The Music That Was Never Played
'' I've dealt with my ghosts and faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on
I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on ''
From * I' m moving on * - by Rascal Flatts
The full-length mirror was one of the few pieces of furniture Nikita chose to bring with her when she moved into Michael's home. The decision was a mere formality, since the increasing frequency of her visits meant she was already there most of the time.
It had begun with jogging together every morning, continued through lunches and picnics, and imperceptibly slipped into Nikita's staying the night.
Adam seemed to get along well with Nikita. If he had any objections, he had not voiced them openly, manifesting only calm acceptance of his father's actions even if he secretly judged the move-in a bit premature.
Six months had passed, and with it had passed the initial awkwardness of adapting to each other's rhythms. Moreover, family life had proved to be a surprisingly refreshing experience for everyone involved.
For Adam it was a time of discovery. For Michael and Nikita there was a feeling of dejà vu, as if they were living in a fantasy each had dreamed about often, yet never shared.
It made them confused and conflicted, and made them feel alive. Like any couple still in the first enchantment of living together, they had furious arguments, and they made up even more furiously.
During their lovemaking, they were careless and uncaring with protection, almost as if to confirm their new found freedom. Never did they consider the idea of conception, even if, as an obscure joke, it somehow crept into their conscience.
For no reason in particular, having children of their own looked improbable. Their coupling was an empire of senses they loved expanding day after day, sometimes experimenting with the unusual and exotic, drugged by the satisfaction of their terrible longing from having been one and yet apart.
Whoever said that happiness couldn't hurt was wrong, because there were times when Nikita looked at Michael and had a hard time trusting her good feelings, certain that the next sound she heard would be her heart breaking as she died in a pool of red blood. If anything were to happen in the future, she knew the memory of these six months would shine as a promised land in the court of mournful ghosts that would crowd her soul.
In her pajamas, Nikita stood in front of the full length mirror positioned in front of their bed. Her golden hair, combed back for the night, fell softly on her shoulders. She waited for Michael to give her some answers.
Mirrors don't lie, tradition said. But her reflection gave her no indication of what was going on inside her body. Shyly, with incredulous veneration and curiosity, her hands smoothed over her flat tummy. Even though the new life within didn't respond yet, her fingers prickled. Her baby felt as if she had trapped inside both a part of her, and sometimes a figment of him. For a week now, she had been sure of her condition, yet she lacked the courage to break the news to him.
The moment she did, things would change. Her understanding of him suggested he would be happy with the news, yet it wasn't the most opportune time. The woman looking back at her was a perfect killing machine-angry, merciless, and invisibly scarred by lies and hate-things she had known her whole life. Was there space in her for a mother? And of what kind?
She dreamed of a life like this with Michael beside her every morning when she woke up, a picket fence and three or four little Michaels and Nikitas running around. And with no menacing, shrill telephone rings in the middle of the night.
They say things change and life goes on.
But suddenly she feared this wasn't her life, the life meant for her.
It had been difficult coming to terms with the notion she missed Section One. Well, maybe this was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn't really the place she missed. After years of war with Evil, a normal job left her with the feeling she was wasting her energy.
She missed her evenings with Josephine, the philosophical exploration of her conversations with Anya. Time traveled a different path in Section One, and she was still disconcerted by the regular flow of events the 'outside world' lived by.
It really was another world, and one in which she had always wanted to belong.
Life with Michael was far from boring, but she had forgotten how much danger there was in the true meaning of the term 'getting involved with someone.'
Her tendency to throw herself into her quests with all her heart and energy, exposed her to getting hurt badly, and she was afraid because she had so much to lose.
Living was even bleeding when you couldn't help it. Only after you accepted that and mourned it, could you move on.
Her fears weren't rational ones. There was joy singing in her head.
Nikita just wished to hold on to it.
One recipe that both she and Michael were learning with difficulty was that in giving up their hold on autonomy, they gained a higher plain. Was relying on someone, as she did on Michael, a mistake?
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. A mother ?
Everything around her morphed in shape and colour, but nothing was wiped out. What was her fear? The bedroom door slid open, and she had no need to turn her head to see who it was unmoving before the mirror, she watched the reflection of the man coming toward her.
He stopped just behind her, placing his warm, large hand upon her right shoulder, inviting her to lean upon him. She felt a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. He needed to do so little to arouse her.
Cheek to cheek, they looked at the image of two people who belonged together. We are both damaged goods, she thought.
She felt sane around him. His hands descended, kneading her breasts while his fingers forcefully pinched her nipples through the thin cloth of her pajama shirt.
His face was expressionless in the mirror, and Nikita could only bite her bottom lip at the desire slicing her insides, tearing her apart like a poisonous snake.
She turned to kiss him, wild and needy, desperate not to see the vulnerability etched upon her own face. Michael was eager to grant her passage to his mouth, but he concentrated instead on undoing the buttons of her nightshirt, staying a passive participant in the kiss. In the space of a few seconds, Nikita's need for him flared up and grew, until it fueled every nerve and pore, filling her brain so no trace was left for any other thought.
For a few seconds.
He drew back, taking control. Bending over her, he pressed his cool lips upon the hot skin between her breasts, hungry for the taste of her. Her breath caught and she discovered that breathing had become an agonizingly difficult operation.
"Grant a wish?"
"Ask," he said, his tongue licking the edges of her curves "Love me."
She felt lost. Keep your guard up, she could hear the demanding whisper of experience mocking her, just when you think everything's going better, it will turn, and you'll be left without a thing. Again.
She was drowning
In his caresses
In her mind
"I do," Michael answered, as he raised his eyes level with hers and insistently probed her mouth, his stare as unwavering as his relentless lips.
His green eyes reached out to her, brusquely stopping her spinning thoughts.
He turned her until she again faced the mirror.
"Watch," he commanded, his seemingly unaffected voice belying the trembling he felt inside.
Strange games they played, strange and dangerous. Even while her body squirmed under the warm velvet of his tongue flickering over her skin, her brain reasoned freely, without being entirely free of him.
Never free of him. She sighed, trying to take in more air, fighting the damp heaviness of her eyelids; half enchanted and half frightened at the vision she saw of him undressing her. In the past, she had been able to accept the sexual addiction, the dependence on one another that grew gradually, developing year after year.
But now, there was nothing to set bounds for this overwhelming need they felt for each other, nothing to keep it in check. She was afraid.
She treasured the memories of them together, of the sacrifices he had made for her. What had kept her alive was the knowledge that she had loved, and been loved, intensely. She didn't know how she could live without that one certainty.
Michael had completely unbuttoned her shirt, and spread it open . His touch was gentle against the firm muscles of her abdomen. His hands roamed slowly over her torso, grazed the underside of her breasts, framed them and cupped them, stroking and teasing.
Then his fingers began extracting her from her pants.
His eyes unrelenting in the mirror.
Only Michael's ragged and impatient breathing in her hair , where his face was hidden, gave away his arousal. He bit the nape of her neck and his tongue darted between his lips to savor her .
His naked skin brushed against her everywhere, making her wonder when he had undressed.
God, this was so strange. Nikita was so immersed in Michael's spell that she felt paralyzed, unable to move on her own, just to observe what Michael was doing.
Only low growls passed her lips.
He slowly removed her pajama pants, revealing long, bare legs. Her body came alive at the sudden cold and expectation. With wide eyes, she tracked his progress, still marveling at how long his fingers were.
She pictured those fingers, time after time, opening her like a flower of dark and delicate petals, waltzing across her clit with his thumb.
As he made his way up her body again, his soft panting gave her an indefinable rising sensation, just before he pleasured the exact spot behind her ear where she was very sensitive.
Trembling voluptuously against his solid body, she sought his kisses, which were easily obtained, her want akin to desperation.
She pushed him back on his rear and precociously sat in his lap, face to face with him.
His pupils were enlarged and his eyes looked black, if not for a subtle emerald line encircling them. He gazed upon her luminous face in the darkness and knew that he loved her.
So much that he didn't have it in him to love anyone else. Michael stroked her jaw, bringing her mouth closer to his, and kissed her.
A kiss so slow and sensual than she felt bereft when it was over.
She breathed in his ear, delicately brushing her trembling lips against the ear lobes.
Her arms curved around his.
His hands left a trail of goosebumps, along her hips, requesting she allow him entrance.
Michael spoke softly to her, but Nikita did n' t pay attention to him.
She was way beyond words.
Her body slipped easily along his, matching his somewhat harsh thrusts as she welcomed him into her body.
And, for a time, she forgot the fear of having someone possess her in every way. She wanted nothing more out of life than being lost to him.
On the floor, their hands gripped desperately like they would die if they let go for a simple instant.
Their knuckles were white.
~* ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~
"Michael, I'm pregnant."
Finally, she spit it out. Against his shoulder, but nonetheless, she said it.
Adam had gone to school, and it was that time of morning they spent alone, preparing for work. Nikita saw Michael's shoulders drop, in disbelief, she surmised. He didn't look at her, and so she couldn't read his thoughts.
The silence stretched on.
He didn't changed his position, just absently smoothed his jacket. She supposed he was processing what she'd told him.
He fidgeted with his necktie, seeming to carefully consider her words.
Usually, the more bland his external reactions, the more profound his inward reflections.
In this particular case, his reaction seemed to her to be "utterly disinterested."
What scared her was not knowing whether that was a good or bad sign.
Baffled by his continued apparent indifference, she licked her dry lips and repeated her words.
"Michael, did you hear me? I said, I'm . . . "
"pregnant. I heard."
Emotionless voice, blank stare. His old repertoire.
Indignation jolted her instantly into anger, and she clenched her teeth, infuriated at his lack of response to her revelation. Damn him.
"So. You have nothing to add?"
The vexed furrowing of her eyebrows and the stiffened inflexibility of her features told him, because he knew her well, that her anger was building. Nikita could be very intimidating when she wanted. With disconcerting rapidity, her face would be void of all expression, and only her arctic eyes would radiate displeasure and threaten one hell of a payback. It was something new he was learning about her.
"Are you sure?"
"Would I tell you if I wasn't?"
Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you a cretin? Now go ahead and ask me if you are the father.
Bloody idiot.
It wasn't what she hoped to hear from him. His eyebrows snapping together provided the only indication of Michael's internal reaction to her words. What was that supposed to mean?
"No. You'd only tell me if you were sure."
A wry smile sweetened his face, and Nikita didn't know whether he was biding time to collect his thoughts or to make conversation easier.
" I'm sure." She had no time for his little games.
"I'm glad."
"Really?"
"Would I tell you if I wasn't?"
She had to smile at his habit of bouncing her own words in her face.
Michael crossed the room in record time, still fluid in movement as always. He held her chin as he looked directly into her eyes.
"Are you glad?"
"Yes, you know I am."
She spoke with sincerity. When he pulled her up and swirled her around, her eyes were shiny.
They ended up snuggling on the couch with Nikita giving Michael al the little details-when she first suspected, the doctor visit that confirmed what she already knew.
Michael took in every bit of information, hardly daring to believe. The notion of good things happening to him without any visible, terrible cost, was quite disconcerting.
When Nikita, an excellent talker, couldn't find any more words to say, they just stood together, one beside the other, implicitly agreeing to postpone going to work indefinitely, or at least for today.
Something had been bothering Nikita for a very long time. If it had been an ordinary matter, she would have had no problem in sharing it with Michael. But it wasn't ordinary. It was a very delicate subject.
She hadn't asked him about this before, trusting him to reveal things to her when he was ready.
Being pushy had an irritating effect on Michael, and only worked if the subject didn't involve a deeply buried secret. In that case, being insistent could push him into one of his twelve-words-a- day moods. Michael was a complex man, to be handled with care. He always respected her scars and her boundaries. The least she could do was to show him the same respect.
Today, she found herself unable to pretend it didn't matter to her.
With a baby in their way, She needed to have it put behind them, and, she hoped, Michael was of the same mind.
It had become important to work this through.
"I have always wondered if you and Simone ever really had a child. There was nothing about him in your file."
He was visibly shaken by her question, but she didn't know how to be sensitive and firm at the same time.
Michael looked down at the floor, conflict betraying his feelings only by a tic just below his left eye. He didn't want to talk about it.
The mere thought filled him with apprehension and dread.
It still hurt.
But, to his surprise, part of him *wanted* to tell her, wanted to give her access to every inch of his mind and knowledge of whatever she wished about his past.
He inwardly acquiesced.
"I already told you, Simone was never pregnant." Nikita nodded in reply, but it looked to him as if she expected more.
"The data Red Cell found in my file during the war referred to the first boy Elena carried. She had a miscarriage during her last trimester. I'm still not certain what caused it."
Nikita saw darkness lurking just below the surface of his _expression and was tempted to let go . Seeing him in pain, or causing him sadness, made her agonizingly uncomfortable.
She reminded to herself that she had every right of asking, and compensated her further questioning touching his shoulder.
'' Had you never given thought to it ? ''
"No."
Simone and he were practical, down-to-earth people, who never indulged in unattainable fantasies. At least for himself, he could swear such thoughts never entered his head, and he presumed the same was true of Simone. Of course with her, one never knew.
A hard look came into his eyes.
"Have I ever told you why we eloped?" he asked, knowing full well he hadn't.
His eyes were still fixated on the floor, shame and sadness battling inside him.
"No. I'm fairly certain you hardly mentioned it."
Inherent in her admission was an underlying veil of fatigue, even bitterness. Maybe jealousy?
"It was to prove a point with Section. We wanted to throw in their faces that we could be at the top of our game and still have a life they couldn't control. It was my idea"-he shook his head, as if to underline the absurdity of his youthful desires-"I was reckless. She wasn't. Given herlonger experience, she must have known the consequences of what we were getting into, yet she went along with my whims." Michael's voice broke, and trailed off.
He paused to collect himself; he needed to tell her unflinchingly.
"Perhaps her reasons were different from mine."
Nikita looked at him, wanting to close the emotional gap between them and erase his tight-lipped expression.
God, how she hated seeing the evidence of Michael's convicting himself far more than was warranted by any crimes he may have committed.
She wondered what she would see in his eyes if she reached out for him.
Nikita caressed his neck and shoulder, understanding and supporting him, as she always did. She talked at him quietly, as if admonishing a little boy. "You loved her. I saw it that day at the Glass Curtain. Your eyes, your whole body spoke your love for her."
Michael smiled. How could he NOT have loved Simone? She was such a wonderful woman.
Caring in her way, on her own terms.
Resolute.
So similar to him in many ways, that he had found in her an intellectual twin.
He could still see her serious face, with that softly pensive _expression he liked so much. She always had that look when it rained. She would sit on the chair beside the window, looking out, as if the rain contained a secret treasure.
"Simone and I wanted some private space, ours alone, and we found that together. I have never known if the love I felt for her was greater than my gratitude to her. She was special. . . yet, she had chosen me."
Simone and he had good times, and he could smile about them now. The grief had gone, even if the remorse had not.
They were in love. But lengthy thought, solitude and distance from Section gave him the opportunity to look back on his life. Michael had concluded that you totally fell in love with someone only if the person you have chosen is totally in love with you.
Simone and he could never be totally in love. There was, in both of them, too much anger, - perhaps even too much selfishness - and they could not give the other such a compromised gift.
But with Nikita, every touch, every word came naturally. How could he explain this to her?
He took her hand, careful to give her the opportunity to retreat, if that was what she wanted. When it became clear she wouldn't reject him, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
The touch of his lips upon her hand was light, but affected Nikita so deeply, she was surprised she didn't explode.
Michael gazed into her eyes with an intensity that almost scared her.
Nikita tightened her grip on his hand.
"I know that when I'm with you, everything but you fades away. Saying that I love you can't even begin to define how I feel. I've repeated that so many times, to so many woman, that I lost count, and you mean so much more than just those words can say."
His _expression was a little shuttered, but his eyes pleaded for her understanding.
She was going to have his child.
As Michael began to feel the joy of Nikita's revelation, he felt an immediate need to bind himself to her in some similar manner as she had bound herself to him, with the news of the baby.
Words weren't his strength. A man is distinguished by his actions, not by his words, and so it was that he showed his love for her with deeds, rather than theoretical appreciation.
But, to Nikita, words meant something, and he wanted her to have all the verbalization she needed, so that no doubt, no question, could ever take her from his heart. Not ever. He needed her.
His wait for her had been so long, his pain could never be truly erased. But having her finally with him and Adam went a long way to assuage that pain.
They were having a baby.
The profound meaning behind that admission got Nikita by surprise.
He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb, partly to calm her and partly because he wanted to control if her pulse was quickening.
They gazed unwaveringly at each other.
Azure eyes held his. Michael felt a light sense of electricity transmit to him from her blue eyes to his pale green eyes.
Deja vu; he had the distinct sensation that he had felt this before.
The white room, he dazedly remembered. The first time he had contact with her, had flipped her back onto the floor, and leaned over to give her the first lesson. His detachment from her had been broken only when he looked in her eyes, and was disoriented by their intense blue color.
As if he had already known that he would grow to love those eyes.
Trying to concentrate on the task at hand then, he had admonished her, irrationally noticing that his new recruit had a beautiful mouth.
The most of Michael's memories were so intense and dramatic, then, often caused him to see his life as a constant reliving of the past. Almost everything reminded him of a sin he had committed, of a person he had lost or betrayed, of a situation he had already experienced. His self discipline wouldn't let him forget, nor had he felt the need to do so. By contrast, Nikita saw in dealing with changes in her life as a potential opportunity to better .
When Michael was with her, he felt that he was able to put down his burden of the past and move forward. Having her with him made every other thing lose importance.
He felt no guilt from sharing things with her. In fact, talking to her about his past felt good, better than he had expected.
From her viewpoint, Nikita kept replaying his words in her head, savoring them again and again. She had not doubted his love for her, but knowing that she had no rival and that she had no motive to worry of tomorrows, made her feel wonderful. Particularly, knowing that she had not compare herself with the dreamed version of a woman that she had saw once alone, and wonder if she was in some aspect lacking in comparison, made her feel well .
The intensity of his eyes didn't scare her any more, it rather pleased her, and even more knowing she was responsible for it.
"So, I don't need to get married either. What I do wish is," Michael said as he brought her hand to his heart, "that we grow old together."
She saw his vulnerability in that moment, and felt relieved and happy. After all, they wanted the same things out of the rest of their lives.
She was so happy, she had no idea what to say, or if she should say anything at all.
Seeing Nikita simply stare emotionally at him, Michael's brow furrowed in confusion.
"We can still marry if you want . . ."
He was about to say something else, but Nikita put her thumb on his lips to silence him.
Figures, when she wanted him to talk, he was silent. and now that he started talking, she couldn't get him to stop.
Her free hand stroked his jaw, and Michael leaned his face against her palm, relishing the caress. "I don't need a ring."
He drew her to him, and she hugged his neck, cradling her head in the crook of his neck, happy to be there with him, listening to his words.
Happy to have his one hand on the small of her back, keeping her close.
Happy to have his other hand twisted between their bodies to rest protectively upon her stomach.
~* ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~
50. A Love Song - D.H. Lawrence
REJECT me not if I should say to you I do forget the sounding of your voice, I do forget your eyes that searching through The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.
Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide 5 Under the pallid moonlight's fingering, I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide My eyes from diligent work, malingering.
Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw The blind to hide the garden, where the moon 10 Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.
And I do lift my aching arms to you, And I do lift my anguished, avid breast, And I do weep for very pain of you, 15 And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.
And I do toss through the troubled night for you, Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine, Feeling your strong breast carry me on into The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine. 20
The end
'' I've dealt with my ghosts and faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on
I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on ''
From * I' m moving on * - by Rascal Flatts
The full-length mirror was one of the few pieces of furniture Nikita chose to bring with her when she moved into Michael's home. The decision was a mere formality, since the increasing frequency of her visits meant she was already there most of the time.
It had begun with jogging together every morning, continued through lunches and picnics, and imperceptibly slipped into Nikita's staying the night.
Adam seemed to get along well with Nikita. If he had any objections, he had not voiced them openly, manifesting only calm acceptance of his father's actions even if he secretly judged the move-in a bit premature.
Six months had passed, and with it had passed the initial awkwardness of adapting to each other's rhythms. Moreover, family life had proved to be a surprisingly refreshing experience for everyone involved.
For Adam it was a time of discovery. For Michael and Nikita there was a feeling of dejà vu, as if they were living in a fantasy each had dreamed about often, yet never shared.
It made them confused and conflicted, and made them feel alive. Like any couple still in the first enchantment of living together, they had furious arguments, and they made up even more furiously.
During their lovemaking, they were careless and uncaring with protection, almost as if to confirm their new found freedom. Never did they consider the idea of conception, even if, as an obscure joke, it somehow crept into their conscience.
For no reason in particular, having children of their own looked improbable. Their coupling was an empire of senses they loved expanding day after day, sometimes experimenting with the unusual and exotic, drugged by the satisfaction of their terrible longing from having been one and yet apart.
Whoever said that happiness couldn't hurt was wrong, because there were times when Nikita looked at Michael and had a hard time trusting her good feelings, certain that the next sound she heard would be her heart breaking as she died in a pool of red blood. If anything were to happen in the future, she knew the memory of these six months would shine as a promised land in the court of mournful ghosts that would crowd her soul.
In her pajamas, Nikita stood in front of the full length mirror positioned in front of their bed. Her golden hair, combed back for the night, fell softly on her shoulders. She waited for Michael to give her some answers.
Mirrors don't lie, tradition said. But her reflection gave her no indication of what was going on inside her body. Shyly, with incredulous veneration and curiosity, her hands smoothed over her flat tummy. Even though the new life within didn't respond yet, her fingers prickled. Her baby felt as if she had trapped inside both a part of her, and sometimes a figment of him. For a week now, she had been sure of her condition, yet she lacked the courage to break the news to him.
The moment she did, things would change. Her understanding of him suggested he would be happy with the news, yet it wasn't the most opportune time. The woman looking back at her was a perfect killing machine-angry, merciless, and invisibly scarred by lies and hate-things she had known her whole life. Was there space in her for a mother? And of what kind?
She dreamed of a life like this with Michael beside her every morning when she woke up, a picket fence and three or four little Michaels and Nikitas running around. And with no menacing, shrill telephone rings in the middle of the night.
They say things change and life goes on.
But suddenly she feared this wasn't her life, the life meant for her.
It had been difficult coming to terms with the notion she missed Section One. Well, maybe this was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn't really the place she missed. After years of war with Evil, a normal job left her with the feeling she was wasting her energy.
She missed her evenings with Josephine, the philosophical exploration of her conversations with Anya. Time traveled a different path in Section One, and she was still disconcerted by the regular flow of events the 'outside world' lived by.
It really was another world, and one in which she had always wanted to belong.
Life with Michael was far from boring, but she had forgotten how much danger there was in the true meaning of the term 'getting involved with someone.'
Her tendency to throw herself into her quests with all her heart and energy, exposed her to getting hurt badly, and she was afraid because she had so much to lose.
Living was even bleeding when you couldn't help it. Only after you accepted that and mourned it, could you move on.
Her fears weren't rational ones. There was joy singing in her head.
Nikita just wished to hold on to it.
One recipe that both she and Michael were learning with difficulty was that in giving up their hold on autonomy, they gained a higher plain. Was relying on someone, as she did on Michael, a mistake?
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. A mother ?
Everything around her morphed in shape and colour, but nothing was wiped out. What was her fear? The bedroom door slid open, and she had no need to turn her head to see who it was unmoving before the mirror, she watched the reflection of the man coming toward her.
He stopped just behind her, placing his warm, large hand upon her right shoulder, inviting her to lean upon him. She felt a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. He needed to do so little to arouse her.
Cheek to cheek, they looked at the image of two people who belonged together. We are both damaged goods, she thought.
She felt sane around him. His hands descended, kneading her breasts while his fingers forcefully pinched her nipples through the thin cloth of her pajama shirt.
His face was expressionless in the mirror, and Nikita could only bite her bottom lip at the desire slicing her insides, tearing her apart like a poisonous snake.
She turned to kiss him, wild and needy, desperate not to see the vulnerability etched upon her own face. Michael was eager to grant her passage to his mouth, but he concentrated instead on undoing the buttons of her nightshirt, staying a passive participant in the kiss. In the space of a few seconds, Nikita's need for him flared up and grew, until it fueled every nerve and pore, filling her brain so no trace was left for any other thought.
For a few seconds.
He drew back, taking control. Bending over her, he pressed his cool lips upon the hot skin between her breasts, hungry for the taste of her. Her breath caught and she discovered that breathing had become an agonizingly difficult operation.
"Grant a wish?"
"Ask," he said, his tongue licking the edges of her curves "Love me."
She felt lost. Keep your guard up, she could hear the demanding whisper of experience mocking her, just when you think everything's going better, it will turn, and you'll be left without a thing. Again.
She was drowning
In his caresses
In her mind
"I do," Michael answered, as he raised his eyes level with hers and insistently probed her mouth, his stare as unwavering as his relentless lips.
His green eyes reached out to her, brusquely stopping her spinning thoughts.
He turned her until she again faced the mirror.
"Watch," he commanded, his seemingly unaffected voice belying the trembling he felt inside.
Strange games they played, strange and dangerous. Even while her body squirmed under the warm velvet of his tongue flickering over her skin, her brain reasoned freely, without being entirely free of him.
Never free of him. She sighed, trying to take in more air, fighting the damp heaviness of her eyelids; half enchanted and half frightened at the vision she saw of him undressing her. In the past, she had been able to accept the sexual addiction, the dependence on one another that grew gradually, developing year after year.
But now, there was nothing to set bounds for this overwhelming need they felt for each other, nothing to keep it in check. She was afraid.
She treasured the memories of them together, of the sacrifices he had made for her. What had kept her alive was the knowledge that she had loved, and been loved, intensely. She didn't know how she could live without that one certainty.
Michael had completely unbuttoned her shirt, and spread it open . His touch was gentle against the firm muscles of her abdomen. His hands roamed slowly over her torso, grazed the underside of her breasts, framed them and cupped them, stroking and teasing.
Then his fingers began extracting her from her pants.
His eyes unrelenting in the mirror.
Only Michael's ragged and impatient breathing in her hair , where his face was hidden, gave away his arousal. He bit the nape of her neck and his tongue darted between his lips to savor her .
His naked skin brushed against her everywhere, making her wonder when he had undressed.
God, this was so strange. Nikita was so immersed in Michael's spell that she felt paralyzed, unable to move on her own, just to observe what Michael was doing.
Only low growls passed her lips.
He slowly removed her pajama pants, revealing long, bare legs. Her body came alive at the sudden cold and expectation. With wide eyes, she tracked his progress, still marveling at how long his fingers were.
She pictured those fingers, time after time, opening her like a flower of dark and delicate petals, waltzing across her clit with his thumb.
As he made his way up her body again, his soft panting gave her an indefinable rising sensation, just before he pleasured the exact spot behind her ear where she was very sensitive.
Trembling voluptuously against his solid body, she sought his kisses, which were easily obtained, her want akin to desperation.
She pushed him back on his rear and precociously sat in his lap, face to face with him.
His pupils were enlarged and his eyes looked black, if not for a subtle emerald line encircling them. He gazed upon her luminous face in the darkness and knew that he loved her.
So much that he didn't have it in him to love anyone else. Michael stroked her jaw, bringing her mouth closer to his, and kissed her.
A kiss so slow and sensual than she felt bereft when it was over.
She breathed in his ear, delicately brushing her trembling lips against the ear lobes.
Her arms curved around his.
His hands left a trail of goosebumps, along her hips, requesting she allow him entrance.
Michael spoke softly to her, but Nikita did n' t pay attention to him.
She was way beyond words.
Her body slipped easily along his, matching his somewhat harsh thrusts as she welcomed him into her body.
And, for a time, she forgot the fear of having someone possess her in every way. She wanted nothing more out of life than being lost to him.
On the floor, their hands gripped desperately like they would die if they let go for a simple instant.
Their knuckles were white.
~* ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~
"Michael, I'm pregnant."
Finally, she spit it out. Against his shoulder, but nonetheless, she said it.
Adam had gone to school, and it was that time of morning they spent alone, preparing for work. Nikita saw Michael's shoulders drop, in disbelief, she surmised. He didn't look at her, and so she couldn't read his thoughts.
The silence stretched on.
He didn't changed his position, just absently smoothed his jacket. She supposed he was processing what she'd told him.
He fidgeted with his necktie, seeming to carefully consider her words.
Usually, the more bland his external reactions, the more profound his inward reflections.
In this particular case, his reaction seemed to her to be "utterly disinterested."
What scared her was not knowing whether that was a good or bad sign.
Baffled by his continued apparent indifference, she licked her dry lips and repeated her words.
"Michael, did you hear me? I said, I'm . . . "
"pregnant. I heard."
Emotionless voice, blank stare. His old repertoire.
Indignation jolted her instantly into anger, and she clenched her teeth, infuriated at his lack of response to her revelation. Damn him.
"So. You have nothing to add?"
The vexed furrowing of her eyebrows and the stiffened inflexibility of her features told him, because he knew her well, that her anger was building. Nikita could be very intimidating when she wanted. With disconcerting rapidity, her face would be void of all expression, and only her arctic eyes would radiate displeasure and threaten one hell of a payback. It was something new he was learning about her.
"Are you sure?"
"Would I tell you if I wasn't?"
Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you a cretin? Now go ahead and ask me if you are the father.
Bloody idiot.
It wasn't what she hoped to hear from him. His eyebrows snapping together provided the only indication of Michael's internal reaction to her words. What was that supposed to mean?
"No. You'd only tell me if you were sure."
A wry smile sweetened his face, and Nikita didn't know whether he was biding time to collect his thoughts or to make conversation easier.
" I'm sure." She had no time for his little games.
"I'm glad."
"Really?"
"Would I tell you if I wasn't?"
She had to smile at his habit of bouncing her own words in her face.
Michael crossed the room in record time, still fluid in movement as always. He held her chin as he looked directly into her eyes.
"Are you glad?"
"Yes, you know I am."
She spoke with sincerity. When he pulled her up and swirled her around, her eyes were shiny.
They ended up snuggling on the couch with Nikita giving Michael al the little details-when she first suspected, the doctor visit that confirmed what she already knew.
Michael took in every bit of information, hardly daring to believe. The notion of good things happening to him without any visible, terrible cost, was quite disconcerting.
When Nikita, an excellent talker, couldn't find any more words to say, they just stood together, one beside the other, implicitly agreeing to postpone going to work indefinitely, or at least for today.
Something had been bothering Nikita for a very long time. If it had been an ordinary matter, she would have had no problem in sharing it with Michael. But it wasn't ordinary. It was a very delicate subject.
She hadn't asked him about this before, trusting him to reveal things to her when he was ready.
Being pushy had an irritating effect on Michael, and only worked if the subject didn't involve a deeply buried secret. In that case, being insistent could push him into one of his twelve-words-a- day moods. Michael was a complex man, to be handled with care. He always respected her scars and her boundaries. The least she could do was to show him the same respect.
Today, she found herself unable to pretend it didn't matter to her.
With a baby in their way, She needed to have it put behind them, and, she hoped, Michael was of the same mind.
It had become important to work this through.
"I have always wondered if you and Simone ever really had a child. There was nothing about him in your file."
He was visibly shaken by her question, but she didn't know how to be sensitive and firm at the same time.
Michael looked down at the floor, conflict betraying his feelings only by a tic just below his left eye. He didn't want to talk about it.
The mere thought filled him with apprehension and dread.
It still hurt.
But, to his surprise, part of him *wanted* to tell her, wanted to give her access to every inch of his mind and knowledge of whatever she wished about his past.
He inwardly acquiesced.
"I already told you, Simone was never pregnant." Nikita nodded in reply, but it looked to him as if she expected more.
"The data Red Cell found in my file during the war referred to the first boy Elena carried. She had a miscarriage during her last trimester. I'm still not certain what caused it."
Nikita saw darkness lurking just below the surface of his _expression and was tempted to let go . Seeing him in pain, or causing him sadness, made her agonizingly uncomfortable.
She reminded to herself that she had every right of asking, and compensated her further questioning touching his shoulder.
'' Had you never given thought to it ? ''
"No."
Simone and he were practical, down-to-earth people, who never indulged in unattainable fantasies. At least for himself, he could swear such thoughts never entered his head, and he presumed the same was true of Simone. Of course with her, one never knew.
A hard look came into his eyes.
"Have I ever told you why we eloped?" he asked, knowing full well he hadn't.
His eyes were still fixated on the floor, shame and sadness battling inside him.
"No. I'm fairly certain you hardly mentioned it."
Inherent in her admission was an underlying veil of fatigue, even bitterness. Maybe jealousy?
"It was to prove a point with Section. We wanted to throw in their faces that we could be at the top of our game and still have a life they couldn't control. It was my idea"-he shook his head, as if to underline the absurdity of his youthful desires-"I was reckless. She wasn't. Given herlonger experience, she must have known the consequences of what we were getting into, yet she went along with my whims." Michael's voice broke, and trailed off.
He paused to collect himself; he needed to tell her unflinchingly.
"Perhaps her reasons were different from mine."
Nikita looked at him, wanting to close the emotional gap between them and erase his tight-lipped expression.
God, how she hated seeing the evidence of Michael's convicting himself far more than was warranted by any crimes he may have committed.
She wondered what she would see in his eyes if she reached out for him.
Nikita caressed his neck and shoulder, understanding and supporting him, as she always did. She talked at him quietly, as if admonishing a little boy. "You loved her. I saw it that day at the Glass Curtain. Your eyes, your whole body spoke your love for her."
Michael smiled. How could he NOT have loved Simone? She was such a wonderful woman.
Caring in her way, on her own terms.
Resolute.
So similar to him in many ways, that he had found in her an intellectual twin.
He could still see her serious face, with that softly pensive _expression he liked so much. She always had that look when it rained. She would sit on the chair beside the window, looking out, as if the rain contained a secret treasure.
"Simone and I wanted some private space, ours alone, and we found that together. I have never known if the love I felt for her was greater than my gratitude to her. She was special. . . yet, she had chosen me."
Simone and he had good times, and he could smile about them now. The grief had gone, even if the remorse had not.
They were in love. But lengthy thought, solitude and distance from Section gave him the opportunity to look back on his life. Michael had concluded that you totally fell in love with someone only if the person you have chosen is totally in love with you.
Simone and he could never be totally in love. There was, in both of them, too much anger, - perhaps even too much selfishness - and they could not give the other such a compromised gift.
But with Nikita, every touch, every word came naturally. How could he explain this to her?
He took her hand, careful to give her the opportunity to retreat, if that was what she wanted. When it became clear she wouldn't reject him, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
The touch of his lips upon her hand was light, but affected Nikita so deeply, she was surprised she didn't explode.
Michael gazed into her eyes with an intensity that almost scared her.
Nikita tightened her grip on his hand.
"I know that when I'm with you, everything but you fades away. Saying that I love you can't even begin to define how I feel. I've repeated that so many times, to so many woman, that I lost count, and you mean so much more than just those words can say."
His _expression was a little shuttered, but his eyes pleaded for her understanding.
She was going to have his child.
As Michael began to feel the joy of Nikita's revelation, he felt an immediate need to bind himself to her in some similar manner as she had bound herself to him, with the news of the baby.
Words weren't his strength. A man is distinguished by his actions, not by his words, and so it was that he showed his love for her with deeds, rather than theoretical appreciation.
But, to Nikita, words meant something, and he wanted her to have all the verbalization she needed, so that no doubt, no question, could ever take her from his heart. Not ever. He needed her.
His wait for her had been so long, his pain could never be truly erased. But having her finally with him and Adam went a long way to assuage that pain.
They were having a baby.
The profound meaning behind that admission got Nikita by surprise.
He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb, partly to calm her and partly because he wanted to control if her pulse was quickening.
They gazed unwaveringly at each other.
Azure eyes held his. Michael felt a light sense of electricity transmit to him from her blue eyes to his pale green eyes.
Deja vu; he had the distinct sensation that he had felt this before.
The white room, he dazedly remembered. The first time he had contact with her, had flipped her back onto the floor, and leaned over to give her the first lesson. His detachment from her had been broken only when he looked in her eyes, and was disoriented by their intense blue color.
As if he had already known that he would grow to love those eyes.
Trying to concentrate on the task at hand then, he had admonished her, irrationally noticing that his new recruit had a beautiful mouth.
The most of Michael's memories were so intense and dramatic, then, often caused him to see his life as a constant reliving of the past. Almost everything reminded him of a sin he had committed, of a person he had lost or betrayed, of a situation he had already experienced. His self discipline wouldn't let him forget, nor had he felt the need to do so. By contrast, Nikita saw in dealing with changes in her life as a potential opportunity to better .
When Michael was with her, he felt that he was able to put down his burden of the past and move forward. Having her with him made every other thing lose importance.
He felt no guilt from sharing things with her. In fact, talking to her about his past felt good, better than he had expected.
From her viewpoint, Nikita kept replaying his words in her head, savoring them again and again. She had not doubted his love for her, but knowing that she had no rival and that she had no motive to worry of tomorrows, made her feel wonderful. Particularly, knowing that she had not compare herself with the dreamed version of a woman that she had saw once alone, and wonder if she was in some aspect lacking in comparison, made her feel well .
The intensity of his eyes didn't scare her any more, it rather pleased her, and even more knowing she was responsible for it.
"So, I don't need to get married either. What I do wish is," Michael said as he brought her hand to his heart, "that we grow old together."
She saw his vulnerability in that moment, and felt relieved and happy. After all, they wanted the same things out of the rest of their lives.
She was so happy, she had no idea what to say, or if she should say anything at all.
Seeing Nikita simply stare emotionally at him, Michael's brow furrowed in confusion.
"We can still marry if you want . . ."
He was about to say something else, but Nikita put her thumb on his lips to silence him.
Figures, when she wanted him to talk, he was silent. and now that he started talking, she couldn't get him to stop.
Her free hand stroked his jaw, and Michael leaned his face against her palm, relishing the caress. "I don't need a ring."
He drew her to him, and she hugged his neck, cradling her head in the crook of his neck, happy to be there with him, listening to his words.
Happy to have his one hand on the small of her back, keeping her close.
Happy to have his other hand twisted between their bodies to rest protectively upon her stomach.
~* ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~
50. A Love Song - D.H. Lawrence
REJECT me not if I should say to you I do forget the sounding of your voice, I do forget your eyes that searching through The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.
Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide 5 Under the pallid moonlight's fingering, I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide My eyes from diligent work, malingering.
Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw The blind to hide the garden, where the moon 10 Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.
And I do lift my aching arms to you, And I do lift my anguished, avid breast, And I do weep for very pain of you, 15 And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.
And I do toss through the troubled night for you, Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine, Feeling your strong breast carry me on into The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine. 20
The end