Staring across the desk at each other in his sterile gray office, Nikita and Michael found themselves both appalled at the the way their conversation was going.

Or not going. Neither had spoken for several minutes, the silence stretching out endlessly between them. Michael sat motionless, lips stiff, jaw clenched, eyes blank and readable, as the tension mounted with each wordless second that passed.

Nikita squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her lower lip trembling slightly. She had a wretched sinking feeling in her stomach, and a sudden urge to cry.

She hadn't meant it to come to this. She had had only the best of intentions....

She had awakened that morning to a beautiful sunny September day, feeling happy, until she had suddenly, wrenchingly, remembered what day it was. The tenth. The anniversary of Simone's death.

"Michael," she said outloud in her apartment as she lay in bed, letting the memories play out in her mind, re-running the past like a movie she had seen over and over.

Michael and Simone. The image of them together was as clear and sharp as that day a year ago when she had first seen them, holding each other in the Glass Curtain compound.

Simone. She had been a prisoner in a cage, scarred, beaten, sores oozing, dirty and tattered, but somehow still beautiful despite the years of torture she had suffered at the hands of Erroll Sparks, Glass Curtain's leader.

And Michael- Michael had been completely shattered by seeing her, the wife whom he thought was already dead. His unreadable mask was ripped off and thrown aside, his heart pierced.

He had clutched Simone to his chest, holding her tightly, as if he didn't want to ever let her go. Yet, at the same time, his embrace had been so delicate and careful, as if she were a piece of fragile, if damaged, china that he did not want to break further.

"My God," Nikita had heard him say in anguish as he held Simone, his cheek against hers. "My God," he had groaned, as if someone had plunged a knife into his soul and twisted it.

Nikita had watched the tears roll down Simone's face and had heard the soft, unmistakeable sounds, had seen the broad shoulders shaking, and knew that Michael cried with her.

Nikita had been somehow deeply shocked by this, that Michael could cry. She had come to believe that he was incapable of it, so convincing he had been in his role as the perfect Section machine.

His tears tore at her heart, and she realized that the cold exterior had all been a facade. And in that moment she knew she was looking into the heart of the REAL Michael- a human being, who could feel, who could love, who could be hurt.

With sudden clarity, Nikita realized that up until that moment what she had felt for Michael had not been love. There had been attraction, and admiration, and a sense of loyalty, maybe.... and of course, desire.

Michael was a mystery, and mysteries were always appealing. She admitted freely to herself, and to him, that she didn't understand him. She had only seen the outer shell of him; she had only seen what he wanted her to see.

But now that outer shell was gone. As she watched him kneeling on the cold floor of the cell where Simone had been treated like a caged animal, holding her with all his tenderness and sobbing with all his pain, Nikita knew she was seeing the true Michael. And she knew, in that moment, that she loved him.

But that had been a year ago. Michael had drawn close to her several times since then. Very close. But each time he got close, he pulled back. His natural reluctance to get involved, to be hurt again, as well as the suffocating restictions Section placed them under made having any kind of relationship difficult, to say the least.

What relationship they did have was, as usual, very strained at the moment. Sometimes Nikita thought about just giving up. It would be easier on both of them.

But she couldn't give up. Not today, of all days. She wanted to try. On this day, she wanted to try to reach out to him again-to the man she knew was inside- hurting, grieving, in need of comfort.

Nikita didn't know how she would do it, but she knew she couldn't let this day pass without somehow acknowledging Michael's loss, and her sympathy for him.

She felt the need to do this in a tangible way, to bring him something he could see and touch, something real...

Thus it was that she found herself stopping on the way to Section at the nearest drug-store, where her feet carried her automatically to the stationery aisle.

Feeling foolish, she scanned the racks of greeting cards, looking past the vast selection for birthdays and weddings, until she found the small area devoted to sympathy cards.

She read one after the other, her heart sinking. "This is DUMB," she muttered to herself. "Why am I doing this?"

But she kept on. None of the cards seemed appropriate for her to give to Michael. Some gushed effusive condolences, some had long, printed prayers, some were so formal and somber they seemed almost cold. None of them fit her relationship with Michael.

Whatever that was, she added in her thoughts.

She turned from the rack, disappointed, but still determined to get him something. Her eyes lighted on the rack of cards across the aisle, marked "Miscellaneous".

Her mouth turned up at one corner in a wry smile. "Miscellaneous" might fit, she thought.

Her gaze flickered over the display, then riveted on one particular card. She had found it.

The front of the card was a photgraph of a maple tree, blazing in fall colors of orange-gold-red, against a background of deep blue sky. Leaves littered the ground beneath it, forming a skirt of color around the tree that mirrored darkly the fiery hues above on the branches.

The photographer had captured the flight of one bright leaf as it fell. Frozen in mid-air, the leaf hovered between the dark ground and the blazing tree, as if forever suspended between light and dark, or life and death.

It was a perfect representation of their life in Section One.

Nikita stared at the card for a minute, then, with trembling fingers, plucked it from its slot in the display rack and opened it.

Inside were two simple words. "I care."

Nikita choked on a laugh as simultaneously the tears welled in her eyes. It was the perfect truth.

Sometimes she felt like she hated Michael as much as she loved him. She knew she didn't understand him; often she found herself confused and hurt by the choices he made about the job and their relationship. Often she felt angry with his decisions and betrayed by his lies.

She couldn't describe their relationship as close or intimate; she couldn't really call them 'lovers' or 'friends.'She didn't really know what they were to each other. But despite her lack of a definition for it, Nikita knew that this card would not be another lie between them.

Regardless of her confusion about her feelings for him, she DID care about him. She had always cared.

Her decision made, Nikita quickly snatched up the card and it's matching envelope and headed toward the check-out counter before she could change her mind.

**********

Nikita sat in her car for a long time before going in to Section, the card in her lap, and a pen in her hand hovering over it as she anguished over how to sign it.

At first she had intended to write an outpouring of her feelings, telling him how sorry she was about Simone, sorry about how Section had cheated him of a life with her.

Then she thought better of it, and decided to simply sign the card this way- "With Deep Sympathy and Respect. Love, Nikita."

But before she could touch pen to paper, she stopped, and then tossed the pen aside. She would let the card, the picture and the two words, speak for itself. She would give him the card, unsigned.

Things were complicated enough, she thought. Best to keep it simple.

A short time later, Nikita knocked on Michael's office door. The blinds were closed and she wasn't sure he was even inside. It would have been almost a relief if he was absent; then she could just leave the card on his desk for him to find later.

But that would have been cowardly, Nikita decided. Besides, she wanted to see him.

She knocked again and turned the knob, pushing the door open. Michael was there after all, sitting behind his desk, his eyes suspisciously bright.

None of the lamps in the office were turned on; the dim blue glow of the computer monitor was the only illumination in the room. Michael's hands were held loosely in his lap, and Nikita had heard no sound of typing as she had approached. It was obvious that Michael had been sitting in the dark, thinking, remembering, grieving.

"Yes?" he said sharply as he looked up at her standing in the doorway. Nikita's heart wrenched for him, and she was suddenly firecely glad that she ahd gotten the card. It hadn't been a foolish idea after all; Michael needed someone to care.

She stepped inside the office and closed the door behind her.

"Hi," she said nervously. "How are you?"

Michael stared at her for a moment, then asked, "Is there something you wanted?"

Angrily, he noted that his voice shook a little, despite his efforts to control it. It seemed he had no control over anything today. He couldn't stop the flood of memories that had washed over him all morning.

He had spent all night fighting the memories, too, as he saw the underground bunker with his wife inside explode again and again in his nightmares.

It had been a struggle to come in to work, knowing he had to act as if it was just another day. He had to pretend that it was not the anniversary of the day that he had gained his wife back from the dead for one brief moment, then lost her again, this time forever.

Watching the expression on Nikita's face as she gazed at him softly, Michael knew instantly that she remembered what day it was as well. But he could hardly bear her sympathy right now; as much as he was glad to see her and was comforted by her being near, her presence made it that much more difficult for him to stay in control.

He had to shove down his urge to go to Nikita and put his head on her shoulder and cry. He was sad, but he was angry, too. He had to stifle his desire to scream and yell and break something,to act out his rage and pain.

He stiffened his back and clenched his jaw, trying to hold on to his mask.

"Im busy," he said gruffly, when she did not reply immediately to his question. "I don't have tine for chit-chat."

He hoped the rebuff would make her leave, but it had the opposite effect.

**********

Nikita ignored his words and chose to read the expression on his face. The look of need and desperation in his eyes caught at her heart.

"It's O.K., Michael," she soothed. "I'm here."

Nikita could not stop herself from moving toward him. In a pure and natural impulse to give comfort, she crossed the short distance between them, from the door to his chair. She held out her arms, intending to embrace him.

But Michael would not allow it. He stood up from his chair and backed away from her. He knew that if she touched him, he would lose control completely. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. He couldn't. Not here. Not in Section.

Nikita froze, astonished to see Michael flinch back from her, almost as if he were afraid.

"Don't touch me," he begged, voice low and intense.

It was Nikita's turn to flinch. She stiffened and stepped back, his words stinging her sharply, almost as if he had delivered a physical blow.

Michael regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He would have welcomed the embrace, would have wanted her touch, if he were anywhere but here.

He wanted to pull her back to him, to beg her to hold him, but that was impossible. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips tightly together in a grim line, in order to keep the words from escaping his lips.

He fought for control, his heart conflicted, hoping she would leave, praying that she would stay.

Nikita stared at him for a moment, then stepped back further until the desk was between them again. She slumped down into her chair and Michael seated himself again in his.

Nikita saw his stricken look and decided to stay. Even though he had rejected this particular offer of comfort, she knew he needed her. He was like a wounded animal, needing help, but wary and skittish. She would give him time to calm down. She would wait for him to come to her.

But Michael didn't come to her. He sat rigid in his chair, face white, jaw clenched.

The seconds rolled by and became minutes, the tension between them rising higher. Nikita stubbornly remained in her chair, unwilling to leave him like this, so stressed....

Damn, she thought to herself. I haven't helped him at all. I've made everything worse. I wish I knew what to do...

A sudden sharp rap on the door startled both of them from their respective torment.

"Yes?" Michael called out.

The door opened and Nikita turned in her seat to see Birkoff peeking around the door-frame.

"There you are, Nikita," he said in relief. "I've been looking for you."

"What is it, Birkoff?" she asked, noting the younger man's anxious expression.

The young computer genius licked his lips nervously. "Madeleine wants to see you in her office," he told her. "Right away."

Nikita sighed, accepting the summons with weary resignation. Michael, if possible, looked even more distraught at this news.

She nodded, and got up slowly from her chair. "Thanks, Birkoff," she said, walking to the doorway. She turned to give Michael one last uncertain, if pleading, glance, and left the room.

When the door had closed behind them, Michael let out a long breath and closed his eyes. He didn't believe in intuition, but he just had a sudden and sharply disturbing premonition that something bad was going to happen to Nikita.

He couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of doom he felt, his anxiety growing to a level that almost rivaled the intensity of his grief. It was as if he sensed that she would be taken from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

*Please,* he begged silently to whatever gods were listening. *Please. I can't go through it again. Please, not again.....*

**********

"You wanted to see me?" Nikita asked in the doorway of Madeleine's office.

The older woman smiled. "Yes, come in," she invited pleasantly.

Nikita settled cautiously in the chair in front of the glass-topped desk and gave Madeleine her best imitation of Michael's blank stare, appearing outwardly calm. Inwardly, she was a little unnerved- Madeleine's smiles were never a good omen.

Madeleine leaned back in her chair with an attitude of studied casualness. "We have a problem," she stated simply. "We need your help with it."

Nikita raised an eyebrow. "What kind of problem?" she asked warily.

Madeleine tilted her head and looked at her speculatively. "We think one of our operatives is leaking intel," she answered tensely.

"To Red Cell?" Nikita blurted out, shocked. The idea of a traitor among them was unsettling, but it made sense. That would explain why so many missions had gone wrong lately.

"We don't know," Madeleine said curtly. "Right now, we need to concentrate not on where the information is going, but on stopping the leak at its source."

"Do you have a suspect?" Nikita asked tensely.

"Yes," the older woman answered, her brown eyes hard. "We want you to bring him down."

Nikita nodded. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, automatically falling into mission-mode. She tried not to think about how distasteful the idea of spying on a colleague was to her.

Madeleine's expression lightened, and she smiled ever so slightly. "We need you to gain access to his private files, which are probably at his residence, and not here in Section..."

To do that, you will have get close to him, earn his trust. You will have to spend the night at his place, of course..." Madeleine went on smoothly.

Nikita paled. You mean, have sex with him," she choked out with repugnance.

Madeleine's eyes hardened, and she leaned forward in her chair.

Remember what I taught you, Nikita," Madeleine admonished her in a serious tone. "Your femininity is your greatest weapon. Sleeping with him will be the quickest, most effective way to get under his defenses."

Nikita shook her head, grimacing. "Madeleine, I don't know, I.."

Madeleine cut her off. "It's not an option, Nikita," she said sharply. "It's an order. You WILL ask him out, seduce him, f*ck him, and get into his files. Is that clear?"

Nikita closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and agreed. She knew she had no choice. "Yes. Very clear." she answered softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"We have to move quickly," continued Madeleine, going on with her briefing. "We can't afford to let him go on betraying us."

Nikita nodded. "How much time do I have?" she asked, trying not to think about the implicatons of her new assignment.

Madeleine stared at her gravely. "I want it done tonight," she stated flatly.

Nikita gasped. "Tonight? But I'll need time to build a rapport, get him to trust me..." she protested. "It'll be difficult..."

Nikita felt soiled just thinking about it. What could be more soul-damaging than pretending to care about someone, gain their intimate trust, and then, when they were the most vunerable, betray them?

She hated the idea. She didn't know if she could go through with it...

"It won't be difficult at all," Madeleine responded. "He already has a rapport with you. He already desires you. And, most important of all, he already trusts you."

"Madeleine, who is it?" Nikita asked tensely, preparing herself to hear the name of the traitor that she would betray in turn. She desperately hoped she would not hear the name of the man she knew with soul-wrenching certainty that it would be.

She was still shocked when Madeleine told her the obvious.

"It's Michael, of course," she said.

***********

Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Nikita strolled determinedly into the Systems bay where Michael was studying the details of a sim rep for an upcomimg mission.

The holographic image of a large office building hovered above the table, casting a multi-colored glow across Michael's black clothes and his equally dark expression. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a scowl on his face. He had hoped working on this project would distract him, but nothing seemed to help.

He still mourned Simone. He still couldn't stop thinking about Nikita.

Nikita watched from the doorway for a moment, then gathered her courage. Let's get this over with, she thought to herself.

"Hi, Michael," she said, and smiled brightly at him.

Startled, Michael looked up from the sim rep and stared back at her. He was surprised to see her so soon after the tense scene in his office that morning.

"Hi," he said, with no inflection in his voice. He had his mask back on, his face blank and unreadable.

Nikita was not deterred. She plunged on. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee," she invited with a nervous smile. "If you're free, that is...."

Michael's expression did not change, but his eyes widened. What was going on? He raised one eyebrow.

"Coffee?" he said, puzzled.

Nikita shot him a pleading look. "Yeah, coffee," she answered, letting a little desperation creep into her voice despite the flippancy of her words. " You know- my favorite drug. I could really use a caffeine fix right now. How about you?"

She paused and licked her lips. "Please?" she begged.

Michael fixed her with his green eyes for a moment, then gave in.

"Why not?" he said, with a small gallic shrug of his shoulders. Something had happened in Madeleine's office and he wanted to know what it was. Besides, the chance to be with her and to leave Section for a little while was vastly appealing to him.

And she looked like he felt- like she wanted to escape.

He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Let's go," he said, feeling himself relax for the first time that day.

"Good," Nikita told him, letting out a relieved sigh.

Impulsively, he took her hand and smiled at her. Nikita almost flinched; the smile was like a knife-wound in her heart. His hand in hers, she preceded him out of Systems and out in the hall.

She couldn't help feeling like she was leading a lamb to the slaughter.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

In the small, but cozy, coffee shop nearby, they had chosen a booth by the window. Sunlight streamed in on them and glinted brightly off the cups and plates on the table between them.

It was still late morning, not too late for breakfast, so Michael had ordered them croissants to go along with their cafe'au lait.

As she watched Michael eat and sip his coffee, Nikita struggled to choke down her own breakfast. A horrible sense of guilt had closed up her throat; she wondered if this was how Judas felt at the Last Supper, watching the Christ partake of his final meal before the betrayal.

Michae put down his coffee cup and gazed at her across the table with serious eyes. He knew something was bothering her, beyond their difficult tete-a-tete that morning.

"What did Madeleine want from you?" he asked pointedly.

Nikita feigned surprise. "What?" She paused to give him an innocent look. "Oh, THAT. It was nothing, really. She had a question about the last debrief, that's all."

Michael digested the lie, then probed again. She was distressed about something.

He leaned forward, and put his hand on her arm. "Nikita," he insisted. "Why did you ask me out for coffee?"

Niktia smiled tremulously at him. "I-- I wanted to apologize for earlier." She rushed on, knowing that at least this part of their conversation was the truth.

"I didn't mean to upset you. It was stupid of me to expect you to hug me in Section. I just... I just wanted to...."

She lowered her eyes, and squeezed his hand in hers. "I just wanted to comfort you," she finished.

Michael nodded, and rubbed her hand, fingers moving caressingly over hers. "I know you did, Nikita," he said softly. "And I... over-reacted. I'm sorry..."

"No! No, don't YOU apologize," she interrupted him, placing her fingers lightly against his lips. "You had every right to be angry...."

Michael gave a small shake of his head, then captured her hand in his and kissed the fingers she held against his lips in a tender gesture of forgiveness.

Nikita felt even more like a traitor.

She pulled her hand from his and dug into her coat pocket for the card she had purchased earlier. "I didn't get the chance to give you this," she went on, extracting the envelope and holding it out to him.

His eyes widened, and he took the envelope carefully from her fingers. They had never before exchanged any tokens of their relationship between them. It wasn't safe to leave traces or clues for Madeleine to find. The fact that Nikita had been brave enough to do so now told him of the depth of her feelings.

He glanced over at her one more time, and then, hands tremblig slightly, opened the envelope and read the card.

Nikita held her breath. She watched, awed, as his face softened and he looked up from the card to gaze at her with adoring eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered sincerely. "It's perfect..."

Michael smiled at her. It felt good to be here with her like this. He felt better than he had all day. Lighter, freer...

Nikita, however, felt more miserable than ever.

"I was going to write something, to sign it, but I didn't know exactly how..." Nikita stammered awkwardly. She swallowed hard, and finished. "How to tell you how sorry I am about Simone."

Michael nodded, and looked out the window, not seeing the world outside, his thoughts turned inward. He was touched by Nikita's gesture and by her courage in acknowledging his loss.

It hit him suddenly that, when it came to down to it, he had never been nearly as courageous. Had he ever been brave enough to face his grief, to come to grips with the magnitude of his loss?

If he was being honest with himself, the answer would have to be 'no'. He realized he had never really grieved for Simone. He had pushed his emotions down, he had buried himself in work. He had shoved the rage and pain in a deep recess inside and locked the door on it.

Michael realized suddenly that his way of dealing with it- never mentioning Simone's name, acting as if she, and their life together, had never existed, pretending he was not in agony - was denial, not grieving. Nothing had healed. The wound was still there, the pain as sharp as ever...

He had denied that pain for a year. But now, today, he could deny it no longer. The emotions he had shoved down so deep were forcing their way back up to the surface. Like lava, the buried feelings were inexorably rising, creating fissures in his control, cracking his hard outer crust, demanding release....

He had to talk to someone.

As if she heard his thoughts, Nikita squeezed his hand and offered her presence again. "Michael, I'm here," she said quietly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He turned hopeful green eyes to hers. She was the one person he could share his feelings with. The one person who would understand. The one person he trusted.

Sighing, he made his decision. "Yes," he said gratefully. "Yes, I would like to talk about it."

Nikita smiled tenderly at him, almost forgetting about her assignment in her enchantment at this new openness between them.

She stettled back in her seat, relaxing for the first time. "Go on," she urged. "Please. Tell me about Simone."

Michael swept his gaze around the busy restaurant, suddenly feeling exposed. If he was going to bare his soul, he need more privacy. He needed the most private place of all.

"O.K.," he answered, "but not here." He stood up and threw some money on the table. He reached for Nikita's hand. "Let's go," he said.

Nikita nodded quickly and slid out of her seat. "Sure, Michael," she agreed. "Where do you want to go?"

She half expected him to say her apartment, since that was where they had had most of their previous serious conversations. It was too early to ask him to take her to his home; she wasn't sure how to approach him on that point. He had never mentioned even the possibility of going there before.

When he answered her, she was shocked.

"My place," he said shyly, and took her hand. Nikita, stunned and speechless, could only nod and follow him out into the sunlight.

*********

Michael's house was not at all what Nikita had expected. Somehow she had imagined that it would be like his office- sleek, modern, colorless, and impersonal. It was none of those things.

Micharl lived in a jewel of a Victorian two-story, the exterior all rosy brick and white-painted gingerbread trim. It was not a large house as Victorian houses go, but every room was perfect. Hardwood floors and wainscoating gleamed in warm oak throughout.

As they stepped into the wide center hall, Nikita admired the impressive stairway. It was a marvel of carved curves, rising past a landing with a stained glass-window that spilled softly colored light across the steps.

From the hallway, she could see that the ground floor consisted of living room, dining room, parlour, and kitchen- each painted in a different, deep tone to echo the colors in the stained glass- emerald green, dark rose, indigo blue, and rich yellow.

The furniture was was not all of the period, but an eclectic mix of styles, including modern. Amazingly, everything went together.

Nikita noted with interest the Asian touches here and there- an oriental rug, a painting on silk of cherry blossoms, a lacquered chinese cabinet, and a small statue of the Buddha on the coffee table.

"It's beautiful," Nikita said in wonder.

Michael looked pleased. "Simone and I picked out the house together. But she did most of the decorating."

He gestured for her to come in to the parlour. "Can I get you something?" he asked, playing the good host. "Some coffee?"

Nikita shook her head. "No. No, thanks."

She walked into the room, attracted by the picture on the mantel. It was a snapshot of a younger Simone, strong, unscarred, hair long and flowing past her waist. She was smiling blissfully into the camera.

Nikita turned to look at Michael, a question in her eyes.

"That was taken a long time ago," Michael explained. "On our first date."

It was Michael's favorite picture of his wife. It captured her essence so completely, her liveliness, her beauty. He had fallen in love with her that night, when she had kissed him for the first time.

It felt good to think of those early, happy times. He had forgotten to do that, so overwhelmed as he was by the horror that had so quickly come afterwards. It was good to realize he could look at Simone's picture and feel something other than pain.

He smiled wistfully and turned to look at the woman beside him; Nikita was watching him with tears of sympathy in her eyes. She seemed as affected as he by the memories. He realized it would not be as hard as he thought to talk to her about the past.

Suddenly, he felt the overwhelming need to tell her all of it. Not just about the past, but the present, as well. He had to make her understand what had happened with Simone; how he had let himself love her, then lost her.

That was why he shoved Nikita away now- to protect himself, to protect HER. He had to tell her that he couldn't bear another loss like that. That he would die if anything happened to her..

He had to tell her that he loved her.

He grabbed her hand and held it tightly in his. "There are more pictures upstairs in my office," he told her, voice trembling. "Can I show them to you?"

"Of course," Nikita agreed, nodding.

His office, Nikita thought. His office would have his computer. A jolt of guilt hit her, stinging sharply. She felt even more like a Judas than before.

How could she do this to him? What would happen if she didn't?

Following him up the stairs, she couldn't help but feel that perhaps Section was right- maybe Michael was leaking intel; maybe he was was seeking revenge.

He certainly had a motive, if he suspected that Section knew Simone was alive and had lied to him about it, not attempting to retrieve her, but leaving his wife to be tortured for three years at the hands of their terrorist enemies.

Nikita shuddered. What Glass Curtain had done to Simone had scarred her not just on the outside, but on the inside as well. In the end her need for revenge had consumed her. She had chosen retribution, dying with Sparks, her captor, over life with Michael. She had chosen hate over love.

Had Michael done the same? Had he chosen to revenge Simone's death, no matter what the cost? Was he a traitor?

"This way," Michael said, interrupting her thoughts. They had reached the top of the stairs and Michael led her to a room to the right of the landing. He opened the door and then stood back to let her enter.

Nikita was startled to find herself standing in what was obviously Michael's bedroom. "Michael?" she asked, voice rising uncertainly.

He only smiled and crossed to a door in the far wall. Nikita, puzzeld, assumed it was a door to the closet, but when he opened it with a key, she saw that this was indeed his office.

One hundred years ago when the house had been built, the original purpose of the room had been to serve as a nursery. Now the small space housed a desk, a chair, the computer, a bookcase, and two filing cabinets. It was incredibly cramped compared to his office in Section.

It struck Nikita that this room was about the size of a prison cell. Or Simone's cage. It was almost as if Michael had subconciously chosen to work in a space that reminded him of how trapped he was by Section One. Or by his past? she wondered.

Nikita's eyes were drawn against her will back to the computer on the desk. It seemed to sit silently accusing her. Nikita swallowed hard. If she did this, if she spied on him and proved him a traitor, she would be more of a traitor than he was.

God, how can I do this to him? she thought in anguish.

Oblivious to her torment, Michael went on being open about his past.

"This is what I wanted to show you," he said, half eager, half shy, as he lifted a photo album bound in dark leather off the top shelf of the bookcase.

He handed the album to her and flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

"This is our wedding day," he said softly, pointing to a picture of himself and Simone standing outside in front of a court-house. Nikita bent her head closer to get a better look.

Simone was smiling, looking radiant in a white suit that set off the blue-black highlights in her glossy hair. Michael stood next to her, his arm inked through hers, looking impossibly young in his jacket and tie. His hair was shorter then, and his face was free of the lines of weariness and pain that marred it now.

They were happy. The worst was still ahead of them.

Nikita choked back tears. "You're both so beautiful," she whispered. ***********

"You look so young," Nikita said wistfully. "So happy."

She felt hot wetness stinging her eyes and looked up to see that Michael's eyes were tear-filled as well. His lower lip trembled.

He had thought looking at the pictures would help, would ease his pain, but it was still too hard. It hurt too much. The stark contrast between what he had then- youth, hope, love- and what he had now- fear, loneliness, despair- was too great.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I can't do this...."

Choking back a sob, he rushed from the room.

Nikita rushed after him. She dropped the album on the desk and ran from the office into the bedroom. He was standing at the bedroom door, ready to flee into the hallway.

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

He stopped in his flight from the room and turned to look at her. Nikita was appalled to see the look of pain and desperation on his face.

"It's O.K.," she said again, going to him. "I'm here..."

Unconsciously, automatically, she offered the comfort she had tried to give him earlier that day in Section. She put her arms around him, enfolding him in her embrace.

Michael uttered a cry and reached for her, holding her tight. She felt him shudder in her arms as the fierce, racking sobs took him. She clung to him, stroking his hair and murmuring soft words of comfort to him, as he surrendered himself to his grief.

"Shhhhh, Michael," she said, her heart breaking open for him. She felt something loosen and open in her soul as well, some deep need that rose to the surface, welling up, overtaking her.

In that moment, she stopped holding back. Michael's brokenness, his honest revelation of the raw truth of his heart, demanded that she do no less than he.

The words came, flowing out in an inexorable flood as the dam holding in her emotions broke, all her tender feelings released.

"Michael," she murmured, and kissed his temple. "Michael, please. I care about you so much. I can't stand to see you in pain. I.. I want so much to help you, to be there for you...."

She held him tighter, cheek pressed hard against his. "I wish I had the power to change things, to transform your life, to make you happy..."

Michael held perfectly still, his sobs quieting. "You do..." he whispered. "You do..."

He pulled back from her slightly to look into her eyes, a tremulous smile on his lips. "You must know that. You are the only bright spot in my life, the only source of hope.."

Nikita stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I think I would have ended it all if you hadn't come along," he continued softly, green eyes riveted on her face. "You transformed everything. You are.... everything...."

Nikita took in a sharp breath, too mesmerized, too stunned, to speak.

He let out a deep sigh, and his grip tightened on her shoulders. "That's why I'm scared," he confessed in a rush. "That's why I'm afraid to get too close..."

His voice trembled as he finished. "I don't want to lose you," he said hoarsely.

Nikita gasped, and then lifted her hand to tenderly caress his cheek. "That will never happen," she promised. "You'll never lose me. I'll always be here for you..."

"I love you, Michael," she vowed solemnly. "Always..."

The anguished look on Michael's face dissolved instantly into one of joy. With a loud cry, he pulled her hard against him and covered her mouth with his.

Lips melted together, opening, surrendering, joining to become one. Standing locked together, they were no longer two separate people, Michael and Nikita, but one being. Arms around each other, bodies pressed close, they were merged without boundaries-They were now michaelandnikita, a new creation, born in the shared breath of the kiss.

There was no language for what they shared, no way to describe the interflow of their feelings, the merging of their souls, the interchange of their hearts. But despite the impossibility of expressing it in words, Michael still tried.

"I love you," he groaned against her mouth. "Nikita, I love you, too."

**********

Nikita, speechless with the magic of the moment, could only whimper and pull him closer, shivering, as his mouth again came down on hers. She was touched to the core of her soul by his words, awed by the beauty of his surrender. Held tightly in his arms, she could feel him trembling as much as she was.

But there was no room for more thoughts as she was swept away in a rush of sensation as Michael's kiss, their kiss, deepened in fervency, becoming more urgent.

Again as one, they moved forward into the room, as one fell on the bed, bodies and hearts entwined. Eyes closed, panting hard, Nikita gave herself up to the escalating passion. Lost in the kiss, she unconsciously ran her hands down Michael's back, mindlessly tugging on his shirt, wanting to pull it up so she could feel his warm skin under her touch.

Michael, in turn, frenziedly did the same. "Nikita..." he groaned again, kissing the bare expanse of shoulder that he had revealed by pulling back her blouse.

He lowered himself on top of her, and they lay, bodies fitted together, his long legs stretched out over hers, arms around each other, as the fire between them ignited and flamed higher.

Nikita arched her back, causing her hips to press more closely against his. She tossed her head and a small moan escaped her as Michael's lips first nipped at her neck and then moved lower to taste the rosy pink tip of one firm, round breast.

"Nikita," Michael groaned between the ever more urgent caresses of his mouth against her soft skin. "Nikita, please...." he breathed against her nipple, taut and hardened with desire, as he was.

"Make love with me," he begged hoarsely.

Nikita's eyes flew open, and she stiffened in his arms, her hands now motionless on his body. She had been lost in the moment, but now his words shocked her back into reality.

The mission. She was doing just what Madeleine had ordered her to do. She had gotten under Michael's defenses, had gotten close to him; she was in his house, was in his bed.

She was about to screw him like a good little Section whore. She couldn't do this to him.

"No!" she shouted, panicking at the thought of what she had almost done. "No, Michael! I can't!" she cried, anguished, and put her hands against his chest to shove him away for her, as if to keep from soiling him at her touch. She felt so contemptible, so dirty....

Michael froze. "W-what?" he gasped.

His eyes widening with shock and hurt, he was too stunned to stop her when she pushed him over on his side and wriggled out from under him.

"I can't..." she sobbed again, and fled from the room. She was halfway down the stairs when Michael recovered himself enough to follow her. He felt like he had just had the wind knocked out of him, her inexplicable rejection hitting him like a hard blow. What had he done?

"Nikita!" he called out, scrambling off the bed and tearing down the hall in a dead run. He took the stairs two at a time and caught up with her in the front hallway.

Distraught and crying, Nikita struggled with him as he tried to pull her back into his arms.

"Nikita, please," Michael pleaded, his voice gently soothing. "Nikita, please tell what's wrong?"

She collapsed, sobbing, against his shoulder. "Michael.... I'm sorry..."

He stroked her hair tenderly and rested his head against hers. Her tears alarmed and puzzled him, but hope had not fled. Maybe now he would find out why he had felt so apprehensive for her earlier that day.

He had been right- something was wrong, some danger threatened them, and he was determined to find out what it was.

Mind racing, he tightened his arms around her. He would find a way to help her, to save her, he vowed silently. He would protect her at all costs.

"Shhhh," he said softly, murmuring into her hair. "Whatever it is, we'll work it out. Let me help you.."

***********

Nikita heaved a deep shuddering sigh against Michael's chest. She was numb; she didn't know what to do. But despite her panic and confusion, being in his arms made her feel safe. The strength of his presence calmed her.

"All right," she agreed softly, pulling back from him and wiping her eyes roughly with her hand. She gave him a brief, tremulously brave smile.

"Come," Michael invited gently, taking her hand. "Come, we'll talk about it, all right?"

She found herself nodding in assent, and let him lead her through the main passage of the house to the kitchen. It turned out to be the room with the warm yellow walls that she had glimpsed from the entrance hall earlier.

Michael led her to the round oak table and pulled out a chair for her. She collapsed into it gratefully, then leaned her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands, her thoughts still in turmoil.

"Tea?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, Michael crossed to the stove and turned on the burner beneath a large copper tea-kettle. Then he bustled around the kitchen, retrieving cups and spoons and placing them on the long expanse of counter.

Nikita sat silent and unmoving at the table, knowing he was very thoughtfully giving her time and space to collect herself. She was grateful for his patience.

Heaving a sigh, she lifted her head up and looked at him. He was watching her with such concern in his eyes, and a little fear as well. He was beautiful. He was the man who loved her.

Her confusion dissipating, it was suddenly, overwhelmingly clear what she must do. She had to tell him the truth.

"Michael," she told him, her voice suprisingly calm, "I'm under orders to please you."

*********

Michael stood frozen in shock. His face went white, and a look of deep pain flickered in his eyes. His back went rigid, his whole body tensing as he stared at her, unable to speak.

Nikita looked at him and felt the bottom drop out of her world. It was the most frightening moment of her life. She prayed she would have the courage to tell him the rest. To explain.

Her eyes drank him in. This may be the last time we ever talk, she thought despairingly. He may never want to speak to me again after he hears what I have to say.

But she knew she had to tell him the truth. Her throat was suddenly bone dry. She struggled to find the words.

The two stared at each other, the silence stretching out between them.

A sudden, high- pitched, almost human wail shattered the quiet; it was the tea- kettle on the stove, shrieking plaintively, the noise breaking their trance of horror.

Michael turned, bewildered, at the sound, as if he was too distracted to know what the shrieking behind him was for. He was lost in a nightmare again.

He stared blindly at the stove-top, making no move to lift the kettle off the burner. The piercing wail went on, growing more strident.

Nikita rose swiftly and crossed to the stove. Michael stood numbly, unmoving. She leaned against him as she reached over to turn off the burner and remove the the tea-kettle from the heat.

Blessedly, the wailing stopped.

Nikita reached for Michael's hands, holding them in both of hers. He only looked at her, letting his fingers rest unresistingly in her grasp.

She met his eyes, her look pleading for his understanding. Breathlessly, she began her explanation.

"Michael," she said, words coming out in a rush. "This morning, in Madeleine's office, she ordered me to get into your personal files..."

"Why?" he asked, voice tight with tension.

Nikita squeezed his hands in hers. "Someone inside Section is leaking intel," she told him. "They think it's you."

Michael stayed silent, and after a moment, she went on.

"Madeleine told me I had to get close to you. To get into your house, into your computer..." She swallowed hard and continued in an anguished whisper.

"She told me to do whatever it takes..." Nikita told him, voice trembling.

Michael interrupted her. He sounded shocked and hurt, as well as angry. "You mean, she told you to f*ck me, didn't she?" he blurted out hoarsely.

Nikita closed her eyes. Those were Madeleine's precise words. "Yes," she whispered, gripping his hands in hers tighter still.

With a grunt of pure visceral pain, Michael pulled his hands from her grasp and backed away from her, her words stabbing him like a sword thrust in his gut.

Wounded, he turned his head away. "I see," he said in a shaky voice. "So it was all a set-up. All of it. The date, the card you gave me, your sympathy, your ... words...."

He turned haunted green eyes back to her, liquid with pain. "Did she order that, too?" he choked out huskily. "Did Madeleine order you to tell me that you loved me?"

Nikita stared at him in horror. "Michael, no!" she gasped. "Michael, please...."

Instinctively, she reached for him, raising up one hand to lay her palm against his cheek. Michael stood rigid, not responding, but not resisting, her touch.

"Michael, please let me explain," she begged. "Please-- it wasn't all a lie..."

The look of terror in his eyes softened slightly, and he let out a shuddering sigh.

"All right," he agreed reluctantly, bracing himself for more pain. "Tell me."

Nikita let out a long breath and looked at him gratefully. "Today..." she began. "Today, I knew that you would be hurting, and I wanted to comfort you..."

She hurried on, breathlessly. "I got the card on my way into Section. I went to your office to give it to you. Then Madeleine called me in to her office.."

"I hated the idea of spying on you, but I felt I had no choice," Nikita continued. "I felt like such a traitor when I asked you out for coffee. I didn't know if I'd be able to go through with it..."

Michael wanted desperately to believe her, but his defenses were still up. "You seemed to find it easy enough. You knew just what to say to disarm me, to get me to open up.."

"You had no trouble getting under my defenses," he whispered.

She stroked his cheek with the gentlest of touches, and looked into his eyes. "Michael, you KNOW that was real," she insisted. "I DO care, you know that..."

She went on, voice pleading urgently. "Once we started talking, I forgot about the mission- I was so caught up in the fact the you were letting me in, that we were being honest with each other about our feelings..."

"Please believe me," she begged. "It was all true, all of it.."

Michael's gaze softened again, and she felt the muscles in his jaw relax under her hand.

"Then it's true?" he asked, half in wariness, half in wonder. "You do love me?"

The look on his face was one of total vunerability.

With a soft moan, Nikita reached for him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. "Michael, yes," she declared fervently. "Yes... YES, I love you. I love you..."

With a deep sigh, Michael brought his arms up around her and held her tight, returning her embrace with a fervency as deep as her own. They stood clasped together, heart against heart, in a holy moment of accord and reunion.

"I love you too much to betray you," she whispered against his shoulder. "I couldn't go through with it..."

"Not today. Not here," she told him. "Not... in your arms, in your bed..."

She shook her head and sighed. "I couldn't, Michael. Not like that..."

She hugged him tighter. "Michael, what are we going to do?"

Michael hugged her back. "I don't know," he said, startling Nikita with how happy he sounded. "We'll figure something out...."

He pulled back from the embrace to look at her, eyes glittering. "In the morning," he added in a husky voice.

He bent his head and began eagerly kissing her, mouth moving hungrily over hers.

Shocked, Nikita broke the kiss, gasping. "In the morning?" she asked, surprised.

"Oui," he groaned hoarsely against her neck. "TONIGHT, I need you..." He kissed her again.

"I want you to stay with me, be with me..." he breathed.

He kissed her once again. "Please, Nikita," he begged. "Make love with me...."

In answer Nikita gave a sharp cry that was half laugh, half sob, and pulled his face down to hers for another kiss. They blended together once more as the kiss deepened, Nikita wanting to demonstrate the truth of her words, wanting to show him with the kiss, with her whole self-mind, soul, body- that she loved him.

"Michael, yes," she moaned over and over, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Michael, yes..."

She was still groaning the words softly in his ear as she felt herself lifted up in Michael's arms, the joyous assent echoing between them as he clutched her to his heart and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

**********

Nikita awoke the next morning in Michael's bed, lying snuggled up against him as he slept. She blinked a few times and lifted her head up, looking around dazedly. She was almost convinced she was dreaming.

But she wasn't. She was awake, and it was just another morning, like all the others. The sun had risen as usual, the birds twittered in the trees, and the sounds of traffic on the street below indicated the start of another ordinary day. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

Yesterday, Michael had told her that he loved her. And all through the night he had shown her how much with his fervent love-making. He had told her how beautiful she was over and over-- with his words, his kisses, his touch, with the urgent thrusting of his body into hers, and with his passionate, incoherent cries of release as he reached fufillment joined with her, body and soul.

Afterwards he had just held her, encircling her tightly in his arms, his head against hers. He held her a long time like that, until she felt his grip slacken, his breathing slow, and his head fell back on the pillow as sleep overtook him.

But still, he held on. She was still wrapped in his arms when she awakened.

Impulsively, she kissed the smooth skin of his shoulder where she lay nestled against his chest, inhaling the delicious warm scent of him, tasting the salt on his skin....

His grip tightened again as he stirred and opened his eyes.

Her breath caught at the sweet, heart-wrenching smile of joy that spread across his face as he looked at her. That smile was something she wanted to remember the rest of her days.

"Good morning," she said with a happy laugh. That smile had made her giddy, and she felt as if she had just had several glasses of fine champagne.

In answer to her greeting, Michael said nothing, but lowered his head and began nipping her neck and shoulder, raining soft kisses on her skin.

Nikita's laugh turned into soft moans. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, growing ever more intoxicated as Michael's mouth slid thrilling over her throat to her ear.

"Let me love you again, mon Coeur," he whispered hoarsely.

Nikita opened passion-glazed eyes to look at him. She raised one hand to gently stroke his cheek, then moved her hand to the back of his neck to grip him by the hair.

"C'mere," she growled throatily, as she playfully pulled his face down to hers in mock roughness.The kiss that followed was playful as well, Michael laughing against her mouth as he teased her lips open with soft licks of his tongue. Nikita moaned again and allowed him entry.

After a moment the mood of the kiss shifted from playful to serious, Michael's lips moving over hers with dedication and intensity. His arms tightened around her to pull her closer, and she felt the hard length of his manhood against her belly, throbbing with purposeful sincerity....

The phone rang.

Nikita felt suddenly cold and bereft as Michael's warm weight lifted off of her. Stifling a groan, he sat up on the side of the bed and snatched up his cell phone on the nightstand. He let it ring shrilly two more times as he paused to collect himself before flipping the instrument open.

"Yes?" he answered in a clipped tone.

He listened for a moment, then responded with a curt, "fine", and flipped the phone closed.

Michael closed his eyes and sighed. When he turned back to Nikita, she was sitting up against the head-board, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Michael?" she queried anxiously.

He reached over to caress her shoulder reassuringly. "It's O.K.," he told her. "There's a briefing."

"Do you have to go in now?" she asked in a small voice.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not for a while."

He rose from the bed and retrieved his robe from a nearby chair, tying it closed around his waist without putting his arms in the sleeves, leaving his chest bare. His green eyes met her blue ones as he sat down next to her on the bed.

Both held a look, realizing that the inevitable could not be delayed any longer. Much as they would like to, they could not ignore the reality of Section which intruded into the idyllic, private world they had created that night.

They could no longer put off facing the hard facts. Nikita was under orders to search his files. Madeleine was expecting her report today. There was no way around it. Nikita had no choice but to betray him.

Nikita struggled to keep down her panic. Breaking the gaze, she looked over to Michael's office. The door was open, and she could see the computer squatting ominously on his desk. She swallowed hard and turned back to Michael.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

Michael gave her a wry, half-smile and got up to walk across the room to the office. Nikita watched as he went up to the desk and turned the computer on. With deft keystrokes, he entered his password and opened the encrypted files, pulling them up on the screen. Then he walked slowly back to Nikita to stand by the bed.

"I'm going to take a shower," he answered her quietly. "And you..."

He looked from Nikita to the computer and back again. "You will finish your mission."

Nikita looked stricken. "But, Michael," she gasped, "you can't mean you really want me to go through your files and snitch on you to Madeleine..."

Michael smiled at her and sat down on the bed. He leaned over to give her a light kiss.

"It's O.K.," he said, still smiling. "Look all you want. I don't mind...."

Nikita stared at him in stunned silence.

"I've got nothing to hide," he said softly, eyes looking deeply into hers. "From you."

Nikita wanted to sob and laugh at the same time. Michael had shocked her with his openness again. He was letting her in, to his heart, his mind, his past, to all aspects of his life. She was beginning to realize that about him- once he committed to something, he didn't do it half-way.

"But what do I tell Madeleine?" she said, shaking her head, still feeling confused.

Michael stroked her hair gently. "Tell her the truth," he answered. "Tell her I'm not leaking intel."

He kissed her softly again. "You know that, don't you?" he whispered, suddenly tensing. "You trust me?" he said, with worried eyes.

To his surprise, Nikita suddenly broke out in an impish grin, and slid off the bed before he had a chance to kiss her again. She sauntered, naked, through his office door and went over to the computer.

He watched, mesmerized, as she reached for the mouse, and, without glancing at the screen, closed the files he had opened and turned off the computer.

Then, with a saucy grin, hips swaying, she walked sinuously across the room to the bed.

"What are you doing?" he said breathlessly, eyes riveted on her.

Nikita laughed and pulled him up from the bed, tugging on the sash of his robe. She pulled on the knot and it came free, letting the robe slide from his lean hips and fall to the floor.

Michael stood perfectly still, mesmerized.

"Mission accomplished," she said in a teasing voice. "I've seen all the files I want to see."

She looked him up and down, eyes flickering over the hard, lean lines of his nude body. She licked her lips and stepped closer. Michael felt a delicious shiver of anticipation go through him.

"Now," she invited sweetly, "Let's go take that shower..."

With a low groan, Michael lifted her in his arms and twirled her around in joyous dizzy-making circles before he carried her into the bathroom. Nikita, giddy again, head spinning, knew that the world, their world, was finally spinning in the right direction.

She was entirely safe, entirely free, held in the rock-solid strength of his embrace. Head whirling, heart steady, she kissed him.

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

Watching Nikita in the shower, Michael thought he had never seen her look more beautiful, with the water cascading down the long lines and soft curves of her body, droplets beading tantalizingly on her smooth, white skin.

She stood with her head tilted back under the spray, hair streaming down her shoulders, breasts upthrust invitingly toward him. She watched him in turn, eyes dark with desire, lips parted as she panted. Michael could not resist stepping toward her and joining her under the spray to kiss those wet, wet lips.

The water embraced both of them, streaming through Michael's hair and over his shoulders, drenching them both, as his mouth came down on hers.

"Mmmm," moaned Nikita, enjoying the dual sweetness of the kiss and the feel of his water-slicked body against hers under the pelting spray.

The water had an elemental quality, an added wildness and intimacy- It was as if they were out in a thunderstorm, alone- just the two of them and the passionate, crashing rain.....

Lost in the kiss, Nikita did not notice that Michael had reached for something on the shelf inside the shower until she felt something slightly rough sliding over her back and down her left hip.

She jumped. "What are you doing?" she gasped.

Michael smiled and held out a small bath sponge for her to see. "Getting you clean," he answered in mock innocence. "Isn't that why we're here?"

He squeezed a generous amount of creamy body shampoo onto the sponge and approached her again. "See, like this..." he teased, and began rubbing the soap-slicked sponge slowly over her breasts.

Nikita moaned, and arched her back, eager for more of his caresses.

Michael went on, stroking in swirling circles, back and forth, first one breast then the other, careful to graze the sponge again and again across her sensitive nipples that had hardened to taut points under the attention.

"Michael..." she begged, whimpering, and reached for him.

Laughing, he stepped just out of range. "No," he said, eyes glittering, "I'm not done cleaning you yet..."

He squeezed more of the soapy liquid on the sponge, and pressed it agianst her flat belly, massaging her flesh in small circles again.

Breathing hard, he stared with concentrated fascination as the soap ran down her smooth stomach in rivulets into the tangle of damp gold curls between her legs, and down the soft curves of her thighs.

He used the sponge to follow the trail of soap, stroking lightly from her belly, down her inner thighs, and up again.

Nikita gasped as the sponge brushed along the opening of her womanhood. Gently, Michael scrubbed up and down, making rhythmic circles on the soft flesh until she was quivering with desire.

She gripped Michael's shoulders tightly to support herself as her knees went weak. Eyes glazed, she groped for his hand that held the sponge and took it from him, tossing it almost violently away.

"You didn't like it?" Michael asked anxiously.

Nikita gave a low, throaty laugh. "I liked it," she said breathlessly. "But..."

She took the tube of body shampoo and held it over Michael's chest, squirting the creamy liquid over the firm muscles there. "But I want to feel you, not the sponge...."

Michael was still, except for his rapid breathing, as she began rubbing the soap into his chest with both hands; the soap foamed and bubbled as she lathered his nipples into tight peaks under her fingers.

Michael groaned, and Nikita, delighted with the effect she was getting, moved her hands lower, leaving a trail of suds along his ridged abdomen until she reached the erect length of his manhood. Michael hissed in a breath and she felt him harden further at her touch.

She gripped the thick shaft in her soap-lubiricated hands, encircling him, sliding up and down his length with slow, but insistent strokes.

"Does that feel good?" she teased.

"Yes..." Michael gasped.

"Better than a sponge?" she went on.

Michael moaned and put his hand between their soap- slick bodies to caress her womanhood again, this time with his fingers. Nikita trembled as he slid one finger slowly inside her and she felt her inner muscles clamp down around it.

"Much better," he whispered.

**********

Nikita, beyond speech, could only moan out her pleasure as Michael continued his probing internal caresses. Eyes closed, head thrown back, she was lost in the powerful, overwhelming sensations of his touch in her innermost depths.

Her body arched back under the hard, pelting spray, her passion building with every movement of his skilled hands, she was unable to act, or move, or even think. She only knew that Michael was taking her higher and higher into rarified heights of passion, higher than she had ever been before. She was a bird on the highest mountain-top, a bird about to spread it wings and fly free, over the cliffs. Up and up and up....

Suddenly, with a loud cry, she felt the rush of the orgasm take her. Quivering helplessly, she felt her knees buckle under her and she staggered back against the far shower wall. Instantly Michael was there, his arms around her, supporting her.

Nikita found herself held safe in his strong embrace, shaking and sobbing against his shoulder. Her tears were not from sadness, but from profound, ecstatic joy.

"Oh, God, Michael.....," she moaned.

He kissed her cheek softly as she trembled against him. "All right?" he whispered. Her tears alarmed him a little, concern mixing with passion in the depths of his green eyes.

Nikita turned tear-filled blue eyes to his, but her face held no trace of sorrow. She smiled, and nodded, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh.

Her gaze drank him in, his soft lips tantalizingly parted, his hair curling in soft ringlets to his shoulders, his eyes tender on her face.

"Oh, God, Michael.." she moaned again. "You're so beautiful...."

She wanted him. She wanted him right then. Very badly.

She kissed him hard on the lips, and at the same time her arms went around his waist and then roamed lower. Cupping his firm buttocks in her hands, she pulled him against her.

Michael moaned and thrust his hips against hers, his c*ck, still slippery with soap, sliding deliciously between their bodies, pressing hard against her belly. He was tautly aroused and ready.

Nikita was ready as well. The time for playing and teasing was past. Swiftly, she pulled out of his embrace and turned around, putting her back to him, and braced herself with both hands against the shower wall.

She was standing directly under the shower-head, the water pouring over her, sluicing down her back and over her hips, washing away the soap from the cleft between her legs that she presented so invitingly to him.

"Michael..." she begged. "Michael, please..." She gave him a pleading look over her shoulder.

Eagerly, legs trembling, Michael stepped behind her, positioning himself between her thighs. "Nikita..." he moaned softly. He steadied himself with his hands on her hips, and then, with one quick thrust, he entered her.

Nikita whimpered and closed her eyes, transported again by the feel of him inside her, by his long length filling her, caressing every sensitive spot where his fingers had been, feeling even more wonderful...

The water along with the traces of slick soap combined to enhance the smooth, sinuous gliding of their bodies together in a delicious friction.

Michael, groaning, found a rhythm for their passion, thrusting in time to a music all their own. His hips moved in a steady, smooth piston-like rhythm, dancing against hers. Up and in, probing deep, then out, with a twist of his hips, down, then another gyrating, circular twist of his body as he slid back from her- in, up, deep thrust, twist, down, twist, out, in, thrust, twist, down, in, out, in, out.....

"Huh.. uh... ahh... uh...." Nikita moaned incoherently with each powerful stroke of his body inside hers.

Letting out a low moan, Michael leaned forward so that his chest rested on her back. He placed one of his hands over hers on the wall for support. Though it had felt wonderful before, this added contact of their bodies, skin against skin, increased their pleasure ten-fold.

Nikita turned her head over her shoulder and lifted her face up to his for a soft, lingering kiss.

The shift of position propelled his manhood even more deeply into her, and Michael, abandoning all control, increased the pace of his thrusts, stroking hard and fast inside her.

With his free hand, he held her around her waist, his palm against her flat stomach. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing as she writhed under him, as well as the slickness of soap bubbles on her skin.

His lathered fingers moved higher and found the taut peaks of her breasts. He tweaked and tormented each achingly hard nipple in turn, rubbing in tight circles, his c*ck still thrusting in rapid circles inside her.

"Oh, God..." she groaned. "Oh, God, yes..."

Michael felt her body start to tremble under his, and knew she was as close to release as he was. With a low laugh, her pleasure only adding to his own, Michael lowered his hand from her breasts and down to the gold curls again, to rub the sensitive pleasure bud between her legs.

The slippery lubrication of the soap on his fingers allowed his caresses to be harder and more rapid than they ordinarily could have been; he let his fingers glide over her relentlessly, rubbing in ever faster, ever firmer, circles.

Her body quivered against his; she was barely able to stand, grateful for the support of the wall and his arm under her. Michael's caressing and stroking, as well as the feel of him above her, his breathing warm and rapid in her ear, were all combining to drive her insane.

Frenzied, she thrust her hips wildly first against his manhood, then against his fingers. She bit back a scream of pure pleasure as he expertly, ceaselessly, took her up to the heights of passion once again.

Michael plunged into her over and over, the feel of her hips bucking against him driving him to stroke harder and harder in his effort to bring them both to fulfillment. Again and again, he slammed his body into hers, almost faint with the feel of her core ensheathing his c*ck and the feel of her clitoris quivering against his searching fingers.

She was his. Intimately, wantonly his.

"Nikita..." Michael gasped, as the shudders began deep inside him. "Nikita, I'm coming...."

His tremors triggered her own, and Nikita spasmed against his fingers, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching around his manhood as he pulsed his hot seed within her.

She cried out her bliss as the orgasm took her, Michael's shout of joy mingling with hers and echoing against the shower walls.

Still caught in the rapture of the moment, Nikita felt Michael slip his body from hers and turn her to face him. She found herself enveloped in his arms again as he tenderly kissed her.

Nikita sighed and felt herself melting in the warmth- in the embrace, the kiss, the hot, cascading water...

Abruptly, the warmth ended and Nikita let out a shriek as they were suddenly drenched in ice-cold water.

"Mi-chael!" she yelled as they both scrambled away from the shower spray and jumped out of the tub together.

"I'm sorry," Michael apologized, shivering and panting with shock as he stood beside her dripping on the bathroom rug. "It's an old house. The hot water heater isn't that large. I was going to have it replaced..."

"I'm sorry..." he said again, abjectly hoping for forgiveness.

Nikita looked at him. She decided he was adorable, even covered in goose-bumps. She smiled to soften the sternness of her words.

"I MIGHT forgive you, Michael," she taunted him. "On one condition."

Michael smiled in turn at her teasing. "And what condition is that?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

Nikita leaned toward him to whisper in his ear. "The condition is," she said, blushing prettily, "that if I ever need a .. deep cleansing treatment again, you'll give it to me.."

Laughing loudly, Michael scooped her up in his arms and kissed her again. "O.K.. How about tonight?" he offered, green eyes glittering.

Nikita could only moan as his mouth came down on hers and he spun her giddlily in his arms once again.

***********

Much later that afternoon, Nikita stood in the Section hallway outside of Madeleine's office, trying to collect herself. The light-headed giddiness of the morning was still with her, her heart soaring into dizzy, joyous heights.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, it was a struggle for her to keep the smile of deep contentment off her face. She was happy, and even the prospect of a meeting with Madeleine could not quell her warm, intense feeling of delight.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, and bit her lip hard to control the grin. She was ready.

Madeleine looked up from her computer on the desk as the blonde operative entered the office.

"Ah, good, Nikita," she said, swiveling in her chair away from her monitor and smiling brightly. "You're here."

Nikita nodded in greeting and stepped forward to stand in front of the desk, twirling a strand of hair nervously around her fingers.

"Sit down, sit down," the older woman urged, still smiling. "I take it you have something to report?"

Nikita sank into the chair in front of the desk and tried not to smile back. "Uh... uh... yes, I do..." she stammered, then stopped, not sure how to go on.

Madeleine helped her by taking charge in her usual way. She started the inquisition, beginning a series of questions to elicit all the details from her subject. A light tone of amusement crept into her voice- Madeleine, unlike her victims, always found interrogation to be a fun experience.

"So," Madeleine began. "Did you talk to Michael?"

"Yes," Nikita admitted nervously.

"And did you ask him out, like I told you?" Madeleine went on.

"Yes," Nikita said again, this time elaborating. "We went out for coffee."

"Very good," Madeleine smiled, looking pleased. "Were able to get you get under his defenses? Did he open up to you?"

To her deep chagrin, Nikita blushed. Yes, she had gotten under Michael's defenses all right, but not until he had first gotten under hers. She had been the first to blurt out her declaration that she loved him. And from there, that had led to all sorts of things, all delightful....

Nikita struggled to pull back from the memories of their love-making playing vividly in her head. "Yes," she choked out. "Yes, he did."

Madeleine nodded. "See, Nikita, that wasn't so hard, was it?" The brunette decided to throw in a little encouragement at this point in the session.

"You thought it would be difficult. You thought that you wouldn't be able to get close to him. But you were wrong to doubt yourself." She smiled again.

"You see, you ARE a competent and skilled operative," Madeleine praised her. "I hope this little assignment has given you more confidence in your abilities, particularly in your .... field mechanics."

Nikita choked back a gasp and blushed again. "Thank you," she blurted, not knowing what else to say.

"So," Madeleine went on. "I assume then that you had no difficulty in getting him to take you to his residence?"

"That's right," Nikita replied, trying to recover herself. "He let me into his house."

"Excellent," Madeleine beamed. "Then he took you to bed?" she asked matter-of -factly.

Nikita squirmed nervously in her chair and looked down at the floor. "Yes..." she whispered, totally embarrassed by the discussion.

Relentlessly, Madeleine went on. "Did you f*ck him?" she probed shamelessly.

Nikita found herself unable to say a word, her throat closing up in shock at the indelicate question. Blushing furiously, she could only nod her head affirmatively in answer, keeping her eyes determinedly on the floor.

"Nikita," Madeleine soothed. "There's no need for you to feel ashamed about what you did."

"You were just doing your job," she went on sympathetically. "Sometimes what we are required to do is ... distasteful, but you were able to conquer your repugnance and complete your assignment...."

Madeleine smiled. "I'm proud of you, Nikita. You've shown great fortitude in the face of such suffering...."

Nikita looked up at her in stunned amazement. She had an overwhelming urge to giggle at the absurdity of the concept. Being in Michael's arms could be described in many ways, but definitely not as SUFFERING. She bit her lip hard to keep from laughing.

"I'm sure only one thought was going through your mind the whole time he was screwing you..." Madeleine continued in misguided empathy.

Nikita's eyes widened. She had no idea what Madeleine was talking about. "What thought is that?" she asked in confused trepidation.

"Why, the same thought I always have when I'm in a similar situation," the older woman nodded sagely. "I lie back, close my eyes, and think of the greater good of Section, of course."

"Of course," Nikita choked out, stifling the urgent impulse to burst out laughing. She didn't know how much longer she could control herself if this line of their conversation continued. Nikita felt herself near the brink of hysteria as it was.

Fortunately, or not, the next topic Madleine brought up sobered her instantly.

"Tell me, Nikita," the older woman asked. "What did you find in Michael's personal files?"

Nikita swallowed hard and looked up, meeting Madleine's suddenly cold brown eyes. "Nothing," she reported somberly.

"I was able to access all his personal files," Niktia continued with deep sincerity. "I went through them thouroughly, and there was nothing. No trace of evidence to indicate Michael is leaking intel to anyone...."

"Not now, not ever," she stated firmly. "Madeleine, he's not betraying us."

"If you want to find the traitor, you'll have to look elsewhere," Nikita declared fervently. "It's NOT him."

Madeleine stared at her for a long moment, their eyes locked. Then she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

"Well, that IS dissaspointing," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I was so sure our investigation was on the right track."

Madeleine rocked in her chair for a long thoughtful moment, then sat up straighter and shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, well," she said with resignation. "We'll just have to keep looking, I suppose."

She looked up at Nikita and smiled. "Thank you, Nikita, for all your help."

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, the blonde operative rose from her chair. She was ready to get out of there. "Right, then," she said, smiling hopefully. "Are we done?"

Madeleine smiled again, her words sending chills down the younger woman's back. "Oh, no, we're not done," said Madeleine. "Not at all. Your mission isn't over."

She shook her head emphatically. "Your assignment is just beginning."

Nikita paled and her knees trembled. She thought they were safe. She thought it was over. What more did Madeleine want from her?

"What do you mean?" Nikita squeaked out, frightened.

Madeleine tilted her head. "Tsk, tsk, Nikita," Madeleine admonished her. "You of all people should know that Michael is a very intelligent, very astute man."

"If you come on to him for just one day and drop him the next, he'll know something was up. He'll be suspicious," Madeleine explained.

"Things will run much more smoothly if he he has no idea we were searching his files," she went on.

Madeleine gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Nikita, but you'll have to keep up the pretense of caring for Michael. You'll have to continue your relationship with him to cover the investigation."

Nikita stood numbly silent, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

"I'm sorry,' Madeleine said again. "But it can't be helped. You'll have to keep screwing him, indefinitely, perhaps. He has to be convinced your affections are real and not a ruse on our part."

The brunette sighed again. I know it's difficult for you, but you're still under orders to please him."

Nikita nodded, recovering a little from her shock and starting to feel decidedly elated by this unexpected turn of events. "I can handle it," she assured her commander, trying hard not to grin.

Nikita went to the door and was about to leave when Madeleine called her back.

"Oh, Nikita, there's one more thing."

The younger girl stiffened and turned around. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes frightened.

Madeliene was all sympathy again. "I know you're reluctant to have to.. perform again so soon, but it's best to go ahead and bite the bullet," she said firmly.

Nikita looked puzzled. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she answered, "I know you don't want to, but it's for the best if you see Michael again as soon as possible."

Madeliene nodded her head and gave Nikita her orders. "F*ck him again tonight," she said calmly.

"Uh.. uh... right.." Nikita choked out, hysteria overtaking her.

"That's all," Madeleine dismissed her, giving her one last smile.

Nikita fled. The door to Madeleine's office had barely closed behind her when she collapsed into helpless giggles, bent over double with laughter in the hallway.

After several minutes, she was able to compose herself enough to stand up straight again. A look of dedicated determination came over her face. After all, she was a devoted operative, intent on nothing but completing her mission.

With a huge ear-to-ear grin, she set off in search of Michael.

***********

Madeleine sat lost in thought for a long moment after Nikita had left her office. A little smile grew on her face, and she turned back to her monitor to again review the tape she had been studying before Nikita had come in.

The screen showed the interior of an exquisite, Victorian house. The bedroom, to be exact. Two peple stood locked together, a dark-haired man sobbing heart-brokenly against the shoulder of a tall blonde.

Madeleine nodded in approval, and fast-forwarded the tape, noting with satisfaction that, in the arms of the lovely girl, the sobs of the man had turned to joyous laughter, and the comforting embrace had turned to one of deep passion.

Madeliene turned away from the screen, letting the images play on. "Very, very, good," she said to herself.

She had been worried about Michael. His grief for Simone was beginning to effect his work. She could not allow his performance to suffer, his effectiveness to be compromised by his inability to recover from the loss and his subsequent guilt and anger over it.

He had been dangerously close to the breaking point. She had to do something.

Michael had always been a difficult operative to help. He kept everything in, making him difficult to reach. Madeleine knew her standard procedure of bringing him in for counseling sessions would be useless in this case. Another approach was needed.

Although she had admonished him for it one time in the past, Michael's problem was that he did very little externalizing of his emotions. And that was exactly what he needed to do now.

And Madeliene knew just the person to get him to do that. Nikita.

The brunette smiled again, a little smugly. Yes, it was clever of her to wait until the anniversary of Simone's death to tell Nikita about their suspicions about Michael. The blonde had really come through for them, acting just as Madeleine had predicted.

It had all been a lie, of course. Michael's loyalty was not in question, only the precarious state of his emotions. But the fabrication had worked. Nikita leapt to Michael's aid, and Michael had in turn vented his feelings, his grief, his desire, his protectiveness, his passion, his love- back to her.

The mission had been a complete success.

Madeleine turned back to the computer, glancing at the screen to see the view from the camera in the shower. *Oh, my, yes,* she thought. *Sometimes a bond between operatives is DEFINITELY a very good thing.*

With a little laugh, she turned off her computer and rose to cross the room. Merrily, she lifted the small pair of scissors and began to trim her bonsai.

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