She was tired. And fed up. Nikita rubbed her eyes vigorously and tried to keep from yawning. All she had to do now was debrief and then finally - home.

She had been in Russia for the last six days, practically buried in the February snow. It was so damn cold there. Downright frosty. She wouldn't have been surprised if her feet and fingertips just froze and fell off.

Their team had to infiltrate an abandoned warehouse that was supposedly a disguised bio-weapons factory. As it turned out, the warehouse was not a factory. It wasn't abandoned either. It happened to have been a hiding place for a Russian terrorist group. Because of the unexpected turn of events, the mission that was supposed to be a day-and-a-half long stretched into almost a week.

And as if that wasn't enough, Michael was absent from this particular mission. He’d been on a month-long mission in Bosnia until last week, and was currently on downtime. She herself had three days of downtime coming, and longed to crawl into bed and sleep like the dead until she had to go back to the dreaded place that was Section.

Not long now, she thought tiredly, just debrief and I'll be able to go home. To forget about Section, terrorists, and bombs for, at least, several hours.

***

Nikita stepped out of Madeline's office, feeling even more exhausted. If such thing was possible. Dealing with terrorists in the freezing chill of Russia was one thing. Dealing with Madeline's mind games was something else entirely.

Whereas fighting terrorists was physically tiring, dealing with Madeline was mentally draining. Having to stay alert and focused on the questions she asked her, while already tired from a six-day mission, was definitely a challenge. Even though there wasn't anything fishy about that particular mission, Nikita had already learned, the hard way, to never let her guard down where Madeline was concerned. One could never know what psychological manipulations were being done while conversing with Section's head of mind games. Nikita was determined to be focused on each and every question Madeline fired at her. After an interminable fifteen minutes, the debrief was over and Nikita was free to go.

She stepped out of Section into the cold afternoon air, and walked quickly down the street towards her apartment, clutching her coat tightly around herself. She walked, deep in thought, for several minutes. She looked around her at the street, the people passing by, and suddenly realized: today was February 14th -- Valentine's day.

She slowed her pace, looking at the storefronts as she passed them. Almost every one was decorated in shades of red and pink, with hearts and Cupids hung all over the place. She saw a tall man heading out of one doorway, holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a teddy bear with a red bow around its neck. And there seemed to be couples everywhere she looked… holding hands, dining together, or just gazing annoyingly into each other's eyes. She sighed, feeling a little pang of longing in her heart. She lowered her head slightly as a memory from her childhood resurfaced.

Her friend Julie's parents always took Valentine's day very seriously. She recalled Julie telling her how her dad brought her mom chocolates and flowers, and how they used to have a family dinner on that day every year. She remembered listening to Julie and then walking back home to find her mother drunk and banging some stranger. There was never anything special for her on that day.

Several years later, when she got older, she remembered her friends getting Valentine cards and gifts from their boyfriends. She remembered staring at them enviously and dreaming of one day having someone of her own, someone who would love her… real love, like she saw in the movies. She dreamed of Valentine cards and flowers, and then woke up to face a bitter reality.

Nikita shook her head to clear the unhappy memories from her mind. Valentine's day had never been special to her before, so why should it be this time? Her thoughts inevitably turned to Michael. She wondered what he was doing.

She closed her eyes let herself drift into fantasies for several seconds. She wished they could walk together on the street, holding hands. She wished she could sit with him in a coffee shop, sipping coffee and talking with him, looking into his eyes... oh, and how she wished she could just feel his arms around her… to kiss those sensual lips, to drown in that perfect body and the beauty of his eyes...

She opened her eyes abruptly, trying in vain to erase the memories of his touch, his scent from her mind. Dreams were not a good thing in Section. Neither was hope. Things like that could get you killed.

She continued to tread slowly down the street, lost in thought. She reached her building and fumbled in her pocket for her key, opening the door to her apartment with a small sigh of relief.

***

Michael walked slowly down the street, ignoring the cold wind that ruffled his hair. He had been on downtime for several days now, and he needed some fresh air. His most recent mission had been grueling, and he still felt restless when he remembered the horrors he had witnessed. He knew that the days would pass and he would forget. He couldn't afford not to in his line of work. He had seen so many wars, so much suffering and death in his not-so-short experience in Section. His survival and sanity depended on detaching himself from the ugliness he faced each and every day of his life. But sometimes it just was too much. He desperately wanted to forget, if only for a little while.

When he’d been “married” to Elena, he remembered going home after completing a mission, going to his son's room and watching him as he slept. He remembered praying that his beautiful, innocent child would never see what his father had seen, would never have to deal with the emotional pain he was experiencing every day. He prayed that his son would grow up safe and happy.

Michael shuddered and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. His heart throbbed with pain until he forced the thoughts about Adam out of his head. It simply hurt too much to think about him. The innocent little boy with the adorable smile. With his mother's eyes and his father's strength of character. The boy who remained fatherless. Michael pushed the thoughts out again with great effort. He would not think about it.

He lifted his head and scanned the area around him. The happy decorations in the storefronts reminded him that today was Valentine's day. His thoughts immediately turned to Nikita. He had last seen her over a month ago, before he went out to chase Red Cell operatives in Bosnia. He knew she was due back from her mission later today. He had checked with Birkoff and was informed that the team was in transport, making their way back to Section. He had thought about her constantly during his mission. The Abby fiasco had made her somewhat distant, cautious. He recalled the incident that occurred nearly two months ago.

He knew that watching him having sex with Abby had hurt Nikita deeply. For her, intimate relations had always been tightly connected with emotions; she had trouble telling the two apart. And he knew she was watching. Abby deliberately placed her glasses, which he later learned were actually a camera and transmitter, facing the bed, so Nikita had to endure every second.

Nikita had known that it was the only way he’d be able to tell that it wasn’t her… had even instigated the action herself out of desperation. He still felt extremely guilty about having to do it, even though he too could see there’d been no other way. Somehow, he always ended up hurting her, no matter what the extenuating circumstances.

As he looked at the happy people around him, Michael was suddenly filled with an intense longing to make Nikita feel the same. She deserved happiness and peace more than anyone.

He traveled along the street slowly, looking at the variety of ornaments and gifts in the windows. Finally, he stopped in front of a jeweler's store. A delicate item in the window attracted his attention. He couldn't help imagining it shimmering against her soft pale skin. Standing for several more minutes outside the window, Michael made up his mind and stepped into the store.

***

The moment Nikita entered her apartment, she knew something was different. Her confusion and suspicion only lasted for several fleeting seconds until she saw, on her dining table, something that certainly hadn’t been there earlier.

Standing on the table was one of her delicate glass vases, and inside it was a beautiful bouquet of roses. She stepped closer, stunned, her brain refusing to accept what her eyes were witnessing.

The bouquet was magnificent… a lovely mixture of pink and white roses, adorned with stems of baby's breath. She touched one of the delicate petals, then bent to inhale the sweet and tender scent.

As she moved closer, she saw something else, lying next to the vase. It was a small box, wrapped in midnight blue paper, tied with a gold ribbon. There was a folded white note underneath it. She touched the box hesitantly, and lifted it, taking and unfolding the note. Her hands shook as she read the words:

"As lines, so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every Angle greet;
But ours so truly Parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the Love which us both bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the Conjunction of the Mind,
And Opposition of the Stars."

She clutched the small note to her heart, mindless of the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Even though the note wasn't signed, there was no doubt in her mind who the sender was. She understood so well what he was trying to tell her, and it broke her heart. With hands that shook harder, she smoothed out the note and re-folded it gently, tucking it safely in her pocket. She then reached for the box, unwrapping it and lifting the lid.

She gasped in wonder as she saw what was in it. On soft silk lay the most exquisite bracelet she had ever seen. It was made of pure gold, imbedded with heart-shaped blue stones. She wasn't sure what they were… could be sapphires. It was lovely, and obviously very expensive. Her heart trembled with the thought that he’d taken the time to choose and purchase it for her.

And the poem. She fished the note from her pocket and reread it, the words bringing, once again, tears to her eyes. In that small poem, she read all of his longing, his despair, and his undeniable love for her. She had to go to him… had to see him… to look into his eyes and make herself believe that it was real.

***

Michael sat in the dark, running his fingers over the worn cover of the poetry book in his hands. He had bought it on a whim several months ago. He had never believed that he would buy a book solely devoted to love poems, but he did. He still remembered that day clearly…

He was on his way home from Section, tired from a long mission. He had stopped at a small coffee bar a few blocks away from his loft. While sipping, he’d noticed a new bookstore across the street, as yet unfamiliar to him, having just opened. He finished his coffee, then paid the store a visit.

Michael stepped inside, discovering that the shop was devoted to selling old books. He was looking at the bookcases stacked with vintage volumes, when the store's elderly owner greeted him.

"Looking for something particular, son?" he had asked.

"Do you have poetry books?" Michael heard himself asking.

"Ah, my kind of boy. Poetry is my favorite, too. Come with me."

The man had led him to the back of the store and pointed to several bookcases.

"Here you go. Not completely organized yet, but I have plenty."

Michael thanked him and moved closer, leisurely taking in their contents. Dickinson, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats and many more of Michael's favorite poets could be found there, but his eyes had stopped on a small book, a collection of several poets' works. He eased the book from the shelf and examined its cover. The words "Love Poems" were inscribed on it in golden letters.

Suddenly, a wave of longing had washed over him… the memory of a certain pair of blue eyes and sunshine-colored hair. He’d seen her that day, just before he’d left Section. He’d been walking down the hall towards the exit, when he’d rounded a corner and come face to face with her. She’d gifted him with a small smile and a quiet "Good night, Michael." He saw that smile and heard that voice in his dreams all the time.

Before he could have time for regret, he had purchased the book and gone home. He’d sat in bed then, and read through several of the poems…

Michael blinked as the memory faded. Giving Nikita a Valentine gift was probably foolish. And dangerous. But he couldn't overcome the yearning to make her happy. She had so little happiness in her life, and his heart rejoiced in the prospect of giving her some. Even if he couldn't be there to see the look in her eyes.

***

Nikita stood in front of Michael’s closed door, biting her lower lip in hesitation. She had been standing there for nearly five minutes, trying to gather the courage to knock. It was stupid. She had been fine twenty minutes ago, when she left her apartment in haste, determined to see him. But now, suddenly she was so scared that her heart was beating a crazy rhythm in her chest.

What are you afraid of? she asked herself desperately. Of the bitter disappointment if he wasn’t there? Or maybe she was more afraid that he would be there. One thing, among many others, that Michael was always most successful at, was knocking her off-balance. Making her heart race and her knees buckle. Literally taking her breath away. Whether he was doing it intentionally or not…

Michael almost missed the knock on his door. It was rather short and quiet, as if the knocker didn't really want to be heard. And, of course, he already knew who was standing outside. He knew that after she found the gift he’d left for her in her apartment, she would come. He didn't know if it would take minutes, hours, maybe even days, until she came.

But he knew she would eventually.

This was just like her. And it was both a blessing and curse.

She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and he feared that she would, once again, be burned.

Oh, but he wanted her to burn. He wanted them to burn together. Oh, yes, how much he wanted it.

***

The door opened. She bit her lower lip nervously.

"Hello, Michael."

He was dressed in black slacks and a black sweater that clung to his lean body. Typical Michael-wear. On any other man these clothes would look ordinary, but on him... Sexy As Hell.

"Ni-ki-ta."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. Why did he have to say her name like that?

"Can I come in?" she blurted out.

"Of course." Succinct. No extra words. Michael.

She stepped inside, feeling her heart hammering harder with every step. He closed the door behind her. She felt trapped. She didn't want to get away.

"So how are you?" Her question sounded lame in her own ears.

"Fine." Of course. How could she expect a different answer?

She looked around, her eyes resting on his cello that stood in the corner. Memories flooded her...

"So, what are you doing?"

"Playing the cello."

She was scared. Terrified, for him. She knew that if she couldn't get him to snap out of it, to get over losing Adam, he would die, taking with him her only reason to live and her hopes for the future.

"Your security isn't engaged."

He ignored her admonishment, like it didn't concern him. Like his life wasn't on the line.

"Do you want to die?" she recalled asking him, later.

"What's it to you?"

It hurt. It did, that he still didn’t know how much she cared for him, how important he was to her. It was then that she decided that she would make him understand, let him know that he was loved, that he still had a reason to live.

Nikita snapped back into the present as she felt warm hands on her shoulders. Her jacket slowly slipped into Michael's hands. She felt a heat wave coming up her spine, leaving her hot and shivery. She stepped away slightly, distancing herself from his touch. There were things she needed to say to him, and she needed a clear head in order to do that.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, polite, as always.

"Please."

"Wine?"

"Yes, thank you." She longed for something stronger, but would content herself with his offering.

Michael went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses filled with ruby-colored liquid. His hand brushed hers briefly as he handed her the glass. She grasped it quickly and took a long drink, finishing nearly half. Michael's enchanting eyes were fixed on hers as he sipped from his glass.

"I w-wanted to thank you," she started bravely, her eyes seeking the floor, the wall, anywhere but the twin pools of his eyes. She feared she might drown.

"You shouldn't."

"What do you mean?" She finally looked at him, surprise in her eyes.

"What I did was foolish, and dangerous. I put you at risk. Again."

She raised her hand in alarm, moving to touch his face. "Michael, no--"

But his head jerked, moving away from her.

"Don't thank me, Nikita." His eyes burned. "I don't deserve your gratitude."

Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes. "But--"

"No. Just leave. Go while you still can."

"Dammit, Michael!"

Why did he have to be this way? Why did he always seem to show her the doorway to heaven just to snap it shut a second afterwards? Nikita shook her head angrily.

"Then why? Why did you do it, if it's putting me at risk? Why don't you just walk the hell out of my life?" She was trembling now with emotions she couldn't name.

"I wish I could," came his quiet answer. "You'd be better off."

"Better off? And why is that?" She was getting even madder. "You think I want to be alone for the rest of my life? Watching you from afar?"

She stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose.

"Well, guess what?" she whispered, eyes fixated on his lips. "You don't get to call the shots anymore."

And then she kissed him.

For a second Michael stood frozen, his mouth sealed stubbornly against hers, but then he opened it so suddenly that she gasped with surprise. His strong arms tightened around her as they both drew back slightly, each looking into the other's eyes.

"Tell me to stop, Nikita. If you don't, there's no going back," he warned, his voice raw with unrestrained desire.

In response, she locked her eyes with his and leaned closer.

"I don't want to go back" she breathed, a second before she kissed him again.

***

This time he was a willing partner. Even more - the aggressor. He ravished her mouth hungrily, rough with desire. His tongue brushed against her lips, then slipped inside her mouth as her lips parted. She felt his hands tugging impatiently at her blouse, lifting it, disappearing inside to caress her warm back. Her whole body was alive with desire. His lips slid downwards, abrading her neck slightly and then moving back up to hers. His hands played on her back, shifting lower with each breath. His touch was making her even hungrier, wanting more.

Her own hands moved frantically. One moment, they were gliding over soft fabric, and a second later they were feeling hard muscles and soft skin. She made a low sound of pleasure as her hands touched his firm chest, smoothing greedily over his warm skin. In an instant, his shirt was gone, forgotten on the floor. She suddenly felt his hand caressing her right thigh through her jeans. His touch caused a tingling sensation to spread in her belly.

Michael maneuvered her slowly until her back was flush with the wall. Nikita’s right leg rose quickly and wrapped itself around his waist. Now that their bodies were so close, she could feel him. Hard and insistent beneath his pants. She groaned and pressed herself closer, beginning to rub against him frantically, an action that made a growl emanate from between his lips.

He allowed her movements for a couple more seconds, and then locked his hand around her ankle, pulling it from around his waist. Her confusion lasted only a moment as he slid her pants down, and lifted each foot out. He knelt in front of her, pressing his lips to her thigh. Her hands clutched his shoulders as his mouth moved, his breath fluttering against the thin fabric of her panties.

"M-Michael," she whispered, trembling, his touch making her head spin.

His eyes, now dark as night, burned into hers, as his hands moved slowly upwards from where they rested on her knees to tug at her panties and slide them off. He lifted her leg so the back of her thigh rested on his shoulder, and with a lightning-quick movement, pressed his tongue inside her.

She let out a piercing cry as the pleasure hit her, strong as an ocean wave in a storm. Her legs were trembling so badly, that if it wasn't for Michael's hands, she would have melted onto the floor. Those hands now held her thighs, pressing them back to the wall, his tongue deep inside her, caressing her intimately. She moved with frenzy, in tune with the movements of his tongue, her eyes closed, groaning throatily every time he touched a sensitive spot.

She felt the pressure building up, coiling in her stomach. She knew she was close.... And then, Michael's right hand left her thigh and his thumb pressed roughly against her most sensitive spot. Nikita saw black as she came hard in Michael's arms, crying out his name.

She barely had time to catch her breath when he rose to his feet, lifted her trembling body easily, and carried her upstairs. She could hear his raspy breathing, and knew he was just as raving with lust as she was. Suddenly she was pressed to a soft mattress, delightfully pinned under his heavy body. His lips pressed hers again with a passionate kiss. She kissed him back just as hard, her tongue battling with his, their teeth scraping with almost bruising intensity.

Nikita could feel his warm hands touch her chest through the thin fabric of her blouse, and her nipples budded with lust. She only noticed that she was completely naked when her torn blouse reached the floor. Michael was now kissing her neck as his hands started kneading her breasts roughly. She moaned loudly, begging him with guttural sounds to continue. Her moans triggered something in him, as his teeth tightened on her neck causing momentary pain that was soon forgotten.

He was now concentrating on her achingly hard nipples, scraping them with the edge of his nails, licking them slightly with his hot tongue, nearly driving her mad with desire. He then stopped, his hand resting slightly against her breast.

"Michael... please…" she begged, tears in her eyes.

"Please… what?" he asked, his voice whisper-soft, but nearly menacing.

"Don't stop..."

Michael bent and fastened his mouth around one breast, suckling roughly. Her legs wrapped around his still clothed legs, pressing his hardness closer to her. After a few more seconds, he emitted a low sound, tearing himself away from the bed. She looked at him with lust-clouded eyes when, with one smooth movement, he tore his pants away. She barely had time to admire his magnificent body before he moved back on top of her.

She could feel him against her, hot as fire and hard as a rock. Her body started moving, commanding him silently to continue.

"Ni-ki-ta..." He could hardly hold himself back anymore. He was throbbing against her with such force, he feared he would cause her damage if he continued. But the lust in her eyes made it clear that she wanted this, just as he did.

His knee slid up, parting her thighs, and then, trembling with effort, he slid inside her welcoming body... slowly.... oh, so slowly. He drew back slightly and moved inside slowly again. Her legs tightened themselves around his waist and she begged him to go faster.

He gradually increased his pace, feeling her warm, wet body tightening around him, unwilling to let him go. He was moving faster and faster, she was groaning in his ears as the pressure built again.... she came twice in a row, her body shaking with ecstasy, her nails raking his sweat-soaked back. He kept moving, growling with pleasure when he felt her start to shiver again, and came a mere second after she did.

He then collapsed into her arms, his face pressing into her neck.

In the semi-darkness of Michael's house, Nikita curled deeper in his arms as they tightened about her. She felt such peace. She could hardly believe that a world outside existed when she was here, in Michael's arms, feeling safe and loved. She opened her eyes to see his ocean-green eyes, half closed, watching her intensely. She blushed under his gaze, that gaze that seemed to penetrate her very soul, and smiled at him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Michael," she murmured, before leaning close and kissing him. He kissed her back without hesitation, his lips warm and enveloping. She smiled and pressed herself against him, closing her eyes to sleep.

Michael sighed with silent peacefulness and drew her even closer in a loving embrace. He knew that tomorrow he would have to wake up to cold reality, but tonight... tonight he had his beloved in his arms, and he just wanted to pretend that everything was all right in the world.

Just for tonight...

~ The End ~

*Poem Credits: Taken from “The Definition of Love” by Andrew Marvel.

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