Michael caressed Nikita's arm, resting his chin on her shoulder. She turned to face him and purred, "Mmm…feels good." She then proceeded to stretch, cat-like, evidently forgetting that she was completely naked. Michael muttered something under his breath about appreciating the view, and Nikita chuckled.

"I never knew you could be so shy with me, Michael. Mmm, you certainly weren't shy last night…" her words trailed off as she recalled how they had made love repeatedly throughout the night.

He laughed and turned on his back, looking up at the ceiling as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Nikita rubbed against him, kissing his chest, while she played with his chest hair. "What shall we do today?"

Michael looked at her and ran his hands over her flat abdomen, tracing little circles lower and lower. "Besides that," she said dryly.

"Whatever you want," he answered.

Nikita pondered a long time, so long that Michael thought she had fallen asleep again. "I want…"

She raised herself up on her elbows and looked down at his face, affection evident in her blissful smile. "I want…to stay right here."

Michael shrugged. "I see no reason to move." Nikita laughed.

It was a pleasure to hear her laugh so freely. It had been a long time. "This trip has already done you good." Nikita snorted. "Oh, yes, you come highly recommended." Michael stared at her in surprise, then finally realized that she was making a joke. He swatted her on the backside. "Brat."

She fought back, gently at first, and then they began to giggle and wrestle with each other like children. Michael started to tickle her, and Nikita shrieked with laughter. It was the most joyous sound he had ever heard. "I didn't know you even knew how to tickle," she said, almost unable to get the words out between gasps for breath and laughter.

Michael gazed at her most solemnly, giving her a genuine blank stare. "I have hidden depths." Nikita squealed again, "I bet you do!" He broke into a grin. "I tickle better than I play the cello."

Nikita grinned back. "Play me, Michael. I wanna be the cello."

It was a sign of just how far they had traveled in their journey to be together. That they could openly joke about Michael's cello-playing was a distinct sign of healing old wounds, wounds that needed to close before their relationship could grow and deepen. She yawned without bothering to cover her mouth. "I didn't realize just how drained I was, from all our recent complications."

Michael glanced at her fondly, his grey eyes softening as they always did when they found Nikita in sight. "Want to order some breakfast?" She groaned as she stretched again. "I think it's more like lunchtime." She rose from the bed, feeling Michael's arm graze her back as she stood. She looked out the window, not caring that she stood completely revealed. Michael's natural instinct was to tell her to move away from such an open place, but he thought better of it. He got out of bed and followed her to the window, standing behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, reveling in the silky touch of her skin. "You feel so good," he whispered against her hair, pressing a kiss to it.

"You're learning fast, Michael," she said, as she turned into his arms, pressing her chest against his. "But some of us need food." She smiled, so he would know she was teasing. "You're always so serious, I need to work on lightening you up." He smiled tentatively and nodded. "If you say so."

"I say so," she said approvingly.

She turned back to the window, admiring the sunny day that still awaited them. "I think I'd like to go out there, maybe swim a bit?" Michael nodded, "Okay."

By the time they finally managed to keep their hands off one another long enough to get dressed, Michael and Nikita were ready to eat anything. She ordered a picnic basket for two, and dressed in the pale pink sundress she wore, she looked like a cross between a Viking princess and a farmgirl. Michael, dressed in black, wore sunglasses, and Nikita teased him about needing to buy some new clothes.

Michael shrugged. "What's wrong with black?"

"Nothing. It's basic…dramatic…you look good in it."

"And?" he said warningly, a punishing glint in his eyes. Nikita held onto her serious demeanor for a few more seconds, then exploded into laughter. "Im sorry, Michael, but I just can't see you wearing Bermuda shorts!"

"I should hope not." He sounded almost offended. He snapped his glasses off and then back on. "Michael, don't be mad," she pleaded.

"I should warn you, I get even," he said huffily. "Oh, I hope so," she said in her sexiest drawl. He burst out laughing, then kissed her, his arms instinctively reaching to fold her into his embrace.

When they had made their way down to the cove, Nikita's shoes were filled with sand, and her skin was turning pink from the sun. "Kita, you should cover up." Nikita didn't like to admit it, but she was not exactly feeling great. Still, she didn't want to worry Michael, so she said nothing.

"I'm going to swim first, then we can eat."

"Nikita, you must be hungry, you haven't touched anything since the plane ride." He frowned. "You look flushed." Nikita shrugged off his concern and peeled away the sundress, revealing a simple white swimsuit. She dashed into the water, splashing and frolicking like a child, and Michael watched her for long moments before sitting down on the beach. He set out their food and waited for Kita to finish playing. His eyes moved automatically behind the dark lenses, searching for and evaluating possible danger. He was having a return of his earlier fear, that Nikita would be taken unexpectedly from him, and there would be nothing he could do but watch.

Nikita, quite breathless from her antics in the surf, splashed a tiny bit of water at Michael, forcing him to take off his glasses to clean them. He looked so serious, Nikita noted immediately. "I should never leave you alone."

"Really? Why is that?" Michael sounded almost surly.

"You start thinking." She grabbed her sunhat off her own head and plunked it down on Michael's. "Nikita!" He stood up, his pants wet from the wine he had already poured. She started to giggle, but she suddenly felt nauseated. In fact, her vision was blurry, and she was beginning to see double. She hiccuped. Michael reached out to grab her, and he caught her, in mid-fall, as she finally fainted.

He picked her up and carried her to the top of the hill, the exertion making him sweat profusely. He stood, holding her unconscious body in his arms, and wished that he had not been right to worry. Something was wrong, he could feel it, and he knew that things were about to get worse.

He lay her on the bed in the darkened bedroom. He repeated her name, like a chant, willing her to wake up and chastise him for being silly. "Nikita, Nikita…" He went into the bathroom and got clean towels, wetting one with cold water. He bathed her face gently, trying to stay focused and not let his imagination run away with him. She came back a moment later, grimacing as though her head hurt. "Michael, what happened?"

He looked away for a second, then directly at her, his glasses falling to the floor. "You fainted."

"That can't be, I never faint."

"Trust me, you did."

"But—"

Michael's voice, clearly strained to the breaking point, caught her attention. "Nikita!" he cut her off, "you fainted, and you've been unconscious for at least 10 minutes. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about it!"

He began to pace. "You haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, you let yourself get dehydrated and you probably have sunstroke. Have I left anything out?"

She closed her eyes. Michael was really worried. Therefore, she should be really worried. She opened her eyes again. "Michael, I'm okay. I just felt a bit sick at my stomach."

He paced back to a spot in front of her. He almost shook with feeling. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Michael, it's not a big deal." She tried to smooth things over, but Michael was shaking his head. "It is." He blinked, then resumed pacing. He took the cold towel and offered it to Nikita, who refused. He threw the towel down. He went to the door, then stopped. "Nikita, how long have you been feeling like this?"

"Not long," she replied, averting her eyes from Michael's. He stared at her. "Oh, God…" he said, just before running out of house. He sat down on the top of the hill, totally out of breath. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged them to his chest. "This isn't happening again…" he kept thinking, "It can't be happening again…"

Michael rocked back and forth, his mind numb from pain he could not express. He closed his eyes and moments later, he was openly crying. He rested his cheek on one knee and tried to think, but he could not. "Please, please, please…" he began to whisper, but whether to himself or God, he didn't know. "Don't take her away from me now."

He raked his fingers through his hair, over and over, and he looked wild-eyed, as though he were in shock. Maybe he was, he thought. God, he was supposed to protect Nikita, but he had left her alone and afraid and ill inside the little house. He got up suddenly, wiped his tears away by smearing one hand across his face, unaware of how pale he had become.

He forced himself to walk calmly into the house. Nikita lay quietly on the bed, where he had left her. She seemed to be sleeping. He went to turn around and go back out, but Nikita's voice stopped him. "Michael, I'm okay. Really. You were right. I had too much sun, and not enough to eat, that's all." She was trying to reassure him, brave soul that she was. Michael went to her, taking her hands in his. "I thought Section had poisoned you somehow," he said softly, pain and anguish in every word. Nikita's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Michael, no." He kissed her, his lips cold against hers, and Nikita took a better look at him. "Michael, you don't look well either." He tried to smile, but failed miserably. She stroked his face, as he sat next to her on the bed. "Maybe we both picked up a bug from the plane," she offered.

"Maybe," he agreed, without looking at her.

He rubbed his face hard with one hand, leaving a red mark on his cheek. "Michael, why don't we go into the restaurant and have something to eat? Then we can think more clearly." He looked up at that, and nodded. "If you feel up to it."

She nodded back. "I do."

Several minutes later, outside the restaurant, Michael turned to Nikita and asked, "Are you sure you feel—?" She reassured him, for what felt like the tenth time, some of her frustration seeping into her voice. ""I'm o-kay. Really." Michael backed off and nodded silently.

They ordered dinner, and beyond a few polite but necessary words, there was little in the way of conversation. When they finally returned to their little house on the hill, the first thing that Nikita said was, "I'm going to lie down." Michael said, "Okay," in a very low voice and walked into the darkened living room.

He sat for several minutes thinking, imagining that Nikita was upset with him because he had overreacted badly. Part of him understood that. He knew he was being far too overprotective, and he realized that Nikita desperately needed her own space. In fact, they were both well used to having their own lives and their own space. So he was at a loss to explain just what switch had tripped in his head earlier. Except that he alone knew just how much he cared what happened to her. Even Nikita didn't understand just how much.

Nikita pulled back the covers on the bed and settled beneath them. Moments later, she was turning on her other side. A few moments later, she had tossed her way to the other side of the bed. She punched the pillow viciously and tried to fall asleep. It was absolutely no use. She could not go to sleep with this unspoken tension between her and Michael. She threw back the covers and bounded out of bed. She stomped into the living room, clad only in an oversized white T-shirt and white socks.

She waited a beat. Michael had not even reacted to her presence. "I can't stand this silent treatment!" Michael looked at her blankly. "What?"

She crossed the room, grabbed the paper that Michael was attempting to read and threw it as far as she could. Michael sighed. "Now who's overreacting?"

Nikita huffed, "Well, you could at least talk to me—"

"About what?"

Nikita looked plainly exasperated. "What do you mean about what?"

Michael's expression didn't change. "You asked me to back off and I did. You're confusing me, Nikita."

She almost swung at him, she was so annoyed. "But I didn't expect you to totally ignore me!"

Michael glared at her frostily. "I see. And somehow, I'm supposed to know exactly how much attention you need and when?"

She was speechless. She had never seen Michael angry. Not really. Oh, there had been many moments when he had let his annoyance show through, but she had never seen genuine anger. Somehow she thought Michael didn't connect with it often enough to recognize it.

"And I'm supposed to know this how?" he asked archly.

Nikita snorted, feeling not a little miffed at this point. Some honeymoon, she was about to say, biting her tongue. "But—why are you acting like this?"

"You told me I was overreacting. I agree." Michael's facial expression was superficially bland, but he looked far from passive. She bit her fingernail. "Michael!"

He leaned forward and spoke almost too carefully. "The last thing I want is for you to feel like I'm smothering you, Nikita."

She was incredulous. "Michael!" she gasped. "You're angry!"

"I'm not…angry," he said, almost gritting his teeth.

"You are! Admit it!"

Michael stood up abruptly and swept his hair back with both hands. "I'm not—" He looked down, then back at her, his eyes glittering with frightening intensity. "I'm not going to argue with you, Nikita." He attempted to brush past her, but she grabbed his wrist. He whirled around and almost slammed her against the wall. He closed his eyes slowly, then re-opened them. "Just because I don't show my feelings like you, Nikita, doesn't mean I don't have any."

She pressed herself closer to the wall. "I never meant to imply that—"

"Yes," he hissed, his teeth clenched, "I think you did."

"But—"

"Make no mistake, Nikita. You can hurt me, but always remember, it's because I let you have that power. Whatever power struggle is going on here has to stop." He winced, then shook his head. He just as suddenly released her arms, which he had gripped so tightly, there were visible marks.

He reached out as if to rub her arms, then stopped. "I think I need to take a walk." He turned without another word and left. Nikita stared after him. But you love me, she wanted to scream after him, don't leave me like this.

Nikita was used to confronting problems head-on, but she wasn't sure that a direct approach at this point was a good idea. She padded softly back to the bedroom and wondered how things had gone so wrong so quickly. I am a hothead, she admitted to herself, and I tend to flame anyone who gets me riled. But Michael had always been endlessly patient with her. Or so it seemed. She climbed back into bed and pulled the covers carefully up to her chin. She wanted to hide. She suddenly realized that she had more than made Michael angry, she had hurt him. She had misunderstood his silence, and worse, she had goaded him into becoming aggressive.

It was my fault, she whispered to herself. She turned out the light by the bed, and she felt for her two rings, reassuring herself they had not suddenly vanished with the man who had given them to her.

When Michael came into the room, he saw, by the moonlight trickling in the window, that she had finally fallen asleep. He had waited a long, long time before coming inside. He didn't trust himself to face her yet. He leaned over and kissed her cheek as softly as possible, so as not to wake her. She stirred slightly at his touch. He hesitated before leaving, wishing that things could have ended differently. He blinked impassively and left the room.

Nikita slept restlessly. She kept dreaming that Michael had left her, that he no longer loved her, that he had gone back to Section without her, leaving her alone to grieve for the death of their love.

She sat up suddenly, her breath coming in hard gasps, her throat aching with the urge to cry or scream. She had had a nightmare to end all nightmares. She covered her face with her hands. "Michael?" she called out. She felt the bed next to her, and she knew in an instant that he had not been there all night. She leaped out of bed, skidding to a stop at the door where she collided with Michael. He put his arms around her without thinking, and she flinched. He immediately released her, refusing to make eye contact. "I heard you yell," he stated flatly.

She shivered. Ice. He was made of ice. "Michael," she whispered, "come to bed, please."

"What's wrong?" Still he refused to look at her.

"Michael, I'm so sorry I hurt you. I think—I didn't know I could."

She sounded contrite, and God, he wanted to go to her, especially when she said his name in that husky whisper. He unbent just a little and glanced at her, stunned to see how upset she truly was. "Kita…" he breathed.

"I had a bad dream, Michael…I need you…," she said, trying to appeal to his protective instincts, hoping that, if nothing else, would make him move towards her.

He nodded. He put his arm around her and they walked slowly back to the bed. He let her get into bed first, then he settled himself beside her, not quite touching her. She turned to face him, pleading with her eyes. "Michael, please don't leave me."

He pulled her closer, resting his head on her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Kita."

"I c-can't. I don't want the dream to come true," she said with a shudder. "If I go to sleep, you won't love me anymore, and you'll leave me, and go back to Section, and forget about me…and..and…I'll still be here…waiting…alone…" Nikita couldn't help it, she was terrified that it might happen, and she began to cry. Michael pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "Kita, Kita…"

She sat up in bed, her tears glistening on her face, and Michael moved with her, cradling her in his arms. "Michael?"

"Yes, Kita?" He kept his eyes closed for fear that she would see how vulnerable he was to her tears.

"Do you…still love me?" she asked tearfully. She clung to his embrace, her cheek pressed tightly against his, and she could swear that she felt a muscle working beneath it.

A low groan broke free from Michael's throat. "Kita," he said. "How can you ask me that?"

She sobbed in his arms, her tears trickling down his neck, and he was lost. "Oh, ma pauvre…" He continued to whisper to her in French, words of endearment, she thought, though she could not be sure. He began kissing her, and Nikita rejoiced, for his touch assured her of what mere words could not convince.

She tried to slow the onslaught of tears, but she seemed powerless at the moment to do so. Michael held her for long minutes, kissing her cheek, her ear, her neck, her mouth. "Michael?" she queried. He stopped for a second, his eyes curiously shiny. He nodded. "You wouldn't do that, would you? Go back to Section without me and forget me?"

"You're part of me, Kita, how could I forget you?" He sighed heavily. He played with her hair, as if he could not stop touching her, even long enough to frame a sentence.

"Then it was just a bad dream?" she asked anxiously.

"Just a bad dream," he agreed. "Do you think you can sleep now, Kita?"

"Only if you stay with me, Michael, you have to stay here with me." She swiped at her face with one hand. She still looked beautiful to him. No matter what. The moonlight caught the reflection of her rings and reminded Michael that they had yet to marry. He kissed her, and he felt her tremble. "Are you cold?"

She shivered and nodded. "Come keep me warm, Michael."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Please…I just know the nightmare is going to come back if you don't sleep with me."

He shook his head. "You're teasing me."

"No," she blinked. "I-I'm sorry I hurt you, Michael. It was all my fault, I know, but please forgive me so you can love me again."

"Kita, there is nothing you can do that would make me stop loving you." He ran his thumb along her cheek. "Absolutely nothing."

"Then sleep with me," she said defiantly.

"No."

"Now you're teasing me," Nikita cried. "You want to punish me."

He shook his head sadly. "Not you. Me."

"Michael!"

"I can't seem to find a middle ground." He looked away from her, almost overcome with longing.

"You're pushing me away again," she said, staring at him.

"Do you think I want to?" Michael's eyes looked haunted. "I love you, Kita, but I need too much from you."

"No!" she pounded on the bed. "I won't let you do this to us!"

"You can't stop me." He grew quieter as she began to shout.

"Yes, I can. I'm pregnant."