Celia and Olin walked, dejected, up to her office. They had seen with their very own eyes the depth of the connection between two people the likes of which they had never seen or experienced before, even with each other.

Michael returned to Section Four after the mark had been sedated. He sent his team ahead to await the transport and intended to follow them within the hour.

Christina had escorted Michael to Celia's office while Celia, Olin, and Nikita finished up security at the embassy. As he waited for Celia's return, he paced slowly in the plush, comfortable, private office. His attention was drawn to Celia's bookshelves and he amused himself by examining her artifacts and keepsakes. There on display were African masks and Aztec pottery strategically positioned between books of every type and title.

As he continued his perusal, he came across a birdhouse. It was painstakingly hand-painted with tiny flowers, green ivy, lacy ferns, and colorful butterflies. It was exquisite, he thought. The artist was gifted and expressed whimsy and imagination on this unique medium. He turned it slightly to see if he could find the artist's signature and was stunned when he saw "1/1 Nikita 99" carefully written in silver toward the back of the magnificent piece.

Michael was astonished, then impressed. She had amazing talent. She could do it for a living, he knew. His long-cultivated cover as an art buyer had given him enough of an eye to know talent when he saw it. Nikita was using an unusual medium and one that would be very marketable in exclusive boutiques and art galleries.

He spied another birdhouse on the bookshelf, but was unable to examine it before he was interrupted by the owner of the office.

Celia was visibly surprised as she entered her office to find a man in a black suit with determined dark green eyes standing before her.

"Celia," spoke Michael in a low voice.

"Michael," Celia responded, quickly containing her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

There was a long pause as Michael nodded his acknowledgment to Olin.

"Nikita has done well here, but she is needed at Section One," he stated flatly, getting directly to the point.

"Really? Needed at Section One? Isn't it more like you need her at Section One?" replied a skeptical and angry Olin.

Silence shrouded the room as the two men engaged in an intense staring match.

Celia took control of the conversation. "Michael, Nikita has done well here. She is relatively happy. She likes her job, she has made a lot of friends. She has something of a life that she never had in Section One. Give her a break. If you really care about her, let her live her life as well as she can. That's not at Section One." Celia spoke with sincerity and honesty, knowing that Michael could not deny the truth of her words.

Michael did not respond for what seemed like an eternity. The silence in the room was deafening. Both Celia and Olin knew Michael's tactics and recognized that this was his standard method of intimidation. They were not buying. Sensing this, he finally spoke quietly.

Michael looked first at Olin then to Celia while holding his mask firmly in place. Underneath, he was trembling, fearing the possible rejection of his demands, knowing he did not have Operations' approval to demand Nikita's return to Section One. "Nikita belongs to Section One."

Celia smiled and nodded. "Ah. You mean, Nikita belongs to you."

"Ultimately, we all belong to Section One."

Celia had about enough of Michael's ploys. It was time to cut to the chase.

"Hmmm . . . I will tell you now, Michael. She excels here. She is needed and she is wanted. I intend to keep her."

"Over my dead body," Michael replied raising an eyebrow, punctuating his intent.

"If that's what it takes."

"Threats, Celia?"

Celia glared at him, pausing, unwilling to fold to his intimidating remarks. "Do what you have to do, Michael, but when you initiate the power play for her return, I certainly hope you'll take the time to consider her best interests instead of yours."

"I've always considered her best interests, Celia."

"Have you, Michael? Or have you only considered your need for her?"

Michael blinked, turned swiftly and left to join his team. He was determined to bring Nikita home.

The flight back for Michael was a living hell. He had seen the only person on the planet that made his life worth living, and as he recalled the precious moments when he gazed upon her beautiful face, his heart was violently ripped from his body knowing she may never come back to him.

Celia had been right, he thought. Nikita was better suited to work at Section Four. If she had to live in the darkness of Section, she was better off living in a place where she could find some meaning and happiness. He certainly never gave her much happiness. It was always hurt, scolding, betrayal, half-truths.

Only twice had he given himself to her completely and they were the most stunning and euphoric nights of his life. But, what was he going to do if he brought her back? Continue to be distant in the name of protecting her? Would he throw her a bone once in a while hoping that it would be enough? She deserved more and he knew it.

Sitting conspicuously apart from the others in the air transport, he sighed in disgust while looking out at the dark night sky. He had never given her a reason to love him. All he ever did was hurt her. It must have been devastating for her to find out about the marriage, he knew. It would have killed him if it had been the other way around. He had to admit, he treated her unfairly.

She deserved more. He finally admitted to himself that he had blown it with her. He had worked tirelessly to protect her and keep her safe from enemies without and within Section.

For years, he labored diligently to map out a future for them, building a worthy long-term plan that was one of his most brilliant, strategically. But he lost sight of the obvious: Nikita's heart. He never considered her heart -- that it would break at some of the things he did for her . . . for them. She was tender and soft-hearted. He should have known that she would be permanently repulsed at the thought of a sham marriage that included a child. And moreover, that she could not live on the small amount of time he felt was safe to give her. It was not enough.

How foolish he had been, he thought. An unforgivable mistake. He should have told her about the marriage -- been honest with her. It was to become the biggest regret of his life.

It was then that he decided he would not fight for her return. He would give her up. He loved her enough to do it, even if it meant plunging himself into the depths of darkness from which he was surely never to re-emerge -- not without her.

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

Madeline worked her way up toward Operations' office. This was not going to be an easy discussion. It promised lots of yelling and uncontrolled emotion. It always was this way when the conversation involved Michael and Nikita.

"Well, what happened?" he drawled, his head tilted slightly as she entered the aerie.

"We achieved closure. Ms. Barron is on the way back here now. The team should arrive in about 2 hours." Why not start out with the good news, she thought.

"That's not what I mean!" he barked. "Why did we almost compromise the mission?!"

"It appears that neither Michael nor Nikita were prepared for how they would feel when they saw one another again," Madeline replied flatly. "But I'm sure you have already reviewed the video tape."

"Yes, I have seen it, but why is this still an obstacle? Did we not rid ourselves of the problem when Nikita was transferred?" Operations began pacing at this point, tilting his head, demanding an explanation for the unacceptable lapse in his top op's behavior.

"As has been the case often, we misjudged the connection between them. It is very strong, and I do not feel it can be broken."

"Nonsense! I demand that it be broken! We cannot have operatives mooning over each other in the middle of a sequence. Fix it, Madeline . . . I have no more patience for this matter."

"It cannot be fixed -- it is beyond fixing. Michael and Nikita are most effective as a team. They are both valuable operatives, Michael certainly more than Nikita, but her performance at Section Four has been well above average. She has become an exceptional operative. Together they are unbeatable."

"Let me see if I have this right -- she has been above average away from him, while he has faltered in the past six months since she's been gone? Do I have that about right, Madeline?"

"Well, yes, but . . ."

"So she can survive, while he cannot?"

Madeline took a deep breath and decided on a new tactic; one that always worked.

"I think she has survived being separated from him, yes. And he has done his job to our satisfaction since their separation, but is it really in the best interest of Section to have our two finest operatives performing satisfactorily apart when together they could be extraordinary?"

"Get to the point, Madeline."

"I think you should consider bringing Nikita back to Section One specifically to team with Michael. I'm certain we will see marked improvement from him once she is back under his control."

"This is unacceptable. Why not just demand that Michael shape up? How could a man like Michael let a woman get to him to like this?"

Operations looked over at Madeline who held his eyes and flashed him a wide smile as she raised her eyebrows. Her silent meaning came in loud and clear, well, you ought to know!

He waited a moment while accepting her silent scolding, and then his lips lifted slightly in acknowledgment, "Understood. Make the arrangements."

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

Two days after the near disastrous mission, Celia called Nikita in for an interview. There were explanations and decisions to be made.

As Nikita entered her office, Celia rose and moved over to the sitting area motioning for Nikita to sit on the sofa. The conversation would be difficult and it needed to be done in a comfortable atmosphere so that Celia could learn the true status of Nikita's state of mind.

"Nikita, please sit down."

"Thank you."

"I know the last mission was difficult. Olin and I regret that we did not prepare you for Michael's involvement. Clearly, you are not over him, Nikita."

"Well, I should have been prepared for anything. I know that now. Once I heard Birkoff's voice, I should have known. Birkoff always runs Michael's missions. My performance was sloppy. I'm sorry."

"Can I ask you something, Nikita?" Nikita nodded.

"How have you been since you've lived here? How have you really been?"

Nikita let out a deep sigh and rotated her head at such a pointed question. "I don't know." There was a pause as Celia carefully studied her young operative. "I'm better here, I think. I like the work better, I have a lot of friends. I like my apartment."

"But . . ."

All Nikita could do is shake her head while taking deep breaths.

"How do you sleep at night, Nikita?"

Nikita looked down at her hands in her lap. Unconsciously, she had begun twisting them nervously. "I have nightmares . . . but don't we all," she shrugged, trying to make light of the situation.

"Celia, you're not going 'Madeline' on me are you? 'Cause, really, I'm just not up to psychic mind games today."

"No, no games. Just tell me. I want to know. What kind of nightmares?"

Nikita stood and began pacing the floor, afraid to meet Celia's eyes. Hesitantly, she began. "I dream of Michael, mostly. Sometimes they are about missions we've been on. Sometimes they are pure fantasy, romantic, even erotic. But then, almost every night, I am awakened, drenched in sweat, after watching Michael push a little boy in a swing at a park and then . . . there's a gunshot." Nikita stared at the wall, tears falling, breath unsteady, as she recounted the horrific, recurring dream.

"Go on, Nikita."

"The gunshot . . . the little boy falls to the sand. Blood is everywhere. Michael is screaming, they take him away . . . then I wake up." Nikita raised her hands to her face, covering the tears and horror she felt at recalling the dream that plagued her most nights for six months.

Celia rose from her chair to comfort the beauty before her. Her heart broke at the sight of this caring, loving woman who lived a life of torment and sadness.

"Come, Nikita, sit down." Celia put her arm around Nikita's shoulder and gently moved her to the couch. She poured a glass of water and handed it to the younger woman.

"What do you think the dream means? Do you have any idea?" Celia inquired gently.

"I don't know. I guess I worry that any child we might have as operatives will always be in danger from our enemies and from Section. That's why I can't understand why Michael would agree to have a child under any circumstance. But to have one because of a mission? It was unthinkable. Ruthless. Despicable. There had to be another way."

Celia sighed and leaned back into the plush pillows of the sofa, pausing before she spoke.

"Nikita, how long have you known Michael? Almost five years, yes?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And in those five years, what have you noticed about him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he changed? You know, has he come around to our way of doing things?"

Nikita had to think carefully, but as she processed her observations of Michael since she'd known him, she had to admit that he had changed profiles more often than not. And when he did, it usually had to do with a more humane way of working the profile.

"Well, yes, I guess he has changed some. But he is still very rigid in his thinking."

"He's been training at Section One for 14 years, Nikita. Change is difficult."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe you ought to give Michael a break."

"What?" Nikita exclaimed.

"Well," Celia conceded, "I think getting married and having a kid is totally inexcusable, but he did that before he knew you. My guess is that he never would have agreed to such a ridiculous profile if he had known you. He wouldn't jeopardize your relationship."

"Oh . . . please, Celia. Jeopardize our relationship? Michael is Section through and through. He would jeopardize his own mother if it was for the 'greater good.'"

"Come on . . . he would not."

"Celia, you cannot deny that Michael goes along with Section's program to the letter."

"Nikita, I think Michael gets closure . . . and I also think he has bent the rules plenty -- especially when it comes to you!"

Nikita listened as Celia continued, "But as women, we should not shortchange ourselves by accepting whatever we can get from a man that we love. The question for you is: Are you prepared to accept what Michael is able to give you? Will it be enough?"

Celia continued, "Nikita, do yourself a favor and forgive him, because until you do, you will never find the answers to these questions. And, more importantly, if it is not enough, you will never be able to let it go and move forward. Do - yourself - a - favor -- forgive him. Then, forgive yourself."

"Now, Madeline has requested your return. Seems she and Operations think you'd be better suited there than here."

"What? What did you tell her, Celia? And why do they want me back?" Nikita was surprised that the request had come in. She was sure that Operations would never want her back at Section One.

"One question at a time!" Celia chuckled then continued. "I think Michael has something to do with the request. He met Olin and I here after the last mission insisting that you be returned to Section One."

"Why did he do that?" Nikita asked innocently.

"Nikita . . . everyone on the entire ballroom floor saw the two of you the other night. The electricity between you could have blown the place up! He loves you. And he needs you."

"I don't know about that."

"Then you are blind. Now, back to Madeline. I told her I would let you decide." Celia laughed out loud. "She did not like that!"

Both women laughed at the thought of Celia telling Madeline a subordinate would have to think about her request. Once they regained their composure, Celia continued, "Actually, I am giving you a choice. If you wish to stay here, I will take it up with the Agency. Olin and I have our resources; we call our own shots. You think about it for 24 hours and then let me know your decision."

"Celia, thank you . . . thank you for being my friend."

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

After her long and almost therapeutic meeting with Celia, Nikita entered her apartment and felt safe and warm. Her home . . . her sanctuary. She turned on the lamp beside the sofa, tossed her overcoat and scarf on the nearby chair, lit a few candles and the fireplace and continued her self-examination.

Celia had been right -- Michael deserved to catch a break. He had always done what he thought he had to do to get the job done. Yet, over the years she had known him, he had tried to change the way things were done.

A smile flitted across her face when she thought of the trip into the Balkans when they had found a frightened Peter and Sasha. Michael hated that Nikita refused to leave those kids alone, but in the end, Michael sacrificed the mission several times to support Nikita. She smiled when she remembered the moment in the truck when Michael removed Peter and the sweet little angel Sasha from the back seat, started the engine, moved forward only to stop suddenly when guilt overtook him.

He had shown her many times that he was prepared to change the mission profile to fit with her need to protect the innocent. Countless times, he had covered for her when she changed the plan on her own.

By the same token, she had saved him too, dozens of times. Time and time again, she had gone back for him when no one else would. She guarded his back, pulled his battered body out of the wreckage, and protected him relentlessly. She had uncovered his long buried conscience and had shown him that the people around him mattered.

It had made him a better person. Or had it? she wondered. Maybe it really only caused him great confusion and a lot of trouble. Was loving her Michael's greatest weakness? Surely it caused him to do things he would not normally do. And maybe that was her mistake. Why were women always trying to change the men they love? she wondered. It was crazy really. And it was unfair, to them both.

Nikita knew she loved Michael, and loved him enough to let him go. Their life together would never be what she would want it to be. Not that she expected 'happily ever after.' In Section, that was simply not possible.

But she expected some kind of life with him -- she expected his love. At the very least, she expected to live and work together. But that would not be possible at Section One. Operations would never allow it, and Michael, being the ambitious Section man that he was, would not deliberately buck the system in full view of Operations, so a covert living arrangement was out of the question. They were always watching.

Even a random romance was not available to them. Michael had kept his distance for over a year and shown no real need for her on a consistent basis. Seeing her in Section every few days seemed to be enough for him.

Nikita had to wonder, was this acceptable to her? Were fleeting moments now and then enough? Wouldn't she rather live alone the rest of her short life than pine away for a guy that would never be hers, even occasionally? Did she really want to settle for what she could get with Michael?

Nikita looked around at her apartment. It was cozy and warm. Her studio beckoned her to create enjoyment for herself and others.

She thought about Celia and Olin. They had made a decent life together. True, they were never publicly affectionate, but Nikita had seen how Olin looked at Celia. She saw the passion and love he kept safely to himself. She smiled when she thought that he was probably an incredible lover, releasing all his pent up passion and desire late at night in the warmth of their bed and in Celia's arms, when no one was watching.

Michael had been that kind of lover. He was untamed and needy, wild and powerful, almost an animal when he made love to her. But then, as their lovemaking continued through the night, he had been tender and gentle, but always intensely passionate. Loving Michael had been the most euphoric, fulfilling moments of her life. No one would ever compare to him. But lovemaking with him had been so . . . rare.

Nikita sighed when she realized what she needed to do: let him go . . . let them go. Let it be over. Michael was on the upward track at Section One. One day he would take Operations' place. He would have to be even more ruthless and cruel. She couldn't stand by and watch. It would kill her. She was better off here.

Maybe she would find an 'Olin' of her own one day. And so, it was decided. She would not go back. She was not yet ready to forgive his final betrayal completely, but she vowed to work on it. It was better this way -- for him, but most especially, for her. She had to think about herself -- no one else would.

With the recognition of what must be done, Nikita felt an overwhelming sense of peace, and comfort. This felt right. She would go on and make the most of the life she had been given. She would never realize her true desire, but she knew she had to create a new set of dreams and goals. Realistic ones -- dreams that would not break her heart. Goals that would give her purpose.

She felt better. Maybe even partially healed.

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

The door to Madeline's office opened and Operations entered.

"What is it, Madeline?"

"I have some interesting news."

"And . . ."

"Celia has gone to the Agency and has effectively blocked Nikita's return to Section One."

"What? Who does she think she is?" he barked.

"She thinks she is the head of Section Four and she apparently presented a very compelling appeal to George that Nikita is needed and better suited for service in Northern Europe."

"Oh no, no, no. Get George on the phone. I will not have it."

"It's done. I have been told the case is closed. George will not entertain any further discussion on the matter."

"Well, just great! What now, Madeline? Are we going to watch my protégé wither away to nothing while he grieves over a woman who refuses to be with him? Christ, what next with these two? Honestly, Madeline, I have never had to deal with such difficult operatives. Is he worth it?"

"Yes." Madeline smiled at such a ridiculous remark. Of course he was worth it. Section had invested 14 years into him. He was the best of the best. Of course, he was worth it.

"Michael will get over it . . . eventually. He'll go on. He has before."

Operations sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. "Does he know?"

"Not yet. I'll tell him when the time comes."

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

Michael and his team had returned from a grueling five-day mission in South America and were checking in their gear with Walter.

Walter smiled as he said, "Well, boys, looks like you could use a shower!" Each muddied, bloodied, cranky operative mumbled expletives and left the area, except for Michael.

"How's it going, Michael? Heard the news about Nikita?" Michael's eyes snapped to Walter's at the sound of her name.

"What about Nikita?"

"Operations ordered Nikita's return, but Celia pulled strings and Nikita will be permanently stationed at Section Four. Gonna miss that girl," Walter said shaking his head. "But it will be good for her there. I just talked to her, and she seems very happy with the arrangement."

Michael's world fell apart. He turned pale. He had hoped and prayed that she would come back to him. He could have pushed the point and pulled strings of his own, but he wanted her to want him and decide for herself. Apparently she had. She didn't want him.

"Michael . . . you okay?"

"Yeah . . . yeah," he whispered. After looking at Walter for a moment, hoping that the old man would say he was kidding, Michael turned and walked away. Walter did not see the tears that welled up in the young man's eyes. It was over. She wasn't coming back to him.

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

Two months passed and Nikita was adjusting nicely. Her nightmares had stopped, and her outlook on life was improving.

She had been dancing, to the movies, and to the local beach. She had made a few friends in her apartment building. She had 22 orders for birdhouses, including 5 orders from a local art gallery. One of her neighbors owned it and when she had given him a birdhouse for his birthday, he promptly ordered several more.

Work was satisfying; they continued to knock down crime and drugs locally, and often found themselves backing the other Sections when missions crossed into Northern Europe.

Nikita continued her conversations with Walter and Birkoff, although contact was much more sporadic. She never asked about Michael.

Celia and Olin had given her increased responsibility and she ran a team of her own. It was necessary since the 'Nikita coup' had given Celia higher visibility and clout with the other Section leaders. They were impressed with her courage and daring to go up against Madeline and Operations. Consequently, Section Four's involvement had been requested by many of the mission profilers world-wide.

Life was good . . . at least tolerable for Nikita. She smiled a lot these days. It rarely ever rained anymore.

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

Olin glided into Celia's private office and placed his arms around her as she watered the plants on the bookshelf. "What is it my love?" he whispered as he kissed her neck.

"Olin, I think we need to get a partner for Nikita," she said matter-of-factly.

Olin let out a short laugh and turned Celia to face him. "What? Celia, this is Section . . . we are not matchmakers for crissakes!"

Celia had to laugh. "It isn't that, Olin. Business is picking up, so to speak. We need to expand. I'd like to increase recruitment and transfer in a couple of level three or higher operatives for training new recruits and for leading missions. Also we need to transfer in another profiler. It has become clear that you need to let go of profiling and concentrate on day-to-day operations. Meanwhile, as we get up to speed, someone's got to run the missions on the pad, and that is Nikita with a partner. What do you think?"

"Well, I think it is a good idea. Who do you have in mind as far as transfers go?"

"I've put out a request to all the Sections and I should hear back today. Please step up recruitment." Celia put down her watering can and placed her arms around Olin's neck. "This will be fun, think?" she smiled, looking into his gray eyes as she kissed his lips.

"Hmmm . . . fun," Olin whispered as he claimed her lips again.

As they broke apart, Olin kissed her cheek and turned to leave, calling back over his shoulder, "Shall I inform Nikita that she's getting a partner?"

"Yep . . . let her know tomorrow. Don't keep her in the dark."

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

"A partner? Why?" Nikita asked Olin as he explained the plan.

"We need the help, Nikita. We have become too busy to do it by ourselves."

"But why do I need a partner? Can't you just bring someone in to work on their own?"

"What is the problem?" he asked impatiently.

"Look, Olin, the last time I worked with a partner, it was a disaster. I'm sure you read all about that in my file."

"What are you afraid of?" he asked truly interested.

"Nothing. But I think I'm good enough to work on my own," she stated confidently.

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to Celia. But plan on a partner for at least six months. If nothing else, we will need to get the operative used to our way of doing things. And there is no one better than you to teach unorthodox profiling and mission planning. No arguments."

"Understood and agreed. When does it happen?"

"Tomorrow, 8:00 AM. Don't be late and don't worry, it will be fine."

Nikita arrived at Section a few minutes before 8:00 AM feeling annoyed at having to change her routine, and nervous wondering how she would get along with this new operative.

She wondered if she would have to put up with a Viscano, insolent and rude. Or, would the operative be like David Fanning, a complete monster. Maybe the person was more like Michael, difficult and mysterious. Hard to get to know, but a great partner. Not a chance, she thought ruefully. No one was like Michael. Maybe he or she would be like Chuck. Now there would be a great partner, funny and good at his job.

She looked up at the glass perch and could see Olin and Celia speaking to the new operative who was hidden behind the wall. Here we go, she thought, as she reluctantly climbed the stairs to meet her new partner.

Celia met her with a smile and Nikita briefly saw the back of the operative. A male, dressed in a dark suit. Celia came forward and put her arm around Nikita.

"Nikita, I would like for you to meet your new partner."

The man turned and Nikita found herself looking into a pair of very familiar green eyes.

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

"Hi," he said softly, his green eyes searching hers hopeful that she would be glad to see him.

Nikita was frozen. Her chin dropped. She was stunned. Then angry.

"What is going on?" Nikita hissed, looking at Celia, then Olin.

"Michael is your new partner, Nikita," smiled a triumphant Celia.

"Nu-uh. Nope. I do not accept!" she spat as she looked straight into Michael's eyes.

"Nikita," Olin spoke next. "You have no choice."

Michael stood quietly, hands clasped in front of him, as he watched the myriad of emotions pass over Nikita's beautiful face. He expected this anger from her; he knew he deserved it. He also knew he needed to do some explaining.

"Olin, Celia, can we have some time alone, please," he requested in a soft voice.

"Of course, Michael. We have prepared a joint office for you both. Nikita, we've converted briefing room 2. You know where it is," Celia cooed as Nikita glared at her.

"Thank you," Michael said as he looked expectantly at Nikita to show him the way. Narrowing her eyes, she gave both Celia and Olin one last stabbing glare. Michael stopped and offered his hand first to Celia then Olin. "Thank you both for considering me. I'll not disappoint you."

Celia smiled and nodded, "Oh, I'm sure of that!" She shook his hand as did Olin, clearly having let bygones be bygones.

But Nikita hadn't.

They were silent as they walked swiftly toward their new office. Michael could feel the heat coming from Nikita and had to smile at how good it felt to be feeling her wrath once again. It was like coming home. Angry or happy, any emotion from her was like a breath of fresh air. She may not accept the situation, but he surely did; he relished it; basked in it. He felt positively . . . giddy.

As they entered the office, she slammed the door. Had she not been so damn angry, she probably would have really liked the decor. Celia had done wonders with it. It was a very large room and on each end there was a large black lacquered desk -- his and hers. The door was in the middle and each side of the room had a large window looking out over the command center.

The opposing walls were outfitted with matching tall, black lacquered bookcases behind the desks, topped with green ivy plants. Celia's favorite. Celia had left the bookshelves clear so that each of the occupants could fill them as they wished.

Between the two desks was a large, cream overstuffed sofa, outfitted with black, cream, and burgundy throw pillows. Under the low black parsons-type coffee table lay an exquisite Persian rug of deep burgundy and cream. The coffee table was accessorized with two thick vanilla candles that surrounded a metal sculpture of two stick people, a boy and a girl, holding hands. Comfortable, cream-colored club chairs flanked the coffee table.

Behind the sofa hung a massive abstract painting in vibrant colors. It was magnificent and lively, just like Nikita -- splashes of bright colors of pink, orange, burgundy, cream, purple, black, blues, and mauve.

In the corner by Nikita's desk lived a tall palm, just like the one Celia had in her office. And the final, loving touch was Nikita's own goldfish, swimming happily in a large, round pond at the edge of Nikita's desk.

A door near Michael's desk lead to a smaller room that contained a large cabinet with small sink, outfitted with coffee maker, small refrigerator, bathroom complete with shower and small closet. Very comfy.

It was masculine, yet had all the feminine touches that would inspire Nikita and keep her happy. Michael liked it. "Very nice," he said as he raised his eyebrows and looked around the office.

Nikita was seething and wanted immediate answers. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I'm working -- with you," he deadpanned as he looked straight at her.

"Why?" she whispered, anger tingeing her voice. She was just getting back to normal . . . getting over him. Now, here he was, upsetting all the work she had done to get herself together.

Michael walked forward and tried to take her hand in his. She pulled away determined that he was not going to suck her in again. Not again.

He sighed and turned to walk over to his desk. Running a finger across the smooth surface, he thought carefully about what to say. He sat down in his new leather chair and looked up at her. She was exquisite; breathtakingly beautiful -- especially when she was mad. Her face flushed and her blue eyes sparkled.

"I came here for you," he said, remembering similar words she once said to him.

"Why?"

"Because life without you was no life. I realized that I needed you, and that I could not live without you."

"Michael, things are different here. We do things way different. You and I are not gonna mix here."

"Yes, we will," he said with complete confidence.

"How do you know that?" she asked skeptically.

"Because since I've known you, you've taught me that the way it is done here is the way it should be done in every Section. I want to be a part of it."

"And what about Operations? He must not be happy that you've . . . defected."

"No."

"You're not top dog here, Michael . . . Olin is. Can you live with it?"

"Nikita, let me tell you something. I never wanted to be in charge. I never wanted Operations' job for myself. I only wanted it because it would assure some kind of life with you. When you refused to return, all my planning for the future ended."

He continued as he looked out the window, "I realized that my planning had been a waste of time. If you were gone, there was no reason to want his job. Then, the call for transfers came, and I responded. Operations did not like it, Madeline tried to stop it, but I called in a few favors. Luckily, Celia and Olin approved the transfer."

"And voila, just like that!" Nikita spat, eyes narrowed. She was ablaze. "The great Michael speaks, and everyone jumps to attention! Well, Not Me!"

"Ni-ki-ta . . ."

"Stop it, Michael. Stop it! I cannot believe how arrogant you are! You think you can come over here, tell me you can't live without me and all will be forgiven? Not a chance! God, I can't believe you," Nikita was furious.

She was seeing red as she continued, "What about how things were at Section One, Michael? What about your wife? Your child? You say you've given it all up for me? How very noble. What about your child, Michael? What about him?" Tears began to well up in her azure eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she explained, "Things are not always going to be under your control, Michael. I am not going to be under your control." She turned abruptly and stomped out of the office, her blazing eyes zeroing in on Olin, who was walking toward her.

Michael followed her and watched her storm away.

Raising her arm and pointing her finger defiantly at Olin, she stomped past him, shooting imaginary daggers at him, "This is not permanent!" she hissed.

The two men watched as she disappeared from view.

"What happened?" Olin asked Michael in a soft voice.

Michael sighed, continuing to stare after the woman who owned his heart. "She's mad."

Olin snorted, "I can see that, Michael."

Michael sighed, "I can't blame her. Ever since I've known her, I've never been truthful. Our life together," shaking his head as he met Olin's eyes, "which was no life at all, has always been about half-truths and a lot of hurt and betrayal."

Michael continued, "Olin, this is not going to be easy. It will take time. She doesn't trust me. I hope you and Celia understand this."

"Can I give you some advice, Michael?"

Michael nodded, humoring Olin, quite certain he did not need Olin's sage advice. No one knew Nikita like he did and there was very little in the way of guidance anyone could give him about her.

"She's not the same, Michael. She's fragile, yet very strong, and a mature woman. She may never come around the way you hope she will. You're going to have to work for it. But if you can start just by working together, it might help reinforce the trust you once had together."

"Such as it was," Michael replied under his breath.

"Well, back to business," Olin said, changing the subject. "Two missions are up. I was coming here to brief you. I'll call her back in," replied Olin, shaking off the role of family counselor.

Michael shook his head, "No, please send the intel to my computer. I'll profile them and have them back to you in 6 hours. Will that be satisfactory?"

Olin nodded his agreement and turned to walk away. Calling back over his shoulder, he revealed the intel Michael really sought, "I often find her at the park two blocks East; by the kids' playground."

"Thanks," Michael whispered and headed into the mid-day sun.

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

He found her just where Olin said she'd be: sitting on a bench, up on a grassy slope, under the shade of a willow tree, overlooking the children playing in the distance. He stopped within twenty feet and watched her as she gazed at the children swinging, sliding, and running in the sand.

After gathering his thoughts, he walked around the bench and looked into her beautiful face, seeing sadness and regret. Life had been lousy to her, he thought. This beautiful angel, a normal life stolen, then plunged into a world of death and destruction. It was no surprise that she would find a place like this to cleanse her weary soul.

"May I sit down?" he asked softly.

He took her non-response as a 'yes' and forged ahead sitting safely a few inches away on the other side of the bench.

Several minutes passed. "Do you ever think about them, Michael?" was her whispered question.

"Who?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Your wife, your son," she replied impatiently.

He bit back the sting of her words and decided on the truth, "I think of them everyday. Elena would take our son to a park like this nearly every day when the weather permitted."

"Elena." Nikita stated softly and felt tears of pain sting her eyes. Knowing that he still thought about his 'widow' was heartening, yet excruciating. She wanted to think he cared about her -- that he wasn't a complete monster incapable of feeling anything for the woman who bore him a son. Yet, the pain of knowing that he shared something so intimate and precious as a child tore into her like a bullet through the heart.

"She's a good mother. She'll take good care of him." He clasped his gloved hands in his lap as he spoke those simple words. For Nikita, the tears fell uninhibited. It was hard for her to tell if he felt remorse or just . . . closure. That realization -- that she could not tell the difference -- was heartbreaking and enormously disappointing.

Had he buried his family away like he had done all the rest of his losses? Was it just a job, one that he could walk away from with no regrets? She did not know . . . wasn't sure she wanted to know. She feared that knowing the truth would not set her free but imprison her further into a world of darkness and despair.

Shaking off her outrage at his matter-of-fact delivery, she tried to temper her feelings. She knew him; knew he would build another mass of thick, cement walls to protect his emotions. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, that he, in fact, did care for his former family.

"What is his name?" she asked in a low, non-accusatory tone.

He sat for long moments not answering, but gazing out at the children in the play yard. Finally, it was Nikita that broke the silence.

"You shouldn't have come here, Michael. It would have been better if we stayed apart. Too much damage has been done."

"I've lost everything, Nikita. I can't bear to lose you too. I came here because I wanted to try to make things up to you . . . learn to be the kind of man you need me to be. The kind of partner you need me to be. Maybe even lover."

He continued, "After you left, my whole world fell apart. There was nothing for me back there. The mission was over and they took my son away. I knew that's what would happen, but I counted on you to be there to help me through that. I didn't plan on you learning about the marriage before it was over, but, you're too curious by nature. I should have anticipated that you'd find out before I was ready to tell you."

Nikita's head tilted angrily at him, "You counted on me to be there? What gall! What did you think I would say, Michael? Oh that's okay honey, not a problem . . . lie to me for four years, be married, have a child with her, then fake your death, all the while knowing sweet, good-hearted Nikita would be there to forgive you, stroke your forehead, and say 'there, there, I understand'! Are you insane?"

"Ni-ki-ta, it wasn't like that."

"No? What was it like, Michael? What did you think when you made passionate love to me, brought me back to Section, then spent almost a full year rejecting me, pushing me away? Didn't it ever occur to you that I would get tired of that game? Jesus."

Long tense moments passed as the air around the couple grew heavy with unease.

"It wasn't a game, and I don't expect you to forgive me, Nikita. I did what I had to do and at the time, I had no choice. And, getting married for the job didn't matter to me. Nothing mattered to me. I didn't know you then. After meeting you, I realized that I had to think about the people that would be the innocent bystanders. I would have refused that mission, even at my own risk, if it was assigned after I met you. By then, I was too far into it and had no idea how to tell you, so I didn't and just hoped you'd never find out. It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

Nikita closed her eyes and took in a deep, cleansing breath. This was useless. She'd never get past this. As much as she wanted to, as much as she loved him, she just could not work through it.

He was remorseful, he was sorry, he truly was -- she could see it. But she had to admit to herself that she could never trust him again. She couldn't get past it. Even the most normal of couples rarely survived infidelity. There would be no counseling program, no twelve steps -- not in Section.

And what was he going to do? she wondered. Suddenly change? Unlikely. She wasn't even sure he could exist in Section Four. He was too covert, too immersed in the 'Operations/Madeline' way of doing things. It was ludicrous to think that he would be able to be more flexible and open with plans and profiles.

And she decided to tell him so. "And so you've said you've come here to be the man I want you to be. That's impossible, Michael. One of the most powerful things about you is your mystery. It's the thing that intimidates enemies and makes you the most lethal and successful opponent in Section history. It's a huge asset to you, and an equally huge deterrent to me."

"Michael, I don't want to indulge in cryptic conversations and guessing games anymore. And I don't think you can be anything but a covert person. It's who you are. Why would you want to change who you are? For me? I'm not worth it -- no one is."

She continued, "I don't want to be responsible for making you change. Only you can change yourself. Right now, I'm only interested in changing myself, making the most of the lousy life I've been given. Selfish maybe, but it's the only way I know how to survive."

He watched and listened carefully, her words piercing his heart, and scrambling his brain as the feelings she had held inside tumbled out, like a dam that had burst unexpectedly.

"I love you, Michael, with all my heart, but I can't trust you with it. I've been hurt so much in my life, and now I'm learning how to protect myself."

He snorted and shook his head slightly, "By building walls . . . I understand. I've done it for years."

"Yeah, well . . . I've learned from the master," she replied dryly.

Finally she spoke clearly, softly, and without anger. "You're not the only one who has ever lost, Michael. You're not the only one in torment. All of us have had our share of pain and suffering. At least you have had some moments of happiness: growing up with your sister, then there was Simone, Elena, your son, maybe even me."

Her diatribe continued, "I'll never know what it is like to walk down the aisle to marry the man I love. I'll never have a child. I'll never do those things with you, Michael. You and Elena had more together than you and I will ever have. You may not have loved her completely, but you shared the most intimate experience a man and woman can have -- making love to conceive a child. Then watching your child grow inside her, being there when he was born. You've had more with her than we can ever, ever have. So, don't give me your martyr song and dance. Be glad you had some moments of pure happiness."

"You have left broken hearts all over this planet and never looked back. Those you did care for have died or have been permanently lost to you and you've honed the 'victim' attitude very well. You're the big mystery that every woman wants to love, change, to make you happy and whole again -- what a challenge. But they never can make you happy, can they? No, because you would never let them in. And you won't let me in either."

"The difference is, now I don't want in. I want to try to make the best of what I have been given, and you know, Michael, it's not much. But, this life is all I have and I'm going to make the most of it. I refuse to live a life with a man that never shows me affection, or tells me he loves me. That's not you, Michael. I can't take being thrown a bone once in a while when you feel moderately affectionate. The smoldering, distant looks of longing just won't cut it for me anymore. You're too complicated, Michael, and it hurts to be with you."

As she continued, he listened, "Section doesn't lend itself to a happy existence. At least here I can be somewhat content. I'm not willing to be miserable anymore. And, you shouldn't either, Michael. Face it, I make you plenty miserable and worried. We should let it go."

He closed his eyes and asked the question he already knew the answer to, "So, there's no chance for us?"

Nikita sighed and took a deep breath. She had made up her mind. "There has been too much betrayal between us, Michael. You've lied to me, and I've lied to you. I know it was done out of protection -- you tried to protect me and I tried to protect you. All it got us was a couple of irreversibly damaged, broken hearts. No more."

"This is how it's going to be: I will work with you, Michael, as a colleague. You will treat me with the utmost respect. You will not scold me or treat me like a student. We will work as a team, as equals. You will not leave out any details, nor will I. We will be professional, and I plan to be . . . congenial. I will show you how Celia expects things to be done. But there can be nothing more. Not right now, maybe never. I'm too wounded. I'm sorry."

Michael rose and nodded, "Understood," and he turned to leave. "There are two missions on the pad ready for our design. I would appreciate your help."

"I'll be there shortly," Nikita replied coolly, looking straight ahead.

Michael cornered the bench and stopped short. A moment passed as he looked at the blonde woman he loved with all his heart. "His name is Michael."

Nikita tilted her head to the side. "What?" she whispered.

"My son . . . we named him Michael . . . Michael Adam," he said softly then briskly walked away.

Her tears flowed in abandon and her heart broke anew, the pain piercing her like a thousand stabs to the soul.

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

Three weeks passed and Michael was acclimating well to his new environment. He filled his bookshelves with personal effects. There were nearly two shelves of books, both hardback and paperbacks, fiction and non-fiction. Another shelf was filled with dozens of software products and corresponding user manuals. Yet another contained pieces of computer hardware, wires and other miscellaneous metal junk.

What surprised Celia the most, though, was that he had brought in an aquarium -- a dry aquarium that contained a lizard. A chameleon. Celia thought this most appropriate since she often considered Michael to be just that -- a considerably gifted actor that could fill any mission role in a matter of seconds, changing his colors to fit the environment.

The way he had moved into his half of the office was a telling revelation to Celia -- she had never known him to leave anything around his former office that would hint at his personality, likes or dislikes. She realized that he was beginning to change and blend into the environment, just like his lizard -- adjusting to the new circumstances and making the best of it.

It was unfortunate, Celia thought, that Nikita wasn't being quite so . . . flexible. Although Nikita worked well with Michael and professionally they were beginning to blend, Nikita declined taking up residence in her half of the office, opting instead to work out her part of the mission profile with Christina and Lars in the command center or in systems.

When not needed in Section, Nikita stayed at her apartment, whereas Michael had not taken an apartment yet and stayed in his Section quarters. Nikita's distance and guarded attitude was beginning to worry Celia. She had hoped that pairing Michael and Nikita together professionally would heal both their personal wounds much more quickly.

It was clear that there still was considerable spark between the two operatives. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see the chemistry sizzle between them when they entered the same room. Celia could see the smoldering look in Michael's eyes when he looked at Nikita, and Nikita's blatant attempts at avoiding eye contact with Michael spoke volumes about her current state of mind: she still loved him . . . and loved him deeply; she just didn’t want to face it.

It was this very issue that caused Celia to pay a visit to Nikita one sunny afternoon. It was her hope to reach her favorite young operative, and to try and give Nikita some perspective on the situation as she saw it.

Nikita heard the knock on the door, and hesitated as she looked back at the paint on her hands, clothes, and assumed that there was some on her face -- there always was. She had learned that she was incapable of being a tidy artist -- paint was everywhere in her makeshift studio located at the corner of her apartment.

"Just a minute," she shouted, rubbing her hands over an acetone-soaked cloth.

As she reached the door, she activated the monitor and was surprised to see Celia waiting patiently on the other side. Nikita quickly swung the door open and greeted her guest with a large smile.

Celia couldn't contain a giggle as she scanned the lethal and dangerous woman before her. Nikita's hair was pulled up in a high pony tail, streaks of white and blue paint smudged her beautiful, innocent face; dressed in blue-jean overalls with only a skimpy tank top peeking out from underneath, her arms and clothes had splotches of color dried on them. She was a sight -- a painted, spotted, bundle of beauty and joy.

"What?" Nikita asked innocently, wondering what was funny enough for Celia to be giggling at her, having not even said 'hello.'

"Nikita, you're covered with paint!" Celia laughed.

"Come in, Celia, nice to see you too!" Nikita grinned. "Can I get you something to drink? Tea?"

"Yes, please, whatever you're having will be fine," Celia said.

Nikita winced at words that sounded so familiar to her, having been spoken by someone else long ago. Then, she wondered if there would ever be a time when she wouldn't be reminded of Michael when something someone said struck on an old memory.

Nikita brought two steaming mugs of tea over to the studio where Celia was inspecting the newest creations. "How many are you working on, Nikita?"

"Three right now."

"Are any of them for Michael?" Celia asked pointedly.

Nikita stiffened and retreated. "Celia, why are you here? I know it's not to inquire about my art projects."

"No." Celia smiled and walked over to the chair admiring the view of the park. "We need to talk, Nikita."

Warily, Nikita took Celia's quiet and gentle command to join her. Several moments passed while Nikita waited for Celia to begin.

"How are things with you and Michael?"

"They're fine."

"God, I hate that word -- fine. What does that mean, exactly, Nikita?"

"What are you getting at, Celia?"

"Are you and Michael getting along?"

"Yes."

Celia was quickly becoming irritated. She had never known Nikita to be so closed and difficult to read. It was ironic that Nikita was acting so much like Michael once was and Michael was becoming more like Nikita once was. What a ridiculous problem, Celia thought.

"Okay, let's cut to it," Celia decided, with a commanding smile, which meant business.

"Nikita, why haven't you moved into your office?" Celia was done with the pleasantries.

"Celia, don't you think that as a Level Five operative, Michael ought to have his own office?" Nikita changed the direction, purposely.

"No, I don't. For starters, we don't have the space for two separate offices and secondly, you are partners. I feel you must office together to be effective."

"You and Olin don't office together," Nikita replied, in a challenging, petulant tone.

"We are not talking about me. I expect you to move into the office immediately."

"Why Celia? The job is getting done very efficiently the way it is. Don't you agree?"

Celia looked closely at Nikita and let out a deep sigh. There was something more and she had to know. But forcing Nikita to go right, would only make her go left. This Celia knew for a certainty. It was best, Celia decided, to try gentleness and understanding.

"What's wrong, Nikita? Are you just too unhappy working with him? What is it? Maybe I can help." Celia truly wanted to help solve the problem.

Nikita sighed and shook her head. "It's complicated Celia. Michael and I . . . we're complicated. It's always been like this between us and always will be, I think. The best thing for us now is to just work together and get the job done."

"Best thing, huh? Best for who, Nikita?"

Nikita smiled and looked down at her paint stained fingers. "Me, I guess . . . I don't know," she replied softly shaking her head in clear conflict.

"Nikita, I'm not trying to encourage you to have a big bad love affair with Michael or anything, but I would like to recommend that you cut him some slack," Celia encouraged.

Nikita's eyes snapped up in anger. "Cut him some slack? Celia, he was married for four years, had a son, and never told me, all the while leading me on that there could be something between us. I decided to leave there and let him live his own life, while trying to make one here for myself. Now, when it is convenient for him, he follows me here. Cut him some slack? Come on, Celia."

"Okay, okay, he screwed up. We all do, and I know you have. It's time to move on, Nikita, and let it go. He's really trying. Have you been in your office lately?" Celia asked, eyebrows raised.

"No."

"Well, you ought to visit there . . . he's really beginning to make it rather . . . homey. He's filled his bookshelves with stuff and even brought in a lizard."

Nikita looked over at Celia in surprise. "A . . . lizard?"

"Yep, a chameleon."

Nikita let out a long laugh. "Perfect! Fits him to a "T" don't you think?"

Both women chuckled at the thought, then as the laughter died down, Celia became serious.

"Nikita, he is changing. He's a better man than when I knew him at Section One. He's more relaxed and more open. That's a big deal for him. He's made a lot of sacrifices to come here to be with you. And, I know you've made them for him too. But give him a chance to be your friend. You need, and deserve, to have him as a friend. Give yourself a break. I guarantee you'll be happier. Move into that office. That is an order."

Satisfied that she had made her point, Celia rose up, gathering Nikita in her arms for a long embrace, then turned toward the door. As she placed her hand on the knob, she called back, "New mission, need you there in two hours."

Nikita nodded her agreement and stared at the door for a long time after her boss, and friend, left.

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

Two hours later Nikita walked into Section and slowly approached her office -- their office. She could see him working at his desk, his eyes glued to his computer, as usual. He had already begun working on the profile.

Nikita opened the door feeling nervous. It had been weeks since she had been there last, and she prayed that he could not read the trepidation that was screaming from her soul.

To her great relief, he was calm and collected, as usual. "Hi," he remarked without looking up.

"Hi," she replied softly. Scanning the room, thinking he was not watching her, she could see that Celia was right -- he had made some . . . interesting changes. He had brought in a burgundy afghan for the sofa, had filled his bookshelves with a myriad of stuff, and she could clearly see the now famous 'lizard' on a shelf, eye level with his chair.

She slowly traveled behind her desk and looked at the fishbowl where her goldfish swam happily. Fear gripped her as she realized that she had forgotten all about that poor little fish. Frantically, she searched her shelves to find fish food and wheeled around prepared to feed the starving pet.

Without looking up at her, he said, "I fed it already." Nikita looked over at him and noticed that he was still engrossed with the data on his computer screen.

"Mmm . . . thanks," she said shyly.

He took a moment then looked up at her. "I've started the profile. Boot up and you can see what we have," he stated, getting right to the point.

This comforted her somewhat as she desperately wanted to squelch the emotions that were threatening to careen out of control. There was one thing she could count on with Michael -- he would not lose control.

Sitting down at her desk, she booted her computer and began to review the intel and mission parameters. The partners worked in silence, Michael knowing that Nikita would need several minutes to think over the data before she was ready to begin the design.

From his desk, he kept his head lowered and watched her through his long eyelashes. He was relieved to see her. Thrilled that she would venture into his . . . their space for the first time. His heart soared as he happily accepted that this baby step was, in fact, a step forward.

Before too long he could see that she was beginning to relax and focus entirely on the details on her monitor. Confident that she was not watching him, he removed his hands from his keyboard, folded them loosely on his lap, and sat back in his chair, watching her for long moments.

He was proud of her. The woman he loved who had bucked the system, rejected him for perfectly understandable reasons, had the courage to move away and try to start a new life, and still she continued to be fearless, hopeful, able to adjust and make the most of what she was given. He hadn't been able to do that.

No one was like her. Every day he loved her more. Wanted her more. Needed her more.

Soon she felt his eyes upon her and she looked over at him, silently questioning him.

"Do you have any suggestions or changes to make, Nikita?" he stated quietly trying to remain professional.

"Not yet," she replied softly.

He looked away for a moment then back to her eyes, her lips, then to her eyes again, "Can I get you some coffee or tea?"

"Thank you, but I'll do it. Do you want something?" she inquired, trying to be polite.

"No, thank you."

Nikita got up and walked toward the separate room that contained a small kitchen and bathroom. Opening the cupboard, she was surprised to see it filled with all kinds of kitchen necessities: there were coffee mugs, dinner plates, dessert plates, bowls, and several types of glassware including wine glasses and champagne flutes . . . two of each kind.

Looking around further for some honey, she found the second cupboard filled with various bags of coffee blends, exotic teas, cookies, crackers, four bottles of red wine and hot chocolate mix . . . all her favorites.

On the counter there were two coffee makers -- one that made coffee and one that simply allowed water to seep through for a constant pot of hot water. Next to those sat a bowl of fruit: apples, bananas, and oranges.

A small smile crept over her lips as she imagined Michael shopping for this stuff. Celia was right, he was trying.

Opening up the refrigerator, she found countless bottles of water, a few cheeses, some sodas, and several bottles of champagne and white wine.

Deciding to wash her hands in the bathroom provided an even bigger surprise. Michael had added colorful, fluffy bath towels in orange, red, and sea green, and added matching scented candles on one of the shelves. Even a painting hung there. It was a view overlooking a beach dotted with colorful umbrellas, looked like somewhere in the south of France.

As she opened the medicine cabinet, she was startled to see his toothbrush, hairbrush, and a variety of over the counter medicines. On one of the shelves, there was another toothbrush still in the package, her favorite aspirin, and a bottle of Midol. She smiled widely at that . . . this Michael had a sense of humor.

Nikita turned to hang her coat up in the closet and found that he had two suits hanging there next to his overcoat. On the floor was a pair of his boots, and on the shelf above were a couple of t-shirts and sweaters. Next to each of these items was an empty space, clearly left for her.

Finally, she returned to her desk, setting her tea on the coaster that had been placed there while she was investigating the other room. She smiled. He thought of everything.

She sat back a moment watching him work. Every moment or two, he would look at her, then back to his monitor.

Finally, when he could no longer take her staring, he sat back in his chair and the staring battle began in earnest.

Nikita waited a long time before she spoke, not the least bit intimidated by this man who pretended to be such a tough guy. But he was, alas, the master of the blank stare and he was using his best one on her now.

"Thanks for the teas. You bought many of my favorites." A sexy smiled curved her beautiful lips and he felt his control slipping away . . . at a very rapid pace.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "You're welcome." Hope washed over him. He wanted so much for her to accept him, forgive him.

Nikita smiled again with sincerity. His eyes sparkled. The connection that had never been completely broken was reattaching at a feverish pace. They both could feel it. It was powerful, the feeling they had for one another. More powerful than either of them consciously realized, or could ever suppress.

"I've been thinking over my initial approach," he stated in a quiet, but deliberate tone.

"And?" she inquired, sipping her tea.

"I've decided that my original profile was badly flawed and poorly designed." He looked straight at her, deep into her crystal blue eyes, the very ones that made his heart pound and his logic disappear.

Nikita put down her mug and folded her hands in her lap, indicating that he had her full attention.

"Then Michael, do you have an alternate plan?" she asked as she tilted her head, raising her eyebrows, daring him to continue.

"Yes," he stated, pausing, holding her intense gaze. "I'd like to start over -- figure it out together," he replied in a hopeful tone, his meaning far deeper than the rehash of a mission profile. "What do you think?" he asked cautiously.

Nikita smiled, understanding his meaning completely. "Agreed. Perhaps we should start over."