beauty you've been telling me about, Nikky? You shouldn't keep an old man waiting, you know."

Nik snorted. "You're never gonna get old, Walter--or maybe that's you're never gonna grow up." Walter chuckled.

Michelle, meanwhile, had been watching the two of them, taking in the man who had so helped out her beloved. So far, he was everything she had been told--and probably much she had not been. She approached him now, giving him a small smile, as she looked at Nikita. "'Nikky'?" she inquired.

Nik blushed slightly; Walter answered. "Hey, uncle's prerogative. I get to call him by nickname and tell embarrassing stories about him." He repressed the feeling of guilt in him that he didn't really have that many stories to tell--and most of the early ones he knew weren't that pleasant for his nephew.

Nik smiled at them both. He had been waiting for this moment; it was the closest the woman he loved was going to get to meeting his family. "This is Michelle."

"Mmm, so I see," Walter mock leered. His mind analyzed her, though. She looked an awful lot like someone he had met once--a woman he had *not* enjoyed knowing; she had the same hair, a little of the same figure, as well--in its younger form.

There was something else about her, too, though, which rang alarm bells in him--some sense of casual authority, one which--in the older woman--had been decidedly unpleasant. He was going to have to watch her closely--to see what he thought about her after a few hours. Similarities like that one didn't bode well, indeed.

Still--his mind was still processing the woman quickly--Nikky was obviously smitten with her, and his nephew wasn't a man who simply fell for a woman based on her looks. He would give her the benefit of the doubt for now, then, and see what happened.

"My nephew has good taste it appears," he finished after a second. "Welcome to the clan."

Both he and the woman he was regarding, however, understood that the welcome was tentative. They understood, too, that they were each under the other's surveillance for now--and failure for either of them could be nasty; Nik loved them both.