Chapter 2: Ghosts, Everywhere
Nikita studied the hand-held computer panel outlining the mission profile. She was on the perch with her second-in-command, Grace, and the red team leader, Joseph. "Why are there so many team members?" Nikita asked. "We should be able to do this with three, not five." She pointed to the egress point. "We only need one person covering egress."
"The probability of hostiles infiltrating the area is high," Grace said. Nikita looked up at her. She was approximately Nikita's age with long red hair pulled back tightly. She was dressed in a black skirt and short-sleeved top; Nikita wore a white pants suit. Joseph, also in the same age range with short brown hair, wore black.
"You ran a sim?" Nikita asked Joseph. She knew what her predecessor would have done: told Michael to do it with three people. Michael would cover the egress and take on all comers with gun in each hand - whether there were two hostiles approaching or 200.
"Yes - I followed procedure," he said coolly.
"Of course," Nikita said, with only a touch of sarcasm. Joseph showed no reaction. "You'll do it with four. Rework the profile and resubmit it in a half hour." She handed the panel to him, and Joseph left without a word.
"He's capable," Grace said.
"I know," Nikita said. "But that has never been enough." Grace turned to leave, but then she hesitated. "What is it?" Nikita asked.
"Did you really work with Michael?" Grace asked. Grace had come to Section One from Section Three, where she was a top-level profiler and tactician with some field experience.
"Michael?" Nikita said, as though he weren't constantly in her thoughts. In her mind's eye she saw a flash of thigh, soft lips, and beautiful, intelligent eyes. She looked down at the ring on her finger, the engagement ring. Michael.
"He's something of a legend in the other Sections," Grace was saying, "like a superhero."
Nikita had to fight to keep a straight face. Oh, Michael would love that one. She could easily imagine the curve of his lips, the quiet laugh... "He was just a man," Nikita said.
"The things they said he did - crashing through windows, disabling and killing with unshakable calm, charging into gunfire without..."
"He did what he had to," Nikita said, but she knew better. Michael had done what no one else could or would ever do. "He was just man, Grace, just an operative." Just the most incredible creature to ever walk the halls of the Section...
"Of course," Grace said, and she left the perch.
Nikita walked to the windows and looked out at the Section. Michael. Did people really still talk about him? She had always known that he was extraordinary - that was why she loved him and why Paul and Madeline had put up with his anomalies. No one could do what he did the way he did it, with quiet intelligence and unquestionable skill. Another man would have been canceled for his actions, but not Michael, he was someone no one could really touch...except her. She had finally found her way inside the rich, golden depths of his soul. And she knew she was never going to find her way out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Michael woke with a start, his heart pounding, soaked in sweat. He grabbed his gun from under the pillow and checked that it was loaded. He knew it was, but he checked anyway. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing and heartbeat back to a more normal level.
He had nightmares almost every night - with the exception of those few he spent with Nikita. The dreams were always variations of the same thing: losing Adam, losing Nikita, being brought back into the Section. The worst variation was the one he had tonight, the one where Nikita was killed and he was forced back in to run Section One. Adam was put in foster care, and Michael knew he would never see him again. It was the worst of everything he could imagine, and his imagination served it up every now and then to truly terrify him.
He was aching for a cigarette, but he went to check on Adam first, then took a quick cold shower. Then he dressed and went outside. It was late May and warm enough to be out without a jacket. He sat on a chair on the porch and lit a cigarette, then inhaled deeply.
And thought about Nikita.
That was the only thing that could really calm him, the thought of her physical and emotional beauty. Nikita. He flicked the ashes on the ground and took a deep breath, released it, sighed. He needed to see her, to touch her and be touched. He needed someone to talk to, and she was the only one he had. If it weren't for Adam he would have started drinking heavily a long time ago. But he knew he couldn't do anything that would cloud his judgement. Smoking was bad enough.
He stood and slid the tiny cell phone out of his pants pocket, then sat again. For a few moments he just slid his finger lightly over the numbered buttons. He could hear her voice in his mind and knew it would fill him with the relief that he craved. But like so many times before he knew he wouldn't make the call. He didn't want her to know about this. He didn't want her to know him like this.
Their meetings since he left Section had been about playing together, enjoying one another. He didn't want to bring a shadow into that; they had lived long enough in those kinds of shadows. It was better if she thought he was happy.
Michael laughed. He wondered what that would be like. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and inhaled again. Had he ever really been happy? He came closest to it with Nikita, close enough that he could do something as stupid as ask her to marry him.
How the hell was that going to work? She was married to the Section, and he had his demons. There was no happily-ever-after ending for them.
And yet he didn't entirely believe that, and that was why he had bought the ring and given it to her. Part of him was still fighting for them. He knew it was possible that after the initial elation she had second thoughts and tossed the ring in a drawer or the trash. But he didn't believe that. He knew she loved him the way he loved her - only, always.
And he needed her. He looked at the phone again and punched in the numbers for her cell phone. But he didn't push send; instead he shut the phone off. He wouldn't call tonight. He would have to call soon - very soon - but not tonight. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up. He could easily smoke another, but he knew if he did that he would wind up chain smoking the entire pack. He shoved the phone and cigarette pack in his pockets and headed out to do recon of the perimeter before he started breakfast.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Nikita dreamed it was of Michael and Adam, of having a family with them outside of the Section. And like tonight, she woke to an overwhelming sensation of sadness for what could be but wasn't.
Her family.
Nikita got out of bed and walked out on the balcony of her apartment. Somewhere Michael was out there with his son, living in freedom while she was still chained to the Section. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Was he thinking of her, or did his new life keep him too busy to dwell on ghosts from the past. She looked at her hand where it rested on the railing, the ring clearly visible in the moonlight.
Where are you?
She had asked him not to tell her, not to give her any of the details of where he lived, not even the phone number - she didn't want the Section getting the information. Of course they both knew that if the Center really wanted to find him it would. She just prayed it had lost interest in him.
Nikita certainly hadn't.
She glanced over at the cell phone where it sat in the table charger. She had two cell phones, one for the Section and one exclusively for Michael. Both were on 24 hours, though the one for Michael was on vibrate when she was in the Section.
Not that Michael had ever called when she was there.
He rarely called at all. Sometimes Nikita wondered if the last time was the really the last time, if they would come to a point when he would no longer call. Did he need her as much as she needed him - or was this just a game for him, a diversion until he tired of it?
Was he as lonely as she was?
Call, she thought. I need you.
But the phone didn't ring.
She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Michael. Damn him. Did he really love her? When she was with him it was unquestionable; she knew everything about him. But when they were apart... No, she knew he wanted to be with her. Hell, he wanted to marry her.
How in the world was that going to work?
Nikita drank the glass of wine and sighed. Call, call, call, she thought, trying to send the thought out across the miles. But the phone didn't ring.
I love you, Michael. Only, always, you.
She set the glass in the sink and went back to bed, curling up under the bedclothes, imagining the feeling of his body wrapped around hers.
* * * * * * * * *
Michael had taken a job on the docks loading and unloading ships and trucks. It kept him in shape and left his thoughts free to go where they always went.
The phone was in his jeans pocket. He always brought it with him, but he never made a call from work. He just liked the feeling of it there, the possibility that he could call her if he chose to.
But he wasn't going to call.
He knew Nikita was busy running the Section; it was doubtful she even brought that cell phone with her. He knew how consuming the Section was. She probably never even thought of him, much less cared if he called.
Maybe she had other men.
He stopped in the midst of lifting a box. It wasn't such an impossibility; they rarely saw one another. But just the thought of it made Michael crazy, the idea of her smiling at another man, the idea of her touching another man the way she touched him.
That wasn't possible; she loved him. She was going to marry him.
And then what? They would continue to live separate lives?
Did she really have other men?
Michael had been approached by women - and men - with offers since he had been outside the Section, but he had taken no one up on it. He claimed to be newly widowed, and that made them back off. Yet he had been interested in and attracted to various women. Of course Nikita would feel the same about the men she met, and with the high stress situations she was in it was easy to give in.
He pulled out the phone. He had to know. He punched in the numbers and then stopped. No. He had asked her to marry him; he had to trust her or at least truly believe that she cared for him as he did for her. Michael shoved the phone in his pocket and went back to work.
* * * * * * * * *
When the phone began to vibrate Nikita excused herself from her meeting and found a deserted place in Section to take the call. Her heart was pounding when she answered it. "Hey."
"My guess is you are expecting someone else." The male voice had a Slavic accent
"Who is this?" she asked. "How did you get this number?"
"Cell phones are not so safe," the man said. "This is Uri of Section Two."
Nikita remembered Uri, Operations of Section Two - older, graying, always looking at her lasciviously during the meetings with Center. "What do you want?" she asked.
"We can discuss that at The Ambassador," Uri said, referring to a local hotel.
"We'll discuss it now or not at all," Nikita said.
"So then you would not mind me telling Center about your meetings with Michael Samuelle?" Uri said.
Nikita's stomach dropped. "There haven't been any," she said.
"It is a shame he is so forgettable," Uri said.
Nikita leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She knew he could have evidence: phone calls, photographs. "I haven't seen Michael in more than a year," she said.
"And surely not at a dive like the Starlight Motel," Uri said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I think you will find The Ambassador much more to your liking. Room 1322. Be there in an hour."
Nikita looked at the phone. How... but she knew that like her Uri had all kinds of electronics and technical experts at his disposal. If something could be thought of there was a way to do it. She would have to get rid of the phone. If Michael wanted to contact her...
No, there would be no more contact between them.
She slid the ring off her finger and put it in her pocket. The dream was dead. She would take care of Uri, and that would be the end of it. She didn't care what happened to her, but there was too much risk in this for Michael and Adam. The only thing that mattered was that they were safe. She would do anything to ensure that.
After notifying Grace that she would be out, Nikita left Section and headed to the hotel. She arrived early, gun drawn, a stolen master key in her hand. She used the key to open the door and pushed it open. The first thing she saw was a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the table across from the door. Two crystal flute glasses stood in front of it. Bastard, Nikita thought. Did he really think she would play his game?
"You're early," Uri called from the bedroom. "Come join me."
Nikita readied her weapon and walked slowly toward the bedroom, keeping close to the walls. When she saw him she would fire; she wouldn't wait to see if he was armed. She took in a breath, swung around the corner and brought up the gun...
...and stopped a millisecond before killing the love of her life.
Nikita saw him there and understood that it was Michael, but her brain kept telling her he was Uri. She kept the gun on him, finger on the trigger, unable to process what was happening. Michael didn't move from where he was sprawled beneath the covers, his fine body outlined by the gold silk sheets. "What is this?" she asked.
"Blackmail," Michael said, twisting his perfect Slavic accent into a soft parody.
Nikita shook her head, trying to clear it. "Michael?" she said.
"Oui."
"Prove it." He smiled and threw back the covers. The naked body was his without question. She lowered the muzzle of the gun so it pointed at his genitals. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't emasculate you."
"I will give you great pleasure," he said, his beautiful eyes shining.
For a moment Nikita wondered if he was insane. "I could have killed you," she said. "One more second - one - and your blood would be all over that bed. Do you understand that."
"Oui."
"Damn it, Michael."
"I trained you well."
She slid her finger from the trigger. "This has nothing to do with training," she said. "This is nothing short of luck." Her anger boiled. "What if I had fired, Michael?" She could see it, and she turned away from him.
She heard him get off the bed. "I went too far," he said. "I'm sorry." She moved away when he touched her and started to leave the room, but Michael grabbed hold of her and pushed her up against the wall. "Look at me," he growled softly, his body pressed against hers. "Have you harmed me?"
"Let go of me, Michael," Nikita spit at him.
"No," he said, crushing her to the wall, bringing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss.
And Nikita didn't resist him for long.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Why would you do this?" Nikita asked. Michael was entwined with her in the silk sheets, his right hand on her belly, the left circling her breasts.
"I would think it was self-explanatory," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood, but he could see that she was angry again.
Nikita moved away slightly. "I believed this - I believed we were exposed," she said.
Michael closed the space between them again and slid his arms around her, then brought his lips to her neck. "We are," he whispered. "Completely exposed."
"This isn't funny, Michael," Nikita said. But when she brought her eyes to his her look had softened. "I love you. I thought I'd lost you."
"You'll never lose me," he said. He kissed down her neck, down between her breasts.
"They could destroy us. All they have to do is find out about the phone calls and follow us..."
"No," Michael said.
"Michael, you know..."
"I know us," he said, kissing her. "We will make it through this."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nikita woke Michael gently. "I have to go," she said. She had watched him sleep for a while before dressing, returning the ring to its place on her finger.
"Thank you," Michael said.
"For what? she asked, caressing his face with the back of her hand.
"Staying while I slept."
"Why?" He looked away. "Why, Michael?"
"I've had some dreams - about the Section."
"Bad dreams."
"Yes."
Nikita looked in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"There was no reason to."
"You didn't want to?"
Michael was silent for a moment, then said, "I didn't want to burden you."
"I love you, Michael," she said. "Nothing about you could be a burden, least of all something like that." She paused a moment, then asked: "In these dreams...do I harm you?"
He looked at her, and his shock brought her some relief. "No," he said. "They have harmed you or Adam, sometimes both of you. Then they come for me. I fight them - but I never win."
"That's over now," Nikita said.
"Of course," Michael said.
Nikita looked at him. "Don't give me that," she said. "This is you and me, Michael."
Michael sighed. "I've had them for so long," he said.
"Then promise me something."
"Anything."
"You'll call me if you have another one." He hesitated, and she knew he wouldn't. "Promise."
"I'm not..."
"Promise."
"Nikita."
"Promise."
"I promise. And you will call me if you need me."
Nikita laughed. "We would be on the phone 24 hours," she said.
Michael smiled. "Someday we will be together," he said.
"Do you really think so?"
"I...yes."
"Do you think what Uri said could come true?"
"Uri was a liar," Michael said.
"But they could find a way to track the calls, to trace and record..."
"And grow telepathic antennas out of their heads for reading our minds," Michael said.
"You think this is funny?" Nikita said.
"Que sera, sera," Michael said.
"Please don't sing," Nikita said, rolling her eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nikita studied the hand-held computer panel outlining the mission profile. She was on the perch with her second-in-command, Grace, and the red team leader, Joseph. "Why are there so many team members?" Nikita asked. "We should be able to do this with three, not five." She pointed to the egress point. "We only need one person covering egress."
"The probability of hostiles infiltrating the area is high," Grace said. Nikita looked up at her. She was approximately Nikita's age with long red hair pulled back tightly. She was dressed in a black skirt and short-sleeved top; Nikita wore a white pants suit. Joseph, also in the same age range with short brown hair, wore black.
"You ran a sim?" Nikita asked Joseph. She knew what her predecessor would have done: told Michael to do it with three people. Michael would cover the egress and take on all comers with gun in each hand - whether there were two hostiles approaching or 200.
"Yes - I followed procedure," he said coolly.
"Of course," Nikita said, with only a touch of sarcasm. Joseph showed no reaction. "You'll do it with four. Rework the profile and resubmit it in a half hour." She handed the panel to him, and Joseph left without a word.
"He's capable," Grace said.
"I know," Nikita said. "But that has never been enough." Grace turned to leave, but then she hesitated. "What is it?" Nikita asked.
"Did you really work with Michael?" Grace asked. Grace had come to Section One from Section Three, where she was a top-level profiler and tactician with some field experience.
"Michael?" Nikita said, as though he weren't constantly in her thoughts. In her mind's eye she saw a flash of thigh, soft lips, and beautiful, intelligent eyes. She looked down at the ring on her finger, the engagement ring. Michael.
"He's something of a legend in the other Sections," Grace was saying, "like a superhero."
Nikita had to fight to keep a straight face. Oh, Michael would love that one. She could easily imagine the curve of his lips, the quiet laugh... "He was just a man," Nikita said.
"The things they said he did - crashing through windows, disabling and killing with unshakable calm, charging into gunfire without..."
"He did what he had to," Nikita said, but she knew better. Michael had done what no one else could or would ever do. "He was just man, Grace, just an operative." Just the most incredible creature to ever walk the halls of the Section...
"Of course," Grace said, and she left the perch.
Nikita walked to the windows and looked out at the Section. Michael. Did people really still talk about him? She had always known that he was extraordinary - that was why she loved him and why Paul and Madeline had put up with his anomalies. No one could do what he did the way he did it, with quiet intelligence and unquestionable skill. Another man would have been canceled for his actions, but not Michael, he was someone no one could really touch...except her. She had finally found her way inside the rich, golden depths of his soul. And she knew she was never going to find her way out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Michael woke with a start, his heart pounding, soaked in sweat. He grabbed his gun from under the pillow and checked that it was loaded. He knew it was, but he checked anyway. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing and heartbeat back to a more normal level.
He had nightmares almost every night - with the exception of those few he spent with Nikita. The dreams were always variations of the same thing: losing Adam, losing Nikita, being brought back into the Section. The worst variation was the one he had tonight, the one where Nikita was killed and he was forced back in to run Section One. Adam was put in foster care, and Michael knew he would never see him again. It was the worst of everything he could imagine, and his imagination served it up every now and then to truly terrify him.
He was aching for a cigarette, but he went to check on Adam first, then took a quick cold shower. Then he dressed and went outside. It was late May and warm enough to be out without a jacket. He sat on a chair on the porch and lit a cigarette, then inhaled deeply.
And thought about Nikita.
That was the only thing that could really calm him, the thought of her physical and emotional beauty. Nikita. He flicked the ashes on the ground and took a deep breath, released it, sighed. He needed to see her, to touch her and be touched. He needed someone to talk to, and she was the only one he had. If it weren't for Adam he would have started drinking heavily a long time ago. But he knew he couldn't do anything that would cloud his judgement. Smoking was bad enough.
He stood and slid the tiny cell phone out of his pants pocket, then sat again. For a few moments he just slid his finger lightly over the numbered buttons. He could hear her voice in his mind and knew it would fill him with the relief that he craved. But like so many times before he knew he wouldn't make the call. He didn't want her to know about this. He didn't want her to know him like this.
Their meetings since he left Section had been about playing together, enjoying one another. He didn't want to bring a shadow into that; they had lived long enough in those kinds of shadows. It was better if she thought he was happy.
Michael laughed. He wondered what that would be like. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and inhaled again. Had he ever really been happy? He came closest to it with Nikita, close enough that he could do something as stupid as ask her to marry him.
How the hell was that going to work? She was married to the Section, and he had his demons. There was no happily-ever-after ending for them.
And yet he didn't entirely believe that, and that was why he had bought the ring and given it to her. Part of him was still fighting for them. He knew it was possible that after the initial elation she had second thoughts and tossed the ring in a drawer or the trash. But he didn't believe that. He knew she loved him the way he loved her - only, always.
And he needed her. He looked at the phone again and punched in the numbers for her cell phone. But he didn't push send; instead he shut the phone off. He wouldn't call tonight. He would have to call soon - very soon - but not tonight. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up. He could easily smoke another, but he knew if he did that he would wind up chain smoking the entire pack. He shoved the phone and cigarette pack in his pockets and headed out to do recon of the perimeter before he started breakfast.
* * * * * * * * * *
When Nikita dreamed it was of Michael and Adam, of having a family with them outside of the Section. And like tonight, she woke to an overwhelming sensation of sadness for what could be but wasn't.
Her family.
Nikita got out of bed and walked out on the balcony of her apartment. Somewhere Michael was out there with his son, living in freedom while she was still chained to the Section. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Was he thinking of her, or did his new life keep him too busy to dwell on ghosts from the past. She looked at her hand where it rested on the railing, the ring clearly visible in the moonlight.
Where are you?
She had asked him not to tell her, not to give her any of the details of where he lived, not even the phone number - she didn't want the Section getting the information. Of course they both knew that if the Center really wanted to find him it would. She just prayed it had lost interest in him.
Nikita certainly hadn't.
She glanced over at the cell phone where it sat in the table charger. She had two cell phones, one for the Section and one exclusively for Michael. Both were on 24 hours, though the one for Michael was on vibrate when she was in the Section.
Not that Michael had ever called when she was there.
He rarely called at all. Sometimes Nikita wondered if the last time was the really the last time, if they would come to a point when he would no longer call. Did he need her as much as she needed him - or was this just a game for him, a diversion until he tired of it?
Was he as lonely as she was?
Call, she thought. I need you.
But the phone didn't ring.
She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Michael. Damn him. Did he really love her? When she was with him it was unquestionable; she knew everything about him. But when they were apart... No, she knew he wanted to be with her. Hell, he wanted to marry her.
How in the world was that going to work?
Nikita drank the glass of wine and sighed. Call, call, call, she thought, trying to send the thought out across the miles. But the phone didn't ring.
I love you, Michael. Only, always, you.
She set the glass in the sink and went back to bed, curling up under the bedclothes, imagining the feeling of his body wrapped around hers.
* * * * * * * * *
Michael had taken a job on the docks loading and unloading ships and trucks. It kept him in shape and left his thoughts free to go where they always went.
The phone was in his jeans pocket. He always brought it with him, but he never made a call from work. He just liked the feeling of it there, the possibility that he could call her if he chose to.
But he wasn't going to call.
He knew Nikita was busy running the Section; it was doubtful she even brought that cell phone with her. He knew how consuming the Section was. She probably never even thought of him, much less cared if he called.
Maybe she had other men.
He stopped in the midst of lifting a box. It wasn't such an impossibility; they rarely saw one another. But just the thought of it made Michael crazy, the idea of her smiling at another man, the idea of her touching another man the way she touched him.
That wasn't possible; she loved him. She was going to marry him.
And then what? They would continue to live separate lives?
Did she really have other men?
Michael had been approached by women - and men - with offers since he had been outside the Section, but he had taken no one up on it. He claimed to be newly widowed, and that made them back off. Yet he had been interested in and attracted to various women. Of course Nikita would feel the same about the men she met, and with the high stress situations she was in it was easy to give in.
He pulled out the phone. He had to know. He punched in the numbers and then stopped. No. He had asked her to marry him; he had to trust her or at least truly believe that she cared for him as he did for her. Michael shoved the phone in his pocket and went back to work.
* * * * * * * * *
When the phone began to vibrate Nikita excused herself from her meeting and found a deserted place in Section to take the call. Her heart was pounding when she answered it. "Hey."
"My guess is you are expecting someone else." The male voice had a Slavic accent
"Who is this?" she asked. "How did you get this number?"
"Cell phones are not so safe," the man said. "This is Uri of Section Two."
Nikita remembered Uri, Operations of Section Two - older, graying, always looking at her lasciviously during the meetings with Center. "What do you want?" she asked.
"We can discuss that at The Ambassador," Uri said, referring to a local hotel.
"We'll discuss it now or not at all," Nikita said.
"So then you would not mind me telling Center about your meetings with Michael Samuelle?" Uri said.
Nikita's stomach dropped. "There haven't been any," she said.
"It is a shame he is so forgettable," Uri said.
Nikita leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She knew he could have evidence: phone calls, photographs. "I haven't seen Michael in more than a year," she said.
"And surely not at a dive like the Starlight Motel," Uri said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I think you will find The Ambassador much more to your liking. Room 1322. Be there in an hour."
Nikita looked at the phone. How... but she knew that like her Uri had all kinds of electronics and technical experts at his disposal. If something could be thought of there was a way to do it. She would have to get rid of the phone. If Michael wanted to contact her...
No, there would be no more contact between them.
She slid the ring off her finger and put it in her pocket. The dream was dead. She would take care of Uri, and that would be the end of it. She didn't care what happened to her, but there was too much risk in this for Michael and Adam. The only thing that mattered was that they were safe. She would do anything to ensure that.
After notifying Grace that she would be out, Nikita left Section and headed to the hotel. She arrived early, gun drawn, a stolen master key in her hand. She used the key to open the door and pushed it open. The first thing she saw was a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the table across from the door. Two crystal flute glasses stood in front of it. Bastard, Nikita thought. Did he really think she would play his game?
"You're early," Uri called from the bedroom. "Come join me."
Nikita readied her weapon and walked slowly toward the bedroom, keeping close to the walls. When she saw him she would fire; she wouldn't wait to see if he was armed. She took in a breath, swung around the corner and brought up the gun...
...and stopped a millisecond before killing the love of her life.
Nikita saw him there and understood that it was Michael, but her brain kept telling her he was Uri. She kept the gun on him, finger on the trigger, unable to process what was happening. Michael didn't move from where he was sprawled beneath the covers, his fine body outlined by the gold silk sheets. "What is this?" she asked.
"Blackmail," Michael said, twisting his perfect Slavic accent into a soft parody.
Nikita shook her head, trying to clear it. "Michael?" she said.
"Oui."
"Prove it." He smiled and threw back the covers. The naked body was his without question. She lowered the muzzle of the gun so it pointed at his genitals. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't emasculate you."
"I will give you great pleasure," he said, his beautiful eyes shining.
For a moment Nikita wondered if he was insane. "I could have killed you," she said. "One more second - one - and your blood would be all over that bed. Do you understand that."
"Oui."
"Damn it, Michael."
"I trained you well."
She slid her finger from the trigger. "This has nothing to do with training," she said. "This is nothing short of luck." Her anger boiled. "What if I had fired, Michael?" She could see it, and she turned away from him.
She heard him get off the bed. "I went too far," he said. "I'm sorry." She moved away when he touched her and started to leave the room, but Michael grabbed hold of her and pushed her up against the wall. "Look at me," he growled softly, his body pressed against hers. "Have you harmed me?"
"Let go of me, Michael," Nikita spit at him.
"No," he said, crushing her to the wall, bringing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss.
And Nikita didn't resist him for long.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Why would you do this?" Nikita asked. Michael was entwined with her in the silk sheets, his right hand on her belly, the left circling her breasts.
"I would think it was self-explanatory," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood, but he could see that she was angry again.
Nikita moved away slightly. "I believed this - I believed we were exposed," she said.
Michael closed the space between them again and slid his arms around her, then brought his lips to her neck. "We are," he whispered. "Completely exposed."
"This isn't funny, Michael," Nikita said. But when she brought her eyes to his her look had softened. "I love you. I thought I'd lost you."
"You'll never lose me," he said. He kissed down her neck, down between her breasts.
"They could destroy us. All they have to do is find out about the phone calls and follow us..."
"No," Michael said.
"Michael, you know..."
"I know us," he said, kissing her. "We will make it through this."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nikita woke Michael gently. "I have to go," she said. She had watched him sleep for a while before dressing, returning the ring to its place on her finger.
"Thank you," Michael said.
"For what? she asked, caressing his face with the back of her hand.
"Staying while I slept."
"Why?" He looked away. "Why, Michael?"
"I've had some dreams - about the Section."
"Bad dreams."
"Yes."
Nikita looked in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"There was no reason to."
"You didn't want to?"
Michael was silent for a moment, then said, "I didn't want to burden you."
"I love you, Michael," she said. "Nothing about you could be a burden, least of all something like that." She paused a moment, then asked: "In these dreams...do I harm you?"
He looked at her, and his shock brought her some relief. "No," he said. "They have harmed you or Adam, sometimes both of you. Then they come for me. I fight them - but I never win."
"That's over now," Nikita said.
"Of course," Michael said.
Nikita looked at him. "Don't give me that," she said. "This is you and me, Michael."
Michael sighed. "I've had them for so long," he said.
"Then promise me something."
"Anything."
"You'll call me if you have another one." He hesitated, and she knew he wouldn't. "Promise."
"I'm not..."
"Promise."
"Nikita."
"Promise."
"I promise. And you will call me if you need me."
Nikita laughed. "We would be on the phone 24 hours," she said.
Michael smiled. "Someday we will be together," he said.
"Do you really think so?"
"I...yes."
"Do you think what Uri said could come true?"
"Uri was a liar," Michael said.
"But they could find a way to track the calls, to trace and record..."
"And grow telepathic antennas out of their heads for reading our minds," Michael said.
"You think this is funny?" Nikita said.
"Que sera, sera," Michael said.
"Please don't sing," Nikita said, rolling her eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *