Their eyes met - Michael’s questioning look communicating concern. Her smiling eyes notifying joy. Michael relaxed and then he heard his name being called - he was still about 100 or more feet from the blonde. He froze, realizing that George was no longer with Nikita, the bulky guards also no where to be found.

“Michael” a shrilling female French accent called his name again. “Michael.” He turned like in slow motion; Nikita’s joyful eyes filled with fear - Andrea shot the gun she was holding. Two bullets left the chamber in successful repetition. Michael spun - gave Nikita a last hazy look and slumped to the ground barely breathing.

The blonde started screaming; asking for help. “Anyone please call an ambulance.” And “Oh God Michael!” She reached his side, he was unconscious, his breathing shallow and erratic. “Please Michael, Please don’t leave me…”

The ambulance crossed the open field. The vineyard workers, farmers, and such running to the side of their fallen friend. The EMS techs starting IVs, transfusions, oxygen, etc. And then, Nikita’s worst nightmare came true- Michael stopped breathing.

No amount of CPR, ambu bags, meds or medical skill could bring him back. He was gone and the young Doctor told Nikita. She fainted dead away, coming too in the arms of an ambulance attendant. “Michael?” She said crying.

The truth in the EMS techs eyes and the sight of the white sheet covered body made Nikita’s stomach turn, she wretched the content of it on the ground. Then she saw the police removing Andrea who had been quietly sitting nearby. The coroner took Michael’s lifeless body away…Nikita sat eyes empty - heart empty - mind empty.

Nikita was not sure how she got from the crime scene to her house. She couldn’t say who called Michael’s family or when they got there. The grieving woman couldn’t say who made the decision to bury Michael next to Simone; and she certainly could not say who had dressed him in his perfect Gautier suit, shirt and tie.

Vacek, his daughter Elena and her husband came to visit the day after the elaborate funeral. Michael had been buried with his beloved family and Nikita took Elena, Petrosian, along with her father Sallah, to visit the tomb. Elena took flowers, she cried and asked Nikita to call on them for anything she needed.

Now that Michael’s family had gone back to London she felt alone. Michael had left everything to her. Vacek was willing to help the woman with anything she wanted- especially if it had to do with the vineyard; and he told her so.

Nikita couldn’t think at the moment. She was having trouble breathing. Silently Vacek was counting on that - widow vulnerability. Nikita decided to take a trip to London, going to Paris first and visiting George - she wanted revenge. When she told Elena about her decision to take the trip, Vacek volunteered to help run the winery in her absence.

Nikita had stopped talking, stopped eating, she wished she could stop breathing. Elena came to visit the blonde as she threw together a suitcase. She was considering going back to the States. She didn’t care what happened to the business and she would talk to Walter about this.

She thought she would stay at a London hotel and call Walter to come to her; she would have him tell Madelyn - she needed to see her. However, under no circumstance was she going to see Paul. Of all the things she didn’t need - Paul was one of them.

Nikita stopped packing and turned to look at the pretty brunette, who was pacing in front of Nikita’s opened half packed valise. She thought that she looked more than sad, she looked worried - a heavy burden of some sort.

“Elena, I am sorry…is there something you would like to tell me? Nikita inquired - her pale skin, severe hair-do; black clothing and shoes displayed her anguish.

“Nikita, I am sorry I have to speak with you. I am sorry , I don’t know how to say this…”

“I think you should just come out..” Nikita impatiently said.

“I am pregnant and I think Michael was the father…” She said looking down, biting the inside of her lips.

“Oh my God” Nikita said. “How do you know it is Michael’s baby?”

“I don’t, I am far enough along to know…when Michael and I were engaged I was his exclusively.” Elena sobbed.

“Michael’s baby…Thank you Elena, this gives me hope - a part of Michael…”

“But you don’t understand, no one can know about this. My father would kill me and the baby…the disgrace.” Elena added.

“But it could be Ivan’s baby.” Nikita stated.

“No Nikita, I have been with Ivan for about a month. It was a quick wedding…there is no way my father will buy it.” Elena said.

“We will work through this…” Nikita comforted the hesitant brunette.

---

Nikita boarded the Euro Rail, it would take longer but the train was somehow comforting. It was a night trip and the full moon lit the way, as it historically did for travelers. She rested her head in the sofa of the sleeping compartment. The lulling chucka-chucka sound and movement, the almost ethereal lighting passing her berth window brought the woman respite and eventually sleep. Her dreams, the same ones that guarded her sanity, returning.

The room was so dark Nikita could not understand what was going on. In her dream she met Michael and she questioned him, screaming, “Why did you leave me? You promised. She cried.

Nikita was startled out of her reverie. She had finally stopped fidgeting, she had finally fallen asleep. At first she thought she was still dreaming, but the loneliness gave reality away.

///////

She pretended to be asleep, pretended she was out- there was someone in the compartment…she had to be smart, stay alive.

Nikita’s thoughts rushed. Her steady voice calling out “Whatever you want - please take it, just don’t hurt me.”

Silence. The blonde stood, her heart racing faster than her thoughts as she heard a knock on the door and hurried to answer it hoping for help. The compartment filled with light as she opened the door - no one there, no one in the compartment - alone again naturally.

She had lost weight, the clothes hung loosely on her slight frame. Michael had been gone a week and Nikita could not remember the last time she had eaten. Spooked and no longer wanting to be alone, she stepped out, locked the door and walked the narrow pathways of the train in search of a dining cart. Maybe if she ate something she would stop seeing shadows, hearing things…

When she passed from one car to another, she would stand in the area of the train with rubber walls that vibrate and jiggle The natural air in that portion of the train was cool and did not smell like air-conditioned atmosphere smells - contrived.

The dining car was closed - it was 11:30 at night. The lounge, too noisy, too festive, too much. The sad woman continued down the path to the viewing car - they were playing movies and she could get a snack. There was only the attendant and an elderly woman, who watched Nikita and disconcertingly smiled.

Nikita ordered and got a pepperoni calzone, only food available. She ordered a mineral water and potato chips, sat down and looked up at the screen. ‘Gladiator’ was almost finished. Russell Crowe slay the last Christian and finally his soul walked to the waiting figure of his dead son and wife.

Then came Jody Foster, Nikita woke up while the character was testifying in front of a Congressional Subcommittee about something or other and then her dreams - perhaps reality, took her to a lovely beach where she met her father. ‘Contact’ had made the woman weep and the Crowe movie also made her cry…perhaps it had been a bad idea to come here - instead of watching a movie, she had slept.

Nikita softly wept some more as she sat outside of the viewing area and waited, afraid of walking back to the sleeping compartment. The old woman that had been watching the movie approached Nikita, nice smile adorning her face.

OW: “Mind if I sit next to you?”

N: “No?” Confused.

OW: “He’ll always be with you, you know.” Softly.

N: “Who?” More confused still.

OW: “You think you have lost someone, the greatest love of all…he’ll always be with you.”

N: “Excuse me…err….I think I am going…”

OW: “You go ahead and go…but keep on calling him…he’ll always be with you.”

N: “Ok….good night.” Almost running out.

OW: “Don’t forget to breathe.” Waiving her wrinkled old hand.

Nikita took off in a mad dash down the narrow pathways, she missed her room and had to turn back. When she entered the compartment she turned on every light, checked everywhere she could and when she felt secure she sat on a big chair, next to the window and looked out. She looked at her Blackberry beeper and wrote ‘Michael are you there?’

Nikita didn’t expect an answer, didn’t get an answer, but felt…secure. Perhaps Jodie Foster’s movie could come true. Perhaps Russell Crowe’s wife and children finally did meet their dead Gladiator. Perhaps…Nikita fell asleep.

////

Nikita watched the big red numbers of the clock and counted the seconds. The last numbers she remembered was 3:12, well now it was 4:06 and she had woken up again. This time the smell of coffee brewing pulled on her olfactory senses and produced all kinds of reactions in the grieving beauty. There was the emotional one - Nikita was a tea drinker, coffee was strictly a Michael aroma. Every morning of their short life together Michael would run to his coffee, ground it, brew it, drink it, enjoy it.

The strong sexual reaction the smell conjured up gave her an even deeper sense of loss. She missed Michael desperately, his morning routine always including coffee…deep elegant smooth and aromatic. Reality told her though this was train coffee…not Michael’s.

Always vigilant of remembrance, she missed the man that made her smile; the man that made her feel; the man that made her savor life. She missed Michael with a desperation equal to a physical pain, a physical need. She would thrive someday, someday her life would be better and that somehow made her sadder. Could she really be able to forget Michael? She swore that would never happen.

Perhaps because morning sex with Michael was so good; perhaps because Nikita enjoyed the morning sex so much, or perchance because there was the coffee to top the sex. Like a cigarette in the 60s - coffee was Michael’s sexual cork. But whatever the reasons - coffee equaled Michael in Nikita’s eyes. She longed to be in his arms, laugh with him, talk with him and love with him. There was no way her life was ever going to be normal again - had it ever been normal?

She took out a book on surviving the loss of a loved one, read a page or two and put it away. Nikita let out a sight and loudly to herself…”Nikita you might as well look into becoming a nun.” She booted up her laptop; got to the Internet and surfed looking for answers. If she could only figure out the questions. Michael was going to be a father. She wondered how Michael would have felt about the impending birth of a Samuelle heir. She thought and thought and decided she would have a DNA test done - whenever that could be done…so then she searched the net for info on that subject.

The clock with its relentless red numbers now showed it would be light soon. She went to the bathroom showered, brushed her teeth and put on black pants, black long sleeve shirt, pulled her hair back in a bun and wore black sandals. Her mourning period would last as long as she needed it - she wondered if there was a Guinness Record entry for longest mourning period.

Nikita had watched the big red numbers more and counted the seconds, well now it was 5:56 am. The smell of coffee brewing still producing all kinds of reactions in the grieving beauty. She picked up her Blackberry and started towards the dining car, she asked for a small table, didn’t want to speak to anyone. She ordered tea, bread and two scramble egg whites. She would try to eat - she needed to take care of herself she thought

.She turned to her Blackberry and sent the saved message “Michael are you there?” No answer, but then dead men don’t speak…much less type.

“Good morning, mind if I sit here?” . The old woman from the night before all of a sudden sat across the stupefied blonde.

Nikita finally gaining her speech, “Actually, yes. I want to be alone.” She said looking out the window, watching the magnificent scenery passing her by. When she turned again, the woman was gone, which was fine with Nikita.

---

The train pulled into the French capital’s station and Nikita was ready to get out. The old woman’s words and face haunting her thoughts. She took out the Blackberry and sent one last time. “Michael are you there.” Still no answer, of course not.

She was upset, tormented, pain stricken and most of all mad as hell at George. How could he have allowed Michael to be gunned down that way? The means were ruthless, Michael had told her once - he had been right.

She grabbed her valise and decided to walk to the subway. The underground transportation system in Paris was famous. She needed to think - find a potentially clear landline and call George. Michael had also taught her that.

Two blocks away from the station, as Nikita turned a corner, the old woman from the train said…”Nikita…” The blonde was dragged consciously, but listlessly to a waiting black van…she somehow reached her Blackberry and sent a message “Michael are you there?” Her world became dark.

/////

“The profile is flawed.” Woman’s voice.

“Tells Operations we’ve got her.” 1st Man’s voice.

“Coordinates confirmed.” 2nd Man’s voice.

“Update the files, ETA 0950.” 1st Man’s voice.

The blonde awoke in a white room, her body clad in white surgical scrubs, she was strapped to the hospital bed. She looked around, her blue eyes filled with confusion and fear - ‘Were? Who? Why?’ She was running in her mind a list of questions, Michael had taught her to evaluate her environment. And as Michael had seen, her life in the streets had made Nikita a resourceful survivor. She lay on the hospital bed for what seemed like hours and slept as much as she could, conserving her energies.

The creaky metal door opened, the sound reminding the blonde of nails on a chalkboard. A man all dress in black entered behind her. She could not see his face, but she could see the silhouette reflected on the shiny stainless steel chair leg. He stood there fidgeting, checking the machines strapped to her body; he was checking her vitals and she forced her breathing to slow down.

The man left, not a word spoken. She tried to move her hands and realized she was not strapped in, her limbs just held by loops so she would not fall off the bed. She un-looped her hands and feet, sat, catching her breath and making sure she was not dizzy. Then she walked around the room, gathering intel as Michael called it. Seeing the camera, she walked to the table, served herself water and started to greedily drink.

Nikita walked to the door and tried it finding it locked. She walked back to the camera and spoke facing it - “Hello, I need to go to the bathroom.”

A faceless voice responded “Try the door again, the bathroom is across the hall.” She did as she was told. She found a shower, towels, bathing paraphernalia and a terry cloth robe. When she finished she walked back to the room, on the way she realized there were no other doors.

She entered and found her valise and jacket. She ran to them as if claiming her possessions gave her security. She dressed, black jeans and black tee shirt - she still was in mourning. Then on the bed she found her engagement ring and her purse, inside it her cell phone and the Blackberry.

She looked around the room - the red light on the camera still flashing. She threw the Blackberry in her purse afraid to show the viewers she had found the beeper and rustling around her purse, she found a lipstick and put it on. Then the door opened again.

“Good evening Ms. Nikita I am Christopher I have brought you dinner - coq au vin, my specialty.” He wheeled a rolling tray into the room where she found gleaming silver and china full of fantastic looking food.

“Can you tell me where I am?” She asked, shyly.

“I am sorry…” finishing his set-up and then leaving first throwing over his shoulder, “You need to eat, you are too thin.”

The blonde woman sat in front of the elaborate table and ate the exquisite meal. She was not really hungry, but the man had been right - she was getting too thin. Soft jazz played throughout the room, from the ceiling a flat screen descended and Nikita watched CNN in English. She was still in the dark as to her location or the time and date…

////

Nikita thought - ‘Michael get me out of here, Michael get me out of here.” To no avail because Michael was dead. She began to cry softly at the realization, reached for the purse to get a hanky and surreptitiously sent her message one more time ”Michael are you there?” Not expecting an answer, just making herself feel better.

The people watching her through the monitoring devices felt despondent at the anguish she displayed. “Enough” the man in charge said, “bring her to the mansard.” He put his dark cigarette out and walked off. The group dispersed swiftly doing as they were ordered.

The blonde woman dried her tears as a pair of serious looking men entered the room and threw her Blackberry in her pocket. Their black turtleneck sweaters, black pants and empty holsters across their chests made them look like cutout characters from a cheap spy movie. They further exacerbated Nikita’s jocularity as they pointed to the door not ordering or directing her with words - just with their actions.

She followed the other two black clad individuals who had stayed outside, the ones from the room flanking her back. She realized the bathroom door was now an elevator; she smiled, if this weren’t so scary it would really be funny.

The elevator traveled up, the door finally opened and Nikita with her guards, walked into a beautiful lawn covered area, a gazebo sat regally on the green green lawn. Around its base the earth was sheltered with elegant flowering ground cover. An intricate macramé hammock hung from majestic old oak trees carefully growing around the perimeter of the lawn.

The ceiling of the edifice covered with bougainvillea. The plush downed pillow covered furniture inside the arbor looked and proved to be comfortable. Every flower, piece of cloth, paint and furniture - white like the room Nikita had been held at. Nikita’s guards pointed for her to sit down and she did, taking in the warm breeze furthered by the fans on the ceiling.

But more amazingly…the tanned-leathered skin of the woman from the train stood in contrast to the white cotton elegant dress she wore. She smiled at Nikita, bowed her head and started walking ahead of Nikita and her entourage towards a Tudor style mansion to the left of the pergola. Nikita did not speak - she knew it would be futile, she felt her Blackberry vibrate in her pocket…her heart leaped in her throat.

She needed to see what it was, so she asked to no one in particular, as they approached the steps up to the mansion. “Excuse me, may I go to a bathroom?”

The old woman nodded her head and led her to the right of an ornate door. They passed paneled rooms, famous paintings, astounding stained glass windows and a library that looked familiar - this was Section One.

//////

Confused Nikita veiled her inquisitive look; she didn’t want the old woman to see the recognition in her face. Section One - now why was she here? Who was calling her? Could any of this be more confusing? She walked into the gray and pink marble bathroom. Elegant, cold and austere with gold faucets and ornate bear clawed tub. She wanted to be alone and take a look at her Blackberry.

The spacious bathroom had a separate room for the toilet, so the older woman entered the suite with Nikita. The woman sat at the puffy vanity chair and pretended to look in the mirror, Nikita entered the toilet room. She turned on the vent and noise filled the area. After she closed and locked the door Nikita sat on the closed toilet seat, closed her eyes and took out her beeper - reading the screen.

‘You’ve got one message.’ She fumbled with the controls, pushing buttons, making mistakes, starting all over and then there it was ‘YES’. She turned it off, turned it back on, pushed more buttons and there it was still: ‘Michael are you there?’ - ‘YES’.

She had to bite the inside of her mouth to make sure she did not scream. Her eyes filled with tears, she could not believe her eyes. She nervously typed - ‘Where are you?” She waited, coughed, not sure if the woman outside was listening at the door.

The reply came back ‘Trust no one.’ She panicked, perhaps it was not Michael and perhaps it was whoever…who knew. She got a grip on herself, she had to believe this was someone else…perhaps Michael was really dead…she sure prayed he was not.

Nikita pocketed her Blackberry, flushed the toilet, dried her eyes and came out. “Let’s go.” She told the woman.

The blonde skeptic was taken to a room modernistic in style. She stood by a window covered in glass shelves with an artificial light on the back; the shelves housed the most beautiful assortment of orchids. Nikita turned when she heard the door slide opened and there side by side stood Paul and Madelyn. He wearing charcoal gray - head to toe. She wearing a one-piece aubergine suit, her beauty unmistakable.

“Nikita” Madelyn ran to the younger woman and hugged her hard. The blonde woman disintegrated in tears.

“What’s going on Madelyn? What…” her sobs not allowing her to go on.

She glimpsed at Paul. The anguish on the man’s face was overwhelming, she let down her defenses and she took him in her arms. The man cried, just as hard as she did. The electronic message of minutes before forgotten…for a while.

“Nikita sit down.” Madelyn said, “Paul needs to speak with you…about this whole mess.”

“Will you listen please.” Paul told the blonde and she nodded.

He padded her back and continued and sat next to her on a bench, he held her hands and she allowed it. Madelyn sat her hip on the desk. “First how are you?” Madelyn asked.

“Destroyed, how do you think Madelyn. Michael was murdered right before my eyes and then that God awful woman tells me she is going to have his baby.” Nikita said. “How is Steven.” Almost as an after thought.

“He is fine, at school, he’ll love to see you.” As she said this Walter and Adrian walked through the door.

“Hello Sugar.” Walter said, Adrian moved directly to hug the crying woman.

///////

Nikita got off a cab in Trafalgar Square, the public phone in the old fashion red booth was the exact one George asked Nikita to use when calling him. He had given her a number to his personal cell phone when they had met in France. Section had approved this call as part of the mission. After just one ring, George answered.

N: “George, this is Nikita.”

G: “What are you doing in London.”

N: “How do you know …oh I forgot who I was speaking with. I came to be with Michael’s family, I needed to see them, be around people who loved him.”

G: “Nikita, I am so glad you are calling me…I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for Michael’s death.”

N: “George I am devastated. I don’t want to talk on the phone, please. I need to meet with you, need to help you with Michael’s work and I want you to help me…”

G: “With what Nikita, what do you need?”

N: “I want the woman that murdered Michael dealt with…she was released…I don’t know, please…she can’t get away with taking a life - Michael’s life…”

G: “Stop crying Nikita, I will help you. Tell you what, come to Paris there will be a reservation in your name the day after tomorrow at the Paris Hilton. We’ll go to dinner, talk…”

N: “George, I am sorry for what I have suggested…I am despondent, out of my mind with grief and with hate. Please forgive me, I will see you in Paris.”

G: “Don’t worry Nikita, I understand. I miss Michael also…I’ll see you on Thursday around 5:00. Go shopping, have some fun…”

N: “I’ll try George, good bye.”

The blonde hung up and went into a department store. She bought some black clothing, some shoes, she went to the electronic department and bought a Palm Pilot. Michael would laugh if he could see her, he always made fun of her electronic innocense. She wanted to be able to communicate with Madelyn - through Steven.

He had enjoyed giving her the cell phone, the Blackberry, the AOL account and the laptop. One afternoon early on, Nikita confessed she had to go to the Library to use the Internet because she did not own a computer. Michael was surprised she didn’t even own a cell phone.

So the night before Michael left the U.S. he arrived in Nikita’s small apartment bearing gifts of the electronic kind. When he said goodbye at the airport he told her to keep the cell phone on, it was her habit to turn it off and that drove Michael nuts. So he had sent her a Blackberry with the instructions to never turn it off -“just charge the battery and you’ll always be able to get a hold of him.”

The salesman told her she could stop using her Blackberry; the Palm Pilot could execute the same task. Nikita refused…somehow, she thought Michael, whether dead or alive was at the other end of this device. Finished with her shopping, which included buying Steven another computer gam, she took a cab back to Section One.

Nikita went directly to Walter’s office she needed to trust someone. Michael’s family loved him and missed him, but Walter - the old man missed his grandson with the same intensity Nikita did. She knocked on the door and found the bandana wearing pony tailed man placing back on a shelf an 8 ½ X 11 photo of Michael wearing ice hockey equipment. “Come in.”

N: “Walter…oh I am sorry, don’t want to intrude…”

W: “Nonsense Sugar…did you know he loved iced hockey?” The blonde shook her head, not able to speak because of knot in her throat. “He wanted to be a professional ice hockey, was offered a position with the Florida Panthers, but his sense of family…he stayed running the Vineyard.” He let out a sigh.

N: “I think Michael is sending me messages…”

W: “What?”

N: “I think Michael is sending me messages…”

W: “Sugar, sit down…as a Psychiatrist…”

Nikita interrupted he was misunderstanding her intentions…”No Walter wait. I am not seeing things, or thinking…Michael gave me a Blackberry when we first met and I have been sending him messages. He responded just as I was about to walk in here for the first time yesterday…” She sat back on the big side chair.

“What did the message say.” Walter’s voice low, soft, reminiscent of Michael’s.

N: “Michael are you there? Then his answer - Yes. And when I asked where he was, he answered “Don’t trust anyone.”

W: “Have you heard anything else?”

N: “I have not sent another one - should I send another one?”

W: “Yes, let’s try it.”

Nikita took out the device while Walter sat next to her, she pushed the button - “Michael are you there?” Nikita and Walter watched the device almost willing it to show an answer, all of a sudden…

“You’ve got 1 message.”

The blonde pushed the correct button and the response appeared. “Nikita I have found a way to meet, will let you know soon.”

Walter told her, “Ask him something he would only know.”

“You know you are the spy of my dreams.”

“I know. Goodbye.”

“Is it him?”

“Michael would have corrected me, would have told me he was not a spy…Oh God Walter, it is not Michael, it is not Michael…”

///

Nikita’s visit to Section One had filled her with peace. Being secure in the knowledge that Michael was gone but not forgotten made the blonde complete. She decided to call them all in and read them the state of the winery…The upcoming mission was important, but Michael had left her the family business and she was not going to disappoint him there either.

She told them how proud she was of all of them. She told them how much she loved them all - even Paul. She told them that she was sure someday they would be ‘normal’. She told them, for the sake of Michael’s memory, they should continue with the antiterrorist activities even if the means sometimes had to be ruthless, the ends were truly just. She had to leave for Paris and her first mission…perhaps her last.

-----

“God I hope he is alive…Father I promise I’ll be better, go to church, I’ll mind the Commandments…please let him be alive.” Nikita prayed as she lay on the tall antique bed in the Paris hotel room. She looked at the time, closed her eyes, dried her tear-streaked face and fell asleep. No dreams…perhaps the excitement of the first mission palliated her fears.

A couple of hours later a knock at the door startled her out of her sleep. She got off the bed, put on her shoes and passed her hands through her tangled hair. “George” the new Section One Op covertly said, “please come in.” Kissing both his cheeks.

“You look wonderful. Your eyes a bit puffy, have you been sleeping?” George said handing her a beautiful wrapped box. The four Cold Ops stood quietly in the background their watchful eye always keeping George safe.

“I can see you have been crying. Tell me Nikita, what have you been doing, what have you been planning?”

“George I have been planning revenge, that is all I think about, nothing else…”

“Nikita, you cannot consume yourself with that sort of behavior; you will get sick.”

The pair sat and talked, George asked her not to open the gift box until after he left. They ate dinner, discussed Nikita’s findings about Elena Vacek and the blonde’s suspicions about the child not being Michael’s. George confirmed the story about the vasectomy - Nikita accepting the story as news.

George told her to rest, that he would pick her up in the morning to go over the Vacek mission parameters. George was glad Nikita would take care of the interrupted mission - the second part sans Michael. He was sure she would obey…and serve quietly.

When George was gone Nikita scanned the room for video or audio devices with a gadget Walter had given her. She found none. She opened the card attached to the box - “Nikita, ask and ye shall receive, hope this helps with your grief.” She tore through the elegant wrapping paper, ribbons and bows and opened the box finding Andrea’s decapitated head…

Nikita ran to the bathroom and wretched the content of her stomach, the cell phone ringing in the background. She washed her mouth and finally answered it hearing George say, “I hope that is what you wanted.” Nikita didn’t answer, he went on, “More than a favor, this is a sample of what we do…Nikita, don’t trust anyone. See you tomorrow.” And he hung up; Nikita turned off every light sure she was being watched.

The young woman lay on the bed face down, hopes gone, dreams extinguished, desires quailed and Nikita’s tears had dried. “Michael are you there” she whispered not trusting her Blackberry as before.

“Yes.” She heard the shadow say.

And finally the man’s bottle green eyes sparkled at the sight of the beautiful woman on the bed. He covered the distance with swift steps and embraced her fiercely. Kissing her mouth with a hunger displayed by starving victims Michael and Nikita sealed their need with their lips and tongues.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She said between kisses and sighs.

“I love you Kita, and I have missed you, but up to tonight I couldn’t come out.” Michael said.

“I know Michael. I realized you were there looking out for us. I love you too.”

///

And with desperation uncharacteristically of Michael the couple started down the adventure of their lovemaking. Long, slow, passionately, sensually and intimately the lovers displayed their perfect synchronicity.

Nikita and Michael needed to speak just as much as they needed to feel and taste each other. After a quick coupling that had fulfilled their most basic needs, instant gratification achieved, the couple proceeded to slowly enjoy their reunion. Nikita, clothing askew, took the gadget Walter had given her and before turning on any lights checked one more time to insure the room was free of monitoring devices.

Satisfied with their privacy, the beautiful blonde turned on the lights next to the bed, were Michael intently watched her after his eyes adjusted to the light. With longing and amusement the handsome operative saw a remarkably at ease creature. Her crystal blue eyes reflecting mischief and joy. Her lithe body had regained its spring. Her long blonde hair in post coital disarray.

Her black buttoned top, missing buttons and revealing pink breasts - a perfect mouthful, Michael thought. Her pants lay next to his trousers. He extended an arm calling her to his suddenly lonely embrace. She in turn saw greedy green eyes peeking from under copper and blonde curls. His perfectly muscled chest displayed and a nude manhood at attention resting in equally brawny lap.

Nikita removed the torn garment and gloriously nude joined the similarly exposed man on the bed. She crawled over him, first kissing his manhood with tenderness and reverence. A quick peck that made his sex jump and gluttonously follow her retrieving mouth.

She lay her body partly on his, partly on the mattress; he rested his back on the plush headboard. His arms possessively holding on to the woman that invaded his being. Content with the position for their congress the couple started their discussion. Michael’s idle hand played with her soft upper arm, shoulder and breast. Her skin alive with a thousand points of light and his soft lips kissing her hair, nails scrapping her arms.

“I suspected a lot of what has gone down, but I never suspected my family…Lady Adrian…wow”. Almost out of words Michael commented.

“I know, when you and I planned this…what would you call it?” Nikita looked up at Michael and found an impishly smiling man.

“A mission…” he said smiling.

“Ok Mission Leader, when we planned this mission to draw out friend and foe, I never expected your flower growing grandma, your straight laced step father, your hippie grandfather…” Nikita said.

Michael interrupted, “See, from Walter I would have expected something like this, heck even from Paul, but Nikita, my Grandmother insists in calling me Lord, she insists in all of us wearing a tie to the dinner table…”

Nikita’s turn to interrupt, “So she is a well bred elegant spy…”

He said “Agent…” and they both laughed.

“I used that as my measure of who was sending me the messages you know.”

“You used what?” Michael said.

“Your correcting my use of the term ‘spy’ as opposed to agent.” She said, moved up and kissed him softly on the chin, biting him lightly, “Hmm, perfect beard growth…can we stop talking?” Her mouth a whisper away from his claiming lips and her voice horse with want.

“Hmm, for now…” The rest of his answer swallowed up in a hungry kiss that stopped all oxygen from entering their lungs. His mouth taking control and interposing softness and hardness and achieving its goal - to render both lovers intoxicated with sexual desire.

His teeth scraping her lips, sucking on her tongue, his tongue licking hers - warring with it for contact. Wet, soft, long kisses - exposing clenched tongues that tried to cover every inch of mouth area…over and over, inflexibly. Her lips licking and her teeth scraping her bottom lip, as his left the warmth of her mouth for parts unknown - not for long.

He moved to her chin, her throat, her ear, her neck, her shoulders and finally her breasts - Just a mouth full. With Nikita there was no wasted - anything. Her breasts fit perfectly inside his hungry mouth. He sucked and suckled at the exact globes, demanding total submission from himself and from his lover. He was now scraping with his expert teeth the areola, the tip - biting lightly causing pleasure, biting harder causing a tinge of pain.

He willingly moved from one to the other, touching with his fingers when his mouth abandoned one for the other. He had brought them together, released them, together again. His grating teeth moving swiftly, his cool breath over her heated skin, every inch of her sense of touch on alert. She could feel the contact between whatever part of his body and hers, but her focus was on those breasts that were causing him, just as much exquisite recompense.

She wasn’t moving her arms, they were akimbo laying lifeless, except for the bunching of the sheet in her fists. He smiled wickedly and at the speed of sound moved her fists to his manhood, where she shadowed the previous movement - fist, release, fist, release.

He then moved to the area between her belly button and her pubic bone. His masterful tongue and teeth now racking havoc with the over animated skin and bone - he could feel the muscles of the area jump with anticipation and response to his magisterial ministrations. Lapping at her skin, from hipbone to hipbone, from navel to pubic bone - just shy of the crown of lips.

And finally after much consternation the long awaited contact with her most precious self. His tongue softly, swiftly, masterfully delved unto her lips, brushing ever so slightly her clit - instantly sending her tumbling unto a climax that made her let out an anguished scream “More Michael don’t stop.” Attempting to hold his head to her…releasing her grip for she would combust if he touched her again.

There came that tongue again, relentlessly this time. Sucking the hard control of her passion completely into his mouth, sucking, scraping, nuzzling, suckling, lapping, teasing, fast, faster, another ecstatic scream…”More, More, More.” Another climax, then another, then more…”Harder, there, please, please, don’t stop…God, God, God.”

He flipped her quickly unto her back and with his tongue licked her spinal chord, from its beginning to that raptous end, lingering there for just an instant. Then biting her cheeks, first her left, then her right in an ascending fashion started all over again. When he approached her shoulder blades, he bit them in the same way he’d done with her breasts.

He then worked on her arms, her legs, her feet, her hands, fingers and toes. Total devotion, like if he missed a fraction of skin she would punish him. And punish him she did, for she pushed him back, gave him a hazy look and proceeded to feed her need by blowing his sox off.

She took his engorged shaft into her mouth completely, the mushroom crown touching relentlessly the back of her throat. He was gasping for air, so was she. Needing to scream, but humming instead. His hands digging deep into her soft flowing hair. Holding on for dear life. He was positive he had died, for surely only in heaven could one feel this way.

He could feel her moist center rubbing again his leg. He could feel her fist, holding the base of his sex. He could feel the climax growing and then she would expertly disengage and stop its unmerciful march. She looked up at him, her fists now substituting her mouth - up down up down, harder, harder, up down. “Cum for me, I want to swallow.” And he did, holding her head to his manhood, one hand on his sac.

He moved fast, she had not finished swallowing his sweet release, he lay on her - total contact, and expertly entered her. And then hands holding her head, mouth covering hers, elbows holding his weight, but nevertheless skin touching skin, they moved as one. In, out, around, holding it deep, moving it high, then low, in, out, in out, around, “Oh God Kita…” and “Mykoooooolllll.”

And then - rumbling, earthquake 9.5 on the Richter - completion, satiation, love. Their passion needing repose, the couple drenched in sweat and love covered their bodies to the chill of the room and kissed one more time. He wrapped his arms around her body, she wrapped her legs around his lower body and promising their love, they slept - replete.

////

The woman sat on the hotel balcony wearing Michael’s light blue sweater. The balcony overlooked The River Seine, Michael laying on the bed could see the sun - the sun that was Nikita. She radiated an exquisite light and Michael felt unworthy of basking in her effulgence. “Ni-ki-ta” his sex-replete voice called out to his lover.

She could not hear him. Nikita sat humming to herself and tapping her bare foot to the music in her head. She held a cup of Earl Grey warming her hands - it was late summer and the weather was turning fast. She felt him calling to her, not hear him, she felt him - like if his talented hands were touching her neck - caressing her skin with his foliage color eyes.

She saw that he sat quietly on the bed enjoying the view, enjoying her. His naked body seeming like a Greek statue was sprawled comfortably on the white sheet. She smiled cocked her head and raised her brows, he blew her a kissed and with one crooked index finger he called her to him. She jumped off the chair, flashing him, and she stealthy moved towards the bed, towards her man, towards Paradise.

She shivered when he touched her bent leg. She had sat on the bed next to his magnificent body, his hands folded on his manhood - not covering it, just resting there. Again a temblor went trough her body, her mouth a bit aghast and she blushed when she saw him looking.

“What’s wrong, are you cold.” Stroking her leg, getting much too close to her already fired up apex.

“No” holding his hand, suddenly shy.

“Come here” He tells her, making her comfortable with his hand brushing her arm.

“Michael, I don’t want you getting mad at me…I need to know, I trust you, but I need to know…”

“Need to know what Kita” Distracting her with his soft mouth rolfing the area where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Well, I…” Shuddering at the warm, thought provoking, nuzzle.

“No Ni-ki-ta, I am not the father.” Reading her mind and smiling.

“You…” Even more shy.

“I am sure, I had a reversible vasectomy…I do want to have a little Kita running around someday soon.” He captured her mouth in his, his tongue caressing hers as it surrendered willingly.

“Hmm, or perhaps a little Michael - green eyes full of mischief and fun.” She was whispering this as her clear blue eyes turned stormy with desire.

Their lovemaking this time was ‘normal’. Their encounter making progressed full of lust and wanton need, but everyday, pedestrian - like a husband and wife would have. The build-up was slow, the execution divine, the conclusion superior. The judges would have given them 9.9, 9.9, 9.9.

The couple wandered off to sleep again. Resting their tired, surfeited selves before they faced the unmeasurable reality that awaited them. “We’ll be fine Nikita, I’ll see to that.” He said before they succumbed to deep slumber.

/////

Nikita woke up and checked Michael out, she wanted to correct something he had said the night before - ‘he would see to it that they were fine’. That bothered the blonde beauty, Michael was such a…male. Sometimes the hunk could be such a troglodyte, jeez didn’t he know - I am woman hear me roar.

She saw the REM under his closed eyelids. She knew that men were easily aroused when manipulated during deep sleep. She saw the proof in Michael’s relaxed body and stiff sex muscle. So, she went in for the kill, lowering her smiling mouth to him, she gave him ‘head’. Pure, simple, unadulterated ‘head.’

He hummed, completely asleep, completely relaxed, as his love surreptitiously pleasured him and in turn his manhood pleasured her. It didn’t take very long, Michael deposited his seed in Nikita’s talented mouth without waking up and thinking it had all been a wonderful wet dream.

She finished and wrapped herself around the man, her long legs blanketed his muscular ones. She snuggled her head on his chest and proceeded to fall asleep. Her dreams as potent as Michael’s had been moments before - although his had not been a dream.

Michael woke next, a couple of hours had passed, he stroked Nikita’s hair thinking of the future, a future they would now face together. She stirred and he kissed her hair. She opened her blue eyes and as if she had been speaking with him for hours. “I love you Michael, you have to give me credit, I also have helped bring our mission to a successful conclusion…”

Michael interrupted with a smile. “I am sorry, you are my equal, …forgive me?

“Yes, of course, now to other things…”

”Good morning to you too Kita…I had a remarkable dream…you were in it.”

Michael proceeded to tell her about his dream…she didn’t tell him her part in it. The lovers snuggled more and then finally proceeded to talk about what had happened since Michael had been shot. He explained Andrea’s role, how she had been an agent and how George’s had betrayed her and finally murdered her.

They bathed, dressed in black clothing and turned on the laptop checking for messages, connecting to Oversight where Michael was expected to report to later that day. He then had Nikita call Elena; she explained she would be back home in a couple of days and wanted to check in with Elena. Of course Nikita had checked in with Michael’s family first.

The trip to Oversight went smoothly, the couple discussing vacation trips, future plans and the vineyard. They both looked extremely elegant in their black designer attire. He watched her golden hair and her crystal blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she entered the clandestine world of Oversight.

Veiled and furtive the place Michael called “The Temple” was even more majestic, more impressive than the Center, the Sections or Michael’s underground sphere. What surprised Nikita were the inner walls - the ones that lined the hallway - covered in beveled glass.

Nikita had purposely honored Michael’s request not to question him, he would talk when he was able or ready. Was Michael blindly walking them into a trap? Had he signed their ‘death sentence’? Or had Michael prepared for the eventualities that came with this move?

“I trust Michael, I trust Michael, I trust Michael.” She chanted to herself as pewter garbed agents, looking suspiciously like spies, nodded to Michael or recited greetings to the powerful man holding her hand.

(End of Part Two)