Author's Notes: WOW! Thank you all so much for the reviews! They are so inspiring…every morning that I wake up to a good review, it just gets the day off to such a great start. Thanks :)

And a special note to those of you who haven't seen Casablanca: GO SEE IT! Seriously. One of THE best movies ever, no question.

I feel obligated to warn you about this chapter…there'll be some sex in it. Nothing very explicit, but it'll be there (PS: does anyone else really detest the word "panties?"). On top of that, I need advice. See, I'd originally intended this story to be a very angsty, dramatic examination of the pitfalls and high points of the T/M storyline…but I've fallen in love with my harmless, fluffy plot so far, and I just can't bear to throw in the depressing bits I've written. So here's the poll: should I keep this story going in the lighthearted vein it currently enjoys, and put the angsty parts online as one-shots, or should I consign myself to a feature-length story and just build it all in?

Hope you like this chapter, and thanks for reading.

"All these years, Pax…all these years, and I thought you were just making up all that fireworks-and-swooning stuff you put in your books," Michelle said as she flopped backwards onto her bed and stared dreamily at the ceiling.

Pax gasped. "No…you got a book kiss? Really?"

"Mmm hmm. I was starting to think I'd imagined it…you know, the one at work? Or that I'd just been so pumped full of adrenaline that I would have responded to anyone. But this goodnight kiss definitely proved me wrong."

"Wait…goodnight kiss? You mean you didn't have sex with him?"

"Nope. And not," Michelle emphatically pointed out, "for lack of trying on my part. I invited him in and he said no!"

"Um…" Pax hesitated. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, Michelle, but that's not exactly a good sign."

"No no no…it wasn't like that. I asked him if something was wrong and he said "no, and that's why I'm leaving." Then he gave me this amazing smile and left…isn't that sweet?"

Pax was silent.

"Pax?"

"Well, you know that personally I'd rather just get laid…but I can see where someone might find that romantic."

"Someone's in a cynical mood tonight."

"I'm always in a cynical mood. That's what makes me so memorable. So where did this tease take you, anyway?"

"He's not a tease!" Michelle laughed. "And he took me to this great, really expensive Italian restaurant. I was all worried when we walked in, because it's the kind of place that, you know, you don't go to unless you're on the VIP list or something…but Tony just went right up and bribed the maitre'd! Turns out his sister and brother-in-law own it. Theo even came out and talked to us for awhile and practically accused Tony of being in love with me, which nearly killed me, but he seemed really nice. Then we went to see Casablanca."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No! Michelle, he didn't!"

"Oh, but he did."

"Mmm." Pax groaned with exaggerated delight. "He's a keeper."

Despite Tony's directive, Michelle ended up going to work the next day, largely because she didn't have anything else to do. And, having spent most of the night trying not to picture the dead bodies of her coworkers lying amidst heaps of rubble, she was anxious to have something other than the memory of a kiss to distract herself with. So she rolled out of bed at her usual 7:00, hopped in and out of the shower, and put on something that, while being serviceable enough to wear in the shell of a bombed building, she hoped would entice Tony to finish what he'd started the night before.

Her energy began to ebb somewhat during the drive to CTU, when guilt at being so happy during such a tragic time began creeping into her consciousness. Was it wrong, she wondered, to have gained so much joy on the same day so many innocent people were killed? Was she a bad person for having moved on, for having focused so much on Tony instead of constantly remembering the fallen? Then she remembered George, and the words that had started the whole thing: Find something that makes you happy, and do it. Everything else is just background noise. Michelle smiled to herself as she pulled into her assigned parking space. She hoped George was up there somewhere, heckling her relationship with Tony.

The work crews had made remarkable progress on the building. Michelle's old workstation was nonexistent, true, but in its place was a temporary desk complete with state-of-the-art computer, telephone, and everything else she needed for a day's work. She plopped down in the chair and logged on, very deliberately not looking up at the Director's office. Her phone rang as she was scanning through the day's memos, and she answered it absent-mindedly.

"Dessler."

"That's funny. I could've sworn I told Agent Dessler not to come in today. I must be imagining things, because I know everyone here knows better than to turn down a day off."

Michelle's gaze flew up to meet Tony's, staring down at her through his office blinds. "What can I say? I'm dedicated to my job."

Tony snorted audibly and she suppressed a smile. "You know, technically this is insubordination," he commented dryly. "I could have you brought up on charges."

"You wouldn't!" Michelle gasped in mock horror before remembering where they were and lowering her voice. She glanced around, trying to ascertain if anyone was paying attention to her.

"We-ell…I suppose I might allow myself to be bribed, in this instance. But only because I hate to see so much talent go to waste."

"I see. Out of the goodness of your heart, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Not," Michelle said firmly, "that I would ever consider such a cowardly course of action but hypothetically speaking…what's the price of your silence?"

Tony flashed her a grin before turning away and sitting down at his desk. "How do you feel about poker?"

"Poker?"

Poker. Texas Hold 'Em, to be specific; the Almeida siblings' bi-monthly tournament, to be exact. Tony watched Michelle nervously as he escorted her inside Angie and Theo's house, ready to whisk her out at the first sign of trouble. His family could be rather…overwhelming. To put it mildly.

They were the last ones to arrive. Accordingly, they were greeted by a chorus of enthusiastic "hello's" and "Tony, where have you been keeping yourself's" and "you must be Michelle's."

"Alright, alright, alright," Tony said, motioning for everyone to sit down. "Michelle, clockwise from your immediate left, this is Angela, you know Theo already, Abby, Adrienne, her fiancé Mitch, Anna, and Adam. Everybody, this is Michelle Dessler." The noise crescendoed again immediately.

"…this must be the girl he's been mooning about…"

"…your hair is gorgeous, Michelle..."

"…if you call me Abby, I'll have to kill you. It's Bee…"

"…you know you're the first girlfriend he's brought here?"

"…I'm so glad you weren't hurt in the bombing, sweetie…"

"…you say you're from Kansas City? I used to date a guy from there. What was his name…"

Tony did his best to intercept the worst of the questions (Anna kept asking Michelle how she felt about church versus small weddings), but he knew he was fighting a losing battle, so he settled for making sure her tequila kept coming. At least Michelle was holding her own. She wasn't staring in fear at Bee's leather jacket and purple hair, or the barbed wire tattooed around Adam's bicep. She was even laughing at something Adrienne had said. Eventually, the game actually started, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Michelle wasn't a horrible card player. He'd hate to see his brother and sisters clean her out too quickly.

But, to his surprise and delight, she held her own there, too, outlasting Adrienne (no surprise) and Anna (who was distracted by the prospect of some boy who might or might not be calling her that evening), as well as Adam (a solid player), Mitch (who gave up and followed Adrienne out to watch TV), and Angela (who had actual talent). By the time it was down to Michelle, Tony, Theo, and Bee, it was late enough that Angela reappeared to shoo them out the door.

"Some of us," she said pointedly, "have to work tomorrow. Including you."

So off they went, laughing, in Tony's car, back to Michelle's apartment. He fully intended to go home after another good-night kiss but the look in her eyes (equal parts shy request and brazen offering) when she asked him inside made him hesitate.

Michelle noticed his brief uncertainty and pounced on it. "Oh, c'mon," she cajoled softly, "we can finish our poker game." I can't believe I'm having to work this hard, she thought, vowing to one day exact revenge on him. And I can't believe how much tequila I let myself drink!

Tony cocked an eyebrow. "I dunno…will you still respect me in the morning?"

She giggled and pulled him inside. "Who said anything about morning?" Flipping on a lamp she gestured widely. "Welcome to my tiny home." It was a very small apartment. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a blue tiled peninsula, and her bedroom and adjoining bath opened off halfway between the two. That was it.

Tony frowned as he looked around. "I don't think we pay you enough."

"I'm saving up," Michelle said, "and investing until I can buy a real house." Tony nodded and looked at her. There was an awkward pause- they both knew why they were there, but neither one was quite sure enough to make the first move. Finally, Tony cleared his throat.

"You don't really wanna play poker, do you? I mean, you'd just lose…"

"There you go, bluffing again!" Michelle exclaimed. She retrieved a deck of cards from the kitchen and slapped them down on the coffee table before settling herself on the floor in front of it. "How am I supposed to refuse a challenge like that?"

"Tell you what," he said, sitting down across from her and beginning to shuffle the cards, "I think I can arrange this so we both come out ahead."

"Oh, really? And just how are you gonna do that?"

"Well…just how interesting are you willing to make this?"

Michelle leaned her elbows on the polished wood of the coffee table. "Just what did you have in mind?"

"Ever played strip poker?"

Despite her vast experience remaining constantly stoic and unruffled at work, a hint of a blush crossed Michelle's face. She hoped in vain he didn't notice, but if his ever-widening grin was any indication, he had. But he wasn't the only one who could bluff. "No," she said jauntily, "but it doesn't sound like it takes long to learn."

"I'll even take a handicap," Tony offered with a gleam in his eyes. "You're wearing more items of clothing than I am, but I'll let you keep them all on…for the time being."

The rules were soon established. His watch and her earrings and necklace were removed and set aside, and Tony began dealing five-card draw. Michelle's heart was beating loudly in her ears, but she forced herself to focus on the cards rather than the handsome man sitting across from her. She was rewarded a few minutes later when she triumphantly collected his left shoe.

"Hah!" she gloated. "Not so cocky now, are you?" But within a few minutes she was both shoeless and sockless, and only a lucky pair of jacks saved her from early humiliation. Two more wins, and only the interesting bits were left to be taken off. First, to Michelle's glee, came Tony's shirt, lost to three tens. He didn't unbutton it, instead pulling it over his head from the back in one smooth motion. If it was possible, her heart began beating even faster- he was, in her opinion, perfect. All muscles defined, but not grossly so; a light tan; enough dark hair to be virile without being, well, gross…her mouth went dry, her face reddened. Tony just gave a smug grin.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it), her distraction soon lost her her own top. It was worth it, she thought, to see Tony's eyes glaze over just a little. When she revealed her red lace bra (the only such thing she owned- mostly she wore durable cotton) an unbidden image sprang to mind: that of a cat, and the sharpening of focus and tensing of muscles it exhibits when it first catches sight of its prey.

The next hand was a farce. They hardly looked at their cards before Michelle slowly stood up to take off her jeans. As she slid them slowly past her hips, knees, and stepped out of them, Tony stood as well.

Looking her straight in the eye, he said quietly, "Michelle, are you sure you want to—"

Heart racing, she nodded frantically. "Good," Tony muttered, and lifted her up and over the table and into his arms.

Oh, God, finally, she thought returning his frantic kiss with equal fervor. Hot skin against hot skin…his hands running down her back…cupping her bottom…her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. She could feel his arousal pressing urgently against her. He was kissing her neck, her chest…somehow her bra was gone and he was worshipping her breasts with his mouth.

"Tony…" she gasped, molding his back with her fingertips, "Bedroom's through there…" Then they were moving, and he was kissing her mouth again, and then she was lying on her bed, horribly alone for a split second before her joined her, jeans and boxers gone, and slowly peeled away her panties.

And then they were there, just the two of them. No more barriers, no more pretense, no more games. Only two souls in two bodies, moving together in that effort to become, if only for a moment, one.

Afterwards, he watched her sleeping face, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb. He gathered her protectively in his arms, filled with a previously unknown joy as he recalled the words she'd whispered in the throes of passion.

"I love you, too," he said, and drifted off to sleep.