He moved back toward her, then, his eyes apologizing slightly--but still incredibly heated. His hand nudged her side, and she slid over a little on the bed, allowing him enough space to sit beside her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. They were words addressed at the past--and at the night to come.

She had realized quickly in his look that her fears were unfounded; she started breathing again. Still, there was something to his gaze now which clearly said that she wouldn't be allowed much dissent tonight. She let out another, now shaky, breath. Good. She didn't want to deny him anymore. . . . It had been too painful the first time.

He saw that she had begun to understand him again, that she had returned to her real knowledge of him. His eyes still held a fire he refused to quench, then--one which demanded absolute, and unquestioned, control. "Raise your hands," he whispered breathily.

Her heart thundered. "Mi-chael," she whispered, lying back--but it was really only a movement of lips; her voice had abandoned her in her passion.

This wasn't the first time for them with something like this, of course, but there was more heat between them at the moment than she had ever felt there before; all of the pain, rage, and emptiness of the last two weeks, indeed, were beginning to crash into them both--were demanding to be let out. This, then, had to be.

She lifted her arms up over her head, therefore, lying them there softly, her breathing entirely unsteady. It wasn't, however, like she really had any objections. Yes, she still might have brief moments of fear with him at times--ones brought on by too many early betrayals between them--but she had never had a single one with him sensually which had had any foundation to it at all; he just wasn't capable of hurting her here, no matter how wild and desperate their passion.

Even if all their years of ego-diminishing torment caused them to frequently switch off in their demands for ragingly passionate reassurance, then--even if they sometimes were beyond wild in their claiming of each other, in their desperate need to know that their partner's desire was real--there was nothing violent about these moments. They were always, instead, about love--and the expiation of pain.

His eyes softened for the moment at her quiet acquiescence, at her unquestioning trust of him. Once more, she was giving herself up to him, was allowing him to possess her--was even asking him to. . . . It was just more sweet than he could bear.

The hand which held the belt, then, moved up to hold one of hers for a moment, sharing a tender exchange of soft strokes, a reminder of their love. The other, too, moved down to remove her skirt and underwear, stroking down her body, as he pushed them off. His eyes never left hers at all.

She sighed with the feeling of both of his hands, with the tenderness which existed in him for her even in his most desperately needy moments. To say their relationship had "control issues," of course, would have been a ludicrous understatement, but this was--despite any appearances to the contrary--where they worked them out; this was where they both relearned the trust which Section, and their own foolish decisions, had stolen so often.

Once she was entirely revealed, as well, her desire simply couldn't be held back any longer; she didn't want to wait. His tender touch was stroking lightly over her outer thigh, the fingertips which a life in Section had roughened tingling against her soft flesh. She moaned. Now.

Her eyes begged him to begin, to show her that she was still, somehow, worthy of his touch, of the passion he had always given to her alone. So much of her, after all, no longer believed it was real.

Her soul, then, told him its only truth. "I love you, Michael."

He closed his eyes, as his breath shuddered from him, all of his hands' movements ceasing. He had dreamed so often of hearing those words from her over the last two weeks; his soul had bled to just hear her say them truthfully again, to be able to feel that they were real.

Now he knew it, though, understood. This moment between them was the truth; whatever was to come, whatever their superiors might decide to do when they discovered his return, was meaningless to him. They needed her, at least, so, with her safety assured, he would make love to her--and would hope it wouldn't be the last time. But, whatever happened eventually, the worries were for the future. This moment was about their passion.

His heart was hammering with desire, his eyes showing his need and his tenderness to her for one more second, before he lowered his head to her, capturing her in a loving and intimate kiss. He felt the moan in her throat and shuddered slightly against her. Yes.

She let go of his hand and moved her own to the bars of her headboard, offering him the chance for complete possession--and sighed as he took it. She felt his hands wrapping the belt around her wrists--a little more tightly than he had in the past, but not enough to hurt her; he obviously needed to reassure himself that she was truly his alone. She had no objections.

He moaned slightly against her, in response to another warm sound from her, and deepened the kiss. His hands had tested the headboard experimentally and found it to be relatively strong. That was good; they would need it.

He lost himself in the kiss, then, as he continued to secure her wrists. He needed her like this now, needed her open to his desires--needed her to *want* to be. He had to show her all the love and passion he still had for her--the emotions which had only grown *so* much more intense over the past weeks of hell. He wanted to touch and adore his sweet angel while she lost herself to him, while she moaned out for more. This, truly, was the only measure of life he had left.

She moaned deeply through the kiss, once she felt herself bound, slight tears in her eyes. Yes. She wanted--needed this more than she could have clearly expressed. The simple fact that her Michael still wanted her, could still desire her, made her weak. She could never get over that at all.

Still, he was going too slowly; she wanted more. She pulled away from the kiss, therefore, her eyes begging. "Please."

His eyes traced an erotic fire down her body, and he shuddered just slightly from his need. Whenever she gave herself up to him this much, it made him wild, made him want her more savagely than he could ever put into words. The very fact that she still, somehow, trusted him to have complete control over her body made his shaft beat with a desperate strength. By the time he shared that strength with her, he wanted her to be screaming in need and desire.

He smiled softly, but the look grew more intense, as he saw again in her prone, ready form how completely she had given herself up to him. He growled slightly, the noise a warm breath in the back of his throat, as his gaze grew hotter, far more primal. He was going to show her just how much he needed her with him--was going to show her now.

His eyes were alight with his knowledge of her needs, then, by the time they reached her own once more. His smile was wild, made promises of things he was half-afraid would frighten her. Still, he wasn't willing to hold back anymore, and it was obvious--from her words, from her desperate little moans and gasps, from the wide-eyed look of need in her eyes--that she wasn't either. His smile grew more feral. Good.

She watched him, then, as he prowled further onto the bed, straddling across her willing form; she moaned loudly, her head tilting back submissively, and his hands began to lightly stroke over her sides. A whimper echoed from her. She didn't want any more delays. "Please," she begged again.

His smile was knowing and confident now; he had his mate where he wanted her, knew there was no escape for her now--would be no denials of her love tonight. Still, that didn't mean that he wasn't going to taunt her quite a bit before he gave her what she really wanted--what they both did. Her willing desire was just to sweet not to enjoy in depth.

His eyes ran along her sweet body again. "Shall I tell you what I've been fantasizing about these last two weeks?" His heated gaze caught hers.

She moaned loudly, no longer able to stand his soft torments, needing so much more. "Please, touch me," she begged. Her eyes were more than a little desperate.

A warm growl echoed in his throat, as his feral smile grew deeper. "Is that your fantasy?"

Her eyes grew wider, her moan deeper. "*Yes*."

He let out a deep, rumbling laugh, as he leaned down to her finally. "Mine, too," he murmured.

A few seconds later, he had grazed lightly past her lips, and his hot mouth was moving down her throat, was possessing her--while showing her his absolute control of her desires; she let out a loud moan at his message--and at the sweet, wet heat of his mouth--and felt his hands start to move toward her breasts. "Yesssss," she moaned.

He let out a rumbling laugh against her and felt her shudder. Oh, he loved that. He bit his possession of a tender spot on her neck in response. He adored how desperately she gave herself up to him, how much she needed his touch.

She shuddered again beneath him, beginning to whimper at his sweet devastation of her tender flesh; his hands were now lightly stroking the bottom of her breasts. He bit a tender spot beneath her jaw, as well, and she moaned out her desire. Oh God, she had missed this--had missed *him*.

He loved this torment of her, but it wasn't enough; he wanted to give her more, to make her blaze further. His teeth stroked over her, as he let her go, looking back to her eyes once more; his gaze was commanding and feral. "I dreamed of this--of you beneath my touch, begging for me, needing me." His thumbs finally found the hard points which needed him, and she let out a soft cry, pushing herself further toward him; he smiled, his need for her aching in him. "I dreamed of things too passionate to ever say."

She had shut her eyes at the beautiful touch of his hands, but she opened them again to stare into his, desperate--begging. "Show me," she pleaded. She whimpered and arched her back, pushing her breasts further toward his touch; a little moan echoed in her, as he increased his lovely, roughened thumbs' pressure in their strokes. "Please, show me."

Her eyes had closed again, losing herself to his touch. He smiled and ran his own gaze down along her supine form, his need for her beating thunderously through his blood, his shaft huge and desperate. He twisted his fingers over the sweet points beneath them once more, too, rasping over them, and she whimpered more loudly--making the fire in him burn hotter--threatening to turn every scrap of tenderness in him to ashes.

His fingers had her nipples trapped passionately, making her burn so sweetly--the thumbs possessing them roughly. She was letting out constant small moans, the feeling singeing in her--the desperate ache inside her growing even stronger. He twisted over them again, and she let out a pleading whimper. "More."

There was soft growling sound from him, her need making his own nearly insane; he decided to tell her some of his repeated fantasies. "I've dreamed of this." Her eyes opened again, enraptured and needy; his own led hers up toward her bound hands, letting her know exactly what he had been dreaming about. "I've dreamed about you begging me to take you again, asking me to make you my own without mercy."

She whimpered, pushing her breasts toward him further--his erotic verbal torments only making her desperation for him ache more strongly within her. He twisted over her sweet nipples again, pulling them a little before letting them go; she let out a small cry of desire. Oh, God--yes.

There were tears in her eyes now, as he focused into her soul. "Do you want that, Nikita--do you want me now?"

His gaze demanded an answer from her--and she gave it without hesitation. "Yes--please," she begged. She moved her legs slowly from between his own, opening herself, asking for him. She swallowed heavily. "Michael, please."

He needed to hear this, needed to hear her constant cries for him, her desperate pleas for his attention--needed them in order to heal all the torment of these last, soul-scarring weeks. His eyes were intense, commanding. "Tell me."

She saw the look there, saw what she had unintentionally done to this beloved man--saw how deeply he was still hurt; there were tears in her eyes from the realization--from need, from love, from sheer regret. His thumbs were stroking just below her breasts, too, making her shiver for more. "I want you, Michael." The words were a little choked with emotion. "I want you to love me." She swallowed heavily, the tears building further. "Please tell me you still love me."

He closed his eyes for a second, overcome by the pain he saw in her gaze--by the undying love there. She had done this evil thing, he knew, had let him go, mostly because of her own, wounded self-image, because of all that had been done to teach her to believe the lie that she was useless, valueless. A tear slipped down his cheek. He, too, had taught her this, had forced this lesson upon her more often than he remembered. He swallowed heavily. God, truly, could never forgive him for it--but maybe, if he were very lucky, Nikita could begin to find some way to. It was all he could hope for now.

He looked back to her finally with more love in his eyes than she had ever seen before; she moaned, the impact of the sweet look immense. Still, the tender emotion hadn't diminished the continuing heat there--had only increased it. She let out a shuddering breath. "Please just love me," she moaned.

He couldn't take any more, was convinced he might break at any second. He leaned down, then, to possess her sweet mouth, to knowingly swamp her in an undeniable kiss. He heard her whimper through it, too, and moaned more loudly. God--yes.

She was crying slightly through the kiss, was overcome by the beautiful, tender, and passionate emotions he gifted to her there. She became more desperate in it, then, needing more--needing him to show her that she wasn't quite as worthless as she believed, that she might be forgivable. It was the only thing which mattered to her anymore.

He continued the kiss for several, very long heartbeats, a lingering growl in his throat. The kiss, too, became wilder, as his passion for her grew. He couldn't wait much longer to love her--to explore her, to be inside her; he wouldn't survive without that.

He knew he was probably bruising her sweet lips with the intensity of his kiss, as well, but he wasn't certain he cared at the moment; Nikita certainly didn't. That, then, would be enough for him.

When he pulled back from her finally, he was gasping a little, his eyes wild, his body trembling slightly. "You're mine," he whispered hoarsely. The inferno of his gaze licked further at her. "Don't you dare forget that again."

"Mi-chael," she whispered softly, her love absolutely clear in her gaze.

He growled more deeply and leaned in to nip a hard kiss over her lips. He wouldn't ever let her forget his love again after tonight.

Oh . . . God. All pain, all self-recriminations were forgotten for Nikita, as Michael's lips began his possession of her, began to reclaim her as his own. His mouth again kissed down the side of her face before coming to lick and bite little possessive marks under her jaw line; each one made her moan, made the surging heat flow, collecting in the tight, growing need deep within her--the one which begged for his expert release. "More," she moaned.

Her throat was exposed to him once more, her head back; he loved it. He took the opportunity to rediscover every spot of passion on her neck and throat, adoring the taste of her once more. God, he had dreamed of this, had dreamed so many times of having her sweet moans once more reverberating off his tongue and lips, as she begged him for more. Nothing else, ever, was as beautiful as her desire.

She was letting out constant soft cries now; each place his mouth found once again sent a warmth swelling, moving into her deepest core. Oh God, she wanted him--wanted him in her now--wanted him wild and desperate. She wanted anything which gave him to her--which showed her without question that he needed her still. That, truly, was all she would ask of life.

He could feel her growing devotion to him, her utter desperation for his touch. His hands returned to her lovely breasts, caressing their fullness with joy--his teeth now lovingly tormenting one of her neck's most passionate spots. The sweet flesh in his hands had been pulled a little taut by her current position, as well, but the reminder of her willing submission to him--of her absolute trust of him--only made the fire burn more wickedly. God, he had to be careful, or he just wasn't sure what he would do.

She, however, felt his caution--and hated it. It was in the slight shudder of his body against hers, was in the tautness she could feel in his muscles, the desperate control which clung to him, as he tried to pull himself back from his real desires. She didn't want any of this, though, wanted him wild and insane with need. There was just no other desire at all.

She was half-beginning to think, indeed, that it wouldn't even matter to her whether he gave her the ultimate release her body was clamoring for, so long as she could feel him achieve it--so long as she could know for certain that his desire for her was absolutely real. . . . Of course, this might also have had something to do with the fact that she was well aware that he simply wasn't capable of not pleasing her, that he would achieve no joy himself without hers. It was what they both needed now.

She felt his incredible hands softly working the flesh of her breasts, then, and she moaned a little desperately, pushing herself toward him--wanting so much more. His teeth, too, were being maddeningly cautious at the crook of her neck--and that just wasn't what she wanted at all. "Mi-chael!" she whimpered, pleadingly.

He recognized the change in the sound, understood her request. He looked up at her, waiting to see what she needed--praying his growing desperation hadn't somehow hurt her.

What he saw there, though, was a sense of need so intense it singed him, destroyed all his lingering fears. He let out a heavy, shuddering gasp.

She saw that he finally understood, that he now knew what she wanted. She nodded, confirming it, her voice shaky. "*Please*."

He looked into her for another few seconds, trying to confirm what he had seen. Once he was certain, however, he closed his eyes tightly, the rage of his need coming forth, threatening to explode from him. . . . He didn't know how much longer he could hold it back.

She saw how close he was to where they both needed him to be, and she moaned. "Yes," she whispered, begging for him. It was what they both wanted--was what they both had to have. They needed to begin to burn off all the rage and pain between them, needed to incinerate the past. It was only after that that they could begin anew.

He understood this now and let out a deep, shuddering moan, his eyes still closed. He was frightened of himself, of his own needs, but a little part of him, at least, realized something new; his own fears, like hers, were caused by all the pain of their pasts, by the self-image he and Section had so ruthlessly warped. Maybe, then, this was the time to try to begin to discard it--to try to trust himself, and her, enough to simply allow their instincts for each other to unfold without fear. Perhaps it was finally time for that much love.

He opened his eyes to look at her again, knowing that there was more flame than color there. Her gaze was still pleading, however, was unvaried. She, at least, wasn't backing down.

She looked at him again with absolute love and trust, her eyes opening her soul to his exploration. She explained simply all that she felt. "I love you." Her breath shuddered a little. "I always have."

The dams he had built were destroyed then, were ruthlessly demolished by him. No more. He would hurt them both no longer through denial; it was a lesson both of them needed to learn.

He began, then, by giving her another intense, wild, and hard kiss, knowingly swamping her senses--and reveling in the lovely fact. She whimpered, too, and he lay himself on top of her completely, allowing himself to enjoy the silky feeling of her incredible body beneath his own. Yes. This was what both of them needed.

Her sweet sounds of devotion continued through the kiss, as his hands began to caress her breasts more intensely, his thumbs just as rough as she wanted. He remembered finally, too, to let her breathe, and pulled back to see her gasping, loving, and incredibly trusting expression below him. He smiled ferally, loving her more by the second. Tonight, she was his.

He began, then, to repossess the soft skin of her neck. He was giving catlike licks to the small spots he had been biting before, as she whimpered with each one. He smiled at his work. God, he loved it.

This, though, wasn't all. He was enjoying, as well, the fact that his hardened cock was pressing into her, was burning into the flesh of her stomach--and lower. He smiled again, as she whimpered and began to give her a happy love bite on the crook of her neck. She moaned, too, loving it all, and he growled softly. Good.

Oh--oh, God, yes. This just felt so incredible; he knew every place to touch her, knew exactly how she wanted him to. She had never had an instant of pain from him in these moments. All there ever was was ecstasy, love--and a need for more.

His heart thundered louder by the second, as he continued to possess a few of his favorite spots on her neck and throat--the ones which gave him the sweet joy of her moans and cries in response--as his heart opened to her further. God, this was what he had needed, was truly what he had dreamed of. This perfect acceptance of each other was what made them both feel whole and alive, was what gave them a reason to live. In the last few weeks without this--with the memory of her lying, taunting words--he had been dead, had only lived in his dreams of being near her again. Now, however, they were both alive once more. It was truly beautiful.

The fire within her was building too strongly, was becoming too much; she couldn't bear waiting any longer for him to move on. It had been too long since she had felt that amazing mouth on several other needy spots, after all. Lord, did she ever need it again now.

"Mi-chael," her voice called to him once more; he felt the ache of need surge through him again, as he smiled to himself and suckled one more needy spot roughly for a second, enjoying his reconquest of his beloved. Then, however, he yielded to her request--and moved along to some other places he had missed. There was just never enough of her for him.

Oh, it was nearly too much. She let out a crying moan, as she felt that hot, wet tongue run down her body again; a second later, too, he had recaptured a desperate nipple.

Oh, yes. She groaned in need and pushed herself toward him, praying for more. God, the things he did to her were indescribable. The need in her was so intense she was shaking.

Her sweet cries surrounded him, enveloped him in beauty, as he suckled the lovely little spot he so adored. She was just so perfect everywhere, but this spot particularly gave her such pleasure. His own aching desire aside, that alone would have been enough to make him love it.

Oh God, what a feeling. Her head was back, as she moaned, shuddering against him. The warm light from his sweet, warm mouth flowed inside her, making the need in her ache so much more. Admittedly, it was a spot which had responded to most of her partners in the past, but there was no one at all who could ever equal the beautiful man who was pleasing her now. No one else could even come close.

After a few minutes of this wonderful treatment, however, the softness of his approach made her start to ache. "More," she begged.

Almost at the same second she asked for it, he began to nibble lightly over the needy bud, causing a responding tremor to take over her whole body. She was giving little, soft cries of need.

He closed his eyes tightly, no longer certain how much he could take, how much longer he could wait. He had already waited for two weeks, after all, which had seemed like a lifetime, which had lasted for years, as he had wandered through Hell without her. Those, too, had followed weeks of doubt and fear before them, had made life a constant struggle for him. Now, that he was here with her finally--was living out his fantasy, was being accepted by her again, the lies disclaimed--he needed her, felt the ache moving through him so sharply he thought it might make him mad. God, he just had to have her soon.

He sped up his repossession of her, therefore, praying that he might be fortunate enough to have other chances to express his sensual devotion to her in the years to come. He just couldn't wait much longer to be surrounded by her soft acceptance today.

He pulled back from her breast, then, licking the tip of his tongue over it repeatedly--to her moans--before he gave it one last kiss. He moved over to suckle its twin, as well, a little harshly, only briefly, before he needed to move along.

The time he spent there, however, made her happy enough. Her whole body was shuddering with desire, with the ache deep within her. The fury of her passion--of her need to feel the strength and truth of his continuing devotion to her--was becoming too much. She just didn't want to wait much longer.

She moaned out a small "yes," as he moved his wet kisses down her form. She was shuddering beneath his hands, as his hot, panting breaths heated along her. Nothing had ever felt so good.

Her response drove him mad. She was so incredible, her body the perfect one he had seen so often in his dreams of her--capable of giving them both such immense pleasure. . . . Oh God, he wanted more.

She was whimpering by the time he was suckling at her navel, therefore, the warm light moving deeper within her--something within coiled tight. Her legs spread further in invitation, wanting him, desperate for the pleasure only he could ever give. She just couldn't put it all into words. "Michael," she whimpered.

He let out a hot, shaky breath above the sweet curls near her core, his eyes closed. Her words, her scent--the absolute knowledge of her need--all of it made him ache to be inside her, to finally be received by his angel's light. He shuddered strongly for a second. Lord, he hoped he could hold out long enough to give her the pleasure she so deserved. Without that, after all, he was nothing.

He pushed away this terrible fear, though, not allowing himself to fall back into self-doubts right now. Now, after all, a miracle was before him. How, then, could he do anything but give thanks?

He gazed up at her to see her wide, loving, needy eyes focused on his own--begging him for more. He looked at her with all the love in his soul, then, and placed a tender kiss just above the curls. There would never be anyone else anything like his angel.

His eyes lowered, as well, as he moved down, focusing on this gift he remembered so well. He let out a shaky breath near the tender flesh, too, and she moaned in desire.

The sound, however, was too much; he closed his eyes and kissed the needy little bud tenderly, as she shuddered. "Michael," she whimpered.

He groaned slightly; the sweet sound was too much. He let out a desperate moan and moved down, therefore, kissing over all the tender flesh of this flower of passion, thanking her for allowing him to receive her gifts once more.

She watched him, moaning, her heart crying out for him. This beautiful man, one she had so recently--so unforgivably--hurt, was lost to her now, was treating her as though she were an object of his most devoted worship. Just the sight of the adoration for her on his incredible face was enough to make her shudder; the soft, teasing sensations he gave her on top of it were almost too much. Oh God, she needed him *soon*.

He could feel her love and desire for him, and the knowledge of them made him *wild*. He looked back at these treasures he had been greeting and the ache of his shaft beat so heavily he barely felt sane. As much as he wanted to worship her adequately here, then, he knew he couldn't. He just needed her far too much.

He gave a small lick along these treasures, then, and a suckling kiss to her tender bud; she shuddered beneath him. He closed his eyes again and moved back up to her beautiful, passion-deep gaze, before looking back at her to explain. "I'm sorry, Nikita." His breath was coming in shaky little pants. "I just can't wait anymore."

She moaned deeply, as he caught her in an intense, loving kiss--the slight taste of her own desire on his lips. She groaned and tried to capture him in it further, loving him more desperately than she had words for--more than ready to be his erotic captive once more.

He felt all of her need and acceptance there, and the sweet tenderness of the feelings practically destroyed him. He ran his hands deep into the soft hair he adored and kissed her more intensely. All he could think about was how much he loved her.

She was crying slightly now in love and desperation; her need for him was absolutely singeing--was burning her alive. When she finally felt him adjust his hips, then, felt the incredible head of that huge cock start to move within her, she broke from the kiss to scream in joy. She could feel the emotion in him, after all; no one else would *ever* affect him like this.

He watched her crying for a second and stopped himself from entering further, afraid that he might have hurt or disappointed her--his old self-doubts rising again. When she opened her eyes once more, however, he understood the truth, saw the love and need which shone so incredibly from her eyes; his breath left him in a moan. Oh God--yes.

He wanted to release her hands, wanted to feel her incredible touch on his skin again--wanted to experience the beautiful way it goaded him on, begged him for more. Still, he couldn't just yet, needed to be completely inside her before he did. Her touch, after all, just gave him such a sweet, strong ache that he wasn't certain he could experience it yet and survive. He had to regain some sense of control before he allowed her to torment him so beautifully.

He stroked one hand over her cheek, then, as the other slid down her body, angling her hips further toward his own. He then watched her every amazing expression, as he slowly began to coax his large cock deep within those incredible, tight, honeyed walls. Every inch was a miracle.

She couldn't have agreed more. She was crying out, was pushing herself toward him, begging him to take her completely. She hadn't ever forgotten how incredible it was to be stretched around the sweet, hard breadth of him, but it was always a revelation, nonetheless. She knew she would never get used to it at all--although she did hope that the future would provide her every opportunity to try.

This last thought rang through her sharply, however, tormenting her slightly. The memory of what they still had to face, of what might come made her ache. She had reason to hope that it would be alright, of course, but she had no way to be sure. She just couldn't stand to think about it at all.

This thought, too, made her wild, made her need for him more insane than she could take. She leaned up as much as she could to kiss around his face; her heels were dug into the bed, as she pushed her hips up to his entry. "More," she begged, "please, more."

He could feel the rising desperation in her, and it made him close his eyes, his breath hissing from him. The rush of her need became a pang of sweet ache through his incredibly-hard shaft, nearly destroying him. He had to hold completely still for a second, one hand propping him up on the bed, in order to regain anything like control. Lord, he was glad her hands weren't free at that moment.

He realized something else then, too. He needed to take absolute control here now, or he wouldn't make it; he had to take her with all the strength of his fierce need, or he could never please them both. He just wasn't that strong.

He took her face in his hands, then, and began his new plan, pushing her back into the bed. "Be quiet," he demanded softly. "Just receive." He captured her in a erotically-tormenting kiss.

She began to whimper wildly, softening entirely in his touch; just that reaction was practically more than he could stand. He had to take her completely.

He began, then, to possess her sweet depths more forcefully--with her entire, desperate consent. His strokes ran out and then further back in, sinking more of him into those tight, lovely walls each time. The feeling shook him. Oh God, she was so incredible. . . . He needed more.

The kiss became wilder, as his every stroke moved his amazing, hard shaft deeper inside her--reawakening every incredible spot there was. She whimpered and angled her head, trying to kiss him more deeply, begging for more of him. Lord--she wanted him *all*.

He broke from the kiss finally to close his eyes tightly, his breath shuddering wildly; his whole body had taken on a fine tremor. There was nothing else like this--nothing and no one who came close to her. Every fantasy, every memory of her was incomplete--could never compare. The beautiful, indescribably soft walls enfolded him now, welcomed him, were mirrored in the most soul-opening sense by the way her whole spirit enveloped and accepted him. He looked back at her, tears in his eyes. Dear God--he was alive again. He was whole.

She was whimpering and arching, was overwhelmed by the incredible way he filled her. He had entered her wonderfully deeply now, but there was still some of that beautiful, erotically-massaging shaft left. She whimpered again, as she looked at him. "Please," her lips moved.

The movement of her lips to that one word was too much for him, though, made him too wild. He closed his eyes and invaded her willing mouth desperately again, his breath hot and shaky against her--no longer willing to wait. With two more deep, insistent strokes, then, he was buried within her to the base--was hers completely once more.

They both cried out at the sensation, the kiss momentarily forgotten, her legs wrapped tightly around him. For both of them, indeed, it was just too much, simply felt too amazing. Their eyes were closed, their breaths panting, as they tried to pull themselves together--tried to even vaguely assimilate the absolutely soul-deep sensations. Finally, again, they were whole.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, unable to move yet--too overcome; his forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath hot against her face--hers hot against his own. His fingers were tangled in her hair, too--were just experiencing the softness of it, enraptured by her beauty. There would never be words enough to explain how much he needed her.

Finally, though, they both needed more, both became slightly unhinged with desire. He captured her in the exploring kiss again, therefore, as his hand reached up to untangle hers from her bonds. He needed her touch.

He began a very short, deep rhythm--the head of his cock stroking the most tender, furthest part of her core, working it to their mutual delight. The feeling shuddered through him. Dear God, it was incredible.

Lord, was he ever right about that. Every small stroke was making the fire within her burn bright and hot, was making the coming explosion build even further. She tightened her walls around him, holding the incredible shaft close, adoring every sensation the head gave her, as she whimpered. . . . There would never be anyone else like him again.

He freed her hands completely and brought each back in one of his own. His fingers massaged them, too, ran along her arms, trying to apologize for his needs, moving the blood back into them completely. He didn't regret his decision, really, but he did hope he hadn't hurt her.

Oh, God, this felt incredible; she was totally unaware of his fears. She moaned and held onto his hands, twining her fingers with his. They rested them to either side of her head, as well, as he continued to keep her passionately where he wanted her in this more symbolic, and more intimate, bondage.

Ohhh, it was good--all of it. The tender touch of his hands, the beautiful weight of his body, the amazing, deeply-massaging thrusts of his cock--all of it made her feel insane with need, made her want so much more of him she was beginning to weep slightly. Everything within her was incredibly bright, her slick depths feeling every inch of him, as she clung tightly to his length. Pretty soon, she would explode.

Her legs tightened around him, then, and he let out a moan--his own needs intense. His strokes were still deep within her but were moving more heavily now--were working her more intently. His passion was close to making him lose all human control.

Her moan in response was immense, as she arched into him further, begging for him to let go--to spare her nothing. The heat she was feeling at the moment couldn't be described, was simply too all-encompassing. . . . She wanted absolutely everything he had to give.

He felt the continuing heat in her, felt her insanity rising, and he growled wildly in response. He was letting go, was giving up on anything besides the savage need which had overshadowed everything else in his soul; this was his mate, indeed--and she would respond to him the way he needed her to. He wouldn't leave her any other choice.

She was letting out screams through the kiss, as his strokes grew longer--and harder, beating against the furthest, most needy depths of her core in a way which gave her shuddering little bursts of light with each one. Oh God--it was an ache too sweet and desperate to describe. . . . She might not survive much more of this sort of pleasure.

He knew she was losing herself, was close to erotic destruction; he cherished it. Yes. She would come for him today, would make him real. He wouldn't allow her to escape from it for a second.

His hands grasped her head now, then, as he pulled her even more wildly into the kiss, her louder cries sounding in it. He was riding her body high and deep, his thrusts short, fast, and rough. He wouldn't make her wait long for her pleasure.

Her moans and cries were immense, her whole body arching toward him constantly--lost in the rhythm he had created for the two of them alone. He obviously wasn't human anymore, had become something primal and possessive--and her whole soul opened to him completely, begging for more of his need.

He was growling deep in his throat, was waiting for her coming implosion--his whole manner rough and needy. God, that she wanted him this way made him *wild*. Lord, it had to be soon.

His cock was working her in an unspeakably deep, fast, rough rhythm--the head of it refusing to allow her a moment without trembling bliss. His whole body was shaking with the emotions and feelings she gave him, as well, too overcome to hold on for much longer. The fact that she still loved him--that she always had--made him wild, made him insane; every second of it sent a bolt of light through his whole form and soul. Dear God, he had to please her soon.

She cried more loudly through the kiss again, barely able to hold on; every damn second was just so . . . incredibly . . . sweet--and she savored each one to its limits. Every part of her body and soul was his entirely. She just couldn't experience much more without a total, beautiful collapse.

He roared above her, his thrusts rougher and even more constant. There was nothing human left in him anymore; everything was simple desire.

She had one hand in his hair, was holding him to the kiss, while the nails of the other were dug deep into his shoulder; his own hands were caressing her lower back, were holding her to his conquering thrusts. They were both crying out more loudly. It was going to be very soon.

The shudders of light through her were becoming louder, were overtaking her entirely. She just couldn't take much more.

She broke from the kiss, therefore, her whole body shuddering--no sanity left. Her hands were claws on his shoulders, digging in deep, as his burning gaze caught hers. She whimpered.

God, yes. He growled in response, too in need to care about anything but what he wanted--and that was only their pleasure and her love. His cock rode her hard.

She was crying out when his growling words caught her--his needs, his demands in every line and sound of him. "Say it," he commanded.

Her lips opened, shakily, as a little gasp moved from her; his rhythm had just intensified unspeakably. She wasn't sure she could even breathe now from sheer wonder.

She knew what he wanted, though--what he needed to hear, but she wasn't at all sure she had the ability left to speak. When she tried, indeed, only a little whimper came out.

He couldn't take it, however, was far beyond sanity or tenderness. He needed to hear the words, needed them right now; he had to know this was real, that it always had been, or he would simply take the next few minutes to end his life. His look was some combination of cruel, desperate, and pleading, then--his voice quiet but rough. "Tell me!"

His indescribable rhythm had her floating, her lips open, her head back--barely able to think at all; it wasn't helping her efforts to give him what he needed. He saw her situation, too, but was simply unable to stop his erotic onslaught, was far beyond reason. He gave her, then, one more, unspeakably intense and perfect, thrust.

She let out a gasp, arching herself at him; her nails dug deep into his flesh. With every last ounce of strength and will she had, however, she made one last effort--telling him the absolute truth of her soul, her hand cupping his head desperately. "I love you, Michael," her broken voice moaned. She managed to keep her eyes open for one more heartbeat to show him this truth, as well, before her body convulsed with the uncontrollable, racking power of her ecstasy, her head falling back with a long, loud cry, lost to him completely.

He watched all of this in quaking and absolute devotion before closing his eyes incredibly tightly. She had done it, had told him what he had needed to hear--had healed something deep inside him. A tear ran down his cheek, a second before an immense, moaning cry rose from him--the beautiful destruction of his ecstasy overpowering him, overwhelming completely every other sense.

She managed to open her eyes again, as her body continued to buck at him--her convulsive joy multiplied endlessly by the sweet rush of heavy, heated desire which filled her from him. Everything between them was too immense to explain at all.

It was, for her, though--almost as much as anything else--the sight of him, of the newly-found, unshakable peace on his gorgeous face, of the love for her which seemed to surround him like a cloud, which made everything so completely, unbearably perfect. She let out another little cry and leaned up to him, kissing his cheek, enfolding him in her love.

He cried out more strongly, utterly lost to her--more in love than he had ever been before. He grabbed her head and held her close, moaning her name in a breath: "'Ki-ta."

The adoration and forgiveness which flowed from him healed her, as well, allowed her to put her terrible actions in the past--to abandon them. He held her more tightly, too, and her ecstasy seemed to rise several levels, her walls clasping him tight; she gave another shuddering cry, as her nails moved down his back--marking him as her own.

His whole body shook with the feeling; he closed his eyes, holding her head close to him. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear.

She leaned her head back, still shaky, to find his eyes again--seeing the absolute love there. No past, no recriminations lay between them right now. All there was was bliss.

They captured each other in a loving, tender kiss, then, holding one another close. They were both still shuddering desperately.

It was several minutes later, in fact, that they finally released each other from the kiss, their raging pleasure having died down only somewhat, enough to at least allow them to begin to relax. They smiled. For the first time in so very long, they both truly felt healed.

The covers of her bed had become rather badly disarrayed during the past hour or more. It made it easier, however, for him to pull them down--lifting her up to him and then settling them both more comfortably.

He sighed, after that, as well--replete--as he settled his head on her chest--listening to her heart beat, knowing that, like his own did with her in reverse, it beat for him alone. He kissed her shoulder before settling himself again. "I love you, 'Kita," he whispered softly.

She shuddered pleasantly, the aftershocks of her quaking release not having entirely worn off; his words, however, almost outdid them. She kissed his hair, holding him to her, as he settled himself into peace--as he allowed himself to take back, and she allowed herself to give, the comfort which she had stolen from him two weeks ago. She sighed happily. "I've always loved you, Michael." She smiled, kissing his hair again. "Anything else was a lie."

They held each other for several hours after that, too, neither one quite sleeping--even if the peace between them was complete. There was too much left unsaid, was too much they hadn't even begun to work out about their lives to come, though, to allow for much rest.

Nikita spoke first, as well--in the end--beginning where she felt she needed to. "I'm sorry, Michael. I . . ."

"Don't," he cut her off, "not yet."

She sighed and closed her eyes, nodding slightly. She was happy enough to just enjoy this moment; still, she wished she knew what was going to happen now.

As if on cue to her thought, however, her cell phone rang. Michael lifted his head from her chest to look up at her, and she sighed, her eyes showing her fear, as she answered it. Unconsciously, at least, it had been what they both had been waiting for. "Yes."

He watched the one-sided conversation silently. "Alright," she added finally and then hung up. She closed her eyes for a second before focusing on him once more. "Mr. Jones wants to see us both at 8 a.m. tomorrow."

He just nodded, understanding. There was no point in asking how he had known.

He saw the worry in her eyes, however, and kissed her lips softly, taking the cell phone from her to put it beside the bed again. "Don't worry. Not now."

She closed her eyes again, holding back her fears, before refocusing on him with a slight smile; she nodded. He was right, after all; whatever was coming, they still had tonight. They had been given that, at least.

They shared one more soft kiss, too, before, nothing settled but everything finally agreed on, he laid his head back down on her chest. They both allowed themselves, then, to experience a small miracle: the peace of sleeping in one another's arms one more time again. It was all they would ask out of life.

[End of Part 3]

Part 4

He had watched much of the evening, of course, had seen it in satisfaction. He had still allowed them some privacy, though--really wasn't interested in all of the details of their intimate lives. He had only witnessed enough, indeed, to be certain that they weren't going to kill each other, and had then switched back a few hours later to be sure they were done, before calling them in. Everything, then, was going just as he had planned.

Mr. Jones smiled to himself, as he sat back in his chair; it was morning again now, was almost time for their appointment. It was going to be a very memorable day.

He had decided to allow them a little time to get some sleep, though, before this moment--had decided to let them rest up from the heat of their evening together; he did need them both to be vaguely alert, after all. What he was going to say to them was important.

He remembered back to what he had witnessed of their meeting the night before, then, as he waited. It had been dangerous at first, to be sure, but he had had little doubt in their abilities to work things out between them; they had certainly had enough practice of that already in Section. Had they not perfected such techniques long ago, they would both have found out death with a desperate determination. Neither of them was happy living alone.

He was really quite pleased, too, with the eventual outcome they had reached; it was the beginning of where he needed them to be in the future. Since the confrontation he had been waiting for had finally come to pass, as well, he would have to disenable the surveillance in Nikita's house--at least until, or if, it might be necessary again. . . . He really had no particular desire, indeed, to see the pair play out the entire Kama Sutra in depth--again.

Still, he had no objections to the pair's . . . enthusiasm for each other; he smiled more deeply. It was harmless, truly, if handled correctly. . . . He had no idea why that fact had always escaped One's leaders.

He looked into the distance, thinking into his favored pair again. It had taken long enough, though, for this reunion to come about. Michael's sense of caution--or perhaps it was just his lack of a healthy self-perception--was apparently a little greater than he had at first expected.

His mind looked back again, analyzing the data before him. He had originally factored in a week and a half after Nikita's disastrous decision about their partnership before the man had brought on this confrontation; Michael had shown more reluctance than expected there. Still, he had also been under his estimates--of a week--in the time it had taken him to start watching her, so he supposed it evened out in the long run. Ah well.

His new protegee, of course, was entirely unaware of his part in encouraging Michael's search for her--as was Michael. He had, though, retracked the nano which had been implanted in the other man, had made certain that it never showed his real location to his new assistant--at least, not after he had come within a certain radius of her. After he had seen the man's entry into her house, as well, he had chosen the moment to suddenly have a snit about her work habits, had found an excuse to send her home. . . . It hadn't been a reunion he had had any desire of delaying, truly.

This, however, wasn't all of the help he had given. He had made sure, as well, that the former Class Five operative had no real trouble tracking his partner, that his searches were enabled just enough not to make the aid obvious. This new outcome, after all, had just been too important to leave entirely to chance.

He smiled, then, pleased at how things were turning out so far. He had always disliked Nikita's plan, indeed--her request for Michael's "freedom," had known it would be a catastrophe for them both. Still, he had allowed it, understanding all the while that the two wouldn't be apart forever, that he wouldn't let them be. Their future aid was too important to delay for very long.

It hadn't all come down to his help, though. It just wasn't in either of their profiles, either, to stay separated; they couldn't do it--were both entirely interdependent--and this, in their case, was not a bad thing at all.

His smile grew, then, pleased that he had followed his instincts about the pair. Now, he was finally on the path to having the operatives he needed.

He managed to clear the smile from his face, however, when his assistant buzzed him. "Sir--Nikita and Michael are here."

He settled his professional air. "Send them in."

The pair entered, calm and a little formal. Nikita, however, had just a slightly chastised look in her eyes--not surprising, since he had warned her what foolishness this was, but oh well. He nodded to them. "Have a seat."

Michael's heart was pounding just a little; he was having some trouble facing this. He refused to let it show, though. He might have marginally won Nikita back to him, but it would be meaningless if their leader forbid the relationship, would just leave them back where they had always been; he was still having trouble, as well, getting used to the idea of "Mick Schtoppel" as his superior. He continued to stand, then--his face a blank--as his partner followed suit.

Mr. Jones sighed very quietly, looking them both over like slightly wayward children. "This isn't an execution; it's a meeting." He held his hand toward the chairs. "Now, please . . ." It was obviously a quiet command.

His subordinates exchanged a small look and then finally sat down, obviously deciding to concede such a small point; their leader nodded, as he began. "There's a great deal to be discussed here today--or, at least, much to be resolved. Let's not waste any time with formalities, then." He looked over at the woman before him. "Nikita already has her place in Center, one I'd like her to continue." He refocused on Michael. "But your future is still to be decided."

The other man's face was blank, as was his partner's; he simply nodded. He didn't know how to analyze this man yet; he had thought he had understood how to read Mick once, of course, but he had obviously been wrong. He was waiting, then, to hear his fate.

His superior let out a quiet breath; his years as Section's "informant" had taught him much about this man, some of it a little tiring. "Chatty, as always, Michael. Very well. Let's try this approach--what future do you see for yourself here?"

A near-lifetime of playing these games should have made it easier to answer this question, but he was still a little lost. He decided, however, to try to be as straightforward as possible. "That depends on how much you value my abilities."

The other man nodded, drawing him out. "And what are those, exactly?"

Nikita's heart seemed to be stuttering a little in fear, as her eyes flickered subtly between the two quiet combatants. She started to pray that she hadn't very badly misinterpreted who her new boss really was.

Her partner answered calmly, however, knowing that--no matter what his emotions--he should never seem to be thrown. "How long do you have to hear them?"

The smile returned to his superior's face. "Not long enough." He seemed to be laughing to himself. "I'm assuming Nikita has told you that the plan to 'cancel' you was not my idea." The former Class Five operative gave only a small motion of his head, not fully answering; Mr. Jones went on, therefore, his eyes probing into him, waiting for his reaction. "You have a real future here, Michael--if you want it." The other man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly; his superior rated it as a triumph and went on. "Let me explain to you the plans as I see them, and then you can tell me whether you think you're up to the job, alright?"

The man in front of him nodded, his heart beating a little faster--but his fear didn't show on his face. God, what new Hell was he walking into--and how would it affect his life with Nikita? "Alright."

His new leader went on, cutting through the games as much as possible; still, Michael had been raised with them too much to accept *too* open an approach. "Before Nikita's failed attempt to let you go, which--if you'll both allow it--we won't go into at any more length in the future, I had intended on the following. George's old position in Oversight, I'm sure you know, has been vacated. From your work in One, I think you're ready to handle the responsibility. Any objections so far?"

The partners both shook their heads slowly, still waiting. Nikita's hope was returning slowly.

The man nodded. "Good. Here's the rest of it. Michael, Nikita was right about one thing, when she let you go; your loyalty to the entire organization is jeopardized whenever you feel she is. That's why I'm willing to allow the two of you a free and, relatively, open relationship--so long as that relationship in no way interferes with either of your duties."

He looked them both over again, waiting once more; they nodded slightly, before he went on. Despite the years of manipulations in One, they seemed to be accepting the truth. "Good. I'll warn you right now, then--both of your duties will be heavy ones, will take up most of your time. There may sometimes be weeks or even, occasionally, months between your shared downtime." The pair in front of him didn't look entirely happy but were quiet, as their leader continued to explain their future. "However, when you two are alone, you're alone--no surveillance, no interference, no games. You may do whatever you want to, within obvious reason, so long as it doesn't interfere with your jobs or the running of the organization. Anything you think *might* cause such interference will have to be cleared through me first. Understood?"

The matched pair in front of him nodded again--one a little stunned, one slightly relieved. Michael was the first to speak, though, needing to know he wasn't imagining this. "And in return . . .?"

Mr. Jones smiled, looking them both over. "In return for this, you do your duties to the fullest and do your best to uphold the better ideals of this organization at all times." He focused on the man. "Michael, you may have a harder time with this, since you will have to supervise Paul--and you can assume that he won't be particularly open to your promotion. I expect you, however, to avoid the, rather juvenile, power games which he and George allowed themselves to sink into. While I'm sure you'll need to protect yourself, Oversight, and the rest of the Sections, if I feel you're following your predecessor's less desirable path, there will be repercussions. Understood?"

Michael nodded once. He was still a little in shock--and a little afraid to believe that this stroke of good fortune was even real. He waited for more, then.

"Do you agree?"

He nodded once more. He was still waiting.

His superior saw that the man had been used too much to just accept, that it was going to take something more than this to ensure his complete support; he moved to provide it, therefore. "Very well. I'm giving you two weeks of mutual downtime to begin with, then; I assume you still have some details to work out between you. Should you need to make arrangements to change homes or anything else of the sort, it can be arranged. After that, you'll report back and your new life will begin." He looked them both over seriously in the next second, though, his tone warning. "I expect you both back, however--*completely* back--when you return. Agreed?"

They both nodded again. He could see that he had Nikita; there was more history between them, after all. Michael, though, would need a little more.

He looked over to the woman. "Good. Nikita, would you give us a minute? I have some things to discuss with your partner."

She opened her mouth just slightly before closing it quickly. She might be dying to know, but she knew better than to ask. She rose. "Of course."

Their superior watched Michael's eyes trail her as far as he could toward the door without turning his head; he repressed a smile, as he gained his attention once more. "You're still not convinced. Would you care to discuss your misgivings, man to man?"

Oversight's new leader took a deep breath. It was taking some getting used to thinking of this man seriously, but he understood that they had to clear the air between them now. "You said no surveillance. How did you know I was at Nikita's, then--and when to call us?"

The smile finally emerged. "I said no surveillance in the future. I admit to having watched you--and Nikita--for the past two weeks. I needed to see when you would return to her." The ex-operative's eyes narrowed a little, his suspicions plain; Mr. Jones tilted his head, as he answered. "I think you'll find that I do not share some of your former leaders' . . . proclivities for surveillance. So long as you're both loyal, your time is your own."

"Loyal to you--or to the organization?"

It was a bold question, of course, but his leader bore it without complaint. "They'll be the same. Again, unlike your previous superiors, I intend not to split the interests of the two so often." He smiled.

Michael nodded; it was hard to take in, but he was beginning to accept. There were still more questions, however. "Do I get briefed on this new position, or do I learn, as I go along?" They both knew the latter was just a way of saying, "Screw up until I'm cancelled."

There was another smile. "You'll receive some briefings on the basic ins and outs, once you return, and I'll tell you if there's anything else specific you need to know." It had been a final statement, but the other man still looked unconvinced; Mr. Jones sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Don't pretend--for either of our sakes. You understand more about the entire organization than you admit."

This was true, of course; he had to accept it. Oversight's new head nodded slightly, trying. "And my status?"

"Level 10--same as Nikita's."

"So, we can discuss what's happening within the organization with each other?"

Mr. Jones smiled once more. "Within reason."

There was another nod from Michael, as he looked down, pausing to think for a minute. His superior stepped in, though, seeing a final stumbling block--and moving to overcome it. "I realize you'll have some trouble adjusting to my true role; that's to be expected." The other man focused on him again. "But if you think that I hold any grudges for our previous interactions, you'd be wrong."

It was Michael's turn to smile slightly--ironically. "Not any?"

His leader laughed and looked down at his desk for a second. There were many incidents they could discuss, of course, but he was attempting to steer away from the ones with Nikita's Gelmanization, not wanting to put out the reminder--not wanting to give this man any more reason to distrust him. He assumed, as well, that that woman understood the whole thing as fully as it was possible for her to--and that she would discuss it with her partner in time. His words, then, focused elsewhere. "Well, asphalt at 35 miles an hour or so *can* be painful," he refocused on him, "but I'm resilient." He looked deeper, hoping to find the beginnings of a working bond with this man. "We both are."

His subordinate nodded thoughtfully and looked down to the floor; he hated to admit it, in some ways, but he was impressed. He supposed, then, that the man was right.

His thoughts were broken when Mr. Jones spoke again. "Now that you've really accepted, let me tell you one more thing." Michael looked back at him, his suspicions reborn. "I need both you and Nikita functioning at top level--the way you both can; you're quite a team together, if you let yourself be, but--if you let this latest error in judgment on her part cause any problems--you'll both fail. You have to work this out completely between you."

Green eyes narrowed again. "Are you ordering us to stay together?" It wasn't exactly against his plans, but he wanted to know just what he was getting into.

His leader shook his head once. "No. I'm ordering you to work things out, one way or another. When your two weeks are up, I want you both settled--either together or apart. But that decision is up to the two of you."

Michael looked down, pondering, as his leader went on. "Don't pretend on this. It's obvious what both of you want--what will make both of you functional; don't let pride get in your way." The green eyes focused on him a little sharply again, as Mr. Jones smiled, unoffended. "In fact, I think what both of you would want most of all is more than I've already offered."

His newly-created subordinate still looked a little suspicious but waited patiently; his leader nodded, then, as he went on. "Very well. If you can work out your differences satisfactorily in two weeks and decide you want to marry, I'll grant you an extra two days off for a honeymoon." His eyes seemed legitimately apologetic. "I'm sorry, it's all I can afford to give you right now; I'm already delaying the transfer of power for longer than is technically safe. I will try to find a few weeks in the future to make up for it, though."

This offer, however, was a little too good to believe; Michael felt stunned. After all of his years with Madeline and Operations twisting him, especially, it made him direly suspicious. His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

His new superior shook his head, seeing his fears. "Don't worry; you won't have to like me too much; I'm not entirely altruistic. I just need both of you focused and ready to work, and--from having watched you together for six years--I believe that will happen best if you have some deeper assurance of each other's feelings." He focused more completely on the often-used man in front of him. "So long as you both do your jobs, then, I promise you no manipulations. I just need you functional." Michael was wavering; he smiled slightly. "Agreed?"

Oversight's new leader nodded, not entirely sure about the chances of success of the plan he had just been presented, but beginning to see into this man's mindset. He wanted workers who were dedicated and loyal--and he actually seemed to understand how to get them. "Agreed."

Mr. Jones smiled, understanding that his organization's future was finally, almost, secure. "Good. There's only one more thing before you go, then." His subordinate's gaze seemed cautious again, waiting. "Your son and Elena are safe--and are not part of Section. I've seen to that."

The green eyes before him widened again; this was the last thing he had expected. "Where are they?"

His superior shook his head once more. "I can't tell you that; you already came far too close to revealing yourself to them once before. I will, however, grant you access to any other information or images you desire of them." He looked deep into the man's fears, trying to answer them. "They are still innocents."

God. Michael's breath left in a quiet rush; it took him a moment to be able to answer. "Is this enlightened self-interest, again?"

Center's head smiled. "Yes. That plus," he focused on him more narrowly, "this is what we're supposed to do--protect the innocent." His gaze was serious. "Remember the way they were used, therefore--and your hatred of that treatment, the next time such a decision comes up at Oversight." The man in front of him swallowed a little, already remembering too well. "Agreed?"

"Rule by compassion?"

"When possible--yes."

"And when it's not?"

Mr. Jones shook his head. "I think you're capable of handling any contingency."

Michael nodded, seeing the truth in his words. "Agreed," he said finally.

Nikita had been waiting outside her superior's office for at least a half hour by the time Michael finally reemerged. She looked at him, a little anxiously, waiting to see whether he had agreed--whether they were safe.

Michael smiled slightly--a look she could almost never remember seeing from him in public; his eyes were quiet but intimate. She took in a breath, daring to hope finally. Dear God, let it be true.

His gaze was nothing to his real emotions now--to the jumble of them, as they seared through him. Still, he would see how much he felt he should tell her in the weeks to come--would see, as well, whether he thought their leader's suggestion about their future seemed at all advisable, whether she would allow it in peace. . . . His own desire for it wasn't in question at all.

He started them, then, on the road toward their new life together. "Let's go home." He put his hand to her back, ushering her softly out of the office.

She smiled, feeling his touch, loving the idea that they might be able to enjoy such small displays now--that there would be no dangerous gaze waiting to analyze and destroy them. She nodded to Mr. Jones' assistant on her way out, then, and sighed. Maybe there was a real way forward for them, after all.

Her partner was sharing her thought, of course, his heart learning to dream once more. God, yes--this was what he had wanted. . . . Maybe, finally, there was hope.

[End of Part 4]

Part 5

Extra warning: This part is NC-17. Please don't read it, if you shouldn't. :)

They returned home from the meeting speculative, assessing--hopeful; the word was turning in both of their minds. Of course, this wasn't really their "home," wasn't really a place they had established as theirs yet. Maybe, though, for the first time ever in their lives, it could be.

This new thought rang heavily--and even a little bewilderingly--through Michael and Nikita's heads. True, she might have had more reason to hope for a good outcome from the meeting, having known her superior better than her partner, but actually having it happen had been another thing altogether. Now, truly, everything seemed different; now, they had a future.

She was smiling, then, as they entered the house. Michael turned back to gaze over her features, pleased at the look, as they closed the door and moved further inside; his eyes were warm, moved over her gently. "Are you happy with this?" He hoped he already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

She looked a little unsure for a second, before she gave a small nod. "I think so."

They had moved back into her living room; his breath was shaky, as he responded. "So am I."

Her smile was even warmer, as she made her way over to sit on the couch; she didn't entirely know what to do with herself. Even if it was her house, everything suddenly felt new here; there were so many possibilities--and so much to be worked out.

She looked around the room suddenly and then back to him, her mind turning. "Do you like this--the furniture?"

He seemed a little surprised. He hadn't really thought about it before; it hadn't been high on his list of priorities. He looked it over, though, before focusing back on her. "It's fine."

She looked at him curiously at his underwhelming answer; she was so ready to please. "We could change it--or change where we live altogether."

His eyes focused on her more deeply, his gaze a little worried--and very serious. It wasn't that he really had any objection to her apparent, sudden adaptation to these new plans--wouldn't have, anyway, if he thought they had been real--but he suspected that there was more to this than what she was saying, maybe more than she was actually admitting to herself. He needed to know what it was.

He sat on a nearby, overstuffed chair and gazed at her, assessingly but tenderly--trying to encourage her words. He had already decided to be as absolutely honest as possible, had resolved himself to be more open to her gaze and scrutiny--at least in private--in what he wanted to be their new lives, than he ever had been before. He was ready for this path, indeed.

He began to try to draw her out, then. "What's really the matter, Nikita?" His eyes ran over her face before returning to hers. "Why are you trying so hard?"

Her gaze was overly-innocent now, but he thought he saw a little fear in it, too. He sighed, as she answered. "I'm not. I just want to make this right."

He looked at the floor, her response telling him more than she realized. Now he got it. He let out another soft breath before looking back to her; his heart ached at his words, but he needed to break through. He started out slowly. "I love you, 'Kita, so there's nothing to be afraid of in me, no reason to hide. You told me yesterday, though, that you didn't know how to love me anymore." His eyes probed deep into her, looking gently through every aspect her soul. "Is that still true?"

Oh God. She swallowed heavily and looked down. She hadn't really understood that she was acting any differently, until his words; they broke through to her, though. Now she saw her problem.

This new knowledge hurt, however. She wanted to feel this change of circumstance between them, wanted to feel the happiness her mind said existed here so desperately. Her expression fell slightly. Still, she wasn't sure that she did, entirely, yet. She said nothing.

He sighed. He could see the answer to his question, but he needed her to face it, as well; their relationship would be dead before it started, if they didn't approach all of their pain completely, if they didn't face it head-on. Only by total--if painful--honesty could they hope to repair both their hearts.

"I'm not afraid. Tell me," he encouraged. When she just swallowed heavily, still saying nothing, he looked into her further--his own look pained, when he spoke again, unhappy over the obvious fears in her; he tried to calm her. "I'm not going anywhere; I won't run. Just tell me what you feel."

Silence. Still nothing. He sighed quietly and tried to lead her. "Do you still feel lost--are you still not quite able to love me?"

Her heart ached terribly, as she felt the sympathy flowing over her from him; he was trying to so hard to understand, was trying to listen. As much as she hated this, then--despised that she could feel this way now, when this beautiful new opportunity was being given to them for the first and only time--she knew she had to answer, knew it was finally time to talk. Her breath was shaky, as she nodded slightly; her answer was barely audible. "Yes."

He closed his eyes just briefly at the word, but the pain of it was more a response to her obvious, if unconscious, belief that his love wasn't strong enough to stay with her through this--her belief that he might leave. He sat back in his chair, then, waiting to hear more--trying to show her that he wasn't going anywhere. "Tell me about it."

She swallowed heavily, silent for a few more, long seconds, as she tried to work up the courage to speak--to face her own fears. She finally focused back on him, too, but she half-looked like she expected him to hit her. "I want to love you, Michael--I do love you," she amended. "I," she cut herself off, knowing she was making no sense. She tried again after a quiet, shaky breath, making her answer as simple as possible. "I'm afraid."

He nodded, further taking on the role of analyst; she needed one she could trust right now. "But you want this."

She nodded a little, looking at the floor. "Yes, I think. I want to. . . ." She cut herself off again, afraid she was blithering.

"You want it, but you're afraid to admit it--that, if you do, it'll be taken from you."

She focused back up at him, a little surprised. He had cut right to the heart of her fears. She nodded.

He sighed and stood briefly to remove his coat, making himself comfortable; he draped it back over the arm of the chair and sat again. His eyes were very tender and understanding, as he took her in. "I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. "We need to talk about this, though--have to work it out. Otherwise, despite this new offer, we're no better off than we were before." He sighed once more, seeing her pain, trying to repress the heartsickness this situation threatened to give him; he continued to encourage her. "We have to get past what Operations and Madeline have done to our minds." And our hearts, he added silently.