Michael stood up shakily, testing the waters for walking without assistance. Nikita watched him with some concern. "Michael, I dunno if that’s such a good idea."

"I need a shower, Kita. Bad."

She smiled, remembering how they had spent the day. "Those pants are really getting to you now, aren’t they?"

He gave her a pained smile. "You’re sure you were nice to me when I was out?"

She smirked. "Honest. I swear." She gestured, marking an "X" across her chest.

"I know you’re tired, Kita. But I need to take a shower. Can you help me?"

"I’ll have to, Michael. If you slipped and fell, I would never forgive myself."

She stood up and rubbed his back. "First, take the shirt off. Can you do that much?"

He nodded. Grasping the edge of the shirt, he pulled it over his head, making it throb momentarily. "That was not good."

"You should have stayed out, Michael. I could have done this for you, and you would have been pleasantly unaware," she teased, seeing his eyes darken.

"I could never be unaware when you’re touching me, Kita." The passion that was always there between them suddenly reared its head, but subsided in the wake of the pain.

She cleared her throat. "Stop looking at me like you want to have me for dinner, Michael, or you’ll never get undressed."

"Is that what I’m doing, Kita?" He moved closer, his green gaze fixed intently on her mouth. She braced herself, a thrill of anticipation running through her, just before he bent his head and kissed her.

She shook her head, as if clearing it. "Now take the pants off."

He grinned at her. "I love it when you give me orders like that."

She giggled. "Bad boy."

She slid her fingers down to where she had already opened the zipper. Michael watched as her hands went lower and lower, his eyes finally riveted to the spot where the zipper was partly open.

She tried to pull the zipper down, but Michael’s instinctive reaction at feeling Nikita’s hands on him was to become aroused. "Umm...I don’t know if that’s going to work, Kita." He frowned slightly, as if he were unsure how she would take his obvious arousal.

"Sorry, doucette, I can’t help it."

Michael looked so crestfallen, his hair falling into his face as he looked down at the stuck zipper. Nikita smiled softly. This side of Michael she loved and could get used to. He was so vulnerable and so caring. She pushed his hair out of his face for him. "Michael...there’s nothing to be sorry for."

She pressed her fingers inside the zipper, startling him. He stared at her, eyes wide, half-smile on his lips. "How attached are you to these pants?"

"Umm....what do you mean?"

"I can cut the zipper out, but you won’t be able to wear them again." She licked her fingers, then ran them over his mouth. "You’re staring..." she said, wagging a finger at him.

"I am? I mean, I am....maybe I should just take a cold shower, doucette. This is getting a little intense."

"Am I making your head hurt, Michael?"

"That’s not exactly where it hurts now, Kita," he whispered hoarsely, as if he were choking on the words.

"Do you want me to...help you, Michael?" She reached her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his bare chest.

"I don’t want to scare you, doucette, but I don’t think I could stand much more of your...help."

She smiled slowly, nudging his lips apart with her tongue. She licked him lightly, forcing him to let her inside, and he closed his eyes, knowing he was lost. "Kita..."

"Yes, Michael?"

"About that shower..."

"I have an idea." Nikita ran out of the room and down the stairs so quickly, Michael had no opportunity to stop her. What was she up to now?

She went flying past a startled Walter and Birkoff, who stared as she flung the refrigerator door wide open. "Nikita--"

"Not now, Walter! Gotta run!"

Birkoff, who was sitting at the kitchen table next to Walter, felt his mouth drop open. "Did she just yank an ice cube tray outta there, Walter? What’s she want with a--"

"Don’t ask...don’t ask...Seymour." Walter tried to hide the fact that he was blushing, but he was afraid to even think why Sugar needed ice cubes in the bedroom.

***

Nikita came skidding around the corner of the hallway, her bare feet finally finding purchase as she hit the threshold of the bedroom. She tripped over the threshold, and the ice cube tray went flying, sending ice cubes flying all over the floor. Michael watched as Nikita fell on her hands and knees, afraid to go to her, for fear of slipping on an ice cube.

"Nikita, you okay?"

She raised her head slowly, a sheepish grin on her face. "I’m fine, just a bit embarrassed, that’s all."

"Then can I ask...why are there ice cubes in our bedroom?" He peered at her curiously, the most peculiar expression on his face. Nikita sighed.

"I’ll show you."

She grabbed a few ice cubes and stood up. She walked carefully to Michael’s side, her hands wringing wet and ice cold. Before Michael could react, Nikita had thrust her icy hands down the front of Michael’s pants.

"Merde! What the hell are you doing???" Michael jumped back and almost hit his head on the wall. He slumped to the floor, holding his head, tears in his eyes from the pain in his head. That did more to relieve the pressure in his groin than the ice.

"Michael! Quick! The pants! Take them off now!"

"You’re a crazy woman, you know that?" Michael glared at her, but found he was suddenly able to push the pants down and over his groin. She helped pull them the rest of the way off his legs.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," she said apologetically.

"I don’t think they covered this in the marriage vows, Kita." He shook his head, then started laughing.

"Isn’t unpredictability a virtue, Michael?" she asked, still a little miffed.

He kissed her, still chuckling against her mouth. "It should be, doucette. It certainly should be."

Michael pulled Nikita to her feet, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was now naked. "I’m going to take my shower now."

"Michael...do you need any help?"

"Doing what?"

"Aren’t we going to...make love?" She bit her lip, waiting for his response.

He glanced at her, taking in her T-shirt and panties. "You look overdressed to me."

"Are you teasing me?"

He chuckled. "Do you want me to?"

"Want you to what?"

He reached over and grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt, pulling it over her head, exposing her upper body. "Well, if you don’t know, how can I help you?"

"Michael, you are teasing me! I didn’t know you knew how!"

He slipped his hands into the waistband of her panties and slowly pulled them down. She gingerly stepped out of them, kicking them to the side.

She ran her hands over his chest, and he smiled wickedly. He leaned over her, kissing her neck, and just as she was completely distracted, he picked up an ice cube and let the icy water trickle gently through his fingers and over her breasts. She squealed and jumped back. "Michael!"

He leaned his forehead against hers, looking her straight in the eye as he kissed her. "Was that good for you, doucette?"

She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. "You should be worried, I’ll get even."

"I’m counting on it." He ran his hands down her back to her buttocks and pulled her into his groin. He groaned. "Only thing is, the more I tease you, the more I torture myself..."

"Good," she said, thrusting her tongue inside his ear. He laughed softly.

He pulled her with him into the bathroom. "I swear, I’m going to take that shower now."

"A likely story..."

"If you could just move..."

"Which way?"

He laughed. "Off."

He ran the tips of his fingers over her nipples, still wet from the icy water. The roughened edges of his fingers abraded her softly, teasingly, until the nubs hardened to sharp points. She gasped. He nuzzled her neck and whispered, "Do you want to feel my mouth on you, doucette?"

"Ohh...mmm, if I say yes, are you going to make me wait some more?"

He licked her neck lightly. "Mmm...probably..."

"Yes," she breathed against his chest, rubbing herself down the length of his body and back again.

He kissed her breast, taking the nipple into his mouth. She flung her head back, arching her back against his hands, which continued to rest on her buttocks. "Not too hard, I feel so sensitive there."

"That’s cause you’re enceinte, doucette." He licked the nipple gently. "Pregnant..."

She reached up and wound her arms around his neck. "I am happy, Michael."

"I know you are, amante. So am I, in case you didn’t notice..."

"I don’t mean about this. I meant--"

He kissed her deeply, feeling her open to him. "I know what you meant, Kita."

He opened his eyes, and they were burning with a slumberous green fire. "Just so you don’t forget," he said, running his hands over her lower abdomen, "this belongs to me."

"How could I forget? Part of you is inside of me, Michael." She searched his face, looking for a sign that he still felt conflicted about her pregnancy, but she could find nothing.

"Do you know how that makes me feel, doucette?" he whispered against her mouth. "Possessive." He slanted his mouth over hers, quenching himself from her lips.

"Michael..."

"Yes, Kita?"

"We really should turn on the shower..."

He chuckled. "Vraiment?"

"I love it when you talk French to me...even when I don’t understand it."

"Oh? Viens ici, doucette. Je voudrais faire l'amour avec toi." He stroked the side of her face with his fingers, pressing kisses to each place his fingers touched. "Veux-tu faire l'amour avec moi?" he said in a soft, sensual whisper.

She giggled. "Before or after the shower?"

"Apres, doucette. D’accord?"

"Je crois que oui."

"You’re learning..."

Michael turned the water on in the shower. He grabbed the soap and began lathering his body. Nikita refused to let go of him, and so she was not surprised to find the hot spray pelting down upon her head. But the temperature made her gasp. "Michael, it’s too hot!"

He laughed and adjusted the temperature. "I never thought I’d hear you say that, Kita."

He rinsed his body, and began to wash his hair, which was now easily touching his shoulders. She reached up and gave his head a rub. "You think I should get a haircut, Kita?"

She shook her head. "I like it this way, Michael. You look hot."

"I do?" He considered that. "You want to share me with some other deserving female?"

"No!" She smacked his chest with the flat of her hand.

"Just kidding," he said.

"You better be. I don’t share." Nikita pouted prettily, and Michael leaned forward, kissing her mouth.

He took the soap into his hands and lathered it, then began applying it to Nikita’s body. "Mmm, I might forgive you..."

Michael turned her around so she faced away from the spray and pulled her back into his body. His hands moved slickly over her breasts, swirling soapy patterns across her chest, making her nipples stand up firmly. "You have the prettiest breasts, Kita," he said to her, bending over her shoulder. He kissed her neck.

She groaned in response. "I want you, Michael."

He stroked her, his hand moving wetly down her body until it found the space between her legs. She arched against Michael, and he gradually opened her legs wider, splaying his hand across her pelvic area. He bit her neck and continued to stroke between her legs until she moaned. "Michael..."

He stroked her faster and a little harder. She groaned, beginning to shiver in anticipation. "Ohh..." Just when she thought she could take no more, he brought her to a climax with his hand. She shuddered against his hand, and he murmured, "I love you."

That sent her over the edge, and she leaned over her shoulder, joining her mouth with his, moaning into his mouth. As she struggled to regain control, Michael washed her body free of soap, paying special attention to her hair, which flowed almost down to her waist now.

Several minutes later, the hot water exhausted, Michael wrapped Nikita in a fluffy white towel and held her. "You should sleep now, Kita."

"But Michael, I want to make love to you." She protested weakly, her eyes barely able to focus now.

"Don’t worry, Kita, I’m going to be right behind you. I’m so tired, I can’t see straight."

"But--"

He helped her tenderly into bed, then slid under the covers himself. When she was comfortable, he wrapped his arm around her waist, as if reassuring himself that she was still there. His arousal pressed gently against her back, and she smiled. She turned over to face him, stroking his face with one finger. "You’re not selfish enough, my love."

Before he could reply, she took his arousal into her hands and guided him inside her, moaning slightly as she joined them. He hardened instantly, despite his fatigue, and rolled her onto her back, moving even deeper within her. He kissed her hotly, his breath coming hard and fast, as he stroked. He ground his groin against her one last time, knowing it was quick for both of them, but he was genuinely tired. He spent himself within her heat and collapsed, his mouth against hers. "Merci, doucette."

She smiled sleepily, welcoming the familiar weight of his body against hers. "Je t’aime, Michael."

Walter knocked politely on the door to the master bedroom. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was dying of curiosity. He wanted to know what Nikita needed ice cubes for, in the middle of the night, in the bedroom. But he was too wily to come right out and ask. He’d brought the rocking chair upstairs, and that was his cover for standing outside their bedroom door at this hour of the morning.

There was a long silence, then a series of running feet. What was going on? He pushed open the door slightly. The bed was empty. Where were Michael and Nikita? He called out once. No answer. Then he heard it. Retching.

He headed straight to the bathroom and found both of them on their knees in front of the toilet. He grimaced. "Okay, Sugar, what kind of perverted nonsense is going on here? Is Michael forcing you to do kinky things in the bathroom? That’s disgusting...." He folded his arms across his chest, smiling complacently, as if all his fears had finally been realized.

Michael faced Walter, a trace of spittle hanging off his lower lip. "What?" Nikita raised her head and looked every inch as green as Michael did. "Walter..." she gasped.

He knelt at Nikita’s side, concern etched into every frown line on his weathered face. "What is it, Sugar? You can tell me. Is he torturing you?"

Nikita pushed Walter away suddenly, and he nearly fell over. "Sugar, talk to me..."

She looked pained, then retched over the toilet, managing to bring up a moderate amount of liquid stomach contents. Michael handed her a fresh towel for her face, and she thanked him wordlessly with her eyes. Not a moment later, Michael bent over the bowl and heaved.

Walter looked from one to the other. "What? What is it? What am I missing?"

Nikita sighed. "Welcome to the wonderful world of morning sickness, Walter."

"Okay, I got that much. But what’s his problem?" he asked Nikita, indicating Michael.

Michael smiled weakly. "I don’t know, Walter. Every time she throws up, so do I."

He hooted. "You’ve got sympathy pains, Michael! Hey, this could get interesting when Sugar starts to show, huh?"

Michael glared at Walter. "Remind me to thank you when I get back on my feet."

Walter backed up. "Uh, no, I think I oughta be gone by the time you’re on your feet. I’m an old man, Michael, take that into consideration, okay?"

Michael moaned and held his head, pressing the towel to his lips. "Don’t hold breakfast for either of us."

"Oh, that reminds me. Madeline sent over a surprise." Walter smiled gleefully, as if he couldn’t wait to see their faces when the surprise was revealed.

Nikita groaned. "I hate surprises. I hate mornings. I hate--"

Walter held up both hands, palm outward. "Gotcha. No breakfast this morning. Bye."

In a blink of an eye, Walter was gone, evidently having decided that the better part of valor was to know when to fold up his tent and leave.

Michael regarded Nikita with bleary, unfocused eyes. "Tell me you don’t feel this bad every morning, Kita."

"Oh, no," she said quite cheerfully, "sometimes it’s much worse."

Michael groaned and buried his face in his towel.

***

Michael found it an effort even to get dressed, but somehow, he made it outside the bedroom door, finding the rocking chair where Walter had left it. He brought the chair into the bedroom and positioned it near the window, where one could look out over the back lawn. It was a pretty view, if one didn’t have the memories that were in Michael’s head. He supposed that eventually, he would be able to look at the scene of the wedding without feeling as though it were really the scene of a crime. But in reality, it had been. And it still bothered him.

Nikita came out of the bathroom, rubbing her face with the towel. "Oh, the rocker! That’ll be nice there."

Michael stood behind Nikita and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, taking care not to wrap his arms too tightly around her middle. "Feeling any better, doucette?"

"A little, Michael. Can we try out the rocker?"

She was as enthusiastic as a child at Christmastime. "Won’t that make your stomach feel worse, Kita?"

"Please...Michael..." she whined, pouting attractively. He couldn’t deny her anything, even something this supposedly trivial.

"All right, Kita, but if you get sick again...well, let’s just say, I have a vested interest in keeping you from throwing up again." Michael paled, remembering the vile taste in his mouth.

Michael sat back in the rocking chair and held out his arms to Nikita, who gently sat in his lap. "Oh, this is nice, Michael...how’s the daddy-to-be feeling?"

He stared at her for a moment. "God, that’s me..."

"Yes, my sweet husband..." She stroked his face. "You’re gonna be the daddy..." A mischievous smile curved her lips upwards. "And I’m gonna be the mommy..."

Michael kissed her almost absently, his eyes a glaze of green and grey mixed together. "Do you know how much this means to me, Kita? That we finally have a life together? Outside Section? That we finally belong to each other?"

"We always belonged to each other, Michael. We just didn’t know it," she said huskily, burying her face in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

"But we’re finally married, my sweet wife...God, you don’t know what it does to me to be able to say that, doucette." He played with her hair, feeling her lips on his neck. He looked down at her and smiled tremulously.

"And God has given me...another child...Kita...I don’t know how I got so lucky that He said I could have you, but to give us a baby, too..." Michael closed his eyes, feeling the familiar choking sensation that threatened whenever his emotions ran high.

Nikita pulled his head down to her, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. "You’re always going to be the most important thing in my life, Michael. But having this baby is like a dream come true. I still have doubts and fears and I’m scared silly sometimes...but I know I can count on you to be there for me...I love you so much, Michael...sometimes it’s just this huge ache inside of me...."

He held her tighter, kissing her with something akin to desperation. She felt something warm and wet hit her face. Tears. Michael so rarely gave away pieces of himself, she felt overcome when he did.

"Oh, God, Kita, I love you."

She wiped the tears from his eyes with shaky hands, her own mouth quivering with unspent emotion. "Please don’t ever stop...I couldn’t bear it if you did..."

"We will never stop loving each other, doucette...and we will never be apart again. Never. Not even after death."