Disclaimer: Hand to Hand Spoiler (sorry), totally HR and completely spur-of-the-moment =>

Egress following the tank scene

Michael opens the door on the ground floor and looks outward. After a quick glance downward, he turns around and hoists Nikita over his shoulder and starts outside.

"Hey," Nikita protests, though in a subdued tone. She starts to wiggle, trying to upright herself.

"You don't have any shoes on." Michael informs her as though she was unaware of the fact.

"I can walk Michael."

"I'm not arguing with you." Michael states in that "end of discussion" tone of voice.

Nikita resigns herself to being carted around like a spoils of war. Listening to the crunch of gravel and snap of twigs under Michael's feet, she's silently thankful that she is not having to travel this path barefoot after all.

Michael moves as quickly as possible over the rough terrain toward to van. He's not too worried about leaving a trail, after all everyone else is abandoning the building with great speed, *like ermines descending.* With an unseen grin Michael remembers Nikita's training:

He and Nikita had been sitting in one of the not-quite white rooms attending the only class that Operations taught to the new trainees, Recognizing Coats of Arms. This was Operations' favorite subject because, through Birkoff doing research, Operations had discovered that his family line had a coat of arms.

"As you can see here, three ermines descending the sash of red indicates royalty." Operations had lectured, using his favorite example, his own.

Nikita smacked her gum and whispered to Michael out of the side of her mouth, "Looks like rats deserting a sinking ship to me."

Michael had had to stifle one of the many smiles his impudent trainee would provoke.

*Yeah, like ermines descending alright.*

Nikita sways with Michael's walk and tries to keep all the blood from flowing to her head. The night chill is causing her wet clothes to feel like they are freezing onto her. She tries to divert her attention away from the cold. *Too bad it's not daylight at least. Then I could admire the view.*

Suddenly Michael stops and Nikita can hear the van door slide open and Michael is lowering her onto the steps. She holds onto him for a second as her coordination returns. With a deep breath she prepares herself for all the covert glances she knows her attire will receive and steps into the van with Michael following closely behind.

Nikita looks around the empty van in shock as Michael thumps on the connecting door, "Go."

"Where's the team?" Nikita asks bewildered as Michael walks past her.

"There was no team, just you and me." Michael answers as he digs through a duffel bag on the back seat.

Nikita crosses her arms around herself and shivers as the chill in the van (Section doesn't believe in luxuries such as carpet) sinks into her skin.

"You need to take those wet clothes off and get dry before you freeze." Michael says in a matter-of-fact voice, holding a bundle of toweling in his hand. He moves to stand a foot in front of her, apparently not going to turn around.

Nikita starts to protest but stops due to the look in his eyes and the real ridiculouslisness of feeling modest at this point.

Locking eyes with him, she quickly discards her clothes and stands there in her naked, goose-fleshed, slightly tinted blue glory.

Michael hands her one of the towels, "Your hair," he directs and starts to rub down her shoulders and back with the other towel.

"I can do ..." Nikita trails off, absolutely stunned by the look in his eyes.

Obediently she starts drying her hair and allows Michael to dry the rest of her with no further comment.

Michael's touch is not sexual in any way, more sensual, more like a lover who is not intent on seduction but who is feeling familiar and possessive.

She obediently lifts her feet when he indicates. She must admit his brisk toweling has helped the shivers subside.

Michael knots the second towel around Nikita's waist and stays kneeling in front of her. His mind replaying that terrible fight scene over and over.

Without conscious thought he wraps his arms around her hips and lays his cheek on her stomach.

Stunned, Nikita stops mid-movement, unconsciously holding her breath.

"I could not move." Michael confesses. His eyes closed, his cheek resting against her soft flesh. His voice a mere whisper of sound.

"I just sat there, watching. I could not move."

Hesitantly, Nikita lowers a hand to his head and slowly strokes her fingers through his hair soothingly.

Michael nestles closer, "I almost ruined the mission because I had to make sure you were going to win. So, I sat there after Birkoff gave me the okay. Watching, praying, you would win, that you would want to win."

Nikita softly murmurs his name as she continues to stroke her fingers through his hair.

Michael sighs and closes his eyes tighter, hugging her closer to him.

They stay in that position unaware of time until they detect the familiar slope of the van descending into the Section parking.

Michael reluctantly releases her and stands up.

Their eyes lock for one burning intense moment.

Michael breaks contact and returns to the duffel bag.

"Get dressed. I had Birkoff include some clothes after you made your decision." He hands her a pair of jeans and a simple shirt.

Nikita dresses, noting with amusement that, this time, Michael does turn his back. She knows neither of them will talk about this moment but that does not make it less precious.

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