I love Michelle Dessler. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I love her. I have since the day of the nuclear bomb, and the assassination attempt on President Palmer. I really, truly love her. Something I've never felt for any woman besides… her.

I didn't think I'd be able to love again. The scar was too deep, the hurt was too great. But Michelle… there's something special about her. I don't know what, exactly. It can't just be that she's beautiful—although she is—gorgeous, I mean. Perfect face. Small, womanly body. Curly, perfect hair. The deep brown eyes that, when she allows herself to lift her mask, tell all.

And I don't know if there's a way to improve on a woman like Michelle. She's neat and organized, professional and polished. Authoritative. Bold. But she still keeps her softness—she is caring and sensitive; the other girls in the office feel that they can go to her. And she hasn't been hardened yet, like so many of us have. She still mourns the loss of every field agent killed in the line of duty. I wish I could do that.

Though God knows she's far from innocent—she's seen far too much of that which no one should have to see—there's still something so tender about her. Something that says that although she's accepted this life as hers, she's not willing to forget just how wrong all of it is. She's not bitter, like me; hasn't fallen into the place of feeling as those this is all there is to life. Nor is she naïve, though; she knows that this his to be done and she's willing to do it. The way she is… she's just Michelle. The way I wish all of us could be

There's something about the way she moves, too. So… confident. And professional—the thing is: Michelle is always incredibly professional. It's her professionalism that's so damn sexy. Michelle knows what she's doing; she knows where she's going; she knows how to get there.

And despite it all, I just want to protect her. I know it's silly; I know that she's the last woman on earth who needs protecting. But I think, somewhere deep inside her, she wants to feel the arms around her, hear the gruff voice against her neck, see the reassuring form of the man who loves her. Because it's love she craves, not protection. And though I do want to protect her, I want to love her too.

Why? The question hits me again. Why do I love this woman?

I think it must be because of what she did that day, and why. She risked absolutely everything, professionally… and personally. Because of what she knew she had to do. Michelle has the clearest sense of what is right, and she'll do anything for it. I'm not sure there's anything more admirable than that. More than going as far as she's willing to go—and I know Michelle; I know just how far that is—for the purpose of good. At her own expense.

And the way she risks it all. The way she put herself on the line that day—not just her professional self, but her emotions. It takes a strong woman to be able to do that. And Michelle is nothing if not strong. God, I love her.

I want to feel her warm, supple body sink into my arms. I want to be the one to hold her as she lets her guards down. I want to hear her whisper my name amidst a contented, sleeping sigh, that show she trusts me enough to let herself be vulnerable. She doesn't do that much. And I want to make her smile, see her laugh. I want to see the silk behind the steel. Because she, and only she, is both.

I love her. I love the way she rides that line—that impossible line. How she can be fully immersed in the necessary horrors of our world, and still stay connected to the outside. How she can cry a river watching a sappy movie, but stay stoic through a crises. The way Michelle—Michelle is an agent just about the best they come, but she's a woman, too. Silk and steel.

My whole adult life, I've fantasized about a woman who could live in both worlds. Who could understand my world, because she was in it, too—but also keep some of the joy of life. Who could still see the sunshine. Michelle is the woman who understands the inhumanities of the life to which we're shackled, but still remains human and free.

That's Michelle. And God, how I love her. Enough that I realize it's best that it stays the way it is—when Michelle has no idea. Perceptive, insightful Michelle has no idea how I feel. And I thank God. She needs to be happy—and she's happy, so happy with Tony—he's right for her. And Michelledoesn't deserve to be ruined by the Midas love of Jack Bauer.