A Promise Kept (Sequel to "Pearls and Black Velvet") MA rating toward the end. You've been warned!
Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Nikita looked at the small calendar taped inside her locker. Yes, it had been exactly twenty-eight days since she'd seen Michael. Twenty-eight days since he'd tried to seduce her.
The day after the successful mission at the Czech Embassy, Madeline announced that Michael was on a deep cover assignment for a few days. A few days?! That was almost a month ago. What was going on?
Twenty-eight days since that night. . .
Nikita had relived every detail of that amazing evening at least a thousand times. Every night she would sit on her balcony and remember how it felt to be in Michael's arms as they slow danced in this very apartment. She remembered the lovely sensation in the pit of her stomach as he took in every nuance of her face, especially focusing on her lips and eyes. She had desperately wanted him to make love to her, but suddenly his cell phone rang.
Nikita wondered over and over how far things would have gone if there had been no ringing phone.
One Month Earlier
Michael slipped out of the queen-sized bed he shared with his wife, Elena. He stood there a moment observing her. The pale pink nightgown contrasted with her long black hair. Even as he watched, she moved about restlessly in her sleep. No doubt it was another bad dream involving her long-estranged father.
For the umpteenth time Michael wondered what it would be like to share a bed with Nikita. To experience nights of explosive passion as their sweat-glistened bodies lovingly joined. He shook his head to banish that dangerous thought. He needed to be very focused for this upcoming mission. Focused as never before.
Going downstairs, he went through the family room and into his small office. He booted up his laptop and punched in a special code to access a secret layer of memory. Even the most talented hacker would be hard-pressed to penetrate this system. Birkoff had personally seen to that. This was where he received instructions and updates from Section about this most crucial of all missions. As he checked tonight he saw that everything was on schedule.
Now Michael went to the next page in the secret memory. Here he had Adam's fingerprints and DNA information, plus three photographs – front and profile shots taken this morning of Adam and one picture of Nikita. It gave him a sense of peace to look at her photograph when he was away from Section for extended periods.
This morning Elena was weeding her flower beds and talking over the low hedge to their neighbor, Mr. Vijay Naveen, retired civil servant and passionate gardener. Vijay was constantly working among his flowers, pausing only when his wife called him in for meals. Adam was kicking his soccer ball around, but stopped suddenly to watch the garbage men emptying the cans along the street. Michael grabbed his digital camera and snapped the shots. This is how he would remember his son.
"I want to be a garbage man when I grow up!" declared Adam.
"Ah Adam, would you not rather work with computers, like your Papa?" asked Vijay.
"No!" came back the obstinate reply. This brought a laugh from the adults.
From his office, Michael could see that Vijay was wearing that tacky outfit of old men everywhere – Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals. A khaki shirt and pith helmet completed the ensemble. He looked straight out of a Bollywood film.
Michael had to laugh. Sometimes Vijay plays his part too well. In fact, Vijayakumar Naveen, by way of Madras and London, was a highly-placed Section operative who was charged with keeping tabs on Elena and Adam when Michael was "away on business."
Now as Michael looked at the pictures, he fantasized about how the three of them – Adam, Nikita, and himself – might one day form a family. Would Nikita ever understand how another woman had borne him a child? Even if it was part of a mission? This was the biggest deception of all.
Tomorrow he and his wife and four-year-old son would board an Air France plane at Charles de Gaulle airport for the long flight to Buenos Aires. There they would attend the wedding of Elena's cousin, Galit, who was beginning to make a name for herself in the South American art world as a painter and sculptor.
Unknown to Elena, her father would be there to talk business with his brother, Galit's father, and to reconcile with his daughter. He knew, of course, that she had married and had a son, but Salla Vachek had never met his grandson or son-in-law. No matter. Their reunion would be short-lived.
The wedding reception would be marred by a shootout in which Vachek would be apprehended by Section and Michael would take a bullet in front of his son and wife. Michael worried how this would affect his son, but at last the long blood cover mission would be over. He would probably never see his son again. That was the cruelest part. This had been a given from the day Adam was born, but it did not lessen his anguish.
It had taken a long time to manipulate all the players into position for this big day and now it was almost here. Michael rubbed his eyes wearily. Maintaining his dual lives had been difficult, but manageable until Nikita came on the scene. He remembered with precise clarity the first time he saw her.
It wasn't in the White Room as Nikita had always assumed. It was during the interrogation of her "crime." Michael had been at police headquarters for several hours on a recruiting mission. Section's abeyance pool was shrinking and it fell to him to find new recruits. Various suspects were brought in and questioned about crimes ranging from embezzlement to car theft to forgery. There was nothing interesting or special about any of them.
Then Nikita came in. She looked around warily as she slouched on the hard metal chair in the middle of the room. Her long blonde hair was stringy and disheveled, her clothes baggy and not the cleanest. Two minutes into the questioning, Michael knew that she was innocent and that she was the one. He looked beyond the unkempt appearance and saw potential.
Innocent and he was deliberately bringing her into the cold, clandestine world of Section One. He rapped his knuckles against the one-way glass, indicating to the detective that he would take this one. Nikita's head jerked up and turned toward the glass. Now she realized that someone was on the other side. There was no way she could know it, but she looked directly at Michael. The blue of her eyes was startling. So much so that Michael temporarily forgot what he was going to ask the officer in the room. In that instant, he knew that they would always have a connection.
The bored, heavy-set officer stood up and commented, "Good. That's one less for me to hafta lock up."
Michael came back to the present as Watson, the family dog, wandered into the office and laid down beside the desk. The dog always slept in Adam's room, sometimes on the bed and other times on the floor. Michael leaned down and scratched behind his ears. People said that animals knew when there was something wrong. Did Watson sense that something was amiss? Did he sense his master's ambivalence?
"You must protect Adam and his mother when I'm gone, Watson."
Michael now thought about the other woman in his life – his wife Elena. Any man should be proud to be married to her. She was an attractive and gentle woman. One who took great joy in her cooking and making their home a warm and inviting refuge. She was a loving and attentive mother and often said she wanted at least four children. Each time he heard that, Michael inwardly cringed. Wasn't it bad enough that he had helped bring one innocent child into this maelstrom?
He looked around at the various photographs on the shelves and desk. There was a large one of he and Elena on their wedding day, smiling and appearing very much in love. Next to it was a picture of a very pregnant Elena taken just two days before she delivered.
Then there were the requisite baby pictures – Adam in his mother's arms in the delivery room; Michael rocking him to sleep; Adam splashing around in his bath; Adam making a mess of his first birthday cake; Adam pulling on Watson's tail, etc.
Michael looked up to find Elena standing in the doorway. "I knew you'd be down here," she yawned.
He smiled. "Unfortunately, new clients get nervous when you say you're going out of the country for two weeks. I wanted to be sure everything was in order."
"Oh Michael, you're so conscientious I know you've taken care of every detail for them." Elena was proud of her hardworking, if sometimes preoccupied, husband.
Details. You cannot even imagine what sort of details, thought Michael.
He closed the laptop and stood up. "There, all done. Let's go back to bed. We have a very busy day tomorrow."
Watson got up and ran ahead of them up to Adam's room. They paused at their son's door and looked in. "Adam is very excited about going on the plane," Elena remarked.
"Yes, it will open up a whole new world for him," Michael replied. He wondered if Elena would remember this conversation after his "death."
They got into bed and in under a minute Elena was out like a light. She was curled close to Michael as he lay on his back. Only the truly innocent can sleep so peacefully, thought Michael. He had many uneasy nights; he was certain Nikita did, too. He only wished that they were able to comfort each other. Soon you will know everything, Ni-ki-ta, and will probably hate me forever.
With great determination he forced his brain to go back over the profile. Right now, he could not afford the luxury of his Nikita fantasy.
The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Buenos Aires
Something had gone terribly wrong at the reception – Michael had actually been shot. There would be hell to pay when Operations found out. When another operative, posing as one of the caterers, realized that the blood staining the front of Michael's tuxedo was real, he had broken position to drag his weakening body to safety.
Afterwards, Michael was taken to a private clinic outside the city where he underwent several hours of emergency surgery. No questions were raised about the patient or his injuries. If the policia had made inquiry, they would have found no record of a Michael Samuelle, wedding guest from Paris.
Operations was livid when he got the news. "You are not to leave him unattended for any reason and he's to have the highest level of care! Contact me the minute he regains consciousness."
This conversation took place as Tanner, a Level Five operative from Section Four, stood by Michael's bed watching the night nurse check his vital signs. Operations could have been heard all the way from Paris without a phone.
He had worked with Michael on several other missions over the years and counted him not only as colleague, but as a friend. He knew how much Operations depended on Michael and how Michael was slated to one day replace him.
Now the nurse was checking the bulky dressing that covered the row of staples across Michael's abdomen. An IV drip was in one arm while a blood transfusion ran into the other arm. His mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask. Monitors beeped and lights flickered on the panels. Tanner silently offered a prayer to God, if He still existed, that He would spare Michael.
All at once, Michael was struggling to say something. The nurse stopped her ministrations and looked at Tanner. They waited. She lifted the oxygen mask a fraction and leaned closer.
"Ni-ki. . .ta. . ." It was barely a whisper. "Three times." She held up her fingers. "Three times he has called for her. She is someone important to him." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Tanner answered. "Very important."
"It would speed his recovery if she were here."
Tanner looked down at Michael and then back to the nurse. "I'm afraid that is not possible." But Birkoff could download some sound bites of Nikita. That would be better than nothing, decided Tanner.
Even at Section Four rumors had reached Tanner about Michael and his prize recruit. Once he remembered being at Section for a meeting with Operations, Madeline, and Michael when a tall, leggy blonde in black leather passed in front of the Perch.
She glanced up with a look of contempt that included all of them, but it lingered a bit longer on Michael. He, in turn, tried to ignore her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder as if to say, "To hell with all of you!" Tanner had to look down at the floor in order not to smirk. Here was an independent thinker in the midst of Section. He could well understand Michael's fascination with her.
One afternoon, without explanation, Nikita was called up to the Perch. Operations and Madeline were standing there, deep in conversation as always.
"You wanted to see me?" she inquired politely. She tried to recall if she'd done anything recently that might land her in hot water.
Operations had a sly grin plastered on his face. This couldn't be good. "Nikita, you have done very well in your training and assignments thus far. Much better, in fact, than we ever anticipated," he said.
She would do like Michael and keep her responses to a minimum. "Thank you."
"Because of that, you will be allowed to live outside Section."
Now Madeline chimed in. "You may go to your quarters and collect your things. Strauss will meet you at Van Access in ten minutes and take you to the apartment. You'll find everything you need there."
Nikita could not believe her ears. Live outside Section?! This was amazing! She looked slowly from Madeline to Operations and nodded. "Well, this is a surprise," and turned and descended the stairs.
Strauss was an operative she knew vaguely so she made harmless, general comments about the weather and such on the drive to her new home. But her eyes almost bugged out of her head and her heart started racing when he pulled up in front of Michael's old apartment building.
No, this can't be, she thought. They've probably put Michael's cold, lifeless body up there as some sort of warning. They know about that night. It's just another mind game. I think I'm gonna be sick.
As always when she was extremely nervous, Nikita began chewing on her bottom lip. Strauss noticed and asked, "Are you okay?" He was slipping the key into the lock of Apartment 412.
"Uh, yeah. It's, uh, just so unexpected," she said. She hoped he did not hear the tremor in her voice. "Be glad you're away from that hellhole for even a little while," he said in his gruff, but not unkind, voice and swung open the door.
The apartment looked much as it did when she and Michael were there. Minus the champagne.
"Here's your new identity," he said, indicating the folder on the kitchen island. "Your code name is Josephine," and then he was gone. Nikita immediately turned and threw up her cheeseburger into the sink.
She leaned over the sink for a full ten minutes until her stomach and nerves calmed down a bit. Then she splashed some water over her face and neck and reached for a paper towel.
So, she was going to live in Michael's old apartment. Surely Section knew that this was once his home, didn't they? Did that mean that Michael was alive and going to return and live here, too? No way, she decided. They would never make it that easy for us.
So many questions. No real answers.
After several weeks, Michael was finally back in Paris at Section One. After debriefing with Operations and Madeline for two hours, he went to his office to begin wading through a stack of memos, reports, evaluations, and assessments. Madeline had mentioned in an off-hand sort of way that Nikita was on a mission in Uzbekistan. He knew his reaction was still part of her psychological evaluation of him. His blank stare was firmly in place, however.
"I see," was all he said. He gave no indication that he'd read the mission profile and knew the team was expected back late tonight.
Sitting here now, he found it hard to concentrate on the papers in front of him. Was it just because he was still recovering from major surgery or was it because he kept expecting Nikita to burst into the office? He suspected it was more the latter.
Late in the afternoon, Michael learned that because of a blinding snowstorm there would be no transport out of Uzbekistan that day. The team would hold position until the weather cleared. It was just as well – it would give him more time to ease back into the routine and figure out what he was going to say to her.
The very next morning the team returned safely from Uzbekistan, but in one of those twists of fate, Michael was at Center for a round of debriefs and planning meetings when Nikita arrived. Walter and Birkoff were off-site training new recruits and no one mentioned Michael's return.
The day progressed like any other. She did some paperwork, previewed upcoming missions, and had a session in the dojo. All the while wondering what had happened to Michael. He was never out of her thoughts, day or night. At last she came home to apartment 412. It was still a mystery as to how she wound up living in his old apartment. Had he somehow arranged this before going on the deep-cover mission?
She had walked by his dark, empty office on the way out tonight. She looked around furtively, then slipped through the door and sat down at his desk. It made her feel closer to him. Surely if he were dead they would have given this space to someone else.
Of course, there were no pictures or personal effects. Nothing that gave any clues about the man who worked there. Or maybe it did – efficient, organized, controlled.
Nikita smiled a little. She knew he was not always so controlled. What about that night?
She clunked the bag of groceries down on the counter and tossed her sweater toward the couch. She had only been in this place two days and this would be her first home-cooked meal. It was still strange to think that Michael had lived here in his student days.
She tried to imagine him studying for exams, drinking wine and arguing politics and philosophy with friends late into the night. Even bedding girlfriends here. Well, maybe she didn't want to delve into that one.
She looked at the one living room wall she'd painted a brilliant turquoise. Whatever would he think of that? Would he ever come back into her life and finish what he'd started? It seemed very unlikely now. With a sigh, she rummaged around until she found the magazine with the recipe she wanted to try.
Thirty minutes later she froze with a wooden spoon halfway to her mouth. Someone was knocking on her door. She had not met any of the neighbors and she knew Birkoff and Walter were with the new recruits. Who could it be? It was already dark and Nikita was still a little apprehensive about living here.
Turning off the bubbling sauce, she reached for the gun on the top shelf. Good grief! It's probably just some pizza delivery guy at the wrong address, she thought in an effort to calm herself. Maybe I should ignore it.
"Ni-ki-ta?" She almost dropped her weapon. It was soft, a caress. The voice she could love and hate at the same time.
Wait. It could be a trap, she thought. She looked through the peephole. It certainly looked like Michael, dressed in his usual black suit.
"Ni-ki-ta, please?"
She opened the door and they stared at each other. But something was different about Michael. He looked. . .tired, pale. "May I come in?"
She could not get any words out, but only nodded her assent. He walked in and closed the door. Of course, he'd seen the gun in her hand. "I've already been shot twice. Are you going to shoot me as well?"
She laid the gun aside and found her voice. "Where have you been? What happened to you?"
Michael closed his eyes for a moment as he felt a twinge of residual pain. "Gut surgery is no picnic."
Listen to him, trying to make a joke, thought Nikita. This from the man many say has no feelings, let alone a sense of humor.
"You should rest. Come on." Nikita took his hand and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. How ironic. It used to be his bedroom in a long-ago life.
"Lie down and let me have a look," she ordered. Michael was in no mood to argue. He kicked off his boots and complied. She helped him ease out of his jacket, then slowly pulled the charcoal grey sweater up over his head and tossed it aside. The extent of the scar caused her to gasp.
"Let me put some ointment on that." She was horrified that someone would do this to her Michael, for privately that was how she thought of him. She went into the bathroom and came back with a tube of medicine. She began lightly massaging the angry zigzag scar.
This was not what Michael intended. He winced a little and then gripped her arm. "Ni-ki-ta. . ." She set the tube aside. Impulsively, she stood up and stripped down to her white cotton panties. She wanted to be close to him. Michael did not see her beautiful body because his eyes had already closed in weariness and relief.
Nikita snuggled next to Michael and pulled the comforter over them. Without hesitation, his arm went around her shoulder. Now he could relax both physically and emotionally. There was no pretense here for he was with the one woman he truly loved.
As Nikita settled herself, she felt hot tears of gratitude filling her eyes. She said softly, "I was so worried about you, Michael." Her fingertips trailed idly over his bare chest. "No one would tell me anything. I was afraid you were dead."
Was Nikita actually talking to him or was he dreaming? Michael could not be sure. All he knew was that her warm, smooth skin was touching him. That in itself was a balm. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up, he thought.
Sometime during the night Michael awoke and realized that his lower back was killing him. He'd been lying in the same position since Nikita brought him up here. He maneuvered himself out of bed without disturbing her and stretched his spine. He had not intended to wind up in bed with her, pleasant though it was. The whole point of his visit was to explain about the Vachek mission.
But what's a few more hours? he thought looking down on Nikita resting so peacefully. The night was cool and quiet. They were together and alone. Altogether it was a seductive mixture.
He removed the rest of his clothes and got back in bed, pulling her close. She whimpered slightly and settled her head on his chest.
The first rays of morning were slanting across the room when Michael next awoke. During the night, he and Nikita had shifted to the spoon position. Michael realized that being naked and in bed with Nikita was not prudent right now. His body begged to differ, but there was a lot of dangerous territory they needed to cover first. Various emotions were about to spring up and explode like landmines in an enemy field.
Without delaying further, Michael got up and dressed. Nikita at first did not miss his warmth, but now she lazily rolled over and saw him standing beside the bed. She sat up, clutching the covers to her breasts. The old, serious Michael had returned. Walter had warned her about this.
"How are you feeling?" she ventured. He looked toward the window before answering, "Fine."
"You always say that, Michael," she said in exasperation. "Half your body could be blown off and you would insist that you're fine."
He knew she was right, but he could not let the conversation be derailed. If they were to have any hope of a relationship in the future, the past had to be brought forward and explained.
"Get dressed. We have to talk," he said. It was exactly this kind of clarity and discipline that made Michael a strong team leader. When something needed to be done, he didn't procrastinate. He went down into the kitchen to make some mint tea for her and coffee for himself.
It wasn't just the breeze from the open window that caused Nikita to shiver. It was Michael's whole tone and attitude. She scrambled out of bed and found a clean pair of sweats folded on a chair. She got the distinct impression that Michael did not want to be distracted by one of her sexy little outfits this morning.
After brushing out her hair, she joined him in the kitchen. He handed her a cup of tea and they drank in silence for a moment. Nikita was thinking how Michael looked more rested than when he arrived last night. He had that look of quiet determination that she had seen so many times before.
Michael, on the other hand, was wondering how best to explain this whole unfortunate business. Professionally, it was a major coup for him. Personally, it was a bloody nightmare. He had lost his precious little son and now he was sure he was going to lose Nikita, too.
"Ni-ki-ta, I don't know what, if anything, you may have heard about my mission." He stared intently at her.
She held his look as long as she could. "Okay, Walter only said that I might not want to know all the details. He said it would be better if you told me yourself." Of course, that had merely doubled her curiosity and anxiety.
"Do you know who Salla Vachek is?"
She shook her head. Michael took a deep breath and proceeded to tell of Vachek's terrorist activities over the years and Section's many attempts to capture him, all of which were failures. That is, until someone had the inspired idea, depending on your point of view, to insert an operative into his own family.
"So you, what. . .pretended to be his long-lost son or something?" she asked.
"He had a daughter. . ." Michael paused to see if she was putting it together.
"A Valentine mission. You seduced her to obtain information about her father," she said flatly. Nikita did not like this, but it made perfect, perverted sense. Probably Madeline's idea.
"It's more involved than that."
"How much more involved?"
"I was ordered to marry her. That was five years ago. And Ele. . . and we have a son." Michael could not bring himself to say Elena's name.
Nikita stared numbly at him. "You have a son? Was that part of the profile?" She was incredulous.
"When the marriage itself did not draw Vachek out, it was thought that a grandchild would."
"Let me get this straight – the daughter of a known terrorist gave birth to your child?"
Michael could not look at her as he answered. "Yes."
"Ever heard of adoption?" she said helplessly.
"Vachek would never believe that a young, healthy couple could not conceive. Only a child from his bloodline would get his attention."
"Bloodline?! You make him sound like a racehorse," she wailed. But even Nikita had to acknowledge that there was a cold, calculated logic to the plan. It had Madeline's stamp all over it. People's emotions were of no consequence in the global chess match with terrorists. They were shifted or advanced as befitted Section's goals. Why couldn't she just accept that as Michael had so often asked?
But Nikita was not that kind of person. She couldn't be cold-blooded or ruthless, especially where a child was concerned. By this time, she was sitting at the small dining table. She felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach.
Michael continued to stand and went on with the story. The wedding reception in Buenos Aires; the shooting; how he languished for several weeks as a fever, complications, and another surgery impeded his recovery.
Nikita was on her feet again, her anger returning and the bile rising in her throat. "You have used me in the worst possible way, Michael! Playing on my obvious feelings for you, pretending to care about me, even trying to seduce me. . .in this VERY APARTMENT!"
She was running her hands through her hair in an agitated manner. "Lying in my bed last night while somewhere your WIFE and SON are mourning you! You're a disgusting bastard and I HATE YOU!"
Michael stood calmly as the insults and accusations were hurled at him. She had to get it out of her system, like opening a wound for the pus to drain out.
"Ni-ki-ta, you know it's not like that. I did my job. To them, I'm dead. They'll move on and have a better life because there's one less terrorist to menace the world." Even as he said that a picture of Adam screaming in fear at the reception came to mind. Adam who was now gone from his life forever. Elena was easier to dismiss from his thoughts.
"Everyone was right – you have no emotions, no heart, NOTHING! You're just a machine that Madeline and Operations program to do their dirty little jobs. I wish I'd never met you!" Her voice had risen again and she grabbed Michael's coffee mug and flung it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen fragments and coffee ran down the wall. Michael paid no attention to the mess, but moved quickly to restrain her.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she shrieked. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Hot tears were building behind her eyes and her lower lip was trembling.
Michael dropped her arms. There would be no reasoning with her today. He could only look at her, his soul full of remorse and self-loathing. This was all his fault and now he had to suffer the repercussions.
Why had he picked her that day in the police station? Was it because he needed a distraction from his blood-cover mission or enjoyed a challenge? Yes, both. Then the unthinkable, the forbidden had happened: he had fallen in love with his recruit. He didn't want to love her, tried to push her away so many times. But in the end he threw caution and his better judgment to the winds.
Nikita's back was turned and she tightly gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself.
"I want you to leave now." Her voice was calmer, but her shoulders were hunched over, as if in defeat.
"Of course," he whispered. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but they both needed time to regroup. He picked up his keys and left the apartment. Love must be patient.
Michael got in the car and realized that his hands were shaking. This was only the beginning. He would have to work very hard to earn her trust again. He sat there for several long minutes before he felt steady enough to start the car. Then he drove around aimlessly for half an hour before returning to his own apartment.
Nikita slumped to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest. The tears began to flow freely. She sat there a long, long time. Only when her back began to ache and her bottom grew cold from sitting on the bare floor did she get up.
She went to the bedroom and impatiently jerked all the linens off the bed. She did not want any trace of Michael's scent. She kicked them into the corner and flopped down on the mattress, drawing up into the fetal position.
Thank goodness they had not made love last night. That would have been the ultimate slap in the face. How did she feel? She began to examine all her emotions. Shocked beyond belief, angry, violated, depressed, used, naïve. That was just for starters.
It was almost too horrible for words – Michael a husband and father, and a cold, deceitful manipulator on top of that. She tried to imagine him laughing and playing with his small son. Worse still, him lying in bed with his wife, the daughter of a powerful and evil man. Did she melt under his touch the way I almost did?
"Aarrrgh!" she screamed and put the pillow over her head to try and blot out the painful thoughts. The whole time she'd known him he'd had a secret family hidden away while he gave her mixed signals, indifferent most of the time and then trying to seduce her one night.
Suddenly, she remembered that night he'd lured her here. The phone call – that must have been his wife. His mood definitely changed after that and their magical evening was over.
Nikita searched her memory for other times when Michael was absent from Section and no one commented on it. Surely he had been with his family. She had been too new and too scared to inquire about a Level Five operative, only assuming that he had unknown duties elsewhere. Was she the last person to know about his mission? Walter and Birkoff must have known about this all along.
After showering and changing clothes, Michael went into Section and headed straight for Walter's area.
"I told her everything," he announced.
Walter put aside the nightscope he was working on. He'd helped set up the original mission parameters more than five years ago.
"Knowing Sugar, I'm sure she did not take it very well," he said drily.
"No." Michael's face was a mixture of stress and bewilderment, something Walter had not seen before. It dawned on him that Michael had real feelings for Nikita.
"Hey, you did everything right, Michael. There was no other way to bring Vachek down. Hell, we tried hard enough over the years." Walter sighed heavily as he remembered all the previous attempts and humiliating defeats.
"Give her time. She needs to sort this out in her own way. You have to step back from the situation for a while."
Michael nodded slightly and looked toward the central atrium area where operatives were coming and going in all directions. Since Vachek's capture, there was a lot of activity in all sectors as the layers of his empire began to crumble.
"I know. Thank you," Michael said quietly and started for his office.
"Hey, take care of yourself," Walter called out. Sometimes he felt like a therapist for the lovelorn. Nikita would often come by and unload about Michael's ill-treatment of her. Now here he was counseling the other part of the equation.
But Michael was a good operative, the best in fact. He was the only one who could have succeeded in this mission. Walter hoped that eventually Nikita would understand that.
Nikita was scheduled for two days of downtime after the mission in Uzbekistan. This had also coincided with Michael's disastrous visit and her learning about the Vacheck mission. She had cried and stomped around the apartment and cursed and thrown things, all in an effort to purge herself of any feelings for him. The neighbors must have thought a raving lunatic had moved in. She felt drained and fragile, like all the nerve endings in her body were exposed. But it was time to return to work and she could not put off seeing him any longer.
The weather had turned warmer so she decided to wear her new cream-colored linen sheath today. As she walked through the streets in the early morning, she decided on a new course of action: she would have a strictly professional relationship with Michael. She would not let any personal feelings or animosities creep into their day-to-day interactions. She would only talk to him when necessary and then only about missions and Section business.
It would be hard, she knew, but the emotional price of getting involved with him was too great. Once burned, twice shy. She was sure Madeline would approve whole-heartedly.
But I'm not doing this for Madeline, she reminded herself.
Her resolve was tested immediately upon entering Section. Michael had received medical clearance to return to full and active status and was working out with a new recruit. Female, petite, black hair. The girl was clearly in awe of her handsome mentor as he adjusted the position of her arm. The worst part was that Michael was wearing a black tank top which outlined his chest and exposed his biceps.
I can do this, thought Nikita. I can do this. But a momentary thought of how those arms had once held her in the night flitted through her head. She dismissed it quickly and walked on.
"Ni-ki-ta, we have a briefing in fifteen minutes," came the familiar accented voice from behind her.
She stopped and turned. "Of course," she said curtly. Michael noted that she was wearing a new dress. He liked it.
Michael was leading the briefing. Apparently, Operations was at Center for a big meeting about the Vachek mission.
"This is basically a surveillance mission, but we must be prepared to take out any of Vachek's lieutenants that we encounter. We will work in two-man cells. Fisher and Thibault, Davenport and Rivera, Torville and Dean, and Ni-ki-ta and myself. Birkoff will be on-site to provide support. Pick up your panels from Walter and be at Van Access in ten minutes."
Several hours later, Nikita found herself with Michael in an abandoned army hut somewhere in Germany's Black Forest. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to be here alone with him. When she had asked earlier why she was not working with Davenport, Michael at first gave her the blank stare, then said, "You are my partner," in a tone that clearly indicated 'no further discussion.' Should she be flattered or annoyed?
"There's nothing more to do. It may be several hours before we're extracted," said Michael. He found a thin blanket in the corner, threw it over the filthy mattress, and laid down. "We should use the time to rest."
Nikita stood at the small window peering out with night vision binoculars. But there was nothing to be seen. He was right, of course. They would be the last team to be picked up. I can do this, she repeated to herself. She laid down with her back to him.
Neither spoke and kept to their own thoughts. Michael was thinking how different this was from a few nights ago in Nikita's apartment. They had been so close then, but now it was like they were on different planets.
After some time, Nikita felt her resolve slipping a little. One question had been gnawing at her like a toothache. She could have asked Walter, but somehow was reticent to do so.
"What is his name?"
Michael rolled over to face her back, but did not touch her. He knew whom she meant.
"Your son. . .what is his name?" she asked in a tiny voice.
Michael was tempted to finger the long blonde tresses, but resisted. "Adam. His mother picked the name. She said if it was a girl, I could name her." His voice had a note of resignation in it. "In the end, it did not matter."
Before Nikita could respond their comm units crackled with Birkoff's voice. "Michael, egress will be from the southwest. Chopper's ETA is four minutes."
They quickly gathered their gear and proceeded to a clearing some five-hundred yards away. The Black Hawk helicopter would put down for only a few seconds without cutting its rotors.
Once onboard, Michael called Operations to debrief. As Nikita strapped herself in, bits of their conversation haunted her. In the end, it did not matter.
How can it not matter? she wanted to scream. He's your child, he's your flesh and blood!
She looked around at the other operatives. They were either talking quietly or trying to sleep. Why does it matter so much to me? she wondered. It shouldn't be my problem. I have my own job to do. Even as she tried to reason with herself about this, the answer was in her heart.
It's because he is a part of you. . . and I love you. I can never escape that, no matter how much I try to hate you.
Over the next few weeks Nikita was able, with Herculean effort, to stick to her vow of only a professional relationship with Michael. She attributed that lapse in the Black Forest to fatigue and PMS. Since then, she was cordial, but all business, with Michael.
He responded in kind, frequently inviting her opinion of mission profiles and giving her more responsibility in the field. All their missions were successful and Madeline remarked, "I had reservations about Nikita, but she's maintaining our high standards. Your methods have been very successful."
"She has natural aptitude," was Michael's only comment.
Madeline smiled enigmatically and walked toward the White Room, ready to do mental gymnastics with another Vachek underling they had captured.
I've only succeeded in driving her away, Michael thought bitterly as he stood alone in the hallway.
Nikita decided to eat her small salad in the park before embarking on a few errands. There was a lull in Section today so Madeline had suggested that she take the afternoon off. Well, you don't have to tell me twice, thought Nikita.
Children scampered around the ornamental water fountains as parents and nannies watched or read newspapers. Young couples lounged on blankets spread on the grass while designer-clad matrons walked prissy little dogs on leashes.
Nikita picked through the salad, losing interest halfway through it. She sat staring at the happy little domestic scenes being played out in front of her. One small girl shrieked as her older brother tried to wrest the balloon from her chubby fist, causing their mother to reprimand him. Another child was ecstatic over getting an ice cream only to have it gobbled up by a frisky puppy.
Somehow, Nikita's gaze was drawn to a little boy quietly playing by himself. He was three, maybe four years old. Probably about the same age as Michael's son. Michael's son. Every time she thought about that she was both amazed and horrified.
Suddenly, two large men appeared and were talking to the boy's father. The child began to cry and clung to his father. "I'll see you next weekend, Alain," said the father as he kissed the child on the cheek and tried to comfort him. The large men led the boy to a woman some distance away, obviously the mother. She glared at the father as she scooped up the boy in her arms and turned to leave the park.
A nasty divorce, thought Nikita. She felt sorry for the father as he stood by fountain watching them leave. Then Nikita had an epiphany – this situation was not unlike Michael's. In both cases a son was taken away from his father, but there would be no next weekend or next month or even next year for Michael to be reunited with his little boy.
All this time Nikita was feeling sorry for herself and thinking she was the only victim. Now she realized all too painfully that Michael was also a victim. Forced into an arranged marriage, forced to live a lie, forced to have a child that probably in the beginning he did not want. Oh yes, Michael had been victimized, too. The only difference was that he suffered in silence. His grief and anguish were very private matters.
Michael also left Section early that day. He was worried about Nikita and followed her into the park. From a discreet distance he studied her. He, too, was disturbed by the custody exchange because it hit too close to home. But equally disturbing was the sight of Nikita sobbing as she sat on the park bench. He longed to go over and comfort her.
Walter's words came back to him. She needs to sort this out in her own way.
Nikita regained her composure and sifted through her handbag for some tissues. She dabbed at her eyes and nose, then stood up and smoothed out the front of her dress. She walked out of the park in the direction of her apartment.
Michael watched as she turned the corner and was lost to sight. He wanted his old Nikita back. The one with passion and fire. The one who argued with him and forced him to look at situations in a different light. The one he loved.
He went in the opposite direction to a gym where the regulars knew him as "Pascal." After an intense hour-long workout, he felt better. He had to let Nikita approach him in her own time. In the interim, however, he was dying a slow death. Part of his soul was missing.
Nikita knew what she had to do. It was 6:10 a.m., but she was sure Michael would already be in his office. She knocked on the door, then stuck her head in.
"I know you're busy, but this will only take a minute," she said in a rush.
"Come," Michael beckoned. She did not sit in her usual seat, but remained standing. Michael stood up as well.
"Yesterday I realized how painful it must have been for you to give up your son. I've been very insensitive and wanted to apologize. I know the circumstances were beyond your control."
At first, Michael made no reply, but looked toward the window. He was moved by Nikita's apology. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Nikita was about to say more, but Madeline's voice came over the intercom. "We're ready, Michael."
Michael looked back to Nikita. Each saw the sadness in each other's eyes. In those few moments, they came to an unspoken understanding. "Thank you," he said again.
Michael had to go to Center once more for meetings. He was away from Section for a couple of days. Late one afternoon he came to Birkoff's workstation and loomed over him. "Where is Ni-ki-ta?"
"She said something about reviewing some sims," he said between mouthfuls of M & M's.
Michael considered this for a moment. "Keep her busy for another hour," he ordered.
"Huh?"
Michael gave Birkoff a threatening look. "Uh, okay. I'll get her to help me with this program." He knew better than to question Michael when he was in one of these moods.
Michael left Section and, after a couple of detours, found himself at Nikita's front door. As he had anticipated, the locks had been changed. He smirked to himself. Did you really think this would keep me out? After a few deft maneuvers, the door opened.
** NC-17 **
A mouth-watering smell greeted Nikita as she came up the creaky stairs toward apartment 412. She had a headache from helping Birkoff with some of his projects and looked forward to a quiet evening.
One of these neighbors must be a gourmet cook, she thought. Guess I'll zap a frozen dinner. But that seemed very unappealing compared with the aromas of garlic, peppers, and chicken that filled the hallway.
Upon opening her door, Nikita realized that the cooking was coming from her apartment. Her small dining table was laid with a white linen cloth, lit candles, and an arrangement of pink and white roses. A man was sitting there. No point in asking how he got in.
"What gives you the right to break into my apartment?" she challenged.
"I was worried about you. You've lost weight."
"So now you're concerned about my nutrition?" she scoffed. She tried to project an angry tone to camouflage the rumblings of her empty stomach. Michael was now hovering over the stove, checking the angel hair pasta. "I believe this is ready. Why don't you sit down?" He poured some wine and handed her a glass.
Unbelievable! This guy breaks into my apartment and then cooks dinner for me. Nikita sipped her wine and watched as Michael filled their plates. Why can't I just hate him?
Michael picked up his fork. "It's really much better when it's hot," he said.
"You don't say. I'm wondering what other surprises you have in store. I never pictured you as a cook," she said sarcastically. Or a husband and father, she thought.
Michael ignored the jibe and began making small talk about everything and nothing. Nikita was slowly seduced by the wonderful food and Michael's charm. She relaxed and even smiled and laughed. Each time she glanced up, Michael's eyes were upon her. It was a look she understood all too well. It was a plea for forgiveness and a promise of things to come.
At the end of the meal, Nikita got up and removed their plates to the sink. "Since you cooked, I'll clean up," she said. "It was delicious, by the way." Instantly, Michael was behind her and reached around to turn off the faucet. "That can wait," he whispered in her ear. He touched the remote and soft music filled the candlelit room. Nikita immediately recognized it as the same music from that night. . .
Michael led her into the living room and pulled her into his arms. The hard lines of his body merged with her softer curves. They moved together as one. He wants me as much as I want him, thought Nikita. She focused on his hypnotic eyes and was lost. She was ready to forgive him for everything.
Michael studied her face as they slowly moved in time to the music. "I've missed you, Ni-ki-ta, he said simply. "We will have this night, if nothing else. You taught me that we have to live each moment to the fullest."
"What if one night isn't enough?" asked Nikita. She knew in every fiber of her being that one night with Michael would only fan the flames of her desire.
"It is our beginning," he answered.
By now they were at the bottom of the stairs leading to Nikita's bedroom. Michael reached down and picked up Nikita in his arms. When he set her down upstairs, she started to unbutton her blouse. Michael stopped her. "No, I want to do that." She gave him a shy smile and dropped her hands. "By all means."
Ever so slowly, Michael unbuttoned the five buttons and pushed the cotton blouse off her shoulders, revealing a cream-colored lace bra. He lightly cupped each breast through the thin lace, causing Nikita to close her eyes and open her mouth. She relished the feel of his strong hands on her body. Then his hands slide around her waist and unzipped the denim skirt. He eased it over her hips, letting it fall around her ankles. Her shoes had already been lost on the stairs.
Nikita was breathing in short, erratic gulps. This amused Michael. "Are you nervous?" he teased.
He is enjoying this way too much, she thought. "Are you?" she countered. Michael almost smiled. He pulled her close and began placing soft kisses on her face. First on her forehead, then eyelids, cheeks, neck. He carefully avoided her lips. He would explore her sweet mouth later. In case this was the only night they ever had together, he wanted to savor every look, every touch that passed between them.
Nikita closed her eyes again and let herself bask in the feeling of Michael's lips as they moved over her face and neck. Her skin seemed to burn at every place he touched her.
"Do you know that I have waited two long years for this?" he said as he threaded his fingers through her hair.
"Michael. . .Michael," she panted.
His hands moved to unclasp her bra. As it fell away, he said, "I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you." Next, he stripped off her lace panties. Her eyes flew open and she watched as Michael slowly and lustfully scanned her body. Their eyes met once more.
"Ni-ki-ta, you are beautiful," he breathed as he felt himself grow hard.
"Please touch me, Michael," she begged. She was aching for his caress in her private parts.
Michael began pulling his shirt loose from his pants. "Hurry!" Nikita urged. Her hands reached out to help him and in a few frenzied seconds, he had shed all his clothes. He moved Nikita to the bed and lowered her against the cool satin sheets. Her nipples hardened again as they brushed against his bare chest.
He crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her passionately. His tongue explored her warm mouth and she sought to do the same to him. Between the kisses, Nikita caught her breath enough to mumble, "Make. . .love. . .to me!"
"Do you want me. . .as much as I want you?" he whispered hotly in her ear. Her hands were already clawing his back as his incredible erection pressed against her abdomen.
"Oh, Michael. . .YES! Oh YES!"
This mouth moved down her neck and closed on one nipple. Nikita ran her hands into his hair to hold him there. His tongue swirled around the nipple making it ultra sensitive.
"Ah. . .Ah, yes!" Hadn't she, too, dreamed of an encounter like this for two long years?
He released the nipple, gently kissed it, and moved over to the other one. "Michael. . .oh, Michael!" He loved to hear her say his name as he pleasured her.
Now he was kissing and licking his way down her flat belly. He ran his hands up her sides and softly massaged her ribcage. Nikita squirmed and moaned quietly. She felt like putty in the hands of a great artist, but she longed for a deeper, more intimate contact.
"Michael, enter me! Enter me, NOW!" she cried. "Oooh!" His thumbs slid over her terribly aroused nipples again, teasing them.
Michael, too, was aching to plunge his manhood deep into his beloved Nikita, his true soulmate. He wanted to connect with her on this the most basic and primal level for a man and a woman. He didn't know how much longer he could wait, but he wanted to prolong each sensation as long as possible for her sake.
"Ni-ki-ta. . .my Ni-ki-ta! I want to touch every part of you!" He pushed her legs further apart and gently separated her folds. He slowly inserted a couple of fingers and felt her warm, wetness there and rejoiced. She was more than ready for him. He bent his head to her womanhood and darted his tongue lightly over her bud several times before giving it a small kiss. It was almost Nikita's undoing. Her hips lifted off the bed as her hands grabbed the sheets, twisting them. She was thrashing wildly.
"Michael, Michael. . . PLEASE!"
"Are you ready for me, my love? I want to make you MINE!" Michael was panting and sweat had popped out on his face. He couldn't wait a moment longer.
"Please, Michael! I want you deep inside me!" Michael positioned himself at the entrance to her secret place and began to push into her. "AHH!" she cried. He was enormous!
"Take all of me!" he commanded. "I want to give you everything." Nikita relaxed and her body accepted and welcomed his full, engorged length. "Ahh!" Michael sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Her tight, slick depths encompassed and massaged him with a feeling of indescribable warmth. This was a thousand times better than his most erotic dreams about her!
Nikita loved the feeling of Michael filling her so completely. Just as she was reveling in that feeling, he began to withdraw. She protested loudly, but Michael said, "Be patient, my love!" Then he began slowly entering her again. He was setting up a slow, deliberate rhythm to give her as many sensations as he possibly could.
In. . . and. . . out. In and out he stroked, each time going a little deeper. Each time being lovingly caressed by her inner limits.
"Michael, oh Michael!" she moaned as she lifted her hips to meet him each time. Michael watched, entranced, as her head rolled from side to side as the intense sensations were building throughout her body. Her mouth opened, but she was almost incapable of coherent speech.
He knew they were almost at the point of no return. His own body was screaming for the ultimate release. Only a few more strokes and he would push them both over the edge and into ecstasy.
Finally, as Nikita squirmed, Michael reached under her derriere and lifted her closer. She obediently wrapped her long legs around his waist. With one final, deep stroke his huge tip hit her core. All the previous sensations were but a blip on the radar screen compared to the blinding, white-hot explosion Nikita experienced as Michael's essence poured into her warm depths, filling her with more than just a memory.
"AHH. . .MI-CHAEL, OH MI-CHAEL!" she screamed as her nails dug into his back.
"NI-KI-TAAH! MY LOVE!" he answered. He collapsed on top of her, pinning her against the twisted satin sheets. The weight of his body was a delicious feeling. He plunged his tongue deeply into her very willing mouth and savagely kissed her. Each one fought for control as their tongues did battle.
At last, Michael laid his head on her breast and they panted as the aftershocks of their mutual orgasm rippled throughout their bodies. Neither had ever experienced such an earth-shattering release before. It could not have been measured with existing technology.
"Ni-ki-ta, you are mine now. As you were always meant to be." He paused and kissed her again. "We are one. One in body and soul."
"And you are mine, Michael." She smiled up at him and touched his face, running her thumb over his eyebrow and loving even the feel of his stubble. "I think I always knew that we would end up together," she sighed happily.
They lay with limbs entwined and Michael still planted deep within her for a long time, softly kissing and caressing each other. They cherished this warm, quiet time of togetherness.
Nikita was feeling very relaxed and sleepy now. Michael murmured something in French. Nikita did not catch the words, but knew it was a declaration of love. They both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.
When Nikita awoke the next morning she discovered Michael watching her with a grin on his face. "What is it?" she asked with a smile.
"I was just thinking how much I enjoy waking up next to the woman I love!"
Nikita blushed. "And I love you, too," she said quietly. Michael leaned over and kissed her several times as she sighed contentedly.
At last, Nikita felt she could ask him the question that had been bugging her since the night of the Czech Embassy mission and the aborted seduction.
"Michael, where do you live?" Michael seemed amused at the question. "Does it really matter?" he asked. He was running one hand slowly up and down her thigh.
"It's . . .uh, just that I. . ." His roaming hand was distracting her. ". ..want to know everything about you." She finally halted his hand for a moment.
"Very well. I'll take you there. Later." He rolled over on top of her and pulled her hands up by her head. "Right now, there are more important things to do!"
After another blissful session of lovemaking that continued on into the shower, Michael and Nikita finally were able to get dressed and leave the apartment. They walked about four blocks and stopped in front of a fashionable, old building across from a small park.
"Here? You live in this building?" she asked incredulously. She was stunned that it was so close to her apartment. She had often sat in this park after a stressful mission to unwind and collect her thoughts. Probably Michael had seen her here.
They had reached his apartment and Michael was opening the door. "You tried to follow me twice," he said. Nikita's eyes widened. There was no way to keep anything from this man.
"The first time you got caught up in a Bastille Day celebration. The second time it started to rain heavily and you had no umbrella."
"Then what happened?"
"You took refuge in the patisserie around the corner and bought two éclairs."
Nikita was amazed. "Yes, that's exactly what I did, but how did you know? I thought I was being so cautious. I should have known that you would catch me."
Michael's cell phone rang shrilly. "Yes?" he answered. "I understand." He disconnected and looked at Nikita. "We have to go in." She nodded, a sad look coming over her face.
"Michael, what happens now? About us, I mean. Will Section know?"
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "We cannot show our true feelings when we're in Section. If we do, they will suspect us of all sorts of things. They might transfer you to a different Section . . .or worse."
Nikita felt on the verge of tears, but vowed to be as strong as Michael. "I won't let them suspect anything because I couldn't bear to be separated from you," she said.
Michael saw the determination in her eyes and embraced her tightly. "We must stay alive for each other. You will be my strength and I, yours," he whispered. He gave her a soft kiss and they prepared to return to Section.
They knew that whatever happened tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week in Section, their love was formidable enough to deal with it.
~ Finis ~
6-15-02
