---

Michael felt himself drifting in a sea of darkness. Should have been a warm-velvet place, but it wasn't. Rather it was cold and dense, pressing down upon him till he nearly suffocated. Clawed his way through the black void, reaching for the light. Heard the voice, harsh in his ears.

"What is your name?"

Forced open heavy eyelids and nearly sobbed with relief to see brightness. Painful and sharp. Michael closed his eyes again then bit back a cry as cruel fingers curled in his hair, yanking his head back. Opened his eyes again to see a blurred face looming over him. Felt warm breath that smelled stale. A smoker. Blinked and the face came into focus. Dented and ugly, with pale eyes that glittered like chips of ice.

"What is your name?" the voice demanded again, and this time steel fingers dug into Michael's face.

Michael remained silent, just as he had been trained to do.

The interrogator released him, turning to his assistant. "Why isn't he talking?" he challenged.

The assistant shrugged. "He's been well trained," she replied in her own defense.

"Break him!" the interrogator snarled. "You have one hour!"

With one last glare at the prisoner, he turned and stalked out of the room.

"Poor baby..." the assistant crooned, combing her fingers through silky, cinnamon curls. She pulled the young man's head back and gazed her fill of the exotically beautiful face. Then she bent and brushed a kiss to sensual lips. No response. Grimacing at her momentary laspse of good sense, the assistant untangled her fingers from the soft hair then turned to a side table. Picked up a vial and a syringe. Filled the syringe with a pale amber liquid, then slid the needle into one of the veins that lined the muscled forearm of the prisoner.

Michael felt liquid heat flood through him and his body relaxed. But in the space of a heartbeat the warmth turned ice cold and he tensed. Knew what was coming next. Pain. It stabbed at him like a thousand red-hot blades and Michael screamed. But only in his mind.

*******

"What is your name?"

The voice was back. Michael didn't want to listen, but it screamed in his head, echoing in the dark void of his mind. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears but his arms wouldn't move. Through bleary eyes he stared at the ugly face.

"Michael..." he whispered, in an attempt to appease the voice.

It didn't go away. "Who do you work for?"

Michael might have answered but didn't get the chance. New sounds infiltrated the hum in his brain, reminding him of a string of firecrackers going off. Each crack bringing with it a new wave of pain that rippled over him.

The interrogator and his assistant ran out of the room to investigate the commotion. Both ended up on the receiving end of a bullet.

Nikita entered the room. She bit her lip at the sight of Michael, strapped to a chair, head hanging. She fell to her knees before him, cupping his face in her hands as she studied his features. Skin ashen and sheened with a cold sweat. Silver-green eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Michael.." Nikita whispered, and felt a flutter of panic when he didn't respond. With fingers that trembled, Nikita unstrapped Michael's wrists and ankles, then draped one arm over her shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Felt him lean, heavily, against her.

"WE have to get out of here now!" Nikita hissed as she practically dragged Michael towards the door.

Michael heard the soft voice, like a pale silk ribbon running through the black tangle of sound and thought which cluttered his head.

"Who...?" he began, only to find a hand clamped over his mouth.

"Shhh..." Nikita whispered. She heard footsteps approaching and was relieved to see that it was one of their team. "Help me get Michael to transport," Nikita requested to the operative whose name was Kramer. Kramer knew that they didn't have time to dilly-dally and since it was obvious, at least to him, that Michael wasn't mobile, he took it upon himself to drape the other man over his shoulder then ran for the exit. Nikita was hot on their heels.

*******

By the time they returned to Section, Michael was moving under his own steam. But Nikita stuck close to his side since she knew that Michael was running on will power alone. Given the ashen sheen of his skin, the pain that shimmered in his eyes and the way his body trembled, Nikita doubted that Michael had any adrenaline left in reserve. She ached for what he must have suffered throug, and felt anger and frustration at the fact that he felt compelled to suffer in silence.

Madeline was waiting for them. Her eyes were locked on Michael, watching his unsteady approach, but she addressed Nikita first.

"Do was have closure?"

Nikita nodded. "Yes."

"What about the material?" Madeline prompted. "He'll need stitching up, but he'll live," Nikita replied, with a studied nonchalance. She was referring to the interrogator whom she had shot in the kneecap. The assistant Nikita had killed outright. Acceptable collatoral. Besides which, Nikita believed the woman to have been the one who had administered whatever means of torture had been used on Michael. Would have killed her twice if she could have.

Madeline was pleased and shifted her attention to Michael. "How do you feel?" she asked, unneccessarily. It was obvious that he felt like hell.

Michael blinked at the auburn-haired woman standing before him, opened his mouth to speak and promptly collapsed.

********

Nikita sat in the chair next to Michael's bed. She smiled to herself, thinking how much he hated MedLab and made a silent wager as to how long it would take for Michael to release himself once he had regained consciousness. Nikita guessed about one hour. She stifled a yawn, rose from the chair to stretch, then moved to the side of the bed.

Reaching out with one hand, Nikita brushed a cinnamon curl off Michael's forehead and felt him stir. Excitement and relief flooded through her and she whispered his name. "Michael?"

He opened his eyes, remembering that voice Silk. Felt it pull him out of the darkness and into the light. Smiled at the beautiful face peering down at him. Reached up to brush the back of his hand over her soft skin, then said, "Who's Michael?"

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

Michael's question sent panic fluttering through Nikita. She knew that if Section found out that he'd lost his memory, they would cancel him in a heart beat. Felt the flutter turn into a ripple, then stopped herself cold. Nikita told herself she was making an awful big assumption. So she took a deep breath and said, "You're Michael."

He considered her response, accepted it, then asked, "What's your name?"

"Nikita." It came out as barely a whisper. The panic was back.

"Beautiful..." Michael replied, his fingers now snagging a lock of her pale hair. "Where am I, Nikita?"

Untangling Michael's fingers from her hair, Nikita took a step back and dropped into the chair, knowing that her legs would no longer support her.

"You're in Section One," she said softly. "A covert, anti-terrorist organization. We catch the terrorists and bad guys that no one else can." Nikita stopped, realizing that she was parroting the speech that Michael had given her on her first day here.

Michael wasn't sure whether or not Nikita was serious. Seemed unlikely that she would be, yet she wasn't laughing. So he played along.

"What do we do here in Section One?" he prompted. "I mean...what's our job titles?"

"We're cold ops," Nikita replied, without hesitation. "Ops as in operatives," she clarified, seeing confusion flicker across Michael's face. She was watching him closely to gauge his reaction and so far he seemed only to register uncertainty. Nikita would have expected shock, or stunned disbelief. Her own reactions at the time of initiation.

"Operatives," Michael repeated, frowing a bit. One hand lifted and he combed his fingers through his hair, detangling the soft curls. Curls, his mind registered that fact and somehow it didn't seem right. Didn't seem like...him. But he dismissed the thought as unimportant.

"What do we do?" Michael queried, his curiosity piqued.

Nikita wasn't sure what to tell him. So she settled for the truth. "We do whatever it takes, Michael. We lie, we deceive, we betray...we kill."

Michael digested this information in silence, then took a breath. Held it for a moment before huffing it out on a soft sigh and asking, "I've killed?"

"We both have," Nikita replied, and saw a flicker of horror in Michael's silver-green gaze. Tried to soften the blow by adding, "For the greater good."

"What does that mean?" Michael challenged, eyes flashing. He was starting to feel a bit anxious. Tried not to let it show. Failed miserably.

Nikita thought it was ironic that she was explaining things to Michael by using his own words. Words he had used with her, and only now was she beginning to understand their meaning.

"We protect the innocent from the evil in the world," Nikita answered, softly. "Sometimes that means sleeping with the enemy, or sacrifcing the one...for the many."

Michael listened carefully to Nikita, absorbing everything she was telling him. It was terrifying, yet intriguing.

"Sort of like playing at James Bond?" he ventured.

"Sort of," Nikita allowed, her expression grim. "Only it's not a game."

"I see," Micahel whispered. He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes for a moment, to ease the burning ache behind them, then dropped them to ask what suddenly seemed to be a very important question. "Am I any good at what I do?"

Nikita let a smile curver her lips as she told him the truth. "You're the best, Michael," she stated softly. "Section One's top op."

She meant it sincerely.

For some reason that thought made Michael smile. "Tell me more," he beseeched. Michael had a burning desire to better understand his situation. Not just in the strange place, but regarding Nikita. "Are we friends?" he queried, unaware of how hopeful he sounded.

"Some times," Nikita conceded.

"Lovers?" Michael prompted, his eyes locked on Nikita's beautiful face.

Nikita felt her heart skip a beat. "When it's called for," she whispered, unable to hold the intensity of Michael's gaze. Nikita stared down at her feet, mind searching for a distraction. A safer topic of discussion. Her mind went blank.

Michael wanted to know more. To better understand what Nikita had meant by her cryptic remarik. But before he could speak a new voice interrupted him.

"Nikita...Madeline wants to see you, ASAP." Birkhoff stood in the doorway, looking hesistant. He was reluctant to intrude, but had no choice but to deliver the message.

Nikita jumped to her feet, but was of two minds about Birkhoff's presence. On the one hand he was a distraction, offering her a way out of a conversation that had become to intimately intense. But, on the other hand, Nikita didn't want to leave Michael alone. Not in his present state of being. Yet she had no choice but to heed Madeline's summons. To not go would be to raise unwanted questions. So Nikita decided there was only one thing she could do. She had to trust Birkhoff with the truth. After all, Nikita reasoned, the whiz kid owed her one after she had saved his scrawny butt in the past.

Moving over to where Birkhoff stood in the doorway, Nikita bent her head and whispered, "Michael has amnesia."

"What?" Birkhoff shouted, and found Nikita's hand clamped over his mouth.

"Be quiet!" she hissed, locking eyes with Birkhoff and staring him down. When he clawed at her fingers, Nikita cautiously removed her hand. When Birkhoff merely blinked at her, she continued. "I need you to stay with Michael and cover for him if neccessary. No one can know about his memory loss. Can you do that for me, Seymour?" Nikita beseeched. And she used his first name to remind him of the time she had saved him from being cancelled.

Birkhoff nodded, grimacing at the use of his given name, but understanding the message loud and clear. "Sure, Nikita," he replied.

Nikita smiled, letting her relief show. She was certain she could trust Birkhoff to protect Michael. She knew that the young man looked up to Michael in his own way. Kind of like a big brother.

"Thanks," she stated, then turned to Michael. "I'll be back soon," Nikita promised, then she was gone.

Rubbing one hand over the top of his head in a nervous gesture, Birkhoff strolled over to the bed. He sat down in the chair, then locked his eyes on Michael's face. The other man looked the same excpet for the fact that he was smiling. Michael didn't smile.

"Hi.." Birkhoff said, rather lamely.

"Hi," Michael responded, his smile widening. Then he asked, "Who are you?"

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

Birkhoff wasn't certain how to answer Michael's question. It was just too weird. Scratched his head again and replied, "I'm Birkhoff, kinda the computer expert for Section One. More or less." He felt a bit embarrassed since it rather sounded like he was bragging, yet Birkhoff was simply stating the facts. He couldn't help the fact he had a genius level IQ.

Michael was thrilled. "Got any good computer games?" he asked.

He was feeling much better and was anxious to get out of bed. And did just that, ignoring the pain that stabbed at him. It was easy enough to detach himself from it. To concentrate on having some fun instead of just lounging around in this stark, white, room.

"Games?" Birkhoff repeated, uncertain that he had heard Michael correctly. Michael didn't play games.

"Yeah...games," Michael confirmed. He noticed a closet off to one side and guessed that he might find his clothes in there. Grimaced when he pulled out pants, t-shirt, socks, boots and blazer all in unrelieved black. "I hate black," Michael muttered, even as he pulled off the tank top he was wearing and yanked on the t-shirt. Looking back at Birkhoff he continued. "I like fantasy games, they're challenging. Got any?"

Birkhoff nodded. "Just go a new one, hasn't even been released on the market yet. The Sword Of Phantasia. Really cool." Birkhoff started to get excited. The game was meant for two players and no one else had been able to offer Birkhoff much of a challenge. But he knew how analytical Michael's mind was. He was a superb tactician and strategist. Always one step ahead of everyone else. Just the kind of challenge Birkhoff was looking for. "We can go to my quarters," he announced, as was rather surprised at himself for doing so. Then shrugged. He had two hours of down time coming to him."

By now Michael was dressed. He turned to smile at Birkhoff and replied, "Great...let's do it. Lead the way, Benko."

"Birkhoff," the computer whiz corrected automatically, as he rose from the chair. Then he froze as he realized what Michael had just called him. Benko. The name of a Legion operative whom Michael and Nikita had captured two years ago. "Do you remember Benko?" Birkhoff prompted, putting out a hand to stop Michael when he would have headed for the door.

"I don't think so," Michael replied, his smile widening. "Why? Should I?"

Birkhoff sighed. Things were becoming complicated. "Benko is a bad guy. You had a run in with him a while back."

Michael nodded. "Oh," he replied, simply because Birkhoff seemed to require and affirmative answer. Then he shrugged. Michael really was interested at this time. Stepping around Birkhoff, he glided over to the doors, jumping a little when they whooshed open to allow him to exit. "Kewl.." Michael whispered, then he was gone.

"Shit.." Birkhoff muttered to himself, then he ran to catch up. Letting Michael wander off on his own was not a good idea. And he didn't need Nikita to tell him that.

*****

Nikita left Madeline's office feeling like a wet sponge that had been rung out too many times. Madeline had wanted to debrief her thoroughly and, of course, had played word and mind games with Nikita while doing so. Nikita had been careful to think before answering any of the questions so she was certain Madeline would have to reason to be suspicious of Michael. Had even told her that Michael was awake but a bit groggy. Madeline had stated that she would visit Michael in MedLab later that evening, to debrief him properly. Nikita knew she didn't have much time to come up with a cover story for Michael to memorize. She only hoped he could memorize it, not being familiar with the effects of amnesia on the present, short-term, memory.

So she practically ran down the corridor back to MedLab. And was more than a little surprised to discover the room was empty.

"What the hell?" Nikita muttered, hands planted on hips as she paced the length of the room and back again. "Where are you, Michael?" she queried out loud. Just then it hit her. Nikita knew exactly where he would be. With Birkhoff. Eyes flashing blue sparks, Nikita left the room on the run.

********

Birkhoff jumped when he heard the pounding on his door, then cursed when he realized he had just lost points to Michael, who hadn't even flinched at the sound. Even suffering from amnesia, the other man had nerves of steel.

"Birkhoff...open the door!" Nikita shouted, banging again, louder this time. Knew that they were enough levels down that no one would hear her.

"Just a minute!" Birkhoff called out, tossing the keyboard off his lap and jumping to his feet. He unlocked the door then stepped out of the way as Nikita stormed inside. Birkhoff had never seen her looking so furious, and he trembled at the realization that her anger was directed at him. Opened his mouth to speak in his defense, but closed it with a snap when Nikita pinned him with a glare. If looks could kill, Birkhoff would have died on the spot. Only when Nikita looked away did Birkhoff release the breath he had been holding.

Nikita was stunned to see Michael sitting on the floor, crosslegged, with a keyboard propped across his lap and a look of fierce concentration on his face as he stared up at the oversized video screen suspended from the ceiling. Suddenly his fingers flew across the keyboard and Nikita found herself staring at the images on the screen as Michael crowed with delight. She watched two knights battling a dragon. The black knight won. Nikita looked at Birkhoff.

"What is he doing?" she demanded.

Birkhoff shrugged. "It's a fantasy game," he explained, but didn't add that Michael was beating him at it.

"A game?" Nikita repeated, suddenly feeling like Alice in Wonderland, only she was trapped in a damned rabbit hole. Her eyes flickered back over to Michael. Now he was eating Oreo cookies and washing them down with a tall glass of milk. Michael drinking milk. Nikita would have given her right arm for a camera right now. But then she shook such idle thoughts aside. The clock was ticking. Squaring her shoulders, Nikita strode over to Michael, took away the milk then the keyboard, let him keep the oreo cookie he was holding, then gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"We have to go," she stated, bluntly.

"In a minute!" Michael protested, tugging at his arm, but Nikita's grip was secure. Michael pouted. "I was winning."

Nikita was in no mood. "Get over it!" she hissed, then she dragged

Michael towards the door. It was frustrating to realize that he had no concept of the danger he was in should his condition be found out by Section.

Michael dug in his heels as Nikita tried to yank him down the corridor. Using his greater bulk he pulled Nikita to a halt. Michael then offered a slow smile as he freed his arm then reached for Nikita's hand, gently twining their fingers together.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his eyes glowing with warmth and anticipation.

"Your office," Nikita replied, feeling her anger dissolving in the heat of Michael's gaze. He certainly hadn't forgotten the power of his sensuality, or how to use it. Damn him. Heaving a sigh, Nikita tugged Michael forward by the hand. "Lucky for you Medlab is used to you releasing yourself, so they won't be suspicious," Nikita explained. "But we've got work to do." Thoughts of Madeline's impending debrief loomed over Nikita's head like a black cloud.

"What kind of work?" Michael prompted, his curiousity piqued. "Spy stuff?"

Nikita rolled her eyes. She could tell by the gleam in Michael's silver-green gaze that he was intrigued by the thought of playing *James Bond*. She was about to explain to him that Section didn't play games, but then Nikita decided that it might be easier to get Michael to do what needed to be done to save himself from cancellation if he believed he was roleplaying.

"Yes," Nikita confirmed. "Spy stuff, Michael. It'll be fun."

Michael didn't doubt that. Anything involving spending time with Nikita was bound to be fun, among other things.

"So..I have an office," Michael stated, back tracking to Nikita's earlier comment.

"That's right," Nikita confirmed, suspicion shimmering in her eyes. Michael's tone of voice worried her a little. It was soft and seductive and his eyes smouldered with passion. He was heading down a dangerous path.

"A private office?" Michael prompted.

Nikita frowned. "It can be," she allowed.

Michael grinned from ear to ear. "Great!" he exclaimed, then he tugged on Nikita's hand. "What are we waiting for?"

"Wait!" Nikita hissed, pulling Michael back to her by digging in her heels and grabbing his wrist with her free hand.

"What?" he countered, stifling his impatience with effort.

Nikita pointed in the opposite direction. "You're going the wrong way," she whispered.

Michael giggled. "Oh," he replied, then he strode off the other way tugging Nikita behind him.

*****

Birkhoff paced in his quarters. He was scared and worried. The secret that Nikita had entrusted him with ate away at his insides. Keeping secrets in Section was impossible. Birkhoff had learned that the hard way, when he had tried to help Gail and Walter on seperate occassions. Still pacing, Birkhoff polished off the remainder of the Oreos and washed them down with two cans of Jolt. Then he made his decision.

"Forgive me, Michael," Birkhoff whispered as he left his quarters and tramped down the corridor, heading for Madeline's office.

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

"Michael....you're not paying attention!" Nikita exclaimed, even as she attempted to wriggle off of his lap. They were in his office and Michael was sitting in his chair, behind his desk. Nikita had attempted to explain the mission he had been on prior to being captured and tortured by Red Cell. She had brought up the mission profile had had worked out on his computer, but Michael had no interest in it. Instead he had pulled Nikita down onto his lap, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other hand slipped beneath her loose blouse to knead her soft breasts. Of course Nikita wasn't wearing a bra and she made a mental note to herself to remember to do so in the future, at least until Michael's memory was restored. Meanwhile, she grabbed Michael's wrist to try and stop his caresses. To no avail. "Pay attention, Michael!" Nikita hissed.

Michael lauged, deep in his throat, a warm, whiskey-smooth kind of sound. "But I am paying the most....devout....attention to your delicious neck," he protested, then proceded to demonstrate just how attuned he was to nuzzling Nikita's sensitive flesh.

She moaned as waves of pleasure rippled through her, then gritted her teeth, curling her fingers into Michael's soft hair, resisting the urge to comb through the silky curls. Instead Nikita tightened her grip and yanked his head bck. "Well, Michael," she drawled. "I can see that your amnesia hasn't affected the part of your memory regarding seduction."

"Why would it?" Michael countered, a wicked gleam in his eye as he continued to massage Nikita's breasts. He knew that he was getting to her, could see the passion glowing red-hot in her beautiful eyes. "Seduction is not something you learn, Nikita. It's....instinctive." And all of Michael's instincts were focused on giving her pleasure.

"What it IS is dangerous, Michael.....if we get caught," Nikita reminded him. It wasn't easy to remain focused as she stared into his smouldering eyes. Then her gaze flickered to Michael's sensual mouth. More than anything, Nikita wanted to kiss him. She remembered the taste and the heat of Michael's slow, wet and deeply sensual kisses.

Michael let a smile curve his lips. "We won't get caught, Nikita," he whispered, in an attempt to pull her under his seductive spell. Didn't know that he had acheived that goal long ago.

Nikita wanted to believe that they wouldn't get caught, but she knew better. Section saw all. Wriggling around on Michael's lap so that she could slip a hand down between them, Nikita gripped Michael's crotch through his pants, hard enough for him to hiss in pain. Then she eased up, but her eyes sent him a warning.

"Let me go, Michael," Nikita requested. She watched him debate, then sensed that he would refuse so she tightened her grip again. Saw pain flicker in his gorgeous eyes. Nikita swallowed a sigh and steeled her voice. She wanted him to know she meant business. The business of keeping him alive.

"Trust me, Michael," Nikita drawled. "This hurts me more than it hurts you."

"Somehow.....I don't think so," Michael hissed, even as he obeyed Nikita's request and released her.

"Thank you," Nikita replied, releasing Michael in turn. She tried to ignore the sensual ache between her thighs, standing up and forcing a smile. "No more games..." Nikita began, only to stop and whirl around when she saw Michael's eyes suddenly go wide as he stared at something over her shoulder. Madeline stood in the doorway, her cold smile revealing nothing. She wore the same mask that Michael used to wear.

Nikita swallowed hard. "Hello, Madeline," she whispered.

Madeline inclined her head in acknowledgement, then looked past Nikita. "Come with me, Michael," she said softly, but steel underlined her tone. It was an order, not a request.

Nikita felt the blood drain out of her face. She wanted to knock Madeline out of the way and scream at Michael to *run*. But instead, Nikita locked eyes with the other woman and stated, "You know." They both knew she was referring to Michael's amnesia.

"We know everything, Nikita," Madeline replied, even as she held out a hand to Michael. She smiled in encouragement and when he neared her she locked their fingers together before leading him from the room. Like a mother with an errant child.

Fear rippled through Nikita as she watched them go. She could see Michael shooting backward glances over his shoulder, trying to keep eye contact with her as she stood in the open doorway. When they had vanished from sight, Nikita felt the fear spread out in giant waves that crashed over her, only to ebb back and form a pool in the pit of her stomach. It churned there till she felt nauseaous.

"Michael..." Nikita whispered, and tears filled her eyes. She felt certain that he had just been led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Section would cancel Michael for sure. Then they would, no doubt, find a way to punish Nikita further, for her efforts in trying to protect him. Efforts that had failed...miserably.

"But how..." she whispered to herself as she dropped into Michael's chair. She could still feel his heat. But even that couldn't ward off the chill that had invaded Nikita's soul. She hugged her arms around herself as her mind tried to made sense of the chaos and then it hit her. "Birkhoff!" Nikita snarled. She jumped to her feet and ran out the door.

******

Birkhoff was terrified. He had seen Madeline leading Michael off down the corridor. They were heading for one of the white rooms. It was going to be bad. For Michael, and for Birkhoff. The computer whiz knew it was only a matter of time before Nikita came looking for him. It didn't take a Rocket Scientist to reason out that he was the one who had to have told Madeline the secret about Michael's amnesia. A part of Birkhoff accepted that he deserved whatever Nikita meted out to him. But another part of him didn't want to die.

"Incoming at twelve o'clock!" hissed a voice in Birkhoff's headset. He jumped until he realized who it was. Walter. The old man must have tuned in to his frquency using a comlink.

"Thanks," Birkhoff replied, as he turned to see Nikita stalking towards him. More than anything he wanted to run and hide, but managed to hold his ground. Although his knees did knock a little. And Birkhoff could feel sweat beading his forehead. Out of the corner of one eye he caught Operations heading towards him on an intercept course, and Birkhoff couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relied.

Nikita saw Operations as well, only because she nearly knocked him over. She glared into his pale eyes that glittered like chips of ice. She was far to angry to give a damn that her attitude was insolent.

"Conference room....briefing...now!" Operations snapped. That was all. Then he turned on his heel and strode off.

"Damn!" Nikita muttered to herself, shifting her gaze back in Birkhoff's direction. But the little twerp had vanished. "I will get you, Birkhoff!" Nikita vowed. Then she did an about face and stormed into the conference room.

***********

The mission lasted three days. Nikita was in a grim mood as she exited transport and strode through the corridors of Section One. She had no doubt but that Michael was dead. Her fault. She never should have trusted Birkhoff. Nikita's fingers curled into fists, a reflexive reaction to her desire to wrap them around his scrawny neck.

Walter suddenly appeared. "Madeline wants to see you in her office, ASAP, sugar," he announced.

"What about?" Nikita countered, although she could guess. To rub it in about Michael's cancellation.

"I haven't got a clue," Walter replied, then he headed off on another errand.

Nikita blinked back tears and made her way to Madeline's office. No use putting off the inevitable. She entered when Madeline called out, striding over to stand in front of the desk.

"Yes?" Nikita hissed, her eyes still shining.

Madeline smiled. She knew what Nikita was thinking. Her feelings were written all over her face.

"I have a new assignment for you," Madeline stated.

"What now?" Nikita shot back, with more than a touch of insolence.

"You'll be retraining one of our cold ops," Madeline replied. "Bringing him back up to speed, as it were."

Nikita sighed, not in the least bit interested in playing babysitter to someone who probably had one foot still in abeyance. But curiousity got the better of her. forcing her to ask, "Who is it?"

Madeline didn't blink. "Michael," she whispered, then her smile widened.

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

"You want me to train...Michael?" Nikita echoed. And as she spoke, Nikita felt the world spin on its axis. Only one thing pulled her back to her center. The fact that Michael was still alive, and it appeared he was going to stay that way.

Madeline could almost read Nikita's mind. She leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, totally at ease as she studied the other woman.

"I've spent the past three days analyzing Michael," Madeline said softly. "And I've determined that even though Michael does not remember who...or what...he is, the instincts and skills are still there at a subconscious level. It's your job, Nikita, to bring them out. I want you to set up an exercise program, target practice, sims and the like. Also test Michael on tactical profiles by letting him do the work ups for imaginary missions. Oh...and send him to Birkhoff for retraining as well."

Nikita nodded. She was still finding the whole situation difficult to assimilate. "Whey did you spare him?" she queried, her eyes boring into Madeline's. Seeking the truth.

"Michael is valuable to Section," Madeline replied, and it was an honest enough answer. For now. But then her soft smile grew cold. "In the future, Nikita....don't try to keep secrets from us. You'll do more harm than good."

"I'll remember that," Nikita drawled, all the while renewing her vow to pay Birkhoff back for betraying her. And Michael. The only reason Nikita would let the little cyber geek live was because Michael was still alive. "Where is he?" Nikita inquired, meaning Michael.

Madeline swivelled her chair back around to face her computer. The interview was at an end. "Level four," she replied. "Your old quarters."

Nikita flashbacked to Jurgen and her retraining, then dissolved the images. "When does training begin?" she prompted. Strangely enough she felt eager to get started.

"As soon as you've debriefed," Madeline answered, then her gaze flickered towards the door. A silent dismissal.

"Later," Nikita whispered, taking the hint and striding from the room.

Once in the corridor she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, letting relief wash over her like a gentle wave. She still had alot of unanswered questions, but they could wait. All that mattered now was that Michael was alive. Pushing away from the wall, Nikita headed for debrief. Once that was over she would jump in the shower then make her way to Level four. And Michael.

*******

A week had passed. Nikita had come up with a syllabus and she and Michael stuck to it like glue. Each day started at Five AM and a two hour work out followed by another two hours of combat exercises using Sims, or other operatives. Michael's perforance was instinctive and flawless. Nikita was proud of him. After a shower came breakfast, which they shared in Michael's quarters. Nikita learned, as did Michael, that he had a passion for croissants and French toast, as well as chocolate chip muffins. Nikita was surprised to learn that Michael loved chocolate. She decided she would have to test his craving for it once his memory had returned. When he was *machine man* again.

Once the breakfast hour was over, Nikita would drop Michael off at Birkhoff's station for two hours, which gave her some down time. She usually spent it going for a walk to clear he mind of the chaos that seemed to permeate her thoughts and dreams. Thoughts of Michael, the old and the new version. She liked them both. But wondered which one was the REAL Michael. Or if either were.

Birkhoff was pleased with Michael's progress. He had memory retention of basic programming and was quick to relearn what he had forgotten.

Once Computer 101 was over, Nikita would then test Michael by giving him a fake mission scenario and having him work up the tactical profile. It was slow going since Michael didn't remember field work, so he was guessing at what Nikita expected of him. So, today, she decided to have Michael observe a mission in progress from Bikhoff's station. They stood off to one side as Kennedy, a team leader who had been with Section as long as Michael, called the play.

However...things did not go well and two Operatives died. Nikita kept one eye on Michael as he watched the action go down on the over head vid screen. She saw him stiffen as the two ops fell. Watched his expression harden, then heard him mutter to himself after Kennedy had barked out an order to the remaining members of his team over his comlink.

"What is it, Michael?" Nikita queried, drawing him further aside so that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Nothing," he whispered, sharply. Michael locked eyes with Nikita for a moment, then turned away. His hands clenched into fists as his sides and he felt anger tighten every muscle in his body into a knot.

Nikita knew he was lying. Something was bothering Michael. Something regarding what they had just observed. She wanted inside his head.

"Tell me," Nikita prompted, moving to step in front of Michael and cupping his chin in one hand so that he was forced to face her. Nikita stared at him, then caught her breath. Tears shimmered in Michael's beautiful green eyes. Tears of pain, sadness and regret. "What's wrong?" Nikita entreatied, her voice soft and soothing, encouraging Michael to share his thought with her.

Michael pulled his chin from Nikita's hand but didn't look away. He held her gaze as he replied, "They shouldn't have died."

"It happens," Nikita countered, giving the excuse that Michael had often given her. But she was angry as well and she could hear and feel Michael's emotions. They vibrated from him, body and soul.

"It didn't have to!" Michael hissed. "If Kennedy had placed an Op as a rover at the east end of the compound, the others would have had warning of incoming hostiles."

Nikita was surprised. She turned to look at the monitor to her left, which showed the schematic of the compound and reran the scenario in her head. Michael was right, yet she coudn't fault Kennedy for his tactics. Nikita never would have thought to position a rover there either. But with that thought came another and Nikita turned back to Michael, grabbing his arm.

"Are you remembering things?" she asked, desperation in her tone.

Michael shook his head, hating to disappoint her. "No," He shrugged, then explained as best he could. "It just makes sense to me." He was referring to the mission.

"Yeah," Nikita replied, and she believed him. Michael's thought process had always been complex. Why should now be any different?

Lifting one hand, Nikita tucked a cinnamon curl behind Michael's ear. She was about to suggest that they head to the exercise arena and work off some of the tension, when Madeline appeared before them.

"I'd like to see you in my office, Michael," she said softly.

Nikita stepped in front of him, as if shielding Michael from Madeline. But without knowing why she felt the need to do so. "Is anything wrong?" Nikita demanded, her eyes flashing blue sparks. She was warning Madeline not to mess with her or Michael.

Madeline got the message and it amused her. A smile curved her lips as she replied, "No." She held Nikita's gaze for a moment then looked at Michael as she explained. "I told you before, Nikita, that I would be having weekly sessions with Michael during his training period, to discuss his progress. It's time." As she had once before, Madeline held out one hand to Michael.

"I'll be fine, Nikita," Michael whispered in her ear as he stepped around the beautiful blond to take Madeline's hand. It seem strangely symbolic to do so, only Michael couldn't imagine why. Wished he could remember what his relationship with Madeline had been, yet sensed that he was better off not knowing. For the time being, anyway.

Huffing her bangs out of her eyes, Nikita watched them go before turning on her heel and striding off. She needed some fresh air. But she would be back soon enough. It was time for a heart to heart with Birkhoff.

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

Michael was sitting across from Madeline, her desk between them, eyes locked upon each other. Michael refused to look away even thought the intensity of Madeline's gaze disturbed him. He felt as if she were trying to look into his soul and he didn't want her to go there. To see things that he couldn't remember, and probably wouldn't understand.

"Am I in trouble?" Michael asked, shattering the heavy silence that hung in the air like a dark cloud.

Madeline smiled at the question. The *old* Michael never would have asked it. Would have betrayed nothing of what he was feeling either physically or verbally. This Michael did both by the query, the tone of his voice and the way that the fingers of one hand rubbed at the knuckles of the other.

"No, Michael," Madeline replied, her voice pitched low and warm. "You've done nothing wrong. In fact...we're quite pleased by your progress. It's better than we...expected."

"What did you expect?" Michael prompted, curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to understand where he fit in. How and why.

Nikita had explained to him, a few days ago, about his office and his position as team leader. Michael knew he had been third in the chain of command at Section One. Number one being Operations, number two Madeline. He also knew that he was expected to return to that position as soon as possible. What Michael wondered most was whether or not he had liked his job. Had sensed that Nikita had not. A part of Michael wanted to ask her why, but another part of him was afraid of the answer she would give him.

"We felt that it would take time for your reflexes and intincts to return, but they are very close to being up to par," Madeline explained. She watched Michael carefully, gauging his reaction. "How do feel about what you've learned so far. "Does it seem strange to you...or familiar?"

Michael shrugged. "A little of both," he allowed, then had the sudden feeling that he was giving away too much. That it wasn't like him to answer so honestly. Nikita had warned him that no one in Section could be trusted. Michael had replied that he trusted *her* implicitly. She had smiled then dropped the subject.

"Can I ask you a question?" Michael queried, leaning forward in his chair. The intensity of Madeline's gaze was beginning to irritate him and Michael got the impression that it was intended to. That Madeline was testing him in this way. Everything was a test, Nikita had told him.

"You can ask," Madeline replied, her curiosity piqued. She wondered if she would finally get some insight to the way Michael's mind worked. She found him to be a fascinating, psychological study. Always had. Always would.

"What if I never regain my memory?" Michael stated. "What happens then? Do you...cancel...me?"

Madeline decided to give him an honest answer. "That would depend upon you, Michael," she replied.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"If you can be retrained and do the job, you'll live." Madeline's tone of voice was matter of fact. "Of course, you will be closely monitored all the while. It will be somewhat like living under a microscope, but we can't allow you to become a security risk," she conceded.

"Wouldn't it be simpler just to kill me?" Michael countered, his tone flat. He didn't want to die, yet doubted he would be able to stand living under such microscopic scrutiny. Already he found himself rebelling against his lack of freedom in his dreams. Nightmares really, where he saw himself trapped in cages made of glass. Glass that he kicked and pounded against till he was broken and bleeding, but still it wouldn't break.

Madeline smiled, warmth creeping back into her eyes. Just enough to give Michael a sense of security, or so she believed. "What do you feel towards me, Michael?" she asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Michael was silent for a moment, giving Madeline's question careful consideration. "Uncertainty," he replied at last.

"Why?" Madeline prompted, and she was intrigued.

"I'm not sure," Michael allowed, and a smile curved his lips. "I get the feeling that there is something between us, but I can't define it."

Madeline arose from behind her desk, moving to stand behind Michael's chair. She laid her hands on his broad shoulders for a moment, kneading the muscles that she felt tense at her touch. Then her fingers moved to comb through Michael's silky hair. A soothing caress, yet somewhat intimate. She wanted to see how he would react.

"Would you like to know about our relationship?" she asked, bending to whisper the words in his ear.

Michael felt unease ripple through him. Reminded himself that Madeline could not be trusted. That what she would tell him was probably a lie. Yet he wanted to hear it. "Yes," Michael whispered back. "I want to know."

"I helped to train you when you first came to Section, Michael," Madeline began, and she continued combing her fingers through his hair. It pleased her that he didn't pull away from her touch. "One of your strengths was...and is...your sexuality." Madeline's voice was soft and seductive as she spoke. She finally moved away from Michael, moving to the front of her desk where she leaned against it and looked down at his face. "You're a beautiful man with a strong sensual aura. We've been able to use that...often. Seduction is something that you're very good at, Michael," Madeline drawled.

"I'm sure you were a good teacher, Madeline," he countered, not falling into the trap she was setting for him. Michael's instincts had kicked in and he was on guard. The thought occurred that Nikita would be proud of him and Michael felt warm inside. He could stand up to Madeline's probing, as well as her word and mind games. No problem. "So...in essance...I'm a killer and a whore?" he stated, matter-of-factly. Michael was careful not to let her see that the thought disturbed him.

Madeline heard the slight ripple of doubt that colored Michael's voice. Saw shadows darken his eyes. He was disturbed by what he was hearing. Unable to hide his emotions as he would have before the amnesia. Madeline had always known that Michael was not the *machine* he tried to so hard to convince everyone he was. She knew his emotions ran deeper.

"We all do what has to be done," Madeline replied. "Getting the job done is all that matters here. We don't count as individuals."

Michael absorbed her meaning then nodded. "In other words...we're all team players?" he challenged.

"We're a family," Madeline declared. Then she waited.

"I find that concept hard to accept," Michael replied, and was happy to note that his statement had surprised Madeline. Revealed by the flicker in her dark eyes and quickly smoothed over. But Michael had seen it.

Madeline returned to her chair behind the desk. Michael was still razor-sharp and a challenging opponent when it came to a match of wits. "Why do you say that?" she queried.

Michael shrugged. "I don't remember my family, but I looked the word up in the dictionary the other day. Doesn't fit the Section standards. Unless your talking..dysfunctional...family."

"Is family important to you, Michael?" Madeline prompted, and she felt that this was a question that would give her great insight into his true thoughts. It was a question he had avoided answering in the past.

"I'll let you know...as soon as I figure it out," Michael replied, rising from his chair with fluid grace. "Is that all?" he asked, pointedly. He was getting tired of this verbal exchange. A headache was forming in his temples as he thought about the operatives that he had just watched die. Madeline hadn't even mentioned their loss, yet she had the nerve to talk to him about family.

Swallowing back a sigh of disappointment, Madeline nodded. "That's all for now," she allowed. But her eyes never left Michael until the office doors whooshed closed, once he had exited the room. Then she turned her attention to her computer screen and began typing notes.

This *new* Michael was proving to be as enigmatic as the old one. A smile curved Madeline's lips. She did so love a challenge.

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

Nikita had to cool her heels. Birkhoff was still running missions so she amused herself in the exercise arena till Simon came to relieve Birkhoff. Walter let Nikita know when Birkhoff was heading to his quarters. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor and she fought to control her anger and her fear. Anger at Birkhoff for his betrayal of her and Michael. Fear for what Michael was going through with Madeline.

Once she stood before Birkhoff's door, Nikita reached for the handle without announcing her presence. The door was open and she swept inside, slamming it closed behind her. Birkhoff was lying on his airmattresss bed, about to play catch with himself. But the ball froze in his hand. His head swivelled, eyes going wide, as he watched Nikita approach him. "What...what are you doing here?" Birkhoff stuttered. Even though he already knew the answer.

Nikita climbed onto the mattress until she had straddled Birkhoff's chest, then she sat down effectively pinning him beneath her. Her eyes glittered with cold fire.

"We're gonna talk, big mouth!" Nikita hissed.

"I'm...sorry," Birkhoff was quick to apologize. He knew he owed her an apology for betraying Nikita's trust yet, at the same time, Birkhoff was convinced he had done the right thing. For all their sakes. Especially Michael's. He only hoped he could convince Nikita of that fact.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Birkhoff!" Nikita snarled, her fingers cruelly gripping his chin. "You betrayed me...and Michael. That's something I don't forgive easily, if ever. And I never forget."

Birkhoff tried to free his chin but Nikita's grip was like steel. "I had to tell," he declared in his defense. "They would have found out soon enough and then it would have been worse. And...to be honest...it worked out pretty good. Don't you think?" Birkhoff entreatied, desperation coloring his voice.

Nikita glowered at him, but couldn't deny the truth of what Birkhoff said. Section was being lenient with Michael. Allowing him the time he needed to recover his memory, and his skills. Something Nikita had never expected. "Lucky for you!" she drawled, her fingers tightening on Birkhoff's chin until she felt him wince. Then Nikita released him, rolling off the bed to the floor. "What I want to know is...why? Why did you betray me, Birkhoff? Betray us? Michael and I have both protected you in the past," Nikita pointed out, being blunt about it. "You owed us, Birkhoff." That he couldn't hold her gaze pleased Nikita. At least he felt a little guilty.

"I know," Birkhoff conceded. Then he made another confession. "But I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't tell. Madeline and Operations have warned me not to keep secrets. They do know...and see...all, Nikita. Trust me." Heaving a sigh as he sat up and ran a hand over his head, Birkhoff told her all about his close calls with Gail and Walter.

"You did the right thing," Nikita acknowledged, after a long moment of silence passed between them. But then she leaned in close to Birkhoff, blue eyes blazing. "But never...ever...betray me again! Are you hearing me?" Nikita warned.

Birkhoff swallowed hard and whispered, "Loud and clear."

Nikita smiled, patted him on the head then glided from the room.

"Whoa.." Birkhoff muttered, then collapsed onto the bed, face first. *******

Nikita tried ot to let her frustraion show. She and Michael were at the target range. Had been there for almost two hours. Seemed like a good idea to Nikita since he didn't want to talk about his meeting with Madeline. And besides which, she needed to get him up to par. To prepare Michael for the laser tag sims he would be undergoing in three days. But for all that Michael had scored high in other areas, he seemed to have lost his skill when it came to shooting. What irked Nikita most was that he would come so close. But his aim was inconsistent, a fact that would prove deadly to him. And more than a little painful during the sims. Squinting her eyes, Nikita studied the latest target. Six misses. Sighing, she handed Michael a new clip.

"Try again," she ordered.

Michael ejected the used clip, slid the new one in to place, chambered a bullet then raised his arm. But he didn't fire. Instead he looked at Nikita, his green eyes intense as he entreatied, "Will you help me?" It was safer to do this. To distract Nikita off the subject of his discussion with Madeline. He knew that she was dying of curiosity, but Michael wasn't ready to talk about it yet. He needed to mull things over in his mind. But he would tell her, eventually.

"Of course," Nikita replied, to his request, not letting on just how deeply it affected her. Michael was never needy. The *old* Michael anyway. But *this* Michael did need her and wasn't afraid to show it.

Nikita felt a warm glow spread throughout her as she moved to stand behind Michael, her chest pressed against his back, her hand closing over his to steady his arm. "Sight carefully," Nikita whispered, pressing her lips to Michael's ear. Her left arm wrapped around his slender waist as if it were the most natural position in the world. It brought to mind lying next to Michael on the boat. Bodies pressed together, limbs intertwined, naked skin slick with sweat, the heat of their passion keeping them warm.

"Like this?" Michael queried, unknowingly shattering the moment. Nikita was grateful. She had to keep her mind focused. Michael's life was at stake. He had to do well. To please Section. To prove to them that he could still do the job.

"Just like that," she stated, approvingly, her eye sighting the target fifty feet away. "Now squeeze the trigger...gently."

Michael did as he was told, but his arm quivered and the bullet went wide of it's mark. He was about to apologize when Birkhoff's voice came over the intercom.

"Nikita...Madeline wants to see you. ASAP!"

"Damn!" Nikita muttered, stalking over to the wall and punching a button. "I'll be right there, Birkhoff," she replied, then she turned back to Michael. "Keep practicing," Nikita told him. I'll be back soon."

Michael nodded, but as Nikita made to breeze by him, he wrapped one arm about her waist and pressed her hard against him. Michael stared into Nikita's beautiful eyes before shifting his gaze to her soft lips. He waited a heartbeat then bent his head to claim a kiss that was soul deep.

Nikita melted against Michael once he let her up for air. "What...what was that for?" she whispered. Not that she cared. She wanted another one, but now was not the time.

"For good luck," Michael replied, not bothering to explain if it was luck for her her or for him. His green eyes smouldered with passion that was ready to ignite into flame. He wanted Nikita.

"Ahhh.." she breathed, pushing away from Michael. "I have to go." Nikita took another breath then pointed to the targets. "Practice, Michael," she beseeched him, then she was gone. But the heat of Michael's kiss glowed inside her, warming her like a hot coal.

Michael watched the open doorway long after Nikita had disappeared. But then he heaved a sigh and turned his attention back to the targets. A smile curved his lips as Michael raised his arm and unloaded the clip. Five bullets left and all hit dead center. He replaced the clip with a fresh one and shot again, this time using his left hand. Same results.

From the doorway, where he had been lurking off and on, Walter watched Michael. A cheshire cat grin split his weathered face. He had seen Michael's earlier, fumbled, attempts to shoot and knew that the young man had been playing a game with Nikita. One he heartily approved of.

"You little devil you, Mikey," Walter muttered beneath his breath.

Then he scuttled away before he got caught. But he would keep Michael's secret safe.

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

After her summons to Madeline's office, which turned out merely to be a quick briefing on a mission Nikita would be going on in two days. A short mission at that. Nikita found Michael in his office.

"How did practice go?" she asked, as she plopped down into the chair by the door and watching him typing at his keyboard.

Michael shrugged, keeping his eyes glued on the monitor screen. If he looked at Nikita the twinkle in his eyes would give away the truth.

"It went okay," he replied. "I should be ready for the Sims."

"I hope so," Nikita countered. "It's gonna hurt like hell if you're not. You had the top scores, Michael. Only Op to reach level 11."

"What level have you reached?" Michael asked, glancing up at Nikita. He thought she looked beautiful and sexy and so *perfect* all sprawled out in the chair. Her chair. Michael didn't really remember it being so, he just knew it felt right.

Nikita sighed, then looped a lock of her pale hair around one finger. "Level 8," she stated, with a touch of regret. "I can't seem to get past that point.

Without thinking Michael offered, "I'll help you." Then he bit his lip and looked back at his monitor. He'd just made a big faux pas.

"I think you'd best worry about helping yourself," Nikita chided, remembering his recent scores. "You're not up to Level 11 in your present condition, Michael," she reminded him.

"I forgot," Michael drawled, then laughed. "No pun intended." He typed diligently for a moment then cleared his screen and tapped the power button, shutting down his computer. "I'm hungry," Michael declared, rising from his chair and stretching. "Can we go somewhere for dinner?" He had had enough of Section One for today.

Nikita stood up as well and considered Michael's request. "Why don't we go shopping and cook at my place?" She didn't bother to tell Michael that she couldn't cook. And, for all she knew, he couldn't either. If worse came to worst the could order pizza.

Michael's eyes lit up. "Yes...let's do that!" he enthused. "Do you like pasta Alfredo?"

"Probably," Nikita conceded. "Why?" Her eyes glittered with suspiscion. "Do you know how to make it?"

"I think so," Michael whispered, coming around the desk and reaching for Nikita's hand. "Let's go find out," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers and offering a challenge.

Nikita smiled and squeezed Michael's hands. "Let's," she replied, then led him from the room.

********

Michael did, indeed, know how to make pasta Alfredo. With shrimp. And marvelous breadsticks with garlic and cheese. He tossed a mean salad as well and started the meal with Lobster fondue. Nikita was in heaven. Her contribution to the meal was a bottle of white wine and heavenly hash ice cream. She delighted in the fact that Michael had never had Heavenly Hash and adored it.

So now they sat in the doorway of the patio, soft music playing in the background as Nikita fed Michael spoonfuls of the ice cream. She loved to watch his face as he experienced the taste of it. Its texture and mix of flavors blending together on his tongue. His eyes would close, head fall back, and sensual delight would soften his features until he was so beautiful that Nikita's heart skipped a beat.

She felt liquid heat flood her veins and took a huge spoonful of the icy treat for herself, hoping it would help to cool her down. Michael watched Nikita stuff the ice cream in her mouth but some of it dribbled down her chin. She raised a napkin but he beat her to it, the pad of his thumb brushing the chocolate and marshmallow off her skin.

Nikita swallowed hard as she watched Michael bring his thumb to his mouth and suckle it clean. Then she stopped breathing when he leaned forward and whispered,

"I missed a spot..." Michael's tongue licked at Nikita's skin, tantalizing flickers soon followed by his cool lips. But they warmed quickly against her heated flesh and Nikita felt an ache begin between her legs. They were in dangerous territory. She wanted to pull back, at least that's what she tried to tell herself but a voice in her head called her *liar*.

Yet there was no place to go. The door jamb was behind her and suddenly Michael was over her, his palms cupping her cheeks as his mouth claimed hers for a sweet kiss. Soft moans erupted from Nikita as Michael deepened the kiss and they stirred him to hardness. A sweet ache and a familiar one. Michael knew that he loved Nikita. Knew that it was complicated as well. But didn't care. Not in this moment. All that mattered right now was Nikita. He wanted her...needed her.

"Nikita..." Michael breathed against her lips.

"Oh..." she whispered, putting the ice cream tub on the floor so that her fingers could tangle in his soft hair. "Michael..." Nikita sighed, as she felt his hands slide beneath her t-shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra and it didn't take long for his fingers to find her nipples, rolling them into hard little buds.

"I want you, Nikita," Michael announced, although it was stating the obvious at this point. "I need you," he added, his voice trembling just a little. He needed her so badly that his body ached and tears filled his eyes.

Nikita wanted him too, but she debated if they should cross the line. She had made love to Michael in the past. Twice. Moments that he didn't remember. But did that matter? Nikita wondered. Would it be so wrong to make new memories? She pulled back from Michael's kiss to look into his eyes. In the silver-green depths she saw love and longing and passion. But there was fear and need glimmering there as well. He needed her as much as she needed him.

"Make love to me, Michael," Nikita breathed, her decision made. Then she gasped as she felt him lift her in his strong arms and carry her towards the stairs.

Once in the bedroom, Michael set Nikita down on her feet near the bed. He wanted to look at her. To see her naked beauty on display for him. It didn't take long to discard her t-shirt and flannel boxer shorts. She wasn't wearing anything else.

"Exquisite..." Michael whispered, as his eyes roamed over Nikita like a caress. He reached out and touched one fingertip to her perfect cheek, then let it glide down over her chin, the long neck, skimming over collarbone then tickling her nipple. From there Michael's finger tracked across Nikita's belly pausing briefly at her navel, then it entered the pale curls between her legs before finding its way inside her. Michael's free arm curled around Nikita's waist, holding her up as he stroked her to climax. All the while his eyes never left her beautiful face.

"Michael..." Nikita gasped, as she leaned against his strong arm for support when her knees went weak. Her body still shuddered with pleasure. Pleasure that only he could give her. "I want to see you," she whispered, locking her knees and stepping out of his embrace when he made to push her onto the bed. In that moment, Nikita knew she wanted things to be different this time. In the past Michael had always been the one in control. Not because he didn't trust her, but because he didn't trust himself. But this time she wanted him to let go.

"Whatever you want," Michael countered, his fingers grasping the ends of his t-shirt to pull it over his head. But Nikita stopped him. Michael frowned at her.

Nikita smiled. "Let me," she entreatied, then she pressed her hands to his strong chest. She traced his muscles for a moment, through the black cotton, then curled her fingers into the material before ripping it open. Nikita laughed at the stunned expression on Michael's face.

Then she bent her head and lavished attention to his flat nipples till she felt him quiver. Raining kisses to his navel, Nikita then undid his belt and the fastenings of his trousers. Like herself, Michael was barefoot, so it didn't take long to undress him. Nikita slid pants and briefs down in one, fluid, motion. Stood up then and stepped back so she could feast upon Michael's beauty. He was as perfect as a Greek statue. Could have been Adonis come to life.

"Exquisite..." Nikita whispered, echoing his own words.

"I need you, Nikita," Michael replied, feeling warmed by her passionate gaze.

"I know," Nikita countered, a soft smile curving her lips.

She turned away from him for a moment, moving over to the dresser in the corner and removing to pairs of panty hose. She held them up then asked, "Do you trust me, Michael?"

He frowned but nodded. "Yes."

Nikita was pleased. "Come here," she ordered, moving over to the bed. "Lie down." Once Michael was beside her, Nikita eased him down onto his back. Then she straddled him and went to work tying one end of each pair of the pantyhose to a bed post.

"What are you doing, Nikita?" Michael asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Giving you what we both need, Michael," Nikita replied, then she kissed him. Once they were both breathless, Nikita pulled back and reached for one of Michael's wrists. She wrapped the free end of one set of panty hose around it, binding it over his head. Felt him tug on it and was pleased to note that he was unable to get free. So Nikita did the same to the other wrist.

Something rippled through Michael, an emotion he could not identify. Not fear, yet he was just the tiniest bit afraid. "Why, Nikita?' he asked, his eyes burning. "I want to touch you. To please you." Michael tugged at his bonds.

Nikita combed her fingers through his soft hair. "You do please me, Michael," she whispered. "But you need to learn to let go. To give up your control. No holding on or holding back this time." Nikita paused as she saw a shimmer of fear in Michael's silver-green gaze.

"I won't hurt you," she promised, almost too softly to hear.

"I know," Michael stated, and a soft smile curved his lips. Trust now glimmered in his eyes as he whispered, "I love you, Nikita."

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

Michael held his breath as Nikita nibbled kisses from the corners of his mouth, over his chin, down the sensitive skin of his neck to his ear lobe, then paused to suckle at his flat nipples. Liquid heat pooled in Michael's groin and he swallowed a moan. Nikita lifted her head and smiled at him seductively, her eyes smouldering with passion.

"No holding back, Michael," she chided him, her finger tips tickling over his ridged abdomen, then lower still to encircle his turgid flesh. He pulsed in her hand. Nikita felt a sense of power. Michael made her feel like the ultimate woman, and there was no doubt in her mind but that he was the ultimate man. Her man.

"Let yourself go..." Nikita breathed, scooting back between Michael's legs so that she could press a kiss to the tip of his erection.

Michael let a moan escape him, flowing from the depths of his soul. Then he whispered her name. "Nikita..."

"Michael..." she echoed, as she moved over him now, taking him into her warm, wet heat. He filled her so completely. Filled the void of her body, heart and soul. As much as Nikita wanted to ease the ache of her desire, as well as Michael's, she held her body still, resisting his efforts to establish a rythmn. Nikita leaned down and whispered against his sensual lips, "My way..."

"Please..." Michael begged, but he went still as well, breathless with anticipation.

"Patience..." Nikita replied, as her fingers tangled in Michael's silky hair. The cinnamon strands formed soft curls and Nikita loved how wild and young Michael looked. So beautiful that it made her heart ache. She pressed delicate kisses to his eyelids, feeling the tickle of his long, lush lashes then brushing her lips to his temples before whispering in his ear, "What are you feeling, Michael?" Nikita asked softly. "Right now. Right this moment?"

Strangely enough, he knew what she was asking. Nikita didn't want to know what Michael was feeling physically. For she already understood that. Felt his passionate, liquid, heat as her own. She wanted to know his emotional status. His thoughts, his dreams...his desires.

"I feel scared," Michael whispered, being totally honest because he knew that he could be.

Nikita was surprised. "Why scared, Michael?" she prompted, leaning back and stifling a moan as Michael's thick hardness shifted and went deeper inside her. Nikita was on fire but in control of the flames.

"Scared...beacuse I know that this isn't real, Nikita," Michael replied. Tears pooled in his eyes and he tried to blink them back, but one escaped, sliding down his temple. Michael held his breath as Nikita moved over him, kissing it away. "It's a dream come true," he continued. "A dream I can't remember, yet I won't ever forget. An impossible dream, mon coeur."

"But...it is real, Michael," Nikita countered, and one hand tenderly cupped his face. "This moment in time is as real as it gets. This isn't our first time, Michael. And it doesn't have to be our last."

He stared at her face, drinking in her abstract beauty. Pale yet warm, a crystal that glowed like a flame.

"I won't be this...Michael...forever," he whispered, brokenly. Then he tugged at his bonds, suddenly desperate to be free. To touch Nikita and memorize every inch of her with his hands, his eyes, his lips. Never wanted to forget her softness or her scent. Her strength and her passion.

Nikita glided her hands over Michael's arms. She couldn't free him, but her fingers laced with his as she began to move, her rhythm like a sensual dance. She smiled when she felt Michael move with her. Embers glowed into flames, then exploded deep within her, bringing Nikita to a shattering climax. She felt Michael follow her into the abyss, then she let her, suddenly languid, limbs collapse on top of him. Neither spoke and all Nikita heard was the beating of their hearts. Out of time and synch, yet a sweet melody that echoed in her mind. Symbolic of their relationship. Never perfect, often discordant, yet beautiful.

As Nikita sat up and freed Michael's wrists, she whispered, "This...Michael....I just made love to is the Michael I have always loved. He's always been inside you. And no matter what happens in the future...he will always be a part of you. And me."

"I love you, Nikita," Michael breathed, and this time the meaning behind his words was more pure. He wrapped his arms around her and held on as if he would never let go.

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

After making love twice more, Michael and Nikita headed for the shower. That took a while in itself and they made love beneath the warm spray for a third time. Once they finally managed to step out and dry each other off, Michael was surprised that Nikita had clothing lying about for him. When he asked about it, she blushed.

"I bought them for you," Nikita confessed as she watched Michael slip on the blue jeans and white, cotton shirt. "Leave it open," she requested, liking the fact that his feet were bare as well. He looked carefree and sexy as hell. They were dressed somewhat alike for Nikita was in blue jeans as well, but had topped hers with a white tank top. "Hungry?" she asked, reaching out to tuck a wayward curl behind Michael's ear.

"I could eat," he allowed. "What sounds good?" Michael was prepared to make Nikita a feast.

She chewed at her lip as she considered her options, knowing that her cupboards were a bit bare. "How are you with eggs?" Nikita queried, somewhat hopefully.

Michael smiled and it lit up his entire face. "Well...I know you have milk, cheese and ham in the fridge," he replied. "I think I could whip up an omelet and some cinnamon toast."

"That would be wonderful!" Nikita enthused as she wrapped her arms around Michael's neck and kissed him as a proper thank you.

"Are you sure you're...hungry for food?" Michael queried, as his mouth nibbled at Nikita's chin. He couldn't get enough of her. The sight, the scent, the taste of Nikita.