Nikita threw a few days’ clothing haphazardly into a large gym bag. Crying silently, she didn’t care what she was taking with her. She was leaving everything that mattered here. A sharp pain gripped her side, and she gasped loudly. "Ohh!"
It never occurred to her that something might be seriously wrong. She was tired. Hungry. Emotionally worn out. Absently rubbing her side, she took one last look around the bedroom that she shared with Michael. "It’ll be better this way," she whispered to herself.
If she couldn’t earn his forgiveness, nothing else counted. She couldn’t live with him and not be a part of him. And the waiting was killing both of them. She didn’t want him to hurt anymore.
***
She waited until it was very late. Everyone was in bed. Fractious children. Flustered parents. Even Michael. She crept down the stairs on cats’ feet, stopping only when she saw that the light was on in the living room.
Stepping in oh-so-carefully, she saw that Michael was asleep, face down, his body stretched out along the length of the couch, his arm touching the floor. Because he was facing away from her, she dared to touch him. One last time. She couldn’t help herself.
Kneeling beside him, she trailed a hand lovingly over his long, cinnamon-colored hair. He stirred immediately, startling her by turning over to face her, his green eyes dulled by the last vestiges of sleep. His eyes widened when they saw her. "Ki-ta..." he breathed.
She picked up his hand and kissed it, placing it upon the exposed skin at her neck. She closed her eyes, she couldn’t bear to see the pain or the censure in his. But she needed to feel his touch on her. One more time.
He gently flexed his fingers against her skin, and she sighed, her breath catching on a sob. "Oh, my Michael."
"Kita, don’t."
Her eyes flew open, revealing the distress there. "Don’t what, Michael? Don’t tell me not to love you, cause I can’t help it! Don’t tell me not to cry, cause I can’t help that either! I’ve lost you, and it’s all my fault! Do you think I don’t know that?"
That was when Michael glanced down and noticed the gym bag at Nikita’s side. She reached out to touch Michael’s face, and he gripped her wrist tightly, so tightly she thought he would break it. "You’re leaving me?" he asked, an incredulous look on his face.
"I have to. I’m hurting you," she replied in a tiny voice. Michael abruptly released her wrist.
"You’re giving up on us just like that?"
"Not just like that. Never just like that, Michael. I love you." Her voice sounded husky. Perhaps it was as full of unshed tears as her eyes. "But I can’t live with you and not be part of you. We’ve never spent a night apart before, Michael. Now it’s been almost three days."
She looked down at her hands. Her wedding ring caught her eye, and she was suddenly struck by a fresh wave of pain. Her vision blurred. "I understand why you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to me, much less forgive me. But I don’t think I can go on unless you do."
"How do you know I can’t forgive you, Kita? You’ve always been the fighter in this...family..." He almost choked on the word ‘family’. "How can you give up now?"
"This...is not going to change," she said, starting to cry. She buried her face in her hands, and Michael reached out to capture one of her hands.
"It’s only been a couple of days, Kita. I need time. You give everyone else that kind of time. Why not me?"
"Michael, you’re making this so hard..." She struggled to elude his grasp, but he clung to her hand.
"I mean to, Kita. I don’t ever want you to feel like leaving me comes easy. It shouldn’t be for either one of us."
Then he kissed her. And she couldn’t find the strength to separate from him again. She stared at him, tears twinkling like stars in her sapphire eyes. "I’m a mean..." He kissed her again. And every time she spoke after that, a kiss punctuated each epithet she tried to direct at herself.
"...selfish..." Kiss.
"...ungrateful..." Kiss.
"...jealous..." Kiss.
"...wretch..." Kiss.
She stopped speaking for a moment, then curiosity got the better of her. "Why are you being so nice to me now?"
"Cause for better...or for worse...you’re *my* mean, selfish, ungrateful, jealous wretch."
And he kissed her again, this time lingering for a long time on her lips, tasting the salt of the tears she had cried. "When I took you for my wife, I meant forever, Kita. You can’t get away from what we are. Ever."
"But..." she protested.
Michael’s green eyes gleamed suspiciously, not with tears, but with unexpected merriment. "Let’s start over. There’s you and me, and these kids who seem to come with the house. Maybe we should adopt them or something."
She stared at him in disbelief. "But you can never *forget* what I said, Michael."
He winced at the reminder. "Forget? No. But I can *forgive* you. Cause I *love* you." He sighed, raking a weary hand through his tousled hair. "How many times have you forgiven me, Kita? A hundred? A thousand? We belong together."
"But..."
"Kita, the way you keep arguing with me, I’m beginning to think you *want* to leave me."
"No!" she cried out, her hands instinctively going to his mouth. Her fingers traced their way along the fullness of his lips, and he kissed them. "But..."
"No more ‘buts’, Kita. I won’t let you leave me. Not like this. Not this way."
She finally kissed him back. Once they were in each other’s arms, there was no more talk of leaving or forgiveness. There was only Michael and the other half of him. Nikita.
Oh, and two pairs of eyes, watching from the sidelines. One pair of grey-green eyes. One pair of blue eyes. One tearful. One hopeful.
Chris looked at Faith, who, of course, didn’t want anyone to know that she had been crying. She was a big girl now. She would be three years old tomorrow.
Chris gave his sister a pat on the shoulder. "I tole you. You don’t hafta worry. Mommy’s kissing Daddy again. And Daddy’s not sad no more. Ev’rything’ll be okay."
Chris looked wise beyond his years. He knew Daddy’s secret. Daddy told him. He was going to love Mommy f’ver and f’ver. Cause it was true love.
And so it still was.
Michael began to lose control somewhere between the seventh and the tenth kiss Nikita lavished upon him. With a loud groan, he started to lift her off the floor, where she still knelt, not a mean feat for someone lying on his stomach on the couch. "Kita..."
It had only been three days, but he was positively starved for her warmth. Ever since their argument, his entire body felt chilled, as if the snow outside had entered him and rendered him frostbitten somehow. He needed her.
Not so much a sexual need, but a need to reaffirm the bond between them. Michael didn’t even care if he couldn’t possess her body. He wanted, no, he needed to feel her hands on him. With love and affection. To wipe away the feel of her pounding angrily on his chest. Screaming that she hated him.
His lips touched her cheek, and she sighed, in relief as much as pleasure. Suddenly sitting up on the couch, he picked up Nikita, sliding her into the space between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face closer. Her eyes bright, she stared at him as if she were memorizing every feature. "I love you so much," she said, trying not to cry.
The words had more power than usual, coming as they did on the heels of their near-tragic separation. His left arm crooked around her neck, the other arm wound its way through her long, pale hair. The words threatened his newfound equanimity, making him feel dangerously close to tears himself. "I love you, doucette," he whispered, meeting her eyes unevenly.
A moment later, the vibrant green of his eyes obscured by the gentle closing of his eyelids, Michael kissed her, the touch so light, it was more breath than caress. Murmuring to her in French, Michael reclaimed what was rightfully his.
"Tu es la mienne toujours." You are mine always. He meant it. He’d always meant it, but now the words held so much more meaning.
"I thought I’d lost you," she whispered against his mouth, trying not to hear the echoes of that long-ago night in Lyons, when they had finally belonged to each other, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be so cruel as to answer her the way she had answered him. You never had me. She heard it reverberate in her mind and in her heart.
But he clearly heard the same echoes she did, and, in the most tender tones she ever heard cross his lips, he said, "You never...lost...me."
"Oh, Michael..." she said softly, burying her face in his hair. A moment later, a solitary tear trickled down the side of her face, sliding onto his neck.
"Oh, Kita..." His fingers trembled against her neck, clenching and unclenching, inadvertently tangling her hair. "Please don’t cry, doucette."
She inhaled the fragrance of his body, the scent that identified him as Michael to her. Suddenly she shivered, her mouth moving restlessly against his hair. "Oh, Michael," she wept, "I almost left you."
"But you didn’t, love. You’re right here. With me." He closed his eyes, unwilling to even think about what might have happened if he hadn’t awakened when he did.
"I had no place to go," she admitted.
"I would have found you. Wherever you went." He drew back, framing her face with both hands. "I never would have stopped looking for you. I never would have stopped loving you."
He gently touched his mouth to hers, gradually deepening the kiss. Nudging her lips apart with his tongue, he slowly insinuated his way inside her mouth. As he kissed her, he felt her soften in his arms, her formerly tense posture dissipating. Tracing the arch of her eyebrow with his thumb, he silently acknowledged the debt of gratitude he owed God. Thank you for keeping her safe. Thank you for helping me to forgive her. But most of all, thank you for making our love strong enough to survive this.
The two of them were so lost in reverie, they didn’t suspect they were being observed or overheard until they heard Walter exclaim loudly, "Well, well, look who’s out of bed!"
Not sure who he was addressing, Michael regarded the older man with considerable fondness. He saved me, he thought. I would be out there, somewhere, dead from exposure, right now, if he’d let me have my way. My family would have split up. My children would have grown up without a father. And Kita, my doucette, would have grieved endlessly, blaming herself for something beyond her control.
Now there was a topic he knew something about. Guilt. He was no stranger to God’s punishment, or what he believed to be God’s punishment. Michael had long been convinced that God was punishing them, specifically *him*, for his sins. And Nikita, she was being singled out because she dared to love him.
Walter laughed. The carefree sound broke the trance Michael had found himself in. All at once he realized why Walter had laughed. The twins were spying on them.
Walter was about to scoop them up in his arms, thinking to return them to bed, but Michael stopped him. "Let me," he said softly. The fact that he was even around to kiss his children goodnight was worth a few heartfelt prayers, he thought, and he wouldn’t waste another moment telling God just that.
"Hey, Chris," he said by way of address to his son.
Chris smiled, but his general demeanor was solemn, as if he were in the presence of someone he revered. Well, he did. He worshipped the ground that Michael walked on. No one was going to persuade him otherwise. Not even Michael himself.
"Daddy!" His not quite long enough arms outstretched in entreaty to Michael, and Michael swung the little boy into his arms.
"You stayed up just so I could give you a ride?"
Chris shook his head negatively. "So’s you could make true love with Mommy..." He braced himself, wondering if Michael would be angry, yet so honest, he admitted what he was really thinking.
"Ah..." Michael nodded to Nikita, who already held Chris’ twin. She pressed a kiss to the top of Faith’s head.
Faith in turn lay her head against her mother’s breast, sucking her thumb. "Mom-mom? You still mad at Daddy?"
"No, sweetie," Nikita whispered, a bit embarrassed that her baby daughter was so aware of what transpired between her and Michael.
Faith looked at her mother for a moment, as if weighing something. "Good," she pronounced finally, "Daddy loves all o’ us, we gots to stay t’gether."
She returned to her position against her mother’s breast. "Ever and ever a-men."
Nikita stared at Michael. "You took her to church?"
Michael gave her a half-smile. "She wanted to go, Kita," he said, as if that explained everything.
"Michael, she’d go anywhere with you. She loves you to distraction."
Michael’s smile grew a bit wider. "So do you," he replied shyly.
Walter grinned at the two of them. He wouldn’t have given two cents for their chances a mere few hours ago, but damned if they didn’t defy the odds. As usual.
Michael leaned against the door of their bedroom, slipping the deadbolt into place without taking his eyes off Nikita’s face. Grasping both of her wrists, he prevented her from moving away from him. Slowly but inexorably, he advanced on her. When he finally claimed her mouth, Nikita was already breathless with anticipation.
It was like the first time. In Lyons. That subtle undercurrent of violence running through their lovemaking. As if desire itself were not enough. As if passion alone were barely under control. As if they had only this one stolen moment to be together...
But it was also different. They knew each other’s bodies well now. There were no more obstacles to overcome to be together. It could be over in a moment...or it could take all night...
Pushing his hands restlessly through her long, pale hair, Michael repeatedly kissed her, traveling from mouth to cheek and back again. Far from acting like an experienced Valentine operative now, Michael was almost visibly tremulous, more from unexpressed emotion than from desire. Getting in touch with this feeling held danger for him. He could not be certain that his anger and his pain, carefully submerged for the past few days, were not lurking beneath the surface, disguised as passion.
When he offered Nikita his forgiveness, he had assumed that he would be able to control these emotions, wherever they had vanished to, but now he was not as sure. He tried to stop what they were doing, to explain the conflict that was undoubtedly going on inside of him, but Nikita’s body melted against him and he was lost.
They pulled frantically at each other’s clothing until they were both disrobed. Gently pushing her away, he guided her down to the bed, only then allowing his body to cover hers. Their mouths met in a restless twining series of motions before Michael settled comfortably atop her. One hand braced under her head, he ran his other hand over her breast, taking great care not to hurt her.
"Kiss me..." she sighed, the first time she had spoken in long minutes.
He took her mouth, his own lips open, seeking, tugging at hers. "Kiss me back..." he whispered. His hand softly massaged the peak under it, the nipple hardening to his touch.
She arched against his palm, and he let his mouth replace his hand. A fine trickle of milk leaked from her breast, in response to his loving attentions, and he suckled there, his mouth latching onto her tightly. Groaning, she deliberately raked her hands through his silky hair, pressing him closer.
Moments later, he swallowed her gasp of pleasure as his hand moved lower, resting passively between her legs. Nudging his hand, she whispered, "Touch me..."
He kissed her even as he slid a finger inside her silken sheath. Her heat beckoned him, but he would not go. Not yet. Gradually sliding another finger deep inside her, he continued to caress her mouth and neck. Passion threatened to set fire to both of them, but still he moved slowly.
Dragging a wet finger from her depths, he placed that finger against her lips. Together, they kissed and licked his finger, their lips meeting every now and again in a tantalizing movement. She abruptly sucked his finger into her mouth, tasting herself. When he moved again, it was to grind his palm against her groin.
Her mouth opened, her head thrashed back and forth. "Michael, I can’t wait much longer."
Sealing his mouth to hers, Michael parted her folds, uncovering the hidden entrance to the heart of her. With a single thrust, he joined their bodies, gloving himself in her moist, warm recesses. His hands returned to her face, always to her face, stroking and caressing, even as he moved within her.
Rubbing her knee against his side, Nikita spread her legs slightly, taking him deeper inside her. "Ohhh..." she moaned. It felt as though the sound were being wrenched from her very being.
Michael slid his hands under her, tilting her hips towards him. Buried inside her, he stroked rhythmically, taking them both a bit closer to completion. She whimpered as her climax approached, and instinctively, Michael increased the force and intensity of his strokes.
She did come apart in his arms, sobbing her release, her face wet with genuine tears. He kissed her tenderly, even as he surged into her for the last time, his body quivering with the fervor of their love. "I love you, my Kita," he whispered exultantly, claiming her as his. Forever.
"My Michael..." she whispered back, the sparkling light in her eyes fading finally as she fell asleep in his arms. She was safe again. She was home.
The twins woke Michael and Nikita at the crack of dawn. Their gleeful shouting made Nikita’s ears ring, but she wouldn’t trade that sound for anything. As tired as she was, she was happily ensconced in her husband’s loving arms and looking forward to the twins’ third birthday celebration. Michael held onto her when she would have gotten up, trailing his mouth along the back of her neck. "Good morning," he said, kissing her soundly, clearly demonstrating his renewed sense of possession.
Nikita stayed in his arms, content to be there, but Faith grew impatient. "Mommmmm..."
"What, sweetie?"
"You gots to get up now!" Faith cried.
"Why?" Nikita asked, teasing her daughter.
"Me big girl, Mom! Unca Dec made cake! And--and--"
Nikita giggled, the sound curiously similar to Faith’s laugh. "You can’t have cake for breakfast, Faith."
"But Mom--" Faith wailed.
"I told you," Chris said smugly.
Michael frowned. "Don’t be like that, Chris. You wouldn’t like it if she did that to you."
"But Dadddd..." Chris whined uncharacteristically. "She does it all the time to me," he complained.
Michael hid a smile. It was probably true.
***
There was cake. There was ice cream. There was nonstop laughter. From beginning to end, the twins’ birthday celebration turned out to be both wonderful and memorable. For everyone.
Michael licked his fingers shyly, gazing ardently at his wife. "Ki-ta..." he said warningly, a hint of amusement lacing his voice.
"What? Can’t I even admire my own husband eating cake? With his bare hands? You’ve got whipped cream on your lip, love," she said, wiping a finger across his mouth.
He sighed. She was incorrigible. He couldn’t change her. He didn’t really want to. She was everything he was not and would never be. "Did you remember the film for the camera, Kita?"
"Of course. Smile." And with that, she snapped yet another picture of her husband.
"You’re supposed to be taking pictures of the kids, doucette," he explained patiently.
She rolled her eyes. "And what are you, if not my biggest kid?"
That took him aback. "You’re so silly."
She corrected him gently. "I’m so happy."
He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "Good. I prefer you that way," he declared firmly.
"Me, too." She smiled, her bright grin lighting up Michael’s heart. She lay her head on Michael’s chest, purring contentedly. He stroked her hair with his fingers, savoring the feel of the silky strands as they slid through them.
Faith came to an abrupt stop, grabbing hold of Nikita’s knees. "Mom-mom!"
Nikita looked down at her daughter. "What, baby?"
Faith frowned. "Me no baby, Mom. Me big girl, member?"
"Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Sorry, sweetheart." She hid her face against Michael’s neck, giggling.
"Me big sister, too. Member dat?"
Nikita nodded, barely able to speak at the preciousness of her little princess.
Faith held out her hands, which, for a change, seemed clean and relatively free of whipped cream or cake. "Me gave Skye some of my cake, Mom."
Suddenly horrified, Nikita nearly bolted out of Michael’s arms. He restrained her with little effort, however, pulling her back into his embrace. "It’s okay, doucette. Birkoff grabbed the cake out of her hands before she could feed it to the baby," Michael whispered in her ear.
"Michael, do you think Fee is jealous of the baby?" she said in a low voice that only Michael could hear.
"It would be strange if she weren’t. But don’t worry, Kita, I don’t think she meant to hurt Skye. She’s actually starting to act like her very own little mother." It was clear from the tone of Michael’s voice that this particular trait in his daughter impressed him, even as it aroused his protective instincts towards the baby.
"What do you think we should do?"
"Wait and see. Stay close enough to intervene, if we have to."
Nikita kissed him. "What was that for?"
"General principles." She shrugged. "I just love you, that’s all." Her eyes aglow with a splendid light, she allowed herself a moment to look at him, really look at him.
"You looking for something special?" he asked, amused at the way she was scrutinizing him.
She dropped her head, coyly looking at him through her lashes.
He wound his hands through her long hair, smiling slightly. Giving her one of his enigmatic looks, he whispered, "You want me to take you back to bed?"
She chuckled huskily, threading her own hands through his hair. Feeling her daughter tapping her on the knee, Nikita said, "Hold that thought."
"What is it, Fee?"
Faith looked up at her parents, aware there was something very special and yet very unique between them. "Unca Sey said dat Skye was too little for cake, Mom."
"That’s true, honey."
"Can I bring some to Connor?" Faith asked almost carefully, holding her breath as she awaited the answer.
Nikita smiled peacefully. "Yes, sweetie, I think he’d love some."
She leaned back in her husband’s arms as her daughter skipped away, playfully contemplating feeding cake to Connor. "You don’t s’pose she’d smush it in his face, do you?" she asked, suddenly recalling how Faith used to treat cake.
Michael nuzzled Nikita’s neck. "Not really. That’d be a helluva waste of cake."
Nikita replied, a sunny smile playing across her relaxed features, "But it’d be a helluva lot of fun."
Michael raised an eyebrow. Not quite as imperiously as Madeline, but close. "She’s definitely your daughter."
"And yours, Michael," she said, staring at his mouth. Suddenly desperate to have him touch her with that mouth, Nikita said, her blue eyes flashing, "Is that offer to go back to bed still open?"
Michael rose to her challenge, pressing her back against the nearest wall, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, revealing just how desperately he wanted to oblige her. Pushing him back gently, she laughed softly, "Michael, there are people watching."
Michael bent his head, nipping gently at her mouth. "Let them."
Nikita gave a short gasp of surprise, then chortled merrily. "A man after my own heart."
Michael paused, mid-kiss. "It belongs to me," he said, daring her to contradict him.
Declan touched the side of his nose, giving a signal of some kind to Birkoff, who immediately disengaged himself from talking to Neil. Hurrying to his lover’s side, Birkoff said cheerfully, "What’s up?"
Declan inclined his head gently, indicating that Birkoff should follow him. A few moments later, they were both standing on the front porch, without coats, their breath making frosty white puffs in the cold January air. Birkoff instantly threw his arms around himself, stamping his feet to keep warm. "You couldn’t pick a better place to have a private conversation?"
For some strange reason, Declan felt shy. This was so totally at odds with his normal demeanor, he couldn’t figure it out himself. "Sey?"
Birkoff chuckled. "Yeah?"
Declan looked both ways, his eyes nervously flickering back and forth, unable to make good eye contact with Birkoff. "I’m...I’m...uh..."
"Jesus, Declan! You’re making me anxious, just listening to you. What?"
"Well..."
Birkoff rolled his eyes.
"Nikita said we could go to the farmhouse this weekend if we want to. Do you want to have our honeymoon now?" Declan spat it out so quickly, it all ran together in one big blur of sound.
Birkoff stared at Declan incredulously. "What were you so damned nervous about, Dec? Did you think I’d say, uh, no, let’s take a raincheck on that?"
Declan shrugged. "I dunno. I wasn’t sure how you still felt about it and all...I mean..."
"Declan! Everything is okay between us, isn’t it?" Now Birkoff had something to be genuinely anxious about.
This time Declan blinked. "I think so. Why wouldn’t it be?"
Birkoff sighed. "Are we talking at cross-purposes here? Or am I freezing my ass off for a reason?"
That did it. The casual mention of Birkoff’s rather pleasingly firm posterior made Declan’s face color.
"Declan!" Birkoff exclaimed. "What’s the matter with you?"
Declan braced himself against the outside door, ignoring the fact that the temperature was not getting any warmer. "Ever since you mentioned a honeymoon, Sey, I haven’t been able to think of anything else," Declan confessed in a hushed whisper.
Birkoff giggled. "And this is a problem?"
"Yes," Declan hissed.
"In what way, Dec?"
"In this way, Sey," Declan replied, grabbing hold of his lover’s hand and placing it on his groin. There was an unmistakable bump there. "It’s been like that ever since you said the bloody word," Declan admitted.
"And I’m the only one who can...um...relieve you?" Birkoff licked his lips, perhaps in unconscious response to Declan’s arousal. Then again, he might have been teasing. His mouth looked deliciously sensual to Declan, but then, ever since he’d heard the word ‘honeymoon’, Declan couldn’t help but appreciate every inch of his partner’s slender frame.
"This ache has been calling your name for nearly three days, acushla." Declan looked meaningfully into Birkoff’s dark chocolate eyes.
"You haven’t called me that since...well, since before we both got sick." Birkoff returned Declan’s significant look, his eyes hot on Declan’s face.
"Acushla," Declan breathed, a trail of spidery white smoke emerging from his mouth.
"God, you do pick your times, Dec."
Declan panted slightly, inching closer to Birkoff, who was now visibly shivering, and not entirely from the cold. "I want you so bad, Sey, I could just fling you out into the snow and have my way with you!"
Birkoff burst out laughing. "That would be...um...interesting, Dec. About as logical as taking a cold shower, but..."
Declan reached out with his thumb and stroked his lover’s eyebrow. Birkoff all but purred for him. His warm eyes softening even more, Birkoff inclined his head to the side. "You’re better than hot chocolate and a box of Oreos any day, Declan."
Declan stifled the urge to laugh, thinking it was probably one of the sweetest things Birkoff had ever compared him to. "Knowing how much you like Oreos, that must be a pledge of undying love, acushla."
"Mmm...." Birkoff leaned forward and kissed Declan. "So when do we leave?"
Declan claimed his mouth possessively once, then again, with even more intensity. "As soon as you get our coats."
Birkoff smiled. "I’m already gone." And he was.