Like Melting Ice

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Who could Heero be targeting at a place like this? Nikita thought to herself, sipping at her glass of Pinot Grigiot. The wine was cool and sweet, but warmed her throat and chest instantly. Her eyebrows knit together in graceful thought. Something just didn't feel right. It was a benefit gala hosted by Helping Hand Foundation, Inc. The organization was mostly made up of philanthropic millionaires. This particular function was dedicated to the repairing damages tied to the war. The money went to rebuilding cities, funding orphanages, helping the families of lost soldiers…all very legitimate causes. She bit her lip in thought. Heero must have noted her engaged expression. Because he inquired.

"What is it?" He inquired.

"I'm not exactly sure yet, but I I'll be right back. I'm going to powder my nose," She replied, taking another sip of wine. Heero idly wondered what "nose powder" was for, as he nodded. He—almost longingly—watched her walk away.

Nikita gently tapped her earpiece. On the other end, Wufei perked to attention.

"I read you. What is it?"

" 'Fei, I've got a really nagging feeling about this," She said in a hushed tone. The powder room was empty, but she didn't want to run the risk of jeopardizing the mission if her hunch was incorrect.

"You're fine. Just follow the— " He began, but Nikita interrupted.

"No, that's just it! I'm not worried about being here; it's the mission I'm concerned about!" She hissed. Nikita didn't have to see Wufei to know what face he was making.

"What are you talking about, woman?" He asked with a gentle exasperation. It was not unlike the way a parent spoke to a babbling child. She ignored his tone and continued.

"This place is legit, it's a charity. I think you guys have the wrong target!" She whispered.

"Quiet! You can't be sure if you're secure where you are. Come to the car. Out." He instructed. She caught herself nodding, even though he could not see her. Out of habit she checked her reflection a moment before she headed out of the powder room.

"Ok, Explain yourself," Wufei ordered as she sat in the backseat of the car.

"It's a benefit gala, hosted by the Helping Hand's foundation. The only people there are philanthropists and political figure heads!"

Wufei was not really listening, "And your point is?"

"Including Relena Peacecraft," She replied, stressing the name—with slight distaste.

"Peacecraft? But why would she…has she spotted Heero?" He questioned. Nikita nodded "She's probably trying to get into his pants as we speak." She muttered under her breath in French. He arched an eyebrow.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. The target—what's the targets name?"

"Anne T. d'Rivotahv," He replied showing her the picture. It was a firm, yet handsome woman with dark hair and wise eyes. She wore a peaceful smile.

Nikita's eyes widened.

"That's not her name," She whispered with her hand over her mouth. Wufei arched a black eyebrow, and glanced back at the file.

"That's impossible, the file—"

She shook her head, "No! That is not her name. First of all it's a horrible play on words. Second of all, that is Integra Cartwright. She's the CEO of Helping Hands, Cartwright Enterprises, and D.O.V.E. All organizations dedicated to rebuilding after the war. My brother admired her—she inspired him to design more than just weapons. If she's assassinated the public will— "

"Have one more reason to trust OZ's false peace," Wufei finished for her. His eyebrows knit into a scowl.

"I'm surprised you didn't make the connection, Fei," She said shaking her head, "Come on…Anne T. D'Rivotahv? Anti-derivative….Integral...Integra."

"Son of a gun," he mused, "We have to abort the mission."

"Does Heero have an earbud?" Nikita questioned. Wufei shook his head.

"Couldn't conceal it as easily as yours—you have to go in there and warn him! Be discreet. You can't be sure who is there to ensure that the objectives are carried out," He warned. She nodded, and hurried back to the party. Luckily for her, Heero still sat at the table nonchalantly sipping a glass of water. She sat beside him.

"That was a long time to powder your nose," He commented. Nikita smiled.

"I spoke with the driver," She began remembering the coded language she was supposed to use, "And I'm afraid the engagement's off."

A surprised noise escaped his lips, and Nikita prayed that he could read the look in her eyes. Heero immediately deciphered the meaning, but his expression portrayed a one-worded question. Why? Nikita paused, discreetly listening to Wufei's voice in her ear.

"She's just, not the one…too much like that situation involving Noventa," She replied, unconsciously lowering her voice when she spoke the name. Heero's eyebrows shot up, and his blue eyes widened slightly at reference. The images of the destroyed plane flooded his thoughts. Memories of his methodical atonement swirled in his mind. Painful thoughts metamorphosed into anger—directed inward. He seethed as he realized he'd nearly been duped again. He would have killed the little girl and her dog again. He would have killed Sylvia Noventa's father again. Innocent blood would stain his hands once more.

All the time and effort—wasted. Why hadn't he figured it out? He knew something had been off with the orders, he had felt it. But he still followed them. Heero inwardly sighed, and regarded Nikita wearily.

"What a waste," He muttered sullenly. Nikita's sent him a gentle glance, and placed her hand on his. Heero looked up at her—almost confused.

"Not a complete waste—it's been an interesting date at least," She offered. Laughter glinted in his eyes, and she smiled broadly as gently stroked the length of his fingers. Heero smiled with his eyes, it was a tiny flicker—barely noticeable. He made his customary grunt of acknowledgement, although it was gentler than usual. His blue eyes drank her in slowly, her soft rounded features, the milky smoothness of her skin, the way her hair in tumbled about her shoulders in chocolate waves. Her scent—roses, always roses, though she never wore perfume. Her eyes were large, a warm brown that reminded him of Earth summers. Even her voice –in speech or in song—was whimsical and gentle, like wind, or ocean waves…something else equally as poetic.

"What?" She questioned noting his open, penetrating gaze. There was a gentle flicker in his eyes. Nikita could not tell what it was, but it was not unkind. There was moment of comfortable silence before Heero spoke.

"One more dance before we go?" The question with rewarded with a graceful, yet beaming smile. Nikita stood slowly, and offered him her hand. He gladly accepted, leading her to the dance floor once more. Much to both of their surprise—the music which played was not a waltz, a gavotte or any other "stuffy old-folks" dance. A lively, Merengue--perhaps a Salsa---wafted from the corner orchestra. She glanced at Heero with timid smile.

"Can you handle this?" She questioned, figuring his dance repertoire was fairly limited. He spun her by the arm and pulled her close to him. The other hand grasped the small of her back. Cobalt eyes danced mischievously, and his lips toyed with a playful smirk.

"Can you?"

Nikita returned the look with a deviant smile of her own.

"Of course."

Heero adjust the arm on her lower back, and held her hand at eye level with the other. Swiftly and skillfully, the dance began. Heero marked time with the forward "limping" motion signature of the dance. Nikita swayed her hips at the same tempo. The distance between they're swaying bodies waxed and waned. Heero spun her around twice, and brought her closer. Her back pressed against him for eight sensual, agonizing counts. His hand guided her hip's suggestive sways, knowing that his breath was close enough to tease her exposed neck.

Heero spun her quickly—she spun several times before she faced him. Heero pulled her closer than before. So close that there legs were entangled, and their foreheads nearly touched. The closeness coupled with their suggestive movements sparked a tingling beneath his belt. He moved both hands low on her waist and dipped her with calculated grace and sensuality. Heero suppressed a groan at the actions his movements were imitating. He brought her back up, their legs still intertwined. The rhythmic "limping" continued and the fight to keep his hand only on her waist was becoming more difficult.

A small crowd had formed to watch their dance. He ignored them—she was too engaged to notice. The end of the dance and the song came simultaneously. The band with a brass hit---them with a very engaged dip. Nikita's back arched easily his arms, her hair cascading to the floor. Her left leg was wrapped around his body for support. Heero snapped her upright in time with the brass hit. The crowd they had drawn erupted into applause. A bead of perspiration formed on his brow—but not from the exertion of the dance. Breathlessly, Nikita spoke.

"We should go."

"Now," Heero agreed, unable to mask this lusty husk in his voice.

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"Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire." --Anonymous.

Hehehe---I love sexy dancing. Youtube the Merengue or Salsa to get an idea if you are confused.

Sylver Secret