Arienne wanted to cry. Somehow, she had managed to burrow herself into the lives of these two people, whom she hardly knew, and began to care what happened to them - deeply. She swiped a finger under her eye to make sure her mascara wasn't running as she blindly turned the corner from the café. Promptly, she thwacked into a solid chest. Mumbling a "sorry" and stepping aside to let the person pass, Arienne was startled when strong fingers wrapped around her arm.

She had the fleeting thought that there was desperation behind the grip when a soft, French accented voice, washed over her.

"Arienne..." she looked up into smoky green eyes, clouded by concern and fatigue.

"Hello, Michael." He'd trimmed his hair and the curling ends were gone, but the black garb was still in place. There were dark smudges under his eyes and there were trails through his hair - as though he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly and had given up on any semblance of a style. Odd, she thought, for a man who even looked immaculate at 3 in the morning like the night they had met.

"How've you been?"

"All right, I guess...writing a lot."

"Good." He sounded distracted.

Uncomfortably, Arienne started to inch away. She had, after all, just been meddling in his love life. "Well, It was nice seeing you again, Michael, but I really have to get going."

"Wait." There was that desperation again. "Come to the café with me."

Arienne prepared to bow out gracefully, making some lame excuse about needing to call her publisher.

"Please."

That voice, she thought, is probably illegal in all 50 states. How was she supposed to resist such a sweet plea? Especially when she had the feeling that he didn't say "Please" very often...except to be polite.

"Just for a little while," he said when she didn't answer. He held up his hand and spaced less than an inch between his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate the amount of time.

She couldn't resist. "All right." She just hoped Nikita wasn't there anymore, or things could get slightly more than uncomfortable. She sighed and hung her head, but looked up when Michael gripped her hand.

"Thank you."

He held her hand as they turned the corner and then held the door for her as they entered the café.

Roger glanced up, "Back so soon?"

Arienne took in the surroundings in a sliding glance. Nikita appeared to be gone. Casting a wry/relieved look at Roger, she said, "I got waylaid outside."

Roger laughed and went about getting their usual. "Well, I see he didn't have to drag you in kicking and screaming."

Michael pulled Arienne over to the booth that Nikita had vacated and they sat down. Michael stared at her for a few moments before saying, "Thank you." Then in an uncommon -at least as far as Arienne could tell - move, Michael volunteered some information. "I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts."

Not knowing how to answer that loaded statement, Arienne was relieved when Roger brought their drinks. He'd put extra Ready Whip on hers with some chocolate sprinkles and Arienne looked at him in askance.

Roger shrugged, "You looked like you needed it." He turned and walked away.

Arienne decided that was the understatement of the year, and wondered for a second if she should ask for a shot of Bailey's in her coffee. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she plunged into the depths. "So, what has your thoughts so out of sorts that you don't want to be alone with them?"

Michael hadn't been looking at her, but when he raised his head, she could see unshed tears. No, she thought, his eyes were shining, but there were no unshed tears. She still couldn't shake the impression though. Perhaps he's so used to bottling his emotions; his tears stay behind his eyes. She was so deep in her thoughts; she almost missed his hoarse whisper.

"I've lost her."

Arienne said nothing. She knew whom he was talking about, and she wanted him to finish before she made any observations. But he didn't say anymore. Staring at the top of his head, Arienne debated on what to tell him...or if she should say anything at all. She was already much more involved in this than she wanted to be. But, she considered Michael a friend. A kindred spirit even, and she hated to see him hurting so much. She reached out and put a comforting hand on his head, running her fingers through the already mussed hair. She could see him physically try to garner control as he sat up a little. He took her hand and squeezed, but said nothing.

They sat in silence. Michael staring over Arienne's head, and Arienne staring at Michael. Each taking sips of their drinks. The bell over the door rang and Arienne glance up to see Nikita stop just inside the door. She didn't move, just stared in shock at the two people sitting in the booth she had been in earlier.

Arienne took immediate action. She didn't stop to think about it, or she might have lost her nerve. Squeezing Michael's hand, he looked up at her. With his back to the door, he hadn't seen Nikita come in. "What did you mean when you said you'd lost her?"

He sighed and ran his hand across his face. "She...she's leaving."

Arienne gave a quizzical look. In the times she'd spoken to Michael, she'd never known him to beat around the bush.

"They..." he swallowed and started again. "She is leaving and won't be coming back." He dropped his head again. "I never told her..."

Arienne shot a look up to Nikita who had moved a few feet closer and was listening. There were tears in her eyes.

"Never told her what, Michael?" Arienne knew what he was getting at, but wanted him to be the one to say the words.

"I never..." He looked back into Arienne's face, "I never told her how much I care...I never told her that I love her."

Arienne caught the small squeak from Nikita, but forged ahead anyway. "Why don't you tell her now?"

"It doesn't matter now. It wouldn't help. It would just make everything harder to bare."

Out of the corner of her eye, Arienne could see Nikita approaching the table; she leaned back, trying to stay out of the way.

"Don't you think I should be the one to decide that?" Michael jumped at the sound of her voice. "Don't you think I should be the one to decide what matters most to me?" Her voice cracked and gave out on the last few words of her sentence.

Michael obviously didn't know what to say. He could only stare at her, drink her in.

Nikita knelt down next to him, putting her finger to his chin and sliding it up to push his hair behind his ear, forcing him to look in her eyes. "Don't you know, that I can face anything now? I heard you say the words Michael..." tears tracked down her cheeks and she had to swallow to continue. "And that can sustain me for however long I have...for however long we have."

Arienne had the feeling she could have been dancing naked and neither would have noticed. She held back the lump in her own throat as she and Nikita waited for Michael's response.

But Michael said nothing. He reached up his hand and all three of them looked at it - it trembled. He gripped it into a fist and then stretched his fingers to trace the edge of her hairline and jaw.

Nikita captured his hand and held it to her cheek, closing her eyes as if to savor the feel. Opening her eyes, Nikita said, "Come home with me. Wait with me."

"I...Ni-ki-ta...I can't..." Michael seemed at a loss.

"Please."

Arienne watched submission skate across Michael's face. He helped Nikita stand, following her up. Nikita turned to Arienne, tear tracks still staining her face. With her free hand, Nikita took Arienne's and squeezed it tight. "Thank you."

Michael looked down at Arienne. He let go of Nikita's hand long enough to lean down and kiss each of Arienne's cheeks. "Thank you...my friend."

Michael turned to the counter to pay for the drinks and compose himself, and Nikita leaned down to Arienne again. "He may need your help. Promise me that you'll look after him as best you can."

The intensity behind the words and Nikita's eyes drove Arienne to answer immediately. "I swear it."

Relief washed over Nikita's face and she turned away to meet Michael. Arienne watched them walk out the door and disappear around the corner,their hands tightly clasped.

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