Michael felt conflicted again. He wanted to be with Nikita, more than anything, but part of him was afraid for what Birkoff was going through. He wanted to give Nikita the honeymoon she deserved, but now didn’t seem like a good time to be leaving Birkoff alone with Walter. The young man’s eyes worried him most. They looked dead, as if all the life had been drained from them.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His footfalls were uncharacteristically heavy as he approached the master bedroom. "Kita?" he said softly when he came into the room. She turned from where she stood at the window. Her expression instantly brightened. "Michael..." she exhaled his name on a breath.

She knew something was wrong, even without asking. "What is it? Birkoff?"

"How’d you know?" He was constantly amazed at what she picked up. He knew for a fact he was not easy to read. It was part of the reason he was still alive after all these years, but Nikita read him as if he telegraphed every feeling and every thought.

"Just a feeling." Nikita was actually worried about Birkoff. He was so kind and so protective of her. He was not used to being in the line of fire, as they were. The kind of violence they were routinely exposed to was not a part of his experience.

Nikita crossed to the bathroom. "I’m going to take a look at this bandage." He winced unconsciously, reminded of how close she’d come to death on their wedding day. Maybe they all had something to deal with, courtesy of Perry Bauer.

He followed her into the bathroom. "Should you be disturbing it? What if it starts bleeding again? What--" Nikita abruptly turned and kissed Michael. "Try not to worry about me, cher."

"Now you’re asking the impossible." Michael shook his head, his hair flying back and forth with the vehemence inherent in his movement. "If anything had happened to you..." He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked down, but he pulled up her chin, kissing her gently. His fingers played idly around her hair as he continued to kiss her. It had hit him again, that feeling of loss he’d experienced when she was wounded, then abducted. "If I’d lost you..." he murmured against her cheek, unable to finish the sentence. Emotion made him inarticulate.

"Michael? I’m okay. I know Madeline made it sound as if I was on my deathbed, but really..." She pulled up her black sweater, exposing her left side. She tried in vain to look at it, but finally realized that Michael would have to examine it for her. "I can’t see it, could you look at it for me, please?"

He nodded silently, but the truth was, though he himself had been injured many times, he had no stomach for Nikita’s wounds. He had seen her wounded time and time again, and they had been in Medlab more times than he could count. But he never lost that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach when he looked at her, all broken and hurting.

He pulled the bandage aside very carefully, peeking inside. The stitches were tiny, but many. This had been a close call. It was a clean wound, but it had been deep enough to kill. The color faded from Michael’s cheeks, and he wavered for a moment on his feet.

Nikita frowned. "I’m sorry, Michael, I didn’t realize it would bother you that much."

"Not bother. That’s the wrong word. I can’t describe how I feel. It’s like it happened to me, not you. Only my own wounds don’t upset me like this."

He looked so perplexed, when he was trying to sort out anything to do with emotion, but she loved him so. He was discovering empathy. He was feeling her pain. She kissed him. "Thank you."

He blinked. "For what?"

"Just for being you." She ran her hands along his neck, feeling an unfamiliar chain beneath her fingers. She tugged on the chain and a large silver cross fell into her hands. "When did you start wearing this?"

"When you were taken from me," he whispered. "God and I had a long talk about you...and He decided not to keep you...cause I needed you more than He did..." He pressed his face against the hollow of her neck, and she felt his tears wet her skin. She stroked his hair and pressed him harder against her body. "Oh, Michael..."

"I do need you, Kita. I love you so much, you’re the only thing that gives my life meaning. If you hadn’t come back to me...I wouldn’t be here now."

He pulled back from her embrace, eyes still moist. He kissed her hand as it stroked his hair. "Come to bed, doucette, you still haven’t gotten any rest. I’m keeping you up."

"I don’t mind, Michael." She spoiled the effect by yawning.

"I’ll hold you while you sleep." He kissed her mouth, his own lips soft and warm against hers. "Okay."

When they finally got into bed, Michael pulled her into his arms and held her. She snuggled against his chest, at last certain she could rest, for she could hear his heart beating against her ear. Her hair splayed across her back, Nikita breathed a deep sigh of relief that she had found her way back to Michael. She didn’t know what their lives would have been like if she hadn’t...and to hear Michael tell it, there wouldn’t have been any lives at all.

Michael heard a sound outside the bedroom door and woke instantly. Nikita lay asleep in his arms. She was safe. No, it was something outside the room. There it was again. A whimper. Or a sob. Michael got out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Nikita. He padded quietly across the floor and opened the door. There was a huddled figure down the hall, its back pressed against the door of one of the adjoining rooms. The house was so quiet, the figure’s sobs could be heard throughout.

Moving as if guided purely by instinct, Michael crept up on the small figure. "Birkoff?" he whispered. His eyes were tortured, his face anguished. He looked aghast at Michael. "No!!! Don’t look at me!!!" Birkoff shouted.

Michael tried not to make eye contact with Birkoff, but spoke very softly to him. "Birkoff... Seymour...are you okay?" Birkoff cringed, as if fearing that Michael might touch him. "Don’t touch...don’t touch me..." Birkoff began to shake, and Michael worried that he might have another seizure.

"Birkoff, are you on medication for the seizures?" Michael asked kindly. Birkoff shook his head violently. "NO! I never have seizures! It’s been years, years..."

Birkoff rocked back and forth, not unlike an autistic child. He seemed to find the movement soothing. Michael reached out to touch him, but Birkoff shrieked, scooting across the floor like a beetle, only to come to rest against another door. "No! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!"

The panic in Birkoff’s eyes was real and heart-breaking. For whatever reason, he was reliving some childhood memory that was traumatic. He was regressed to that age, and it was completely real to him. As far as Michael could tell, the young man was clearly a victim of physical and emotional abuse. It made Michael sad to think that out of all of them, in their little family, he was perhaps the only one who had loving parents and siblings. Yet he had been damaged as an adult. How could he help anyone else heal? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he had to try. He couldn’t leave Birkoff in this kind of pain, he was like a young wounded animal.

He heard a step behind him. It was Nikita. "I woke up and you were gone." He nodded, explaining that he heard Birkoff. Nikita looked at Birkoff. "Oh, my...Birkoff?" She tried to rub his head, and he scuttled away again. "No touch! No touch!"

"Birkoff, I wouldn’t hurt you!" Nikita’s breath caught. "He doesn’t know us, Michael, does he?"

"Not where he is now, no. I don’t think so." Michael’s voice echoed with sadness. He thought he understood what had happened to Birkoff. Such a sensitive soul, intelligent, articulate...trapped in a dysfunctional family that tortured him. Literally.

"Is there anything we can do for him?"

"I don’t think so. Just be here. To make sure he doesn’t hurt himself."

Nikita’s eyes filled with tears. "I wish there was something we could do. I can’t just leave him out here, Michael." He pulled her into his arms and held her. "Nikita, there’s nothing...I’ll stay here while you go back to sleep."

"I can’t sleep without you, Michael. I’m afraid of being alone right now." He sighed. He couldn’t do both, and he knew he couldn’t leave Birkoff out here by himself. It wasn’t right. He walked over to where Birkoff shook and trembled in another corner of the hall. He sat down on the floor by Birkoff, not touching him, just letting his presence be felt. Slowly but surely, Birkoff reacted to the feel of another person being there. Someone he trusted. Someone who would not hurt him. Michael turned his head slightly and beckoned Nikita to come to him. He helped her sit on the floor in front of him, pressing his back against the wall. Gradually, he settled her in between his legs and against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. He lay his head back and pulled Nikita closer. Birkoff’s trembling slowly decreased in direct proportion to the presence of two people he deeply cared about. Eventually, all three fell asleep. And that was how Walter found them in the morning.

Walter chuckled as he surveyed the newlyweds lying in a heap on the floor. Nikita was sleeping on her side on the floor, using Michael’s knee as a pillow. Michael was sitting up with his arms crossed, apparently waiting for Nikita to wake up. Birkoff was next to Nikita, slack-jawed and snoring. Walter glanced at Michael. "Should I get the camera? You might want a picture of this for your scrapbook."

Michael shrugged. "It’s not exactly like that, Walter. Things got a bit intense last night."

"Sugar all right?" Walter asked anxiously. Michael nodded. "Of course. Would I be sitting here calmly if she wasn’t?"

Walter smiled. "Then it must’ve been Seymour." Michael’s eyes closed for a second. "Yes. I don’t think any of us have any idea of what he went through as a kid."

"Must’ve freaked out Sugar."

"A little. She’s handling things pretty well so far, though." Michael stroked her hair. "Kita..." he called softly, trying to wake her gently. His leg had fallen asleep, along with the rest of him, and it was going to be painful getting up. She jerked awake suddenly, looking almost galvanized with nervous tension. "What were you dreaming, doucette? You look upset."

She raised her head, groaned at the pain in her neck from sleeping on Michael’s knee. When she could open both eyes, she said, "I’m not upset, just a bit tired." She rubbed her neck. Michael leaned forward and began rubbing her neck. "Let me do that, Kita." She groaned again. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not at all." She turned around and let her whole head fall forward, relaxing some of the tension on her neck. "Thanks."

A few minutes later, Nikita attempted to stand up and almost fell over. Walter stretched out a hand to help her up, and Michael supported her from behind. When she was finally standing, however, she suddenly realized that she needed to make an urgent trip to the bathroom. "Um...get out of the way, Walter." Nikita bolted down the hall as fast as her stiff legs would take her, disappearing into the bedroom. Michael stared after her. Walter smiled understandingly and said, "Morning sickness."

Michael nodded. "Ah...Can you help me up too? My leg seems to be asleep." Walter helped Michael to his feet, then together they surveyed Birkoff. "Should we wake him up?"

Michael shook his head. "Let him sleep a bit longer. He was in a bad place, Walter. You don’t know how bad."

Walter considered this. "The abuse was physical then." Michael grimaced. "Physical, emotional...very intense."

Michael tapped Walter on the back and went back to the bedroom to find out what happened to Nikita. She was retching in the bathroom when he came in. "Are you okay, Kita?" He handed her a cold wet cloth to wipe her mouth and face, and she smiled weakly. "Thanks."

He stood in the doorway as if he was debating with himself. "You know, Kita, you never even told me that you were pregnant." He tried to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, but it wasn’t easy. He felt slighted. "You told Walter first."

She turned around and stared at Michael, her hands on her hips. "I almost threw up on him, Michael. That doesn’t constitute making an announcement. He’s the one who told me that I was pregnant. I didn’t even realize..."

Michael looked vaguely out of sorts. "Then you haven’t even checked it out yet?" Nikita frowned. "I don’t think I need to. I just had morning sickness for the third day in a row."

He looked away from her, biting his lip. "Okay."

"Michael, do you have a problem with my being pregnant?"

"No, Kita, I’m happy about it." I just wish you had told me first, he finished in his head, knowing he was making something out of nothing. It was just one of those things he wanted to share with her, and he felt as though she was shutting him out.

"I need to go shopping, Michael. We’ve still got most of the house to finish."

"Well, I don’t want you going out alone, Kita."

She dropped her mouth open. "I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Michael. You saw that."

"Don’t argue with me about this, Kita. You’ve just come through a terrible ordeal, you were critically injured, and you’re pregnant. I’m not taking any chances. You need an escort if you go out. That’s the end of it."

Michael started to stalk out of the room, and Nikita wanted to challenge him, but she knew he was being over-protective for her own good. He was right. Last night, she didn’t even want to be left alone in her own bedroom. She could hardly claim to be in good enough shape to defend herself today.

Michael slammed the bedroom door on his way out. Ouch. Nikita winced. His feelings were hurt. She would have to make it up to him as soon as possible. Of course, that was another problem. Her wedding day had been hopelessly ruined, there was no wedding night and no honeymoon to look forward to. Things had gone seriously awry now, through no fault of their own, and it was up to Nikita to get things back on track. She knew Michael, if she left it to him, he wouldn’t make love to her again until she was fully recovered. Whenever that might be. Well, she wasn’t about to let a little thing like pain come between them. She wasn’t headstrong for nothing.

She walked into the kitchen just as Michael was coming out. He stopped for a moment, then passed her. "No, Michael, we have to talk."

He shook her hand off his arm. "Not now, Nikita." That was not a good sign. He was calling her Nikita. He was seriously in need of an attitude adjustment.

She went into the refrigerator and poured herself some milk. She really didn’t feel like eating anything, but she knew she needed to get something into her stomach. Walter came into the kitchen. "You heading out to shop till you drop, Sugar?"

"Yeah, Walter." She sulked a moment, then brightened. "You wanna come with me? Michael doesn’t want me to go alone."

"Sure, Sugar, I’ll go. But why didn’t you ask Michael to go with you? Are you trying to tick him off deliberately?"

"Walter, what exactly did I do wrong? We were kinda busy yesterday, so it was a bit hard to break in and say, by the way, I just found out I’m pregnant. And anyway, his nose is just out of joint cause you knew first. That’s a quote. So there is nothing I can do to undo that, Walter." She slammed the refrigerator door closed.

"So you just thought you’d rub a little salt in the wound and make things worse, right? Boy, you never learn, Nikita." Walter shook his head at her. Nikita shrieked in frustration. "And now you’re calling me Nikita, too! What is it with you men? I’m surrounded by you!"

She stormed outside and sat down on the front porch. Michael was standing at the other end of the porch. He glanced at her surreptitiously. "You going out with Walter?" he said in a low voice.

She barely acknowledged him, finally nodding sharply in answer. "Yep." Pause. "Is that a problem?" She dared it to be a problem. He shrugged. "No."

Walter came out on the porch with his jacket slung over his shoulder. "Okay, you guys are already in separate corners, so shake hands and come out fighting." They both turned and glared at Walter. Walter turned his hands palm up and said, "What? It was a joke! Lighten up! Sheesh, you people need to learn how to communicate..."

He walked briskly out to the car and waited for Nikita. Nikita stood up, wincing as a sharp pain ran through her injured side. Michael noticed. "Don’t overdo it." He couldn’t help but say.

"I won’t." She glanced at him one last time, her mouth sulky. "Michael..." she whined, "I don’t want to leave with you angry at me."

He walked over to her. "Are you going to be like this the entire pregnancy, Kita?"

"Like what, Michael?" she smiled up at him, innocently, knowing he didn’t like being angry with her any more than she did.

He narrowed his eyes at her, then kissed her. "Brat. You know you’re being a brat now, don’t you?"

"Yes, Michael." She kissed him back, feeling him soften a little. He nuzzled her neck. "I love you, Kita."

"I love you, Michael." She pushed his hair out of his eyes affectionately. "I’ll try not to be too long."

He nodded and waved as she walked out to the car. After yesterday, it was damned hard to let her out of his sight, but he knew he had to. For both their sakes.

Birkoff worked feverishly over his laptop while Michael sat in the living room, listening to classical music. At least, Michael was pretending to listen. It was getting close to dinnertime. No sign of Nikita or Walter yet. No phone calls from either of them. Michael was wondering where they had gone, and why it was taking them so long to return home. But he wouldn’t dream of sharing this information with Birkoff. It just wasn’t his way. He would sit and worry and suffer in silence, and eventually, when Nikita finally walked through the door, he would erupt unpredictably and they would argue. That was okay with Birkoff. When Michael and Nikita argued, it didn’t upset him anymore. Sometimes he thought it was just another way for them to communicate, or even make love. They always made up and went to bed shortly afterward.

Birkoff’s hands shook slightly as his fingers moved over the keyboard. Night was coming soon. Nights were the worst for him. And the nightmares had started again. Dreadful, hideous, three-dimensional nightmares in technicolor. Of his childhood. The memories he had buried.

Birkoff had not had seizures in years. The doctors had never found a physical cause for them. They had finally concluded that Birkoff’s emotional lability was the trigger. To say he was shocked to discover himself having a seizure after Nikita was wounded by Bauer was a gross understatement of the facts. He was psychologically shaken. It was a physical sign that something was not right with his body’s emotional state. Emotional lability.

Birkoff learned to love things, not people, early on in his life. People were not to be relied on, but Math formulas and Science experiments were. Birkoff was born into a dysfunctional family that brooked no argument about anything. For an intelligent, questioning child, this was torture of the worst kind. but it wasn’t simply enough that he was different. He suffered nightly from his stepfather’s cruel abuse, and now, years later, when he least expected to, he was suffering again.

Birkoff pretended to be examining his laptop, but he was studying Michael instead. He had feared his parents. His mother was loving but weak. His father died when Birkoff was little, and his mother, misguided as she was, supported her family with a succession of ill-conceived stepfathers. Stepfathers with little or no patience for smart little boys who could not manage to toe that imaginary line they always drew in the sand.

Michael’s presence actually reassured Birkoff. He was calm and steady, unlike the men who had entered his mother’s life, again and again. He could be intimidating, to be sure, especially when he used that authoritarian tone of voice or inflicted the blank stare on him...but Michael had never once hurt him, not in all the years he had known him. Birkoff clung to that feeling of trust, knowing it was something he needed in his life.

Then there was Nikita. Nikita was special to Birkoff for several reasons. Of course, he had had an adolescent-style crush on her for years. But beyond that, he knew, in that way that all abused people somehow recognized each other, that she was one of them. No one knew exactly what had happened to Nikita during her childhood. It was reputed to be tragic and violent, and Birkoff was sure that it was. But he thought that Nikita was still looking for answers, that she had never actually confronted the memories that haunted her dreams. Birkoff felt strangely protective of her, it was why he had gone off the deep end when Michael flew out of control and threatened to take his life in front of Nikita. He glanced at Michael again. He could almost feel the level of tension rise in him. Any moment now, he was going to ask what time it was and if he was sure that Nikita hadn’t called in.

Michael sighed, turning down the music on the stereo. Classical music usually relaxed him. But the music, coupled with his worry about Nikita and Birkoff, was having the opposite effect on him. "Birkoff, what time is it?" Birkoff rolled his eyes. "It’s five minutes past what it was the last time you asked me."

Michael didn’t even hear Birkoff’s answer. "You’re sure Nikita didn’t call in?"

"I’m sure, Michael."

"You would tell me, if she did?"

"Michael, I told you I would. What is it with you, anyway? You’re so....tense!"

Michael stood up and began to pace back and forth. "Ca ne fait rien, Birkoff. Forget it!" Birkoff turned off his laptop and crossed the room, blocking Michael’s progress. "Now you’ve got me worried. When you start talking French, I worry, too. Why are we worried about Nikita now?"

Michael gestured in an exasperated manner, both hands pulling at the air as he drew his lips back in a feral smile, eventually clenching his teeth soundlessly. "I don’t know if I can explain it to you, Birkoff."

"Try. We aren’t going anywhere, Michael. You might as well confess your deep, dark secrets to me." Birkoff loved being melodramatic. Next to sarcasm it was his sharpest weapon.

Michael stared at the younger man, trying to focus on what he said. Raking a large hand through his hair, he fought for words that would make sense to someone other than himself. "Birkoff...when you love someone...it’s like giving them a license to..." Again he found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He was often terse, out of necessity, or out of a desire for subterfuge. Frequently to hide the emotionality that lay hidden beneath the surface, where Nikita had allowed Michael to put it for safekeeping.

"Rape, pillage and burn?" Birkoff finished helpfully, not a little sarcastically. Michael winced at the choice of words, not for the first time wondering if it was intentional or unconscious.

Birkoff moved in on Michael, who regarded him blankly. "You’ve hurt Nikita a lot, in the past, Michael. You’re the one who turned the knife in the wound and twisted it, Michael, but I’m the one who had to sit up nights and listen to her bleed." Birkoff seemed a trifle overwrought now, but Michael was sure he could handle whatever came up. It couldn’t be worse than last night, and last night Birkoff’s pain had seemed considerably more intense.

Michael’s eyes slid from side to side as he considered just how candid to be with Birkoff about things which did not concern him. "Are we still talking about Nikita, Birkoff? Or you?" Birkoff blinked as if he had suddenly come back to himself. He flushed.

"Sorry, Michael," he muttered under his breath. Truth was, he trusted Michael, or he could never have felt strong enough to confront him about what he’d done to Nikita. But he thought he had let that go. Why was it popping back into his head now? He held his forehead. "I worry about her, too, that’s all I meant."

Michael stood over Birkoff, trying not to loom intimidatingly over the younger man. "We both care about her, Birkoff. We both want what’s best for her. We both...protect her." Michael spoke softly, abruptly realizing that nighttime seemed to be the trigger for this kind of behavior in Birkoff lately. Birkoff refused to look at Michael, his eyes darting away nervously. "Yes," he all but whispered in response.

"Did I thank you for protecting her for me? You took good care of her when she went back to Section." He didn’t mention that Nikita should never have been allowed to go back to Section in the first place, but he knew how headstrong Nikita was, and he imagined that Birkoff was unable to keep her from doing anything she felt strongly enough about. "You saved her life."

Birkoff’s eyes glistened with tears as he bit his lip. "I did, didn’t I?" Michael nodded, placing a hand on Birkoff’s shoulder. Birkoff’s initial reaction was to flinch, but he controlled it with great effort. "Nikita said I was her hero," Birkoff whispered, smiling in remembrance.

"You were. You were very brave." Michael swung around to face Birkoff, kneeling next to his chair so they were on the same eye level. "You still are, Birkoff."

Birkoff shook his head sadly. "I’m not brave at all, Michael. I have...dreams...bad ones." He looked away. Michael grabbed his chin and forced Birkoff to look into his eyes. "So do I, Birkoff. Not from my childhood. But from things that happened to me in Section." Michael’s whisper was laden with intensity, and Birkoff realized that Michael was finally trusting someone other than Nikita with his confidences. Michael trusted him. He felt himself grow steadier, as if Michael were physically holding him and supporting him.

"You do?" Birkoff asked. Michael nodded. "I haven’t told Nikita. But she must know. I must wake up sometimes, violently. But I would never hurt her, Birkoff. You know that? Just like I would never hurt you."

Birkoff felt as though Michael were single-handedly trying to hold back the night’s terrors for him. It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him. Here he was, worried about what happened to Nikita, and he was taking the time to reassure Birkoff. Birkoff wanted to cry. But he would never lose control in front of Michael. Not now.

They both heard the front door open and turned towards it. The moment was broken. But not forgotten.

"Nikita." Michael walked towards the two figures standing in the doorway, noting how tired and drawn Nikita looked. "What happened?"

Walter met Michael’s eyes over Nikita’s head and nodded significantly. "You know women, Michael, they can never resist going after one last bargain." He pushed Nikita gently towards Michael, and Michael caught her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I missed you, doucette," he whispered in her ear.

"I’m so tired, Michael. I think I’ll just go up to bed," she said, her eyes curiously flat. He frowned and grabbed her hand, pulling her back just as she would have started towards the stairs. "Kita...you need to eat."

"Not hungry," she said with a yawn.

He let her go reluctantly. "I’ll bring you something light, maybe you’ll feel like eating later."

"Later I’ll be asleep." She smiled at no one in particular and turned around, trodding heavily up the stairs to the bedroom.

The moment she was gone, Michael whirled around to face Walter. "Okay, what happened?" Birkoff was watching anxiously, but said nothing.

Walter glanced at Birkoff. "Hey, Birkoff, I got tons of packages out in the car, you wanna help me get those inside, lil buddy?"

Birkoff knew when he was being sent away. "Why don’t you just say you want to speak to Michael privately, Walter? You’re so obvious sometimes." He walked outside without another word.

"What’s up with that?" Walter asked Michael. Michael shrugged. "Oh, that. Birkoff wasn’t in a very good place. But we talked for a while, and I thought he was doing better. But Nikita being so out of it might set him back again. The two of them are so...connected somehow."

"I’ll trade you. I can deal with Birkoff, Michael. You need to get upstairs with Nikita. All day long she was just fine. Then it started to get dark and...she started to act...I dunno...like she doesn’t care...only it’s more than that. I think you’re going to have your hands full while she’s pregnant."

They both heard it at the same time. Nikita’s scream. Michael didn’t even think. He bolted up the stairs two and three at a time, landing hard on the floor at the top, skidding to a stop outside the bedroom. He burst through the doorway, unsure what he might see. Afraid to look.

"Nikita?"

Nikita was in the closet, crying. Michael pulled her into his arms. "Come to me, doucette." She lay her head on his shoulder, soaking his shirt with her tears. "Talk to me, Kita," he said, quite breathlessly.

"I can’t....it’s so ugly." He closed his eyes and tried not to think what that meant. It was different with Birkoff. Though he certainly felt his pain, he wasn’t as emotionally involved with him.

"You know you can tell me anything, Kita. I won’t stop loving you. Ever. No matter what you say." He held onto her, feeling the tension in her body increase tenfold, then a hundredfold.

"You’ll hate me...you’ll see how ugly I am inside..." Nikita cried fresh tears, clinging to Michael’s embrace.

"You could never be ugly to me, pauvre..." Michael’s heart hurt terribly right now, and he wondered if he had the strength to do this.

"Just hold me..." she whispered. "Just don’t let me go...I feel like I’ll fly into a million tiny pieces if you do..."

Long moments passed. Michael was hanging on to his own emotions by a thread now. "Kita?...are you okay?" He felt her breathing slow down as if she were falling asleep.

"Mmhmm..." she mumbled against his neck.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to their bed. This was not the first time he had undressed her and tucked her into bed, as if she were a small child. And it would not be the last.

When he could pull himself away from her, Michael went to find Walter. Walter was standing in the hallway, waiting for him. "I figgered you didn’t want to leave her alone."

Michael raked his hair back carelessly. "This is scaring me, Walter. Who am I to be dealing with her pain? What if I say the wrong thing?"

Walter looked at him kindly. "Michael, you’re the only one who can pull her through this. You’re the one she trusts with her life. You’re the only one she loves enough to risk facing this."

"Then you don’t think it’s coincidence that her abuse issues are coming to the surface now..." Michael said with a sudden burst of clarity.

Walter shook his head. "It ain’t coincidence, Michael. If she didn’t feel secure in your love, there’s no way we could convince her to talk about any of that crap. Yes, Birkoff’s abuse coming to light played a part. But her pregnancy does, too."

"She’s been in denial so long, Walter. What if it’s a mistake to resurrect all that pain?"

Walter looked deeply into Michael’s eyes. "If you two can’t get past this, Michael, you two don’t have a future. Make no mistake. This is like a bloody great rock sitting in the middle of the road. You can’t go around it, and you can’t go over it. You just gotta keep chipping away at it until it completely disintegrates."

Michael blinked. "Or till it blows up in our faces."

Walter nodded. "Or till it blows up in our faces."