This story stars Michael and Nikita in the bloody aftermath of a mission, and is told from Michael's point of view. It explores some of his feelings for Nikita, and discusses his "wounds," both physical and emotional. It contains small spoilers for the episode "Psychic Pilgrim."

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"Come here, Michael."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Your arm is bleeding badly, and our airlift is hours away. Let me look at it," demanded Nikita.

With a very quiet sigh Michael followed Nikita toward the two metal chairs in the corner of the large cinder block room. They were in an old abandoned warehouse just outside Prague. "Sit there," she told him, gesturing with her arm.

They were the only two Section operatives left alive from the mission team. Nikita stopped and silently regarded the dead operative on the concrete floor before her. Luke. He had been a decent guy. She sighed and gently pulled his arms out of his backpack, before walking over to join Michael, her feet crunching against the grit on the dirty, wet floor.

She fished around inside the backpack until she found what she was looking for…a first aid kit. She pulled the other chair to face Michael's, and sat down across from him. "Give me your arm," she quietly commanded. "Move sideways a little…the light's better."

Michael silently offered his left forearm, wrist up, to Nikita. She pulled it closer and laid it across her knees. Opening up the first aid kit, she pulled out the small scissors contained within, and set about gently cutting away the bloody sleeve, to expose Michael's injured arm. She bent her head closer to see in the dim light, and Michael found his face just inches away from the top of Nikita's shiny head.

Michael stopped his survey of the room to focus on the woman sitting in front of him.

"Amazing, " he thought, "I can feel the heat from her body against my face, we're that close." Tiny strands of her hair trembled in the light as his breath washed over her head. The mass of her hair flowed forward as she bent further toward her task. She combed it back with a quick gesture of her left hand, slightly brushing his cheek in the process. Michael closed his eyes as his senses were assaulted with the essence of Nikita. Her scent was wonderful. The combination of her perfume, and her natural body fragrance combined to make a delicious and enticing aroma.

A flushed, warm feeling began in Michael's chest, and began to flow, unbidden, throughout his body.

The flush, the warm glow, seeped from deep within him, and spread outward to all parts of his body --- to his arms and legs, all the way to his fingertips and feet. The sensation was a buzz, a warm tingle, almost a humming feeling…that relaxed him and soothed him with a radiating heat.

In addition, there was a psychic component to this physical phenomenon --- a curious feeling of peace and well-being that began to enfold him, rather like a trance….like an out-of body experience.

Michael last remembered feeling this way in his childhood, many years ago. He remembered walking with his nanny in the rain… holding her hand. Mademoiselle Chantal. Even though it had been a cold, wet, rainy day…it didn't matter….Michael had been happy He had loved holding Chantal's hand, and listening to her voice. It really didn't even matter what she was saying…just being with her, touching her hand, and hearing her voice made him…happy….peaceful…safe…warm. He'd loved her.

It was the same with Nikita. He loved being close to her. She made him…feel again. Feel things that he thought were long gone, things he'd forgotten. Amazing things.

Her palpable heat, her scent, and her closeness fueled more of the warm rush. It felt so wonderful to be sitting so close to her, his arm on her lap, having her touch him. Her head just inches from his face, he thought that he could contentedly sit here forever, it felt so good, having her touch him. He hoped that she would take a long time in dressing his wound.

He was amazed that he could enjoy being touched so much. It hadn't been since Simone that he had tolerated being touched. With Nikita, not only did he tolerate it, he found himself dreaming about it, and the desire for it invaded his conscious thoughts, unwittingly. He could not drive these thoughts away. When he was with Nikita he wanted to touch her, wanted to be touched by her. It became an obsessive thought that he could not push down.

He hoped that their rescue would be delayed for a long time.

The warm, flushed, contented feeling continued as Nikita gently peeled back the bloody sleeve to expose the bullet wound.

"I can't see anything. I'm going to have to clean this out," she warned him. "It may hurt."

Michael silently nodded as she looked up into his face. He suddenly had the aching wish for her to reach out and touch his face again. Longer this time. Not by accident. He could imagine softly rubbing his jaw and then his lips against her soft palm as she placed it against his cheek.

Nikita looked up at him for a moment longer before lowering her gaze to his arm once more.

His whole body flush increased, and he began to experience kind of a throbbing feeling as he became aware of his own heartbeat….his own breathing. In slow synchronicity they were calm and even, deep and rhythmic. This physical harmony added to his feeling of contentment and tranquility. He was content…serene….at peace.

This feeling was not completely unfamiliar, after all. In fact, it happened almost every time he was around Nikita. Often, however, he ran when this occurred. Because it was so powerful, and so uncontrollable, Michael usual reaction was to run…to get away from her so he could recapture his steely control. This time however, he decided to take a chance…and relax. Besides, she had him captive while she dressed his wound. He had to stay.

Nikita uncapped the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the first aid kit, and poured a small amount on his forearm. It felt cold, and then had a kind of fizzing sensation as it boiled away some of the coagulating blood from the wound.

"I need to wipe this away, Michael. I'll be as gentle as I can."

He again silently nodded his assent, as she used a piece of gauze to gingerly cleanse the wound. Michael amazingly felt no pain. He breathed in the smell of her silky hair, and had the desire to place his lips and then his face in the middle of her golden mane of hair. He closed his eyes and imagined rubbing his face into that soft, fragrant mass.

Nikita looked up at him, and he felt her warm breath against his neck and jaw. He thought that if he just opened his eyes at this point, he could reach forward just an inch or two and brush his lips against her soft pink mouth. He remembered the feel of her mouth from the last time they were together, how her soft kisses aroused him so powerfully. Remembered being in bed with her….how her naked skin felt against his own….and how he had rolled her onto her back, pinning her hands down and claiming her as his, to her delighted acquiescence.

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Nikita glanced down again, and continued to clean the wound. "It looks like the bullet went clear through. Can you wiggle your fingers?" she queried.

Michael did a little wave with his fingers.

"Good. It doesn't look as if anything's broken. I'll just wrap this up and and you'll be okay until we can get you to Med Lab….the bleeding's stopped," she added. "You're lucky."

"Lucky?……." he silently pondered.

She reached down and grabbed a teflon pad and a roll of gauze, and carefully opened them, Michael's arm still lying across her lap.

He was sorry that the treatment was almost over. He watched as she carefully laid the white pad on his arm, and then slowly covered it with a gentle unrolling of the yards of white gauze, round and round his arm.

"You're done." She secured the end of the gauze with a piece of tape, then softly stroked his arm, on either side of the wound.

Not wanting the contact to end, Michael reached up with his right hand and gently caressed Nikita's face…first with his thumb and then with his knuckles. She held her breath, and looked into his eyes. He leaned forward slowly and scanned her face….glancing down to her lips, and then to her azure eyes, and then to her lips again. He leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers, as she sighed and closed her eyes.

She murmured his name against his mouth, "Michael."

He loved the way she said his name.

He closed his own eyes, and softly pressed a series of gentle kisses against her soft lips. His warm sense of well-being increased and began to include an aching hunger for this beautiful woman.

He gently probed against her soft mouth with his tongue, and was delighted when she parted her lips, with a gentle gasp. He moved his hand from her cheek to lace his fingers through her hair at the back of her head and hold her face against his as he claimed her mouth.

"Mmmmm," she sighed in pleasure. Michael pushed his chair forward to imprison her knees between his. His tongue danced against hers as he tasted her sweet mouth. She tasted and felt so delicious. Touching her was wonderful, and felt so right. He wanted more.

Nikita reached up and placed her palms against his chest, and then slowly slid them up to the sides of his neck.

Loving the feel of her hands on him, Michael demanded more with his mouth, and was further aroused to hear her moan in response against his lips. "Mmmmmmmm."

Michael moaned in response, and leaned forward to gather her into his arms, amazed at his hunger for her. He wanted all of her.

"Wait, Michael….what is that?" Nikita whispered in alarm.

Michael pulled back and looked at her quizzically. He parted his lips to ask her a question…..when they both became aware of a whirring noise overhead…..and paused to listen.

A helicopter…..coming closer.

Michael was suddenly alert. He pulled his 9 mil out of his jacket, pushed back his chair, and went to the window in one fluid motion. He scanned the sky, and spoke to Nikita without looking at her…..

"Looks like ours. Better get ready."

She looked at him for several seconds…slightly astonished at his sudden return to business.

She sighed, and pushed the first aid equipment into Luke's backpack, slinging it over her shoulder. She pulled her own weapon out of her leg holster and joined Michael by the window.

"Sure it's ours?" she asked.

"Pretty sure...let me go first and check…you cover me, then come out."

"Okay."

They silently watched the helicopter land on the field next to the warehouse building that had been the scene of the bloody mission denouement.

Michael turned, and looked into Nikita's eyes. With tender gesture of regret he placed his hand against her face and slowly stroked a circle against her soft cheek. He parted his lips to speak…then closed them….then suddenly turned away.

He walked toward the steel door that marked the exit, and then over his shoulder commanded, "Wait until it's safe, then follow me out."

Nikita silently watched him walk away.

She sighed, and followed him to the door.

She looked around the field, dotted with slag heaps, as he sprinted toward the waiting aircraft. Everything looked benign. The only visible movement was a large V of migrating birds against the gray sky overhead.

She ducked low and ran toward the waiting chopper.

Michael reached out his hand and pulled her aboard, then instantly turned, and walked to the pilot, and leaned down to speak to him. The pilot nodded in response to Michael's words, and immediately the big craft pulled skyward.

Nikita took a seat on the far side of the aircraft, and fastened her seat belt. Michael took his seat opposite her, across the narrow aisle. He turned his head, and gazed out the window. She turned her head, and studied his profile for several seconds.

"He's not going to look at me," she decided silently. "Nothing's different. Vulcan man is back." She turned her own head with a sigh, closed her eyes, and decided to get some rest while she could. "Heaven only knows how much down time they're going to give me before the next mission."

Michael turned to look at her-and saw her head turned away from him, against the back of the seat, her eyes closed.

"God," he thought, remembering the scene in the warehouse. "Why did I do that?"

He ruminated silently. "The time isn't right; we need to be careful," he reminded himself. He commanded himself to remember his plans…his long range plans for the two of them. The plans…the dreams…that kept him going, kept him strong and focused. The plans that gave him the strength to stay away from her each day.

Looking at her again, he was reminded why it was such a struggle to keep his distance. Nikita was now asleep, and had turned to face him. She snuggled her head around, trying to find a comfortable place to lay it against the scratchy seat fabric. Her hands were nestled between her knees, as if she were trying to keep them warm. The fabric of her pants was smeared with….something. Michael leaned forward to study the marks, and realized that they were his own dried blood.

He sighed, and watched her while she slept.

He remembered having her head against his shoulder, warm and relaxed in sleep, as he held her in their marital bed during the Armel mission. He remembered not wanting to sleep, not wanting to miss a single moment of the luxury of holding her in his arms all night. Hearing her breathe, feeling her heart beat, enjoying her soft warm body against him had kept him awake for hours.

He had used the opportunity of their mission cover to indulge himself…kissing her while she slept, and relishing her responses---even in her unconscious state she reacted to his caresses…sighing and cuddling closer to him after he tenderly kissed her eyes, lips, cheeks, hair, and throat.

He could not forget playing with her hair …drawing long silky strands of it across his throat, and across his lips, rubbing it against his face, and eyes, loving the soft silky feel of it, the luscious scent of it.

Michael again began to experience the warm flush, the relaxed peace, the almost meditative trance from earlier in the day. Nikita stirred slightly in her sleep….and Michael started to feel his muscles relax, his breathing slow, the mellow buzz that being around her could initiate in him. It was almost like a tranquilizing drug…the effect she had on him. An amazing glow of well-being…of euphoria….of being alive. Michael closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it wash over him.

He leaned his head against the plane's window, and surrendered to a peaceful sleep.

THE END

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