Madeline entered Michael's office without knocking. Visibly angry, which was in itself unusual, Madeline addressed Michael, who remained slumped in his chair, seemingly despondent over the way things had gone. "Michael, explain what's going on. And remember, this is me you're talking to, not Operations."

He raised his head briefly, his eyes dead, but Madeline saw through to the underlying pain he could not allow himself to express. "Nikita's ill."

"I know that much," she snapped. "Now tell me something I don't know."

He buried his face in his arms on the desk. "I don't want to talk about it."

Madeline sighed. "Sometimes it helps, Michael, I know I've never managed to convince you of that before, but please try…"

"Jurgen is alive. He kidnapped Nikita, tried to rape her, I think, though it didn't get that far…" He was lost in the memories of that day. "We fought, but I…I let him go."

"Why?" She wasn't asking as his superior, but as a friend, and Michael felt the difference.

He looked at her blankly. "I don't know. I thought it was because Nikita would hate me if I did. Now I'm not so sure…I think Jurgen wanted me to do it, maybe that was why."

"So you let him go and…?" she prompted.

He covered his eyes with his hands. "Jesus, I let him go. What was I thinking? I wanted to kill him, I know I did. God knows, I had justification."

He abruptly opened his eyes. "I wanted Nikita out of there. I grabbed her and we left."

"Then what?" she asked gently.

"Then all hell broke loose…" he grimaced, remembering.

She frowned. "How so?"

"Jurgen said some things to Nikita…"

"Like what?"

"He was obviously trying to make her distrust me. But some of the things he said evidently hit a nerve." He looked away, completely lost in thought.

"Michael?" Madeline tried to bring him back to the question.

He looked almost startled to see she was still there. "He said that the entire time I was married to Elena, I was lying to Nikita about my feelings for her…" he drifted off again.

"That was largely our doing, you realize that, Michael, don't you?"

He stared at Madeline. "I know," he said bleakly. "But Nikita thinks…she said that she understood that I had to marry Elena, that I had to pretend that the marriage was real. But she wanted to know why we had a child." His voice broke. "She accused me of wanting to have a child with Elena, and she said that I was more heavily invested in my relationship with Elena than with her."

"Michael, you know we told you to father a child with Elena, why are you beating yourself up about this? I know it was a great personal sacrifice, I've told you so."

He looked up with tears in his eyes, shaking his head. "She doesn't believe it was Section's doing. She thinks it was me. But that's not the worst of it."

Madeline reached out a hand to comfort Michael. He looked surprised, then accepted her offering of support. "Kita thinks that Section ordered me to marry her as well. As part of some grand plan to keep her in line, or something."

"Well…we both know that isn't true. In fact, you took a great risk to marry Nikita without telling us first."

He laughed harshly. "Could you please tell her that? She doesn't believe me."

"If it would help."

"Madeline…can I tell you something you can never tell anyone else? Even Operations? Especially not Operations?"

Madeline shrugged. "I don't know, Michael. I can't promise anything. You know that."

"But it's personal. It doesn't have any relevance for Section. Not really…just for me and Nikita."

"All right…"

"She's pregnant."

"And right now, she's upstairs in Medlab. Ill. Why aren't you with her, Michael?"

"She doesn't want me there." He looked totally destroyed by that one thought.

"Well, you need to be there. Even I can see that it's tearing you apart to be down here while she's going through God knows what. Michael, you have to go to her. If something should happen, God forbid, you would never forgive yourself. Never." Madeline stared directly into Michael's eyes, and he drew strength from that.

He nodded. "You're right. I knew that. I just…was trying to pull myself together. I'm not sure I'd do much good in my present state."

"Michael, it doesn't matter if you can't even speak a word. She needs to know you're there. Or the break between you might well be irrevocable."

Michael trudged into Medlab as if a great weight were on his shoulders. He didn't know what shape Nikita was in right now, but he hoped she wouldn't scream for him to leave. He didn't think he could take it right now.

The nurse started to stop Michael, but one look at his face and she stepped back for him to pass. She pointed to a cubicle against the far wall, away from anyone else.

He approached slowly, feeling as though everything was happening in slow motion. When he drew alongside the bed, he reached out for her hand, and she turned toward him. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. He unconsciously raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. She didn't pull away, so he held onto her hand. "Kita," he whispered, his voice so hoarse, she could barely hear him. "Are you okay?"

She knew what he was really asking. Were they okay? She wished she had a good answer. But she needed him by her side right now. "I started bleeding…" He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing her hand against his face. She could read him so well now. What in anyone else would be a non-reaction was a reaction of major proportions in Michael. "They gave me something to stop the bleeding. I might be able to keep the baby. But they're not sure yet." She tried not to cry, she knew how much Michael dreaded seeing her cry. It must make him confront his own feelings, she often thought, and God knew, that was perilous at best.

He opened his eyes and leaned over Nikita, slowly and gradually taking her into his arms, so that her upper body rested against his chest and he supported her weight. This time she closed her eyes, letting the tears go at last, and they trickled slowly down Michael's neck and shoulder. When he felt them, hot on his skin, he only held her tighter, pressing a kiss to her cheek with trembling lips. "I'm so, so sorry, Kita…" She started to sob then, for what might never be. "Don't be," she choked out, "it's not your fault."

"It's not your fault either." He drew back and looked into her tear-drenched eyes. "We need to talk about all of this. But not here and not now. When they release you, will you come home with me? Please?" It was so out of character for Michael to ask her for anything, it broke her heart. She nodded.

He hugged her gently. "Thank you," he whispered. He kissed her mouth, and she felt him tremble again. "Michael? Did you ever get your wound dressed? The graze that you got…from Jurgen?"

He frowned. "No, why?"

She felt his forehead. "You're burning up with fever." He shook his head. "Can't be. It was just a graze."

"That you never let anyone look at."

She gave him a stern look. Michael shrugged. "I was a little preoccupied." He laughed inappropriately. "My wife was missing, and I didn't really care what happened after that."

She shook a finger at him. "Trying to make me feel guilty, huh?"

He looked sad. "Is it working yet?"

She framed his face with her hands. "Yeah. It is. I guess we both kinda went off the deep end." She reached up and kissed him. "I still love you, though, with all my heart."

He looked hopefully at her. "You do, huh?" He half-smiled. "I could live on that the rest of the night, I guess."

"Stay with me till I fall asleep?" she asked wistfully. He nodded. "You didn't have to ask, Kita. I'm not going anywhere. No matter what you say or do."

"You mean I have to keep you?" He reached out and looped her hair over her ear. "I'm afraid so."

She leaned forward again and kissed him. He kissed her back, deepening the kiss until he felt her respond. He kissed her ear and whispered, "I love you, Kita."

She kissed his palm. "I love you, too, Michael." She lay back on the bed. Michael looked around, but there was no one in Medlab. He pulled off his jacket and threw it over the privacy screen. Then he gently moved Nikita over in the bed so that was room for him. He slid under the covers with her, and wrapped his arms around her. "This is where I needed to be about two hours ago," he whispered to her. She snuggled closer. "I know."

Madeline glanced at the couple sleeping in Medlab and smiled. Michael was so hard to give advice to, but when he took it, he really took it to heart.

In the morning, Michael woke to find Nikita lying across his chest. He had a terrible headache, and it was true, he did feel feverish, now that he was able to notice anything again. The nurse glanced at him. "Are you feeling all right, Michael?"

"As a matter of fact, no," he admitted. "I have a headache and maybe a fever." She nodded. "Were you wounded anywhere?"

"I have a bullet wound, but it's just a graze." He shifted Nikita carefully off his chest and onto the bed. He pulled up his shirt, and to his dismay, he discovered that the "graze" was a bit more than that. The entire wound looked badly infected. The nurse frowned. "Looks infected. We'd better get it cultured and then have the doc look at it. Might need to be surgically excised. So it can heal properly."

Michael sighed. "What about Nikita? Any word yet on her condition?"

"Oh, she's been upgraded. She's very lucky, she got here early enough to avoid any serious complications. She should be able to maintain the pregnancy, if she's careful."

"How careful?"

"Well, I wouldn't recommend she stay on active duty much longer, if at all."

"I see." The nurse's hand felt cool to the touch. It made him realize just how hot he felt. She inserted the IVAC under his tongue, and seconds later, he knew he had a fever. 102.6. "Let's get you some Tylenol for the fever."

The doctor finished examining Michael's wound. "It's pretty badly infected. I'm surprised you didn't know enough to come up here and get it looked at right away," he chided Michael. Michael flushed uncomfortably. Everyone kept noticing how unlike Michael he was acting, it was making him feel strange in his own skin.

Nikita woke shortly afterward. Michael smiled down at her. "Hi," he said. "Hi," she answered with a tentative smile. "I guess I was more tired than I knew."

"Me, too," he echoed.

Nikita slid her hand under Michael's shirt and saw that he winced. "What's wrong?" He moved her hand carefully away from the wound that had just been poked and prodded till it stung. "It seems you were right last night. I have a badly infected gunshot wound. They just examined me until I felt like a lab rat. And now they're putting in a heplock, so I can get IV antibiotics without being chained to a pole in here."

"Oh, I see." She looked away for a moment. "Does this affect us going home today?"

"Well, the good news, Kita, is that you are doing great. So's the baby." He held her hand, almost as if he needed to keep contact with her. "The bad news is I'm going to stick around here for a couple more hours at least. They want to make sure I don't have an allergic reaction to the antibiotic before they send me home."

"You want me to wait for you?" she asked hesitantly, as if she were not quite sure where she stood with Michael right now. "If you want to. But you really need your rest, Kita. Maybe you should just go on without me." She felt a chill when he said that. She felt as though he were pushing her away again. Self-preservation was a truly dangerous thing in Michael's hands. He saw emotion as an enemy sometimes, she could swear it.

She glanced down, unwilling to look at him, afraid of what her expression might reveal right now. She was still upset, and they still needed to talk things out before their relationship was no longer salvageable. But she didn't want to push him right now. "Okay, I'll be at your place." He nodded.

If he had known that he might never see her again, he would have done things differently. But he didn't know. How could he?

Nikita disengaged the security on Michael's loft and stepped inside the elevator. When she reached the top floor, she walked up to Michael's door. Haunting music was playing from the loft. That was odd. There was no one there. She and Michael had the only access codes to his security at the loft. She stepped softly, aware that she might be walking into a trap.

Drawing her gun, she approached the door. It was not locked. It pushed open at her touch. A CD was playing on the stereo. But there was no one visible. She stepped inside and froze. That scent. Jurgen had been here. She searched the loft carefully, feeling imprisoned by its four walls. Somewhere out there, Jurgen was listening. And waiting. And watching. She would bet that he had planted surveillance devices all over the small loft. She also bet that she would only find half of them.

She could not stay here. It was driving her mad knowing that Jurgen had been inside their home. In fact, it was driving her mad that Jurgen had not simply stayed dead. When she realized the size of the wedge he had driven between her and Michael, she truly hated Jurgen for coming back into their lives. And if she ever saw him again, she would kill him without hesitation. She owed Michael an apology. She had more or less prevented him from shooting Jurgen when he had the clear shot, she knew that it had been thoughts of her that had stopped Michael from taking the shot. Well, it wouldn't happen that way twice.

She left a note for Michael, hoping against hope that Jurgen had not infiltrated her apartment as well. She put her gun away, and she was just opening the door to leave when an intense wave of disquiet struck her. She couldn't hurry through the door fast enough. She knew Jurgen was somewhere nearby, but she had no intention of making it easy for him this time.

When Michael was released from Medlab, he was looking forward to getting things straightened out with Nikita. He missed her. Even the few hours that they were separated were too much. Especially when things were so unsettled between them.

When he got to his loft, he noticed the door was ajar. That was damned odd. He stepped inside, gun drawn, not unlike Nikita had done earlier that day, if he had only known. He immediately saw the note. "Have gone home to my place. Meet me there. Love, Kita." He crumpled the note and frowned. There was something wrong here. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was staring him in the face. What would make her leave right after she'd come here? He searched the loft, much as Nikita had, and he found the surveillance equipment she had noted was probably there. This was sophisticated stuff, he thought, not unlike Section equipment. Damn! His mind clicked the pieces into place, and he paced to the door. He knew he should have killed Jurgen when he had the chance.

Now Jurgen had been here. In the loft. Was he still here when Nikita came? He prayed that was not the case. If Jurgen touched her again, Michael didn't know what he would do. But it was a pity he could only kill him once.

He bounded up the stairs at Nikita's apartment house, thinking, this is getting to be a habit. He stomped up to the door and pounded on it. Repeatedly. When Nikita answered the door, he almost fell through it, his arm so ready to connect with something. "Kita!" he said, startled to see her standing there. "Hello, Michael," she said, seemingly amused by something.

He lowered his arm self-consciously. Smiling weakly, he gestured towards the room. "May I come in?"

She stepped back, waving him inside. "Of course."

"Nice of you to knock this time." She smiled behind her hand at his obvious discomfiture. "I-I apologize for that. This is your place, and I should have respected that."

"Michael, don't go all wimpy on me now. I can't stand it," she said with a snort. He looked puzzled. "Wimpy?"

"Yeah, you know, wimpy. Like the opposite of macho?" Nikita burst into a fit of giggles. "What's so damned funny?" he asked.

"You, trying to be sensitive. It's just not who you are, Michael, so give it up." She continued to giggle, seeing the cross look that fled across Michael's face before it was replaced by the blank stare.

"Very funny." He took a breath, exhaling slowly. "I just came from the loft. Jurgen has been there."

She sobered immediately. "I know. I smelled him, Michael. I know it was him. And I bet you found plenty of surveillance equipment, too."

"I did. I left it there. Section can pick it up. I'm not going back there again, and neither are you."

Nikita smiled peaceably. "So are we going to make our happy home here for a while then?"

Michael blinked. "Until I can find something safer. At least, here we're under Section surveillance. So someone will realize if we go missing."

"How nice to be missed." He grimaced at the harsh reminder of her kidnapping, followed by memories of her deliberate disappearance. "Oh, I'm sorry, Michael, I honestly didn't mean to make a sarcastic remark at your expense."

He shrugged. "Really? I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"You know, sometimes I think you are more comfortable arguing with me than loving me." Nikita crossed her arms in front of her chest and studied Michael's unreadable expression. "Now that expression leaves a lot to be desired."

His eyes cool, he said, "We still need to talk things out, Kita. I didn't forget."

"I didn't think you had. Just trying to lighten things up a bit." She looked like she was almost afraid to test the waters. "I dunno, Michael, maybe we should just put this off until we both feel better."

"There is never going to be a good time for us to hurt each other, Kita. That's what this is doing to both of us. And the only way we can stop it is to talk about it. Once and for all. Get it out and over with." He continued to fix her with that inscrutable look, yet it was curiously intense, as if there was a great deal of unexpressed feeling behind it.

"You're scaring me, Michael. You're starting to sound like Madeline and her psych speak." Nikita walked over to the couch and sat down. "Is this a safe spot to sit? I don't suppose we should be anywhere even close to a bed, that might threaten our newfound therapeutic approach."

He surprised her by sitting on the floor in front of her, legs crossed Indian style. "Well, Kita, you know what happens when we get near a bed, don't you?" he said almost bitterly. "Do you think that's one of Section's new management techniques for its senior operatives? Or do you suppose I actually have feelings for you once in a while that don't involve sex?"

She blinked hard. "Woo! You don't fool around when you get in touch with your feelings, Michael. But your anger is a bit misdirected, don't you think? Isn't it Jurgen's fault we're having this problem?"

"You want to blame Jurgen, go ahead. I think this would have happened sooner or later. You're so damned curious about everyone's motives. Please! Go ahead and ask me whatever the hell it is you want to know. But be careful what you ask, you might not like the answer."

Michael disliked being at a disadvantage, and sitting on the floor directly below Nikita disturbed him. She was towering over him, like a sadistic giantess right now, and he refused to let it get to him. Nikita sat forward on the couch, staring at Michael, then she abruptly slid off the couch and onto the floor, touching knees with Michael as she crossed her own legs. "There we are, equal footing."

"What are you doing, reading my mind now?"

"You know what, Michael? I do it often enough, I'm getting good at it."

He glared at her, his eyes flickering back and forth, as if he were having trouble maintaining eye contact with her. "I'm waiting…"

She looked Michael straight in the eye and asked, "Did Section tell you to marry me? Yes or No."

He laughed. "No. And that was too easy, Kita. Way too easy."

"Well, then, why did you marry me?"

He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. "You really aren't feeling well today, Kita, are you?"

"And don't do that, Michael, I hate it when you answer a question with another question!"

"Well, it was a damned stupid question, Kita." He shook his head. "After everything we shared in Bermuda, I cannot believe that you can ask me that."

"Just answer the question, Michael," she said with clenched teeth.

"Because I love you, dammit! What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael was so furious, he jumped up off the floor, banging his shin on Nikita's coffee table. "Merde!"

He stalked away into the kitchen and began rummaging through her refrigerator. Nikita sighed. "Michael, what are you doing?"

"Looking for something to eat, Nikita. Believe it or not, I was out searching for you all day yesterday, and damn, I even forgot I was shot in the chest, and now here I am with a raging fever, and I haven't eaten in over 24 hours…" He stopped, spent and out of breath. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the refrigerator door. The coolness felt wonderful. He collapsed a moment later. Nikita heard the thud and ran. He was sprawled on the floor of the kitchenette, and it looked as if he had hit his head. There was a small lump forming on his forehead.

"Oh, Michael, I'm sorry! I've been such a bitch!"

"I hope you're not expecting me to argue with you," he said weakly.

She ran into the bathroom and got a cloth, wetting it under the tap. When she returned, Michael was sitting up, holding his hand over his forehead. "God, I have such a headache."

"Michael, you should have stayed in Medlab."

"With you here? How could I protect you from there?"

"Michael, I don't need special protection. I can take care of myself."

"Sure, and Jurgen could grab you again." He rolled his eyes. "Look, could we just finish talking? So we could get back to life as we know it?"

"All right, Michael. But first, you're going into bed."

"Oops, nope, we can't get near that bed yet. I have to be properly punished first."

"Now who's acting like a child?"

Michael grabbed the cool cloth from Nikita and placed it on his forehead, leaning against the kitchenette counter. "Well, this should qualify as a completely unromantic, uninspiring place to talk. Go ahead, Nikita."

She poured him some orange juice and made him drink it first. "It will raise your blood sugar, Michael. It might make you feel better."

"The only thing that is going to make me feel better is killing Jurgen, but I should have done it before he talked to you about my life story. Which, I might add, was filled with lies." He yawned.

"You should rest." Nikita was torn between wanting answers and torturing Michael to death when he should be resting.

"Don't worry about me. Continue."

"Well, what about Adam, Michael? I mean, that's the part that hurts the most…that you had a son with Elena." She looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. He sighed. "Section ordered me to make a blood cover, Nikita, I had no choice. Do you think I wanted to have a child at that point? It tied me even closer to Elena at a time when I wanted desperately to be with you." He pressed the cloth even harder to his forehead and groaned. "Once Adam was born, he was a beautiful, loving child. He didn't ask to be born, Kita. How could I not love him? He was the only piece of me untouched by Section."

"It's just that I thought—"

"I know what you thought, you told me, remember?" He sipped at the juice, but his head continued to throb maddeningly.

"No, I didn't love Elena, not the way I love you. No, I didn't want to father a son with her, but I did not have a choice. No, Section did not order me to marry you, for whatever ulterior motive you think they have. I admit, Section has asked us both to do some bizarre things, but ordering me to marry you was not one of them." He muttered under his breath, "I managed to screw that up all on my own."

"In fact, Madeline said to tell you, we are damned lucky they didn't cancel both of us because I married you without telling them first." He looked at her wearily. "Does that come close to answering your most pressing questions?"

"I suppose."

"Jesus, you don't sound convinced yet. I, however, am. Convinced that I should go to bed." He yawned again. He tried to get up off the floor, and his dizziness was apparent. She grabbed him to steady him, and they both fell into the counter. "I think I can make it to bed safely, Nikita."

"I'm sorry, Michael. It would seem I owe you an apology."

"For not trusting me? Why should you start now? No earthly reason at all." He shivered as he started to get chills with the fever. Nikita frowned. "Michael, maybe I should call Medlab."

"Maybe you should let me go to bed. Please." He couldn't stand another moment. He had to lie down. He hated being sick. From the time he had been young, he had always hated being sick. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. This was definitely not a good time to be sick.

"Okay." She nodded, indicating Michael was free to use her bed.

"Thanks." He went into the bedroom, but he was so weak, he could barely move to strip off his clothing. "Kita!" he called.

She was at the door in seconds. "What is it?"

"Apparently, I do need help." He looked at her, his eyes barely able to focus, and she realized that she not only loved him, but she still trusted him with that love. She pulled off his shirt, taking care not to dislodge the bandage over the chest wound. She helped him push down his pants, and he kicked them off his feet. He removed his shoes and socks himself, though by then, he was obviously weak from the exertion. He was standing in his briefs, when he saw Nikita eyeing him. "What? You never saw a near naked man standing in your bedroom before?"

"Michael, stop. I don't want to fight with you anymore. I apologize for not trusting you, or believing you, or—"

He cupped her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Or for taking Jurgen's word over mine? How do you think that made me feel, Kita?"

"Have I lied to you? Yes. Have I ever lied to you about loving you? No. End of discussion." He suddenly kissed her, like a man dying of thirst drank water. He wound his hands through her hair, bringing her face closer, so he could touch her while he kissed her. He broke off the kiss just as suddenly as he began it. "Could I possibly love you anymore than I already do? I don't see how. I married you, Kita, I want to be with you, and I care far more than you will ever see. But I need your love, and your trust, and your faith, too. I have gone way out of my way to make this happen for us. But I can't do it alone."

He dropped his hands, and he pulled back the covers on the bed. He slid beneath the covers and closed his eyes, not even looking back at Nikita, who stood totally transfixed by Michael's last speech. She sat down hard, next to him, on the bed. "And you say you don't know how to express yourself? That was the most eloquent thing I have ever heard anyone say, and you said it to me." Nikita blinked back tears. She pulled her shirt off, then her pants, dumping them by the side of the bed, as Michael watched impassively. When she was naked, she slid into bed beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her, so she could snuggle close to his heart. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Are we okay now?" he whispered. "We are very okay," she whispered back, kissing the spot where his heart would be. He sighed and finally relaxed.

"I should report you for cruelty."

"Madeline would probably approve."

He laughed at that. "I love you, Kita."

"I love you, too."