A hush fell over the house as its occupants prepared for bed for the night. Maybe tonight they would all sleep peacefully in their beds. Maybe not... But it would not be for lack of trying.

Michael reluctantly let go of Nikita’s hands and said, "Good night, Kita." Nikita stepped back and stared at him. "You’re not going to leave me alone?"

He shook his head. "No, doucette. I just thought maybe you needed a little time...to get used to us being together again. I’ll be here with you."

"In the room?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I can sleep in the chair next to the bed." Poor Michael, thought Nikita, he tried so hard to sacrifice himself for her, even when it wasn’t necessary.

She pulled him towards her again. "Michael...I need you next to me..."

He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. "Madeline doesn’t want this, Nikita. We can’t risk it..."

Nikita smiled, touching his face with her fingers, watching as he closed his eyes slowly in response. His entire face softened, giving him a curious look of vulnerability.

"We don’t have to make love, Michael...I just need your arms around me."

He peeked at her, thick dark lashes hiding his changeable grey-green eyes from her sight. "What makes you think you can trust me?"

"I just know." She swept his hair back from his forehead with her hand. "You won’t hurt me, Michael. And we both need this. Or we won’t be able to rest."

Nikita’s argument sounded convincing to Michael, but then, he wanted to be convinced. Maybe she did, too. He sighed and nodded.

Several minutes later, Nikita came to bed, her entire body wrapped in a thick white terrycloth robe. Michael was reassured. This he could resist. This was going to work. She opened the robe, revealing the thin yet oversized T-shirt she was going to sleep in. This...could be a problem....

She slid into bed, the T-shirt riding high on her thighs, and Michael abruptly realized something else. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. He closed his eyes, cursing Nikita’s strong will for once. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. He could do this.

She put her hand on his arm, sliding it gradually down to his wrist. She bent her head and kissed his wrist. He groaned. "Nikita..."

"I promised I would take care of you, Michael, and I will..." she said in her low, throaty whisper.

"When you said that, Kita, you know this wasn’t what I had in mind."

She bit her lip anxiously. "Madeline said it was up to me."

"She also said...no lovemaking this week." Michael grabbed Nikita’s hands and placed them firmly on her side of the bed.

He turned on his side, pulling the blankets around him, like a wall of protection. She snuggled up against his back, and he could feel her pressing her breasts into his spine. "Kita..."

She whispered against the back of his neck, "She said neither one of us could stand another rejection...Michael, are you going to push me away?"

He turned around to face her, his own frustration evident. "Kita...just because I’m in control of my feelings right now doesn’t mean I don’t want you. I do, doucette. But I want what’s best for you in the long run. I don’t want to risk everything...you’re too important to me." He caressed her face, kissing her softly after he finished speaking.

Her mouth opened under his, and he deepened the kiss as much as he dared go. He pulled away first, though, and he could feel Nikita tugging at his lips for more. "Please, Kita..."

She regarded him with disappointment for a moment. "Okay, Michael," she agreed aloud, thinking to herself, but whatever happens during the night, happens.

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her head to his chest. He kissed the top of her head. Her hair was so soft, the scent filled his nostrils with longing.

"I love you, doucette. Come, sleep next to my heart."

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and for a long while, they slept without dreaming.

Madeline was amused. She could hear Michael’s frustration crackling over the cell phone static. "So you valiantly resisted her advances all night long, Michael?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "I’m telling you, Madeline, she was all over me. It wasn’t me. It was her. She kept trying to convince me it was okay...I told her it was definitely not okay..."

Madeline chuckled politely. "Ahem...perhaps she is not as traumatized as we thought, Michael. I was certain she would not be reaching out for sex this early. She should be frightened at this point of that kind of contact."

He snorted. "Try to tell her that."

"Unless...she’s just trying to please you, Michael."

"Madeline, what should I do?"

She sighed. "Hard call. If you continue to reject her, that could damage your relationship. If you give in to her, and we don’t know why she’s pushing so hard for sex before she’s ready, that could set things back as well."

"Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t?" Michael paced, the cell phone held to his ear. "Well, if the risk is the same either way, I might as well give in, Madeline..."

"Spoken like a man. Could you possibly rein in the libido a bit, Michael?"

He leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I’m exhausted, Madeline. I’m not exactly jumping up and down for joy about the way things are going, either."

Madeline empathized with Michael. "Of course. I know you’re trying, Michael. What I need is to see Nikita. Have her come to my office here, and you stay there. I want to talk to her privately, maybe she’ll confide in me."

***

A few hours later, Nikita sat in Madeline’s office, wringing the life out of a box of tissues as she cried. She had told Madeline what happened the previous night, and she didn’t pretend to understand it herself. On the surface, she thought she just wanted to be with Michael. They had been so long apart, and they needed each other. On every level.

Madeline wasn’t so sure that was all that was at work. She pestered Nikita about every detail, every nuance, and every feeling, until Nikita wanted to scream in frustration.

"I’ve told you, again and again, Madeline. I dunno any more." She buried her face in her hands.

Madeline came around the desk and held Nikita. Nikita turned her face into Madeline’s elegant business suit, her tears wetting the front. "Madeline...I don’t want to lose him..."

"You’ve said this before, Nikita. Tell me why you think this." She cupped Nikita’s face in her hands and smiled reassuringly.

Nikita looked up and sniffled. "If we don’t make love...he’ll find someone else...won’t he?"

"If your relationship was based solely on sex, I would agree. But it’s not, Nikita. It never has been. You two love each other in a way that transcends the physical. Michael himself knows this. He told me."

"He did?" Nikita said hopefully.

"Of course...Nikita, haven’t you realized yet how lucky you are? Michael would wait for you, a hundred years, if life allowed it. He has no other reason for being but you and your love." Madeline stroked Nikita’s hair, remembering that she had seen Michael do this, with positive effect.

"Oh, thank you, Madeline..." Nikita wiped her face carelessly, less interested in how she looked than how she felt.

Madeline pressed a kiss to Nikita’s brow. "Do you feel better now, Nikita?"

She nodded. "Yes. May I go now?" Suddenly it was imperative that she see Michael. She needed to confirm what Madeline had just told her, but her heart told her it was true. Her heart always knew.

***

"How could you think you needed sex to hold my interest?"

Michael held Nikita, pressing his cheek against hers. "I love you, doucette. No one else." He rocked her gently in his arms.

"Three years, doucette. I waited for you. Sometimes patiently, sometimes not. But I’d wait another three if it meant I could have you." He kissed her, letting his lips linger a moment.

"We’ve got each other, Kita. We have our family," he smiled, thinking of Walter and Birkoff. "And we have a baby coming..." He glanced meaningfully at her still-flat abdomen.

She reached up and kissed him, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "I love you so much, Michael."

He whispered in her ear, "Not half as much as I love you, doucette."

Breakfast was always interesting in this household. Walter managed to burn everything, Birkoff ate nothing but cereal, Nikita could not even boil water, and Michael could scramble eggs. That meant either someone was going to have to learn to cook, or they would need to hire help. Nikita sighed. She didn’t want a stranger living in the house with them. She couldn’t help feeling slightly insecure, and yes, maybe even a bit paranoid, at times. After all they had been through, sometimes she was convinced that there were people out there, plotting against them.

Michael sipped his coffee carefully. It was hotter than he liked because he was drinking it black today. "What was the sigh for, Kita?"

"I was just thinking..."

"Uh-oh, danger, danger, alert the media..." joked Birkoff. Walter chuckled and rubbed the young man’s shoulder.

Nikita stuck her tongue out at Birkoff. "You’re just saying that cause I don’t want to name the baby Sey-mour...Sey-mour."

Michael blanched. "Excuse me? Was that name actually under consideration?"

Nikita snorted and tapped her feet impatiently on the floor underneath the kitchen table. "Actually, I was leaning towards Aubergine. I was--"

Michael looked as though he had just swallowed a rock, and it was somehow stuck in his throat. "Um..."

"Oh, I know, it’s a bit soon to be thinking about names, Michael, but then again..." She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and smiled, pushing her chair back and forth in a semi-circle. She looked so playful. Michael enjoyed seeing this side of Nikita. It was much nicer than seeing the Nikita who couldn’t trust him. That hurt.

Nikita stuck her finger in her mouth, looking the picture of innocence, as she continued to tease Michael. He smiled, his eyes dropping unintentionally to her mouth. When he saw her slow sensual smile in response, he knew she was deliberately drawing his attention there, and he shifted his gaze to her eyes.

"Why are you concentrating on boys’ names, Kita?" he asked provocatively.

She looked startled. "I dunno, Michael. Just a feeling."

He half-smiled. "Well, I hate to go against women’s intuition, but...I think it’s a girl."

Walter and Birkoff stared at Michael. Birkoff asked, "Why?"

Michael laughed. "Just a feeling."

Everyone looked at Nikita for her response. She smiled teasingly at Michael. "Maybe it’s twins...."

"Maybe we should talk about something else," said Michael, laughter giving his eyes a warm glint.

Walter looked from one to the other, trying to figure out the undercurrents, and shrugged when he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. "Listen, Michael, Madeline wanted you two to eat more. It occurs to me that the cooking situation isn’t likely to improve without help. Do we need to hire a cook?"

This was so close to what Nikita had been thinking, her eyes registered her surprise, followed by dismay. "No!"

Birkoff frowned, seeing Nikita’s real distress. "What’s the matter, Nikita?"

She swallowed hard, ducking her head down. "I don’t want someone strange coming into my house. Our house," she corrected, looking at Michael when she said that.

Birkoff nodded. "Okay..." he drawled slowly, sure there was more to it than that. He poked Walter, indicating he should follow this up.

Walter looked at Michael, but Michael shook his head. Walter was Nikita’s newly designated father. It was up to him to pursue this with her. Maybe he could get somewhere that Michael couldn’t.

Walter chuckled. "Sugar, between us, we’re fixing to starve if we don’t do something soon. So either I gotta learn to cook, or you do. Which do you think would work better?" He’d heard that giving someone a completely open-ended choice to make would only lead to more frustration and indecision. Therefore, he was giving Nikita a limited choice, forcing her to decide something, given the alternatives he proposed.

She considered what Walter said. He made sense. Besides, she trusted Walter, and she knew he had her best interests at heart. "Well...I think it should be you, Walter. I mean, I kinda got my hands full, furnishing the house and having this baby and all..." She bit her lip, as if she were anxiously awaiting the little group’s verdict on her decision. It was so unlike Nikita to be either worried or indecisive, Michael studied her with some concern.

Walter nodded. "It’s okay by me, Sugar. I can handle the job. Michael?"

Michael reached for Nikita’s hand and squeezed it gently. His eyes flickered for a moment, then he nodded to Walter. "I think that’s a good idea. What about you, Birkoff?"

Birkoff, still a bit unused to living in a democracy, smiled nervously. "Sounds like a plan. I look forward to eating more than cereal one day."

Walter laughed, grinning at Birkoff. Nikita relaxed and smiled, and Michael felt her tension ease abruptly, through his contact with her hand. His heart constricted. He could read her so well, he sometimes felt what she was feeling before she voiced it. It could be disconcerting at times, though, especially when his own emotions were flooding his mind and body. He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, but there were unshed tears in her eyes. He glanced at Walter. The older man had noticed as well. Michael pulled Nikita to her feet, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Let’s go for a walk."

***

Michael walked Nikita around to the backyard. All the evidence of their wedding had been carefully removed by Walter and Birkoff. He stood there, his arm around her, looking out at the lawn, seeing the scene in his mind’s eye. Replaying the tragedy that was their wedding. He wondered what Nikita saw when she looked out here. He knew it still bothered him, and he didn’t know if he would ever get over the jolt that ran through his entire body when he saw Bauer shoot Nikita. He shut his eyes. That was his problem. Right now, they needed to deal with her problems.

"Kita, talk to me. What’s upsetting you?" He rubbed her shoulders with his fingers, kneading the knot of tension he felt just below her neck.

She looked at him, her eyes abruptly filling with more tears. "Oh, Michael..."

"What? What is it?" He queried impatiently, knowing that his own anxiety level was directly related to hers.

She tilted her head down, causing the tears to stream down her cheeks and over his hands, where they framed her face. "I want to be...a good wife...Michael...but I can’t even cook for you."

That was so far from what he was thinking, he almost laughed in relief. "Kita! Do you think that matters to me?"

She shook her head sadly. "You’ll say it doesn’t, Michael, but it’s just one more thing I can’t do. When Section trained me, they trained me to survive, but not to do anything practical. I don’t know how to do anything...normal!" She all but wailed the last part.

Michael brushed her hair away from her face, the tendrils wet from her tears. She was so beautiful, even like this. He searched her face as he stroked her hair. "My love," he said at last, leaning his forehead on hers. "Normal is highly overrated."

He kissed her mouth, allowing himself a little latitude, for once. He nudged her lips apart and slid his tongue inside her mouth. She opened for him, and he felt her respond. It was a subtle manipulation, he knew, but it successfully distracted her. And though he had vowed never to lie to her, he didn’t feel it was dishonest to do this. He loved her too much to allow her to flay herself needlessly over something that truly didn’t matter to him.

Michael leaned back, Nikita still encircled in his arms. "You know what?"

"What?" she said, her tears forgotten.

"I think, just this once, we should live dangerously..."

That piqued her interest. "How?"

"I’ll show you..." he said mysteriously.

***

Walter huffed and puffed. His old Harley was his baby, his dreamboat, his...motorcycle. "I dunno, Michael. You wanna run this by Madeline first?"

Michael grinned, throwing all caution to the wind. "Nope." He grabbed Walter’s helmet and pulled it over his head. He straddled the motorcycle, kick-starting it in a way Walter could no longer do. He saw the look of envy cross Walter’s face and he knew that Walter was wishing he were Michael right now. He revved the engine briefly, feeling the surge of power between his legs. Nice vibration. He exhaled slowly. Calm down.

Walter helped Nikita climb onto the back of the Harley. He handed her a helmet, and she smiled as she adjusted the fit. She leaned forward, wrapping both arms around Michael’s middle. She pressed her face against his back and sighed. This was heavenly. How had Michael known what would make them both feel free as the wind?

Walter couldn’t help but worry about Sugar. And Michael, of course. But he knew that Michael could handle himself. Sugar was another story. He smiled tightly as Michael waved. "You got the cell phone?"

Michael nodded, wheeling the cycle slowly towards the main road. "Give up, Walter, we’re going."

"You don’t wanna tell me where?" So I know where to look for your bodies, he tried to avoid thinking.

"Nope." Michael smiled. "Trust me, Walter. We won’t do anything stupid. I know how much you’re looking forward to becoming a grandfather..."

Walter shrugged, wishing he felt as sanguine as Michael did about this.

***

Michael put on his dark glasses and headed the cycle towards the mountains. He had no particular destination in mind, he just wanted to feel the wind in his hair as the miles ticked on by. Gradually, when they hit the highway, he picked up speed, the wind whistling around his black leather jacket. Nikita wore a matching jacket over leather pants. He smiled to himself, Nikita in black leather was definitely arousing. He revved the engine involuntarily.

Nikita felt him speed up, and she smiled. Careful to maintain her grip around Michael, she reached up to kiss the back of his neck. "Plus vitesse."

He blinked. Not daring to turn around, even for a moment, he frowned, "Plus vitesse? More speed, Kita? Are you crazy?"

"Depeche-toi, Michael, vite, vite..." she exhorted him, her laughter swept away by the rushing of the wind.

He chuckled softly, though she never heard him above the roar of the air around them. You little vixen...the only time I want to hear that phrase again is when we make love. Faster, faster indeed.

"Remind me to speak to Birkoff about that computer program he’s using to teach you French, Kita," he said wryly.

"You don’t like it?" She pouted.

"Oh, no, I do...but there are a few things I’d like to hear you say that don’t come with the program..."

She laughed merrily, the sound echoing lightly down the highway.

***

Michael stopped the Harley at the bottom of a tremendous incline. He looked upwards, unsure if it was too far for Nikita to safely walk. He didn’t want her to exert herself too much. As if she were reading his mind, Nikita slapped his leather-covered arm. "What?"

"I’m not made of fine china, Michael. I won’t break."

"I know, Kita. I don’t want you to do too much, that’s all."

She sighed. "Same thing. You’re overprotective, Michael."

"You want me to ignore you then and just drag you behind me like a caveman and his woman?" He said jokingly with a tinge of bitterness. She heard it and kissed him softly, trying to erase the frown line she had just put on his face.

"No, Michael," she said, wiping her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb. He suddenly grabbed her hand and stared at her, kissing her hard. When he finally drew back, they were both breathless.

"Is that better?" he asked.

"Actually, yes..." she said, biting her lip.

He shook his head and chuckled. "You would say that."

***

In the end, they helped each other up the hill. It was a great deal steeper than it looked, and even Michael admitted his legs felt tired after they reached the top. "Let’s rest here a bit."

"The view is spectacular, Michael. Have you been up here before?"

"No. I just wanted to go somewhere we could be alone. Together."

Nikita smiled. "Well, you know what Madeline said, Michael. Eat, rest, and be nice. We ate breakfast, such as it was, we’re resting now, and you’ve been awfully nice to me so far."

They sat on the grass, Michael helping Nikita take off her jacket. He fashioned her jacket into a pillow for her head, inviting her to lie down. "Go ahead, I won’t jump on you."

He did the same with his own jacket, eventually resting his head on the makeshift pillow. "I hate to say this, Kita, but I think..." He yawned, trying to cover his mouth in vain. "I think...I need to take a nap."

She moved her own pillow closer to Michael’s so they could lie next to one another. She lay on her side, hooking her leg around Michael’s. He blinked sleepily at her, his eyes gone dark green and slumberous. "Just in case you decide to take off without me," she said.

He knew she meant it as a joke, but he wondered if she knew how serious she sounded when she said it. Madeline had told him that one of Nikita’s issues involved loss and abandonment. For some reason, as yet to be understood, she felt insecure about holding onto Michael. He was sure it had something to do with Nikita’s mother. Everything came back to that woman.

He fell asleep, his arm wrapped around Nikita’s waist, his head nestled in the space just below her chin. She kissed the top of his head. He was so tired, her Michael, and he tried so hard to keep going when he needed to stop and give a care to himself once in a while.

Michael’s body trembled in her arms. It was a fine tremor at first, one she could safely ignore, but when it became a convulsive shudder, she woke up thoroughly. "What’s wrong, Michael?"

He woke with a start, a gasp on his lips. "Nikita!" His green eyes were wide with terror. It must have been quite a dream. Nikita pushed him back onto their makeshift bed in the grass. Almost immediately, he began to recover himself, pretending there was nothing wrong. His breathing slowed appreciably. "I-It’s okay, Kita."

"Are you having nightmares, Michael?"

He started to lie, then thought better of it. "Yes," he said tersely, not inviting further discussion at that point. Nikita nodded, respecting his desire to maintain some privacy. "When you feel up to it, maybe you can tell me about them..." She didn’t want to infringe on his personal space, but she wanted to let him know that his problems were important, too, and just as deserving of resolution as hers.

"Come here, love," she said. She lay on top of Michael and wrapped her arms around him. Unfortunately, that just made him poignantly aware of being aroused. He cleared his throat gently, his hands clenched around her waist.

"Um, that’s not helping."

Abruptly Nikita became aware of the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against her lower abdomen. "Oh!"

She rolled off him, and he groaned. "That was sheer torture, thanks." She didn’t know whether to laugh or not. She peeked through her hands at him, and when she saw his mouth curving upwards, she knew it was okay. She smiled back.

She stood up, raking a hand through her hair, which was full of grass and other debris. He stared up at her, dark glass covering his eyes. She reached out a hand to him. "Wanna dance with me?" she cajoled.

He looked confused. "There’s no music, doucette."

"There is in my head, Michael. Use your imagination."

He stood up slowly, and she pulled the glasses off his face. "I want to see your eyes, Michael. Please." He nodded.

He pulled her hips in close to his body, wrapping his arms around her upper body. He lay his head on her shoulder, feeling her do the same. Together they swayed, gently back and forth, as if slow dancing to some magical melody only they alone could hear.

They stayed like this for several minutes, mesmerized by the feel of each other, unwilling to break the silence with words, even words of love. Michael nuzzled her neck, feeling unaccountably aroused yet tender at the same time. He moved his legs a bit wider apart and gently pulled Nikita into the space he’d opened up. It was a bittersweet ache, knowing he wanted her and couldn’t have her. But he would never betray her trust. Even if she was no longer sure she could trust him, he knew she could.

"I love you..."

"I love you, too, doucette." He closed his eyes and dreamed of being with her.

She ran her hands lightly over his arousal, feeling him tense. "Don’t, Kita, please," he said, summoning all his control.

She smiled, love shining in her eyes. "Let me do this for you, Michael."

He began to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "I know you would never ask this of me...but I want to..." He closed his eyes, unconsciously acquiescing.

She continued to run her hands over him, pressing gently, then harder. He moved against her hands, involuntarily, seeking release any way he could find it. When it came, he flung his head back and groaned, pressing himself deep into her hands. She felt the last shudder wrack him, and a satisfied smile crossed her face. "Yes, love..."

Michael came to his senses with a start, his dream state disturbed now by a feeling of restlessness, agitation, and even shame. He felt as though he had violated their agreement, though he knew he had not. He had not removed his clothing, he had not seduced her in any way, but he felt embarrassed, not unlike a teenager first discovering sex and its natural consequences. "I’m sorry, Kita," he whispered.

"For what?" She didn’t understand what there was to be ashamed of. She felt what they did was an expression of love, not merely sex. In truth, in her head, she did not see it as sex at all, but a granting of release from the tension that she could feel thrumming through Michael minutes before. She was trying to relieve his pain, not add to it.

He wouldn’t look at her. He walked some distance away, feeling conflicted by what had just happened. "Michael..."

"Not now, Kita..." he said hoarsely. He felt as though he had lost control somehow, yet he hadn’t. He hadn’t tried to take her against her will, or even frolic with her in the grass. What she’d done had been kindness itself, and he wanted to weep. Why couldn’t he accept that? Was he too judgmental, even of himself? Especially of himself?

She went to him then, refusing to allow him to shake off her embrace. She insisted on hugging him as tightly as she could, and he struggled to get away. But in the end, he collapsed against her, letting her kiss him and touch his face lovingly. "I love you, Michael...please don’t hate me for trying to show you..."

He looked up, his eyes a troubled grey. "I don’t hate you, doucette. How could I? It was me. I should have walked away the moment you touched me. But I was too weak."

"Is that what you think, Michael?" She was aghast. Her loving gesture, so misinterpreted, so misunderstood. "You didn’t ask me to touch you. I wanted to. That wasn’t weakness, that was you relinquishing control to me. Thank you...thank you, Michael, for giving me that."

He searched her face, but he saw the sincerity there. She didn’t feel betrayed. She thought he had given her something, when in reality, she had given him something. He hid his face against her neck. "It’s just that...I felt like a boy, losing control of myself like that...it’s never happened to me."

"Then I’m glad it happened with me. You can be any way you want with me, Michael."

"That’s because I trust you, Kita. I wish..." He looked down, his face crestfallen.

"What? Michael, tell me..."

"I wish you could trust me that way." Michael looked at her, trying to make her understand how much it hurt him when she couldn’t feel that.

"I’m trying, Michael. I am trying." She stroked his face with her fingertips. "And I do trust you, more than anyone else."