He took a deep breath and strode into the bedroom, taking both of them completely by surprise. Grabbing the calamine lotion from Walter, Michael barked, "Move over, Walter." Walter, startled as he was, complied.

Wrenching her T-shirt up with both hands, Michael stopped to notice how beautiful she was, spots and all. "You are beautiful, Kita. But you don't need to wait for a fool like me to notice."

Pouring the lotion into his hands, he never saw Walter slip away into the next room. He slid his hands over her upper body, and Nikita arched her back, the sensation of relief was so palpable. "Thank God, Michael. It's making me crazy."

"Me, too," he said, but he wasn't referring to the itching.

"More," she begged, waiting for the feel of his hands on her again. Not only did it quell the itching, but it fulfilled her need for physical contact with Michael.

Again and again, he stroked her body, painting it in huge pink streaks of calamine that told where his hands had been. He leaned close to her, his breath feathering her ear, and whispered, "Get better, Kita, so we can be together."

She gasped at that, her eyes opening in a flash of blue fire. "Do you mean that, Michael?" He rested his hands on her breasts, clearly claiming them possessively as his. He shivered to realize just how much he did mean it. "Yes."

He found the only place on her face that was not covered by tiny red spots and kissed it. "Kita, I have something to tell you…"

"What?" she said breathlessly, hoping against hope that he would admit that he loved her. She ran her hand restlessly up and down the side of his face, and he closed his eyes, kissing the palm of her hand.

"I—"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I've never had the chicken pox."

"But then you're going to get chicken pox, Michael," she moaned.

"You're worth it, Kita." He meant that. He knew he was exposing himself to chicken pox, but he put her first. He couldn't do anything else. It was just the way he was.

"But then who'll take care of you?"

He stared at her significantly. "You, I hope. It would be the least you could do after giving it to me."

"But that would mean we would be stuck in here for another week after I get better." Nikita ticked off the days on her fingers.

Michael nodded slowly. "Two whole weeks in bed. Together."

He leaned over and kissed her mouth, spots and all. "If I've already got it, Kita, there's no reason for me to stay away…is there?"

She pulled her shirt up slowly for his perusal. "I think you missed a spot…"

He rubbed the place she pointed to, aware that she was becoming aroused despite her obvious weakness. His fingertips worked back and forth, trying to assuage the itch, but provoking another sensation entirely. His eyes flashed a brilliant green as his mouth replaced his fingers.

Walter called from the next room. "It's too quiet in there. Did you kill each other or is it safe to come back in?"

Nikita laughed. "Oh, it's definitely too dangerous for you to come back in here, Walter," she called.

"Why don't you go, Walter? You've already had chicken pox," said Michael in a voice loud enough to be heard in the next room.

"And leave Sugar alone with you? Why, who knows what might happen?" Walter huffed and puffed.

"If you don't leave, it won't happen, that's for sure," said Nikita, trying to suppress a giggle.

"Tell everyone we're on mandatory refusal for the next two weeks," shouted Michael, almost smiling.

Nikita added with a wicked grin, "And don't call us, we'll call you!"

After Walter left, Michael wasted no time in shedding his clothing. Climbing into bed beside Nikita, he wrapped his arms around her. "Is this what you need to get better, Kita?"

"Is that the only reason you're here with me, Michael?" she pouted.

"No," he whispered, kissing her. "I did have something else to tell you."

"I love the way you make me feel. Like I'm alive. Like I'm real. Like you love me."

"I do love you, Michael." Nikita gazed at him wistfully. He kissed her slowly and deeply.

"I love you, Kita. Spots and all."

End