Arienne took a deep breath and arched her back. The smell of fresh pastry, coupled with fresh ground coffee, asaulted her nose. She felt as though she'd been sitting in the same position for hours. Glancing down at her watch, she could see that it was pretty close to the truth. She had come down to the cafe early that morning to get in some good writing, and she hadn't realized that she'd been working for almost two hours. Feeling pretty good about the development of her characters, she stood and walked to the counter.

"Let me guess," said Roger, "An au lait." He turned to make it before he even finished speaking.

"Roger?" He looked back at the sound of her voice. "Could you please put a touch of chocolate in it? I feel like being a little wild."

He grinned and nodded as he went back to getting the coffee.

Pleasantly tired, Arienne wandered back to her booth and glanced over the pages she had written. Shuffling through them, several sheets fell on the floor and she bent to pick them up. There was a large red line through one, and she stopped to take a closer look at it. "Archangel" was scrawled across the top and there was a short character sketch of the man she had met a few weeks ago...Michael.

She'd thought of him several times, hoping she could work him into a story; but there was always something lacking in her character description that nagged at her. Normally, she would have just started with the basics and invented the character in her own mind; but somehow, she felt as though she would do him an injustice to write about him -- even as a base -- without knowing the true man. And that, she thought, was not likely to happen.

After that night, coming to the cafe had become a ritual. It seemed as though her muse had been kick-started by the dangerously elegant man in black. She'd had a wonderful run of writing and inspiration since then.

"Here you go, Arienne. I even dabbed a little of that fat free Readi Whip that you like on the top."

"Thanks, Roger, you're such a doll."

Taking a sip of the brew, Arienne re-read her sketch on Michael. Yep, she thought, this definitely deserves a great big red line through it. I guess I just wasn't meant to write about him.

"Hello. May I sit down?"

Arienne gasped and unceremoniously ripped the page she had just been reading.

"You didn't like it?"

Quickly recovering, Arienne looked up into the pale, questioning, green eyes. "It was going the wrong direction." Shuffling the rest of the papers around, she said, "Have a seat, I haven't seen you around for a while."

He watched her closely for a few minutes, letting the silence get very near uncomfortable. Adrienne fidgeted in her seat, feeling the need to see if there were something on her face. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, "I've been busy."

Letting out a burst of breath, Arienne said, "Yeah, me too." She looked around at the papers skattered across the table and her laptop. "But I guess, I've just been busy HERE."

He quirked a small smile that she still thought looked a little strained...almost like he had forgotten how to do it...and signaled for Roger. After ordering an au lait of his own, Arienne posed a question to cut into the strained silence.

"So, how's life?"

"Fine."

"Oh, I forgot. Small talk isn't one of your strong points, is it?"

He smiled a little again, but was saved from answering when Roger came back with his coffee.

"Here you go, Michael. You aren't running off my best customer with your monosyllabic sentences, are you?"

Michael looked a little offended, but only a little, and Arienne laughed out loud. "Roger, you know it would take more than one quiet man in black to scare me away." Roger laughed and turned back to his counter, where several people waited impatiently to get their caffiene fix.

"Are you still having nightmares?"

Arienne's smile faded, and she looked down into her coffee. "Sort of. They don't wake me up every night anymore. I don't panic at small sounds." She gave him a tremulous smile.

"Good."

They were quiet for a few moments; sipping their coffee, gathering their thoughts. Arienne grinned suddenly and leaned forward as if to tell a great secret.

"So, how's Nikita?"

"Nikita?"

"Yes, Nikita," she said, mimicking his 'who are you talking about' inflection. "You told me before you left the last time that she was the woman you love." She ducked her head, trying to see into his eyes. "How is she?"

Michael stared at her for a few moments then looked away and ran his hand across his chin -- Arienne noted that it looked like a habit and not a voluntarery action -- like a tell for a poker player. She was thinking how odd it was, for someone who seemed to do everything so deliberately, when he spoke.

"I don't know."

About to come back with a teasing remark, Arienne checked herself and examined his features again -- paying extra attention to his eyes. She could see by the tenseness around his mouth and eyes that he was worried, or baffled, she couldn't tell which.

"What do you mean?" Arienne grappled with her instincts for a few moments before her heart won out and she reached across the table to take one of his hands: as he had done for her several weeks ago.

Michael looked up at her and sighed. Running his free hand through his longish, slightly curled hair, he shook his head. "I don't know how she is. She won't talk to me."

"Have you done something to upset her?

Letting out a self-deprecating, breathy laugh, he said, "I don't think that's it."

"Well, why do you think she's stopped speaking to you?"

"She hasn't stopped speaking to me. She just doesn't tell me things anymore." He looked as though he were searching for just the right words -- and Arienne fleetingly thought he must be translating to English -- "She's keeping something from me."

"Oh," Arienne said, feeling enlightened, yet somehow more confused.

"I trained her..." Michael cut himself off and swiped his hand across his mouth and chin again, not saying any more.

With the distinct feeling that he was leaving something out, Arienne decided that she should probably leave that aspect of the conversation alone and focus on the problem that Michael was trying to sort out.

"Well, maybe she's just going through a transition. You know, we're like that sometimes...women." She was trying to inject some lightness into the situation since Michael seemed sincerely worried about this.

He smiled at her and gave her hand a small squeeze. "I don't expect to figure her out, but thank you for listening. I needed to say it out loud. I'll find out eventually."

Arienne smiled and they were both quiet. They stayed that way for quite some time -- longer than would normally be comfortable. But the silence wasn't stilted, and they each sipped their coffee while still holding each other's opposite hand across the Formica tabletop.

Arienne was about to speak when Michael's cell phone rang.

"Yes?...Thank you." He clicked his phone closed and stared at the dregs in the bottom of his cup.

Smiling, Arienne said, "Have to go?"

Michael took a slow, deep, controled breath. "Yes."

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you again. I always come her to write. I think it's the smell of fresh croissants that give me inspiration." She gave him an impish grin.

Returning her smile, Michael stood to leave. Lifting her fingers to his mouth, he brushed a kiss across them.

"Thank you for listening, Arienne. It helped."

She watched him, as he turned to walk out the door. "Michael?"

He turned back, "Yes?"

Arienne glanced around at the other people, then stood and walked toward him so she wouldn't have to speak so loud.

"She'll come around." His eyes flickered away from her face and she continued. "She will. Just give her some time. She'll work through it, and then she'll let you know."

He looked into her eyes and shook his head slightly. "Thank you. I truly wish it were that simple."

He kissed her fingers again, and was gone.

END

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