A/N: Well, this chapter is to say thanks to everyone who's reading this story, reviewing and liking this story. This is the chapter you've been waiting for since the beginning. I hope you like it and you don't find it too OOC.

Each hit was like putting a nail through his heart. Each sound reminded him of a time where his heart beat harder and louder in his ears at the sight of her. Each nail was like the thousands of them who had pierced his already broken heart back then.

Things hadn't changed. He still thought of her, held on to the day where he would be able to see her again, to hold her against him, to feel her heart beat against his own.

He wondered what she was doing now. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her standing in Operations loft, her careful eyes looking down at the operatives below, hands behind her back. He could see her pacing back and forth behind the table as she explained the new mission to the operatives on standby. He saw her sitting on a stool in munitions, talking to Walter, who had probably aged a lot since the last time he had seen him.

Michale sighed. Life outside Section wasn't what he had expected. As much as he had hated working there, there had been a sense of security in knowing that Adam was taken care of, that he was working towards a greater good. There had been a lot of down side: deaths of fellow operatives, being kept apart from Nikita, always having to be treated, as Nikita would say, like animals. Still. Other than fighting against terrorists, there had been nothing else to fight about. He didn't need to work for the apartment he lived in since it had been provided by Section. He hadn't needed to work in order to buy food or to send Adam to sports' camp like he had done this summer.

The first months had been the most difficult. Anxiety had been at its highest as Michael feared, every time he went to bed, to see operatives barging inside his home and taking him into custody. Then, slowly, he had learned to relax.

He hadn't been able to go back to his son and wife. Elena had thought him dead and how would he have been able to explain to her that the company he supposedly worked for had been behind the staged murder. Even when Elena had died, he had been unable to get his son out of the foster care system. To the world, Michael Samuelle was dead.

Everything had turned out for the best. Well, almost everything. He had gotten his son back but had been sacrificed for a life in Section by the woman he loved the most in the entire world. All the times he had betrayed her, used her under Operations' order, he had explained and persuaded himself that he had had no choice. But as he watched Nikita take the silver chain from her father's hand, he understood instantly how she must have felt all those times. His heart had broken into what had felt like a million pieces and it had taken all his might not to knock the chain out her hand and shake some sense into her.

As always, he had trusted her and supported her in her decision. He had told her, at the train station, that he'd go to her when Adam wouldn't need him anymore. He was planning on keeping his word.

"DAD?!"

Michael's hand froze in mid-air. His whole body tensed, suddenly on guard. At the sound of the doorbell ringing, he had immediately thought of Julie. Adam probably had locked the door and Julie had forgotten her keys. But something in his son's cry told him that it was probably not Julie. Above his head, Nikki was still barking. She wouldn't have been were Julie at the door.

Setting his hammer back on his workshop table, Michael wiped his hands on his pants as he left the small room. The basement was dark and cold, and Michael shivered. His son's cry still echoed in his ears.

DAD?!

The stairs creaked under his feet as he climbed them one by one. He wondered who could be at the door. From the staircase, he could hear two voices. The words were muffled by a few walls but Michael could swear it wasn't French the two people were speaking. Who did they know, in St-Jovite, who spoke English?

After meeting Julie, French had become their second language. He had sent Adam to a french school, spoke french at home when Julie was around, but always reverted back to his first language when she wasn't. What he was hearing at the moment was definitely not their adopted tongue.

"Nikki, enough." Michael heard his son say as he walked down the hallway to the dining room.

Stopping at the window, still out of sight from both his son and the visitor, Michael looked out. A grey car was parked in the driveway and Michael could distinguish three heads.

"Sorry." He heard Adam say to the visitor. "She usually doesn't bark that much."

"It's alright."

Michael's heart stopped and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins. The Australian accent was undeniable. Even after all these years, he'd be able to pick up and recognize that voice in a crowd.

"Nikki, enough!"

Just as he had thought, the dog fell silent. Numbly, Michael stepped around the corner.

"Nikki, enough!"

Even after all these years, she would have picked up and recognized that voice in a crowd. Her heart skipped a beat and time seemed to have stood still as she waited for him to come into view. She was barely aware of the cocker spaniel's sudden silence or as Adam retreated further in the entrance until he disappeared completely to give his father and her a bit of privacy. His demanding tone echoed in her ears. That same tone, which had gotten the dog to stop barking, that had so often ordered her around so many years ago. After everything that had happened since then, she felt almost foolish for the way she had despised him for using it on her. If only she had known how happy she would have been to hear it, she wouldn't have acted that way.

She watched in mild apprehension as he stepped around the corner, his eyes desperately seeking hers for reassurance that she was really there. Her heart beat faster and louder in her chest.

He walked desperately slow. Or was it only her desire of having him near her that caused her to be impatient? She wondered if he thought that, if he walked quicker, she'd disappear just like a mirage on a road on a hot summer afternoon; always just out of reach, yet there, in front of your eyes.

She examined him as he came near her. He hadn't changed much. His hair was still short, his eyes still stormy grey and his arms still looked strong. Nikita felt her knees weaken. Those strong arms who had held her so many arms, comforted her by she was crying, picking her up when she was injured. The feeling of them wrapped around her provided her with security and warmness.

Their eyes locked and Nikita didn't break contact until he was standing mere inches from her. It was almost too great to bare, the sensation of having him near her, feeling the heat emanating from his body. She jumped, startled, as his hand brushed against hers. Tears had formed in his tears and his hand shook as he brought it to her face, gently caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

Nikita was pretty sure her heart would beat out of her chest. It pounded almost painfully against her ribcage and the skin where Michael had just touched her felt on fire. Even as his hand moved upwards on her face, she could still feel his touch burning on her cheek. Tears formed in her own eyes until her surroundings became completely blurry and indistinguishable. Michael's gentle caresses soothed her, calmed her worries, and washed away her pain. She closed her eyes, feeling herself becoming overwhelmed by the sensations, melting into the contact. A tear fell from her eye and she felt Michael wipe it tenderly.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, Michael caressing her face tenderly like he had done six years ago, touching every inch of it, tracing the contour of her eyebrows. Her eyes were still closed as she felt his warm breath on her lips and knew he was only a hair's breath away.

As his lips tentatively touched hers, Nikita half-expected to wake up in her room in Section, to see the greyness of the walls, the coldness of the room, and a sinking feeling in her stomach telling her that what had just happened had been nothing more than a dream, a figment of her imagination.

But his lips were as soft as she remembered them to be and she knew it was not a dream. His kiss was firm, as though really trying to believe that she was really there, and when they pulled away and Nikita worked up enough courage to open her eyes, she saw in his grey orbs all the pent-up love and the intensity of the pain of all the years gone by.

She brought up her own hand and cupped the side of his face, her thumb gently caressing his lips.

"Michael."

A whisper was all she could manage after all these emotions.

Something poked at Nikita's leg and the woman looked down to find the little dog staring up at her expectantly, ears raised, tail wagging furiously. Nikita couldn't help but smile.

"Well, well. Look who's just changed its mind about me." Nikita said, cheerfully, as she crouched down to pet the dog.

She scratched the pet behind the ears and Nikki turned her head sideways and gave Nikita's hand a small lick.

"She'll love you eternally if you rub her belly." Adam said, poking his head from around the corner.

Nikita looked up at him and smiled.

The boy was taller than he had been the last time she had seen him and his eyes didn't have the sadness that had been present that day. Even though she recognized Michael's frame in him, Adam was all Elena: dark hair, dark eyes, darker than usual skin.

"Adam, you remember Nikita?"

"Of course." The young boy replied. "She was at the train station when we left. I remember."

Michael nodded.

Nikita looked up at him and smiled tenderly at him.

"Cocker spaniel?"

Michael shrugged, as though embarrassed by his decision so many years ago, at a time when he thought his dreams had shattered for ever.

"Come with me." Nikita continued as she stood up. "There are people I want you to meet. You too, Adam."

Father and son followed the blond woman out of the house, into the late-afternoon sun. Michael watched as Nikita turned around and told them to wait there, then as she walked up to the car and spoke to the man in the front seat.

She spoke to the man for a few seconds before turning her attention to what Michael deduced were the two other people in the backseat. He watched as she straightened and opened the car door.

From where he stood, Michael couldn't see much else. Nikita was blocking the view of whoever was coming out of the back seat. But as she turned around, holding two little hands in her own, Michael's stomach did a somersault.

He took one tentative step towards them but froze. His eyes never left her face, searching her eyes for an answer to his question.

"This," Nikita said, standing behind the little boy, "is Jacob."

Then, reaching for the little girl, she added:

"And this is Erin."

Michael couldn't move, yet along speak. His eyes shifted from his former girlfriend to the two children who looked so much like him. He didn't need to say anything more, the resemblance was too obvious for him to question it. A fresh batch of tears formed in his eyes as he felt his heart swell painfully in fatherly love.

"Come on, kids. Go hug your father." Nikita said as she pushed her children forward.

As the children broke into a run towards their newly-found father, Michael crouched down and gathered them up in his arms. His body was wrecked in sobs as he held them close. They felt so small and fragile against him and Michael felt his love for them grow even more. If only he had known...

Tears slid freely from his eyes as he hugged them tightly, running his hand through their hair. Seeking his son's forehead, he kissed him lovingly before resting his cheek against his head.

"Why are you crying, Daddy?" He heard little Erin ask on the other side.

Michael tightened his grasp in reply and continued to sob as he kissed his daughter on the top of her head, breathing her in as though to prove that he was really holding her.

Nikita watched the moving scene with tears of own sliding freely down her face.

Adam, still standing on the porch, stared in shock at the scene going on before his eyes.