Birkoff chewed another piece of gum and scratched his head idly. It was late, and he was thinking of getting some sleep. A flashing light on one of the monitors caught his eye. Good, maybe something interesting for a change, he thought. It had been a boring week.

He hit a few keys and brought up the item that had been flagged for his attention. It startled him, and he laughed. "This is a TRIP!" he said. He dialed the number to Operations office, where the older man and Michael were having a discussion.

"Sir, I think you should see this."

"What is it, Birkoff?" Operations , ever vigilant, was already glaring at him through the glass wall of the tower office.

"One of our operatives could be exposed," Birkoff told him.

Birkoff waited until Michael and Operations descended the stairs and stood looking over his shoulder at his computer screen. "It's this page here, for missing persons..." he continued.

Just then Nikita returned from dropping off equipment at Walter's station and saw the three men. She flipped her hair back from her shoulder and strolled over to them, curious.

Birkoff went on. "Here's the message: Has anyone seen this man? Contact...let's see, La Petite is the user name. Cute..." Birkoff rolled his eyes. "Here's the picture..."

With a keystroke there appeared on the screen a familiar image. He was younger, his hair shorter, but he had the same lustrous eyes, the same proud face. Michael.

They all turned to look at the older version of the image. "Well?" said Operations. "Do you know this La Petite, Michael? She obviously knows you."

"No." Michael was totally impassive, but his face had lost color. "But I'll take care of it."

"You don't know, or you don't remember?" Birkoff grinned. "Who can keep track of all your women, eh, Michael?" He looked at Nikita for her reaction.

Something in her heart twisted sharply at his words, wrenching. I shouldn't feel this jealous, she thought. I shouldn't feel this pain. But she did.

"It's not a girlfriend or a contact. I don't know her, but I'll deal with it..." There was a hint of strain in Michael's voice.

Operations was not unduly alarmed by this turn of events. He suspected Michael was lying. La Petite was problably an old flame of Michael's, he speculated. He interpreted Michael's slight indications of stress as being due to the prescence of Nikita. La Petite was probably someone who hadn't heard about Michael's suicide in prison.

He, too, like Birkoff, had had a boring day. Operations decided to stir up a little excitement. "No, Michael," he said. "You won't be involved in this. It would risk more exposure." He paused. "Nikita will handle it."

Operations looked over at her. Her eyes widened and she flinched. "O.K., what do I do?"

"Birkoff will contact La Petite, saying he has information on Michael. You'll take the meet and find out if there's been any exposure."

"And if there has?" asked Nikita.

"Cancel her." Operations stared at each of them in turn: Birkoff, Michael, and Nikita.

"Of course," said Michael, his jaw clenched. Birkoff nodded. Nikita looked mulishly at the floor.

Operations turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, "Keep me informed."

"Yessir," said Birkoff. The younger man turned to look at Nikita and Michael. "This may take a while....before she responds to her e-mail, I mean. It may be a few days. I'll let you know."

"Whatever," said Nikita, pointedly avoiding looking at Michael. She started down the hallway for home, taking long, angry strides. Once again, an innocent would probably be hurt because of Michael. And she herself would have to pull the trigger.

"Nikita....." Michael's voice said from behind her.

"What, Michael?" said Nikita, temper flaring. "Are you going to tell me not to feel bad about killing this girl? Who is she? Why does she have to die? Because she tried to help you with a mission, or because she fell in love with you?" She turned to glare at him.

She was shocked to see his lower lip trembling. He took in a shuddering breath. "Nikita, help me. Please...." His green eyes pleaded with her.

"Who is La Petite?" asked Nikita again, this time more gently.

Michael looked away from her, his gaze unseeing, as if he was looking far into the past, and not at the Section hallway. He looked back at her.

"She's my sister," he said.

Nikita gasped, then recovered quickly, remembering where she was. She commented casually, "I just remembered, Michael. My car's been giving me trouble. Will you give me a ride home?"

Michael nodded, giving her a grateful look. "Of course. Let's go."

Arm in arm they walked out of Section One.

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

Nikita brought their coffee to the living room and settled cross-legged at one end of the couch, hugging one of her colorful pillows. Michael paced, as he had been doing for the last fifteen minutes.

"Michael, SIT!" she said firmly.

He stopped for a minute and looked at her. "What?"

"Sit down, Michael."

He settled on the other end of the couch but did not relax. He sat forward and rubbed his hand across his chin, staring at the rug.

"Michael, talk to me. I told you once, sometimes you have to trust someone.." Nikita said.

He sighed. "I remember." He turned to look at her. "I do trust you, Nikita."

"I'm right here," she said, smiling. He smiled back at her.

"Tell me about your sister."

"She's not my sister, actually..." he began.

"Not your sister?" Nikita was confused. "I thought you said she was?"

Michael sighed. He would have to tell her all of it. "She's really my second cousin, but we were raised together. I'm an only child. She was the closest thing to a sister I ever had."

"I see," said Nikita. "Go on. Why did she contact you now? Doesn't she believe you're dead, like the rest of the world?"

He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. "That's what I can't figure out. She was told I was dead. I don't understand why she's looking for me now, after all this time..."

"Do you think she's in some kind of trouble?"

"None that I know of."

"What does that mean?"

"I check on her from time to time. She was doing well; I get monthly reports...."

Nikita was somehow not surprised. "So, you spy on her. You don't need Birkoff to find her. You already know where she is."

He was silent. "Do you think she's seen you, perhaps? and that's why she's looking for you now?" said Nikita.

"No, that can't be it." Michael shook his head. "I send detectives. I've never gone myself. I've tried not to put her in danger..."

He looked at her , his eyes again pleading . "Nikita, please, help me. Help me keep her safe from Section One...."

Nikita leaned toward him and gripped his shoulder. "I'll help you, Michael, but you have to give me something to work with. You have to tell me more..."

He nodded. The idea of talking to her about his past disturbed him enough that he could not sit still on the couch. He got up and resumed his pacing again.

"My father was a diplomat. My mother involved herself in all the social activities, the hostessing, that went with that. They were...." He stopped.

"Yes? Were what?"

He took a deep breath. "They were shallow people obsessed with impressing others. They had total faith in their own importance, their superiority..."

Nikita thought of Michael as a little boy. Who loved this little boy, then, she wondered, if his parents were so cold sounding? "What about La Petite?" she asked.

"It was my mother's idea that they come live with us. Her cousin Eileen had been widowed and left with a small child, Nora. Nora was four years younger than me, and tiny. Everyone called her La Petite."

"That was nice of your mother to help them out," said Nikita. Certainly none of her own relatives had ever helped her and her mother.

Michael gave a short laugh. "There was nothing nice about it. Mother wanted her there so she could have someone to boss around all the time. Someone she could feel superior to, all day long. Someone she could play power trips with..." Michael paused.

"Eileen was treated like a servant," Michael went on. "She did the housework and cooking. Plus anything humiliating my mother could find for her to do..."

"How did Eillen treat you?"

Michael smiled, his eyes lighting up. Nikita cherished the sight. She didn't think she had ever seen him look this way before. "She called me her 'other child'. She treated me just like I was her own, like Nora was my sister. She had a pet name for me..."

"Oh?" said Nikita, smiling.

Michael almost blushed. "My hair was redder then. She called me ..."

"Called you what?"

"...Punkin..."

Nikita laughed. "Punkin, were you?"

"Yes. Nora was small, about four years old, when they first came. She called me Punk, she always called me that; she never called me Michael." His cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment.

"Well, Michael, you do trust me, don't you?" said Nikita.

They both laughed.

"Go on, Michael." Nikita was hoping to find out about why Michael had been recruited by Section One.

"They were both alike, Eileen and La Petite. Both kind and loving..."

"And they both loved you," Nikita said, trying not to envy him the second family he had had.

"Yes," said Michael, smiling.

"And then?"

"La Petite and I went to school together. Looked out for each other..." He smiled again. "She introduced me to Simone.."

Nikita caught her breath. She was almost afraid to say anything, do anything, to disturb Michael's flow of memories, his revelations. "Yes, Michael?" She encouraged him.

Michael's face clouded over, pain etched in his eyes. He sighed. "When my parents........died, Eileen inherited the house and everything , being the closest relative...."

"Not you?" said Nikita, puzzled.

"I was already in Section One."

Nikita knew he was leaving out the parts of his history she most desparately wanted to learn about, but she only said, "Go on, Michael."

"Eillen died a short time ago. Nora took care of her during her illness. She moved back into the house then. That's where she is now." Michael looked into her eyes. "Nikita, when Birkoff contacts you...."

"I know, we'll work out a plan. Michael, it will be all right..."

Michael nodded, trying to keep his control. Nikita thought there might be tears in his eyes. He surprised her by suddenly taking her in a fierce hug. Michael held her tightly for a moment, then let her go, kissing her cheek. "Nikita, thank you..."

"It's O.K., Michael," she said.

He picked up his coat and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Nikita sat up, drinking coffee, thinking. She didn't go to bed for a long, long time.

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

Two days later, Michael and Nikita were called in for a briefing. La Petite had replied to Birkoff's message.

They joined Operations, Walter, and Birkoff at the briefing table. The young and cynical computer genius began. "This La Petite is so trusting. Can you believe she gave me her home address?" He shook his head. "It's a very upscale part of town, very wealthy neighborhood. Let's see... " He read off the address to them, street and house number. Something about it was familiar. "Hey, isn't that....?"

Operations recognized it as well. "Michael!" he said angrily. "Is La Petite who I think she is? Did you risk everyone in Section One to contact her?"

"No, of course not," Michael replied impassively.

Operations stared at him for a moment, then said, "Good. We wouldn't want your sentimental family feelings to get you both cancelled, now would we?"

He glared at all of them around the table. "We go in twenty minutes."

Michael nodded and stood up. "Not you, Michael. It's only going to be Walter, Birkoff, and Nikita in the van. You're not going anywhere near her, do you understand?" Operations demanded.

"Yes," said Michael softly. Operations left.

Birkoff pulled on Michael's sleeve before he could also leave. "Wait, Michael. I think we need a back-up plan."

"Back-up plan?"

"Yes. In case Nikita's comm-unit, uh, fails," said Birkoff. "What do you think, Walter?"

Walter leaned back in his chair, looking impish. "I think she should just use two pulses if she needs us for anything. Otherwise, no audio- visual feed to Section is needed. Those things fail all the time anyway, right?" He grinned.

Michael looked at them gratefully. "Thank you, Walter. Thank you Birkoff," he said, pausing. "Those were excellent suggestions."

"O.K., Sugar, let's go," said Walter. They got up to head for the van.

Nikita smiled at Michael before she left. Under her breath she said, "I'll take care of her, Michael. Trust me." She squeezed his hand briefly and then followed Birkoff and Walter down the hallway.

Michael returned to his office. He had just sat down at his desk when there was a knock on the door. It was Walter.

"Michael, I thought you'd like to have this..." Walter said, holding something in his hand.

"What is it?" asked Michael, puzzled.

"It's Nikita's audio-visual unit. I got it to work, after all." He handed the device to Michael. "It'll only feed to you. Nikita won't know it's activated," Walter said, smiling.

Michael was stunned. "This is very good of you, Walter..."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. I'm good at fixing things." Walter nodded at him. "Gotta go..." He said, and left.

Michael leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. He did something he hadn't done in a long time. He prayed.

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

Nikita rang the door bell of the lovely brick mansion. The door was opened by La Petite herself.

She was unmistakeably related to Michael. Her coloring was like his, although more intense. The green eyes were darker, the skin more alabaster, and her hair a deeper shade of auburn. It curled around her face and down past her shoulders. She wore blue jeans and a denim shirt, her clothes almost too casual for the formal house.

"Hi! You must be Nikita. Please come in..." She had the same smile as Michael. "I'm Nora," she said as they shook hands.

Nikita entered, admiring the gleaming wood floors, ornate woodwork, and elegant carpets and furniture. "Your house is lovely," she said.

"Thank you," said La Petite. "It won't be my house much longer." She didn't sound sad about it. "Want to follow me to the kitchen? It's the coziest room in the house."

As they walked down the center hall together, Nikita asked, "Are you selling it?"

"No. I'm donating it to Hospice. It'll become a Hospice care facility, a real home for people with terminal illnesses..."

When they reached the kitchen, she continued. "My mother had their help when she was ill with cancer. Right after she died, I started looking for Punk. That's why I posted his picture on the Net..."

"I don't understand," said Nikita, taking a seat at the kitchen table with La Petite.

"Let me start at the beginning," Nora said. "When my mother was ill, the only thing she considered unfinished business was my cousin, Punk. Michael, I mean." She smiled. "That's what you called him in your e-mail."

She went on. "I guess she never accepted his death, or Simone's. She insisted he must still be alive somehow, odd as that sounds. She said she could feel it." Nora sighed. "She worried about him, about his safety.. She used to go to church and light a candle for him every week. For his protection, she said. When she got too sick, I did it for her. I still do."

"I'm sorry about your mother," said Nikita softly. She speculated that Eileen's prayers were powerful indeed. Not many had survived as long as Michael in Section One.

"Thank you," said La Petite. "You know, she never considered this her house. She was always waiting for Punk to come back and claim it. I wanted to do something positive with it, after all the violence here. I'm donating it to Hospice as a home, a place of comfort and peace. To counteract what it was....."

"What violence are you talking about?" asked Nikita.

"You don't know?" Nora looked at her, surprised. "I just assumed you must be from his lawyer's office..."

"No, no I'm not," said Nikita nervously.

"Oh? You knew Punk as a friend?"

"Yes, we were friends," Nikita said with more assurance.

"You must have been very young..." Nora gazed at her thoughtfully. "I don't think I remember you from school..."

"Why did you post on the Net, if you thought Michael was dead?"

"It was my mother's dying wish that I find him. She made me promise that I would look for him. She wanted me to give him back his life, this house, and some family heirlooms.... " She sighed. "So I searched. Detectives, the Internet, newspaper ads, whatever I could think of." She laughed. "It's funny, I almost believe it's true. I'd dearly love my mother to be right about this..."

Nora looked at Nikita and smiled. I'm astounded I got an answer. Please, tell me more about how you know my cousin."

"I...I knew him in school, like you said," stammered Nikita. " I never heard the exact details about how he died. Can you tell me more about that?"

"I'm very surprised you don't know about it. It was in all the headlines," said La Petite, her mouth grim, remembering. "You must have been out of the country when it happened, I guess.."

"Yes, I was," said Nikita brightly, grateful for her accent.

Nora looked at her thoughtfully. "You cared about him, didn't you?"

"Yes. Very much." At least not everything I tell her is a lie, thought Nikita.

"You still care about him, even after all this time. I guess that's how he was. A hard man to forget." Nora sighed. "I guess you, me, and my mother are proof of that...."

"What happened to him?" Nikita asked earnestly.

Nora looked at her. "It's not a pretty story, Nikita."

"Tell me."

"All right," said La Petite, and began.

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

The kettle whistled and Nora prepared them each a cup of tea. "I blame my uncle, really, Punk's father. He was...."

"Abusive?" suggested Nikita.

"Yes, but not in the sense you mean. Not physically. But he never saw Punk as a person in his own right. He was always an extension of my uncle's ego. Do this, to make me proud. Do that, to impress my friends. It was never about what Punk wanted, never what he found fulfilling."

She paused, her green eyes glittering angrily. "Punk's... Michael's..... feelings were never considered. Only what other people thought was important. See, when Punk wanted to play soccer, they made him play tennis. When he wanted to learn to play the guitar, they insisted he take piano lessons. Things like that. Punk did his best to please them."

Her expression softened. "But when it came to Simone, he didn't tow the line..."

"Simone was your friend?"

"Yes." Nora smiled, remembering. "Punk was always so shy. I had to do a lot of encouraging, pushing really, to get him to ask her out. But once he did, that was it. They hit it off immediately..."

Nikita was picturing Michael as....shy??? It fit, she supposed. Section training had changed him. Life had changed him from the innocent boy he once was. But the basic reserve was there, and the reticence. He certainly was good at not revealing too much of himself.

"Simone was so opposite. So out-going and lively. They were so good together," Nora continued.

"So they dated? They were high school sweethearts?" asked Nikita.

Nora shook her head. "It wasn't that simple. They kept their relationship totally hidden from his parents. My uncle had a totally different kind of girl picked out for Punk. You know, the right family, the right pedigree. He would never have approved of Simone."

"What did they do?"

"They snuck around. Punk was determined that this was the one thing in his life that his father wasn't going to control." The redhead sipped her tea. "We lied a lot. I said we had been together at the library, studying, or that I was the one he had taken to the amusement park or the movies."

Nora looked somber. "I guess we were partly responsible for what happened, because of all the lies.."

Her face fell, and she took her cup to the sink and leaned against the counter.

"Your uncle found out? He was angry?" Nikita asked, when Nora said nothing, just gazed out the kitchen window for a minute.

Another minute went by, and La Petite bowed her head, still not turning to face Nikita. Nikita realized that she was crying. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is so hard to talk about..." Nora raised her head and turned to look at Nikita. "But I think you deserve to know."

Somehow, she sensed that Nikita's interest in Michael was more than suface curiosity. That if she told the truth, she might get a truth in return.

She took a deep breath and began again.

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

"Michael knew that his parents would dissaprove of Simone, but he didn't care." Nora continued. "She was the one thing he wanted for himself. It was his rebellion, I suppose, against their control of everything in his life. They were in love. They wanted to be together...."

"To get married," said Nikita.

"Yes. They were deliberately careless about ...uh...protection. Simone got pregnant..."

Nikita winced. She knew about the baby. The baby that their torturer had taunted Michael about. The baby who had died.

"They were so happy about the baby. And they were so happy that night.."

"What night?" asked Nikita.

"The night they got married. They arranged it all without his parents knowledge. We didn't tell my mother, either. I was their bridesmaid. For Punk, it was important that the wedding was something completely of their own choosing, untainted by his parents' control or opinions."

"After the ceremony in front of the judge, he wanted to come back here with Simone and me. To tell his father he had a wife now. A wife of his own choosing. He wanted to tell him that he had a life of his own, and he would love whom he chose. Live as he chose. "

Nora sobbed. "He also wanted this...." She went out to the adjacent living room and retrieved something out of the desk drawer. She brought it back to the kitchen to show Nikita. She handed the small velvet box to her.

Nikita took it from her and flipped open the lid. The ring was breathtaking. The diamond in the center was large and perfectly cut, surrounded by perfectly placed smaller ones. It was obviously an antique.

"Our grandfather gave that to our grandmother. She died first. He specified in his will that the ring go to Punk's bride upon his marriage..." Nora explained. "If only he hadn't come back for it. If only they had run away that night, everything would have been so different. But he thought Simone should have this..."

Nikita closed the box and put the ring on the counter. She looked back at La Petite. "Nora, what happened? What happened that night?"

"After the wedding, we came back here. Punk went to the study, to face his father. Alone. Simone and I were in my room. I was trying on her veil. We were giggling, nervous, happy, scared...."

"I don't know what Punk told him, I just know they argued. My uncle was not used to being thwarted. About anything. He was in a rage." She stopped.

"Go on, please."

"We heard them arguing, yelling." Nora's eyes welled with tears. She said brokenly, "My uncle burst into my room. We had hidden the existence of Simone so well, I guess when Michael told him he had gotten married that night and that his bride was pregnant..."

Nikita gasped. "He thought he meant you.."

"Yes. I was standing there in Simone's veil..."

"What did he do?"

"He lost it. He started hitting me. Punk came to my defense. The fight was terrible. My aunt came in and tried to break them up. She said she had called the police..."

"My uncle was hitting Punk. He kept hitting him. I think that's all he could see at that point. He ignored Simone and me completely. He wouldn't listen to his wife. We were afraid he would kill him."

She closed her eyes tightly shut. Her voice was strained as she struggled to finish. "Simone went out to the gun cabinet in the hall... She came back with a loaded pistol and shot my uncle in the back."

Nora sobbed. My...my aunt tried to stop her, and the gun went off..."

Nikita gasped. "Ohh, Michael," she said. "Oh, God...."

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

"They went to prison...." said La Petite.

"But Michael didn't do anything!" protested Nikita.

"He made me swear to never tell anyone the truth. He made me say I was unconscious from the beating and that I never saw anything. He kept absolute silence...."

"And the police assumed he had done it?"

"Yes. Punk took the gun from Simone. She was in shock. The police arrived. They found him with the gun in his hand, his parents shot dead, the ring in his pocket..."

Nora sighed, and continued. "They said they did it in cold blood. For the inheritance. That they had planned it together..."

"And you didn't tell them the truth?" Nikita asked angrily.

"He wouldn't let Simone go to jail alone. He had to protect her. He said...." Nora paused. "He said I would never be his sister again if I told anyone."

"And you didn't tell anyone, did you? Not until now. Not until you told me just now..." Nikita realized it was true. "Why?" she asked.

"Because he's alive, isn't he?" La Petite gently touched Nikita's shoulder. "He's alive and you love each other. Isn't that right?" She smiled in spite of her tears.

Nikita answered warily. She wished she could tell Nora the truth. She struggled between caution and letting go. Caution won. "Tell me why you think that?" she said.

"Several things. You're young. Younger than me. I knew all his friends. I would have remebered you. You didn't meet him before he died in prison. You met him after, didn't you?"

"How could I meet him after he was dead?" Nikita tried to sound flippant, but it didn't come off.

"Their death was called a suicide pact. It was suspect from the beginning. I KNEW him. Perhaps better than anyone. He would never have taken his own life. He could never have taken Simone's life, let alone that of his own child..."

"I guess, like my mother, I never really believed he was dead." Nora looked at Nikita and smiled. "Now I know that he's not."

"Nora, I can't tell you anything...." Nikita gripped her arm and said intensely, "It's important for your safety that you don't believe he is alive. Do you understand?" Nikita pleaded.

Nora smiled wider and to Nikita's surprise, hugged her. "I understand Nikita. I understand everything..."

Nora released her and stepped back, wiping the tears from her eyes and smiling even brighter.

"You tell him I love him, O.K.? You tell him I'm happy he found someone like you to love him.. You take care of him for me..." She laughed. "I have a million questions. I guess you can't answer them, can you?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"It's O.K. Nikita, do you think he'd be happy with what I'm planning to do with his house?"

Nikita smiled. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Not everything will go to charity," Nora told her. "Here, this is for you," she said, pressing something into Nikita's hand.

"Give him this for me..." La Petite laughed in delight. She was still smiling when Nikita left a few minutes later.

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

The van returned to Section One.

Michael and Operations stood waiting for the team as they exited the black vehicle. Operations' eyes locked with Nikita's. "Well?" he demanded.

"It's O.K." she told him. "No exposure. Everything's fine."

"And?"

"La Petite wasn't so petite. She was almost as tall as me, and about twenty years older."

"Go on," ordered Operations.

"She was a real estate agent handling the sale of the house. She found that picture of Michael and was, what shall I say, IMPRESSED?" Nikita smiled. "She was too embarrassed to ask the sellers who he was."

"Yeah," said Birkoff. "She had it bad....." He smirked.

"You know, Birkoff," said Walter, "It isn't just young people who burn with the flames of passion--- we more mature types do, too...."

"Yes, we know, Walter," said Nikita, laughing.

"What did you tell her about Michael?" Operations continued his debriefing.

"I made him a hero in the U.N. Peacekeeping Force. Killed in Bosnia." Nikita tilted her head. "She was quite devastated, actually."

"Hey, it was a good picture," laughed Birkoff.

"What took you so long?" said Operations. "You were gone an hour and a half!"

"She wanted to give me a tour of the house," explained Nikita.

"Yeah," Walter said. "You know how women are when they talk about decorating...... or sexual fantasies. They're insatiable. Right, Sugar?" He grinned at Nikita, then said invitingly, "You can tell me yours anytime. I'll try my best to fulfill them...."

"Stuff it, Walter," said Nikita.

Operations tried to look disgusted, but he laughed in spite of himself. He gave Michael a parting stare, as if to say : Next time. Next time I'll mess with you. Turning on his heel, he left.

"Good work, Team," said Michael quietly.

He looked at all of them, but his eyes lingered on Nikita.

"Let's go, Walter. I got work to do," said Birkoff, pulling on his sleeve.

"Yeah, me too, Kid." They left together.

"Can I talk to you in your office, Michael?" Nikita asked.

He nodded. When the blinds were closed and the door was shut, Nikita spoke. "La Petite asked me to give you something. She insisted that you have this..."

She opened the box and took out the object inside. It was the ring. Heavy platinum, glittering with diamonds. It was large, but somehow not gaudy, but rather, elegant. It was beautiful.

"Here.." she said.

"Thank you, Nikita." He took it from her. She tried to pull back her hand, but he held it in his. He started caressing her fingers. She shivered.

"The ring doesn't belong with me..." he said.

"I know, Michael," she answered sadly. "It belongs with Simone. With your wife..."

She tried to concentrate as he bent to very lightly kiss the inside of her wrist, then continued to play with her fingers.

"The ring belongs to the woman I choose to love, Nikita..."

He slipped it on her finger, looking deeply into her eyes. He raised her hand in both of his, and brought it up to his lips, kissing it lingeringly, never taking his eyes from hers.

Nikita was too stunned to speak. Her knees trembled.

He released her hand gently and left.

Nikita leaned against his desk for support. She held out her hand to look at the ring, half believing what just happened wasn't real.

The ring glittered there on her finger. Michael loved her. He had just said so.

It was real.

She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand where Michael's kiss had been to her mouth.

I love you

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.
OR
If you would like to send a comment to Lorraine, click HERE!!