Chapter 9

It had been a long day by the time she was able to escape once more, had been entirely too exhausting. True, the school was finally coming together, would be open soon--would be able to show the world its renewal--but the process which led there seemed endless. She was quite looking forward to finally seeing the end results.

Nikita was wandering slowly through the gardens once again, was seeking some distraction for her overtaxed thoughts. Her mind had been such a chaos of conflicts lately, had been able to focus in no one place consistently; it was only in these lovely surroundings that she ever began to get her bearings. Maybe here she could find some temporary peace.

Her object, however, was not entirely successful. She sighed, her mind turning. Whether she did achieve this goal or not, the truth remained: she was finding real comfort nowhere at all just now. There was too much internal turmoil for that.

Her conflicts at the moment, as well, were not simply related to the million details involved in the school's upcoming opening; she wasn't really being allowed to have too much to do with many of those. She didn't even get a real say in who they admitted, was being overruled by her husband and his mistress in the acceptance of some students who had simply been tossed out of many another school--for whatever reason. She hated it. To her mind, after all, it was a bad idea to set themselves up from the start in people's mind as some sort of reform school--but, once again, Madeline and Paul were firmly in control. They had argued, instead, about how much they needed the money and enrollment, ignoring every valid complaint she presented. When she would continue to press her point, too, they would send her off to do busy work, while they allotted every task they considered important among the new staff--with Michel's aid. She, then, was just along for the ride.

This thought made her a little angry again now, made her heart beat a little faster--however she might try to calm herself. This was *her* school, after all--was the one she had been given--yet everyone else seemed to be the ones in control. She, instead, was simply given busy work to take up her time and then sent off to be a nice little figurehead--her objections overruled, her input almost always politely ignored. Despite her continued attempts at calm, indeed, it was really rather galling.

None of this, though, was even all; Madeline and Paul weren't even the only ones responsible for this neglect of the duties she deserved. Even Michel seemed to take part in it, seemed to push her to the side, when it came to the true work of the place. She was beginning to wonder, in fact, if she had overestimated him before. Maybe all the lovely sympathy and kindness he had given her the other day was simply a bunch of romantic twaddle; maybe he just saw her as the quiet little thing that everyone else seemed to--and wanted her that way. She sighed. She really wasn't certain anymore.

She continued to wander through the gardens, as she fought back a growing sense of sadness over these thoughts, attempting to ignore the way it beat through her--a dull, constant ache. She might be feeling a little better lately, physically--which was a plus--but nothing else important to her seemed to be going right. Ever since that rather amazing day two weeks ago, Michel had positively avoided her, had given her a kind smile or two, but nothing more. She had gone on these rambles through the gardens every afternoon since then, in fact, hoping that he would continue the pattern she had seen him start, but he had been quite conspicuously absent. Her heart sank further. It was all very depressing, indeed.

She let out another weary sigh, as she walked silently along, none of these thoughts giving her comfort. Her sadness had only been growing of late, too. True, there were moments when she grew really excited about the prospect of the school opening, when the immensity of what they were about to do hit her and she found it hard to repress the giant grin which shone from her soul. It was exciting, was thrilling to think that she was finally going to be the mistress of the school she had always dreamed of, of the school which was now finally her own; it warmed her in a way too profound to describe, . . . but it was in the moments just after these that reality would hit her once more. No matter how kind much of the new staff were to her, she was just there for appearances, and all of them knew it. None of this was really hers at all.

Her sorrow continued, grew more profound with these thoughts, as she began to make her way toward the bench where she had had her most memorable conversation with Michel. It didn't quite matter to her that she felt like a fool for finding comfort there; she did, nonetheless. Somehow, the place gave her the memory of the illusions she seemed so determined to see in him, warmed her with them. It didn't even matter to her that they had never been real. . . . Maybe she just needed a fantasy to believe in, after all.

She began to approach the bench and her memories, then, still lost to her thoughts, when a voice behind her caught her unaware. "Madame Wolfe?"

She jumped just slightly and turned around, part of her mind wondering when she had become so nervous. Maybe it was just the fact that even the thought of Michel made her feel like a criminal, like she had to hide away her feelings for fear of punishment. Maybe it was just this damn illness, whatever temporary sort of reprieve she may have found from it lately. Who knew?

Her mind abandoned these momentary thoughts, as she saw one of the new members of staff, though--one of the many she had had no part at all in choosing: Monsieur Dian, the French instructor. She gave a slight smile, as he apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

She shook her head. "No--you didn't. I'm just lost in my own little world, I suppose." Her polite smile deepened. "No harm done."

He looked her over, not entirely believing; she seemed pale, her hand over her heart. He cursed himself silently for forgetting. "Are you well?" He pointed toward the bench. "Perhaps you should sit down."

She allowed herself to be led by him but shook her head. "No, I'm fine, really." It wasn't quite true, of course, but her current state had nothing to do with any physical ailment; this heartache was an entirely emotional one.

She took the seat he motioned her toward, however, sighing inaudibly. She was quite sick of being treated like an invalid, was tired of being the delicate flower which had to be looked after--or simply patronized. She looked him over, as he stood before her, then, her mind growing defiant. She was stronger than any of them knew, always had been. She bet she could outrun him in any race. Her smile deepened. Just give her a chance to prove it.

He noticed the look, the flash of life and stubborn self-confidence which lingered there for half a second; he was quite certain, too, that--whatever mental evaluation she had just performed--he hadn't come out of it well. His heart warmed to her. That was alright, though. She needed to show this spark more often, whatever the cause. It made her almost unbearably desirable. He repressed his pleased laugh. Poor Michel. He had no idea what he was in for.

She realized after a second that she must be giving him the same bratty look she had been chastised for a million times; she made her face a polite blank again, as she looked down. She would have to watch that in the future.

She knew she was being rude to stay so silent, however, so she attempted a polite course of conversation. "The preparations are coming along quite well, so I understand. We should be in very good shape by the time we open."

She still wasn't making eye contact with him, he noticed; he looked into her more closely, wondering at the train of thoughts which had brought them here. She really didn't seem the type for small talk. Perhaps Renard and Wolfe had worked with her, though. "Or on her," his mind added silently. He could think of little response verbally to these pleasantries, so settled on a quiet, "Yes."

She nodded, focusing on the ground for another moment before looking back to him, angling for another innocuous topic. "So how do you like our school so far?"

He smiled at her and looked around the garden. It was a hard question to answer, in some ways--harder than she knew. She obviously knew nothing of his past here.

He debated whether to be simply polite or more real, therefore, for several seconds--and finally decided on the latter; he wanted to get a better read on her, so he could help out his friend's cause. "It's quite beautiful now, more than it ever has been before." He sighed, looking back when he felt her unspoken question--his opening made. "I was a student here, years ago."

Her eyes widened, and he noted it with some pleasure; he had made his impression. . . . He just had to wait now to see what kind it was.

It took her a moment to answer--took her a moment to decide how to. Finally, though, her curiosity won out, moved aside the meaningless chit chat she knew she probably should be making; her mind rationalized, though. He *was* the one who had opened the subject.

Her voice was still soft, as she began; it was something no one else had let her really talk about. "You knew my aunt?" He nodded, eyes gentle. She swallowed a little, hoping he wouldn't report her every word back to Paul; she really didn't know who to trust. Still, she forged on. "What was she like?"

He looked at her curiously. "You never met her?"

She shook her head, focusing on the ground. "No. She died the year I was born. She and my father were estranged." She let out a heavy sort of sigh, lost in questions, before she focused on him once more. "I'd like to know more about her."

He sat down finally, deciding this was his invitation, looking into her very beautiful, but saddened, eyes. His heart was a little heavy for her. Now that he thought about it, of course, it made sense that she would know little of the woman--and not just because of the year of her birth. It seemed unlikely, really, that any family with a scandal of this sort in its closet would spend a great deal of time discussing its details. He smiled softly. "What would you like to know?"

She shrugged, focusing away again--lost; she didn't know where to start. No one had ever offered her anything like this before; no one had ever really discussed the woman with her before--except Madeline, . . . and her insights couldn't be called soothing. "Anything," she decided.

He let out a quiet sigh, wondering where to begin. How much of the scandal did she really want to hear about? How much of the pain which her aunt had been through would she be willing to hear? He really didn't know. He started out with small things, then. "She was quite young, beautiful--gentle." He smiled. "She was always very kind to the students, always willing to listen. She was exactly what you wanted in a teacher."

She smiled to herself. Yes, this was what she had wanted to hear, somehow. She wondered whether he were reading her thoughts. "And her husband?"

His smile faded, as he looked further away; his expression had soured considerably. "Do you really want to know about him?"

He looked back to meet her gaze after a few seconds, as she refocused on him--forced himself to. It was a subject he still hated, all these years later, one which could bring her nothing but pain, as well. He was pulled into her gaze, as he did, though; her eyes were the clearest blue he had ever seen, a small plea apparent in them. She nodded slightly. "Please."

He didn't like it, of course. He looked away again, not wanting to discuss the man--but he knew that she of all people deserved to know about him. He told her the truth. "He was cruel, vindictive, petty. He would play what he thought of as 'jokes' on the students or staff, never caring who was hurt." He shook his head, his voice growing softer. "We never even knew when things were real with him."

Oh. It all just seemed to fit in too well with what she had been told about the plot which had ended her aunt's life. She swallowed heavily and looked away again. Part of her, of course, didn't really want to know all of this, but she was still too curious to back away; she needed to know, to understand, more. "And Madame Horner?"

He closed his eyes for a second, before he stared back at the path, swallowing slightly. The woman had always given him the chills, had always left him feeling disconcerted; he had never liked her. "She was cold, correct." His eyes grew distant. "She never quite smiled."

It was too much. He shook his head a little and looked back around the garden, changing the subject suddenly--too unsettled to go on. For years, he had had nightmares of this place, of the ghost of the abandoned Madame Delasalle wandering through the halls, with only the memories of her cruel companions for company. He shuddered a little, tried to sound brighter. "It was nothing then like it is now."

A shudder passed through Nikita as well, but it wasn't provoked by ancient memories this time. No. Her sudden chill was brought on by his last insights into the past, by how terribly relevant Monsieur Dian's descriptions were--how very familiar they, and all the people in them, seemed; the shudder went deeper, as she tried to change her mental path. She just couldn't focus on that for long.

She moved the conversation into a direction which had nothing to do with the previous ones, then--needing to distance herself. "I understand you're an old friend of Professor Samuelle."

He took a deep breath, drawing himself out of the remnants of his thoughts. This, after all, was his opportunity to help. He smiled at her. "Since childhood."

She gave him a teasing smile. "Must be nice to have a friend as part of the team who's hiring. Would make interviewing much simpler."

He smiled back at her, understanding--and matching--her playful tone. "Are you suggesting that I lack abilities, Madame Wolfe?"

She shook her head. "No." Her smile was kind. "I'm sure your old school was very sorry to lose you."

"Ah. More sorry to lose Michel than myself," his eyes became teasing, as he leaned toward her just slightly, "but devastated nonetheless." She laughed, and he leaned back, taking her in. She was a very beautiful woman.

She looked down at the bench, as her small laughter passed off, her mind turning to a path she know it shouldn't be taking. Still, she couldn't quite stop it. She began to work toward her real concerns, mentioning some vague information she had picked up from Madeline. "I hear Madame Gurgiev was quite upset to lose you both." She looked back to him.

That was an understatement. He smiled, nodding. "Michel was her favorite."

She smiled, wanting to understand completely. "She runs the school?"

He nodded again. "Yes, the group that bought it kept her on, after her husband's death. She's a fixture."

She looked down again, her words not entirely coy. "I hope she won't be too heart-broken." God knew, she would be, if Michel left.

He looked at her gently, even if she didn't see it. So she was smitten, too--poor dear. He did need to help them both. "I think he broke her heart long ago," she looked at him, "without ever meaning to, of course," he added.

"Of course," she smiled--but then it faded a little, too lost in the possible relevance of that statement; she angled once more toward her true concern, hoping she wasn't being *too* obvious. "I hear that Mademoiselle Phan is considering joining us here next year."

His eyes probed her deeply, as she refused to focus on them. Hmm. "Yes."

Her heart clenched a little. She let out a quiet breath, trying to brace herself. "That would be better for Professor Samuelle, I think." She looked up at him finally. "He wouldn't have to go so far to visit her."

Ah--so that was one of the reasons she seemed to have backed away from Michel so quickly. . . . Good. It was easy enough to solve. "I'm not sure he'll be visiting her too often, anyway." She looked very curious. "Their relationship is more casual than that."

Oh. She glanced away again. It seemed a polite lie, one said to make her feel better, to help her out in her too obvious infatuation. She thought into it further. Or maybe Michel was simply never that serious about anyone; maybe she had misread him yet again, and he saw all women as either just a challenge or a temporary diversion. It would certainly explain his distance of late. Her heart clenched once more. Maybe, too, she really didn't want to know.

She never had a chance to ask, however--never came close to the opportunity. They were interrupted, instead, by the man in question himself; his voice seemed rather tight. "I see you're getting acquainted with each other."

Nikita looked up to see him, his eyes flashing with something she didn't quite understand, with some sort of anger. "Oh," she murmured, standing. "Michel." She tried to manage a smile, mortified at having been caught talking about him--at what a little fool he must think her--again. She swallowed heavily. If only it were possible to will an earthquake . . .

The new arrival looked both her and his old friend over; his eyes flashed dangerously at Rene. He knew his friend, after all, knew his way with women, the casual charm he could use to seduce the ones he chose. It wasn't enough that he himself was half in love with a married woman he could never possibly have; now, Rene was after her, too--and this after all his talk of wanting to "help" him. . . . It didn't matter, either, that the conversation he had just overheard seemed to overturn all his fears; his anger just flared higher, as he tried to keep it in check. Damn him.

Nikita, of course, entirely misread Michel's rage, was incapable of understanding its true meaning. She had no way of knowing that this man had followed her covertly through the gardens every day since their meeting here two weeks ago, had no way of knowing that his distance had been born only out of caution and a fear for her reputation. She certainly had no way of knowing about the way his bones seemed to ache with longing whenever he thought of her now, about how his chest felt tight with the emptiness of his arms. She looked down at the ground, instead, humiliated by her, erroneous, conclusions about the cause of his anger--thoroughly ashamed that she had given into the temptation to discuss him at all. She swallowed heavily, having learned her lesson. "I'm sorry. I had no right to ask." She began to make her way past him toward the school, absolutely chastised.

He couldn't let her go, however; his emotions were far too volatile. For two weeks now, they had been in an ever-growing frenzy, constantly shaken by the sight of her. He had known many emotions with women before--had certainly understood both passion and ravening lust; he and Simone had even enjoyed each other's company, on occasion, to the point where they had spent the next day with only half-repressed grins and decidedly stilted walks. But nothing at all that he had felt before could begin to encompass the tremendous emotions this woman gave him--the hunger for even the softest touch, the way his soul seemed to groan with her slightest look. He would have gladly given up everything he was, he knew, just to be able to hold her softly for five minutes. It ached in him, truly--and he could not overcome it at all.

He stopped her, then, his hand stroking gently but heatedly along her arm, his eyes capturing and taking possession of her soul. Once he knew she was his, as well, he allowed himself to speak, his voice no more than a whisper, his eyes burning. "You had every right."

She let out a soft gasp, despite herself, and then bit her lower lip, trying to take back the treacherous sound; the incredibly hungry way he was eyeing her mouth nearly made her moan. Dear God--what was it about this man? How could she ever even begin to understand him? She shuddered a little. She wasn't even sure that was possible anymore.

He looked back to her eyes a second later, and they were caught for several long moments in a searing, naked gaze. Finally, simply unable to process the torrent of emotions in her own soul, she pulled away gently and nodded, attempting a small smile; she looked back at Rene once, before connecting again with Michel's heated look. She then hurried along the path back to the school, her heart beating at a million miles an hour--unable, once more, to entirely believe that he didn't care.

When she was gone, however, when he could no longer see her through the garden, he turned back to his "friend," who now stood to meet his rage; his smile was unpleasant, as he closed in on him. "So, you thought you'd go for a little walk in the garden with her, Rene--thought you would take advantage of the fact that she's lonely, that you would fill in what she needed? Maybe you thought you could poison her against me, hm?" He moved up nearly to his friend's face, his breathing erratic, his look very dangerous. "Were those your thoughts?"

The blond man shook his head; his eyes widened a little. Amazing. He had never known a woman to have this effect on Michel before; none had even come close. He couldn't help smiling slightly. "Are you jealous?"

The green eyes before him narrowed. There was a possessiveness growing within him for the woman who had just left, one which made his soul absolutely raw with need; he couldn't deny it at all. He raised his head slightly, challenging. "Do you really think I need to be?"

Rene couldn't help it; his smile broadened. Never before in his life had he seen his friend like this; the man had never come close to being jealous before. Elena had even tried, from time to time, to make him feel that way--believed it would be a show of real affection--but he had never once even started to rise to her bait, and that had been after a year or so of a serious relationship between them. Now, however, here his old, gentle-natured, always calm, friend was, obviously ready to beat him to a bloody pulp for daring to try to come between him and the object of his growing devotion. He laughed, just slightly. Perverse as it might be, it was wonderful--was the greatest show of life that the man had shown in at least a year; right now, he didn't even seem to remember that he was grieving. Oh yes--this relationship was definitely right.

All of his new realizations, though, had to be put aside for a second. As oddly pleased as he was with this turn of events, Michel was quite obviously dangerous at the moment--and laughing at his fears was unlikely to make him any less so. He let his smile go and looked into him, then, ignoring all of the provoking--and rather insulting--implications of the man's previous words. "Mi-chel," he intoned kindly, in the way he always did when he most needed to get through to him, "what did you truly just see--or hear?" He shook his head. "What part of that could make you believe that I'm even attempting to be a threat to you?"

It took a few seconds, of course, took a few long moments to work past the blinding, red rage which had consumed him for several minutes, but Michel did start to fully process his friend's words. He blinked, starting to come back to himself--and a new thought worked through to him. Dear God. What was happening to him now?

He looked deep into his friend for one more minute, then, before he finally stepped back, turning away. A moment later, he turned again and sat on the bench, lowering his head, as he sat forward, lost as to his own motivations, his rage withdrawn. He had no idea what was going on.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. They weren't perfect words, but they were the best he could do for now. He sighed. He just wished making up his stupidity to Nikita would be as easy as that.

Rene patted his shoulder understandingly for a second before he came around in front of him; he knelt down a few feet away, meeting his friend's eyes; his smile had returned. "Don't be."

Michel sighed heavily again, looking into him sadly. He didn't even know how to explain how lost he was. He looked away.

Rene smiled again, seeing into him all too well. "It's not so hard to understand, my friend." He stood back up, as Michel met his gaze once more.

The other man sighed again, shaking his head, not agreeing with him at all. He understood his friend's unspoken point, too, but couldn't quite accept it; he looked further away. "I don't even know her."

Rene laughed quietly. "You know her better than you want to realize."

Unimpressed green eyes looked up once more. Rene had theories he had distilled from Eastern sources, he knew--ones Simone believed, as well: that groups of souls met again and again, worked out old problems, helped improve each other. He himself, though, had always been far too pragmatic to even try to believe; it seemed unreal. He shook his head. "Not that again." He looked away.

This disbelief, however, only amused the man near him; the quiet laugh continued. "Ah, always the skeptic." He smiled gently at him, seeing his continuing torment. "Never mind. You don't have to believe it, Michel." He looked at him more profoundly, before he turned to go. "But that won't stop it from being true."

He started to walk away then, calling back softly over his shoulder to his, still miserable, friend. He knew that, once the other man finally accepted this truth, he would be much happier. His voice was gentle but determined. "Think about it, my old friend. Fate has a message for you."

It wasn't any help. The tormented man he left behind just lowered his head, shaking it again--utterly lost as to how to process this; his mind answered his friend's claim, instead. "Yeah. It's telling me to 'Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here'." He sighed. For the first time in his life, he felt really sorry for Dante.

Chapter 10

Nervous, excited, thoroughly confused--these were only a few of the things Nikita was feeling at the moment. The first two, as well, could be easily explained by the fact that the school was opening for the students' arrival tomorrow--but the latter could only be attributed to one person, the one who had her soul in such a whirlwind: Michel. . . . A few hundred adolescents, then, suddenly seemed easy to handle.

She sighed, as she sat in the teachers' lounge, flipping once more through a thick sheaf of applications, trying to familiarize herself with what she could find of the names and backgrounds of her students; she wanted to be ready. The parents would be here to scope the whole place out tomorrow, and she was determined to be prepared, wanted to make a good name for herself and her school. She smiled to herself. She wanted them to like her.

She let out a small laugh at her last thought, however, a little amazed at herself. It had been a very long time since she had felt so eager for anyone's good opinion; heaven knew, she had been completely disdainful of it many times before. Now, though, was different; now she had a goal, one she had worked toward for so very long. She needed everything, then, to start off right.

All of these thoughts of her fledgling school, though--however important they might be to her--were almost secondary ones now. In truth, she had finished memorizing the details of most of the students days ago, was only in here now in hopes of avoiding the constant scrutiny and advice of Madeline and Paul. She was sick to death of hearing yet more pointers on how to present herself, on how important it was that "no one embarrass the school early on." Of course, no other employee was being singled out for such lectures; everyone else they seemed content with. It was only herself they seemed unsure about. She sighed once more. She would have been happier, too, if she hadn't half-agreed with their fears.

She tried to push these lingering anxieties away from her again, however, knew there was nothing to be gained from them. Whether the school was a success or a failure was simply a matter to be determined by fate now. They had all worked hard to make everything ready, had assembled a staff of amazing teachers, most of them drawn either by the prospect of molding a new school or of working with Michel and Paul--whose reputations were immense. The school itself was looking lovely, as well, all of its former scandals buried from the eye; they were as prepared as it was possible to be for this immense undertaking they were about to embark on. All they needed to do now was wait.

It was for all of these reasons, therefore, that her anxieties about the students and parents' arrivals were rather secondary in her concerns now, were just a cover for her real focus. What was truly consuming her soul at the moment were her constant thoughts of Michel and her strange encounter with him yesterday. She still had no idea what to make of that.

She let out a tired breath and rested her head in her hand, rubbing over her eyes. Her emotions were still in turmoil, had only begun to thunder and roil more loudly within her since her unexpected meeting with him in the garden, when he had come so angrily upon her chat with Rene; she didn't understand any of it. The best she could make of it, indeed, was that he had been, understandably, furious at her for having discussed his private life behind his back--but that still didn't explain the intensity of his look as he had stopped her from leaving--and it didn't even begin to touch on Rene's statement about the casualness of his relationship with the woman she had formerly supposed he loved. She shook her head, sighing again. If only men came with instruction booklets, maybe she might have had some sort of chance of at least not embarrassing herself with him. As it was, though . . .

Her last thought was cut off by the small intake of breath she heard--by the nearly electric presence she felt in front of her, as well. Her heart thudded wildly, as she looked up to see the stormy eyes of the man whose vision so constantly assailed her tortured soul. She swallowed heavily, wishing she even knew how to begin. "Hello."

It took him a second to be able to answer even this simple greeting; his eyes were drinking her in hungrily, were greedily devouring the very sight of her. The woman was the food of his soul--no matter how foolish he might think himself for that feeling. Every day without her seemed immense.

This immediate need for her, however, the one which was growing by the day, wasn't his only reaction upon being granted the lovely sight of her once more; he was more than a little surprised to find her here. It certainly wasn't like the teachers' lounge was off limits to her, of course, but she was usually kept busy elsewhere by her watchers, was kept out of the presence of the staff--unless the pair who really ran this place were simply looking for a way to keep her out of their hair. He hadn't ever seen her just sitting alone here before, then. His heart beat so much faster at the thought. He did so hope that he might be able to in the future.

He realized, after a few, spellbound, seconds, that he hadn't answered her. He smiled slightly, trying to trust himself enough to approach her a little. "How are you today?"

Her heart was thumping, as he took a seat across from her finally, the storm in her soul becoming torrential. His eyes pierced her deeply; he seemed to know her in some way that went far beyond their few weeks' acquaintance, and their few, very brief--and utterly confusing--conversations. It was highly disconcerting, indeed. She swallowed, lying a little. "I'm fine--and you?"

God. He gave a small breath of a laugh at their polite, nonsensical conversation; he was beginning to wonder what it would sound like if they ever just spoke from their hearts. He had a feeling that it would get them into quite a bit of trouble. If only he could have allowed that now.

He looked down at the table, needing to switch subjects, needing to become just a little more real. He might not be able to tell her any of the things he truly felt--might not even fully understand any of them himself, despite what part of his mind said had been Rene's excellent advice yesterday--but he did know that he had to apologize for his rudeness then; he forced himself to just begin. "I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday." His eyes met hers once more, as he shook his head. "There's no excuse for it."

"No." She leaned a little across the worktable toward him, her hand falling on one of the files. "You had every right to be angry with me. There was no excuse for me to talk about you behind your back, to ask such personal questions." She shook her head. "It's really none of my business."

No. Something in him screamed at this denial, at her attempt to distance him from her soul, but he tried to cover it; he had to. It wouldn't be safe any other way.

He made up for it, though, with his gaze, looking over the table to visually caress the fingers of her hand. He did so warmly, in fact, until his eyes traced to her wedding band--and his anger burned even further. It was just too many denials at once.

He needed to respond to her, then, needed to let her know at least a little of what he felt. He certainly couldn't repeat what he had yesterday, however--couldn't tell her that it was every bit her business, that he wanted her to know everything inside him, wanted her to understand every aspect of his soul and life, needed that more than his next breath. He had never before felt, after all, even half such a need to be open with anyone, such a desire to be stripped to the barest essentials of his mind and spirit--had never felt even the smallest sense of comfort at that thought. Usually, indeed, he ran quickly from such revelations, felt too naked, too vulnerable in them--allowed those who truly cared for him only to learn what they did in circular, convoluted ways--still never quite allowing them inside. He just could not, therefore, explain to her that she had changed the very essence of his nature. . . . It was far too terrifying a thought to allow.

He tried, then, to address her question--and his behavior--in some other way, attempted to take a safer path. It didn't entirely work. "I didn't mind you knowing," he said softly.

His tender eyes met hers once more, forcing her to repress a small moan. Oh God. What was she doing? What foolish path was she allowing herself to take? She was married, after all; no amount of sorrow over that half-fact made it any less real. She swallowed heavily, just hoping that she could manage herself with anything like circumspection.

It took her a second to be able to answer, to be able to form some sort of less perilous response than the one which lingered in her heart; her lips hung open, as she strived. All her efforts, however, seemed to evaporate, as his gaze locked to her open mouth hungrily, as his eyes began to stroke along it intimately--like a lover. She had to shut her eyes for a second to regain her senses, before she answered. "I didn't want you to think I was prying."

He smiled a little at her words, forcing himself to stop his mind's entirely inappropriate wanderings. In another few seconds, his thoughts would have moved far beyond mere kisses. He took a deep breath, meeting her eyes once more. "You weren't."

Her gaze looked into his for a second, caught between asking him to tell her more of his true feelings and pleading with him to take them both to safer ground. He sighed slightly, as he attempted to follow reason, smiling a little. "You could always ask me yourself about anything you'd like to know in the future, though."

Oh. She swallowed heavily and nodded, still uncertain if they were really safe again. Every time they spoke, they seemed to be teetering on the edge of some deep and terrifying sea of as-yet-unspoken desires and feelings, on the precipice of waters too profound and deep to ever allow them to survive in for long. Her heart beat loudly. The fact that these emotional waters were also unbearably beautiful only made the temptation to allow themselves to sink into the abyss all the more frighteningly captivating.

She attempted to pull them back once more, though, knowing that they would only survive if they did; she tried to give a simple, polite smile. "I don't really have a right to ask any of those things of you, either."

He let out a very small sigh, his heart aching just slightly at her decision. He knew it was for the best , however. He saw the dazzling waters before them as well, after all--knew, just as she did, that they were deadly. Whatever his fantasies, whatever his dreams, they still had to live in the real world.

He gave her a friendly smile in return, therefore, trying to make their situation less frightening, trying to sound casual. "But we're co-workers now. It would be more pleasant if we felt we understood something of the other's mind." He shrugged. "I have no trouble sharing."

She let out a small breath, her heart slowing only a little--relieved that they were safe again, ignoring the ache inside her at their rescue. Still, he had also offered her another temptation with his words. If only she were strong enough to resist.

Her mind delved into this new possibility further, weighing her options. What he was saying was true, of course, but they also both understood just how near those waters it could draw them, if they weren't careful. Still, she couldn't quite imagine staying sane if she tried to keep herself entirely distant from him. Maybe, then--if they were careful--this was the one way to sate a little of her need for his presence while remaining on safe ground. She nodded, hoping to take advantage of this new path. "Alright."

His heart thumped more loudly, more than a little pleased. His smile continued, too, as he tried to keep his hunger for her out of his eyes. "So, what would you like to know?"

She shrugged, a tiny bit lost; it was a little hard to think of much of anything which wouldn't almost immediately plunge them into the area they were so studiously avoiding. It took her a few seconds, then, to finally hit on something that might. "Rene said that you've been friends since childhood."

He nodded, pleased again. It was a good, relatively innocent, place to start. "Yes. Our parents introduced us."

She gave a small laugh, but it wasn't one he could understand. If only her parents had been so good at choosing her friends. She didn't shed any light on her amusement, though. "Did they meet at your family's boarding house?"

His expression changed a little; there were so many memories--and so much he wasn't certain how to explain correctly, without sounding like he was putting himself on display. He still suspected, indeed, that Elena had been at least partly attracted to him for the money his family had had, for the fact that he met her expectations socially. He knew it hadn't been all of her motives, of course--not at all--but he never again wanted to be seen as a financial catch or a mere societally-correct partner.

While he didn't, of course, really believe that Nikita was quite capable of seeing him in these terms, either, didn't think her so shallow, he was a little too gun-shy to want to risk it just now. . . . The wound it would have left on his soul if this beautiful woman should ever take this path, after all, would never quite have healed.

He realized his thoughts had gone on for a few seconds too long and dragged his mind back, not explaining his musings. "No, no, the boarding house belongs to Monique's husband and his family; we weren't raised there."

She nodded a little, as he corrected her, still smiling. She didn't see his mental wanderings. She just looked into him further. "But you do live there now?"

He shrugged, wishing away this topic. "Sometimes. My family has a house, as well." He sighed, looking saddened--his mind drawn back to his grief once more. "Neither of us has decided what to do with it yet."

He hadn't mentioned the apartment he still kept in Paris in all this, of course, but he really didn't want to go into it anymore; his mind switched paths. He was sick of talking about himself to women, really, was used to that particular technique to draw him out. Even if he was certain that she had no real ulterior motive in her question, as well, he still was far more interested in finding out about her. "Enough about me. I'm curious. How about *your* friends?" He smiled. "I'm sure they were sorry to lose you when you moved."

Oh. He had drawn her away from her musings about him, away from her mind's attempts to make out his past. He was so refined, of course; it was just part of him. She did suspect that he had always known what it was like to have money. She sighed, thinking of his parents. He had certainly always understood what it was like to know love.

She looked down, as her mind switched with his words, though--her face falling a little; she really wished he hadn't hit on this subject. "I guess."

He looked at her curiously, unable to fully comprehend her words. "What do you mean?" He shook his head. "They must miss you." His heart thumped. Anyone would.

She shrugged a little, missing the causes of his confusion, too lost in her own pain. "I thought they would." She drowned in her thoughts for a few seconds, until she felt his eyes probing softly into her again; she sighed, looking back to him, telling him more than she had actually meant to. "It's been over a month since I left, but they haven't written to me, or called." Her next sigh was a little larger, her eyes even sadder, her voice soft. "I miss them."

His heart tugged strongly, as he looked at her over the next few seconds--over the seconds it took before she seemed to realize what she was saying, seemed to understood that she was confirming her discontent. She looked back up to him worriedly, but his sympathetic look continued; he had no idea how any person could ever allow her to leave, how they could bear the sorrow of it. The thought made him ache. He was beginning to suspect, as well, that he never could again.

He sighed then, as his mind turned. It hurt him, too, to think that she felt like she was so alone now; he tried to give her some comfort. "Maybe their letters just went astray. It's a long way for them to come."

She gave him a slight smile, appreciating his attempt at solace. Still, she wasn't entirely convinced. It wasn't exactly like they had to make it across the ocean in clipper ships, after all. How long could anything really take nowadays? She sighed a little. "Maybe."

Their shared gaze, however, only continued for another few seconds; his look was too deep, still saw too much, for her to prolong it any further than that. She focused away again, needing the pretense of solitude. His soft voice still reached out to her, though--so tenderly. "Tell me about them." She looked back up to him, surprised, but he just smiled in return. "You can tell a lot about someone by their choice of friends."

She gave a small laugh, despite herself--broken, at least temporarily, from her sadness; her humor rose. "Then God only knows what you would make of me." He looked at her curiously, and she sighed, debating for a second before coming to a decision. What could it hurt? "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged a little, his heart still thumping warmly just looking into her eyes; he would have been happy to hear anything she had to say. "How long have you known them?"

"Well, . . ." She broke off for a second, wondering how to begin. She knew a lot of people who she sort of counted as friends but only a few she was truly close to. "Are we talking about my best friends?" He nodded. "Then there's three of them--and I've known two of them since I was in grade school."

"They're in America?"

The question confused her for a second, before she remembered having already mentioned to him her early childhood in Australia. "Yes." She smiled, as his look asked her to go on. "Julie was in my first class when I started school in the U.S." She laughed slightly. "We got along so well, so quickly, that the teacher had to keep separating us."

He smiled at her. "And the others?"

"Carla I knew from our neighborhood, although I wasn't supposed to associate with her."

"Why not?"

She shrugged, not really wanting to go into it. "It's stupid." He just tilted his head in question, though, and she sighed, giving in. "Her father was a professor at the university--along with my step-father, but I still wasn't supposed to know her." He just looked more curious, so she went on--thinking even now that the answer seemed dumb, incredibly petty; she had never understood her step-father's objections. She was sorry now that she had mentioned it. "Her mother was black, her father Hispanic." She shrugged, becoming a little more honest than she had meant to be. "My stepfather's an idiot."

He laughed outright with her at her bluntness, at the spirit she showed there. Dear God, she was amazing.

She watched him as he laughed, too, found herself captivated with the sound, with the picture of him in that moment. He was so unbelievably beautiful at any time, but she had never seen him really look amused or even truly happy before; it was amazing what it did for him. The little crinkles by his eyes were put to shame.

Her heart thumped a little, then, as she watched him, and she was amazed once more by the realization that she was falling for him even further. God. Just how on earth was that even possible?

He stopped laughing a few seconds later, but his gaze was even more captivated now; it was hard not to be, given the look of thorough appreciation on her lovely face. Oh, his poor heart. . . . He had never before felt more beautiful.

He swallowed a little heavily a few seconds later, though, forcing himself back to the conversation again, knowing he could go no further with these thoughts now; he was still smiling, as he prompted her--adoring her every revelation. "And your third friend?"

It took her a second, but she did pull herself away from her study of him, forced her mind back down these other pathways; her look became a little unfocused, softer, as she remembered. "Jurgen."

The smile which had felt so right there died on his lips at the sound of her sweet voice caressing another man's name--even if she wasn't focused on him to see the change. The torrent of emotions which had assailed him upon seeing her talking with Rene were back once more--only *far* more intense this time. He didn't even know this man, and he still wanted to pulverize him for having put that lovely, reminiscing look on her face; he didn't even care about the reasons for it. Damn the man to Hell.

He tried fiercely to reign these renegade emotions in, of course, but he had little success; he was wondering yet again what was happening to him. This really wasn't like him, after all--never had been before. When on earth had he become so ruthlessly possessive, so aggressively needy? No other woman had ever made him feel anything like this; he took a deep breath, facing the truth here. No. It was only Nikita who could bring out such need.

He knew this wasn't a positive path, however, knew he had to find another way to approach this angel. He swallowed heavily, then, trying to hold back the jealousy which was still raging through his soul. In truth, he felt more of it here than he even did with Wolfe. The older man, after all, obviously held none of her affection; her entire attitude toward him seemed to hinge upon duty. But, from the gentle look in her eyes at the moment, . . . God. His heart continued to rage, as he tried to calm his voice--finally asking one of the questions which was burning him alive. "Who is?"

She didn't notice the tightness in his voice, didn't see the fury in his gaze; she was still focused away. "He was my mentor in college, was a Ph.D. candidate then." She smiled tenderly. "He taught me everything there was to know about teaching."

Her eyes traveled back to his slowly, as she finished speaking--but her expression shifted rapidly when she saw his face. Once more, the look of thunderous, barely-suppressed rage flashed in his gaze, just as it had the day before; it seemed to nearly hypnotize her, as his slightly-hoarse voice growled out his next question. "You were lovers?"

She blinked, broken from her daze at last by the impropriety of his question, the fierce tone of his voice finally working through to her. She wondered, in fact, if she should even answer; he certainly had no right to know. Still, she did, unable to help herself, nodding slightly. "We dated for awhile." She shrugged. "It didn't last."

Part of his mind, of course, understood how thoroughly inappropriate his questions were, but he just didn't care anymore; he wasn't sane enough to. They were alone, after all. Propriety be damned. "Why not?"

She was becoming more confused by his attitude by the second; she looked into him curiously, wondering at his change. She answered him simply. "Because I didn't love him." He seemed only slightly mollified, though; her head tilted a little, her eyes probing deeper--her own questions veering into areas she, ostensibly, had no right to ask about. He was the one who had started them on this path, after all. "Do you treat Simone with this sort of rage?"

Her question, however, didn't break through to him yet; he was beginning to wonder whether anything could. The storm of his gaze only swirled more wildly, catching her up in it completely; he only answered once he saw that she was his temporarily, his voice a rough whisper. "No."

The battering waves of his emotions had her mind whirling uncontrollably, her heart thoroughly confused; she had absolutely no idea what she felt at that moment--and even less idea of what she should feel. Her lips hung open, then, lost for further words.

The need for any response, though, was finally broken off by a far-too-familiar voice echoing through to them over the p.a.--breaking them both from their trance. "Professor Samuelle, are you in there?"

She jumped a little, Madeline's voice startling her. She was used to p.a. systems crackling so loudly that you always knew when they were on; even Dominic's high-tech one had done that. How on earth was this thing so quiet?

Michel was a little startled, as well, at the interruption, but he answered quietly. "Yes." He just hoped that the woman questioning him now hadn't heard very much of this conversation--or of his entirely inappropriate behavior in it. He truly didn't want to know what she would do if she had.

The ever-calm voice continued. "Do you know where Nikita is?"

She sighed softly, knowing there was no use in hiding. There never was. "I'm here."

"Good. Please come to my office. I need to go over a few details with you. And bring the files back with you, as well." The p.a.--hopefully--clicked off.

Nikita sighed, staring down at the papers scattered across the desk; these were going to be fun to carry back again. She tried not to think about the fact, as well, that she had just been summoned like a child once more. She rose, beginning to gather up the applications, ignoring him as much as possible. "I better go."

God. She wasn't even looking at him; his heart sank--although he wasn't certain he blamed her. Now that his inexplicable, possessive fury had passed once more, he was terribly ashamed of his questions, of his behavior. It certainly wasn't like he wanted to own this woman, like he wanted, in any way, to force her to return his affections. No. It was more, instead, that he was coming to realize that he wanted to exist in a little world which included just the two of them, one where they could be happy, one which she too *wanted* to be in. He sighed, disgusted with himself. And acting like some jealous idiot of a husband was not ever the way to make that happen.

"I'm sorry," he whispered finally; he knew she would understand. She seemed to look back to him reluctantly. "I didn't have a right to ask those things--and certainly not in the way I did."

This was a change--again; she looked into him, curious. He did really seem contrite, but she still wasn't overly fond of this side of him; she had been controlled enough for one lifetime--at least. She stated the facts simply. "I'm a married woman, Michel; I'm not a child." She tilted her head at him slightly, wondering again. "Why does it matter to you who I might have been with before?"

He swallowed a little, too many emotions assaulting, nearly choking, him. He couldn't answer, of course, not truthfully; he wasn't even entirely certain that he knew what the answer might be. If only he did.

It took him a few, long seconds to form a coherent response, therefore; he still wasn't content with it, when he did, but it was the best he could do for now--even if he knew, again, that he had no right to say it to her. "I'm not like that, Ni-ki-ta." He shook his head, rising, a stack of applications from the table in his hand. He helped put them into the pile already in her arms gently, knowing she wouldn't want his help in taking them to Madeline; his touch lingered on the back of one of her hands for another second, his eyes deep--a little lost, begging. "I just . . ."

He didn't say anymore, couldn't, but she felt like she understood. She was lost, too.

She just nodded, then, forcing herself to return to reality and away from the gentle strokes of his fingers. There was nothing either of them could say.

He stopped her, though, once she was at the door, his voice still soft; his words weren't quite the non sequitur they seemed. "I eat lunch in here most days." She looked back to him. "Once the children arrive, it may be one of the few quiet places to go."

Oh. She looked into him. His gaze was reaching out to her now, was apologizing--was so very sincere; she smiled, unable to be very angry with him. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't been deeply hurt at the news of his relationship with Simone--whatever the illogic of her emotions; she knew she shouldn't blame him *too* deeply, then, for feeling something similar in reverse. She had no proof yet, after all, that he was really as controlling as she had thought.

She tried to accept this, therefore, tried to forgive him a little--temporarily, at least--as she forced herself to start to go. She sighed, though, confused all over again at whatever this was which lay between them, at how very complex and tormenting it was; it was almost funny. God help them. . . . They really were a twisted pair.

She was caught staring into his eyes now, her mind refusing to let go of these paths. Whatever awkwardness existed between them now, indeed, there was so much else there too--and, whatever sort of rage she had felt in him both today and yesterday, she had yet to feel in any way imperiled by his emotions, only confused as to their intensity. She had always had very good instincts, as well, about who to trust.

His unspoken invitation, therefore, was just too tempting; she smiled further, pondering it. Yes. Maybe this was the oasis she would find in her life; maybe it would prove to be her one spot of rest--even if it might be a tempestuous one, as well. She nodded slightly, then, agreeing, and stayed just long enough to catch the adoring look he gave her, as she left. She supposed she just had to wait and see what would come.

His heart was hammering, his soul in torrents once again; he closed his eyes for a second after she was gone. God. He didn't know what was happening to him, wasn't at all certain how to handle it--and his confusion was made no easier by the fact that his feelings for her only grew more intense and unbearable by the day. Lord. How would he ever come out of this sanely?

His mind switched paths, as he opened his eyes again to stare at the door she had left by. He knew he should keep his distance from her, knew that he should back away before whatever it was which pulled them together took them to someplace they could no longer escape, . . . but he also knew that this retreat just couldn't happen. Whether he fully wanted to admit it or not, he was already lost to her completely.

He sighed, therefore, trying to brace himself for the future; he knew they only had one path available now. All they could do was go forward, . . . and then he would just have to wait and see if they would be able to find a way toward safety together.

Chapter 11

The next few weeks of the new school's life proved to be busy ones, ones which provided very little time for rest. With both the arrival of the students and the start of classes, all of the teachers had been thrown head-first into the term--and all of the usual results followed. Problems were met or festered; friendships and rivalries formed; favorite and nightmare students were identified. It was frequently hard to have time left to think. . . . One fledgling, and highly-confusing, non-relationship in the middle of it all, therefore, was particularly hard to concentrate on.

None of these facts, though, actually stopped the continuing, half-sweet turmoil which was becoming so intrinsic a part of both Michel and Nikita's lives; none of it actually infringed upon the awkward friendship which was growing between them, either. That one day they had accidentally met in the teachers' lounge had only been the beginning; nearly every lunch since then they had spent talking softly together. They just couldn't make themselves stop.

Fortunately, however, none of the rest of these lunchtimes had been anything like as volatile as that first meeting here. For four weeks, indeed, they had just met to chat, sharing small details of their day or their lives; sometimes Rene joined them, as well. For both Michel and Nikita, though, these hours were precious one. They had come to cherish each as the one, perfect moment of their day.

They were growing to understand one another, then, in some ways other than the rather instinctive ones which plagued them so deeply. Michel now understood more of her background, had many hints of her lingering self-doubts--while she had heard so much about his childhood and adolescent days, and the large amounts of money his family accepted as normal, most of it told to her by Rene. It had helped her to make sense of him, a little, even if he still retained--perhaps too much--of his mystery. These days had given them both something beautiful to focus on, then. . . . All either of them could wish now was that it had helped out their inner battles at all.

All of these facts had been well-established by the time Nikita was walking toward the teachers' lounge on this particular day--but none of them were where her real attention was. As much as she looked forward to just spending time with Michel--and Rene as well, when he was there--today she needed to see this man who consumed so much of her attention almost solely for another reason; she needed to complain. It was either that or homicide right now--and, though it seemed infinitely less rewarding in the short term, talking did seem like the wiser path, overall.

She walked into the lounge to find Michel already waiting for her; his eyes roamed over her as they always did, drinking her in, before he let out a soft sigh. She was always just so immensely beautiful.

It was something in his look, though, which melted her rage a little, which made all of her emotions shift--turning them into sorrow; she bit her lip and looked at the floor. She had promised herself she wouldn't let them make her cry.

God. His whole soul spun wildly, as always, as he watched her, but the obvious torrent of emotions which were assaulting her made his situation even worse. She had looked so unspeakably desirable in her rage when she had first come in, so thoroughly alive and powerful, but now her deep sorrow drew him to her in a way he could no longer force himself to resist. He simply couldn't stand to see her unhappy for a moment more.

He walked over to pull her softly into the room, shutting the door behind her. He took a moment to lift her chin, too, and spent a second assessing her silently, tenderly; his heart clenched, as he did. The tears were just so evident in those brilliant blue eyes, made him ache to see it. He swallowed heavily. He couldn't let her suffer alone.

Oh. She had just been about to lose her battle with herself when her whole world suddenly changed. One second, she was on the verge of weeping; the next, he had taken her into a place she had never known before, a place of warmth, of love which was absolutely unconditional, which needed no explanations at all. She closed her eyes tightly, the tears brimming over. She never wanted to leave it again.

Oh . . . dear God. He closed his eyes, sighing, his deepest wish fulfilled. The angel he had become so deeply obsessed with two months ago was now in his arms, was weeping gently against his shoulder. He held her even more tightly and kissed her soft hair, as a shudder of some emotion far too strong to name moved through him, wracking him--softly. He just never wanted to let her go.

Ohh. She sniffled slightly, but the move only brought in the wonderful, clean scent of him; it nearly overwhelmed her. She held him closer to her and wept again, now from entirely new emotions--assaulted from too many sides at once, absolutely overcome. Oh Lord. Why did life always have to be so hard?

There was too much here to take in clearly; he could barely stand the intimacy of this. It nearly did him in. He had never known an angel before, had never been able to clearly imagine what heaven was like, but now the knowledge soared through him brightly, in a way which made him nearly shake. In another few seconds, he would be lost to her forever.

He tried to take in a deep breath, knowing that he would have to let her go soon, knowing he couldn't let this go on. The tenderness of feeling her in his arms was just too much, made his already raw, desperate soul almost weep with longing for her. He just couldn't stand too much more.

There was no simply way to describe any of what he felt at the moment, of course. His longing for her wasn't anything as simple as a sexual need. No. His desire, instead, was for her soul, centered around just being able to hold this angel close to him for eternity; he buried his face in her hair and tried to repress a moan. That in itself was his definition of ecstasy.

He took in a shuddering little breath, trying to steady himself, but was only met by the scent of her golden, silken locks. He shuddered deeply again. God. He had to push her away soon, couldn't take much more; the ache was becoming too much, was now becoming far too physical. It might be her soul he longed so strongly for, indeed, but it was her body he dreamed too often of pleasing. Even another few seconds here, then, and his need for her would become entirely too obvious.

He noticed that her crying had stopped now, however, and forced himself to pull away; they were both breathing a little heavily, both lost in the power of the last few seconds. Despite the fact that each of them had known far more physically intimate moments before, this one still had a strength which they couldn't have explained at all. It was going to take them quite a few, long moments to be able to pull themselves back into line.

They looked up at each other as they stood there, then, trying to force themselves to return to their more normal pathways--to at least pretend to. Everything they saw in the other's eyes, though, simply pulled them closer together. They both repressed moans. How much longer would they be able to continue resisting each other?

She tried to make herself see reason. She knew that she had to be sensible; she swallowed heavily, therefore, trying to pull herself back into line. There really wasn't a lot of choice.

He watched her, his heart still thumping heatedly, as she smiled and went to sit at her usual spot at the room's main worktable. If she only knew how much he felt for her. He tried to calm himself, as she spoke. "Thank you," she whispered shakily.

God. His own breathing was shaky as well, his mind still in turmoil. He had no defenses left against this woman at all, but he knew he had to try to go on, nonetheless. They just couldn't let this happen. His voice still wasn't quite normal, though, was a little hoarse, as he tried to focus on the reasons for her previous, unhappy state. "What happened?"

She was staring down at her hands on the table now; one finger began thumping against the wood rhythmically. He watched, waiting to find out the answer to his question, waiting to hear her voice again--although he suspected the causes already. They had been discussing, for a few weeks now, some of the rough spots in her classes, the students who simply would not warm to her, no matter what. He knew they were fools, of course, but that alone didn't help her. He just wondered what they had done now.

He allowed her silence to continue for another few seconds, as well, wanting to let her begin on her own, but there was only so long he could survive her saddened quiet. He tried to start her off. "Was it Karen again?"

She gave a small, disdainful laugh; he understood her problems too well. "It's always her or bloody Janette, isn't it?" She sighed deeply and looked up at him, shaking her head. She had already told him so much about them. By this point, after all, they had already caused nearly daily disturbances over everything imaginable--and several things which almost weren't. They had openly "corrected" her in class--erroneously, of course; had challenged her educational background, as well as her lesson plans--cutting off her every, repeated attempt to explain her reasoning for the work; had gone to great lengths to get the class off-topic, as well, just to gain control. They had even suggested--loudly--on a nearly daily basis, that she was simply too inexperienced to be allowed into a classroom. There was no way to even adequately express the depths of rudeness and maliciousness their behavior reached. It was simply too intolerable to survive.

None of this, however, was even the limit of their tricks. They had complained to Madeline at least twice now, too--and had very nearly been backed up by her; certainly they seemed to be her favorites among the students, had been ever since they arrived, ever since they had been allowed into the school over Nikita's strong objections. She still didn't see why such chronic problem children should become their charges. They had started making a very large fuss the other day, as well--the day before their first test--over absolutely false claims that she had promised to postpone the exam, had nearly taken that one to Madeline, too, no matter how many other students in the class had backed her up in saying that it had never happened. Once the girls had finally, obviously lost, as well, Viscano had simply whispered extremely unpleasant names for her teacher behind her back. She sighed. The pair of them simply refused to act even vaguely human.

Her mind pondered it all for a few seconds longer, thought through them as she always had to; their behavior rarely allowed her to think about her classes in anything like a pleasant mood. The two girls were a little different--did, at least, take varying paths toward their constant backstabbing. Janette Viscano was certainly the most outspoken of the pair, was the one who would start nearly screaming at a second's notice, who would most loudly whisper names for her when her back was turned. Karen Renaud, on the other hand, was quieter, more manipulative in her approach. If you didn't know her well enough, indeed, you might even believe her, might be taken in by her sly smile, by the innocent looks she cultivated--might want to side with and feel sorry for her. If you knew her, though, . . . well, the absolute void which was visible through her eyes was enough to undermine all of that. She sighed tormentedly again, finally speaking about it. "I don't know how much more of them I can take."

He nodded quietly, finally seating himself in the chair in front of her; he did sympathize. Every teacher had their problem students. Still, it didn't seem fair that she should have two such vicious ones so early in her career. He just wished he could really help.

She was still staring down at her hands, as he pushed a sandwich toward her, his voice soft. "Eat. What did they do this time?"

He had broken her from her thoughts--if only barely. She took the drink he offered as well, sighing once more before she met his eyes; she didn't even know where to start. For three weeks now--from the very first time each of the students had seen her, in fact--Karen and Viscano had hated her; nothing she could do would change it. Today, though, had been the final straw. She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite, taking a second to swallow before she answered. "You remember the test I was giving today?"

He nodded. How could he forget? She had been so oddly excited about it, had still been reveling in the early days of her dream job--so proud of herself for having created an exam she found to be both fair and challenging. He sighed, guessing the answer. "They cheated."

She nodded, rolling her eyes. "They were both copying--weren't even trying to hide it." She took another bite, swallowing again. "Karen was looking straight over to Sarah Gerrard's paper, and then Janette copied every word from her."

"And Sarah?"

She rolled her eyes again. "You know the poor girl. She's sweet, but she's got all the courage of a small, tortured mouse. She knew they were doing it, but she was afraid to stop them."

He watched her take another bite and almost immediately swallow again. Sometimes, when she was angry, he wondered whether she even chewed. He tried to force himself to focus on her eyes once more, pulling himself away from his, suddenly treacherous, thoughts. "What did you do?"

"I took the papers from them."

"Karen and Janette?"

She nodded, taking another bite. She had almost finished off one half of the sandwich.

"Did they attack Sarah?" He knew them well enough to know they were certainly capable of it.

She gave a half smile. "No, not directly anyway--her sister gave them a look that stopped that, fortunately." Sarah's twin, after all, Jan Gerrard, and Janette Viscano had become old enemies quickly; it only had a very little to do with the fact that they shared a first name. Wild as Jan could be, indeed, she was fiercely protective of her shy "baby" sister--even if the child could only have been younger by a few minutes.

He watched her get lost in her thoughts for a few seconds before he prodded her again. "What happened then?"

She sighed. "Karen started crying, whimpering about how unfair I was to her, about how I always take Sarah's side, threatening to go to Madeline *again*." She polished off the last corner of this part of her lunch. "Then Janette started actively berating me--loudly--about what a bad teacher I was, how I didn't care about any of their feelings or whether or not any of them even passed." Her look was, understandably, sour. "It was not fun."

She let out another heavy breath, crumpling up the piece of wax paper the sandwich had been in and tossing it toward the room's sole trashcan; Michel watched, as she made a neat rebound shot off the wall. He looked back to see her take a large bite of this new half, barely stopping herself from talking around her food this time; he could see that she looked like she might be getting ready to cry again. God, he wanted to help her.

She was oblivious to his thoughts, of course, was far too submerged in her own; she shook her head, her look a little lost, as she finally swallowed, her torment obvious. "Why do they hate me, Michel? What did I do to them?"

She was thumping her finger against the table again, not so softly this time; he was a little afraid she would bruise herself. He caught her hand. "Stop tormenting yourself, 'Kita. It's not your fault."

Oh. Her heart did a pleasant little flip-flop. There was just something about the way he had begun to shorten her name, about the tender tone of it--and the gentle stroke of his fingers over hers. She suddenly forgot her angry hunger, placing the rest of the sandwich on the table absently, as she looked into his eyes. Once again, a thought she couldn't stop fluttered through her mind. . . . She did wish this school was theirs together.

It took her a few, long moments to be able to answer him, then, to be able to work past the slight shudder of longing within her--the one which was becoming so very familiar. When she did speak, too, her thoughts had shifted again; her tone was sad, her eyes begging for explanations. "But they aren't like this with you; you've said so yourself. I've even seen them. They worship the ground you walk on, follow you all over the school just to try to get close." She shook her head, her eyes tearing a little again. "What am I doing so wrong?"

His soul shuddered a little, as he looked at her--was so incredibly moved by her sheer presence, by the soft feeling of her fingers below his own, by the intense sorrow in her gaze. Over the past several weeks, after all, he had discovered a few more of her self-doubts, had received several hints at the cruelty of the stepfather who had instilled them all; they tormented him--every one. He could understand no one who would want to hurt this beautiful woman, this bright soul; he hated to even imagine such cruelty. He just couldn't let her believe, then, that she was at fault here.

He took her hand in his completely, entwining their fingers together, as his eyes stroked into her softly. "It's not you. It's them."

"But they're just children," she argued plaintively.

He laughed very softly, shaking his head. He cared so much for her, but she was so very new at this. "They're a bit past that." He tried to repress the shudder of horror he felt, as he remembered the way that both of the 12-year-olds eyed him, the way they tried to alter their uniforms just enough to get him to notice them. They might be young, might even be inexperienced, but their bodies were not the only precocious thing about them; he tried not to feel ill at the thought, as he went on. "They're responsible for their own actions, whatever they want you to think."

She sighed heavily, as he tried to calm her--but she still didn't really believe; her voice was rising again. "But they've hated me from the first time they saw me." She shook her head. "What did I do wrong?"

He laughed a little further this time, but still gently, shaking his head once more. "You've done nothing, 'Kita."

"Then . . ." she started.

He looked into her more determinedly, leaning forward, trying to penetrate her old, painful doubts, trying to get her to listen. "No. It's them." She still seemed unsure. "They respond better to men, first of all."

"They don't like Rene."

He laughed softly. "But they adore Paul--and Madeline. They like power and control, Nikita; they see it as strength, want to be near it." He leaned his arms further onto the table, caressing her hand more completely, looking into her even more deeply. "The reasons they don't like you are in *their* psychology, not yours. You're beautiful and young and independent and intelligent--but you would rather treat them as partners in the classroom, as equals." He shook his head. "They don't want that. They want dominance. They want power."

He realized he was becoming a little aroused just by the soft way their fingers were intertwining, by the implied intimacy of it. He let her hand go, then, reluctantly, and folded his arms in front of him, listening to the confusion in her tone; her eyes reflected it, too. "You're asking me to agree to be their enemy?"

He sighed, looking into her seriously, his heart beating loudly for her. She was so gentle, so very beautiful. He just wished he could make her understand. "They've already made you that on their own, whether you agree to the role or not--and they're affecting the whole classroom with their behavior; they're challenging you. If you want to win with them, to gain back the rest of the students, you have to establish dominance."

She was looking at him as though he were insane; she was certainly considering at least the possibility that some of the theories he would have encountered in his role as science teacher might have adversely affected his mind. "So, you're saying I should treat them like animals."

He smiled a little, tilting his head. "Animals with pencils and paper." His look grew more serious again, hoping she would understand. "They'll listen better, if you do."

"And your proof for this is . . .?"

He smiled slightly at her incredulous tone. Despite it, he was happy; he had been hoping she would ask. "Ten years of experience with students who didn't want to be taught." She still looked skeptical, so he continued. "I did the same thing with Karen on the first day of classes, as well, and she's responded to me ever since." Too well, part of his brain added.

Her gaze was obviously still unsure, but she was definitely listening, was trying to believe. The small, tormented tone of her voice made his heart ache, though. "They'll stop hating me?"

God. He hated her sorrow. He looked a little saddened too, as his gaze fell to the table for a second; he shook his head before looking back to her, wishing he could tell her something else. "Probably not," he took a deep breath, bracing himself, "but that's not the point." After all, he knew she had no real chance of being liked by these girls; she wasn't male, wasn't someone they could fixate on. She wasn't cruel enough to be a role model for them, either, was just too unbearably bright for that. But he hated all these revelations, nonetheless.

He watched her lean back in her chair, obviously moving away from both him and his suggestion; he repressed another sigh, his heart still aching. She was beautiful, so wonderfully idealistic, but she was still so very young. He tried to explain. "It doesn't matter, in the long run, whether your students adore you or despise you, so long as you force as many of them to think and to learn as possible. The ones with sense will thank you for that, in the end."

She looked so uncertain. "But, . . ."

He shook his head again, his eyes serious, as he tried to press his point home; she really did need to know this. "You won't get them all, 'Kita; you can't. Some refuse to be reached. Your job, though, is to keep them focused on the work at hand, is to teach them how to learn. You're not there to make them like you but to enforce standards."

She was feeling at least a little disgusted, her soul reeling; she just couldn't help it. This *was* the same man she had been having lunch with for four weeks, wasn't it? She shook her head. "That's a terrible way to look at things, Michel; it's awful. If I do that, everyone suffers. It just becomes a joyless slog through the English language, one no one can enjoy." She leaned back toward him a little again, her tone pleading. "I want them to have fun with it."

He sighed quietly, unsure whether he would be able to make her understand. He loved her optimism, of course, but it could only be taken so far in the real world. "They will, when they allow themselves to. But if you let the bad elements of a class take it over, you're lost. Not only will no one enjoy it, no one will even learn anything." He leaned in to her again. "You have to pull them back under control before anything else can happen."

He could see she didn't believe. She just shook her head at him, obviously lost as to how to respond--but she never really got the chance; the bell rang. His heart ached, but he stood up--leaving her more than a little dumbfounded. His eyes were tender, though. He hoped she could see his motives. "I'll be here when you need to talk again, 'Kita--but you have to do this, for everyone's sake."

God. His soul throbbed with the pain of leaving her, with the torment of knowing that she was still so lost, but he prepared himself to go, nonetheless. He didn't want to, of course--not when she was still in this state--but he knew he really had no choice. He looked into her for one more second, then, his heart in his eyes, before he forced himself to walk away, praying that she had truly understood him. It was a piece of advice she desperately needed to accept, after all, or she would never last in the classroom for long.

She watched in shock as he left, before lowering her face into her hands, her soul in torment. Good God. What had just happened? In the space of a half hour or so, she had gone from one of the most loving, totally sympathetic sensations of her life to feeling as though she had just been punched. She shook her head, a terrible emptiness aching within her. She didn't even know where to begin to sort it all out.

She was quite certain, of course, that his advice could never work in practice, would kill her whole class, would destroy whatever rapport she had managed to cultivate. She sighed. She hated, too, the idea that she had to just give in to the bad elements, that she couldn't somehow win them over with enough work and dedication. . . . Still, she knew, too, that trying to treat them all like human beings wasn't exactly working out for her, either. She let out another tormented breath. If only she knew which way to turn.

She looked up at the clock, her heart sinking further, as she realized that she had to get to the next class; it wasn't like she was really allowed to be late. That truth ached in her now, as well, but it couldn't be avoided. No matter how terrible she felt at the moment, or at any other time, she had no option not to show up; she had to--and she had to be on. Teachers were never allowed to have bad days--not in public, anyway. All she could do right now, then, was survive.

She got up once more, therefore, shuddering a little from all of this, her emotions in even greater turmoil than they had been earlier. Now, on top of her confusion and horror over her class, she was no longer even entirely certain of just what was happening with Michel, wasn't even sure whether she had judged him correctly to begin with. Was he really as callous, as ruthless, as he had just seemed to be? Was all of that tenderness she had seen earlier just some sort of front for who he really was--just a way of covering up the possessive and mechanical man within? She closed her eyes for a second, beating back the pain of her doubts--absolutely lost. Oh God. She just wished she could understand any of it now.

Whatever her wishes, though, she knew they were illusions--as always. She swallowed heavily, then, as she opened her eyes, trying to develop something like determination. She supposed, indeed, that she might as well try to implement his advice tomorrow when Karen and Janette started--inevitably--whining; it was about the only thing she hadn't attempted by now. And, if her original assumptions about this advice proved correct and she destroyed any decent feeling in her class, she would at least know that Michel's counsel was not to be trusted again, would know that the angry, possessive, and occasionally cold, sides of him she had seen hints of before were the real man--would know that it might finally be time to give up whatever illusions she had created about him. If it was true, after all, then abandonment would be the only path left toward sanity.

Her heart began to ache again, as she thought through all of this, however; there were just no words for the torment it caused her soul. Still--she tried to calm herself--she did at least have a plan now. The horror of her situation settled into her even further a moment later, though, the ache back with a vengeance. . . . Now, if only any of her plans were really likely to help her at all.