Nikita grew impatient, waiting for Niko. Niko Varga was Section's newest ladies' man. He thought he was God's gift to women. He thought he was charm incarnate. He thought he could replace Michael in her heart. Well, no…he thought he could replace Michael in her arms, even in her bed, but he wasn't after her heart.

Niko was fun to be around. He was good company, up to a point. Up to the point of no return. But he wanted more. And she wasn't ready to give it.

So here she stood, waiting outside her apartment, as if it were a bus stop. She cast her eyes around, unconsciously surveying the scene, and suddenly registered something out of place. Michael. Her eyes narrowed. What was he doing here? Was he watching her? Tailing her? Spying on her?

She glanced both ways and crossed the street to where he was standing. Impatient to get to him, she was nearly run over by a car careening around the corner. Michael shot his arms out and grabbed her, pulling her out of harm's way just in time to avoid a tragic accident. "Nikita!"

"Michael!" She wrenched herself away from him, forcing him to drop his arms to his sides. "What are you doing here?"

"Just waiting for you." His tone was non-committal, but his affect was expectant.

'Well," she huffed, "I have a date. With Niko."

"Oh." There was a world of complexity in that one syllable. "You like him." It wasn't a question.

"He's a lot of fun. You remember fun, Michael, don't you? No, wait, you probably don't," she chided him.

He colored, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. She was so brittle and sarcastic lately. Not at all relaxed or amenable to conversation. At least, with him. It wasn't that he was losing his touch. He was losing her. To Niko. To Mr. Fun.

"Well, I'll see you then." Michael moved away carefully, as if even brushing against her again might be painful.

As Michael left the area, the man in question leaped out of a car, bounding over to Nikita like an overgrown puppy. He embraced Nikita warmly, kissing her on both cheeks, and Michael turned away slowly, his heart aching. Nikita glanced over Niko's head and watched Michael go. I wish things could be different. Me, too.

Michael stopped into the bar near Nikita's apartment, not really certain why. He didn't even drink. But he was seriously considering taking up drinking when Mick Shtoppel walked in. Oh, God, just what I need right now.

Mick gravitated to Michael, like iron to a magnet. "Hey, hey, Spyboy!" he boomed, his voice naturally bombastic. "What the heck are you doing here?"

Michael turned and did a slow burn. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Mick laughed. "Who else asked you that?"

Michael glared, and when no answer was forthcoming, Mick grinned. "Ah, must be the fair Nikita. She lives nearby. As do I. My good fortune. Strictly my good fortune. Yeah, baby." It was a good thing that Mick was as thick-skinned as he was hyperverbal, or he would never have spoken another word.

Michael sighed. "Why are you speaking to me? Do I look interested?"

Mick frowned and adjusted his tie, looking at his reflection in the mirror over the bar. "Well, drinking vodka shots in the daytime is one way to get wasted in a hurry, Michael, but if you ask me, you need help."

Michael pushed the shotglass of vodka away from him. He wasn't really going to get drunk anyway. It was futile. He had too much control to let himself get drunk. And getting drunk would not solve his problem.

"Did I ask you?" Michael asked, knowing it was a mistake to even talk to Mick. If Mick started to make any kind of sense, he would leave. The thought of taking Mick's advice about anything was frightening.

"Nope, but I'm happy to oblige. The fair one is one of my favorite topics. Nikita is such a luscious young thing, isn't she? Fair indeed. 'Course, she wouldn't give me the time of day if I asked it, but she's a nice piece…of work, work, Michael," he quickly finished, abruptly realizing that to say anything else could get him killed.

"And your point, Mick?" Michael asked in a pained voice.

"Well," he drawled. "You are in need of the love doctor's services, my friend, and the doctor is in." He smiled broadly, and Michael winced.

"You know how to win Nikita's favor?" Mick asked Michael. Michael shrugged.

Mick answered his own question. "Faint heart never won fair lady, Michael. And it's strange how you ain't a bit afraid of getting killed, but talking straight to the lady in question makes you tremble."

Michael bit back a retort. He glanced longingly at the drink on the bar, wondering if it were too late to change his mind about getting drunk.

Mick was starting to sound positively logical, but then, Michael had started drinking the vodka instead of looking at it.

Michael hiccuped and excused himself. He looked at himself in the mirror over the bar. He didn't look like he was dying of a broken heart. Funny how deceiving appearances could be. Look at Mick. He didn't look like someone who would know how to win Nikita's love. No, wait, that was a bad example. He frowned and studied the shotglass, which seemed to have emptied itself.

"Have you had anything to eat, Michael, old boy? You've started to look a trifle green around the gills. And frankly, I hate cleaning spit-up off me shoes, it scuffs the leather, makes 'em look cheap, y'know?"

Michael smiled lopsidedly at Mick. He had a friend. He'd never had a friend before. Well, except for Nikita. He couldn't count Walter. He and Walter rarely spoke. He couldn't count Birkoff. Birkoff was scared to death of him. No, Nikita was the closest thing he had to a friend. Except he didn't want to be friends. He wanted something else.

"She likes Niko." Michael announced with considerable aplomb for one so drunk.

"And Niko likes her, my friend. Those two are mussing up the old sheets, if you ask me." He saw Michael's warning glare glint fiercely in his changeable gray-green eyes and immediately backed off that line.

"Well, you got to consider all the possibilities, Michael. I mean, she's been waiting for Hell to freeze over for how long now?" Mick grinned amiably at Michael, hoping h bn e hadn't overstepped. He'd never seen a senior op at any level get drunk, and never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined seeing Michael, of all people, drunk.

Michael snorted politely, but the noise came out like a soft exhalation, as if he couldn't even manage that degree of drunkenness to cross his lips. Too genteel by half, Mick thought.

His lips curved upwards in a smile, Michael felt his hair falling around his face. His vision was beginning to blur, but he glanced at his reflection again. He was starting to look soft. Did drinking make you soft? He laughed to himself. He guessed it did. The ache in his heart was starting to go away…or was it just that he couldn't quite remember why it was there or where it went?

Mick knew there would be hell to pay if Michael got called in for a mission in this condition, and he started wondering how to divert him from drinking and onto the problem at hand, Nikita.

Wait, maybe that was the answer. He pulled out his cellular phone and dialed. He knew just who to call.

Nikita heard her cellular phone ring and sighed. Niko was half-lying on her, trying to persuade her to make love, but she wanted to go out dancing. Niko was an amazing dancer, and he did a tango that was to die for. She loved dancing like that, all eyes on her, flirting and dipping and diving around the dance floor. But sometimes, when she fantasized about the tango, it wasn't Niko she saw. It was Michael.

She pressed the send button on the phone. "Yes?"

"Josephine," said Michael, trying not to giggle.

"Michael?" she asked incredulously, sitting up and pushing Niko off her lap and onto the floor.

Niko looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, and begged for her attention, but she waved at him, anxiously. "Stay," she commanded.

"Yesh…um, Nikita? Can y-you c-come and…g-get me?" Michael slurred.

"Michael, tell me you're not actually drunk." She couldn't believe it. She had never seen Michael so much as take more than a sip of wine.

"Um…okay…I won't…but K-Kita…I think I am." He laughed softly in her ear and nearly dropped the cellular phone.

Nikita asked where he was and Michael was barely able to tell her. She hung up and completely ignored Niko, who lay prostrate at her feet.

"What's wrong, Nikita?" Niko asked, seeing his plans for a phenomenal evening alone with Nikita vanish into smoke.

She couldn't tell Niko the truth. His ego would think nothing of spreading the news all over Section, and Michael's reputation would be tarnished. She had to protect Michael. Bringing herself up short, she wondered why she felt this obligation so strongly. Shouldn't she be moving on, getting somewhere with someone else finally? What about Niko? She sighed. The truth was, Michael was the only man she ever really cared about. Niko was merely a passing diversion enroute to the real thing.

Niko was like the tango, all flash, but not a shred of substance beneath the surface. Michael…Michael was a slow dance. All eyes and hands and caresses and kisses of the softest kind.

She closed her eyes as she closed the door to her apartment. With any luck, Niko would be long gone when she returned.

Nikita breezed by Mick without a glance, having eyes only for Michael. Mick laughed. Michael didn't need any more help. He was going to have his hands full trying to fight off Nikita's compassionate ministrations.

"Michael, I can't believe you would do something this—"

"Stupid?" Mick volunteered, a huge grin splitting his round face.

Nikita glared at Mick. He looked offended. "Why does everyone do that to me? I'm out here, doing the good deed, and I'm getting dissed. Well, I ask you, is that nice?" He clucked his tongue against his teeth, which Nikita thought was quite possibly the most annoying noise she had ever heard.

Michael smiled sunnily at Nikita, unable to do more than chuckle for the first minute after he saw her. "You look pretty, Kita."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

He nodded, almost losing his balance in the process. He was starting to feel a little disheveled. He studied the man in the mirror. His tie needed fixing. Badly.

"I don't."

"Don't what?" Nikita asked, trying to follow what Michael said.

"Look pretty." He grinned unexpectedly, looking for all the world like a young boy who was getting the Christmas present he wanted. He reached out to touch her and missed by several inches. He looked puzzled.

Michael looked so dear to her, her heart ached. "Oh, Michael…you're gonna be in big trouble if Section finds out, y'know."

Michael put a finger to his lips, struggling to stand steadily on his feet. "Ssshh…don't tell."

She stroked his face, then gently pushed his hair back and over his ears. "You're kinda sweet this way, y'know, Michael."

He leaned forward, his hair falling into his eyes. "I'll tell you a secr-secret, Kita."

"What, Michael?" She glared again at Mick, who seemed to be entirely too interested in their conversation. "You can take off anytime, Mick. Thanks. Bye-bye."

She dismissed the informer from her mind and concentrated on Michael. "Michael, can you walk?"

"Um, prolly…maybe…maybe not. Sorry." He looked confused amongst other things. It was undoubtedly hard for her to get her mind off work, he thought. But she was so startlingly beautiful sometimes, he just forgot to breathe.

"Wait, " he said, as she started to follow her out. She grabbed his hand and held it. "You make sure you don't let go of me, okay?"

He smiled slowly. " 'kay." He didn't want to let go of her. She felt soft. Hey, she was soft, too. He almost giggled, but he didn't want to lose her.

He regarded her from underneath the most beautiful eyelashes she'd ever seen. It was a shame to waste such lashes on a man. Michael probably didn't even notice them himself.

She pushed past Mick, who said, "Hey, who loves ya, baby? Yeah, baby." He laughed, and his laughter echoed in her ears as she held Michael by the hand on the way out.

They walked the block to her apartment in silence. Nikita almost dragged the reluctant Michael up the stairs to her apartment. "No, Kita…"

"Michael, you have to sleep this off, you can't go home. You can't risk getting called into Section like this. They'll have you for breakfast."

He blinked sleepily at her. "They eat people?" He frowned. "That's…n-not very nicesh."

"Yeah, well, they're not very nice people, Michael."

She let go of him for a moment to open the door to her apartment. Oh, no, Niko was still inside. Why couldn't the man do one single thing he was told?

Michael stared at Nikita, his heart in his eyes. She was fiddling with the key in the lock and missed it. Then she looked up, feeling him stare, and opened the door, pushing it wide with one hand. She almost fell through the door, actually, when she saw the honest emotion in his eyes.

She stopped and cupped his chin in her hands. "Have I ever told you—"

Niko abruptly came to the open door and broke the spell between Michael and Nikita. "You…" he said, indicating Nikita. "don't get off so easily. You promised me a dance."

"Take a hike, Niko." She pulled the sleepy-eyed but curious Michael into the apartment.

"You'll be sorry, Nikita." Niko yelled over his shoulder as he slung his black leather motorcycle jacket over his arm.

Before she could speak, Michael had leaped after Niko. He grabbed the taller man and knocked him to the ground.

She grabbed Michael's arm. "No fair fighting in the house, Michael." But it wasn't so much an admonishment as a vocal caress.

Niko was stunned by what he saw on Nikita's face. That was the feeling he wanted for himself. It was all going to Michael? Who didn't appreciate a good woman even when he tripped over her, getting out of bed?

This wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. Michael would be sorry. And he knew just how to beat him.

Nikita felt Michael slump against her. "Sorry," he said, trying not to laugh.

A moment later, he was pressing her back against the door, kissing the life out of her. When he broke away, they were both breathless. "Nikita…"

"Michael…"

He looked surprised at the look of disappointment that crossed her face. "Did I d-do something wr-wrong?"

She dropped her head. "No, Michael…just something I didn't expect, that's all."

He tried to search her face, but she hid her face from him. "Wh-what is it, Kita? I thought you wanted me to be…more aggressive. Like Niko."

"So did I, Michael."

He stroked her face lightly with his fingertips. "You like Niko. You don't like me?"

She stirred uneasily beneath his touch. "I don't…like…you, Michael."

He pulled his hands away from her, as if burned. "Oh." Michael shakily ran his hands through his hair. "I guess I…better go."

She pulled him away from the door. "No, Michael, you can't go home yet. You still need to sleep this off. You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."

He nodded sadly. "Okay." He turned away, walking unsteadily towards the bedroom.

She followed him quietly, watching him to make sure he didn't trip or fall. When he got to the edge of the bed, she stopped him. "Michael?"

He turned around to face her. "Yes, Kita?" His eyes were suspiciously wet. Rejected again, he didn't know how much more he could take.

"I've never seen you drink. How come you got drunk?" Her eyes were filled with compassion, but the emotion he sought was still hidden from his view.

"I can't tell you that." He put a finger to his lips and made a sshing sound. "Classified."

"Michael, are you jealous of Niko?"

He laughed softly. "He doesn't love you, Kita. He uses people, especially women."

She stared at him. "And you don't?" she snapped bitterly.

Michael flinched. "Ah…good point."

He turned away from her and lay on the bed on his side, fully clothed. "I want you to be happy, Nikita. If Niko makes you happy, I'll give you up."

"I'm not yours to give, Michael," she bit off, suddenly aghast at how far she'd gone with this line.

"I know," he said softly. "I know." He closed his eyes and cradled the pillow, seemingly ignoring her. She left the room, totally frustrated and no closer to answers than before.

In the morning, Nikita woke to hear the shower running. She pulled a robe on and knocked on the door. "Michael, are you feeling better?"

He opened the door suddenly, and the sight of his near-naked body gave her pause. A white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair tousled and curly from the wet heat of the shower, he looked more than recovered. He looked dangerous.

"Yeah. Thanks for watching out for me, Nikita."

"Of course," she said, quite overcome by the dryness in her mouth. He looked so sensual, standing in the doorway of her bathroom.

His eyes flickered carefully over her, taking in the disheveled hair and fluffy white robe thrown over her lean body. "Well, I have to get going, Nikita."

She backed up, realizing she was preventing him from leaving the bathroom and getting his clothing. "Of course," she repeated.

Back at Section, Nikita's mind wandered aimlessly while Operations outlined the mission. She kept staring at Michael's profile, watching for some sign that he still cared about her. She couldn't believe she had turned him down the night before. But then, he was drunk. She wanted to know how he felt, but she needed to know he was in full possession of his faculties when he told her. Once again, she reminded herself to be careful what she wished for. She just might get it.

After the mission was completed, Nikita strode from the mission van, searching for Michael. He had disappeared immediately afterwards, and he hadn't filed a report yet. That was exceedingly odd. Where was he?

She heard hooting and cheering coming from the common area. Drawn mysteriously, she crept closer and closer until she could see a small crowd of operatives gathered around two figures. The two men in the center were circling each other. The crowd was chanting, "Fight, fight, fight…"

Nikita gasped. It was Michael and Niko. Michael heard Nikita's sharp intake of breath, somehow, above the noise of the crowd, and he turned his head, just a fraction. That was what saved him from connecting with Niko's punch to the head.

Nikita's heart stopped. Michael could get hurt, even killed. Niko was a martial artist, over and above his Section training. She didn't know if Michael could best Niko or not. What was this about? Were they fighting over her? And why wasn't Operations stopping this? It was practically out in plain sight of everyone.

Michael whipped around, his back kick catching Niko by surprise. Niko was younger than Michael by about five years, but he didn't have the advantage of Michael's practical experience or his street-fighting techniques, honed during his years with Section. Michael knew that Niko would not play fair. It was not in his nature. He was jealous of Michael. He wanted Nikita. Little did he know that Nikita had already chosen, and her choice was not Michael.

Operations appeared in the observation deck, sardonic smile in place. His eyes drifted casually over the chaos ensuing down below. Primitive, but interesting. As usual, a woman was involved. He wasn't surprised to learn from Birkoff that Nikita was responsible in some way for all this negative acting out. "Madeline, is there some way to resolve this peaceably? I'd hate to lose Michael over something this trivial."

Madeline glanced at Operations, her face impassive, giving nothing away. "What makes you think Niko will win?"

Operations laughed. "He has the killer instinct, Madeline. He's colder than Michael, if that's even possible."

Madeline cast her eyes down at the scene below them. "I think you're wrong about Niko winning. But I agree, Michael is not as cold as Niko. He's almost out of control down there, and it *would* be a shame to lose him. He keeps Nikita in better control than Niko."

"Does he? I thought Nikita liked Niko more than a little."

"Oh, she does. But then, you've never minded thwarting her before, why start now?" Madeline goaded Operations carefully, knowing he would fall for the bait. He could not resist hurting Nikita, just that little bit, every chance he got, and if he thought that Nikita chose to be with Niko, over Michael, he would do everything possible to make sure that Niko disappeared. Madeline smiled. She liked it when a good plan came together.