Her whole expression showed how unhappy she was--how much this tore her apart--showed her fears. "I don't want to hurt you, Michael."

He sighed again, his heart aching at all that had been done to her to put her into this state--at all *he* had done to her. He tried to get her to look into herself, to see the truth. "Look past the fears for a second, 'Kita. Do you love me?"

Her heart shuddered, as she let out a shaky breath. He had reached into her a little, was seeing into the places she was scared to go. "Yes."

"Do you want me--want this?"

She nodded, almost terrified to even voice her response; the sound she finally gave was tiny. "Yes."

He sighed, finding reassurance in her words once more. "Then let go of those fears right now, put them aside. Tell me what's really worrying you."

Oh God. She wanted to do as he asked, wanted to comply--for both their sakes; she did love him so much, after all--for his absolute willingness to listen as well as everything else. Her mouth hung open for several seconds, before any sounds could form, however; it had just been so long since she had been completely honest--since they had been with each other. "I," her voice was very shaky; she tried again. "I want this, Michael, but I'm afraid I'll just hurt you again, that--if you stay--you won't find the peace you want with me."

His look gazed deep, searching her--still tender. "Why wouldn't I?"

Her breath in response was even shakier; it terrified her to even attempt to look this deeply into herself, to try to voice all of these long-held fears. She tried to calm herself a little, then, before she finally responded. "Because I'm not the person you fell in love with all those years ago. I've changed." She swallowed heavily, tormented by the truth as she saw it. "You need someone who can be innocent and playful--who can give you the tender sort of love you need." Her torment was obvious, her voice almost inaudible. "I can't do that anymore."

His eyes widened just slightly; now he understood--a little too well--why she had forced him to go, had put him in such pain. The delusions she had somehow been given were too obvious--and far, far too painful.

He let out an unhappy breath, tortured that he had allowed them to continue at all--that he hadn't seen and stopped them--but, a moment later, he remembered his realization that it was self-reproach of this sort which had led them here so long ago. He hated it.

He answered her at last, therefore, with as much open honesty as he could give her--hoping she would believe the truth. Still, his voice was a bit more bitter than he had intended, her beliefs wounding him deeply. "You think that I just want you for a distraction, that I'm looking for some little girl to make me feel big and strong." He stopped for a second, realizing how cutting his tone sounded; he sighed, trying to vary it, before he continued. "You're wrong. That's not what I want from you at all."

She wasn't put off by his tone; after the way she had been talking to herself internally for months now, it seemed gentle. Still, she needed to understand him--even if she were afraid to believe. "What do you want from me?"

He let out another quiet sigh. If she hadn't felt so damaged--if he hadn't worked so long with their former masters to damage her--she couldn't have asked this, would have known the answer instantly. He tried to explain himself to her. "I want *you*--whatever of yourself you can and want to give me. If that's innocent, then I want to share your quiet perspective of life; if it's hurt and tortured, I want to hold you till you feel saner and less in pain." It, really, was what both of them so deeply needed.

He shook his head slightly, then, continuing, begging her to understand him. "I know I may have made you believe otherwise in the past--have probably hurt you too much to allow you to believe, but I want to share everything with you, whether it's good or bad." His eyes stroked over her soul, loving her. "Whether that's giving and receiving the sort of ecstasy you alone can give me or talking quietly when the pain is too much, I want it." He sighed, his gaze pleading with her to listen. "I just want your honesty, 'Kita--whatever your emotions. And, despite all the reasons you've been given not to, I want your trust on every level," his love shone so clearly in his eyes, "because I'm going to make damn sure from now on that I do my best not to hurt you."

His words shook through her. She looked away from his intense, loving eyes, focusing on the floor, too overwhelmed by his quiet honesty to answer for awhile. When she was about to, as well, her heart--the fears which had built there--wanted to force her into more denials, too fearful of what might come; she tried to fight them back but wasn't entirely successful. "Why me?" She shook her head, explaining, her heart aching--still not meeting his gaze. "There must be someone else out there who can fulfill your needs with less trouble than I've given you."

He closed his eyes tightly, his anger boiling up in him again; she wasn't listening. His voice was tight and a little harsh, if rather soft, as he answered. "*No*." He looked back at her. "Stop filling in my motives for me and listen to my words." She looked back at him, a little reluctantly. "I fell in love with *you* long ago--with every side of you. I love your willfulness and your rage every bit as much as I adore your passion and your joy. I don't want someone just to fill a role for me; I lived with that for long enough--never want it again." His gaze was burning in its passion. "What I want is *you*, in every way you have to give, be it bad or good."

She looked like she might be hearing him a little more now--finally; he sighed, his voice becoming a little more gentle. "I just want to come home to your arms, 'Kita--want to be able to do that because it's what you want, as well." He could see that she wasn't entirely convinced yet, however; he sighed quietly. "Why do you find that so hard to accept?"

God, the words were beautiful to her--more beautiful, possibly, than any he had ever given her before. She bit her lip slightly, looking down to the floor. Still, it was just too hard to believe, no matter how much she might want to.

She tried to explain herself, then--a little shakily, not able to meet his eyes. "I love you, Michael, but I've hurt you too much to deserve this. The way you still think of me--as loving and tender--that's . . . I'm not sure that's real anymore." She looked up at him, asking him to understand. "I know you say you want all of me, but I think all I have left to give are things no one could ever want." She shook her head, her eyes a little red. "There's nothing else left anymore."

The quiet sigh he let out was deep and heartfelt; it hurt him so badly that she would see herself this way--in the way he had viewed himself for so long, the way he had until her sweet love for a damned soul like his own had rescued him. He tried to explain through example. "And last night--how does your analysis account for that?" She looked away quickly, and he saw that he had her. Finally.

He sighed quietly, though, his heart horribly saddened at the state she had been lowered to, loving her desperately; his voice was more gentle, when he spoke again. "I know there's been pain, Nikita--more than you can deal with alone anymore. I know it's sunk into you, seems permanent. But we have an offer now--one which can bring us *both* peace, if we let it." His eyes begged. "For the first time, we have a chance to create our own future, to some extent, to work through all of this." His soft voice pleaded with her. "Just let me help you."

She closed her eyes tightly, as a tear rolled down her cheek; his sweet words were too much, sank in, despite all her protests. Dear God--she could never keep him out for very long.

Her whole soul was torn, though. She did want this, wanted it more than she could ever begin to tell him. Her voice was shaky, however, as she refocused on the floor, trying to explain in simple terms what held her back from him. "I'm afraid."

His gaze was tormented, his breathing shaky, as he watched her. God, he hated to see her in pain; it tore at him more than he could ever begin to express. His words were quiet, then, when he repeated himself; he was afraid that his torment would show too strongly, if they were louder. "Let me help."

She swallowed heavily, trying to hold herself together; it was pretty hard to, at the moment. She looked back up to meet his eyes, still torn. There was so much beauty there, were so many loving things she couldn't even begin to give in return. Still, his offer had worked its way inside her, had entwined itself with her heart; she couldn't turn him down now.

She swallowed heavily, therefore, her eyes teary--begging him, as she nodded. "Help me, Michael." She swallowed again, holding out her hand to him. "Please."

His heart was breaking at her look--at the intense sadness there. He swallowed heavily himself and moved toward her, his gaze holding hers, steady and loving; he took her hand and stood next to the sofa for a second, before pulling her up to her feet. His hand entwined with her soft one, stroking over it gently; his other caressed back over her temple and hair. "I love you, Nikita," he reassured her gently.

She could feel the tears welling further, as he pulled her toward him, kissing her hair, as he rested her against his shoulder. She closed her eyes at the move, letting out a shaky little breath; the emotions were almost overwhelming. She could feel the love and the tenderness in him, flowing into her, warming her. She held him to her more tightly, rubbing her cheek over his chest. She did love him so much.

She could feel the tears building, however, as her fears continued; they would not be easily escaped. She might know now that she needed him, might have come to see this path between them as necessary, but she still couldn't quite accept, couldn't understand why he might be so tender with her, after all she had done; it didn't make any sense to her at all. Her voice was shaky, as she spoke. "Why do you still care?"

He closed his eyes tightly, the pain of her self-doubt wounding him. He had to get her past this--had to at least start to. There was no way forward for either of them, if he didn't.

He kissed her hair, then, beginning to pull her back to meet her eyes. "Come with me, Nikita."

She didn't entirely understand, but she followed nonetheless, as he held her hand softly--pulling her gently along behind him to her bedroom. Her confusion was increased, as well, by the fact that there was nothing seductive about him right now--tender and loving, yes, but not seductive. She didn't really know what was happening at all.

He knew she was confused, as well, but she would understand in a minute. Once there, he slipped off her coat--tossing it on a chair--and encouraged her to take off her shoes, as he did his own. Then, both of them still fully dressed, he pulled back the covers and got in; he held them back for her, too--waiting, holding her hand once more.

She had to close her eyes for a second at the tenderness in his gaze; it meant more to her than she could say. She got into the bed, therefore, snuggling close to him, as he held her, her head on his chest. Yes.

He didn't have to explain this approach anymore; she understood. They trusted each other more strongly here than anywhere else. If they were to build a future with each other, then--if she were really going to be fortunate enough to have that happen--they had to learn to take this trust into the outside world, had to know these emotions were real, wherever they were at the time. She sighed and closed her eyes, overwhelmed. God, she loved him.

His eyes closed, too. He felt overcome by her--by the sweet acceptance he felt when he held her close. He needed her to be able to do this elsewhere, though, needed to work on building their trust. They had been given two weeks together to make this work, indeed--maybe an extra two days, as well. They needed to use it to their advantage.

They just held each other for sometime, then, once they settled themselves, not speaking yet; it was too beautiful to talk--and they needed, too, to work up the stamina to, to be ready for a level of emotional honesty they had never entirely put into words before. It was what they both needed now--and for the, hopefully many, years to come.

It took a long time to work up the necessary strength to talk about all that lay between them, truly, but he finally felt up to it about half an hour later. He started, then, to discuss some of their pain.

He sighed quietly, knowing she would understand what he was doing; there was no recrimination in his voice--just sad honesty. "When you let me go, I thought I would break; I wanted to, spent every second hoping I would die." His breathing was shaky. "It was why I didn't accept Walter's equipment. Without your love, without the knowledge that you care for me, nothing else in my life matters at all." He closed his eyes for a second, overwhelmed. "All I could do was hope that Section would find and kill me--was hope it would be swift and brutal." He held her closer. "Because, if you don't love me, there is nothing in me worth saving anymore."

She felt the tears flowing quietly down her cheeks and held herself closer to his chest, hoping to stem their flow. It just hurt so much to know that she had done this to him, that she had hurt him so deeply. She opened her mouth, therefore, about to speak, about to apologize.

"No," he cut her off. "Don't. I didn't tell you to hurt you, just to make you understand. I need what we've been offered. Without it--without you--I don't want to go on." He sighed, eyes back open, praying she was listening. "Mr. Jones could have offered me his position or demoted me to DRV, and I would have accepted, so long as I'm allowed to be with you--so long as that's what you want, too." He held her a little closer, his hands gently caressing her back, hoping she was understanding him now. "You're my life, 'Kita; you have been for longer than I even remember now. Anything else that happens to me, anything else I have to do, is meaningless." He kissed her hair. "You're my only truth."

She was crying softly, even though she understood he was just explaining his own reality to her. It tormented her so desperately that she had hurt him so much, that this man who had become so precious to her--who had done so much lately to protect and love her, who had come, and had gone, so far since they had met--had been forced through so much because of his love for her. It still just hurt so deeply.

She still felt, too, that he would be happier with someone else, despite all his explanations to the contrary. Nevertheless, she knew now that she couldn't let him go again; she had only had the strength to do that once. . . . If he decided that he was better off without her, though, she would understand; she wouldn't survive--but she would understand. He would certainly be happier that way.

She tried to explain all of her reasons, then--all the things he needed to know. She wanted him to understand the truth now, didn't want him to have to think he had ever been taken in, that she had been manipulating him in any but the obvious ways.

She started at the beginning. "I didn't want to hurt you, Michael, tried to avoid it." She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice a little less teary. "I don't want you to doubt how I feel--how I've always felt." She swallowed heavily and pulled back enough to capture his eyes. "I can't live if you do that."

He was listening carefully; her gaze was truthful, as she looked into him. "I was on a mission in Section for almost three years, but you were never part of it, were *never* my assignment." She swallowed back her tears again, as she explained. "I fell in love with you early on, have never stopped," her sigh was shaky, "even if I may have denied it a few times."

He nodded slightly, showing his understanding, and she went on again. "I may have been following multiple orders in other ways, then, but the way I reacted with you was always real." She shook her head. "That's never changed."

His heart was weeping in its love for her, his eyes so loving and tender, thanking her so deeply for having started this line of discussion; his thumb reached up to wipe away the tears on her face. God, he hated seeing her sad. "Can we talk about it now, about the mission?"

She nodded, swallowing back her pain again, and rubbed her cheek over his soft touch; she needed it. "I'll tell you anything I can." He looked at her curiously, and--to her heart's pain--a little cautiously; she bit her lip slightly, before she went on, shrugging a little. "I don't actually know all of it."

He sighed, understanding now. "Mr. Jones didn't tell you everything?"

She gave a teary sort of smile and laughed, looking down at his chest. What an understatement that was. "No." She focused on him again, her eyes a little stronger now.

He was glad for the new look, for her growing strength. He accepted her offer, therefore, needing so much to talk about all the fears which had grown in him in these last few weeks. If she had needed him to stay quiet about them, to keep them inside, of course, he would have spared her, but he knew it was healthier for them both that they were finally talking about it now.

His eyes were a little afraid, however--more of her reaction than her truths--as he began. "How much of it was your mission, Nikita?" He knew she had just tried to answer this, but he needed to hear it again, needed to see her eyes, as he asked the question which plagued him the most--which his thoughts of her occasional sensual reticence over the last year had brought so tormentingly to him. "Did you ever sleep with me because he told you to?"

She closed her eyes at the horror of his words, at the incredible pain they caused. Still, she knew they were justified; it was an, unfortunately, reasonable question. . . . God, she wished it weren't.

Her pain shook through her. She swallowed heavily, as she looked back at him--allowing him to see deep into the honesty in her soul--as she answered. "No."

They held the look for a few, very long, heartbeats, as he searched through her, reassuring himself that this was real. A few seconds later, too, he nodded, his gaze apologizing for having asked.

She dropped her head, as she continued, this question finally addressed, and answered the questions she knew he must have. "I came back into Section for you, just like I said I did." She looked back up to him. "In a way, I think Mr. Jones' offer was an excuse for me, gave me a way back to you." She focused away once more. "I hadn't realized until I was out that time just how important you were to me."

He let out a slightly shaky breath, more than a little overwhelmed. The words were so close to ones he had told her just before he had brought her back in all those years ago; he saw they were true for her, as well. His hand stroked her cheek tenderly, then, reassuring her of his love. "Go on."

It still hurt to think about it all. She swallowed heavily and looked back to him, therefore, before she did. "I loved you even then, Michael." She sighed again. "But I had my doubts about how you felt. Maybe, if I had known that, I could have survived in Section after that terrible third year, could have just done the job."

He shook his head at her; he knew that wasn't true, no matter what she was telling herself now. "No." He sighed, saddened. "I'm not saying it might not have made life there more tolerable for both of us, but I don't think you could have continued on the way you were going then--no matter what."

She was staring down at his chest again now; she nodded. He was probably right. "I think Mr. Jones' offer gave me some way to get through the times without you, as well--let me know there would be an end, eventually--gave me hope that the pain might someday be over. It worked for awhile, too--no matter how hard things got." She bit her lip slightly. "It was just in this last year that it started not to be enough."

His heart ached for her, as he changed the subject slightly, needing to know. "You were really Gelmanized, weren't you? He let that happen."

She swallowed back heavily. "He let a lot of things happen." She closed her eyes, sighing, before she looked back to her beloved; she was still more angry with her Section masters than Mr. Jones for any of it. "He told me that from the beginning--that he wouldn't intervene until he was ready. I--both of us--could have died a hundred times, and he wouldn't have stepped in." She sighed. "I knew that from the start."

His eyes looked deep into her, analyzing. "Why'd you do it, then--why take the risks?" He shook his head a little. "Just what were you getting out of it?"

It hurt her, of course, that he didn't understand yet, but she knew she couldn't expect him to; she needed to explain. She bit her lip and looked away once more. "After I'd been on the outside for awhile, I realized some things. I realized how much I wanted to be with you, realized that it was likely you did care, since you'd let me go." She let out a deep breath, looking back to him. "I also realized, when he made his offer, that this was my way to find you again, to see if we had some chance." She swallowed heavily. "And it was my opportunity to do what I thought was right, as well--to help set the things I knew were wrong in Section straight." She shook her head. "No one had ever offered me that before."

He nodded, seeing her motives now. He knew the truth of her feelings, too--understood them in the deep way they always seemed to share. Still, he so needed to hear her voice them, while he had the opportunity to. "And he helped set up your return?"

She moved her head around slightly, not quite answering. "Yes and no." Her eyes focused on him again. "He helped set up the mission--knew about Ackerman and the Freedom League. He intended for it to be you who'd bring me back, too." She shook her head, her eyes strong. "But he *never* told me to make love to you." Her head shook again. "He never once ordered me to be his whore."

Michael looked away slightly, his eyes a little red. No, he thought, to himself; he had been the one to do that.

He knew this wasn't what she was getting at, though, knew she hadn't intended to open up these memories again; he knew too that such self-pity wouldn't help either of them now. He sighed and looked back to her, then, needing to hear more of her revelations. "And when I came to you on the boat that night . . .?"

Their eyes met, neither of them needing to explain it further. God, did she ever still remember it; for so long, it had been the main thing which had allowed her to go on. It was still one of the few memories she cherished completely.

Her gaze was deep and loving, as she answered, trying to soften her next, painful words. "I was frightened at first." She swallowed back the memory of that. "Mr. Jones had stated the fact that you loved me as a given, but I still wasn't so sure. When I saw you," she paused, afraid of hurting him, but knowing she had to explain, "I thought for a minute that maybe he'd been wrong--maybe I had been." Her breath shuddered a little, her voice small. "I thought maybe you had come to kill me, instead."

His eyes widened, horrified. He had never even imagined that she could think this, had been so lost in his tormented need for her that night that he hadn't even seen her real fears. Dear God. No wonder she had pulled away, had challenged him at first--before their mutual need had won out. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Much as he still cherished the memory, he would have taken away the entire night from them both to have spared her that one moment of fear.

She closed her eyes for a second, not able to hear these words with any sanity; she looked back to him, covering his lips with her fingers. "Don't." She shook her head. "I didn't tell you for that."

Of course she didn't; he knew that. His eyes were strong, as he kissed her fingertips before removing them, holding her hand. "I know."

She smiled at him slightly, loving him more all the time. She continued to tell him the truth that needed to be said. "Michael, I had a hidden agenda with Section for several years, but I never had one with you. Mr. Jones never had an objection to our relationship, of course, but he never demanded that I continue it, either. In fact, there were times when he probably would have preferred that I not."

He nodded; his eyes unfocused over her left shoulder for a second, before meeting her own again. "Like the weeks before the Gelman process?"

She laughed a little, nodding. "Yeah." Her smile deepened. "I think he only let it continue, because he was interested to see how Madeline and Operations would react to it." Her look fell a little, as she focused down on his chest. "Maybe he even knew about their plans."

God, no. His eyes were hurt, worried, as he lifted her chin gently, regaining her gaze--looking into her deeply. "Do you think he did?"

She sighed. She wished she knew. She just shrugged at him.

His thumb stroked over her skin for a second, before he looked away; the answer hurt. He grabbed her hand again, therefore, caressing it--needing the connection; his voice was lost in his reminiscences. "He helped me to kidnap you after that."

She nodded. "He was testing all of us." She sighed, finishing out the thought she had had more than once. "I think he would have brought me back eventually, if you hadn't, though." She gave a small laugh. "Or, at least, that's what he told me."

Michael looked back up to her, another thought suddenly moving through his mind. "Why didn't Madeline find your memory of Mr. Jones then?"

Her heart ached slightly with her answer, but she forced a little smile anyway. "He saw to it that the memory was blocked, once he saw what had been done. I didn't know it myself."

He nodded slightly, looking away, but his mind was reeling, too; fear was beginning to move through him. He refocused on her. "Do you think we can trust him?"

She gave a half-smile and looked away; the answer wasn't a great one, but . . . "More than we could any leader before him." Her eyes refocused on him, as she explained. "He kept the promises he made to me at the beginning all along. He told me I could make one request, within reason, once it was all over--and that I'd have a say in what happened to everyone in Section, even if the final decision was his." Her gaze was strong and honest. "He kept both of those, too--even though he hated the request I finally made about you." Her sadness was obvious. "He wanted you in Oversight all along."

He was trying to process all of this, all of these things he had known but had yet to hear spoken. He suspected, of course, that the man had understood that the separation wouldn't be permanent, that he would get what he originally had wanted all along, in the end. Still, his openness to them was a novelty for a leader. He nodded, his look a little distant, then, before he refocused on her. "So he wants us together?"

She shrugged. "Or he just thinks that we work better that way." She nodded, evaluating. "He's not all bad; I suspect he even likes both of us, in his way. Still, he wants us mostly because we're good--and, if what we want in exchange is to be together--he'll give us that." She smiled. "He is, at least, a better manager than our previous leaders."

He took this in, accepted it; it was what the man himself had told him, of course, but he trusted Nikita's evaluation more than his new leader's promises. Besides, he did really get the feeling, for once, that his superior was actually telling him the truth.

He gave her a smile in return, then--one she would almost have described as "sweet"; it warmed her heart. God, she loved him.

He leaned up and kissed her lips softly, tenderly, before leaning back; she had opened herself to him, had answered many of his fears. It was what he had needed all along. Anything else they had to discuss could wait. "Thank you."

She smiled but looked a little surprised. "That's it? That's all you want to know?" His look was casual and loving, was far more relaxed. A teasing light came to her gaze. "You're easy, aren't you?"

A deep, rumbling laugh sounded in his chest; it was a noise she cherished, one which warmed her soul. "Yes," he whispered, eyes alight.

Ohh, she loved him--loved that, despite all she had done, he still was so able to accept her. She could never ask for more.

She leaned in to him, then, capturing him in a deep, thankful, and erotic kiss. She wanted to show him her gratitude, to thank him for loving her still. Her hand ran into his hair, pulling him closer.

His heart stuttered, his body reacting to her as it always did. Still, he didn't want her to go on, not like this--not right now.

He kissed her deeply, lovingly, therefore, before he pulled away; his eyes were gentle, as he explained. "Don't thank me, 'Kita." He shook his head. "That's not why I want you with me."

She looked down, obviously feeling a little chastised, but he picked her chin back up, asking her to meet his eyes. "No, don't." She looked curious, as he sighed. "I've learned something lately, 'Kita--know something now I didn't before."

She looked at him curiously, and he cupped her cheek gently, holding her eyes, asking her to promise him. "We can make this work, *can* be happy together, but we can't both keep feeling so worthless, too." Her gaze looked deep into him, as he went on, her hand coming up to trace over his cheek; he smiled, in love. "You said it to me a few weeks ago--Section will always be in our heads; we're probably always going to have to struggle to work past all they've done to us, all they've made us do--and all the bad choices that have come along with that." He smiled. "But it can be done."

Her gaze now was loving but unsure; his fingertips traced her skin lightly, as he went on, explaining himself completely. "We've *both* got a lot to answer for to each other," his eyes stressed his point, "and we both feel that we're the main culpable one. If we're going to make this work, though--and we both need it to--we have to try to let that go."

She swallowed heavily, biting her lip a little. It was a beautiful idea, but she wasn't sure it was possible. "I don't know if I can. I mean, I spent three years lying to you about this . . ."

He cut her off, countering. "And I spent at least four lying to you about Elena and Adam."

Her eyes widened, but she tried another tack. "I told you I never loved you; I pushed you away."

"I pushed you away after you tried to escape with Eric, after the Armel mission, after . . ."

She put her fingers over his lips; she was actually smiling a little. "I get the point." She touched the softness there, smiling at her memories, before she stopped herself--her face a little sadder--and looked down at his chest; she finally admitted his point. "I guess you have hurt me a lot."

Despite himself, there was a small laugh. "You guess?" She looked up at him with a sheepish smile for a second before looking away again; he lifted her chin to regain her eyes, his look more serious. "There's a lot to discuss between us in the weeks--probably even in the years--to come." His strong, loving gaze looked deep. "But I want this chance, Nikita--I want *you*." He shook his head. "If there's even a possibility that Mr. Jones' promises are real, then, I don't want to throw this away." His fingers caressed her cheek. "For the first time, I think we can be happy, if we want to be." He sighed. "Will you try?"

All of her resistance to him melted in that moment; his honesty was too lovely, too perfect. . . . He was just so goddamned beautiful.

She leaned in to him and captured his mouth in a hot, deep kiss--promising him everything in it, showing him the truth of her soul. Yes.

He closed his eyes and pulled her deeper into it, demanding everything from her. He felt her agreement, too, knew she would try. That, then, was all he could ask of her. . . . That, really, was everything.

She pulled back from the kiss a few long heartbeats later to show him her heated eyes before settling her head on his chest; her hands wrapped in his sweater, pulling him close. Her decision was made. "Don't you dare think you can get rid of me, Michael." His arms tightened around her, and she sighed. "Don't even try it. I would find you."

He closed his eyes tightly, taking her words into his soul, and pulled her closer to him. Her acceptance meant everything, made him feel sane once more. He kissed her hair, reassuring her. "You have me, Nikita--you alone." He gave the strands another tender kiss. "That will never change."

They both let out sighs of contentment, therefore, finally allowing themselves to accept a little of the joy that might be theirs, if they wanted it. This, truly, was the way it should be.

They stayed in the bed for quite a few hours after that, too, just holding each other, finally beginning to catch up--as well--on all the sleep the last few weeks had deprived them of. Knowing that this might well only be the first day like this between them of an immeasurable stretch of time, too, just made the peace all the sweeter.

They did finally decide to get up much later in the day, however--decided to finally do something else; it was evening by the time they did. After ascertaining, though, that Nikita had pretty much nothing akin to food in her house, they went out for supper--arriving home a few hours later with some groceries.

The supper had been quiet--as they were again now, but it hadn't necessarily been uneventful; it had, in fact, seen the constant building of their need. They might not really want to discuss too much of what was between them in public, but it had been lovely just to enjoy a meal together, discussing smaller things, knowing that nothing terrible lay between them, that there was no lingering pain waiting to jump. It, really, was a first time for them both.

This new happiness, too, had expressed itself in the opening of their souls. Looks, words, movements--all had been aimed solely at one another, and at the joy they both hoped to share for quite sometime. It had been awhile, truly, since they had been able to approach each other in anything like so playful a way.

They were putting their purchases up now with a quiet sort of unity, then, loving this beautiful change; they were mostly just allowing the sensual tension to build further, as well--were both loving the opportunity to savor the anticipation of their lovemaking. It was all just so wonderful, for them both.

These small actions, too, were just so . . . normal--were what typical couples might do. They had to agree, of course, on where everything would go, as they put up the food, but their unspoken communication handled that easily. It all made them feel oddly complete.

Michael, however, insisted on putting up the last few items alone. He had plans of cooking for her again; it was something he had long enjoyed.

She watched him, smiling--loving him. She was feeling light from her pleasure, from the removal of the immeasurable weight which had nearly crushed her for this last year; he knew everything important now, knew what she had been up to--and he, somehow, loved her still. It had made her feel a little giddy, then, had brought back a playfulness which she had long since thought dead; she was pleased to know it hadn't abandoned her completely. "Did I ever tell you how sexy a man who does housework is?"

His back was to her, but there was a deep smile on his face, as he felt her eyes roaming over him. He was loving this; it was right, felt real, in a way that nothing between them before quite had. Every other time for them, indeed, there had been something to stall their happiness--a manipulation, an untold truth, fears, doubts, . . . something. There had never been a wholly free moment, before.

He sighed happily, his heart warming deeply, as his realization made him feel alive. Now, though, he could feel the truth in her, knew it in himself. Their tormentors were either dead or powerless to hurt them again; she was safe to let out the parts of herself she had so long hidden away--nearly suffocating them. He sighed once more. It was all absolutely . . . perfect.

Her eyes were still warm behind him; he could feel her love for him flowing through his veins. It made him sigh again in happiness. There were still things which needed to be discussed between them, of course, were still plans--and decisions--to be made, but, this time, things between them were finally honest and open. Even if the future might not always be easy, so long as they were allowed to be together from time to time without manipulations, they would make it. It was all he would ask.

He answered her question finally, then, his heart pounding stronger. He had been at least half-aroused ever since he had brought her home earlier today--certainly since they had held each other for hours. The restaurant and grocery store, however, had nearly been his final undoing. "Is that why you couldn't keep your hand out of my lap at dinner?" There was a smile on his face, even if he hadn't focused on her yet.

She grinned--a long-repressed move, but one this day had brought back to her finally. "No." He looked back at her; her look was knowing. She was enjoying this interplay. "That's just the normal temptation you present."

His eyes flashed at her, showing her his desire for all they would be sharing--showing her an even deeper love. Still, he was enjoying the return of this teasing exchange; it had been so long since either of them had felt capable of such simple joys.

He looked away again to put up his last few items before answering her comments. It had been hard not to present such a "temptation" with her teasing tonight. Her behavior in the supermarket, in fact, had been nearly shameful; she had touched and teased him, had even eyed various vegetables in a way which had made him shake his head. God, he loved it.

He smiled to himself, his mind continuing on these lovely paths. This, however, was the other side of his partner--the one which had been tormented into submission for too long. She could arouse him in ways which he would have barely managed to not become short with, with anyone else--could take the most obvious or the most juvenile paths toward enticing him, just to show him she could. His heart pounded. And he adored every second of giving in to her in full.

His voice was calm, but she knew how to read him. "Have I ever told you what a hussy you are?"

A warm laugh sounded in her throat; he closed his eyes, his back to her, and paused after finishing his task, taking it into his heart. God, he had missed her joy.

A few seconds later, too, his heartbeat tripled, as her arms slid around him from behind--her heavenly, knowledgeable hands quietly making him burn. Her tongue was tracing over his stubbled cheek; he moaned when she bit his jaw. "Any objections?" Her hand traveled decidedly south.

A deep moan rose from him, his mind nearly blanking completely, as she found her target; it wasn't exactly difficult to discover, at the moment. "None," he answered breathily. Her teeth bit at an incredibly tender spot, and his eyes watered in need; he had already closed them. "'Ki-ta," he groaned.

Oh, she loved this--adored what she could do to him. Her hand was over his heart, was feeling it beat for her alone. She smiled.

Her mouth, too, continued its sweet torments here before running up to nibble at his lobe. He was shaking against her, moaning, even more so when her hand ran beneath his sweater, stroking up over his stomach. He took in a breath. Yes.

He was holding himself up against the counter now, his heartbeat so fast it seemed uncountable; his humor was disappearing, but his need was strong. "I love you," he moaned.

Mmm, yes--that was what she wanted to hear. She dropped her head to nibble at the crook of his neck, as her hand found his small, hard nipple. He groaned loudly, and she smiled. Perfect.

She adored this, loved what she could do to him. She could feel something being reborn inside herself, too, something she had long thought sacrificed. A joy, indeed, was moving through her heart and soul--a sense of the two of them as a pair in every sense, one which understood each other's every delight. It was what they both needed so much now.

She remembered, in fact, the last real time they had been so completely open with each other--and it had been nearly two years ago now. Then, too, they had both known it had to end someday, had known that it would probably be soon. But now--now was an opportunity like none before it. . . . She had every intention, therefore, of enjoying it in full.

He was lost to her, she knew, was swaying with the emotions and sensations she gave him. Good. One of her hands found the closing of his pants and unbuttoned them; his breathing seemed to stop. She bit his neck more profoundly, and he let out a soft cry of need. She closed her eyes, loving him. Yes.

He couldn't do anything but stand there, trembling in anticipation, as she started to slowly unzip his pants; he let out a small moan. When her hand reached in, though, and found the hard, hot flesh of his need, he actually let out a whimper, moving toward her touch--begging for more.

"Yes," his deep, accented voice pleaded. She smiled and began to lick the side of his neck, as he shivered more completely.

He could barely take in how wonderful this was. Her hand began to stroke along him more firmly, as his breathing became more than unsteady; her touch was warm, held him tight, and he moved along with it, lost to her completely. There was no one else who had ever been able to enrapture him so thoroughly. . . . He wanted more.

It was another bite to a soft spot on his neck, however, which finally undid him. He had already been feeling the heat of her pressed along his back--slightly irritating the long lines of nail marks he hadn't allowed her to heal that morning; they were just too precious to him. He had to touch her *now*.

He pulled her hands off of him, then, as he spun around. A second later, too, he had caught her in a hot, fierce kiss, commanding her there, refusing to let her back away--not that she had any intention of that. She moaned in return.

Oh God--yes. This was what she wanted, was what she needed to feel again. For the first time in longer than she could remember, some of the despair had disappeared from their need for each other; the heat, the desperation, the love all remained, but the lingering sadness and fear and been discarded. . . . It was a beautiful new path, indeed.

He couldn't take any more; feeling her need for him made him insane, made him need her more than he could stand. His. She was his now--no one else's. . . . He was never letting her go again.

He knew he didn't want anything slow tonight; for the first time, in fact, he wasn't as afraid of losing her, so he knew that it might be alright to just allow their passion to rule, to not prolong all of their desire over hours, as they usually did. Hopefully, there would be time again for that in the future.

She whimpered, as he pulled away from her slightly; he growled in response, way too aroused. Their foreplay had really been going on for hours--mostly without touch; both of them were so in need now they could barely stand another second apart. It had to be soon.

As always, though, he was never incautious; his eyes burned into hers, as he made absolutely certain of her needs--reassured himself that he wasn't just reading her from his own. His voice was nearly slurred with passion. "Do you want this?"

Her emotions shifted dangerously with his words, her eyes flashing. How dare he ask such a stupid question? She growled at him in return before pulling him into another heated kiss. "Shut up and take me to the bedroom."

The growl he gave rumbled low in his chest, as he allowed her to catch him in this deep, taunting kiss for a few more seconds. He pulled away from her again after that, though, his new plans made; they had already agreed over dinner that they would keep this house, at least for now. "No." She looked curious. "There are other rooms we haven't broken in yet."

Her eyes singed him in response, her heart pounding; she dragged him into another fierce kiss, needing him more than she had words for. God, this was what she needed.

His whole body throbbed for her. He let the kiss go on, as he backed her up; her skirt was a little too tight to allow her to wrap her legs around his waist. A half minute later, too, they were in their dining room.

He didn't bother with the lights--although what came from the kitchen made the room visible enough. They didn't need them, though; they knew where each other was. That was all that was necessary.

He pulled out a chair from the table, then, finishing the kiss; his gaze caught hers, as he pulled away, looking deep, being certain. She moaned, needing him, and tried to tug off his coat.

Her hands were a little clumsy with passion, however; he helped her. Pretty soon, then, his coat was on the floor, his sweater abandoned on the table. He pushed down his pants slightly more, as well, and sat down, his eyes singeing up at her.

Oh God, this was perfect--was practically a fantasy for her in itself. Just to know that he was really hers finally, that they wouldn't be separated, was too amazingly sweet. That he still wanted her even half as much as she did him, though, . . .

His hands pushed the skirt she was wearing up past her hips. There was nothing like skill or seduction to the moment, just raw, too-long-repressed need. He had to be in her again soon.

He growled, however, as his hands found her underwear; he had yet to look away from her eyes. She smiled knowingly at the look, understanding--challenging him. The growl from him grew louder in response, and--a second later--the small garment was in shreds, his beloved revealed to his touch once again.

She didn't want to wait at all, knew she was more than ready. She had been fantasizing the whole night, in fact, about getting him home, about taking advantage of their new opportunity in full--without all the lingering pain of the night before. All she could think about, then, was having him in her *now*.

Michael, though, as always, was more cautious--loved her too much to ever risk hurting her like this. Two of his fingers traced up her slick thigh and then pushed deep inside her. He closed his eyes for a second, too, at the need which shot through him on finding how ready she was, on rediscovering her sweet honey. God, yes--now.

She moaned, the sensation of his knowledgeable fingers sliding deep within her intense and incredible. It wasn't enough, though--not right now.

She began to lower herself onto him, then, extricating his hand and bringing it to her lips, as her other stroked down to play with and position his hard shaft. She then began to tease him, suckling the taste of her desire for him off his fingers--holding his gaze with the fire of her own--as she began to lower herself, finally closing her tight walls slowly over his thick, hard cock.

He groaned loudly at all of these sensations and sights, his heart pounding--but he couldn't take too much teasing. He pulled his fingers back to himself, then, and tasted the rest of her desire, moaning loudly. A second later, too, his hand had snagged around into her hair, and he had dragged her, willingly, into a hot, needy kiss.

She moaned heatedly, overcome with her need for him. She felt wild and desperate, wanted to experience him at his most insane for her--and she wanted this to only be the first of many, many more times.

He couldn't have agreed more, wanted her so much. He pulled her deeper into the kiss, therefore, and helped lower her onto him, moaning. He would just never get enough.

Everything here was so intense for him, truly. God, she felt wonderful. He had never in his life come close to experiencing anything else like the hot, tight, welcoming caress of her body; for the strength of the sensations she always gave him, he might as well have been a virgin before they had met. Every other woman had been forgotten now--would be abandoned forever in the future, as well. There was only his Nikita alone.

Ohh, the feeling of him was just too good, too wonderfully intense. She broke from the kiss to groan, and arched her back to take in more of him; she never got over the way he filled her. Had she created him from her sweetest fantasy, indeed, the fantasy still would have been lacking. There was just nothing else like this.

His eyes were wide now, as he watched her pleasure, enraptured; he was pulling her further down onto him, as she moaned. Her head was back, her lips open, eyes closed; her whole expression was one of the sweetest, most passionate revelation. He shuddered slightly. God, he couldn't take much more of this beautiful desire.

She agreed--wanted more. She lowered herself further, then--taking most of him inside of her, her moan intense. Jesus--he just felt so big, so right. There would never be anything else like him at all.

He couldn't take much more, had to close his eyes momentarily. Her body was just so sweet; even if she hadn't been able to take him all in, she would still be the most orgasmic experience he had ever come close to. Nothing else could ever compare.

She had surrounded him nearly completely now. Her hands clawed over his shoulders in response, her mouth open to let out soft little moans--and his passion flared again. His cock beat harder, too, causing them both to groan loudly. It had to be soon.

He began to give little strokes up into her, therefore, pulling out slightly each time before encouraging more of her body to admit him. She shuddered, as well, and an unconscious growl moved from him. The fury in him was undeniable.

He repressed a deep shudder of desire, one which seemed to be trying to take over his whole body. He couldn't deny, of course, that he loved being completely inside of her sweet, tight walls; it made him wild. It wasn't just the aching heat of the sensual feelings she gave, either. No--it was the possession of the act, too--was the thought which would always move through his soul, when she accepted him entirely at last: "Mine. She. Is. . . . *Mine*."

Her soul was shaking with the moment; she was whimpering, as she helped him to enter her further with each thrust. Every one made her gasp. For her, too, it was the possession of this moment which put her so utterly close to the edge--was the knowledge that he wanted her, that he loved her. He had taken, had accepted her completely, despite all her flaws--despite all her fears. He desired her as he did no one else, ever. This beautiful man was *hers*.

Almost all the rest of his thick, hard shaft moved into her now, and he moaned in love and possession. He had, it was true, taken some pride in his dimensions in his early years--in some adolescent way. Still, since then, they had meant nothing to him--until her. Now, he loved and accepted his body for the simple need it brought to her eyes--for the look of open-mouthed passion it gave her, as he revealed himself to her devouring gaze. It was just too perfect for words.

There was a growl deep in his throat, as his shuddering need went on. He loved thinking, too, that no other man had ever quite equaled him for her--that she could think of no one else to compare him to. It made him a little smug--and *very* needy. He would never let her want anyone else again.

He loved showing her the absolute limits of that passion she gave him, as well. So long as she wanted him, truly, so long as she took joy in these moments, he had meaning, his body had purpose. . . . Nothing else outside of this was ever quite real.

She was whimpering constantly now, was becoming entirely overwhelmed; her depths were taking on a sweet delight they had only ever known with him. She couldn't imagine that her body meant half as much to him as his did to her, of course, but she had given up on such self-doubts for now. He wanted her, loved her, and that would be enough. All she really cared about was now.

His whole face showed how enraptured he was by watching her. The hot, sensual union of their bodies--and the aching heat which it gave his shaft--were nothing compared to the look of wonder and delight on her beautiful face. God, he had to have her forever.

He decided it in that moment, therefore, decided their future; he would spend these two weeks healing her in every way he could, would spend them bringing back to her what bits of peace and comfort were allowed them--and then he would ask her to marry him. It was suddenly of vital importance, indeed, that he head into Oversight with her as his *wife*.

He wasn't telling her this yet, however; she wasn't ready to accept, still had too many self-doubts. Right now was about showing her once more how well they worked together, then--about how much he loved and needed her. The right moment would come later, and then they could truly live happily as one.

His thoughts, though, destroyed his self-control; his hands were on her hips, as he moved her over him, coaxing her final bit of acceptance--no longer willing to wait. He had to have her soon.

The heat between them was immense, therefore, the flames licking at them both. God, it was perfect--and it was what they both wanted now.

His eyes grew wider, however, as her whimpers became more intense; his heart was hers alone. He pulled back once more, therefore, and then, with one more thrust, finally felt her body take him in--sank his long cock to the base in her. He closed his eyes for a second to savor the sensation, a possessive smile on his lips. God--yes.

She was giving little cries of joy at capturing him again, overwhelmed. Any amount of time seemed too long, seemed endless, without him. Now, though, he was back with her--that big, lovely shaft showing her the whole, original purpose of her slick walls. She moaned hoarsely. Yeah--he felt *so* good.

He had been holding back his rage to take her, his heated desperation to be one with his mate. When he saw her perfect tongue lick out over her lips, however, as she moaned--savoring the feeling of him inside her, he could take no more. He had to make her his *now*.

She was, actually, already on the edge. She had wanted him so much all night--had felt a sense of freedom with him all day, one she hadn't ever known before. Every thick inch of his lovely, hard cock entering her had teased her, too, had made her tight walls moan with submission and happiness. . . . It wouldn't take long before he drove her completely over the edge.

It was when she felt his hot, wet, *so* knowledgeable mouth descend upon her exposed throat, though, that her fury truly began to build. "Mi-chael," she groaned. God--yes.

He couldn't take much more. His mouth trailed along her throat, reveling in her trust, in her desire--loving every second of joy he could give her. When she moaned deeply and began her next move, however, something in him seemed to snap. His teeth grazed along her throat, as she groaned in need; his voice was hoarse. "'Ki-ta."

"Ooo," she moaned wildly, drunk with him. She was holding onto his shoulders, was moving on him in barely-perceivable, tight motions, was holding the thick head of his cock hard against her core--was rubbing him there with slow, expert grace. He hissed, and she smiled--lost and happy. Yes.

"Jesus," he whispered, barely audibly. She was using his shaft to please herself, was moving in a deep, tight, undulating pattern which had him nearly screaming. His whole cock was hot with need--was burning in erotic fire. . . . He wasn't sure he had ever felt anything half so good.

Her moans were driving him wild, as well, as she tempted them both mercilessly toward erotic destruction. His whole body shook; he could barely stand another second.

He realized, however, a moment later--remembered, that her shirt was still on. God, he couldn't stand it--so needed to taste her sweet flesh.

His hand, then, ran down between them, almost fumbling with the buttons of her blouse; for a man as graceful and coordinated as himself, it said much. He half undid it and managed to unhook the front of her bra, too, revealing the wonderful flesh he needed so much. Yes. His mouth trailed down.

She let out a screaming "Ah!" as she felt his wet, heated touch move down her skin; her pattern moved more quickly, her feet clinging to the bottom of the chair, holding him deep inside her. She was so close she could taste it, could barely survive another second. When his mouth found her nipple, then, and gave it a small bite before beginning to suckle it roughly, she jerked arrow-straight, crying out--her nails dug into his shoulders. "Mi-chael!"

He felt her sweet depths beginning to convulse around him tightly and went wild. Her body had been torturing him so sweetly for so long; he was so close himself. Still, he had to have more--was too needy for conscious thought. All that was left was Nikita.

His mouth seemed to be everywhere then, suckling hard from one breast to the other--gifting them with little, teasing bites, licking over her sweat-slick flesh, moving back up to bite and growl at her neck. Her nails, too, sunk further into his back, and he had only one conscious thought left in response: "More."

She had been convulsing around him--the honey warm and burning in her veins, but the hot trail of his frantic mouth made her scream. Her whole body jerked against him, the ecstasy at her core turning so unbearably sweet and taunting that she was crying. It was a joy so sharp she wasn't sure she had ever felt anything else half so good--but now she wanted more, nonetheless.

She was screaming in outrageous, desperate need, therefore, by the time his mouth found hers again; she whimpered deeply through the hot kiss. When he broke from it for just a second, too, she let out a small gasp, the word in it almost lost. "More."

The groan which rose from him was half-screamed. All of his desire for her was building unbearably--was rising to the point where he had become mindless with it. He was going to take her *now*--and she was going to enjoy it.

She felt him starting to rise from the chair and unhooked her legs from around it, her shoes finally dropping off; she linked her legs around his waist a second later. He had caught her in the hot, desperate kiss once again, as well, so her insane moans were captured there. Yes.

She was propped mostly upon that incredible, heavy shaft of his--which was still buried deep inside her--as he moved her over to the dining room table. She was screaming through the kiss, as he groped around for the sweater he had abandoned here earlier. God, he hoped this table was sturdy. He supposed he would find out.

Fortunately, Center hadn't skimped on her furniture. The table took her weight, as he lay her on it, her head coming to rest on the sweater for a pillow. He, too, was leaning there--was buried deep inside her; he pulled back from the kiss to look at her again. God, he was ready for her now.

This, though, wasn't all. His heart skipped a beat, as well, at the immense beauty of her; her eyes were wide and the deepest, most lovely blue he had ever seen. Her face was perfect, too, as she moaned out for more, her shorter hair still in utter, passionate disarray. He smiled. Nothing else he had ever seen had been even half so perfect. Yes.

She couldn't wait anymore, had to have him now. She had never seen such an amazed light in his eyes--as he watched her like a revelation--the passion in his gaze burning brightly. She looked down his body. All of it was hers: that beautiful face; that tense, muscled chest; those strong arms, the muscles in them jumping slightly from the strain of holding back; those hips holding his giant cock deep inside her. God. Her legs wrapped further around his waist, her back arched, as she reached down to grab his curves; her nails dug into him, spurring him on. She had to have him now.

He let out a groaning scream, therefore, as he began to stroke her wildly; each one was long, deep, and strong. Her groans were becoming deep and guttural, too, as the shocks his large, hard shaft was beginning to set off threatened to overwhelm her, making every wall sweet and glorious with sensation. It wouldn't be much longer.

His hands came up to her shoulders, as he began to ride her more deeply, and she saw him take on the look of a beautiful, wild animal--free and nearly overwhelmed with pleasure. His eyes held such love for her; her groans grew louder. "Michael!" she screamed again.

God, he couldn't take much more; his thrusts were short and incredibly rough, as he moved to the rhythm they both needed, lost to anything rational. He only knew that she was the most beautiful creature ever created, and she was screaming with the ecstasy he was giving her--was lost in the echoing shocks which were just the prelude to the cataclysmic release to come. Her clothes were still technically on, too, but were strewn every which way in their passion. Dear Lord, that she wanted him this much made him insane. Another few seconds and he would be lost to her completely.

She tossed her head back and groaned more deeply, as he became a savage with her--nothing conscious existing in them at all. His mouth, too, was tasting down her body again, was loving every bit of tender flesh it found. They were animals--mated, instinctive. All that mattered at all was that they needed each other's pleasure.

She couldn't take much more at all; her hands came up to run into his hair, moving him in the direction he was already headed. Both of their noises were becoming wild, loud, and incoherent, as their most exquisite places of need became too sensitive to bear. There was no turning back anymore.

It was just a second later, then, that his mouth found her breast; she let out a moaning scream. A heartbeat after that, too, he began suckling her roughly--and took them both into the storm.

They arched into each other, as the fever pitch of their ecstasy exploded insanely. Nikita was screaming, her sounds echoing and desperate; his own were guttural and wild, his mouth refusing to let her go. The heat within them both wiped out all sense and sanity, indeed, washed them away on catastrophic waves of light. . . . It was an absolutely scalding sort of delight.

He continued suckling her for another few seconds, as well, until the feeling of her honeyed walls clasping him tight became too much. He was moaning desperately, the heat which had exploded from him, which was spreading deep inside her, almost more than he could bear. He leaned his head back, holding her hips close to him, as he moaned out a loud, guttural sort of "Uhhhhhh."

Nikita was screaming still, was crying out; her whole body was in convulsive, devastating bliss, her head back on the table, as her hands held his to her hips. The feeling of his joyful light erupting deep inside her had washed out everything but perfection. She was floating in satiating heat.

They were both caught like that for more minutes than they would have been able to comprehend; it was an utter suspension of time, of anything but devastating joy. There just was nothing in life besides this.

They shared it all, too--understood everything as one. Their love connected them, made them a single, united--orgasmic--being. Neither of them had ever before felt anywhere near this free.

The bonds of their love held them tight, refused to let either of them go--but neither of them wanted to. All they could do was experience their souls' mutual adoration with moaning sighs.

Finally, though, when either of them could move or even marginally think again, they looked back at one another--the love in their eyes immense. He helped pull her up, too, discarding her shirt and bra, as he did so, and she rested her head against his chest, his legs leaning against the table; they were still a bit too rubbery to work at the moment.

He held her close, too, as he sighed, kissing her hair; she rubbed her cheek against him in love. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by every second of her. "Dear God, I love you," he whispered.

She smiled against him and moved her head to kiss over his still-pounding heart quietly, returning the sentiment without words. He smiled and held her closer, as she rubbed her cheek against him again.

They stayed like that until they could breathe somewhat normally once more. He pulled out of her finally then, too, and captured her in a deep, tender kiss, before leaning back to look at her eyes; they both smiled. There were no more words to say.

A few minutes later, therefore, he had removed the remains of both of their clothes and abandoned them in the dining room, as he carried her back to bed. They got in silently, holding each other close. It was too perfect to say anything at all.

They looked up at each other with eyes which understood everything in that moment, as well, which held no secrets; they smiled. After one more kiss, too, she lowered her head back to his shoulder, and they allowed themselves to drift off to sleep.

The peace between them was immense now; their gaze had said it all. They were here for the rest of their lives. . . . There would be no separating them again.

[End of Part 5]

Part 6

Extra warning: Once again, this chapter is NC-17. Please don't read it, if you shouldn't.

They began the next day in a wonderful way--by simply spending several hours lying in bed with each other. . . . It was a joy both of them had dearly missed.

It was Michael, however, who was the first to wake; to his surprised delight, too, he found Nikita still deep in sleep. She was holding him close, was making it obvious that she had no intention of allowing him to let her go. God, he loved it.

He looked down at her for sometime, therefore, his heart at peace. She was so incredibly beautiful, was still such an angel--despite all the painful, dysfunctional ways of dealing with life he had taught her; her hair felt so soft, as his fingers stroked through it, her cheek so sweet, as she unconsciously rubbed her cheek over his bare skin. The ache of love and need the simple, trusting weight of her sleeping form stretched along his own gave to him couldn't be described at all. . . . She just made him so real.

He sighed, his heart beating out his love to her, as he continued to slowly stroke her hair, running his hand down to trace lightly over her silky back. He was so thankful for this opportunity, knew he could never entirely deserve it. It was this, truly, possibly even more than the sharp-edged, needy ecstasy she gave him, which he had missed the most. She trusted him completely at these moments, for one of the only times in their lives together so far, seemed to melt in his arms from the time their lovemaking entwined their bodies into a sated whole; the sensation of it, of the light of her soul mingling quietly with his own, ran through every fiber of him, gave him a purpose like no other he had ever found. It was the most perfect thing he had ever come close to experiencing.

He let out a soft, loving breath and tilted his head down to kiss her lovely, golden hair; she let out a warm moan. He smiled and stayed near her here, rubbing her lips against the silky strands, allowing himself to take in her scent. Bliss.

It was this one privilege, indeed, which he had missed the most, the absence of it which had most made him question his life's purpose--and his sense of self. Her love defined him in a way nothing else had ever even begun to do; Section hadn't come close to providing such reasons for existing. His refusal to die there had simply been stubbornness, nothing more. It was being in her arms, though--was when he was allowed the sweet joy of holding her to him, of feeling the absolutely replete ecstasy which he had somehow given her--which had gifted him with a vision of some divine plan for his life. It was all that would ever matter again.

He smiled slightly. It was in these moments, after all, that he began to understand his life. All the pain and horror, all of the atrocities which had been performed upon his soul, were entirely meaningless now; anything else he was asked to do, anything else which was done to him, could have no effect, so long as she was with him. With that assured, he could survive anything.

He sighed again, a little unhappily now--the smile faded, and kissed her head once more. It was all of this, too--or, rather, its absence--which had tormented him the most when she had pushed him away. For the one tormenting, soul-raping day when he had actually believed her words, everything real in him had ceased to exist; anything he had ever believed about his life had been proven false by her denial of him. Without her love, he had no meaning--was simply another damned soul left to rot in fiery pain. For that day, then, he had been nothing; he had been absolutely empty. It was only her love which ever made him live.

He closed his eyes, as these painful thoughts washed roughly over him. His body, however--ironically, was reacting to her renewed love, was once more clamoring to touch her; he tried to hold down its fury. As much as he wanted to be her lover for a lifetime--wanted soon to have her refer to him, in literal truth, as her husband--he didn't actually want to turn their two weeks into quite the sexual marathon much of their previous times off together had been. Then, after all, they had both been running from the torment of their lives, had been seeking ways to tell one another--and to convince themselves--that they were real. It had been the only thing they were living for at all.

Now, though, things were, fortunately, different; now, while he still did intend to make this quite a memorable honeymoon for her--he also wanted them to communicate in every way, to share everything. He wanted to experience the most mundane things with her--could practically feel himself becoming aroused from thoughts of washing dishes or doing laundry. He wanted to convince himself--and convince her--that they were finally real partners, that they shared every experience of life together. . . . And then he wanted to make love to her in ways which left her screaming and quaking with unbearable, heavy delight. Nothing else, indeed, would make this time between them quite right.

His mind, despite his better intentions to ignore his clamoring body, went on with these last thoughts, too. He had adored both of their previous days' lovemaking, but yesterday's was perhaps more precious to him. It, after all, had been the start of something, had been filled with a joy of knowing what was to come, with an understanding that a real future now lay ahead of them. He could think of nothing more precious.

His heart beat strongly, then, as he thought into these taunting memories further. He adored the way she flirted with him, the way her smallest gesture made his desire grow wild--to her pleased, knowing delight. He loved how much pleasure she took in him, as well--how much she liked to explore him, to reconquer every tiny millimeter of flesh, to make him beg for her. He loved it when she made him so wild, when she knowingly stoked the flames which always burned bright in his soul for her; he loved it when her beautiful torments finally made his need for her too heated to bear, when she opened herself to the conquering ecstasy he burned to give her. He wanted to bear every mark she gave him in her passion forever, wanted them both as trophies and as reminders. This woman was his, indeed. . . . He never wanted her to forget that again.

His erotic thoughts of her were too much, however; he was fully, and nearly unbearably, aroused by the time she was waking. He sighed. He really hadn't intended on spending the entire day in bed.

He tried to ignore his body's needs, then, as much as that was ever possible with her. The memories of what it felt like to sink deep inside that incredibly sweet body of hers, to feel it softly, tightly enfolding him, though, was enough to make him want to purposely wake her up. He tried to let it go.

He wasn't entirely successful in this effort, of course; he never was, with her. Still, as he felt her waking, he moved his mind on.

He was pleased now with the plan for their futures which Mick . . . which Mr. Jones had presented to them. He shook his head slightly at the slip; it was going to take awhile to come to terms with who he really was.

He thought into him further, though. The man might not be perfect, but it made sense to him now that he would give them this; it was, truly, all either of them had ever asked for. As hard as it was for him to believe in the existence of an even partly-benevolent leader, then, he would gratefully accept this perfect future he was giving to them. It was all he had ever wanted at all.

He sighed a little, as well, his mind running back through the last several weeks. He really did, indeed--he realized now--want this more than the freedom they had, so recently, supposedly stolen from their masters. Their time together on the boat, of course, had been wonderful, but the price of it had been a heavy one--more than he was willing to bear. . . . He was almost glad that it hadn't been real.

It wasn't just the doubts she had given him during her time as Quinn, either--or even that he had been forced to finally kill the terminally-used and misguided Davenport; that latter one had actually been coming for awhile, no matter how little he had enjoyed it. No, it had been more the lingering fears she had placed in his heart with her method of freeing herself. The fact that she had, he had been led to believe, sided with Red Cell simply for personal gain just went against everything he had ever believed that he knew about her; it had frightened him badly. As much as he had enjoyed all of their closeness over that week, therefore, its origins had always been lurking in his heart, waiting to threaten his happiness again. He had never really gotten past it at all.

This, then, was far more wonderful, was nearly perfect. Now, there were no lingering secrets or lies to come between them--to distance them, as he had felt her doing in some internal way over that whole time, over the entire last year or so. Now, there was an honesty between them unlike any other they had ever shared. He would never let it go again.

He knew she was awake now, but she seemed to just be enjoying being held; he smiled and kissed her hair once more, then, as his thoughts went on. The only thing which still needed to really be worked out between them, indeed, was some of the fallout of their Section years. They both had to work on their wounded self-images, truly, or they had little chance for success together. It was the one area between them which still most needed to be addressed.

He kissed her hair once more, therefore, preparing himself to discuss this with her. "Good morning," he whispered.

She smiled against him, loving this. There was such a joy for her in his arms, in the wonderful sensation of need and contentment which ran through his body right now. . . . How on earth had she ever believed she could go on without him?

She snuggled closer against him, too, and smiled more deeply at his very pronounced arousal. Lord, she loved that he could still respond to her like this, after all the damage she had done him. She may not deserve his love, of course, but she understood again that she couldn't go on without it. It was her one main requirement for life.

Her slightly sleep and passion hoarse voice finally sounded, telling him her thoughts. "I see you've been . . . up for quite sometime." She raised her head to look at him, eyes twinkling.

He had to take in a breath at her incredible look, at the love and need which shone for him there. He tried to force his breathing into a normal, quiet pattern--not entirely successfully; he had no idea how wide and aroused the look in his deep green eyes was, as he echoed her words from last night. "That's just the normal temptation you present."

Her look grew deep and knowing; it was a look of absolute feminine understanding and pleasure, a look of triumph. She loved that she could do this to him still.

She leaned in to give him his reward for his continued desire for her, then, wanting to thank him for caring, for not hating her as much as he should. She could feel her oncoming victory, too, when there was an involuntary moan in the back of his throat. Yes.

Oh God, it was good. The way she commanded him made him want to give himself up to her, made him want to take her up on this offer more than he had any sort of words to express. His body was nearly quaking.

Still, he could feel something inside her, some lingering damage from the wounds to her soul, to her sense of self. He knew, then, that she was just trying to "thank" him for caring for her--as though there was any other natural or normal response to her immense beauty, of body and soul; he knew she didn't really understand him yet.

This last thought, too, cooled him off slightly--at least made it possible to pull away; it was still a feat of self-control, however. He placed one more soft kiss on her lips, as he met her eyes, his look tender but serious. "We still have some things to discuss, Nikita."