Oh god, how much farther do we have to go?

Sunlight, brilliant and unforgiving, pounded down on the jeep and its two occupants as they lurched along the dirt road. Nikita could feel the damp shirt sticking to her back and the moisture accumulating in her armpits as she grabbed the frame of the windshield to steady herself. Michael deftly maneuvered around most of the ruts in the dirt road but some were so deep she wondered how the tractors that had caused the deep grooves ever managed to get free. It was mid August and mercilessly hot under the vast prairie sky as they headed west towards Michael's farm.

*********

In his nine years at Section One he had never taken more than four consecutive days of downtime and most of those had been due to enforced stays in Medlab. With his characteristic meticulousness, Michael ensured there were no missions that required his immediate attention. The ones that were in play or would soon reach completion were being handled by other level five operatives. He had approached Operations and respectfully asked for seven days off, citing his reasons and volleying aside all objections with well prepared contingency plans. Surprisingly, Madeline backed him up and, after much grousing, Operations had acceded. When Michael discovered Nikita also had been given seven days leave he was immediately suspicious. He had planned his retreat solely for himself. Now of course, it was obvious what Section was up to. Christ! They never stop testing us he thought disgustedly. Fine, he would take the bait.

Nikita had been surprised at her sudden good fortune. She was mulling over a short hop to London to do some shopping or perhaps heading down to the Canary Islands. When Michael asked her to join him she was understandably hesitant.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Michael. You know what Operations and Madeline think about our being together."

Michael looked past her up at the head of Section deep in conversation with his second in command.

"Don't worry about it."

Nikita turned to look up at the window also. Great! What kind of hoops are they going to make us jump through for this?

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

The trip was a long and tiring one. A trans-Atlantic flight followed by three more hours flying time to the mid-size city closest to the farm. They overnighted at a small hotel then left early the next morning, picked up the rented jeep and started out on the last leg of their journey.

This was a completely foreign world to Nikita. All her life had been spent in the city and although she had been to many different places during missions, she'd never seen land so wide and flat and empty. The sky arched over the earth like a celestial cobalt bowl, billowing white clouds painted across its concave surface. Hard to believe that this was the same sky she saw almost every day from her terrace and even on the sunniest day it had never seemed as blue.

Staring at the horizon, Nikita's thoughts began to wander. She remembered stories told in grade school about sailors from ancient times that refused to sail beyond a certain point, fearing they would fall off the edge of the ocean. If she and Michael drove far enough perhaps they too would reach the edge of the world where Section didn't exist.

The jeep swerved suddenly to avoid something on the road and Nikita snapped out of her daydream. Monolithic grain elevators, the name of each small town that dwelled in their shadows painted on their broad sides, were the only indicators that this land was, indeed, populated. For once they had left the city limits, Michael and Nikita had not passed another vehicle and, always, stretching out in every direction, were the endless acres and acres of wheat.

Taking a swig from the water bottle, Nikita relished the cool liquid pouring down her dry throat. It was only mid morning but the sun was out in full force, the heat shimmering up from the hot tarmac of the two-lane highway. She was glad she had decided to wear shorts and a sleeveless cotton shirt though she wasn't too sure the wool socks and hiking boots were such a good idea. Still, Michael had said they were the best things to have on her feet in a farmyard. Or rubber boots. Shades, her Rolling Stones baseball cap and a good slathering of sunblock completed her ensemble.

Reaching out her hand, she rubbed the back of Michael's neck. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt he was more covered than she was but he didn't seem to mind the heat.

"Would you like some water?"

Keeping his eyes on the road, he nodded, "Please."

She passed him the bottle and after a long swallow he held it out to her.

"No, you can keep it for now. I'm fine."

He stuck the bottle between his legs and glanced over at her, sunlight glinting off the black lenses. "What's wrong?"

She could camouflage her moods from almost anyone else but never him. "Michael, what's going to happen when we go back?"

"Nothing. It's just one of their games. I had planned on coming here alone and that's why you got the seven days off. They knew all along that, once we both found out we had the same downtime, we'd spend it together. Right now they're probably congratulating each other on their generosity."

Nikita knew he wasn't angry with her but the bitter undercurrent in his voice caught her by surprise. She never realized how much he hated the petty machinations of Operations and Madeline.

She was being foolish, she admitted to herself, but his disclosure that he had initially decided to make this trip alone pricked at her ego. He hadn't mentioned that during the flight over. And why shouldn't he? He asked for something he deserved and you're getting into a snit because he didn't include you right from the start. Giving herself a mental shake, Nikita rested her elbow on Michael's seatback, her hand draped over his shoulder. She bussed him resoundingly on his stubbly cheek.

"You know what? For the next six days, as far as I'm concerned, Section One does not exist. I want to feed the chickens and slop the hogs and do whatever it is that people do on farms. And I want to see you milk a cow."

Part 2

As they drove along Michael explained to her about the different strains of wheat, how some were for human consumption and others only used as livestock feed. He pointed out the bright yellow canola fields and when she asked about the fields lying bare, the black soil baking under the sun, he told her they were called fallow fields, lying dormant so the rich nutrients could rebuild themselves before the land was put to use again.

He became more animated as he talked, gesturing to make certain points. Perhaps Michael was taking her statement to heart and also figuratively burying Section. She sucked on an orange section, listening to him, trying to connect the cold Section op to this man who could tell her the difference between a Jersey cow and a Guernsey cow. There was so much she didn't know about him but she had come to realize that his reticence to reveal himself was self-protection. Which was fine. She was learning patience, she could wait.

Coming to a crossroads, Michael slowed down to make a left turn. A Greyhound bus was stopped at the gas station just off the highway, the driver stowing a suitcase in the hold while a passenger stood with ticket in hand waiting to board. Behind the gas station, across the railway tracks, was a town that looked the same as all the other small prairie towns they had passed. It sat lethargic and silent in the heat, sunlight reflecting back from windows, their faded curtains hanging like phantoms. Three towering grain elevators stood at the western end of the dusty main drag.

Heading south on the secondary dirt road, dust billowed around them, small stones flying out from under the jeep's tires. Half a mile along then a right turn and they were on the rutted road that would bring them to his farm.

At last Michael turned off and drove through the open gate of a barbed wire fence. Ahead, past some tall trees and scraggly bushes, she could see a small gray house on the left. Rounding the corner of the house, they came to a stop in front of the screen door. Nikita was so thankful to be off that last bit of road. Her rump was aching and her spine felt like it had been compressed a few inches. Michael got out of the jeep and grabbed his knapsack and Nikita's duffel bag from behind the front seats as she climbed out from her side. Oh lord, it felt good to stretch her legs.

Everything was quiet and still in the stifling heat. The top branches of the trees scarcely moved as a silent wind passed through them. Nikita could hear chickens somewhere, their muffled clucking barely audible. The only sign of life was a large dragonfly skittering through the air, its carapace like an oil slick, turning from iridescent blue to green as it zig-zagged in the brilliant sunlight.

"Hello!" Michael called out. Nikita looked swiftly at him. Who else was here?

A voice came through the screen door. Seconds later it banged open and a round little butterball of a woman came running out, wiping her hands on her apron. She stopped in front of Michael, a huge grin on her tanned face. Pulling his face toward her, she kissed him on both cheeks. He kissed her back then lifted her off her feet in a bear hug, causing her to erupt into shrieks of laughter. Nikita was stunned. Who was she?

A rapid conversation in Russian ensued between Michael and the woman. Nikita watched them, trying to see any familial resemblance. As far as she knew, Michael's only living relative was a sister. She also reminded herself to ask him just how many languages did he speak.

As they continued talking, Nikita turned around and looked across the jeep at the barnyard. It was...well, it wasn't what she had been expecting. Although none of the buildings were in bad disrepair, they were all weathered by years of freezing winters and blistering summers. On the left was a red barn, or maybe it had been red at one time, but the colour, like the colour of the worksheds across the wide dirt yard, had long been bleached by the sun. Down at the other end of the yard was the little flat-roofed chicken coop. A few of its denizens pecked desultorily in the dirt. Beyond the coop, on the other side of the fence, was a field of ripening wheat.

Hearing the conversation had ended, Nikita turned back and smiled at Michael and the beaming woman. Michael held out his hand, drawing Nikita to his side.

"Sylvia, this is a very dear friend of mine, Nikita. Nikita, this is Sylvia. She and her husband Pete look after the farm for me."

Part 3

The older woman clasped Nikita's hand in both of hers. Years of hard farm labour had made them broad and powerful but her grasp was gentle. Brown eyes crinkling at the corners, she smiled up at Nikita

"When Misha wrote to say he would be coming, he didn't mention he was bringing a friend, especially one so beautiful and with a Russian name," Sylvia replied in heavily accented English. "But you should stay here with us when he leaves," she continued maternally, patting Nikita's hand, "you need some good farm food, you're much too thin."

Nikita pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. She knew Sylvia wasn't being deliberately rude but, all the same, it was a little disconcerting to get such a blunt assessment from someone she had never met before.

"Nikita may look thin but she's very strong." Michael interceded, obviously amused. Looking at Nikita over the top of Sylvia's head, his green eyes sparkled with laughter. She looked back at him with a promise of retribution.

Sylvia and Michael made a grab for the bags at the same time but she got there first. "No, no, you go out to the shed and say hello to Pete. He's working on the truck. I'll show Nikita to our room."

This time it was Nikita who was amused. Other than Operations and Madeline, she had never heard anyone tell Michael what to do but Sylvia would not be refused, she shooed him away and started toward the house. Nikita, grinning, followed in her wake.

Entering the kitchen through the screen door, it was blessedly cool inside, even with a pot of potatoes on the boil. The house was a tiny thing, only four rooms. To the left, just off the kitchen, was a small bedroom which Sylvia ducked into and dropped Michael's knapsack on the bed. Nikita didn't know whether or not to tell Sylvia to leave her bag there also but decided whatever the sleeping arrangements would be, that was between her and Michael.

Following Sylvia across the worn linoleum floor, they went through the doorway at the right of the wood stove. Passing through the warm sitting room, its two windows closed and blinds drawn against the sun, they walked into the second bedroom. Sylvia put Nikita's duffel bag on one of the two wrought iron beds.

"Now, don't worry, you won't have to listen to Pete snoring all night," she said, smoothing out the chenille bedspread. "In his letter, Misha said he wanted to have this time alone and so after lunch we go to our daughter's house for a vacation. Come. You must be hungry after that long drive."

Sitting on an old chrome and vinyl chair at the kitchen table, Nikita watched while Sylvia bustled about getting lunch ready. As she hunted through cabinets and drawers, opening Mason jars and setting out the dishes and cutlery, she told Nikita how she and Pete had lived here for eight years as caretakers after they had lost their own farm through too much debt, bad weather and too many failed crops. Although Michael's farm was much smaller, they had accepted his offer after the two men met.

Michael trusted Pete's expertise and admired his rough honesty; Pete was impressed by Michael's knowledge of what went into running a farm but also his willingness to accept advice. And, though Pete had admitted this only to his wife, something told him that Michael was a man not to be crossed. The only thing Michael had requested of them was that everything be left as is. Which meant no electricity and no running water but that wasn't a problem according to Sylvia. She had been born and raised on a farm like this.

"So, how often does Michael get out here?" Nikita hoped she sounded nonchalant.

"Not enough," sighed Sylvia, moving the potatoes to a cooler area of the stove. "Sometimes he may just drop in for a few hours and those visits are getting fewer and fewer. Let me think...yes, it's been at least three years since we last saw him. But when he's here it's like a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. I don't know what his other life is like but here he is free of whatever troubles he has."

Nikita looked out the kitchen window. Across the yard she could see Michael talking with an older man as they walked toward the house. Oh, Sylvia, you couldn't begin to imagine what his other life is like. Or what he's probably going to have to pay for this small respite.

The screen door creaked open as the two men walked into the kitchen. Pete said something in Russian. Michael laughed and answered, clapping his hand on the other man's shoulder. Nikita watched Michael to see if what Sylvia said was true. Waiting his turn to wash his hands at the water pump, he looked relaxed, his face expressive and candid, but it showed mostly in his eyes. Open and clear and beautifully green, they were unguarded and alive.

Part 4

Lunch was simple but generous, almost everything provided by the farm. Nikita and Michael shared a private smile when Sylvia placed the bowls of borscht in front of them. Pete also teased Nikita about her slenderness but he was impressed by how much she could eat. Strong black coffee and a celebratory glass of vodka finished the meal.

While Sylvia went to the bedroom to change, Nikita sat with the two men listening while they talked about a fence needing mending, idly wondering exactly what "quarter-section" meant. She looked around the neat little kitchen. Simple and unadorned as it was, it was imbued with a warmth she never felt at home. Perhaps the welcoming kindness of Sylvia and Pete had a lot to do with it. She only knew that sometimes when she returned from a mission, she couldn't stand the stark emptiness of her apartment and would have to leave again, if only to get a cup of coffee. Anything, just so she wouldn't have to be alone.

Pete finished rolling a cigarette and, licking the edge of the thin paper, he grinned at Nikita.

"The next time you visit, I'll teach you how to drive the combine."

"Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea, Pete," she smiled ruefully, "I may end up driving it backward into the barn."

Laughter rumbling deep in his chest, Pete lit his cigarette. "Then we'll start you out on the tractor."

******

With a farewell honk on the pick-up's horn, the older couple drove out of the farmyard.

"I like them," Nikita said, giving a last wave goodbye, "and they really like you, Michael."

Sticking her hands in the pockets of her shorts, she turned to him with a teasing smile, "Sylvia especially likes you. Didn't you notice how she kept fussing over you at lunch?"

Michael pulled Nikita towards him. Resting his arms over her shoulders, he loosely clasped his hands behind her head.

"That's only because I haven't been here in a long time." He pressed little kisses along her hairline. "Are you jealous?"

"Should I be?" she asked, brushing her mouth across his as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

His gaze rising from her lips to her aquamarine eyes, he answered solemnly, "Never."

They ambled across the dirt and dry grass towards the barn, Michael's arm draped around Nikita's shoulders. He had to warn her a few times to watch where she stepped. A half dozen cats scrambled out of the way as they entered the cavernous interior of the barn. Nikita noticed two things as soon as she walked onto the rough cement floor: the smell of manure and no cows.

"Ewww, what a stench!" Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"I know. Those damn cows. We tried to house-break them but it didn't work."

As much as Nikita thought she knew Michael, she still couldn't get a handle on his sense of humour. Looking at his impassive face, she almost believed him but caught herself in time before she said something too embarrassing. She decided to play along.

"Well, you know," she replied seriously, "a couple of hours with Madeline and those cows will never crap in the barn again." She couldn't keep the smile off her face. "How many do you have? Where are they?"

Nikita was rewarded by one of his rare, beautiful laughs. "Four and they're probably in the pasture," Michael kissed her on the temple, "come on, I'll show you the rest."

They passed an empty corral next to the barn on the way to the chicken coop. One or two hens were settled down on the dirt, their beady eyes closed against the sun. A few ran squawking away from Michael and Nikita as they walked toward the open door. Nikita took a quick peek inside. It was stuffy and hot and the floor was covered with feathers. Most of the chickens were perched on the rough-hewn roost leaning against the back wall. Some were sitting in their straw nests on the low shelf opposite the roost. They paid her no attention whatsoever.

"This will your chore tomorrow morning. Getting the eggs." Michael smiled at her.

"My chore. I like the sound of that. What else can I do?"

"I noticed the wood bin beside the stove needs to be filled. The garden will most likely need weeding. It's Sylvia's pride and joy and there'll be hell to pay if we don't look after it. And...I think that's about it."

"Don't I get to milk a cow?"

"We'll see."

They walked past the worksheds on their way back to the farmhouse but just before reaching it, Michael steered Nikita off to the left, towards a narrow path through some scrubby trees.

"I have one more thing to show you."

They followed the path until they came to small clearing. Nikita stopped in her tracks when she saw the little weather beaten outhouse.

"Oh no, Michael, there is no way I'm using that thing."

He expected her to be balky when she came to the realization of exactly what no running water meant. A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Michael answered, "Nikita, it's either that or you pee in the bushes."

Part 5

There was an insistant high-pitched buzzing around her left ear. Dammit! I thought I closed the terrace door. How the hell did that mosquito get in here? She batted at the air in the vicinity of her ear and the noise stopped. Contented, Nikita snuggled deeper into the pillow. A rooster crowed. A rooster? What's a rooster doing in my apartment? Her eyes flew open. She was lying on top of Michael's bed, her feet entangled in a light blanket. Except for her socks and hiking boots, she was wearing what she had on yesterday. God, what time was it? Yawning, she padded out into the kitchen. No Michael. An old-fashioned coffee percolator sat steaming on top of the stove. After pouring herself a cup, Nikita walked over to the screen door and stood looking out at the farmyard.

It was a lovely, clear day, the early morning air refreshingly cool before the onslaught of the day's heat. Shafts of light sliced through the trees as the sun rose behind them. A couple of crows sat in the high branches chattering at each other then, spying breakfast, they swooped down and flew low across the yard.

The jeep wasn't in front of the house, she assumed Michael had put it in the shed last night. Oh man, I must have been more tired yesterday than I realized. When they got back to the house she said she wanted to take a nap. He told her to use the bedroom off the kitchen and that's the last thing she remembered.

The sound of a cowbell came from the open barn door. That's where he must be she thought. Walking back to the bedroom to retrieve her socks and boots, she passed by a small mirror hanging from a nail. What a mess! Nikita yanked the elastic band off her unkempt ponytail, combed her fingers though her hair and tied it back again. There, that was better. Sort of.

When Nikita entered the barn she found Michael sitting on a small stool beside a cow, his head turned aside as he leaned in toward the animal. His strong hands alternately pulled down on the teats as two steady streams of milk jetted, frothing, into the metal pail. The white undershirt he wore revealed the muscles in his powerful arms and shoulders as they flexed with each squeeze and release of his hands. Tilting his head up slightly he looked at Nikita, his eyes travelling from her booted feet to her face. A shiver passed through her that wasn't caused entirely by the cool inside of the barn.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" he enquired softly.

"Mmm, very, but why did you let me sleep so long? You should have woken me last night." Taking a sip from her coffee, Nikita walked over to stand by him, trying to avoid getting swatted by the cow's tail.

"I did. I asked if you wanted any dinner and you told me to go to hell," Michael continued the milking and glanced at her obliquely. "Probably a reaction to the heat. Or maybe the outhouse."

Nikita ran her fingers through his thick hair, lifting it away from the soft nape of his neck. "Well, I hope there are no more dubious surprises like that one," she replied, laughing. "Is this the last cow or are you just getting started? Is there anything I can do?"

"This is the last one." He stood, lifting the pail and replaced the stool beside the open door. "There are the eggs to get but you can pour the cats some milk if you like."

Gulping down the last of her coffee, Nikita held the mug out to Michael. "Can I try some first?"

"Are you sure?" he looked at her doubtfully, then poured her a small amount. "I don't think you'll like it."

Nikita peered into the mug then hesitantly swallowed the white liquid. It was thick and foamy and...warm. She couldn't describe what it tasted like, certainly not like milk out of a carton but she gamely finished it, a sickly little smile on her face.

"You didn't like it, did you?" Michael commiserated. He recalled having a similar reaction years ago the first and only time he drank milk straight from the cow. Even so, he smiled inwardly at the expression on Nikita's face and wondered if he too had looked the same.

Nikita was having a hard time composing her features. She wanted to spit, good manners be damned, and was grateful when Michael picked up his own mug from the windowsill and offered it to her. She finished the remaining coffee and looked at him contritely.

"Well, at least now I know."

"Yes, now you know." The amusement in Michael's eyes was replaced by something else as he looked at her mouth.

"You have a mustache," he said softly.

"Where?" Distracted, Nikita tilted up her milky mouth.

His mouth lowered to within a fraction of hers, Michael slowly ran the tip of his tongue along the upper slope of her top lip, licking the raw milk from her skin.

"There," he whispered, his eyes shining into hers.

"Are you sure? Maybe you missed some at the corners." Nikita opened her lips a bit more. Michael watched her moisten the centre of her bottom lip, leaving it shiny and wet.

This time his lips met hers fully, his tongue lightly sweeping along her lower lip, probing the corners of her mouth. The electrical charge running down her spine was palpable as she moved her body automatically toward him. The lowing of a cow reminded them where they were. Stopping mid-kiss, they smiled at each other like two teenagers caught making out in the rec room.

Before Michael took the two pails of milk for separating, he scooped some into Nikita's mug and pointed out the battered tin pie plate in front of the open door at the other end of the barn. As Nikita crouched down to pour the milk, the cats came racing out from all corners. They were a rough-looking bunch of customers and definitely not pets, as she found out. One big grey tom, who had seen more than his share of territorial fights, tried to give her fair warning. He could sense her hand nearing his head to stroke him and with a lightning swift slash of his claws, he sprang back, ears pressed flat against his head, canines bared and snarling. Luckily, Nikita's reflexes were quick, she missed getting sliced by a hair's breadth. Well, I certainly won't make that mistake again.

Collecting the eggs was relatively risk-free except for one small red hen that refused to leave her nest.

"C'mon, scat! I need to get your eggs." Nikita snapped her fingers at the bird. The bird didn't budge. She reached in to remove the hen and was met by a sharp beak.

"Ow! That hurt!" Banging on the wooden ledge above the nest only made its occupent settle her ruffled feathers and sit squat and beligerent, staring at Nikita. This is absurd. I can't believe I'm having a standoff with a chicken.

"Listen, you stupid bird, if I had my Glock with me you'd be out of there and served up for dinner," Nikita muttered under her breath. Trying a different tact, this time she used her foot and quickly pushed the chicken out in a flurry of squawks and flapping wings. Nikita picked up the two brown eggs, bloodied but triumphant.

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

After returning from taking the cows to the pasture, Michael made breakfast for the two of them. When they were finished he went into town to pick up the supplies on the list Pete had left. He also had to visit the local notary on a small matter that required his attention and would return in a while.

Nikita puttered about amongst the vegetables, her bare knees sinking into the dirt as she hummed to herself and pulled out weeds. As the sun became hotter, she understood why Michael said the best time to do any farmwork was early in the morning. Standing, she stretched her back and looked up at the cloudless sky. High above, the contrail of a jet evaporated into the stratosphere as the plane flew towards the eastern horizon.

What a contrast between that jet and this farm, she ruminated as she picked up the small piles of weeds and carried them to the compost heap. Birkoff would hate it here, no place to plug in his toys. Walter, on the other hand, would probably find some obscure corner to grow something illicit. For purely medicinal reasons, of course. Nikita laughed to herself. Michael...I'd have never guessed he owned a farm but he obviously loves it here. Only...why would he buy something so basic and insist it not be fixed up?

The sound of the returning jeep brought Nikita out of her reverie. She reached the front of the house as Michael was turning off the motor.

"Hi. How was the gardening?" His eyes swept over Nikita, taking in her dirty hands and knees. She looked like a schoolgirl come home for lunch after playing in the dirt with her friends. A memory flashed through Michael's mind of Nikita dressed in a kilt and white shirt. She had looked like a schoolgirl then also. Had acted like one too, stubborn and petulant and wouldn't do as she was told. Which hadn't made him want her any less.

"Fine but it's tough on the back. I only got a few rows done but I can finish up the rest tomorrow" she replied, self-consciously brushing at her knees.

The rest of the day they spent apart from each other. Before driving out to inspect the rest of his property, Michael showed Nikita the woodpile and after a few basic lessons, left her swinging the axe, wood chips flying. Although he invited her along she had declined. She knew he wanted to be alone and saw the gratefulness in his eyes as he silently thanked her with a kiss.

When they first became lovers his desire for solitude used to anger her so much. She couldn't understand why he needed to be away from her.

"I'll be gone from Section for the next two days. I wanted to let you know before I leave." They stood across the dim corridor from each other, the airshaft's weak light barely reaching them.

"Are you going out on a mission?" Nikita asked. There was nothing coming up that she was aware of.

"No."

"Reconnaisance?"

"No."

"Michael, what is it? You tell me you'll be away from Section and yet you can't tell me what you'll be doing?" Anger was seeping into her voice.

"I don't know what I'll be doing, Nikita. I'm sorry. I'll contact you when I return." With that he turned and walked away.

In time, she learned that this was his way of coping with his life in Section. Some men drank, some did drugs, he retreated somewhere deep within himself and would not allow her to follow.

Nikita lifted another log onto the stump and swung the axe. It had frightened her too in the beginning, if truth be told. That maybe one day he wouldn't come back but he always did.

Part 6

Nikita relaxed against the back of the chair, playing with her fork. Dinner was over and she felt lazy and full.

"That was delicious, Michael. Where did you learn to cook on a wood stove?"

"Sylvia taught me. I decided before buying the farm that I wanted to know how to use everything. Fortunately, she has a lot of patience."

"Did she teach you how to milk a cow, too?" Nikita hitched a side chair over with her toe and stretched her long legs out on the seat. She didn't know if it was still the jetlag or working in the heat but she was bushed.

Michael smiled across the table at her. She sat illuminated like an icon in the rays of the evening sun coming through the window behind him. Faint lines of fatigue bracketed her eyes and he knew she would be stiff and sore when she woke up tomorrow.

"No. I learned that a long time ago." He stood up and began clearing off the table. "Do you want to lie down?"

Blinking a few times to keep her eyes from dropping shut, Nikita yawned then ran a hand through her hair. "Actually, what I'd really like to do is have a bath and wash my hair but," she looked back over her shoulder at the water pump standing against the wall, "I guess that's not possible."

Silently Michael walked into his bedroom and crouched down next to the bed. Reaching beneath it, he dragged out a large metal washtub and settled it on the little rag rug beside the bed. A lift of his eyebrow and Nikita realized what he was implying.

"What?" she said, laughing in disbelief. "I can't fit into that thing. Besides, how will I wash my hair?"

"You don't sit in it, Nikita, you stand in it."

After Michael cleaned and put away the dinner dishes he spread out Pete's ledgers on the kitchen table. Going over the columns of numbers, he absently listened to Nikita splashing about in the other room. The curtains that substituted as a bedroom door were closed as much as possible to give her some privacy. A dull thud and a muffled "Oh shit" brought his head up in time to catch a tantalizing glimpse through the parted curtains as Nikita stepped out of the tub to retrieve the fallen soap. Trying to concentrate again on the ledgers was impossible so he gathered up the books and returned them to the small bookshelf in the sitting room.

When he returned to the kitchen he saw the bedroom curtains open and Nikita dressed in, what looked like, one of his black t-shirts, a towel draped over her shoulder and a bottle of shampoo in one hand. He didn't recall packing any black t-shirts and it was much too large to be one of her own. Seeing the puzzled look on his face Nikita glanced down at the shirt.

"Yes, it's yours. You let me borrow it, remember? I'm sorry I never returned it," she replied sheepishly. What she didn't say was she had never intended to return the t-shirt. It was a memento of their first night together and she cherished it like a silly security blanket. She even slept in it the nights he wasn't with her and she would fall asleep imagining his strong, warm body wrapped around her.

Michael was many things but maudlin was not one of them. Still, he found it endearing that she would secretly keep something of his.

"Keep it. You look...good in it." His green eyes roamed lazily over her, lingering for a moment on her bare thighs, and he wondered fleetingly if she was completely naked beneath his shirt.

"Thanks. Well, I managed to bathe without making too much of a mess. Now, how am I going to wash my hair?"

"I'll do it."

Placing the kitchen chair on a level patch of dirt in front of the house, Michael waited as Nikita seated herself. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and felt the warm water pouring over her scalp. It splashed to the ground, soaking into the dry earth between the chair legs and Michael's bare feet as he worked the shampoo through Nikita's wet hair, the light citrus scent floating through the mild air. His strong fingers lingered at her temples, gently rubbing them, then moved down to the base of her skull, lather and silken hair sliding beneath his palms. Nikita murmured, her lips curving in satisfaction when his hands drifted lower to soothe the kinks from her shoulders.

"Are you sorry you came?"

"Me? No, not at all. It's very peaceful here but I don't think I could live here," she paused, dabbing at a wayward trickle of soapy water. "What about you? Are you sorry I came?"

"No."

Pouring more water through her hair to rinse out the shampoo, he smiled down at her relaxed visage, noticing the faint trace of freckles brought out by the sun. Nikita opened her eyes and watched the painted clouds scudding across the sunset sky. The jingle of a cowbell came from the corral as the animals settled down for the night.

"I'm curious though. Why did you buy this particular farm? I don't mean to be insulting but it seems so...different from what I had imagined."

Michael gently twisted the clean strands to squeeze out the excess water then, taking the towel from Nikita, he began to towel-dry her hair.

"You asked me earlier how I learned to milk a cow. I spent a lot of time here when I was a child. It belonged to my maternal grandmother."

"Oh!" Nikita blurted out in surprise. "Does Section know that?"

"Yes, they know I own this property but not the history of it. It's none of their business."

Now it was beginning to make sense to Nikita. This was his refuge and, other than his sister, the only link to a past that he, at one time, had existed outside of Section.

Their lovemaking that night was luxuriously slow and gentle as Michael found another sort of refuge in the soft, welcoming curves of Nikita's body. Afterwards, she held him as he slept, his head cushioned on her breast, a muscular arm and thigh flung across her as if he would protect his sanctuary even in his sleep.

Part 7

Their days followed the same pattern as the first and were taken up by whatever needed to be done on the farm. They both enjoyed the steady, relaxed pace of the routine and Nikita was becoming quite adept at starting a fire in the wood stove. However, after a valient but disasterous attempt at cooking dinner, Michael made a deal with her. He would cook, she would make the coffee in the morning.

One early afternoon Michael showed Nikita where to climb up to the hayloft above the stalls. The troughs in both the barn and corral were almost empty and needed refilling. He unlatched the heavy loft door and slid it open. Sunlight filled the murky space up to the rafters, lighting the neat bales of hay stacked like bricks against the walls. Nikita, stepping close to the edge of the floor, looked down at the barnyard below then out over the vista in front of her. Other farms dotted the landscape, fields of ripening wheat spreading out from them. The grain elevators of the town where they had turned off the main road stood in the distance and closer, she could see the little white church they had passed, sitting beside the dirt road, its gold painted onion dome brilliant in the bright light. Pulling on his heavy work gloves, Micheal grabbed the baling wire and heaved a bundle of hay through the door and down to the ground. As he reached for another, Nikita stopped him, a hand on his forearm.

"Michael, let me help. There's no reason for you to do all of this."

"These bales are heavy, Nikita. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Remember what you said to Sylvia? I may be thin but I'm very strong, quote unquote?" she grinned at him. "Just get me a pair of gloves and I'll push the bales out."

He smiled at her. He did remember saying that. He also remembered the look in her eyes that said he'd pay for that remark and wondered what she would demand in restitution.

Moving hay around was hot, sweaty work and Nikita soon removed her cotton shirt, feeling much cooler in her tank top. Looking down at Michael she saw he also had stripped off his shirt. She watched him covetously as he effortlessly picked up a bale, the sleek muscles moving under the burnished skin, as he disappeared into the barn. Sinking down onto one of the bales, she wiped the moisture off her forehead and back of her neck with the discarded shirt then leaned back against the stacked hay, closing her eyes and resting her arms across the top of her head. A fly buzzed somnolently through the warm, dusty air.

Michael stood quietly watching her. He had climbed up to the loft with the intent of closing the door and asking Nikita if she wanted to come into town with him, there were some supplies he needed to pick up, but stopped short when he saw her resting indolently against the stacks. In another woman, he would consider her pose to be just that: a deliberate attempt to look seductive. But that was one thing Nikita had never tried to do with him. She didn't have to. She had always been straightforward with her feelings, sometimes bluntly so.

He was well acquainted with the art of allurement. From the time he had lost his virginity at thirteen, both men and women, had tried to entice him into their beds. Thanks to Section, he had become a master at seduction himself but that was something he didn't like to think about. It was not a skill he was particularly proud of.

Crossing over the creaking wooden planks, he rolled the door shut then retracing his steps, he stopped in front of Nikita, looking down at her. A sheen of perspiration covered her lightly tanned skin, beading on her upper lip, gathering in the hollow of her throat. He glanced at the damp neckline of the tank top where it clung to her and watched a trickle of sweat slide down from her collarbone and continue unseen between her breasts. Michael could feel himself stir at the thought of following that drop of sweat with his tongue.

Nikita's mouth curled up when she opened her eyes and silently observed Michael's intense scrutiny. He was unaware that she was looking at him, that she could see the unguarded craving on his face. Her eyes moved down the front of his body, taking in the sight of his magnificent arms and chest and hard, flat stomach, the jeans riding comfortably low on his hips. Nikita knew he was naked underneath the denim. Even the black rubber boots he wore did nothing to detract from the innate sensuality of him. Lowering her eyes, she smiled at the obvious evidence of where his thoughts were. Sitting up, she reached out and undid the snap.

At Nikita's unexpected movement, Michael's gaze moved again to her face. He answered her voluptuous smile with one of his own as he watched her slowly unzip his jeans, freeing him from their confines. Sucking in his breath, Michael felt Nikita take him into her sweet, warm mouth, could feel himself growing thicker and heavier with each teasing flick of her tongue. Tilting his head back, he moaned with unrestrained pleasure, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Oh Christ, that felt so good.

Pausing, Nikita sat back and looked up at him, a wicked glint in her eye. They both knew he would not be able to contain himself much longer if she continued. Pulling her up to stand in front of him, Michael's heavy-lidded eyes drank in every facet of Nikita's beautiful face.

"Any more of that, ma cher, and you'll make my knees buckle," he nuzzled her ear, "or was that your intention?"

She laughed, the sound rippling like a sultry wave over him. She playfully nipped the side of his jaw then followed that with a kiss.

"Hmmm, I never thought about that. Do you think I could make your knees buckle?"

She ran her fingertips lightly over his rib cage, sliding them lower. Their gazes locked, a small smile touched his mouth, then grasping her fingertips with one hand, he stopped their movement. Nikita raised her eyebrows, bemused. Without saying a word, Michael lifted her hand and, bending his head, bit the fleshy pad below her thumb, the Mound of Venus. Nikita almost cried out at the pain as liquid fire tore through her body. He moved his lips down to the inside of her wrist and gently kissed the tender skin, his eyes closed. A mewling sound escaped from her throat as his tongue wandered back up to lick and soothe the reddened flesh bearing his teeth marks.

"Jesus," Nikita whispered as he raised his head.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "no, you didn't." She touched his succulent bottom lip with her fingertips. "That was very...arousing."

Michael refused to release her from his gaze. "Am I forgiven for insulting you?"

Sliding her arms over his shoulders, Nikita molded herself to his long body, his tumescence pressing against her. She spoke softly in his ear, "I'll be more insulted if you don't remove the rest of your clothes."

That made him laugh. "Of course."

After shedding his remaining garments, Michael took Nikita in his arms and gently lowered her to the hay-strewn floor. Honey coloured light from the bullseye windows high above both loft doors surrounded them, dust motes dancing lazily in the heat.

Nikita stretched out supple as a cat as Michael undressed her. The touch of his hands sliding up under her tank top, caressing the damp smoothness of her skin did, indeed, make her want to purr. He pulled it up over her head and threw it aside, then lowering his head, he tasted the delicate skin between her breasts. Nikita closed her eyes, murmuring Michael's name under her breath, as she felt his lips and tongue coax her nipples to attention.

He looked up at Nikita, his eyes emerald green beneath the long lashes. "Such greedy little nipples," he murmured, his low voice vibrating through her body.

She was falling into an abyss of pure sensation. Everywhere he touched her, she felt singed by the heat of his hands and his mouth. Finally, she begged him to stop. She couldn't take much more; she needed to feel him inside her.

"Not yet."

Nikita could hear her own quickened gasps in the still air of the hayloft. She had long ago given up trying to control her breathing as his hands drifted over her body. Her stomach muscles fluttered as his soft mouth grazed across her belly, kissing and nibbling her. Barely cognizant that he had removed her cut-offs, a jolt of electricity raced through her nerve endings as she felt his tongue glide into her, wet and exquisitely agile.

As delirious with pleasure as he was making her, Nikita was aware that it was only a matter of seconds before she would explode like a catherine wheel. She moved against Michael's mouth, slick and moist, as he continued to plunge his tongue into her, urging her to come for him. Unable to hold back, she climaxed calling out his name as the blood thrummed through her veins.

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

The rest of the afternoon they continued to make love, the sunbeams from the windows sliding higher and higher up the walls to the rafters. At times their lovemaking was tender. And at times passionate. And at times almost violent as Michael lost himself in Nikita. Sweat covered their bodies as their need for each other consumed them again and again. At one point, Michael held himself above Nikita, his eyes smoldering.

"I will never let you go," he whispered harshly as he buried his face against her neck, biting her shoulder. That sent Nikita over the edge and she cried out, pulling him deeper within herself. Lifting his head, he watched her bucking beneath him until it was over.

"Oh god," she gasped, trying to steady her breathing. "Whew! That was..."

He smiled wickedly, "That was what, my love?"

Running her hands through his disobedient curls, Nikita kissed him briefly. "That was amazing, stupendous, earth-shattering..."

"Stop," he laughed softly, "you'll give me a big head."

Raising an eyebrow, she wiggled beneath him. "From what I can feel, you still have one."

"Mmmm, evil, evil, woman," he murmured, grinding into her, proving her point.

Michael licked her lips, then slipped his tongue slowly into Nikita's mouth. She held his tongue gently between her teeth and sucked it as, growling deep in his chest, he drove into her until, neck muscles straining, he groaned and shuddering, released himself into her.

Leaning on his elbows, he dropped his head and lay his forehead against hers, waiting for his heartbeat to calm down. She held him, caressing the warm skin of his back. He slid his arms under her waist and lay there, still embedded in her, resting his cheek on her shoulder. In time, he slid out from her, leaving her feeling momentarily bereft then, lying on his back, he gathered her in his arms and they slept in the amber light of the hayloft.

Part 8

It was the last day of their stay at the farm. Tomorrow they would head back to Section, leaving early in the morning before Sylvia and Pete returned from visiting their daughter. They spent the day tending to what needed to be done, neither saying much but sharing the silence companionably, both of them aware that their idyll was ending.

After the sun had set, Michael gathered up a blanket from his bed and, standing at the screen door, held out his hand to Nikita.

"Come."

He led her by starlight past the barn and the little grainery and Pete's beloved combine, parked under the trees, heading towards the wheatfield that marked the western edge of his property. They waded through the waist-high stalks to the top of a small rise and halted as Michael spread out the blanket, the wheat bending under its weight. Raising his arm, he pointed out the constellations to Nikita amidst the millions of stars, diamond bright in the black velvet sky. They looked so close she felt she could lift her hands and gather them, sparkling and precious, in her palms.

"Turn around," Michael said softly.

She whirled about and looked up at the Northern Lights as they ribboned across the sky. Expanding and contracting like a shape-shifter, the eerie green light undulated high above the earth, stars pinpricking the misty outer edges.

Nikita was mesmerized. "Michael, it's beautiful," she looked at him awestruck, "I've never seen anything like it." Leaning in, she touched her lips lightly to his, "Thank you."

He moved the back of his fingers gently across her cheekbone, his eyes caressing her lovingly. "You're welcome."

Sinking onto the blanket, they spent an unhurried hour making love while the barn owls watched and listened and the Northern Lights swirled languidly above them. After awhile, when the air started to cool, they returned to the farmhouse and the coziness of Michael's bed and slept, their last few hours together dreamless and peaceful.

Epilogue

Madeline watched Nikita as she entered her office and settle down into the chair in front of her desk. Serenely, she smiled at Nikita, even allowing a bit of warmth to show in her brown eyes.

"How was your down time?"

"Fine."

"Did you go away anywhere?" Madeline almost sounded like she really was interested. Almost.

Nikita looked down at her hands folded in her lap, a bitter little smile touching her mouth for a second, then she raised her eyes.

"Look, Madeline, let's cut through the B.S. You know I spent the last seven days with Michael. What I want to know is why you allowed it." She stared back at Madeline, a sardonic tilt to her eyebrows.

A genuine smile lit up Madeline's face. Nikita's bravado always made Madeline smile if only because it was so predictable. True, one day she would grow tired of the younger woman's mildly irritating swagger but for now she would pay out a bit more rope before pulling the noose tight. She was well aware anything she said would make Nikita cagey but she didn't particularly care.

"You're an excellent operative, Nikita. You've performed many services for the Section and, as such, we wanted to show you our appreciation." She leaned back in her chair, relaxed and at ease, elegantly crossing her legs. "Operations and I are very pleased with your work."

Nikita's eyes narrowed slightly. What was this, a performance review?

"So pleased, in fact, that we've concluded it's time you were given your own material for training. While you were away, it was decided that the Farm would become the full time training facility for Section One. You'll be leaving within the next two hours along with Jacobs. He will be there for guidance only, the actual training is up to you. It's an unusual step for a level two op to be given this responsibility but we're quite sure you won't disappoint us."

Was this some kind of joke? No, it was the sound of the other shoe dropping. Trying desperately to school her features, Nikita prayed her shock hadn't been too obvious but Madeline saw everything, of course. Arguing was useless. Clearing her throat, she asked if Michael knew she was being reassigned.

Turning to face the monitor, Madeline began keying in her password, effectively dismissing Nikita. "No, he left for Mauritius this morning on deep cover assignment. He'll be gone for some time, I believe."

Seething, Nikita stood up and walked briskly toward the door. She hated Jacobs, she hated Section and she hated Madeline. Just before exiting, she was halted by the chief strategist's sweetly modulated voice, each word piercing her with its false comfort.

"I'll certainly let him know when he returns."

Glancing back over her shoulder, Nikita cast a withering look at her tormentor. "Thank you," she replied, just as sweetly. "I'm sure you will."

The door whooshed shut behind her.

FINIS

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