"Here you go, Michael."

Reaching for the PDA that Birkoff held out to him, Michael's attention was momentarily captured by the sight of Jurgen passing through the main hall with what most obviously had to be a new female recruit. Tall and lithe, the blonde woman followed two steps behind Michael's former mentor.

Michael stared discreetly at her through lowered lashes. He was no stranger to the type of women Section generally recruited or the purpose for which they would serve. Yet, there was something -- odd, about this one. As if she didn't belong here.

Grungy. That was the best way to describe the look the woman sported. The baggy pants paired with the ripped t-shirt were certainly not Section issued. Madeline, who handled Section's wardrobe, amongst other duties, would never approve of her female operatives dressing in such ill-fitting, masculine clothes -- unless it was part of a mission profile, of course. Michael's eyes roamed over the woman's physique. Despite the clothing, his trained eye recognized a very sensual nature beneath. Sensual and wild.

Her hair looked as if she hadn't combed it in a while, as if she had purposely bunched it up at the top of her head in a haphazard bun -- not caring that several strands had been left out. Even her stance as she paused to look about was one of nonchalent defiance.

Michael resisted the urge to smile when he noticed Walter's head snap back for a second look at the woman as she passed in front of his station. He could understand the old man's reaction to the woman, for despite her apparel and the manner in which she slouched her shoulders as she ambled along after Jurgen, she was stunningly beautiful.

Her hair, messy as it was, was a shocking burst of the lightest blonde. It was a unique shade, one that most women would have trouble wearing. Madeline would be happy, of that he was certain since she was always in need of blonde female operatives.

Michael continued his discreet assessment. She had good bone structure, high cheekbones and the most beautiful azure blue eyes. Michael was slightly taken aback though when, as he focused on her mouth, the woman blew a big bubble from the gum she was chewing before sucking it back into her mouth and then continued to chomp on it in a very exaggerated manner. This time Michael wasn't as successful at suppressing his amusement as the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Madeline had her work cut out for her in this one.

The smile quickly disappeared though as Michael realized that the woman had noticed his secret perusal and was staring back at him. He met her gaze and waited to see her response. The effect he had on most women was no secret to him and he was interested in seeing what this particular woman's response would be.

The woman's gaze flicked over him. Shifting her eyes back up to meet his, she gave a silent snort of. . . . amusement?

"Nikita."

The woman turned to look at Jurgen as he held the door to Madeline's office open. Throwing one last challenging look over her shoulder towards Michael, she turned and sauntered on after Jurgen.

To say Michael was surprised at her reaction was an understatement. He had never had that particular initial response from a woman. Michael allowed a genuine smile to spread across his lips at that thought. He would definitely have to find out more about this new recruit. What was it Jurgen had called her? Nikita?

Over the next several months Michael watched from a distance as Nikita trained. He learned to discern the times of the day when she would be on the main deck and developed a subconcious habit of looking out his office window precisely at those particular moments when she would be passing.

Eight months into her training, Nikita was fast becoming an outstanding recruit. Walter was having a ball teaching her how to hold and fire a gun. One day - during the days when Nikita was first learning to shoot - Walter moseyed up to her from behind, his arms reaching around to guide her and steady her grip on the gun she held. Walter must have snuggled up too close for Nikita's comfort because in the next instant she spun herself out of his grasp and twisted his arm behind him. "I'm sorry!" Walter yelled as his face revealed the pain Nikita was inflicting upon him.

Jurgen was standing not too far off on the side with his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He watched lazily as Nikita held the old man in an arm twist.

"Nikita."

When she shot him a distracted glance Jurgen slowly shook his head as his eyes pointed toward Walter. An angry frown tightened Nikita's lips as she released her hostage, glaring a silent 'you try that again and you're dead' message at Walter before she once again took up her stance. Walter turned to face Jurgen and mouthed silently, "YEEOW!!!"

Michael's eyes twinkled with merriment and he lifted a hand to cover the lower portion of his face as he watched the event from the com center. There was no doubt in his mind that she would survive her two years' training. The question was, would Walter?

As the months passed, Michael continued to track Nikita's progress. He was unable to explain his actions other than to admit that a part of him was irresistibly drawn to this recruit. His attraction to her puzzled him, for he had not yet even spoken with her once. However, this soon changed.

Michael had gone to Madeline's office to obtain her approval on a mission profile he was compiling. Normally he would have gone to Operations but Operations was away at a meeting with the Agency. He knocked twice on the door and then entered. In the middle of the room Madeline was adjusting the hem of a long elegant evening gown being worn by none other than Nikita.

Michael surveyed the beauty standing before him. He had thought her beautiful the very first day he had laid eyes on her dressed in that grungy outfit of hers. Now, as he beheld her with hair swept up in elegant curls, body draped in the dazzling dress that clung to her curves - he was at a loss for words to describe her magnificence.

"Michael?"

Michael managed to tear his gaze away from the blonde recruit and transfer his attention to Madeline.

"Did you need something?" Madeline asked. Her observant eyes picked up on Michael's reaction to Nikita and an idea began to formulate in her mind.

Michael barely managed to keep his eyes averted from Nikita as he handed Madeline the PDA. "The profile for the Richards case is ready," Michael explained.

Madeline glanced at it quickly and then handed it back to him. "I'm sure that whatever you've prepared will be fine," she said with a small smile. Michael resisted the temptation to glance once more at Nikita before he turned to leave, but was stopped by Madeline's hand upon his arm.

"Wait a minute, Michael," Madeline ordered. "Have you had a chance to meet Nikita?"

Michael allowed his eyes to revert back to the blonde woman who was regarding him with vague amusement. "No."

He extended his hand to her and watched with interest as she glanced down at it, one eyebrow arching slightly, then brought forth her own hand and placed it in his.

"Hello, Ni-ki-ta," Michael offered in a quiet voice.

Nikita raised her gaze back up to meet his. The manner in which Michael pronounced her name sent tiny shivers through her. Nikita wasn't all too sure she liked that and she let it be known through the look she gave him.

"Nikita. . ." Madeline's voice carried a note of warning.

Nikita's eyes shifted to Madeline and then, with a sigh, she turned her attention back to Michael. Michael watched as on cue, Nikita's eyes softened, her lips parting invitingly as she lowered her lashes demurely and spoke in a seductively husky voice, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael."

Michael was amazed. The sensuality he had detected in her that first day shone through with a provocativeness that was almost overwhelming.

"Much better, Nikita," Madeline complimented the blonde woman.

Nikita moved to pull her hand away, which Michael belatedly realized, was still held firmly in his grasp. Releasing her hand Michael watched her through lowered lashes as she spoke to Madeline. "Is that all?"

Madeline nodded. "Yes, Nikita. Go ahead and change into the next outfit." As soon as Nikita was out of hearing range, Madeline glanced at Michael. "What do you think of her?"

Michael shrugged with what he hoped passed for indifference. "She's alright." Madeline withstood the urge to smile at his response as she began to put away the pins she had been using to adjust Nikita's gown. "Good. You'll be working with her over the next few weeks."

************

Soft music filled the room as Nikita stepped out from the dressing area wearing an ivory colored crepe slip dress. She had released her hair from the pin that held it earlier and the golden curls fell softly about her shoulders. A pair of matching spiked heels dangled from her fingertips.

Michael's gaze devoured her - she appeared every inch an angel standing there with her flaxen hair flowing, the dress that blended with the ethereal glow of her hair making her look even more otherworldly.

"Where's Madeline?" Nikita asked as she glanced around the room.

Michael stepped away from the stereo against the wall and moved slowly towards Nikita. "She had to step out for awhile."

Nikita looked a little perplexed at Madeline's absence, then, noticing that Michael was getting closer to where she stood, began to back up towards the dressing room. "I'll go change. . ." she began uncertainly, mistaking his expression for one of disapproval.

"No, Nikita." Michael's response halted her retreat. "You look fine."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

A small smile curved Michael's lips as he explained, "Madeline asked that I work with you on your dancing. What you're wearing is perfect."

Unbeknownst to Nikita, Madeline had told Michael she wanted him to help Nikita feel more comfortable around men. The only male with whom Nikita had established any sort of rapport since her recruitment had been Jurgen. "Nikita's a beautiful woman," Madeline had said to Michael. "That beauty can be a powerful tool, if she can learn to feel comfortable with it and to use it to her advantage."

Nikita shot him a doubtful look as she crossed her arms. "You're Section's dance instructor?"

Michael's smile deepened. "Not always."

Nikita lifted her chin a fraction. "What - they call you in when the really clumsy ones need help?"

Michael looked down to the floor as he struggled to keep from laughing. Not since Simone had someone made him feel this way. This woman, with her expressions and defiant nature, touched a part of him that he thought he had buried with Simone.

As he attempted to regain his composure, he noticed her bare feet. He also noticed that she was tapping one of them impatiently. Sneaking a peek up at her face, he saw sparks of annoyance shooting forth from her blue eyes. He realized he wasn't doing a very good job of earning her trust.

Michael cleared his throat and tried a different approach. Pointing with his head toward the shoes she held in her hands, he asked, "Didn't your shoes fit?"

Nikita looked down at the spiked heels with disgust. "Oh, they fit, all right!" she snorted. "I just can't walk in them." Noticing the twinkle in Michael's eyes, Nikita placed her hands on her hips defiantly and asked, "Would YOU like to try walking in these things?"

Michael shook his head as he held his hand out to her, "Give them to me." Nikita frowned suspiciously, but handed the shoes over.

"Thank you." She was surprised, and relieved, to see him toss the offending shoes into a corner, hearing them smack against the wall with a satisfying thud.

Michael's eyes met hers as he held his hand out once again to her. Nikita hesitated. She knew nothing about this man. The few times she had encountered him before, she swore she had seen laughter in his eyes, laughter that was directed at her, just as it was now.

"Please, Ni-ki-ta?" Michael asked quietly.

Nikita felt the tremors again at his pronunciation of her name and decided she rather liked it. Lifting her head slightly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her out further into the room.

The dance lesson proceeded fairly well. Nikita was a natural on her feet - that is, once she got over her initial resistance at being held so closely by Michael. After a while she pulled back slightly and asked, "Why is dancing part of my training?"

Michael looked away as he stated simply, "Sometimes missions require that you . . . engage the target." He looked back to see a look of confusion in Nikita's eyes. "You'll be fine," he reassured her, not sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Once the music ended, Nikita stepped back and asked permission to change. Michael nodded and watched as she walked away. Before she disappeared into the dressing room, Michael called out to her and she turned.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The days passed and Nikita slowly became more comfortable in Michael's presence. She spent one to two hours each day working with him, either dancing, sharing a meal, or learning to place a tracker on a mark undetected. The latter was the most fun for Michael, and the most frustrating for Nikita.

"You want me to do WHAT?" she asked incredulously. Michael held her in his embrace - they had been slow dancing - and watched as she leaned back, her hands gripping his arms as she tried to push away.

Michael's hold on her tightened, "Ni-ki-ta, you have to distract the mark if you're going to successfully tag him."

"But kiss you? I mean, him?" Nikita's face held a look of abhorrance as Michael pulled her closer. The twinkle that was fast becoming a permanent feature in his eyes when he was in her presence glowed brightly.

"There are other ways of distracting the mark" Michael stated softly. Nikita relaxed a tiny bit as she waited for him to explain. "You can always use touch..." and Michael proceeded to demonstrate. Slowly his hand began to gently caress Nikita's lower back. "How does that feel?" he whispered.

"Like your hand is too LOW," Nikita growled.

Michael's nearness and his touch were causing a profusion of emotions to propel through Nikita's veins, the strength of which was confusing her. As she watched, Michael's eyes moved to her lips. Somewhere in her subconscious, a warning bell was ringing madly, but Nikita found herself helpless to heed its warning as she stood, mesmerized.

Michael lifted his gaze to meet hers. All traces of the gentle amusement Nikita had seen moments earlier were gone, replaced now with a look of pure, compelling hunger. She was barely aware of anything else at that moment apart from her own growing desire and the strange, white-hot ringing in her ears until suddenly, Michael pulled back and said softly, "Done."

"W..what?" Nikita's eyes flew open, confused at Michael's retreat.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared down at her parted lips. His breath quickened as he stated, "You've been tagged, Ni-ki-ta."

Nikita's eyes ventured to his lips as she moved closer to him voluntarily, "But you didn't even kiss me..." she frowned. Her hands crept up his chest and fastened around his neck as she lifted her face to his.

Michael found himself pulling her toward him, his hands stroking her back in a sensual caress as his lips drew closer to hers. His eyes closed slightly, - he breathed, "I thought you didn't want me to kiss you..." as his forehead rested upon hers.

"I changed my mind," Nikita murmured as she raised herself up to him and used her tongue to caress his lips open. With a moan Michael grasped her to him and buried himself in her soft mouth. All rational reasoning was abandoned as he lost himself in Nikita's kiss. Nikita clung to him, her hands roaming freely over him as Michael continued to clutch her to him. Suddenly, Nikita pulled away and uttered rather breathlessly, "Done."

Eyebrows arched and his green eyes widened slightly in confusion as Nikita pointed to the collar of his shirt. Checking underneath, Michael found the tracker.

"Well done, Ni-ki-ta," he stated as he looked disconcertingly to the ground before returning his gaze to her. Nikita grinned, "What can I say? I'm a fast learner."

"Maybe we should practice once more, just to make sure. . ." he suggested as he moved forward but Nikita raised her hands and backed away.

"Maybe tomorrow. . ." she offered with a wink, and then turned to leave.

************

After several weeks of working with Nikita, Michael reported to Madeline that the objective had been obtained. Nikita was showing signs of being more receptive to male attention, as well as learning to use her surprisingly formidable powers of femininity - quite skillfully too, he might have added, but didn't.

"Good," Madeline replied with her small knowing smile. "I'll let Jurgen know." Michael nodded and turned to leave.

Alone in his office, Michael contemplated the comraderie that he had established with Nikita over the past weeks. For the first time in years the emptiness that had filled his life since Simone had died was loosening its grip on him. He still ached for her - there was a part of him that had died with her and would not be resurrected. Yet, amid the ashes and desolation of her death, he could feel a spark of life inside him which refused to be stamped out. An ember that had a life of its own, and would not be extinguished so easily. He had felt strong traces of its heat on several occasions over the past weeks as he worked with Nikita.

Nikita. Michael stood at the window, his gaze unfocused as his thoughts dwelled upon her. His perception of her uniqueness had intensified as their time together increased. There was a vibrance about her that captivated him. Her joy in simple pleasures - so uncharacteristic of cold ops - enchanted him, beckoned him. At times Michael found it difficult to believe that she could have murdered anyone. She seemed too naive, even innocent, to be capable of such a hideous crime.

Long after Michael's sessions with Nikita ended, he continued to track her progress very carefully. He hovered just outside of her peripheral vision watching with quiet satisfation as she excelled in all areas of her training. Having overcome her initial defensiveness, Nikita began to make friends with a few other operatives and personnel - including Walter. There was an innate kindness about her that drew people to her. It disturbed Michael though that Nikita opened herself so willingly to most everyone. Section was not a place where one should trust so easily. This was a world where masks and facades were the ordinaire. Where nothing was as it seemed and all traces of humanity were considered weaknesses and thus exploited to its fullest. Michael fingered his chin soberly as he wondered if Nikita would be able to survive in such an environment.

Often Michael wished that Nikita had been assigned as his material. He had no desire to interfere with Jurgen's training - Jurgen was very good at his work, and if anyone could instill survival instincts in someone, it was him. However, having spent those precious few weeks in Nikita's company, Michael found himelf wishing he were Nikita's trainer and that he were the one spending time with her daily.

The day marking the end of Nikita's two year training period finally arrived. Quiet pprehension filled Michael as he awaited the outcome of the final test that would determine if Nikita would become a Section operative or be cancelled.

Michael purposely stayed late at Section that night. He kept himself busy typing reports and checking profiles on upcoming missions. At 10:15 pm Jurgen entered the main hall of Section and headed upstairs towards Operation's office. From Systems, Michael watched through the glass window as Jurgen reached into his pocket and handed Operations the PDA that Nikita had been ordered to obtain. A measure of relief filled Michael as he realized that she had succeeded, but, where *was* she?

As if in answer to his question, he saw the blonde recruit straggle into Walter's station. Everything about her appearance testified to the enormity of the difficulty she had struggled with in order to complete the mission. Her nylons were torn, her dress soiled and her golden hair tangled. The biggest indicators, though, were her eyes. They were wide with shock and filled with a haunted sorrow - as if she had finally realized just what type of life faced her here in Section.

Slowly Nikita raised the gun she had been issued and placed it gingerly on Walter's table as if it were some loathsome, slithering reptile. She stood a moment staring at the weapon before she hauled herself back out and moved towards close quarters. Michael glanced up at Operation's office and saw that he and Jurgen were still deep in conversation. Quickly Michael made his way out into the hallway and followed after Nikita. He caught up with her just as she passed his office.

"Nikita."

The sound of Michael's voice halted her and she turned warily. Her head lifted slightly and her eyes hardened. Michael's eyes roamed over her, noticing the protective barriers she was erecting, recognizing them easily from his own years of practice at perfecting the same moves. Silently he held out his hand to her. Nikita's gaze dropped to the proferred hand before gliding up again to meet his eyes. A slight frown pulled at her lips as distrust filled her countenance. Keeping his eyes on hers, Michael slowly took her hand. Silently his expression reassured her that she would be safe, as he led her into his office.

Once inside, Michael closed the door and turned to face her. Nikita stood before him, uncertainty flickering across her features. Then, reading something gentle and soothing in his gaze, she hesitantly stepped into his waiting arms and took the comfort that was offered her.

Thoughts of the evening's mission washed over Nikita and she tightened her grip on Michael as she buried her face into his chest. "It was awful, Michael," she murmured. "I don't know if I can do this."

Michael pulled away as he lifted his hands to cup her face. "You HAVE to, Nikita," he stated as he peered deeply into her tear filled eyes.

"No!" Nikita tugged at his hands, struggling to pull away. "I'm not a killer, Michael!" she argued, "I won't do it!"

Michael's strong hands moved to her shoulders and he shook her, forcing her to look at him. "Nikita, LISTEN to me," he implored, his eyes boring into hers in an effort to reach her through her agony. "If you don't do what they ask, they'll KILL you."

The tears trailed a silent path down her cheeks as a look of defeat and subdued realization settled upon her features. "Maybe that would be best," she whispered.

"No," Michael answered softly. "It wouldn't." He held her face tenderly as his thumbs wiped away her tears.

Nikita focused on the compassion in Michael's expression and with a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder as her arms encircled his waist. Her acquaintance with Michael was limited to those few short weeks that they had worked together, but strangely enough, it was with him that she found peace. Nikita closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, relishing the safety she felt in his arms.

Michael suppressed the shudder of sensation he felt as she came to him willingly. She melted against him with such ease and in complete faith, oblivious to the desire that raged within him at her closeness. Tenderly, Michael enfolded her in his arms and sheltered her. His fingers smoothing her disheveled hair as he laid his cheek against her head.

His emotions were tangled in a chaotic knot. He longed to erase the despair from her eyes, to assure her that things would get better. Her misery created in him an overwhelming desire to protect her. When Nikita unexpectedly turned her face into his chest and pressed her lips there, Michael felt a long-forgotten but powerfully familiar tug at his heart. My God, he thought, I'm falling in love with her.

Nikita remained in his arms for a minute longer and then slowly began to step back, but Michael was reluctant to let her go. His hand strayed to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek softly before moving down to stroke her lower lip lingeringly. Their attention was riveted on the other's parted lips, their breathing rapidly becoming unsteady. Instinctively the tip of Nikita's tongue licked at his thumb and Michael gasped at the erotic gesture. His desire to taste her was almost painful.

Lifting her gaze, Nikita marveled at the beauty of his eyes. They seemed darker than she ever remembered seeing them. From within, she felt a deeply stirring ache that ran riot, mounting higher until she felt as if it would choke her. Swallowing hard, Nikita gave a shaky little laugh and pulled away. Reluctantly Michael released her.

"Will you be alright?" he asked. His accent was unusually thick and his voice husky. He watched as she avoided his eyes under the guise of straightening her dress. His hand reached out to cup her chin and gently raised it so that he could peer into her eyes.

"Ni-ki-ta?" he whispered.

Nikita shuddered and felt her nipples harden at the way Michael uttered her name. Oh God, she thought, I'm losing it. Gently, she removed his hand from her chin. She knew she was playing with fire but she couldn't resist. Turning her face, she closed her eyes dreamily and pressed her lips to his hand. Her tongue licked seductively at his palm and inched higher. Michael watched, mesmerized. Slowly, her eyes opening partially to reveal the desire within, she took his index finger in between her lips and sucked suggestively.

Michael's walls crumbled. Murmuring her name he dragged her to him as his lips sought hers. He wanted her, needed her. Desperately, but gently, he tried to pull his finger from her mouth so that he could taste her, but she wouldn't allow it. "Ni-kita, please..." he breathed, frustration entering into his eyes. She released him and with a groan, his mouth devoured her.

Michael couldn't get enough of Nikita, his tongue probed deeply, hungrily as she held his head to her. His hands found their way to her breasts and he cupped them, feeling their softness through her dress.

She wasn't wearing a bra. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she felt, but that would mean releasing her mouth. No. Later, he thought. His fingers slid down and around to her buttocks. He pulled her up roughly, lifting her up against his arousal and forcing her to rise on her toes to accommodate his demanding hands and body.

White fire streaked through her and Nikita jerked her mouth away, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Michael..." she panted, then shuddered as she climaxed at the feel of him moving himself against her.

Watching as ecstatic peace settled over her upturned face, Michael thought he had never seen anything so erotically beautiful as the woman in his arms. Tenderly, he bent and kissed her. She was sated and that was enough for him - for now. He fought back his almost overwhelming lust, not wanting her to know just how hungry he was for her. It took a lot for him to get his physical reaction to her under control.

Her eyes closed, Nikita leaned against him and sighed with content, "Sorry, Michael. I didn't meant to fall apart like that on you."

His hand pushed her golden hair back from her face as he placed an adoring kiss on the top of her head. "There's no need to apologize, Nikita."

She smiled at his softly spoken words before reaching up to touch her hand tenderly to his cheek. "Thank you." Her eyes conveyed the sincerity of her gratitude and she turned to leave.

**********

As the door closed, Michael raised one hand and ran it wearily through his hair. He hadn't expected this to happen. The attatchment he felt to Nikita was overpowering. It wasn't just a physical reaction - she affected him in a much deeper sense. When he had held her, his body had responded with a consuming desire to be with her - but even more important, he had felt a profound need to know that she felt the same way about him.

When Nikita had kissed him of her own volition, the bliss that had gripped his heart was staggering. Her actions so pure in their expression of what she had been experiencing - it had left him reeling. Michael closed his eyes. He couldn't stand to think that anyone besides him would ever be the recipient of her love.

Michael moved to his desk and sat down as he continued to sort through his muddled emotions. The private torment he had suffered when Simone had died had been excruciating. She had been his lifeline - the one that kept him sane in this crazy world in which he existed. Her death had left him feeling as if his heart had been torn from his chest.

He had vowed then that he would never allow himself to be vulnerable to that type of pain again. He would never allow himself to love again. When his need for human contact became too great - which almost never happened, as deeply as he had retreated into himself after the loss of Simone - he had sought release outside of Section - one night stands that satisfied his needs without the confusion of emotional ties. It allowed him to exist without living. And now?

Michael's eyes fluttered closed as he faced the truth. He was in love with Nikita.

The sweetness of the realization warred with his fear of the repercussions should anyone find out about his feelings. Then, in a sudden burst of self-doubt, Michael wondered, Could she feel the same about me? Could she love me, even with all the blood on my hands?

He couldn't even discern when it had happened - or how. He suspected though, that he had begun to fall in love with her from the very first day he saw her. The day she had caught him staring at her and had snorted with amusement. Michael's lips curved into a smile. She had captured him from that very moment.

Michael glanced at the computer, contemplating whether or not he should try to finish some work. He didn't want to go home to his empty apartment - not tonight. Yet, he was still too tense, his muscles too wound up, his emotions too kinetic, and he wondered why. Then, he felt a flush of heat touch his face and wash through his body and a small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth as a vision of Nikita swam before him. Michael stood and headed for the door. There would be no point in trying to accomplish anything productive tonight.

Michael wasn't the only one suffering aftershocks from his and Nikita's encounter. The beautiful blonde recruit also found herself trying to comprehend the myriad of emotions that coursed through her. Her body still glowed from the fire that Michael had lit, its warmth seeping through every fibre of her being, enveloping her in a cloak of safety that she had never experienced before in her life.

An almost sheepishly embarrassed smile played across her lips at the remembrance of her reaction to Michael's kisses and his body. Tonight she had felt an astounding connectedness to him. An emotion so powerful, it removed all inhibitions as she sought to express to him the invisible bond she felt with him.

Michael affected her in a way no other man had ever done, and she couldn't explain why. He made her feel safe and yet, at the same time, there was a magnetism about him that was wild and dangerous. She loved the feel of being held safe in his arms, but at the same time, she wished he would recklessly tear her clothes from her body and ravage her until. . . Nikita shook her head, thinking, Boy, I *really* need a cold shower.

And while Nikita sought solace in the form of a cold shower, Michael had changed into sweats and was releasing his emotional tautness through an intense late-night workout session.

Jurgen stood in the doorway and watched as Michael jabbed powerfully at the punching bag. Having been his mentor, Jurgen was as adept as Madeline in reading the nuances of Michael. He knew something was bothering Michael and Jurgen suspected it was connected to Nikita, whom he had seen exiting Michael's office earlier.

Jurgen knew Michael was a good man. Michael had made the mistake of being misled when he was young and he was paying for it now with his life-sentence in Section. The problem, according to Jurgen's assessment, was that Michael believed he had little self-value outside of his work.

This was especially true after he had lost Simone. Michael had shut himself away, becoming cold and unfeeling. Section's top Myrmidon - never questioning any of Section's directives, just following orders. The things Section demanded of him, though, were eating away at Michael's soul. Jurgen could see it in his eyes. He had tried to reach out to his former student, tried to teach him that he could fight back and get some measure of control over his life here in Section, but Michael had largely been unresponsive.

Jurgen believed this was about to change. He had seen some transformations in Michael over the past few months. There was a new sense of liveliness about him. Slowly, but surely, Michael was re-entering the world of the living - and Jurgen was sure it was because of Nikita.

The blonde recruit would be good for Michael - and he would be good for her. Nikita's spirit for life was strong. She could help teach Michael how to reach for the desire to live again. In return, Michael could protect Nikita so that Section would not be able to destroy her soul. Yes, Jurgen thought, they would make a good pair. Personally, he had been pleased when Madeline had informed him that she had assigned Michael to spend time with Nikita. The effect Michael had had on Nikita was astounding as Jurgen had watched Nikita blossom. Having watched Michael, Jurgen knew that she had had an equally powerful effect on *him*.

Finishing his round, Michael moved to grab his towel and bottle of water. His eyes shifted to his former mentor. Jurgen straightened his stance and had just decided to have a few quick words with Michael, but was interrupted when Nikita rounded the corner and headed towards them.

She had showered and changed into blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Her eyes found Michael's and she smiled at him, a light coloring almost too imperceptible to be called a blush briefly tinting her face, before facing Jurgen. "I'm ready," she stated. Jurgen smiled at her and deliberately took her hand in his. He had seen the warmth that flooded Nikita's face as she looked at Michael. He turned back to Michael and explained, "I wanted to speak with you, but, it can wait. Right now I have to get this young woman settled into her new apartment." Michael nodded, his eyes lingering over Nikita as they turned to leave.

The next day Michael was called away on a mission that lasted nearly two weeks. Secretly he was grateful for the enforced separation from Nikita that this provided him. It would give him time to sort out his feelings for her and regain some measure of control. He had seen her on the main level that morning and they had exchanged looks, but no further attempt was made by either of them to engage the other in conversation. It was as if both knew they needed space to figure things out.

Michael was dismayed, however, to find out that two weeks away from Nikita had had exactly the opposite effect than that which he sought. His yearning for Nikita had actually increased during his absence and he had longed to return home so that he could see her.

On the day he returned, he felt an almost physical pain of disappointment when he learned that she wasn't in. Michael proceeded to check his gear in before he headed off to debrief with Madeline. An hour later, he was on his way out with two days of downtime. He made one quick stop at his office. Logging on to the personnel files, Michael accessed Nikita's address, logged off and shut down the computer, and then headed out.

***********

Nikita's apartment was located in a quiet neighborhood twenty minutes away from Section. Michael took the subway and then walked the last block.

There was a chill in the evening wind as it blew against him. It invigorated him as it lifted his auburn curls up and away from his face, brushing against his neck, its whisper softness reminding him of Nikita's lips. The memory stirred him and he felt his heart quicken. Michael released an exasperated breath. It seemed he had little control over his body when it came to her.

As he rounded the last corner, he paused. His eyes darkened as a result of the storm that churned within him. Across the street in the red brick apartment building, was the woman that unknowingly held the key to his heart. He wanted to go to her, yet, a part of him refused - protesting stubbornly against the idea of yielding to the power she held over him.

He had never lost control of his emotions so completely before. It invariably took something extremely uncommon to cause Michael to experience fear - and he was *scared* now. He feared revealing the depth of his feelings to her, lest she not feel the same - especially should she find out the extent of his actions for and on behalf of Section. He feared exposing this weakness - and his love for Nikita was a weakness - to Section's leaders, making them both susceptible to manipulation. But mostly, Michael feared losing Nikita.

His love for Simone had developed gradually over several years as he worked with her. His contact with Nikita was miniscule compared to that which he and Simone had shared, and yet, his feelings for Nikita were as powerful - maybe even *more* powerful - as that which he had had for Simone. Michael honestly didn't know if he would be able to deal with loving Nikita, and then losing her.

The conflict continued to battle within. After a few minutes of intense silent debate, though, Michael crossed the street and entered the building.

Her apartment was on the fourth floor. Michael waited as the elevator ascended. Exiting, he looked around reading the numbers off of the doors nearest him. Turning right, he followed the numbers until he reached hers. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and knocked three times.

Soft music was playing in the background as Nikita sat on the couch reading a magazine. She had just finished showering and was wearing a pair of white shorts with a baby blue tank top. Her freshly shampooed hair was wrapped up in a bright pink towel, but her face - her face was hidden behind a thick olive green layer of a facial mudd mask that she had applied after her shower.

Hearing the knock, Nikita placed the magazine down and looked at her watch. Carla, her neighbor across the hall, was the only one who ever came to visit her - but she usually didn't get off work until later. Nikita stood and retrieved her gun from the kitchen cabinet as she made her way cautiously to the door. Her eyes widened with shock and her heart skipped several beats as she saw who stood on the other side.

"Oh sh*t!"

Nikita swore as she turned nervously one way, then the other, and finally threw her hands up in disgust as she silently recited all the profanity she knew - which was quite a lot, having lived on the streets for several years. She was just about to rush to the kitchen sink to wash the mask off when Michael knocked again, a little louder. This time he called her name. Nikita froze as she closed her eyes in misery. Michael was here - right outside her door - and she wanted to see him so badly, but *not* like this!

"Ni-ki-ta?" A note of concern had entered his voice.

"Oh, damn it all to hell," she muttered as she took a deep breath and stepped up to the door. His pronunciation of her name always was her undoing - and she swung the door open.

Michael stood staring at the sight before him. He prided himself in his ability to maintain a neutral expression on his face during the most trying of situations - but this, unfortunately, was not one of them. As hard as he tried, the corners of his lips seemed to have a mind of their own, and right now, no matter how much he ordered them to remain still - they curved upward.

"Michael, if you laugh, so help me God I'll *shoot* you," Nikita growled.

Michael's gaze dropped to the gun Nikita held in her hand. A wide grin spread across his sensuous mouth as his eyes crinkled with silent laughter. Nikita's eyes narrowed and she angrily released the safety from the gun as Michael stepped forth - closing the door behind him. He removed the gun from her hand and put the safety back on before placing it on the counter. Still grinning, he placed his hands on Nikita's shoulders and held her at arms length, surveying the absurdly comical picture she presented, before he pulled her tenderly into his arms.

Nikita stood motionless for a moment, uncertain how to react, but when she felt his trembling - and realized it was from the laughter bubbling within him - she pushed him away forcefully.

"MICHAEL!" A mixture of hurt and amusement crossed Nikita's face.

Michael lowered his eyes and fought desperately to wipe the grin from his face. Taking a deep breath, Michael steadied himself and focused all his attention on regaining some measure of control. Barely successful, he stepped slowly forward and carefully placed a finger under Nikita's green chin, and lifted it so that she could look into his eyes. This action, however, caused the towel on Nikita's head to fall back, and her hair came tumbling down. The contrast of blonde hair with the green mask pitched Michael back into another fit of uncontrolled mirth and the grin he had banished a moment ago returned - twice as big.

Angrily Nikita pushed him away and reached for the gun, but was stopped by Michael's hands, as he began to apologize. Tears of excruciating mirth had welled up into his eyes and threatened to spill over as he slowly calmed down and stared at the sight before him. In spite of the horrible picture she presented, Michael felt his heart contract.

The amusement died from his expression and was replaced by a look of quiet adoration as he took her hands in his and softly kissed each one in turn. How could he not love someone that could bring laughter back into his life?

Raising his gaze to hers, he leaned his head toward her. His eyes locked onto hers as his tongue sensually licked her lips - he seemed unmindful of the substance coating her face. Still half angry, Nikita clamped her mouth shut - denying him access.

"Don't be angry, Ni-ki-ta," he breathed against her and he bit her lower lip gently. Nikita refused to budge.

"Please..." he whispered, his eyes pleading with hers.

His hands found her waist and urged her forward to meet him. He could feel himself hardening for her and his fingers squeezed, clawing gently at her sides, as his breathing quickened. Nikita's resistance began to break. Her lips slowly softened, then parted gently, finally allowing him full entrance.

He shuddered - whirling in sensation. His fingers clutched at her shirt and he fought to keep them from lifting it off of her. Painfully, his fingers obeyed and released their hold on the thin material.

Michael's kiss deepened as his hands slid roughly down the side of her hips. A new temptation ensnared him, though, as his fingers came into contact with her bare legs. Nikita moaned as she felt his fingers softly scrape the front of her thighs. She grabbed at his shoulders and pressed herself up against him. Michael responded instantly, his hands moving around to her hips and he lifted her up, delighting in the feel of her as she wrapped her legs around him and squeezed.

Michael was lost. Every passing second took him closer to his privately-drawn line of demarcation. The conflict that brewed in him earlier flared anew. Memories of Simone, her death, of Section, his past... all of it came crashing down on him. Abruptly, Michael let go of Nikita, disentangling her legs from him and stepping back from her. He couldn't even begin to try to explain to her why he had to walk away - all he could say was, "I'm sorry. I have to go." His voice was full of regret, and a touch of barely-controlled desire.

Nikita stared at him in confusion as he backed away towards the door. She misinterpreted his look and actions and slowly formed her own conclusion. He regrets coming here, she thought. He was regretting becoming involved with her. The thought stung her with a powerful force and she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her. Thankfully the mask hid the blush of embarrassment that crept up into her face. Silently she walked to the door and held it open for him.

Michael watched her. He could see the pain in her eyes and he wanted to tell her his reasons, but he couldn't - or wouldn't. He started to lift his hand towards her but she pulled away - and so he lowered it again, and walked out into the hallway. There was a finality in the sound of the door clicking softly closed behind him, and it resonated deep within his heart.

***********

As the door closed, Nikita turned and sank slowly to the floor, her back against the wall as she slid down it. Shutting her eyes tightly, she raised her hands and crossed them protectively over her head in an attempt to ward off the memories that Michael's rejection had inadvertently triggered. A torturous wave of shame washed over Nikita as she recalled the day her mother had kicked her out into the streets. Even her own mother had not wanted her. The hurtful words her mother had hurled at her as she had ordered her to leave their home came roaring back. Nikita bit her lip to repress the sobs that threatened to overcome her, but it was no use. The floodgates had been opened and the first wave of pain exploded through her.

Sobbing, Nikita lowered her hands to her face. Encountering the offensive green ooze, Nikita tore her shirt off and wiped roughly, angrily at her face. Tears mixed with the pasty glob as Nikita continued to scrub vehemently. It was getting in her hair, on her arms, neck - the more determinedly she worked at removing the mask, the messier it became until finally, she threw the shirt to the ground with disgust and gave into her tears, thinking, through her haze of agony, how very like her current life this particular scene was. She seemed always to be trying to wipe off a mask, whether in her nightmares or in her reality. The mask would not come off easily, and when it finally did, she was always forced to face herself, for real. Nikita didn't know, anymore, whether she even knew the person under the mask...

Several minutes passed as Nikita sat on the floor crying silently. Finally, her emotions spent, she rose and walked to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror was awful. She looked like the Incredible Hulk's sister. If she didn't feel such agony by all that had transpired, she probably would have laughed at the absurd picture she presented. Unfortunately, the mirrored image reflected what Nikita had always thought about herself... clumsy, ugly, stupid, worthless. At least, those were the words her mother had often used against her. Remembering how Michael had pulled away from her tonight, Nikita concluded that her mother was right. Madeline may have taught her how to dress, and act - but deep inside - Nikita believed nothing had changed. She was still the ugly, unloved little girl her mother had rejected what seemed like a lifetime ago.

***

A week passed before Michael saw Nikita again. He was seated at the briefing table when she entered with Jurgen, and sat on the opposite side. She was dressed in camouflaged fatigues and a brown t-shirt, her hair pulled carelessly back in a bun while her eyes remained hidden behind a dark pair of shades. Jurgen nudged Nikita and looked pointedly at the glasses. Nikita reached up slowly and removed them. It surprised and dismayed Michael to see a blankness in her expression similar to that reflected in his own eyes. Silently she stared ahead, waiting for Operations to begin the briefing.

The mission centered on a man named Alex Chandler - an international child slaver posing as a private entrepreneur and philanthropist. The profile had been set and it placed Nikita on point. This was the first mission in which Nikita would be called upon to use her feminine charms to give Section access into the target's home and files.

Michael watched Nikita discreetly and noted that she remained impassive during the whole briefing. When Operations asked if there were any questions, she continued to remain silent. Nodding his approval, Operations left the room and was followed by the others.

Twenty minutes later, Michael stood behind Birkoff in Systems, analyzing the sim for the upcoming mission. The sound of Jurgen's low voice caught his attention and he glanced up to see him passing through the main hall with Nikita. She had changed into a straight black skirt with a matching sleeveless top and black boots that reached up to her knees. Her hair hung in two careless braids while the ever present pair of dark shades sat on top of her head. She was the picture of chic rebelliousness. It was an image that was becoming Nikita's own trademark in Section.

Jurgen draped his arm about her shoulder as they walked - his head bending towards her as he gave final directions concerning her role with the mission. Michael glimpsed Nikita's expression as she looked up at Jurgen and saw only coldness reflected there. After a moment, Jurgen raised his hand and lightly touched Nikita's cheek. Nikita's eyes shifted momentarily as she visibly withdrew further into herself, then refocused as she headed to pick up her gear.

There was a change in her that Michael couldn't pinpoint, but it was definitely there. This Nikita was different from the one that he had had to comfort after her initial test. She was more detatched, distant, unfeeling - she was, in effect, a cold op. Michael lowered his eyes and wondered if these changes had resulted from their last encounter. He wondered if in his haste to protect himself from emotional pain, he had unintentionally succeeded in destroying the woman he loved.

***

Several days later, Michael was on his way to Madeline's office when he encountered a bruised and slightly limping Nikita in the hallway. A pair of red high heels, the exact color of the dress she wore, hung loosely from one hand. Her right knee was badly scraped, a trail of dried blood leading away from it. He knew from the reports that had been routed to his desk that the Chandler mission was concluded - and that Nikita had unintentionally killed him. Instinctively, he stopped to ask how she was.

Hearing the soft voice and looking up, Nikita only acknowledged Michael's presence, then lowered her eyes and continued walking. It was obvious that she didn't want to speak with him.

Despite the fact that he had been the one to back away from Nikita that night at her apartment, Michael felt a stab of pain at her action. He stood a few seconds, watching her retreating back, then turned slowly and proceeded on his way.

Nikita maintained her avoidance of Michael over the following weeks. They were as two strangers passing each other. Michael always sought her expression for some clue of acknowledgement - but none was forthcoming. She wouldn't even look at him. Her continued silence troubled him and pained him deeply. He regretted not explaining to her why he had had to walk away that night. Regretted not letting her know that he loved her.

As fate would have it though, Michael was given a second chance. Section was going after an arms supplier named Bauer and Michael and Nikita would be posing as hired mercenaries - mercenaries that happened to be married.

************

The wedding ring landed on Madeline's desk with a hollow tinkling sound. Nikita snorted silently to herself. That's exactly how she had felt on this last mission - hollow.

Listlessly she removed the denim jacket and hung it on the mannequin. Another mission completed, another disguise discarded. Nikita suppressed the urge to sigh at the senselessness of her life. She didn't even know who she was anymore - and she didn't care.

Posing as Michael's wife had been - difficult. It was hard to ignore him when he was so near. It had been sheer torture to lie in his arms at night, her back faced to him, just in case Bauer had a hidden camera aimed at their bed. She had managed to control her urge to respond to his nearness though, simply by reminding herself that this was Peter holding Sage - not Michael and Nikita. Still, it had felt good to fall asleep in his arms. Niktia put a halt to her train of thoughts and moved to take the wig she had worn back to wardrobe.

In the opposite corner, Michael watched her silently as he too replaced the props he had used. The mission had been successful on a professionsl level. They had brought in Bauer and retrieved the poisonous gas known as L-Virus, but on a personal level, the mission had failed miserably. Michael was no closer to Nikita than before.

Keeping his head bowed, Michael raised his gaze and discreetly watched her as she fingered the short, black wig she held in her hands. From the start of the mission, Nikita had taken on an aloof, sarcastic air as Sage. Her persona worked; it had captivated and intrigued Bauer - and had held Michael, at a distance.

Moving quietly towards Madeline's desk, he looked down with deliberation at the ring on his third finger. Removing it, he placed his ring gently on the desk next to hers. His fingers lingered over both bands for an oddly poignant moment.

"Do I have to love, honor, and obey?"

She had thrown the question mockingly at him when he had placed her ring on her finger. Looking into her blue eyes, he had felt a desire to respond honestly, 'Your love is all I want, Nikita'. But, of course, he didn't. Instead he had directed her to 'just obey.' That had earned him another round of icy sparks from Nikita.

A door closed and Michael looked up to see that Nikita had left the office. Slowly he retracted his hand from the desk where the two rings lay side by side. His eyes shifted back and forth between the two as his mind drifted to dreams of what he knew could never be. Quietly, he turned and headed towards close quarters.

After showering and changing into his usual black attire, Michael returned to the main hall. Section was fairly abandoned - most of the operatives had gone home since there were no missions on standby - leaving only a skeletal crew to provide security and man the com center. Michael's thoughts were still on Nikita.

Nearly two months had passed now with no real conversation between them. He missed her - really missed her. He wanted *his* Nikita back. The woman that made him smile and laugh; who melted in his arms; that drove him crazy with her sensuality; that made him burn with desire. He wanted to feel her arms around him; to feel her body, her lips... He wanted to see the light return to those empty eyes; to have her look at him with desire again. He wanted to hear her say -- Michael tried to curtail the thought, but it rebelliously burst forth anyway -- she loved him.

After checking his messages, Michael stood from his desk and prepared to leave. Placing his coat on, Michael moved towards the door and stepped through just as Nikita passed by. She had changed back into her street clothes and appeared to be on her way out too. Michael noticed that Nikita tensed immediately at his presence and lowered her eyes as she quickened her pace to move past him. Michael's arm shot out and his fingers closed around her arm firmly.

"Nikita, wait..." he softly implored of her.

Nikita's shifted carefully guarded eyes toward him, then wordlessly looked down at his hand holding her arm, before transferring her gaze back up at him. Michael released his hold on her.

"We need to talk."

Nikita shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket she wore as she turned her head away. "What about," she asked. Michael watched her for a few seconds, trying to choose his words carefully, his eyes almost unreadable. Finally he responded with an invitation. "Would you have dinner with me?" he asked quietly.

Nikita turned back towards him, instantly wary. The invitation surprised her and she had no intention of accepting it. Before she could refuse though, Michael spoke up again.

"Just dinner, Nikita. I promise. I just want to talk, that's all."

Her instincts told her to say no, but, a part of her was curious to know what Michael wanted to discuss with her. Besides, she had survived three days of being in close proximity to Michael playing his wife... surely she could manage to share a meal with him. Slowly she nodded, "All right, Michael. You're on."

***

The room was silent - Michael glanced around, noting details about the apartment which he had never observed before. The string of sunglasses over the buffet counter. The absolute cleanliness of the place, as if polished in preparation for surgery rather than simply for guests.

He could hear Nikita upstairs, and he waited patiently for her to come down. He knew she was nervous - he, too, was feeling a strange fluttering in his stomach, and his heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was almost positive it would burst through the skin at any moment. This is ridiculous, he thought. She has me feeling like a sixteen year-old virgin.

Michael sat down on the couch, staring incredulously at his trembling hands. He'd killed so many people in the line of duty that he'd lost count long ago. He'd ended lives, made split-second decisions which usually had resulted in buildings being blown up, people being obliterated, children being orphaned... He'd acted ruthlessly, even toward those ones in his life who could, by some stretch of the imagination, be called his friends. Everything inside him was allocated to specific compartments, and he pulled out what he needed, when he needed it. He could locate lust, hate, resistance to pain, total synapsis-shutdown, even cold-blooded lack of guilt, when the situation called for it.

But now, he had no compartment in which to file this feeling he felt. There was no tidy little place for the maelstrom of emotions he was experiencing now, no nice, convenient drawer that would hold the hurricane wreaking havoc inside him. Michael was, for the first time since he could ever remember, truly terrified. Nikita held his very life in her hands, and she was completely unaware of how she twisted him.

Michael's thoughts were snapped back to the present when he heard Nikita coming out of her bedroom. Michael knew he was in trouble the moment he saw her at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a slinky black sheath dress with long sleeves, low scoop neck in the front while the back... *Oh god, Michael thought* The back of the dress plunged dangerously low. Michael quickly raised his gaze, not trusting his eyes to travel down the rest of the length of the dress which ended mid-thigh.

He watched her descend the stairway, pulling on her watch and sweeping her hair back over her shoulder. She seemed so unconcerned, so completely relaxed in his presence! Where had she learned such composure? How had she managed to appear totally at ease, when he, who should have been solid ice, was melting from the effects of her smile and her scent as if she'd turned a blow-torch on him?

Nikita reached down and tugged at the end of the dress as she asked innocently, "Is this a bit much, Michael?" She was looking down at the dress trying to adjust it to cover as much of her as she could. "Madeline gave me this the other day," she explained. "She wants me to get use to wearing these outfits for some upcoming mission." Sighing, Nikita looked up at Michael as she asked, "You don't mind, do you?" Then, seeing his expression, she added hastily, almost apologetically, "I can go change..."

Michael averted his eyes momentarily as he tried to regain his composure. After a second, he turned carefully guarded eyes back to Nikita and answered softly, "You look beautiful, Nikita." His words caused Nikita to flinch and she stiffened, turning her head away. Michael was confused by her reaction.

"You know, Michael, we don't HAVE to go out to dinner," Nikita said casually. She'd sensed his discomfort but had misinterpreted it - she'd assumed he didn't want to go out in public with her. Perhaps he had other women who might see them together and wonder about the "relationship". Hoping to give him an out, in case this were true, she returned her gaze to him and offered, "I have some stuff in the refrigerator - we could throw a meal together and eat here. You know, just hang out - talk - watch a stupid movie..."

Michael was absorbing her words, staring into her eyes, and he felt a lump of something very close to pure, white-hot desire pierce him. His eyes unfocussed for a moment, and the pain in his heart and head almost closed him down. When he could see again, he didn't know that his eyes had turned the color of the ocean after a violent storm. All he knew was that Nikita had stopped talking and was staring at him in what he took to be alarm. He heard her quick, indrawn breath, almost a gasp, and he immediately knew she'd been frightened off by his look.

"I'm...sorry," he whispered. "I should just go now - this is... " he was at a loss for words. Every moment he stayed in her presence, he alienated her more, he knew.

He was stunned when Nikita took a few steps toward him and stood staring up at him with questioning eyes. "Is that what you really want, Michael?" she asked. He didn't answer but his eyes revealed his turmoil. Nikita watched him carefully, astonished by what she was seeing. Hesitantly, she stepped closer.

Her nearness was driving him mad. Unable to help himself, Michael raised a hand and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. Her skin was soft as silk. Nikita's eyelids fluttered close at his gentle caress and leaned her face into his hand. "Don't go, Michael," she breathed, her mouth so close to his that she could have tasted him. "Don't go yet."

Michael groaned very softly, and all his emotions came into focus at one point - Nikita. He whispered in agony, "Mon dieu - Ni-ki-ta..." He stopped fighting, stopped analyzing, stopped misinterpreting. He didn't believe in intuition - he'd told her a hundred times, as Jurgen had taught him when he'd been trained. Yet now, he felt firsthand what intuition could do, and he fell into the realization willingly.

His arms went around her, tightly, and almost desperately, he closed his eyes and took her mouth. He felt her lips against his, her mouth closed at first, then slowly opening as he softly worked his lips on hers, massaging them open until he could slip his tongue inside her mouth. Their tongues touched, and the spark of desire transmitted between them at the contact made Michael's body dissolve into magma. He groaned again, trying one last time to ward off what was happening. "Ni-ki-ta," he gasped, opening his eyes for a moment and trying to convey with his look the magnitude of his anguish. "Please...stop me..."

His voice, so thick with pent-up desire and a touch of fear, sent a shiver through Nikita, and she knew there was no way she could curtail this onslaught of lust. She felt him growing hard against her belly, and she clung to him, wanting to feel more. This was what she had desired, that day when they'd kissed and he'd brought her to orgasm simply by pulling her against his body...

Aloud, huskily, she said against his mouth, "No, Michael... I won't stop you... I want you..." And she pressed even closer to him. Michael made an incoherent comment then, closed his eyes again, and surrendered...

**********

The last thing Michael thought before his senses left him was, We shouldn't be doing this... one of us should stop it before it goes too far... But even as he thought it, he knew it was too late. His body was no longer listening to his mind - it seemed to have split apart from him and was operating completely independently of his voice of reason.

It didn't help that Nikita had slid her hands into his back pockets and was dancing against him slowly, soft little murmurs slipping past her lips as she tasted him with her tongue. She bit his bottom lip very gently, licked it, then bit it again, as if sampling a succulent, exotic fruit. She was torturing him beyond endurance and Michael thought, 'Two can play at this game'.

Slowly his fingers dipped down to the hem of her dress, he stroked gently at her thighs, smiling slightly when he felt her tense and then press her hips closer to his. His fingers continued to tease her, working their way around to the back of her long legs, caressing her gently - always staying below her hemline... Michael opened his eyes to emerald slits, wanting to gauge the level of her response. He shivered when he saw her eyes closed in abandon, when he felt her body become pliant and relaxed in his arms.

His lips moved to her ear - as his fingers inched their way higher - and he asked softly, "What are you wearing underneath?" A slow smile spread across her lips as Nikita turned her face in search of his lips. "Nothing," she whispered before her mouth covered his for another deep kiss.

A soft groan escaped him, and his mouth opened to hers, his lips slanting across hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. Up to that point, they had teased, lightly explored, almost cautiously avoided a deeper union of flesh, as if each could not believe the desire of the other. Michael couldn't take it any longer - he wanted her all the way, with a violence of emotion that alarmed him. He whispered against her mouth, "Ni-ki-ta... it's too much..."

She heard the words and feared that he was preparing to leave her again. In anguish, she pressed her hands against his buttocks and ground her pelvis into his with a deep, circular motion. She could feel him, hard and throbbing against her, and she said softly, "It's not enough..."

Michael slid his hands up and down her back, bared by the cut of the dress. Her skin was soft and scented, driving all his senses wild. He wanted the dress off - wanted her naked, wanted to be moving, dancing deep inside her. Still, he wanted to give her a chance to back out.

"Are you sure?" he asked. In response, Nikita took his hands and placed them on the neckline of her dress, looked into his eyes, and ordered him quietly, "Take it off, Michael." Their eyes locked as Michael gently slid the dress off of her shoulders, slipping it down to her waist, over the curve of her hips, and watched it fall silkily to the floor. She, indeed, was wearing nothing underneath. Nikita kicked off her heels - she was shorter than Michael, but not enough that there was an inconvenient difference in their heights. Michael viewed her splendor, enchanted by her naked beauty. His hands moved to her hips and began to slowly ascend, delicately tracing the outline of her curves.

"You're beautiful, Nikita," he breathed. She tensed again at his choice of words. Michael moved one hand to her chin, turning her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes searched hers and saw pain and disbelief reflected therein. His breath caught as he began to understand. Love softened his expression as he bent to tenderly kiss her. "Nikita, don't you know how beautiful you are?" he breathed against her lips. When she tried to pull away, unwilling to hear those words, he held her, forcing her to listen to him. "Look at me," he ordered softly as she tried to avert her eyes. Slowly she obeyed. Michael stared into her eyes, allowing her to see the sincerity of his words. "You're beautiful, Nikita," he repeated slowly. "Inside and... out." His hands moved over her adoringly as he confessed, "No other woman has the power to affect me as you do."

At that, Nikita began to smile. "Then why are you still dressed?" she asked quietly. Michael returned her smile and imitated her earlier action by placing her hands on his shirt and ordering her huskily, "Take it off." She began to work on him, her fingers shakily unbuttoning his shirt. He gently brushed her hair back, looking down at her hands in wonder - so small, for one so tall... His breath seemed unnaturally difficult to draw - his throat was closing up, and he realized it was because he was awe-struck by her.

Buttons undone, Nikita slid his shirt off, smoothing her hands over his chest as she leaned in and pressed her lips gently to his bare shoulder. Her fingers found their way to the waistband of his slacks, deftly opening them and sliding inside, past the zipper of his pants, past the barrier of his briefs, to touch his bare flesh.

Michael drew in a breath through his teeth - his body went rigid at her touch, and he closed his eyes, not daring to move for fear of breaking the spell. She lifted her eyes to him and watched his reaction as her fingers closed around his fully aroused c*ck, and she began to squeeze very gently, sliding her hand up and down slowly. Michael moved with the rhythm of her hand, his head falling forward against her neck. "God..." he breathed, and couldn't make another sound as she ran her nails lightly up and down the length of his shaft. Her other hand moved up to cup his chin, turning him to meet her gaze. His eyes were wild with agonizing desire. Impatiently, Nikita fought with his slacks, and in a sort of desperation, he set her away from him and finished undressing.

Nikita felt a stab of pride and a strange possessiveness as she watched Michael disrobe. He was completely beautiful, and for this night, at least, he was hers. There was too much distance between them, though - even in the short time it had taken for Michael to strip, Nikita had felt wave after wave of desire washing over her, until finally, she could not be away from him a moment longer.

Michael saw the look in her eyes - that dangerous ominous, kinetic look, and he closed the small distance between them with two steps, took her body against his own, his desire escalating treacherously at the contact of her bare skin against his. He kissed her until he was positive they had melted together. Urgency drove him - the bedroom was too far away, the couch was too small... He guided her to the floor, and she went willingly.

Michael's hands were everywhere, feverishly stroking, caressing, memorizing her curves and hollows as if he were blind and seeking a secure handhold. Nikita's sighs of pleasure intensified Michael's own response, and his kisses became more passionate, his teeth nipping her flesh, his tongue tasting her skin. All his noble ideas about finesse and skill flew out the window when he felt her reach down once more, take hold of his completely rigid c*ck and moan softly, "Michael, please..."

He moved over her, his knees straddling her, and feasted his eyes on her body for one sweet moment. Then, without warning, his lust consumed him, and he could no longer hold back. He began to position the tip of himself against her wetness, but she brushed his hands away. Bemused, his green eyes smoky and dark as moss, he allowed Nikita to take his shaft in her gentle hand and guide him, trusting her to know what would feel best for her.

Empowered by his enthralled stare, Nikita pulled him to her. Seductively, she used the tip of his erection to stroke the length of her opening. The feel of him, silky smooth against her nearly undid her and she moaned, her body arching up against him as the blue of her eyes darkened passionately. Michael watched her and trembled with the exertion it took him to hold back - her actions were so uninhibited, he could barely contain himself. "Ni-ki-ta, please..." he begged. She heard his voice through the fog of her pleasure and responded by positioning him directly above her femininity and lifted her hips toward him. "Now, MIchael," she whispered.

She cried out at the sensation that rocked her as his c*ck slipped into her. Panting heavily, she watched as his eyes slowly closed and his teeth clenched as he gasped at the contact. Nikita reached up with her hands and soothed away the tension from his face. When he opened his eyes to look at her, she lifted her head to his and kissed him. Michael was overcome with her tenderness and he groaned as he began to move within her.

Nikita stopped thinking as Michael's strokes became deeper and harder with each thrust. She slid her hands down his sides, dug her fingers into his buttocks and heard him utter an expletive in French, felt him grow even thicker within her. He clutched her to him, moving so deeply in her, so fiercely, that he feared he would frighten her, or do damage to her soft inner flesh with his almost-violent thrusts. It was as if he were starved for her, near-death without her touch.

Their movements escalated, each of them swept away by lust, and by something deeper - an awareness, barely dawning, of their need for each other on more than a physical level. Nikita gasped as Michael thrust so completely into her that he could penetrate no deeper - it hurt, but the erotic pain dissolved instantly, to be replaced by an emotion older than time - that of primal possession, man of woman, woman of man. Nikita understood it, finally - she belonged to Michael, body, soul and spirit. She prayed - as she felt him working her to an orgasm that eclipsed the one she'd experienced with him earlier, before he'd even been inside her - that he felt the same about her...

Her release caught her, then, and she couldn't breathe a word - wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her as Michael continued his relentless possession of her. She could feel his c*ck swelling and lengthening inside her because of the spontaneous reaction of her inner muscles to his stimulation, and she honestly believed she was coming apart from his loving...

Michael was beyond thought. He was locked in passion with the only woman since Simone who'd ever set him on fire, and he knew, without doubt, that he'd never be able to pull himself away from her. She had him, body, soul, heart and spirit. No other woman would touch him this way. He made wild, violent love to her, but it was more basic even than that - he f**ked her, reduced their feelings to the lowest common denominator and built on it. This was more than a satisfaction of physical needs - it was a consummation of weeks - no, months - of learning and yearning, of the gradual realization that never were two people more suited for each other than he and Nikita were.

And she aroused him in so bone-deep a way that he wondered why he'd ever bothered to try to discipline his body. All he had to do was stand near Nikita and his years of training became like water running down the drain, and he was willing to put aside everything he'd ever learned for just one smile from her...

Michael felt his orgasm approaching, and despite his desire to bring Nikita to fulfillment again, he couldn't forestall the impending wave of ecstasy. Groaning, he pressed his kiss-swollen lips against her cheek, even as his body convulsed for the first time, and whispered in agony, "Forgive me, love... I just can't stop it..."

As he began to climax, his lower body jerking with the incredible impact of the feelings, Nikita grabbed him, pulled him to her and gasped. Her back curved fluidly, her body locked against him as her own release took her, and they clung together, lunging and arching in perfect synchonicity, like two dancers who knew each other's steps by heart...

It was minutes later when Michael finally surfaced from his oblivion. He lay heavily atop Nikita, still sheathed inside her, still half-hard, and her legs had fallen away from him. She seemed to be asleep - Michael pressed a soft, loving kiss to her cheek, and her eyes opened, cerulean and slightly glazed. She smiled, sighing his name as contentment washed over her.

************

Michael stirred in the early morning hour and woke with a jolt. His muscles tensed, as he heard a moan in his ear and felt silky skin rub against him. His startled gaze fell upon Nikita's slumbering features, partially obscured by her golden tresses, and a state of ecstasy settled joyfully over him. Leaning back, he reached for the switch to turn on the small lamp on the bedside table filling the bedroom with a soft, subtle light.

Michael propped himself up on one elbow and surveyed the exquisite allure of the woman lying beside him. His love for her overflowed - filling him with a painful ache that could only be appeased by her. Reaching over, he carefully smoothed back her hair from her face, allowing him an unobstructed view.

Her long golden lashes rested gently against her cheeks that were still a light hue of pink from their passionate lovemaking. Michael's eyes traveled to her lips, softly swollen and parted in her sleep. Unable to resist her, Michael bent and pressed a whisper soft kiss to her lips. He regretted his weakness instantly when she stirred, moaning in protest as a slight frown marred her brow. "Shh.." he whispered soothingly into her ear as he pressed another kiss against her hairline. Hearing his voice, Nikita relaxed and snuggled closer without waking up. Michael smiled. She was exhausted.

The serenity of sleep graced her with an aura of innocence that was almost child-like. Michael's gaze flowed intimately over her splendid nakedness and desire stirred within him. Nikita might appear to have the innocence of a child - but she was all woman. An enchantress whose beauty and spirit had cast a spell upon him - a magical charm from which he had no wish to break free.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers as his hand glided across her stomach and up to her breast - his hunger for her overruling his desire to let her rest. Nikita's lashes fluttered open to reveal her beautiful blue eyes, slightly glassy from sleep. She smiled dreamily up as those twin reflections searched his face. "Michael," she whispered. An indescribable euphoria filled her to see him there next to her. Her joy was reflected in her expression and it caused Michael's spirit to soar.

Wordlessly they lay there - reveling in the remarkable bond that was forming between them. Nikita's gaze fell on Michael's hand and she shifted - reaching for it with her own. Their fingers softly engaged in a sensual dance of love - intertwining, stroking, caressing - as they watched in wonder.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Michael lifted her hand to his lips. Nikita stared dazedly at him, hypnotized by his mouth as they ministered to her fingers.

"Ni-ki-ta..."

She shifted her gaze up to his eyes and encountered an expression she didn't quite comprehend. When he took her hand and guided it slowly down past his chest, his stomach, and finally came to rest over the evidence of his desire for her, she smiled. Stroking him gently, she consented to his silent request to let him make love to her.

***********

The other people might as well not have been there as far as Nikita and Michael were concerned. They sat at opposite ends of the briefing table, verbally silent, but each deeply aware of and hungry for the other. Operations had not yet arrived, leaving the operatives sitting around the table to talk idly amongst themselves.

Michael watched discreetly as Nikita's gaze moved subtly from his eyes to his mouth. The pulse at the base of his neck quickened as her lips parted slightly. The pulse caught Nikita's attention and she stared at it, mesmerized, as she bit her lower lip. Her eyes continued lower to his chest and seemed to be caressing him through his clothes. Michael suppressed a tremor as he recalled the feel of her lips on him last night, everywhere. His breathing became a little labored and he swallowed hard in an attempt to clear his mind.

Nikita. He called out to her silently, willing her to respond. She did. Blue eyes met green and clashed. He ordered her to stop their slow seduction but she merely smiled, challenging him once again to MAKE her stop. It was with great relief that Michael looked up to see Jurgen enter and take his seat next to Nikita, distracting her from the task she had so obviously been enjoying.

"Good morning." Jurgen wore a bemused expression as he took in Nikita's appearance. She looked calm, relaxed and radiant. Nikita shifted lively blue eyes to him. "Good morning," she smiled. Jurgen hadn't seen her smile in a long time. He knew exactly what had caused that smile to reappear, too, as he looked pointedly over at Michael. It was a good thing he had had the surveillance tapes from Nikita's apartment routed directly to his monitor. He'd suspected his former and present students would eventually come together as they had last night - and WHAT a union, he thought, as he recalled the scenes he'd watched this morning. He would have to remind Michael about the virtues of being discreet. Meanwhile, he had erased the evidence from last night's surveillance.

Operations entered and the briefing began shortly afterwards. Nikita focused on paying attention, however; at the mention of the words "Glass Curtain", she noticed that across the table, Michael had suddenly tensed, becoming visibly agitated. "I thought they were inactive," he stated, an edge to his voice that set Nikita's senses on full alert. Operations stared at Michael a moment, slight disbelief on his face at this unexpected disruption from his top operative. "They were," he answered patiently. "Now they're not."

From behind lowered lashes, Nikita watched as Michael fidgeted, a frown pulling at his lips. This was unnervingly unlike Michael. Usually, he was very controlled and impassive. Nikita was as shocked as everyone else when Michael suddenly interrupted Operations a second time - and a lot more rudely. "Forget the history lesson - just give us the relevant data and let's move." Operations' patience wore thin as he glared at Michael. "The last time I checked, interrupting a briefing was not part of protocol." Michael stared back at him, silent, but unrepentant.

After a moment, Operations continued with his explanation. Apparently Glass Curtain was responsible for the downing of a commercial flight. Word on the internet had it that they were getting ready to cause a mid-air collision of two jumbo jets. Pinpointing a location for GC was difficult but Section had obtained a lead.

"Jurgen and Nikita, you'll take point. Michael, you're on team two." Operations continued to assign teams and then dismissed the briefing. As he headed out, Michael pushed his chair back and followed. He caught up with Operations out in the hallway. Nikita and the rest of the operatives at the table watched as a quiet argument ensued between the two men. Nikita caught the words, "...you don't think I can handle it..." from Michael, and she swallowed hard, sensing something portentious in the making. After a minute Operations turned and stepped back into the briefing room. "Jurgen and Nikita, you'll step down to team two. Michael will take point." With that Operations spun on his heel and left, brushing past Michael without another word, his eyes icy.

Nikita stood to go to Michael but Jurgen held her hand. "No, Nikita," he warned. She looked down at Jurgen, the confusion showing in her eyes, and then shifted her gaze back to Michael who was still standing in the hallway. Their eyes met briefly before Michael averted his, and walked away.

Jurgen maintained his hold on Nikita as he stood and waited for the others to exit. When the room was empty, he turned Nikita to face him. "Leave him alone, Nikita. He needs time."

"Why?" There were so many questions and seemingly no answers. Jurgen peered into her eyes, unsure of how she would take what he was about to tell her. "Nikita, Glass Curtain killed Simone."

Nikita shook her head absently, frustration beginning to appear in her expression and her body movements. "Who's Simone?" Jurgen took a deep breath and exhaled as he stuck his hands in his coat pockets. He had hoped Michael had told Nikita about her. Shifting his gaze to the blonde woman before him, Jurgen answered, "Simone was Michael's wife."

************

At first, Nikita nearly laughed at Jurgen's answer but the seriousness with which he looked at her indicated he wasn't joking. Nikita furrowed her brows together in disbelief.

"Michael... had a wife?"

Nikita found herself feeling a little weak as a profusion of conflicting emotions and questions attacked her at once. Slowly she sank down into her seat. She hadn't even been aware that operatives could marry. She...

Nikita raised her hands and wearily rubbed her face. She didn't know *what* to think. What she DID know was that Jurgen's announcement had made it abundantly clear just how little she knew about Michael. Not that it changed the way she felt about him - but it did make her question - what exactly *did* she feel for him?

She was physically attracted to him - yes, she couldn't deny that. She hungered for and desired him as she had no other man. She felt safe with him. She found great pleasure and comfort in his arms. Did she love him? No - she shied away from the thought. Not love, she told herself. Michael and she were... Nikita hit a blank wall - she didn't know WHAT she and Michael were. Friends who were lovers? Lovers who were friends?

Jurgen's strong hand on her shoulder broke her train of thoughts. "We have to go." He could see the struggle she was going through in trying to make sense of the confusion she was feeling. She had a lot of questions - that was understandable under the circumstances - but when she turned inquisitive eyes towards him, Jurgen shook his head. "No, Nikita. Its not up to me to tell you the answers. You have to find them for yourself."

She stared up at him a few seconds longer and then stood. He was right, of course. If she wanted answers, she would have to direct her questions at Michael. Silently she followed Jurgen out of the room.

Three hours later, the team returned to Section with a young man, no more than nineteen years old, by the name of JB. He was visibly shaken and frightened by the manner in which he had been rounded up and secreted away by a group of people wearing all black. Most notably though - he was frightened of the man the others referred to as "Michael".

When JB had hesitated in answering Michael's probing questions concerning Glass Curtain, Michael had immediately pulled out his gun and aimed it at the terrified boy, who could only stare in near-catatonic horror. Nikita, shocked, had immediately realized what Michael would have been perfectly capable of doing in that instant and had intervened, grabbing Michael's arm and snapping him out of his momentary insanity. Her voice, hushed and stunned, uttering, "Michael, what are you DOING?" had cut through his anguish as effectively as a wet towel slapped across his face.

Nikita's startled expression had torn at Michael even as it had brought some measure of control back to his actions. This was the first time she was seeing the darker side of him and a seedling of fear sprouted in Michael. There was so much about him of which Nikita knew nothing. The look Nikita had directed towards him as they headed out from Section told him that she had found out about Simone. He hadn't planned to keep it a secret from her - but he hadn't planned on telling her either. It was a part of his past that he had thought, and had hoped, would remain in the the past. Now this mission with Glass Curtain was opening up old wounds. He didn't want to discuss his past, but he knew that if he wanted a future with Nikita - and he did - he would have to tell her.

After they had arrived back at Section, Nikita delivered JB to one of the white rooms where Madeline was waiting to interrogate him. She felt sorry for the young man - he was actually a nice kid. It was unfortunate for him that Glass Curtain had pinpointed him for recruitment. That fact alone had made him a target for Section One.

As Nikita headed back towards the main level, she found Michael waiting for her in the hallway. "May I speak with you?" he asked quietly. His eyes still retained a trace of the torment he had exhibited earlier when he had pulled his gun on JB. Nikita nodded and fell into step next to him as he directed her towards one of the small lounges. Once inside, he closed the door and signaled for her to have a seat at one of the small tables.

"Coffee?" he asked. It seemed he was anxious and needed to be doing something to keep his mind distracted. "Tea, please," Nikita responded. She watched as Michael busied himself making her cup of tea and pouring himself coffee. A few minutes later he set their cups on the table and sat down. Nikita thanked him and then set about waiting.

Michael was silent for a long time. When he finally did speak, it was in a monotone that was devoid of all emotion. He confirmed that Simone was his wife and then briefly explained the circumstances that had caused Simone's death three years earlier.

He told Nikita of how Simone and he had gone out on a reconnaissance mission against Glass Curtain. How it was supposed to have been a cold mission - no gunfire expected. He told of how Simone had been uneasy and had requested backup but he had turned it down, saying it was unnecessary. Then, his voice breaking slightly, he told of how they were ambushed. He was separated from Simone and watched helplessly as she was gunned down. He had tried to reach her but there were too many shooters and he had had to leave her body...

Michael closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there were traces of tears within.

Nikita sat quietly as Michael related his story. Watching his agony, she felt a longing to reach out and hold him, to comfort him. Yet, something she felt much deeper restrained her. A painful misery was growing within her and she wasn't at all sure that it had to do with Michael's grief over the loss of his wife. This was a personal pain, as if *she* was losing something/someone dear to her. Michael glanced up at Nikita as he finished his story. He was uncertain how to interpret Nikita's silence.

A knock at the door disrupted them. Michael and Nikita looked up as Walter entered. The old man announced that Hector, the mastermind behind Glass Curtain had contacted JB and that a meet had been set up. It turned out that JB's father was the engineer who designed O'Hara airport. Hector had convinced JB to steal the electronical layout of the airport from his father as his initiation into the group.

Michael stood with the definite intention of going to change. He assumed he would be standing in for JB at the scheduled meet. Walter, however, halted him. "Operations wants Nikita posing as JB. He says that she'll be more convincing as disaffected youth."

Michael froze, an unreadable expression in his icy green eyes.

He had lost Simone to Glass Curtain and now Section was sending in the only other woman he'd ever loved to face the same foe. Before turning to follow Walter, Nikita stood and stretched to relieve the tension she felt - Michael watched silently. After ensuring that Walter could neither see nor hear them, Michael reached his arm out and blocked her path, his eyes seeking hers. She turned questioningly, wondering what it was he was going to say. Slowly Michael touched her cheek and in a tormented whisper warned, "Be careful, Nikita."

***********

Conclusion

It was past 3 am and yet she still couldn't sleep. Her mind was too full of thoughts to allow her to rest. Her heart too full of pain. She had no idea that when Michael had warned her to be careful, it would apply to her on an emotional level. She wondered if Michael had even known of the duality of his words at the time.

Nikita wandered aimlessly about the darkened apartment. Her misery was unbearable. She wanted to lash out, to scream and strike at this invisible foe that had invaded her life. She wanted to sink to the ground and beat at it - purge herself of it, to rip it from her - but she couldn't. And so she stalked about her room like a caged animal longing for release. A single desperate tear escaped from her tortured eyes as she realized she couldn't remove her feelings for Michael.

She paused in her obsessive pacing, standing with her legs apart, hands hanging at her sides, as she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her gaze fell to the floor and the image of her and Michael, naked, locked together in a lover's embrace - crying out in ecstasy as he buried himself deep in her - came to mind. Her body tensed at the memory and her eyes closed in an effort to forget.

Turning, she strode quickly to the closet and swung the door open. Reaching down, she grabbed her running shoes and bent to put them on. She didn't care that it was late. Didn't care that it was dangerous and foolhardy. Didn't care about anything but the need to flee from the memories - and the truth. Her shoes laced up, Nikita grabbed her key and her driver's license for identification and headed out. She took the stairs, rushing down the four flights as if pursued by demons. Reaching the exit, Nikita flung the door open and stood gasping in deep gulps of the cold night air. Turning, she ran.

*

The last thing Nikita had expected to find once she infiltrated Glass Curtain was Simone. No one had expected that, least of all Michael. He was back at Section, monitoring the transmissions between Nikita and Jurgen - who was leading the assault team - when Nikita announced that Simone was alive and being held captive. Operations, who was standing next to him, had turned steely grey eyes towards Michael and uttered with a deadly calm, "We have the potential to end the destruction - don't...even...BLINK," as he ordered Jurgen to proceed with the plan. Rescuing Simone would be a last priority. Silently Operations challenged Michael to oppose his orders.

Michael felt as if he were caught up in a dream that combined all his nightmares into one agonizing vortex. He returned Operations stare with a blank one of his own, but the pallor of his skin betrayed his torment.

Nikita had found Simone locked in a room behind bars. Her body was scarred with the evidence of the torture she had been put through. Nikita's heart had gone out to the petite, dark-haired Asian woman. She knew from the moment she laid eyes upon Simone that she would do whatever it took to help her escape. And she had. When the mission was completed and the explosives set, she had gone back - against Jurgen's orders - for the woman that would forever change her life. She had gone back to save Michael's wife.

*

Her lungs were burning with the exertion of the pace through which she was putting herself. Her long legs felt as if they were made of lead as they struggled to keep up with Nikita's demands. She focused all her attention on the effort of alternately placing one foot in front of the other. She labored with each in-drawn breath - her throat dry and raspy. Her tired body protested painfully, but still she pushed herself to run faster through the night. The physical pain was a welcome distraction to the emotional ones she was trying to escape. She ran until she couldn't see; until she couldn't feel; until her body did a dance of its own and she felt like she was on the verge of bursting out of her own skin...

*

Nikita had had to coax Simone to follow her. Three years in captivity, tortured and abused, had taken its toll on her. Simone was wary, untrusting, wounded, ready to strike out at the first hint of danger. On the chopper ride back to Section, Nikita had held Simone close to her, shielding the frightened woman. She whispered soothing words of comfort to her and slowly Simone responded. She didn't know who this blonde woman was, but she felt safe and so she huddled deeper into her arms - her eyes wide as she hid from the stares of the other Section operatives around her.

Jurgen had watched Nikita carefully, admiring the compassion she showed toward the woman she sheltered in her arms. But he also saw deep sorrow and confusion in his student's eyes and Jurgen wondered if Nikita knew what this change of events would cost her. He had a feeling she did - thus the agonized expression.

When the chopper arrived back at Section, Michael was waiting. His face was pale, his hair disarrayed from the wind. As the door opened his eyes went immediately to Nikita and then shifted to Simone. Nikita saw tears appear in his eyes and the first pangs of pain wrapped itself about her - a tightening beneath her breast that caused her heart to pound loudly.

"Take her, Michael," she ordered as their eyes once again met and held. The pain and torture she felt was reflected in his beautiful green eyes. She watched as Michael stepped forward and tenderly reached out to touch the cheek of the woman nestled in Nikita's arms.

"Simone..." he whispered. Even over the noise of the chopper's engine and rotating blades, Nikita heard the love that filled that one word - the anguish in her chest doubled.

Carefully, Michael took Simone - the woman whose supposed death had nearly destroyed him - from the arms of Nikita, the woman who had brought him back from the brink of that destruction by teaching him to love again. He swallowed as his tear-filled eyes looked from one woman to the other.

"Go, Michael," Nikita whispered into his ear as she handed Simone over. She pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek as she willed the tears back from her own eyes and ordered him into action.

Michael gathered Simone into his arms as his gaze locked onto Nikita, his expression a mixture of wordless gratitude and infinite sadness. She gave him a small smile and nodded before he turned and carried Simone away. Slowly Nikita climbed out of the chopper and followed in Michael's wake, pausing mid-way. Simone was looking up into Michael's eyes, disbelief written on her face at seeing the man whose memory had sustained her through her years of torture. Nikita averted her eyes, allowing Simone to have this moment with Michael as the elevator doors closed.

Jurgen stood to the side and watched as Nikita's eyes filled with tears and her head lifted defensively. The wind from the ascending helicopter blew Nikita's long hair over her face, effectively hiding her expression of profound suffering from his view.

*

She could run no further. Her body refused to carry her another step, and Nikita collapsed onto the ground in the darkened park - the moisture of the grass soaking through her thin t-shirt. Her body ached and her legs cramped as she gasped for air. Rolling over to her side, she pulled her knees up and curled into a fetal position. She concentrated on the heaving efforts of her lungs to breathe. Slowly, she rolled over onto her back and gazed up at the heavens above.

"What manner of cruel justice is this?'" she asked quietly, tearfully. "What have I done to deserve this?" The stars in the ebony sky shined softly down at her, but provided no answers - their twinkling instead reminding her of a certain pair of laughing green eyes.

He had come to see her earlier tonight. Had wanted to talk with her but she had been unable to face him. Unwilling to allow him to see the extent of the pain she was going through at seeing him with another woman. Nikita smiled tearfully as she corrected herself. *She* was the other woman, Simone was his wife. She lay there for a long time looking up at the stars through the blur of her tears.

Her breathing finally restored to normal, Nikita achingly pulled herself up and began her long walk home. She had tried to deny it, but today the truth had been revealed to her. She loved Michael. Loved him with a force so powerful that it was embedded into her bones and sang constantly through her blood like a sure, steady electric current. Unfortunately another truth had also been revealed to her today. Michael wasn't hers. He belonged to Simone - and now that she was back - there would be no need for any other love in his life.

To be continued at a later date...

Cynaera & Leigh.

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