For several weeks after the Perez mission, Michael tried to tell himself that it didn't matter what had happened in those three days he had lost. But he knew that was a lie.

He didn't remember anything about that time, but he knew that somehow, whatever had happened, whatever he had done, it had caused a critical change in his relationship to Nikita. The change was nothing he could really put his finger on, but she treated him differently now. The way she looked at him was not the same, the way she spoke to him subtly altered.

It was as if she were afraid of him again, like she had been when she first came into Section. She was more careful with her words, more guarded, more wary, less ...open. She was protecting herself, he realized. From being emotionally hurt by him? he wondered. Or something else?

Her withdrawal from him was driving him crazy. She was still there in Section, still by his side on missions, but somehow he sensed being near him now was the last thing she wanted.

He knew, even though she had not said anything, that his prescence was painful to her, that she was uncomfortable around him.

Why? WHY? he asked himself for the thousandth time. Questions were easy, but answers were hard to come by. He could not search his own mind because the events of those three days were like a blank slate to him, an empty void. He couldn't recall anything.

All he knew was what Nikita had told him, in a brief whisper in MedLab when he woken up, groggy and confused, not sure of anything, but that he had been shot and that he had been on a mission in Amsterdam.

"Michael," she had said softly, with a fleeting expression of pain crossing her face that was quickly covered with a smile, "Something happened.... Uh... You were grabbed in Amsterdam by Perez. He did something to your memory...." She licked her lips nervously, and went on.

"You haven't been able to remember who you were for the last three days."

Again, her voice was wistful, hinting at the stress she had undergone, and something else- It was if she mourned something, or someone- she had lost.

Her pain registered to him, and a million questions swirled in his head. But, being Michael, he fought the mental chaos and his mind zeroed in on the one question that was the most important, for now. Their survival.

"Do they know?" he asked tensely.

Nikita did not pretend not to understand. Michael wanted to know if Section was aware of his weakness of the last three days.

"No," she answered, quickly reassuring him. She looked away, as if seeing some tender vision that he could not. Again, her voice was full of wistful longing for what had been. "I..I protected you."

Michael blinked, taking in what her words meant. They were safe, for now. But he was still tense; it would not do to let his guard down just yet.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, but in a formal tone, as mentor to pupil, letting her know by the inflection in his voice that he didn't think it wise to discuss it further here in Section, and that he was too overwhelmed to process any more information just then.

Nikita got his hint. She felt him withdrawing from her, mentally, even though his body did not move. Suddenly, the gentle fingers she had laid on his arm seemed too intimate an intrusion for the formality he projected.

Nervously, she lifted her hand from him, and stood up. She gave him one last look, her eyes conveying her understanding that the conversation was over. Then she walked away, Michael sensing the deep sadness in her as she left the room.

As he lay on his bed, puzzling over the stunning news she had just given him, Michael was tormented further by the small sound she made as she went out the door.

He could have sworn he heard Nikita softly crying.

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

A few days later, Michael had been released from Medlab and his routine resumed, if anything as dangerous and devious as the job he did for Section could be called routine.

He saw Nikita only on missions, or within the confines of Section.

She still seemed sad, but resigned to whatever loss she had suffered during those three days, the memory of which still eluded him. Except for a few snatches of jumbled dreams too nebulous for him to decipher, the time after he had been taken by Perez was a total blank.

The weeks went by, and, for a time, he managed to shove it out of his mind. Not the memories, because there were none, but the growing anxiety about not having been in control of himself during that time. But the anxiety was too strong to suppress.

He became consumed with thoughts and speculations of what had happened; he was tortured by doubts and a chilling fear. Even without a memory, he was still a Level Five operative; he had been trained to lie, and deceive, seduce and trick, and above all, kill.

What was it he had done to hurt Nikita? What horrible, unforgiveable thing had he done to cause her such sadness? He could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. He had taken something from her; she was obviously grieving.

He couldn't stand not knowing anymore. He had screwed up his courage and had finally dared to find out just what it was that was bothering her.

That morning he had gone so far as to ask her into his office and then gently demanded to know what was wrong.

Nikita had just put on her best blank stare, the one he had taught her, and forced a falsely-bright smile.

"Wrong?" she said innocently. "Nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"

With something like shock, he stammered a reply and then dismissed her. When she had gone he slumped disconsolately in his chair and rubbed a hand anxiously over his chin. It was worse than he had thought. Nikita had hidden things from him before, had lied to him, but this was different.

He had seen her shields go up, had felt her complete withdrawal from him, her eyes shuttered completely. She would tell him nothing, not with words, not with her expression.

Whatever it was that he had done during those lost three days, it must have been something completely heinous and vile. So vile that Nikita did not want anything to do with him. Something so heinous she was unable to talk to him about it.

What the hell had he done?

"Merde," he cursed loudly, and then stirred himself, switching on his computer with a look of resolved determination on his face. There must be some way to find out what had happened during those three days.

And he was going to find out what that was, if it was the last thing he ever did.

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

Surreptitiously Michael checked the files that were available on Perez on his computer. Perez had been kidnapping agents and extracting intel from them- he was Red Cell's leading expert on interrogation and torture, particularly of the mental variety.

Grimly, Michael scanned the list of files available that related to his time as Perez' prisoner. Just what had the man done to him?

He knew he had to be cautious. To access an actual mission log from his computer would draw too much attention from the over-zealous Madeleine. He would have to start with the more peripheral, indirect records and work his way closer.

Slowly, cautiously, Michael chose a few random files to open.

To his surprise, Michael noted from one of the files that a CIA agent, a computer expert, one Gloria Alvarez, had been retrieved from Perez's lab at the same time Michael had been rescued and returned to Section. Gloria had been observed for a time in Level Five, then, as she recovered, it had been decided to recruit her into Section.

Michael realized with a shock that this Gloria was the same smiling, new girl that he had met a week or so ago, working side by side with Birkoff in Systems. She sported a very short crew cut, that Michael had assumed was due solely to an attempt on her part to be fashionable, but now realized was because of her torture at Perez's hands.

Michael's breathing quickened. The chance to talk to another victim, especially one who had been there in the lab and may remember what had happened to him, was too good to pass up.

Michael had to find out what had gone on in those three days he had missed, and seeing Gloria Alvarez, so conveniently close by right here in Section, was the perfect place to start.

Although the idea of finding out just what horrors he had endured and/or perpetrated during those lost three days was a little frightening to him, Michael knew he would have no peace until he found out. His set his mouth in a firm line, his gray-green eyes alight with determination.

Quickly, he shut his laptop and stood up from his desk. Buttoning his suit jacket with his left hand, Michael purposefully strode through his office door and out into the hallway, headed for Systems.

To his relief, as well as trepidation, Gloria Alvarez was there, running simms with Birkoff. She was tall and slender, with creamy skin and crystal blue eyes. She wore a long flowing, flowered skirt and a loose, but clinging, tunic top, and from her ears hung long, dangly gold earrings. The delicate features of her face were accented with skillfully applied make-up, including lipstick in an attractive shade of burgundy that brought attention to a perfect, rose-bud mouth.

It was as if she had done everything she could by the way of feminine dress to counteract the effects of the stark and incongruous masculinity of her shorn hair, which was not much longer than Birkoff's.

She looked a little startled, but not afraid, when he approached her and bent over her desk, lowering his voice to a soft whisper.

"May I speak to you a moment?" Michael asked, tilting his head to indicate a deserted corner of Systems. "Over there?"

Gloria blinked at him once, then nodded and stood up. "Of course, Michael," she answered, and walked beside him calmly as he led her to the far side of the room.

Birkoff watched them curiously for a moment, then became distracted by something on his computer screen, and was soon absorbed again in his work, oblivious to them. It was as private as Michael hoped to get, but he didn't know how long the privacy would last, so he began his questions with little preamble.

"I wanted to ask you about Perez, and if you remember anything about..."

Before he could finish, Gloria smiled at him compassionately and put her hand on his arm. "I know," she said softly. "You want to know about what he did to you, is that it?"

The green eyes widened. "Yes," he whispered back, unconsciously taking her hand in his and gripping it hard in his fingers. "You saw me there? You remember?"

Gloria nodded. "I was in a glass cage in the lab when you were brought in. The drugs they gave me induced a catotonic-like state..." She lowered her eyes, and her voice trembled. "I couldn't move, but my mind was totally lucid."

She looked up at him, the blue eyes full of tears and pity. "I saw what he did to you..."

Michael's hands moved up to grip her by the elbows, his expression distraught. "What? What did you see?" he demanded tensely. "What did he do to me?"

The soft, red lips pursed tightly and sadness flickered in the blue eyes. "They wheeled you into the lab in a cage," Gloria whispered. "A big wire cage, like something you would keep a large animal in..."

Michael grimaced, and then nodded for her to continue. "Go on," he said tightly.

"Your hands were above your head, handcuffed together through the bars," Gloria elaborated, "..And there was a strap around your neck. Perez had just injected you with something, and you fought it, but I could tell by the time you were abreast of my cell that you were already unconscious..."

Michael took a shaky breath, fighting the horror. He wasn't afraid of much, but the idea of being trapped like a caged animal unsettled him greatly. He hadn't said anything at the time, but when Nikita had burst into a briefing two years ago and protested that she "would rather be dead than watched like an animal in the zoo", Michael had secretly agreed with her.

He found his abhorrence of the idea of being caged and watched increased greatly after the War, when he and Nikita had been prisoners of Red Cell, hung side by side in cages in between sessions of torture. The fact that he had had to lie to Nikita then, and manipulate her feelings for him in order to fufill a Section proscribed agenda made the idea of being caged even more repulsive.

He swallowed hard and tried to summon the strength to hear the rest, even though his stomach churned inside. He gripped Gloria's arms more firmly and looked into the soft blue eyes.

"And then what did Perez do to me?" he demanded. Gloria shook her head. "I don't know," she said ruefully. "They took you into another room in the lab after that. I didn't see anything else...."

Michael closed his eyes, frustrated. He released his grip on her arms, and then looked up pleadingly into her eyes. "There's nothing else you can tell me?" he pressed her anxiously. "Nothing at all?"

Gloria regarded him steadily for a moment, then sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, there's nothing," she said softly. "Except that Perez was in a really good mood as he followed you into the room to interogate you..."

Michael looked puzzled. "Good mood?"

"Yeah," she said softly, her face falling into a grimace. "He was whistling, and he stopped to.. taunt me before he went in to torture you..."

Michael stared at her, suddenly glad that he didn't remember. He knew there was nothing else Gloria could tell him.

"Thank you," he said formally, the blank mask again settling on his face.

"Sure," she answered, and gave him a brief, sympathetic smile and a pat on the arm, and went back to her desk to work.

Michael paused, eyeing Birkoff from his corner. He thought about asking the young computer genius about accessing the mission logs for the dates he could not recollect, but then thought better of it. Madeleine might wonder about his curiosity, since, supposedly, he had been there and could remember it plainly for himself.

Sighing, Michael decided he needed to find out more some other way than talking to Birkoff. He turned on his heel and headed out of systems and back to his office.

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

Gloria watched him go, a thoughtful expression on her face. She felt a kinship with Michael- they had both suffered at the hands of Red Cell's interrogator, Perez, and that, to her mind, had forged a bond between them, a brotherhood of sorts. She decided she would do whatever she could to help him.

With a quick look around, she settled into her chair in front of her computer and with a determined expression, began typing rapidly on her keyboard. A minute or two later, a whooping alarm sounded from her station. Startled, she swiveled in her chair and met Birkoff's wide brown eyes.

"Are you an idiot?" Birkoff yelled in annoyance. "What the hell are you trying to do?" he asked in disgust.

He leaned across her and tapped a few keys on her keyboard, and the alarm was mercifully silenced.

"Well?" the young genius demanded impatiently, when Gloria remained quiet.

She licked her lips nervously and leaned close to her young boss, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Bikoff," she told him in trepidation. "I was trying to access the mission logs about Anton Perez. You know, the man who kidnapped me?"

Birkoff looked into the pleading blue eyes, the annoyed expression on his face fading.

"Here," he said gruffly, and tapped a few keys on the keyboard, unlocking the files that she had been denied access to before. "Download everything you want, then use this code..." he said, handing her a small disk, ".... to hide any trace that you've been there."

Gloria blinked in shock, then managed a small smile. "Thank you," she told him, a little uncertainly. "Birkoff, why are you doing this?"

The baby-faced young man gave her a dazzlingly boyish grin. "Because I'm a nice guy," he quipped, dropping back into his own chair and resuming his work. "Just don't let anybody else know I helped you."

Gloria nodded, giving him another sweet smile. "Your reputation as Section's most hardened cynic is safe with me," she promised in a whisper. "I won't tell a soul." With a relieved sigh, she started downloading all the files as quickly as she could.

A few short minutes later, she had finished. With a small CD concealed in her pocket, Gloria gave Birkoff another grateful look and then slipped out of Systems, heading toward Michael's office.

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

Along the way to Michael's office, Gloria slowed, and came to a hesitant stop in the hallway. Maybe, she thought, I shouldn't go directly to see him. Maybe, for the sake of secrecy, it would be safer if another courier delivered the intel that Michael needed.

But who?

Frowning to herself, she was startled from her reverie by the sound of laughter coming from the weapons bay. She looked up to see Walter and Nikita joking together. It looked like Walter had just told the beautiful blonde a rather ribald joke and she was shaking her head at him and giggling.

Nikita, Gloria thought. Everyone in Section knew that she and Michael were close. If Nikita sauntered casually into Michael's office, no one would think anything about it, whereas if Gloria went to see him, people might wonder why she was there.

Determinedly, Gloria turned her footsteps to the weapons bay and sidled up to Nikita. With a small nod of greeting to Walter, she addressed the tall blonde.

"Can I ask you something?" she said under her breath.

Nikita eyed the attractive brunette kindly and took her by the arm.

"Sure," she agreed, moving away from the bay and leading Gloria down the hall. "Later, Walter," she called out nonchalantly over her shoulder to the old man.

"Later, Sugar," Walter responded with a twinkle in his eye and a big smile, and turned back to his work.

The women paused in an out-of the-way corridor and Nikita turned curious and sympathetic face to her companion.

"What's up?" she asked in a low voice.

Gloria responded in a grateful whisper. "I need your help with someone," she said anxiously.

Nikita's eyes widened slightly, then she casually nodded. "Okay," she responded calmly. "Who?"

She was unprepared for the answer she received, or for the swift stab of rampant jealousy that consumed her when she heard Gloria's response.

"Michael," answered Gloria innocently.

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

Nikita swallowed hard and tried to give a nonchalant response, even though she felt her insides wrenching painfully at the thought of yet another rival for Michael's affections. Gloria was very pretty, she thought disconsolately.

"What about Michael?" she asked with a studied casualness she didn't feel.

Gloria pulled out the CD from her pocket and slipped it surreptitiously into Nikita's palm. "I want you to give him that for me," Gloria said in a low voice, looking around warily to make sure the transfer had not been observed.

Without looking at the disk, Nikita slipped it carefully into her pocket, then stepped closer to Gloria and lowered her voice to a whisper.

"What's on the disk?" she asked.

Gloria saw no reason not to trust this woman who, according to Section legend, had saved Michael's life on numerous occasions and who loved him deeply. She leaned toward Nikita, their foreheads almost touching, and answered her truthfully.

"It's all the files, classified and otherwise, on Anton Perez," the brunette told her. "Michael was asking me about him earlier..."

Nikita, stunned, bit back a gasp of shock. She almost blurted out the question that sprang urgently to her mind- Does Michael remember?- but stopped herself in time.

Nikita tried to ask a different question in a cool tone, but she knew her anxiety was evident to her companion.

"W-Why?" she stammered. "Why now? That was a long time ago. Why is he interested in Perez?"

Gloria was silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then, after her pause, she answered. "He seemed very distressed about it," she began. "He wanted to know exactly what Perez did to him, all the details.."

She shook her head, and went on in the thoughtful whisper. "I can only suppose, speaking from my own experience, that the memories of that experience were very painful to him, and he shoved them away at first, when the horror was too fresh to deal with..."

"But now," Gloria went on, "he's had a few months to process those events, and maybe now he's ready to face the nightmares and the demons he's left with...."

Nikita only nodded numbly, her mind a swirl of chaotic thoughts. Did this mean Michael was beginning to remember what had happened during those three days? Did he remember being the sweet, shy young innocent who had relied upon her for help? Did Michael remember what he had done?Oh, God, she thought. Did Michael remember what he had said?

Gloria went on with her observations, unaware of the turmoil her words had created in her companion. "Michael probably just needs to go through all the details, sort out everything in his mind, so he can move on," she mused thoughtfully, obviously recalling her own ordeal at Perez' hands.

"I thought it would be better if Madeleine didn't know what Michael was struggling with," Gloria finished. "It'll seem more natural if YOU give him the disk, won't it?" she asked, looking up trustingly into the taller woman's face.

"Of course," Nikita answered automatically. "I'll be sure he gets it," she promised, patting the pocket that held the CD.

Gloria smiled in relief. "Thank you," she said with a sigh, and then turned and walked back through the hallway to Systems.

Nikita stood for a time looking after her, then forced herself to walk toward Michael's office.

With a trembling hand, she knocked on his door and then entered reluctantly as he called out for her to come in.

"Got a minute?" she asked with forced brightness.

Michael nodded, and then deftly secured the room from surveillance by entering a code on the keypad in his desk.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to keep the eagerness and excitement out of his voice at the sight of her. "What is it?"

He hoped that maybe Nikita had come to talk to him, to tell him what it was that had caused her to erect this wall that he felt existed between them now.

Instead, her words were curt, short, and her visit unrevealingly brief. She tossed the CD on the desk and gave him the most abbreviated of explanations.

"Gloria gave me this to give to you," she said tersely, already heading toward the door. "Intel about Perez..."

Michael's eyes widened and he stared down at the the innocuous-looking disk on his desktop. "Nikita...?" he began, looking up at her, but she had pulled the door open and was halfway through it when he called her name.

"Nikita, wait!" he cried out to her, rising from his chair and going to follow her. But just as he reached the door, it slammed closed in his face.

He closed his eyes, and stood with his hands balled into fists at his sides. No, he decided, he wouldn't follow her, not when she so obviously did not want to be pursued.

She can't even look at at me for two minutes, he thought despairingly. She can't stand to be in the same room with me. Jesus, what have I done?

Exhaling a shaky sigh, Michael turned to look back at his desk, eyeing the CD warily. He almost didn't want to know what it contained, but he knew he had to know the truth about himself. He had to know what loathsome thing he had done to make Nikita recoil from him so.

His heart heavy with dread, he crossed to the desk, turned on the computer, loaded the disk, and opened the secret files.

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

Nikita knew it had been cowardly of her to run, but she hadn't known how else to deal with the tangle of emotions that stirred in her in Michael's presence.

She was afraid. Afraid of how she felt when she looked at him. Afraid she would not be able to control the urge to throw herself at him and beg for his touch, his kiss. Afraid he would reject her, now that the old Michael was back, the Michael who didn't remember relying on her, trusting her, confiding in her....

That trusting Michael, that innocent one, was gone. The Michael who had told her that he loved her.

Stifling a sob, she rushed down the hall and out of Section, anxious just to get away, eager to reach the safety of her apartment.

She realized that it was not just Michael she ran from, but from her own feelings. The idea that Michael, the strong, hard, independant one, would remember the other Michael, the gentle, childlike, emotional one, terrified her.

What if he remembered telling her he loved her, and then realized it was a foolish fantasy, expressed in a moment of weakness? What if, she thought with genuine fear, his love for her was all a lie? What if the love she desired so desperately from him had died with the innocent, amnesiac Michael when his memory had been restored, never to return?

These terrors haunted her as she drove home. She missed him, that younger version of Michael, even though his innocence had frightened her, even though she had done nothing but worry about him, knowing that such a sensitive personality could not survive in Section.

She was relieved when he had come back to his old self, when he had returned to being the Michael that she knew.

She couldn't have borne it if anything had happened to him, if Section had found out his memory was gone, his usefulness at an end, and had cancelled him.

But she also knew there was one more thing she couldn't bear. She knew she would never survive finding out that Michael didn't love her.

Nikita turned the key in the lock and rushed into her apartment, fleeing demons of her own. Closing the door gratefully behind her, glad at last to reach the sanctuary of her own private place, Nikita threw herself across her lonely, empty bed and at last gave into her tears.

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

Author's note: Song lyrics credited to Mimi Goese, from the song Fire and Roses.

***********

Several hours later, Michael ejected the disk from the drive and sat slumped over his desk in his office, his head in his hands.

He had gone through all the files that Gloria had accessed, read every report, seen every comment, scanned every memo, and he was still no closer to understanding the mystery of those lost days.

He could find no heinous crime to justify Nikita's distance from him. The mission logs showed that he had been clumsy and uncertain on the mission to get Perez at his club in Germany, and that he had been inept enough to get himself shot by Perez's men. Other than that, the record showed no other major errors committed on his part.

There had been no innocents killed, no comrades lost. What had he done that had upset Nikita so much?

Michael ran a nervous hand over the stubble on his chin and tried to puzzle it out. If it hadn't been a mission-related crime he was guilty of, it must have been something he had done on personal level, not a professional one.

"Merde," Michsel muttered under his breath, and went over the facts again in his mind.

He had been grabbed in Amsterdam and taken to Perez's laboratory, where, according to Gloria, he had been subjected to an interrogation and given drugs that had essentially wiped out his memory.

Nikita had retrieved him and brought him back to Section. The logs showed he had stopped in at Medlab, with Nikita by his side, where he had undergone a cursory examination and sent home to rest.

Home. Michael realized that at the time, with his memory gone, he wouldn't have had a clue as to where his home was. They must have gone to Nikita's apartment, he concluded.

The record showed he had spent twelve hours away from Section, until he had been called in to prep the mission to Germany. The remaining time after that, including traveling to Luchenwald, being shot, and returning, accounted for the rest of the three days he had lost.

Twelve hours alone with Nikita. It must have been then, during that unmonitored time, that he had committed some unforgiveable act.

In God's name, what had it been?

Michael lay his head down on top of his crossed arms on the desk, and closed his eyes. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to relax, to come to a meditative state, to clear his mind in order to remember.

After some effort, he achieved his goal, and let his fuzzy, fleeting wisps of memory that were all that he recalled of that day coalesce into a more solid form in his mind.The first thing that came to him was not a visual image, but a fragment of a song. Music.

*****

It's all on fire My life needs fire I want roses Strewn at my feet

*****

Michael frowned, and strained to hear more of the music in his mind.

*****

Moving in Moving out The current pulls me....

*****

Along with the words, the images came, and the feelings. He was dancing with Nikita, holding her in his arms. Smiling, happy, grateful that she had at last, although reluctantly, agreed to dance with him after his cajoling and insistent pleading.

*****

Believe me, I'm a fighter Til the end Look into my eyes...

*****

He sighed, and felt again the touch of her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and her other hand held tightly in his, palm against palm. Her face was so close to his, he could see her eyelids flutter nervously, hear her sharp intake of breath as he moved closer to kiss her....

The music crashed over him in his mind, deafeningly, horrifyingly loud, and along with it, a cold wave of sudden dread.

*****

I tumble Doing deep-sea cartwheels Outside it's dark I catch my breath And scream...

*****

"No!" Michael moaned, not wanting to face what his mind and the music told him must have happened. "No!" he sobbed, "No, not that..."

*****

It's all on fire...

*****

Fire. That's what had happened, Michael surmised in anguish. He had held Nikita in his arms, her body close to his, her smell, her nearness, her touch, intoxicating him....The music flared to a crescendo.

*****

A thousand clues and second thoughts Lie deep in the belly of my heart If I listen so close It's all on fire....

*****

"No..." Michael moaned again. He didn't remember what exactly he had done after the dance, but he remembered needing her, wanting her. He remembered leaning in for the kiss, his lips just tasting the smooth, tantalizing skin of her cheek, and then...

*****

Outside it's dark again Still, I realize what a fine line you walk Tight-roping between sink or swim Or fall or stand...

*****

He sat up suddenly, back stiff and upright in the chair, all the color draining from his face.

He remembered what came next. He remembered that Nikita had said no.

"Please, don't..." she had pleaded. "Please, don't..."

*****

It's all on fire....

*****

With a sob, Michael buried his face in his hands. He didn't remember what came next after that plea, but the answer was obvious. So very obvious.

There was a reason she was wary of him now, a reason she avoided him, a reason her eyes were full of sorrow when she looked at him. A reason she had fled from his presence this afternoon.

The truth was plain, Michael thought in horror. She had asked him to stop, and he hadn't. He had pushed on; he had taken what he wanted despite her protests; he had forced her.He had raped her.

Oh, God, please... he screamed inside his mind, crying for a surcease of his mental torment. But there was no comfort from inside. Michael knew himself, knew the depths of cruelty he was capable of. The real Michael, the Michael without memory, was what he had always suspected his true self of being-- a heartless, conscienceless monster.

He screamed again, silently, but the only answer was the music, playing higher, louder, in his head.

*****

It's all on fire...

*****

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

"Bastard..." Michael cursed himself. "You worthless bastard..." He closed his eyes, hearing the music, hearing the screams of his soul, knowing he could never be forgiven for what he had done. Knowing he deserved no forgiveness for the incredible vile depths of depravity and cruelty that his true self had been capable of.

With a strange clarity, he saw himself for the first time as he really was. There was no goodness in him, he realized, no spark of light that he had tried to tell himself was still there. He had killed that light when he had done this unspeakable, horrid thing to Nikita. He knew who he was, he knew WHAT he was. A despicable, callous monster that didn't deserve to live.

The music stopped in his mind, leaving him with only the quiet of his own intense pain, and a sudden, sharp peace. He knew what he must do.

Taking a shaky breath, Michael leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. The gun would be there, he knew-- the gun that would end his pain, and his miserable, wretched life.

To kill himself would be the most merciful thing he could do. He couldn't live with the idea of having hurt Nikita this way, and she would no doubt be better off without him.It was the kindest thing he could do, he reasoned. For both of them.

Closing his eyes, he slipped his hand in the drawer to grip the handle of the gun in a familiar, practised movement. But his fingers gripped only empty air.

Michael's eyes flew open, and he stared in disbelief at the empty slot where he kept his spare weapon. Uttering an anguished moan, he remembered now that after the assasination attempt on Operations, there had been a weapons sweep and no one was allowed to be armed in Section.

He had no gun, but he knew where to find one.

Calmly, still intent on finishing his final task, Michael rose from his desk and headed toward the Weapon's Bay.

The halls were quiet, and the hour was late. Michael slipped like a shadow through the cavernous underground rooms and reached Walter's domain unnoticed and unobserved.

With slow, deliberate, almost graceful movements, Michael forced the lock on the gun cabinet and selected a weapon, then thougthfully loaded an ammo clip into the gun.

He let out all the breath in his lungs, closed his eyes, and raised the gun to his temple, clicking off the safety and then curling his finger around the trigger.

Here was as good a place to die as any. Now was the perfect time. He gripped the gun tighter, his hand remarkably steady, his body relaxed, his soul finally at peace. Soon, he comforted himself, the pain would be over.

He took in one more deep breath, the last of his life, and prepared to pull the trigger.

But before he could slip into the sweet darkness that beckoned him, another barrel of another gun dug into his flesh, this one pressed hard in the middle of his back. At the same time, a warm hand was laid over his, stilling his hand on the gun at his temple.

"Let go, Michael," a smooth, but gruff voice said from behind him. "Give me the gun. NOW," Walter ordered.

Michael froze, hesitating. Then, with a shuddering sigh, despair overwhelming him again, he loosened his fingers from the weapon and let Walter take from him the only way he knew to end the pain. He let his only hope of peace slip from his limp grasp.

"Please..." he begged brokenly, feeling bereft as the gun was taken from him.

The old man sighed as well, in relief and exasperation. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. He lowered his own weapon from Michael's back and then stepped away from the younger man.

Michael turned to face him, his eyes dark green pools of pain. "Please," he begged again. "Please, Walter, just let me end it...."

The old man stared at him, not unsympathetically. Walter had spent more years in Section than anyone, and he knew well the impossible pressures the operatives were under. There had been many through the years that had succumbed to the temptation to escape this living hell through the doorway of suicide. But he had never expected Michael to be one of them. He had always been one of the strong ones.

"I'm sorry, Kid," Walter told him in a kindly tone, depositing the guns he held into a box and locking them up out of reach. "I don't think Nikita would ever forgive me if I let you just leave like that..."

At the mention of her name, Michael's tenuous control broke and he stumbled to his knees, sobbing. "Nikita..." he choked out, tears falling from his eyes. "Nikita...." he cried in anguish.

At first all Walter could do was gaze at Michael in astonishment, but then his shock quickly turned into alarm. Moving swiftly, he gripped Michael roughly by the arms and hauled him to his feet. Shaking the younger man, trying to swallow his panic, Walter shouted into Michael's face.

"What about Nikita?" he demanded frantically. "What happened to my Sugar?"

Michael stood numbly in Walter's grasp, too tired, too broken, to struggle anymore, too crushed with guilt to hold back the truth.

He looked into the old man's sharp blue eyes and blurted out his shameful confession.

"I... I raped her..." Michael choked out. "I raped her...."

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

"WHAT???" shouted Walter in shock. "What did you say?" He shook Michael again, jerking him by the shoulders. "ANSWER ME!"

Michael stood quiescent and unresisting in his grasp. He lowered his eyes to the floor, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. In a voice of utter defeat, he repeated his statement."I.. I raped her," Michael said forlornly.

Walter released him suddenly, his shock wearing off, to be replaced by the surety of reason. Michael was capable of a lot of things, but rape was not one of them.

Even though Michael had been forced to sometimes seduce and betray female targets for Section, Walter sensed that Michael had a deep respect for women and an innate gentleness; traits that were diametrically opposed to the kind of anger and contempt it would be necessary to have in order to commit such a violent act.

Walter shook his head, confident that such a thing never happened. "No way, man," the old man told him. "I don't know what kind of bad weed you've been smoking, but you are on one seriously wierd trip..."

He put his hand gently on Michael's arm. "You didn't rape Nikita.." he insisted. "There's no way.."

Distraught, Michael stared back into the kindly blue eyes. "But I did," Michael insisted in return, his voice quivering. "I must have..."

Walter clapped his hand on the other man's shoulder and spoke his reassuring words to the anguished young operative.

"I'm telling you, man, you're hallucinating. I saw her myself today. We visited, I told her some dirty jokes, she laughed, and then she spent exactly forty-five seconds in your office,"

Walter recited his memories. "And then she went home."

"There's no way you raped her, Michael," Walter insisted. "You've been here in Section all day.."

Michael was not comforted. He lifted tear-filled green eyes to the gentle old man's face. "It didn't happen today," Michael told him disconsolately, his body slumped in despair. "It was a few months ago..."

Walter stared at him, more frustrated than ever. He gave an angry sigh, and pulled Michael by the arm farther inside the Weapons bay. Michael let himself be led unresistingly into Walter's cramped work space. The old man shoved him down on a work bench against the back wall and then took a seat beside him.

"Here," Walter said, reaching inside a near-by tool box and taking out a silver flask. He shoved the spirits into Michael's hand, and stared him in the eye. "Drink," he commanded.

Michael looked back at him for a few seconds, and then obeyed. The alcohol burned a warm path down his throat, and he choked and coughed a little as he handed Walter back the flask.

But in a minute he began to feel a bit better, his nerves more steady, his insides not so shaky. "Thank you," Michael said softly.

Walter grunted in acknowledgement, then began his matter-of-fact questioning. "So," he asked gruffly, "Just when did this SUPPOSED attack take place, exactly?"

Michael sighed, and rubbed a nervous hand over his chin. "It was two months ago, on the Perez mission..."

Walter eyed him skeptically. "Go on," he said in a disbelieving tone.

The soft voice resumed. "It was right after Nikita and her team rescued me from Perez's laboratory. She took me back to her apartment, and it happened then, while I was staying with her...."

Walter sighed in relief. If he had had the slightest doubt before that what Michael had told him could possibly be true, it was completely gone now. He knew for a fact that it had never happened.

"Michael, look at me," Walter demanded gently.

Michael turned tormented green eyes up to his. "Yes?" he said, in an almost hopeful tone.

"I know all about it, Kid," Walter told him, voice still gentle. "I know you lost your memory...."

Michael tensed slightly, but was silent. Walter went on.

"Nikita confided in me, asked for my help. Together, we managed to find out what specific drugs Perez had given you that had wasted your mind, and I got you an antidote from BioResearch that Nikita slipped to you while you were in Medlab..."

Michael blinked, and doubt flickered in the green eyes, but still he said nothing. Walter continued. "I was in constant contact with Nikita during that time... if something like .. rape had happened to her, I would have known about it..."

Michael looked doubtful, and shook his head. "But, I ..."

Walter interrupted him. "Look, Kid, you had a really rough couple of days then," Walter told him with a kindly smile. "You had been taken by Red Cell, tortured, and drugged. Then two days later you were shot. It's no wonder you're a little confused about what happened then..."

"Trust me," Walter went on earnestly. "I was there with Nikita through the whole thing, and I know it never happened. What you THINK you're remembering now had got to be some kind of ..of.. false flashback, or something..."

Michael looked at him thoughtfully, his expression a mixture of hope, doubt, and confused bewilderment. "But I was so sure...." he whispered, almost to himself. "I thought...."

"No, Kid," Walter cut him off. "You were wrong...." He gave Michael a sudden, quirky grin. "The fact that you are sitting here alive today proves that you didn't rape her.."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, puzzled. "How does that prove anything?"

"Because.." Walter drawled, standing up from the bench, "If you HAD, you'd be dead by now..."

He grinned widely again. "Because I would have shot you myself, if Nikita didn't beat me to it.." he explained with a dry laugh.

Michael stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh with him or cry, his emotions in tumoil. He buried his face in his hands and sighed.

"All right, maybe I'm wrong about what went on between us," Michael said after a moment, lifting his head up. "Maybe I'm not clear on exactly what happened, but I know SOMETHING did..."

He looked up into the kindly old face. "I know I did something to hurt her, something that made her.. sad.." The green eyes reflected vast pain as they looked up at Walter.

"What did I do to her?" Michael choked out in anguish. "What in God's name did I do?"

Walter crossed his arms across his chest and leaned nonchalantly against the tool box behind him. He gave Michael another wise grin.

"Good question, Kid," he said sagely. "But I'm not the one you should be asking, am I?"

Michael blinked. "Then, should I just go to her and ... just ask her?" he said in astonishment.

Walter grinned, and pulled Michael up from the bench. "Brilliant idea, man..." he quipped, but his voice was still kind. "Why don't you do that?"

Michael nodded, somewhat dazed. It was so simple. Just talk to her. His heart lightening, he dared a small, hopeful smile. "I will," he said, letting out a relieved breath. "I'll see her..." He turned to Walter.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, his eyes alight with hope. He gripped the old man's hand in his. "Thank you..."

Embarrassed, Walter dismissed the younger man gruffly. "Yeah, yeah.. OK..." he muttered, waving Michael away. "Just GO, already..."

With one last nod and smile, Michael turned and hurried out of the Weapons Bay, heading out of Section to see his beloved Nikita.

Walter watched him go, then turned and rummaged in the tool box for the flask. "Damn," he muttered to himself, plopping down on the bench. "Do I need a drink..."

He hoisted the flask to his lips, and then stayed on the bench ruminating and reflecting for a long while, about life, and love, and other tender, fragile things he had nutured in Section, before he took his old bones to bed.

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

It was almost two in the morning by the time Michael reached Nikita's apartment. It had taken him a full half hour to drive there, and the warm glow of hope and the feeling of confidence that everything would be all right had begun to wane a little, the further he removed himself from Walter's buoying presence.

By the time he had parked his car and had walked up the stairs to her door, Michael's doubts were back in full force.

It was all well and good for Walter to insist that Michael just breeze in casually and ask Nikita point blank what the problem was. Walter hadn't seen the way she had looked at him earlier in the day when she had come to his office- her eyes full of pain and hurt, her reluctance to spend even one minute n his company more than obvious.

He had hurt her somehow, he knew that. He needed very badly to know what horrible thing he had done to her. With a start, he realized just how frightened he was of finding out.

Despite his fears, Michael still raised his hand to the door of apartment 412 and knocked softly, then waited.

A full minute later, the door opened, and Nikita stood there, wearing a long robe over a thin slip, her feet bare, her hair tousled. Blue eyes wide, she blinked sleepily at him.

She had been crying all evening, and pacing, and had at last fallen into a restless sleep only a few hours before. Now she was a little dazed that the object of her thoughts and dreams was here before her, standing at her door.

"Michael?" she said in surprise. "What is it? Why are you here?" Nervously, she shrank back away from him and pulled the top of her robe closed with one shaky hand.

The gesture was not lost on Michael, who interpreted her skittishness in his presence as some other emotion.

*Merde* he thought despairingly. *She's afraid of me* He swallowed hard, and pressed on. "I needed to talk to you about something, but if now is a bad time, I'll come back later," he told her in a soft voice.

Nikita, stunned, only blinked at him once more. She was amazed. Michael never wanted to talk about anything.

He took her silence to mean a dismissal, and with a heavy heart, he sighed, and turned to leave. "I'll go," he said, trying to stem his crushing dissappointment. "I'm sorry I disturbed you..."

He had only gone a few steps down the hall when Nikita called to him, rousing from her state of shock. "Michael, wait! Please, come in..."

He walked back to her and she reached for his arm, and pulled him inside the apartment.

When the door had closed behind them, Nikita took a deep breath and faced him. She noted the lines of weariness in his face and the the look of distress in his eyes. He was obviously having as bad a night as she was.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" she said gently.

Michael licked his lips nervously, feeling afraid and tense, now that the moment had come to finally speak. He felt his throat closing up in fear, and when the words came out, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"The Perez mission," he choked out. "The three days you protected me...." He looked up to meet her eyes. "I need to know.. what happened."

Nikita sighed, and wandered into the kitchen to start making tea. "I told you, Michael," she said casually, to hide her sudden alarm at this dangerous topic. "You were shot in Luchenwald, Germany at Perez's club..."

Michael leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her take out the tea-cups from the cupboard. He took a deep breath, and spoke again, this time his voice was firm with determination.

"I didn't mean what happened with Perez," he explained, staring at her intently. "The disk you gave me from Gloria had all that information. What I need to know is, what happened ... between us?"

Her eyes widened, and the tea cup clattered in the saucer as she nervously fumbled it on the counter. Oh, God, she thought. Did Michael remember telling her he loved her?

"Between us?" she repeated blankly. "What do you mean?" She locked eyes with him, both of them incredibly tense.

Michael was working up the courage to speak when the tea kettle whistled shrilly behind Nikita. Grateful for the distraction, she turned to lift the kettle off the stove and pour the steaming water over the tea bags in the cups.

Michael took another deep breath and went on. "I mean, what happened here," he said, gesturing around the apartment. "When I stayed with you..."

A little of Nikita's tension eased. It was in Medlab where he had spoken those words of devotion, not here. He didn't remember anything, she thought with relief.

Smiling, she handed him one of the cups of tea. "Nothing happened," she said truthfully. "You were tired, you slept for a while, and when you woke up, I tried to explain to you about Section and help you prep for the mission..."

Michael put his tea cup down on the counter, untouched. He sighed, and walked a few steps further to stand in the center of the living room. His back to her, he wrapped his arms around himself and huddled down in his coat, feeling suddenly cold.

"Did we dance?" he blurted out tensely.

Nikita came out from behind the kitchen counter and joined him in the living room, standing at his side. "Yes, we did," she answered softly, in a sympathetic voice.

She remembered the wide-eyed, innocent, young Michael that he had been that day- so vulnerable, so bewildered, so open about his feelings. So tender and sweet.

"We danced right here," she told him gently. "Just for a little while."

Michael let out a soft gasp, his shoulders shaking, and Nikita stared at him, realizing with a jolt that he was crying. Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm and turned him to face her. "Michael?" she siad in concern. "What is it?"

The green eyes that looked at her were bright with pain. "What happened after that?" he choked out. "What happened after we danced?" he pleaded, his voice agonized.

"Michael.." Nikita whispered, her heart torn by his distress. She stroked her hand against his tear-stained cheek, anxious to reassure him. "Shhh, nothing happened," she stated firmly. "We had only danced to a few bars of the song when your cell phone rang and you were called into Section..."

Michael let out a gasp of relief, and then gripped her by the arms, holding her in front of him and staring intently into her eyes.

"You're sure?" he demanded. "Nothing happened?"

Puzzled, Nikita reassured him again. "Positive," she declared firmly. "Nothing."

Michael closed his eyes and released her, letting all the air whoosh out of his lungs as he let go of the breath he was holding.

"Thank God.." he said shakily. "Thank God..."

"I don't understand," she said softly. "What do you remember?" she asked warily. "What do you think you did?"

After the ordeal of this long night, Michael was too distraught, too weary, and now too stunned with relief to keep anything from her.

"I..I thought that I lost control..." he blurted out. "I thought that I raped you....."

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

Nikita stood blinking in shock for a moment, totally stunned, and then recovered herself. In a gesture not unlike the one Walter had done earlier, she gripped Michael roughly by the arm and pushed him down on a seat on the couch, then sat down beside him.

"Talk to me, Michael," she demanded. "Tell me what you remember..." She gripped his hand in hers, squeezing tight. "Why would you ever think that you had done something like that?"

Michael turned to look at her, confusion and bewilderment in his eyes. He drew strength from her hand in his, her touch comforting him. He took a deep breath and tried to explain, carefully sorting out his jumble of emotions.

"I only remember bits and pieces," he started out slowly. "Fragments.."

Nikita nodded, relieved to know he didn't remeber it all. "Go on, she said encouragingly.

"I remember dancing with you," he continued in a low voice. "I remember the music, and how you felt in my arms..."

Nikita squeezed his hand agian, but stayed silent. Michael went on. "I remember how beautiful you looked, and how good you smelled, and how wonderful it was to hold you...." He lowered his eyes from hers, his voice shaking with emotion.

"I remember I tried to kiss you, and you said no..." he choked out. He gripped her hand painfully tight in his. "I can't recall anything after that, but I was afraid that I might have lost it then, that I couldn't stop myself, because I wanted you so much..."

Nikita let out a little sob and pulled him close to her, holding him in her arms. Michael clung to her tightly. "No," she whispered, stroking his hair. "You didn't do that, Michael..."

He let out a shuddering sigh against her shoulder and held her tighter. "It's always been that way with you," he went on, his voice a soft whisper in her ear. "With the others, I've always been able to keep my real emotions separate- there's always a part of me that's distant..."

Nikita tensed, and closed her eyes, knowing by "others" he meant the women he was forced to seduce for Section.

"But whenever I'm with you," Michael went on hoarsely, "There is no distance. I can't maintain my control... I.. I lose myself in you..." he stammered, groping for the words to explain his emotions.

"You... overwhelm me...." Michael whispered, burying his face in her hair and pulling her close.

Nikita sighed and let herself melt into his embrace, her body relaxing, enveloped in his warmth. "Michael..." she moaned softly against his shoulder.

He lifted his head from her neck and looked into her glowing blue eyes. "I was afraid something had happened, like the first time we were together, that night in Paris, on the boat..." Nikita stared at him, breathless.

"I had to have you then," he groaned. "I needed you so much. I lost all control..."

Nikita kissed him gently, a swift caress of her lips against his mouth. "Michael..." she breathed, "Don't you remember? I needed you, too. I wanted you...." she groaned softly. "I wanted you to lose control...."

She kissed him again, harder this time, and gripped the lapels of his coat, pulling him down on the couch beside her. "Just like I want you to lose control now...." she moaned in breathless invitation.

With an urgent groan, Michael turned her to lie under him, stretching his body out over hers, and with his hands buried in her hair, pulled her head up to his for a deep, searing kiss. Nikita's soft lips parted instantly under his, and she kissed him hungrily as her hands roamed across his back, pulling him closer.

For several magical moments, they tasted of each other, devouring each other's sweetness, plundering the depths of their longing.

When at last they broke the kiss, Michael's entranced gaze met hers. "Nikita?" he asked breathlessly, wanting to make sure this was what she really wanted.

She smiled a dazzling smile at him. "Shhh, Michael..." she groaned, pulling him down to her mouth again. "Just.. love me... please..."

With a soft cry, Michael lowered his mouth to hers and did just that.

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

When Nikita pulled him down to her for another deep kiss, Michael couldn't believe how happy he felt. The burden he had been carrying was lifted from him, the weight of his guilt was gone, leaving his heart singing with lightness.

Just a few hours ago, he had thought himself a monster that the world would be better off without. Now he knew he need no longer hate himself, that he was worthy of life, because, somehow, by some miracle, Nikita loved him.

This night he had gone from the depths of despair to the heights of passion, and was still climbing higher. With a hoarse moan, he let his mind drift free and surrendered to his body's needs, letting the moment take him.

He wanted to inhale her, to taste her, to devour her. Panting, he let his mouth trail hot fire down her neck, nipping, sucking, tasting. Eagerly, he shoved the flimsy wisp of her slip aside and cupped her breasts in his palms, then bent his head and suckled now one, then the other, of the soft, pink-tipped peaks.

Nikita moaned and writhed under him, tangling her fingers in the silky auburn curls, holding his head firmly against her, making sure no inch of her breasts escaped the fervent attention of his mouth.

He captured each achingly taut nipple in his mouth, tongue flicking them to hardness. He moaned softly with each taste of her responsive, sensitive flesh.

Nikita tilted her head back, arched her breasts up against his eager mouth. With soft gasps, she closed her eyes and unconsciously began thrusting her hips against his as she lay under him.

In response to her wordless gesture of need, his hands roamed lower, shoving aside the thin robe and yanking up the bottom of her slip, pulling it up to bunch around her waist. He let out a gasp of shock and pleasure when he realized she was naked underneath.

With a loud groan, eager to devour her more, Michael knelt on the floor by the couch, held her hips in his hands and positioned himself between her thighs. Nikita let out a high cry when his mouth tasted her soft core, and his tongue entered her wet, secret depths.

"God, Michael...." she moaned, thrashing under him on the couch. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was so enthralled with the intimate oral caresses that she was unable to do anything but quiver and writhe beneath him, whimpering in ecstasy.

Her hips bucked wildly against him, but he held his grip firm, letting his hands slide up and down her inner thighs with long, tantalizing strokes, then held her steady, making sure there was no escape for her from his insistent, sweet torment.

Her scent, her taste, the feel of her intoxicated him. Moaning against the delicate folds of her womanhood, he licked and suckled her, determined to drink his fill of her until she was sated as well.

"Oh... ohh.. uh.. oh.." she cried incoherently. The next moment, her writhing stopped, and she held rigidly still, her thighs tensed and taut under his hands, her hips arched off of the couch and pressed into his face in urgent need. Her hands were clenched in her robe at her sides, and short, sharp panting moans came from her parted lips.

Michael realized with sharp joy that she was at the brink of fufillment, and he had brought her there. He was determined to push her over the edge. He licked and lapped her faster, firmer, mouth sliding up and down her opening, tongue pushing further into her depths.

He felt her quivering begin, her thighs shaking with small tremors, as her orgasm began. He doubled his efforts, devouring her sweetness, and plunged his tongue inside her, burying it as deep as it would go.

Nikita let out a soft scream as the orgasm crashed over her. She bucked helplessly against him, shaken violently by the involuntary jerking of her body as it danced on its own in joyous release.

After a few moments that to Nikita seemed to be a timeless expanse of eternity spent in some far realm of glory, some Heaven of passion, her body relaxed, her quivering stopped, and she opened her eyes.

"Michael.." she moaned in satisfied languour, drinking him in with passion glazed eyes. "Michael...."

He rested his head against her belly and smiled up at her, lazily caressing the place he had kissed with his fingers, letting her rest and recover. She closed her eyes again, losing herself in the feel of his teasing fingers on her womanhood.

More quickly than she had imagined possible, she was aroused again. She wanted him; she wanted to devour him, to drink her fill of him, as he had done with her.

She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. Michael, kneeling before her, helped her upright and began kissing her.

She tasted herself on his lips. Melting against him, she wound her hands in his lapels and pulled him to his feet, even as she rose to hers. He clung to her, body pressing against body, as he eagerly resumed the kiss. Her hand snaked between them to caress the hardened mass of his arousal that strained against the material of his pants.

Michael moaned loudly, throwing his head back and arching his body against her hand, entranced, quivering, at her touch. "Nikita...." he breathed out in a gasp. "Mon Dieu, Nikita...."

She smiled, and pushed him gently down to sit on the couch, then she knelt in front of him on the floor. He watched her intently, his eyes never leaving her face, his breathing quickening into rapid, short pants. Except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he did not move, letting her have her way with him as her hands roamed over him. Again, he quivered at her touch.

Eagerly, she shoved aside his coat and pulled his shirt up from the waistband of his slacks. Sliding her hands up the hard length of his muscular thighs, she let her fingers again brush against the sensitive mound of his swollen manhood before undoing the button and lowering the zipper.

Michael let out a soft gasp as she freed him from the restricting clothes, her hand reaching for him, enclosing his hard length in her firm grasp.

"Oui.. ahh... oui..." he moaned. It was Michael's turn to writhe and buck beneath her caresses, as she stroked him rhythmically, deliberately, savoring the feel of the heavy, thick shaft of throbbing flesh in her hand.

"Feels.... so good..." Michael groaned hoarsely.

Nikita moaned in return. "Yes, you do...." she told him breathlessly, and then bent her head to take his hot velvet length in her mouth.

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

Nikita closed her eyes, reveling in the taste of Michael- salty and warm, with the sudden tang of sweetness of the clear drops of honey that had emerged from him while, aroused, he had pleasured her.

Now it was her turn to pleasure him. With a grunt of satisfaction, she took his hard fullness in her mouth, enjoying him, devouring him, as he had devoured her. Eagerly, fervently, tenderly.

Michael moaned, low and deep, and his responsiveness gratified her further, spurring her on to please him more. She slid her lips up and down him, flicking her tongue across the sweet, pulsing flesh, licking all along the ridged shaft, paying special attention to the sensitive place just under the full, purple tip.

Michael began to buck helplessly beneath her, but, as he had done with her, she held him still with her hands on his lean thighs, allowing him no escape from her eager caresses.

Again and again, she lowered her lips on him, nipping, sucking, tasting. She kissed him there, now lightly, now firmly, occasionally biting him gently, in teasing love-play. She lost herself in the feel of him.

Moaning, Michael threw his head back on the couch, his body arching up into her mouth, hips writhing. His breathing came hard and fast, chest heaving. He was close to the edge, but knew it was too soon- for both of them.

He opened passion-drugged green eyes and looked at her. "Nikita, please.. " he begged, holding out his hand to her. "Please..."

She smiled up at him, realizing what he wanted. She wanted it too, the full joining of their bodies in sweet completion.

Even while she had held his hard fullness in her mouth, enjoying the possession of his flesh inside her, it had not been enough. Her body had ached inside to be joined with him.

Swiftly, she stood, and yanked off her thin robe and slip, her eyes never leaving his. Michael made as if to stand up to remove his own disheveled clothes, but she was too eager to wait. She pushed him back down on the couch, straddled him, and, with a sharp, high cry, impaled herself on his hard length.

Michael cried out as well, overwhelmed at the sensation of her hot wetness engulfing his manhood. He pulled her down for a hard kiss, and as their lips met, the last inch of him sank inside her all the way, the hard tip bumping against her cervix. He had filled her completely.

They groaned together as one, cries intermingling in the kiss, savoring the sensation, remaining still for a long moment.

Then Nikita began to move on him, rotating her hips in slow, erotic circles until Michael was out of his mind with passion. She took her pleasure with him, caressing him teasingly with her body as she had done with her mouth. She slid sensuously up and down his rigid length, bringing him to the edge once more.

After a few minutes of this sweet torment, Michael no longer lay obediently docile beneath her. He was not the tame house-cat, but a leashed leopard, whose nature would not let him remain quiescently dormant for long.

With a low growl, he slid his hands, that had been resting on her waist, down her body and under her, slipping them under her shapely buttocks. He lifted her off of him, then pulled her back down, controlling the pace of the thrusts.

Nikita moaned, closed her eyes, and hung on to his shoulders to steady herself as he became the rider, not she, surrendering to his control.

At the same time he held her, Michael began thrusting powerfully up into her, thighs straining beneath hers. She cried out, loving the feel of his c*ck pounding into her from below.

"Nikita..." he moaned breathlessly. It was the only warning she had when suddenly, in the next moment, Michael rose from the couch, taking her with him. He lifted her in his arms, and she clung to him, wrapping her long legs around his waist. Bodies still joined, he carried her effortlessly up the short stairway to her bedroom, and deposited her gently on the bed, she on her back, he on top of her.

Without letting her get her breath back, her began thrusting into her again, hard and deep, his face buried in her neck. Nikita's hands roamed his black-clad back, and she whimpered in protest, frustrated that she could not touch his bare skin.

With an impatient groan, Michael rolled off of her and stood up, just long enough to hastily strip off the impeding clothes. In a moment, he was back on the bed beside her. She reached for him, and gripping the hard shaft, she guided him inside her. He was thrusting almost before he was all the way in, and Nikita sighed in pleasure, both for the feel of him back inside her, and for his eagerness. It was just as Michael had told her- when he was with her, he lost control.

She held him tightly, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, enjoying his nakedness against hers. Wildly, he rode her, stroking fast and deep. His gasping moans sounded in her ear, becoming background music for the symphony of their dance. Nikita closed her eyes, again letting him take her to the heights, ascending the path to Heaven.

"Michael..." she sobbed incoherently. "Oh, God, Michael..."

He knew what she wanted, knew she was begging him for sweet release. His thrusts became more urgent, harder, deeper, faster, until she was beyond thought, mindless with passion. He felt her tense beneath him, body going rigid, and he knew she was just at the edge, as he was. He held on a moment longer, long enough to groan loudly and grind his hips into hers, long enough for his fingers to roam over one of her soft breasts, long enough for his mouth to find hers once more....

As their lips met, Nikita arched against him, quivering beneath him as her shattering orgasm took her. At the same time her womanhood clenched and spasmed around him, Michael thrust violently into her one last time and came, his seed pulsing deep inside her.

Gasping, breathless, they kissed again, moaning against each others lips. At last sated and spent, Michael lay his head on her shoulder and held her tight, not wanting to lose the magic of this moment of shining happiness.

Nikita squeezed him back, clinging tightly as well, keeping him prisoner within her arms and her long legs, never wanting to let him go.

"Stay with me tonight.. please..." Nikita whispered. "Stay til morning. Don't go..." she pleaded.

"Oui," he answered softly, kissing her again. "I won't leave you...." he promised.

She sighed deeply and relaxed in his embrace. Michael rose up to pull the sheet up over them, and then lay back down to snuggle against her. Exhausted, but happy, the lovers slept, still entwined in each other's arms.

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

Several hours later, Nikita lay awake in the dark in her bed as Michael slept peacefully beside her. He was turned on his side, his face to the wall, and Nikita couldn't help admiring the strong lines of his naked back. The sheet had slipped down, revealing the sweet curve of one lean hip, and Nikita was struck anew with the depth of her desire for him. A fierce tenderness welled in her breast as she looked at him, lying there, so powerful, yet so vulnerable, in his sleep.

She sighed, savoring his nearness, cherishing this peaceful moment. But inside, her own thoughts were not peaceful, but jumbled and chaotic. The lovemaking had been fantastic, but then, she and Michael had always connected perfectly on a physical level. It had been that way from the first. Sexual communication had never been a problem for them- they sensed each other's needs almost instinctively.

It was their communication on an emotional level that lacked the clarity and purity, and the honesty, of their love-making. Guiltily, Nikita had to admit that it was partly her fault. Although Michael's reticence, reserve, and secrecy could be blamed for a lot of the problem, Nikita knew she hadn't always been completely honest with him either. She had kept secrets as well.

Like now.

Sighing, she settled under the covers, lying on her back, and stared up at the ceiling. Michael had come to the apartment, distraught, bewildered, desperate to know what had happened during those three critical days he had lost.

He had somehow come to the conclusion, a false one, that he had violated her, that he had done something that had shaken her, and terrified her, down to her core.

And on that point, he had been right. She WAS afraid; she WAS shaken. But it hadn't been rape that that had caused her distress-- it had been the declaration of that innocent, honest Michael- the Michael who had been stripped of his layers of caution and coldness, and his Section training, the Michael who was his true self- It was that Michael who had terrified her by telling her that he loved her.

She shifted uneasily in the bed, her mental discomfort translating into a physical restlessness. She sighed again, and made herself face the hard truth.

She hadn't lied to Michael, exactly, but she hadn't told him the whole truth. He needed an explanation, and she had not given him one. Instead, she had distracted him with sex.

Not that she regretted their love-making this night one bit. They had both needed it, yearned for it. It had assuaged their pain, and their loneliness, and re-established the bond of intimacy and trust between them.

But Nikita knew Michael needed more. More trust, more intimacy, more ... honesty. She wasn't sure she had the courage to tell him the truth. And Nikita speculated that the time for that honesty was near. Surely, Michael would wake up in the morning and remember all the questions she had left unanswered. He would want an explanation, a reason, for her terror.

What was she going to tell him? How could she admit the truth? That she feared nothing, not terrorists, not death, not Section, but only a life without his love? That she would shatter completely if she found out that what Michael had said to her in Medlab wasn't true?

*I'm so tired* Nikita thought to herself, her weariness suddenly overcoming her. She turned on her side, and snuggled up against Michael's back, comforted by his warmth. She didn't want to think of the future anymore, so uncertain, so frightening. Michael might leave her tomorrow, but at least she had him now, here with her, warm and sweet in her bed. For the moment, he was hers.

Impulsively, she leaned across him, and bent her head to kiss the back of his hand that rested, outstretched, on the pillow. "Michael..." she breathed softly, like a reverent prayer. Then, settling down beside him again, she rested her head against his broad shoulder and slept.

Deep in her exhausted sleep, Nikita was unaware that Michael stirred beside her, or that her kiss on his hand, so like the one those months ago in Medlab, had triggered Michael's dreams.

The kiss had snagged the pieces of time that he had lost; like a kaleidescope, the images coalesced around that pivot point, that kiss, and the words that had come before it. The words echoed now through his dreams, everything finally making sense--

***"Have I ever told you that I love you?"***

With a start, Michael's eyes flew open, and he lay still and tense on the bed, completely, sharply, awake.

He remembered.....

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

He remembered.

*Oh, God, no* he thought, stifling a gasp of shock at the realization of what he had done. *I didn't say that, did I? I didn't tell her....*

But he had. He remembered it all clearly. How she had rescued him from Perez, how she had helped him afterwards. He- weak and disoriented, bewildered and afraid, and innocent as a child, and she- strong, loving, patient, protective, and gentle....

That Michael that he had been then, that bewildered Michael, though terrified and lost, had yet been braver than him.

That other version of Michael, in his simplicity, had dared to speak the truth that he could not.

He had told her that she was a good friend. That was more than true. The other Michael had been honest about his feelings, had opened up his heart to her. He had made it plain that he trusted her, that he appreciated her, that he loved her.

He loved her.

Michael lay in the dark, frozen with shock, as the epiphany of this truth overcame him. It was so obvious.

Of course, he loved her. He always had. Why else would he risk his life over and over to protect her? Why else had he fallen into despair when he thought she had died in the firery blast of the suicide mission? Why else was it that the only time he really felt alive was when he was with her, in her arms? Why else would he put a gun to his head and try to end it all when he believed he had hurt her?

*Oh, God* Michael thought to himself, and then stifled an almost hysterical laugh. He had spent so much of his time in Section being careful about revealing his feelings, hiding his true self from the prying eyes, keeping his emotions hidden and suppressed, splitting his life in two, that he had succeeded too well.

He had done such a good job hiding his emotions that even HE didn't know what those emotions were.

But that other version of Michael knew. The present version of Michael may not have known what love was anymore, but that other Michael did.

When he had been taken by Perez and drugged, the layers of his Section personna had been stripped away, and the real Michael, the true self, had emerged from beneath. That other Michael, lyng in Medlab, knowing that he was about to be subsumed by his older, harder self, had told Nikita that he loved her. And she had said nothing, only smiled sadly, and kissed his hand.

And then, she had given him the antidote, and he had awoken hours later, his old, cold self. He spoke not of love, and gratitude, but of mission parameters, and debriefs. No wonder she had left the room shortly after that, no wonder he had heard her softly crying....

"Nikita..." he breathed out a sigh, and turned over in the bed and pulled her into his arms, careful not to wake her. He held her sleeping form against him, and stroked her hair. His heart was bursting with love for her, his mind racing, as everything became very clear.

He had been waiting for the right time, the right moment, to tell her his feelings. He had wanted them to be safe, he had wanted eveything to be perfect. He had figured that someday, far in the murky future, the right time would come.

But he realized now that things, entrapped as they were in Section, would never be perfect. There was no right time. He prayed that the right time had not come and gone; he prayed that he was not too late to tell her the truth.

"Nikita..." he said softly against her cheek, pulling her closer. The lovely blonde stirred in his arms, and opened drowsy blue eyes.

"Michael?" she asked, coming slowly awake and lifting her head up to look at him. "What is it?"

"Nikita, I need to tell you something..." he said tensely, gripping her tighter and swallowing hard, fighting his sudden fear.

"Yes?" she said, tensing as well. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he whispered, suddenly relaxing as his fears fled to be replaced by a sudden, strong surge of joy in his heart. "Everything's finally right," he told her, with a happy laugh.

He pulled her closer. "I love you...." he said with breathless sweetness, and then he kissed her.

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

Michael's soft, full lips on hers parted eagerly, willingly, tongue reaching tentatively, yet insistently, seeking to meld with her in tender submission.

But Nikita, to his shock, did not respond in kind. Instead of clinging to him, yielding herself and her lips to his poignant caress, she stiffened in his arms and pulled away, uttering a low whimper.

Michael opened his eyes to see her backed against the headboard, the sheet pulled protectively up against her to cover her bare breasts, her eyes wide with fright.

He blinked at her, bewildered by her response. Alarmed, he reached out his hand to touch her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"Nikita?" he whispered. "What is it? Didn't you hear what I said?" There was a hurt look in his eyes, but he tried to keep his voice calm, despite his pain. "I said that I..."

"I heard what you said," she interrupted him in a breathless voice. Still tensed and wide-eyed, she shrank back from his touch.

Michael realized that she was not angry or disgusted with him as he had first thought, but afraid. Why? Why did his words alarm her so?

He lowered his hand from her shoulder and sat back on his side of the bed. In a soothing voice he tried to allay her fears.

"It's not a trick," he reassured her. "There's no mission, no Section test, no ulterior motive." He licked his lips nervously and went on, after waiting a moment for her to respond. When she remained silent, he continued, voice urgent and quavering with emotion.

"You know it's true. You know I've always cared for you, more than I should. I tried not to; I tried pushing you away, but that didn't work.."

He shook his head ruefully, and gave her the slightest smile, amused at himself and his own stubborn stupidity. "I only wanted you more. I need you. I realize now that I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone..."

She stared at him numbly, then tears welled in the crystalline blue eyes, and she let out a broken sob. "Oh, Michael.." she cried, and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Alarmed at her distress, Michael slid closer to her and lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "Nikita, please, I'm NOT lying to you," he declared fervently. "You know it's true. I told you that once before, didn't I? After the Perez mission, when you protected me..."

Her head snapped up at his words, her face a mask of shock. "Oh!" she gasped, turning her tear-stained face to his. "You.. you.." she stammered, choking on a sob, "... you remember?"

Michael nodded, his voice gentle. "Yes, I remember all of it," he told her softly. "How kind you were, how caring...."

Nikita buried her face in her hands again, her sobs continuing. Michael stopped, alarmed and suddenly afraid. Why was she so distressed at his words? Or was it not his declaration of love that had upset her, but something else?

Was there something else he didn't remember? Something he had done to her on the Perez mission that was so horrible that his mind still blocked the incident with the defense mechanism of amnesia? Something so heinous that his psyche still stubbornly shielded him from the truth?

With a soft groan, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tenderly, letting her weep against his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around her heaving shoulders and stroked her hair.

"Please, 'Kita," he begged. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, just tell me why you are so frightened. Tell me what I did that scared you so...."

Her sobs quieted, and she snuggled against his chest, holding perfectly still, listening to him intently. Encouraged, Michael dared to tell her his fears.

"I thought I remembered everything about those three days, but maybe I don't," he told her anxiously. "You've been so sad these last few months since then, so.. so... wounded..."

He swallowed hard and gathered the courage to ask her the rest. "Is there some horrible thing I did during that time?"

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching tightly. "'Kita, please..." he begged rawly. "Just tell me it wasn't a lie when you said I didn't rape you..."

At his angushed words, instantly she lifted her head up from his shoulder and stared at him with wide, shocked blue eyes.

"No, Michael, no, no.." she said, shaking her head emphatically. She reached up her hand to stroke his cheek in gentle reassurance. "You didn't rape me. You didn't do anything to hurt me....." Inexplicably, she smiled. "It's like you said," she told him breathlessly, eyes glowing. "You love me..."

To his surprise, the hand on his cheek moved down to his shoulder and in one swift gesture she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down to hers, intent on kissing him eagerly. In utter shock, he heard her laugh joyously just before her mouth came down on his.

Frozen and entirely stunned, Michael let her lips move fervently over his for a moment, his mind whirling. Then he came to himself with a groan, and gripped her by the shoulders, breaking the kiss by firmly holding her away from him.

He stared into her eyes, shining with happiness, and took in her expression, the wide smile still on her lips.

"'Kita, dammit, please..." he burst out in frustration. "You've been upset about something for months. Will you please just tell me what it was?"

She blushed, and bit her lip nervously, lowering her eyes from his. With a soft moan, she slid her arms under his and nestled her face in his shoulder once more.

"Okay, I'll tell you..." she said shyly. "But first, can you just hold me, please?"

"Oui," answered Michael gently, his heart softening, his fears fading. He scooted down in the bed until he was lying full length on his side and pulled her against him, holding her more tightly in his arms. His hands gently stroked her back.

"Better?" he murmured into her hair, felling her relax against him.

"Mmmm," she mumbled with a sigh.

Michael let her rest for a while in his embrace, then insisted on an answer. "Tell me," he demanded after a few minutes. "Tell me what scared you."

"You did," came the soft voice against his shoulder.

Michael closed his eyes, tensing as if waiting for a blow. *Oh, God* he thought. *Here it comes.*

"You scared me when you told me you loved me..."

"WHAT?" Michael shouted, almost sitting bolt upright in bed from the shock. He put his hands on either side of her face and made her look into his eyes. "Why in God's name would that scare you?" he demanded. "Why?"

Nikita blushed again, then met his bewildered green eyes with a gaze of blazing adoration. "It scared me because I knew I would die if it wasn't true," she said softly.

Michael gasped, returning her adoring look, too stunned to speak. "You had been drugged, tortured.." she went on gently. "Your memories were gone...." She stroked his cheek once more in a tender caress. "I wanted to believe it, but how did I know it wasn't some drug-induced fancy? some temporary, emotional delusion?"

She pressed her lips lightly to his, in a feather-soft kiss. "You see now why it scared me so?" she whispered. "I was afraid what you said wasn't real...."

Michael groaned, and pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a hard, deep kiss. Nikita melted in his arms, molding her body to his, surrendering her mouth to his in sweet submission.

"But now you know it IS real," Michael whispered hoarsely, as he broke the kiss to trail his eager mouth across her jaw to her ear. "You know it's true," he moaned, slipping his hand under the sheet to caress one taut, pink-tipped breast. "'Kita, I love you..." he groaned again, and kissed her on the senstive spot at the base of her throat.

Nikita laughed joyously, and sighed in contentment. She kissed him lightly on his mouth, then his jaw, then his shoulder.

"Yes, I know you do, Michael..." she said with a sly smile, then slid her hand under the sheet and gripped his aroused manhood in her hand.

Michael jumped in shock at her touch, even at the same time his c*ck hardened further in her grasp. " 'Kita?" he gasped.

"I know you love me, my Darling, my beautiful, beautiful Michael..." she said with a breathless laugh, eyes glowing with passion. "But would you mind if I asked you to ... prove it to me once more?"

Michael smiled, his heart light with happiness. For an answer, he uttered a loud groan and pulled her into arms, turned her under him, and entered her.

Then, with ardent devotion, he proceeded to prove his love to her through the night and into the sweet morning dawn.

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

The next day, the two operatives took different routes at different times, returning to the world of Section. Nikita strolled with apparent casualness down the walkway, inwardly amazed that her feet still touched the ground.

She struggled to keep the smile off her face, but was not entirely successful- the corner of her mouth kept quirking up in a grin of happy satisfaction.

Her attempts to not smile failed entirely when she heard Michael's voice above her on the catwalk, greeting her as if for the first time that day.

"Good morning," he called to her with studied nonchalance, even as his heart leaped with happiness at the sight of her. "How's everything?"

She pivoted on her heel and tilted back her head to look up at him. Unable to help herself, she smiled.

"Fine," she answered, as casually as she could. She paused, remaining there, staring at him. She knew she should move on, but she couldn't resist drinking in the sight of him for a few moments longer.

Michael calmly folded his hands in front of him and gave her his best blank stare, even though his eyes gleamed with exultant joy.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked innocently.

Nikita bit her lip to keep from laughing, but could not stop the sudden blush that came to her cheeks. She cleared her throat ostentatiously and answered him in a coy voice.

"Er.. em... okay, I guess..." she replied with equal innocence, looking up at him slyly. "You?"

The green eyes stared blankly back, but the corner of his mouth quivered upwards in amusement. "Fine," he intoned solemnly in a bored voice.

She nodded, and then turned away to continue her walk down the hallway, knowing if she looked at him one more second she would burst out in happy giggles.

"Nikita," Michael called out to her. "See you later.."

She turned and looked up at him once more. She risked a swift wink in his direction. "Yeah, later...." she said, feigning indifference.

She turned and ran right into another operative who was rushing her way.

It was Gloria.

Nikita muttered an apology, and went to move by her, but the tall brunette stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"How was he?" Gloria whispered under her breath in a confidential tone.

Nikita paled. "What?" she asked anxiously. "What do you mean?"

Gloria moved closer and lowered her voice further, looking around to make sure they weren't overheard. "Michael, of course," she said breathlessly. "Did you give it to him?"

Nikita blinked at her in shock. "Gloria, I..."

The brunette nodded, and gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," the girl explained softly. "But Michael seemed so stressed out when he came to me to ask about Perez, and I just wanted to know if the disk I compiled for him helped...."

Enlightenment dawned. "Oh, yeah, the disk...." Nikita blurted out in a relieved tone. She nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes it did..." she replied emphatically. "I think you'll find Michael to be much less... stressed out.. than he was before..." she assured her with conviction.

Nikita smiled. She was determined to do everything to keep Michael "relaxed" from now on.

"That's great!" Gloria said, smiling back at her. And with another happy nod, she turned on her heel and was gone.

Nikita stood still and closed her eyes, letting out a deep, shaky breath. It was going to be a long day, she thought, sighing.

But when it was over, she realized exultantly, she would be with Michael again.

Nikita grinned, and continued jauntily on her way, whistling, down the hallway.

THE END

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