Walter so rarely got a chance to go out into the field and work a mission these days, this was an opportunity he could not turn down. He had a chance to work with Michael and Nikita, up close and personal, and he could not wait until the mission got underway. He wanted to see the sparks fly when Michael realized just what his next deep cover assignment was.

Madeline smiled at the operatives gathered before her at the briefing table. Michael was sitting in the center of the table, flanked by Nikita on his left, and Walter on his right. Walter kept smiling at Michael, which was making Michael unaccountably uncomfortable. Madeline noticed his discomfort and frowned. She would never have told Walter about the mission ahead of the others, but for the fact that he was in charge of the munitions inventory. It was a trifle difficult to keep the details secure when the head munitions expert was a hopeless gossip.

"Only the three of you will be working this mission. You will be entering the world of the Hell´s Angels motorcycle…club." Madeline finished, feeling the word was somewhat inadequately descriptive.

Michael showed no outward reaction, suddenly knowing what Walter´s nudge-nudge-wink-wink display had been all about. But his mind was working feverishly, trying not to imagine his Nikita dressed completely in black leather. Well, all right. She wasn´t quite *his* Nikita. But he couldn´t even count the number of days that he´d wished she was.

Nikita grinned at Walter and gave him the thumb´s up gesture. Walter grinned back. That was his Sugar. Always up for a good time. He wished he knew what Michael was undoubtedly thinking right now. He chuckled, and Michael´s subtle but slow dip of his lashes over his enigmatic gray-green eyes said it all. Walter all but clapped his hands.

Madeline watched the varying reactions play out across the operatives´ faces with interest. Michael kept his face carefully neutral, avoiding Madeline´s eyes for now. That woman saw entirely too much. Why, he wouldn´t be surprised to find that she had planned things this way. Another Section test…huh…he wondered if she knew he was onto her.

Madeline maintained her calm demeanor. She had a few surprises left that might jog Michael into demonstrating he was still a member of the human race. "Your mission is to locate the Angels of Death, long believed to be a splinter group of the Hell´s Angels. There will be minimal contact with Section One…" She paused. "You will have one week to be accepted by the Hell´s Angels and to find the Angels of Death. They are currently on the move from the East Coast enroute to the West Coast of the United States."

Walter nodded seriously, the only one of them seemingly unsurprised by any of this. Of course, Madeline realized, Walter´s own background was varied to the point where there were few in Section who could really claim to know him. Except perhaps for Nikita.

Nikita blinked curiously at Madeline, unsure why she was being studied by the older woman. She didn´t find anything particularly unusual about the mission profile, thus far, and she was mildly intrigued by the idea of impersonating a biker, wondering if this meant she got to ride behind Michael or if she might actually get to ride her own bike.

Madeline´s next few sentences let everyone know who was in charge, just in case there was ever any doubt. "Walter, you will handle munitions, of course. Nikita, you will be team leader. Michael, you will report to Nikita. Is that understood?"

Michael´s eyes shifted back and forth between Walter and Nikita. "I´m not leading the team?" he asked Madeline, though the answer was perfectly obvious.

"No," she replied tersely.

"Is there a reason I´m being taken out of first position?" Michael asked, his mouth set a bit more tensely than before.

"Yes," Madeline answered. She smiled, that unsettling combination of sweetness and meanness that unnerved everyone.

When Madeline did not say anything further, Michael knew that he was in trouble. Just not what kind. When Madeline indicated that Nikita was to take over the lead, he suddenly knew what kind. The Nikita kind.

Nikita smiled gaily at Walter, her smile dimming slightly when it fell upon Michael, unsure how he would take her apparent promotion. Well, it seemed like a promotion. Then again, it was hard to tell if she were being promoted or Michael was merely being demoted. Either way, same result. Michael´s nose looked like it was seriously out of joint.

Michael assumed there must be a test being run. Chances are, it was to test Nikita´s leadership abilities. He settled back in his chair, pensive. That was okay. He could live with that. As long as she didn´t expect to tell him what to do in the field. He thought he might rebel at that point. After all, he had more experience than she did, both in and out of the field.

Madeline dismissed the briefing, but as the operatives would have gone their separate ways until the mission was called into active play, she touched Michael on the arm, stopping him from leaving. Nikita paused, intrigued to know why Michael was being singled out. Madeline glanced at Nikita, knowing this would perturb Michael even more. "Michael," she goaded, "you are to obey Nikita without question, is that clear?"

"If I hear that you are challenging every order, you will be canceled. And, since you don´t seem to have much regard for your own life, in case that is not sufficient incentive, consider this. Nikita´s performance on this mission as a team leader is tied into how well her operatives perform. If you fail, she fails. While you might not care whether you live or die, I imagine she does."

Michael´s entire body jerked for a moment. He couldn´t help it. He wasn´t sure if it was the mention of cancellation for himself or for Nikita that did it. Probably the latter. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn´t. If Nikita gave him a bad command, he was obligated to follow it. If he didn´t, he would be canceled. If he failed the mission because of bad orders, he would still be canceled. So would she. There was no way for anyone to win in this situation. His hands were effectively being tied. He couldn´t protect her. Madeline knew.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat growing. Madeline knew. He stared blankly at her, not a shred of emotion showing on the outside, but inside, he was a seething, chaotic mess. Nikita was going to go down. He was being forced to let her. No, not just let her. To watch her, helplessly. Section could be so cruel, in a mindless way, but this was not Section. This was Madeline´s doing. She knew he cared about Nikita. He had sometimes suspected that she was on their side, that she occasionally felt they even belonged together, that she occasionally even pushed them together. But this…smacked of betrayal of the worst kind.

He thought of something Nikita had said years ago. It seemed only fitting he should remember it now. "It´s not enough to lie to them, you gotta lie to each other." Yeah, apparently it was true. Madeline was lying to him, and she was definitely lying to Nikita. Walter was probably just a pawn, along for the ride, deemed acceptable collateral since he was nearing retirement.

Michael stood there silently for a moment, Madeline´s hand on his arm, then moved away. As he turned, her hand dropped. Nikita´s blue eyes met his gray ones, curious but not challenging. "Michael…I´m sorry. I didn´t ask to be put in charge, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn´t," he said tersely.

"You´re not going to do something stupid, are you?" she whispered harshly, avoiding Madeline´s gaze.

"Like what?" Michael asked, seeming to deliberately misunderstand her.

"Like walk into a bullet, or something," she hissed.

"Would you care?" he asked, his gray eyes darkening with some hidden emotion.

"Yes!" she hissed again.

"Don´t." He turned his back on her and strode away.

She gazed frustratedly after him, unable to figure out what tack to take. Abruptly realizing that Madeline was watching her, she linked her arm through Walter´s and said, "Well, we have a mission to prep, Walter."

He grinned at her. "Indeed we do, Sugar. Indeed we do."

Nikita checked over the inventory Walter gave her, laughing at his repeated attempts at humor. But she was distracted. Her thoughts kept returning to Michael and his odd reaction to her being made team leader on this mission. She had not been close enough to Madeline to hear what she said to Michael, but whatever it was, Michael had clearly reacted to it, apparently taking out his anger or frustration on her.

She asked Walter for an additional com link channel, and he frowned. "Why, Nikita?"

"So I can keep in contact with Michael…privately…Walter."

Walter grinned mischievously. "Uh huh…so things are heating up again between you guys, eh?"

She pursed her mouth kittenishly, exposing a tiny bit of her tongue. "Well…Walter, you know how it is…we´re never really together long enough to…work out…our frustrations…"

Walter leaned closer to Nikita´s face. "I don´t suppose you´d consider a last-minute substitution?"

She licked her lips slowly. "Uh…no, Walter. I appreciate the offer, but sometimes you just gotta have the real thing…"

He laughed heartily, not a bit offended by Nikita´s directness. It was a game they played. In truth, they were more like father and daughter than any other relationship. But he liked to kid around, and she indulged him once in a while. It was harmless. Of course, he liked the element of danger involved, when Michael came into the picture, it made the game much more interesting. But it also upped the stakes considerably. He knew what Michael would do to anyone who encroached on what he thought was *his* territory. And he knew that Nikita belonged to Michael, even if Michael didn´t.

Nikita waved as she walked away, headed down the corridor to Michael´s office. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She raised an eyebrow at that, glancing inside through the blinds. He was at his desk. She frowned and knocked again. He didn´t move.

She glanced around. No one else around. She tried the door. It was locked. She slipped her pick into her hand and picked open the lock, letting herself inside. Once she was inside, she relocked the door. "Michael?"

Michael looked up from his laptop, an almost guilty flush creeping up his neck and into his face. He snapped the lid closed on the laptop. "How did you get in here?"

She waved her lockpick briefly. "How do you think?"

She crossed to the desk and sat on the edge, looming over Michael. "What´s up, Michael? What did Madeline say to you?"

"Just…let it go…Nikita." He looked down, avoiding eye contact. She reached over and cupped his chin in her hand, forcing his head up. "No…I don´t think so, Michael. Tell me…"

He sighed and activated the anti-surveillance unit, glancing up at the cameras as he did. "She seemed to think I would have trouble taking orders from you."

She slid off the desk and came around to his side. She stood behind him, feeling his shoulders tense as she placed her hands on them. "Why did she take you out of first position, Michael?"

He shrugged her hands off his shoulders, almost violently. "I don´t know."

"There´s something else going on, isn´t there?" Nikita could smell Section intrigue a mile away, and something was in the air.

He looked at her, startled, for just a moment, but the glimpse she caught of raw emotion in his eyes told her she was right. "Let it go, Kita…please…"

Never one to let anything drop, still, she had gradually over the years learned to hide her natural inquisitiveness behind some of the same machinations Michael had once used on her. She dropped her hands at her sides. "Well, Michael, you´d better gather up your gear. We´re ready to rock ‘n´ roll."

She started to walk away, but Michael caught her wrist, unable to help himself. He pulled her towards him, feeling an almost welcome ache in his lower body as she moved into his embrace. "Kita…it´s not that I don´t want to tell you…but it´s better if you don´t know…"

She kissed his mouth, letting her hands trail tenderly along the sides of his face, gently pushing his hair away from his nape. She whispered, "You think what I don´t know won´t hurt me…but you don´t know how often you do…"

She walked to the door and turned, blowing him a kiss. He blinked and stared after her, long moments later.

Michael was just striding down the hall to van access when he saw her. She was walking beside Walter. Walter was in leather, his hair pulled back by the familiar multi-colored bandana. He looked every inch a biker. Knowing Walter´s predilection for motorcycles, specifically Harley-Davidson´s, Michael was sure the rumors were true. That Walter had been a biker at some point. He was certain that it would help them establish credibility with the Angels in either group.

Nikita was clad completely in black leather. Her hair was long and wild, streaming down her back, like a colorful bandana itself, but she wore a bandana around her forehead as well. Her legs wore buttery-soft leather boots, her hands gloves of the same texture.

Nikita was a sensual person by nature, Michael had discovered, and she liked having different colors and textures surrounding her, even if they were not always pleasing in the normal sense. It was why he remembered how she loved the feel of his roughened fingertips on her face, or on her body… Softness was not always to be sought after, and he could vouch personally for the pleasure to be found in sharpened edges or hardened planes of the body. Her body…

His body reacted traitorously, and he concentrated harder on establishing a clear focus for the mission. But his eyes could not help but linger on the length of her legs, clad in black leather. Or the jacket that hid her skimpy, abdomen-revealing T-shirt. She wasn´t wearing a bra. He knew she heard his soft intake of breath. She stopped, dark glasses hiding her eyes, but her mouth curved rapaciously in response.

She studied Michael, taking in the black leather pants that clung to his lean, firm body. His chest bared, he was digging in his bag for a T-shirt when he caught her looking at him. His hands wrapped around the soft material, he almost dropped it as she continued to stare at him, rapt.

Walter was amused. He´d thought this might be interesting, watching the two of them at work, but this was even better. The two of them at play. And they didn´t even know it.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head, throwing his hair into complete disarray. Nikita moved in quickly, smoothing some of the unruly curls into a semblance of order. Michael tensed when he felt her hands on him, but he kept his expression inscrutable.

Walter laughed. "Do you do this for your ops, Michael? I think Nikita has a nice approach to being a team leader myself. Can I get some of that special treatment, Sugar?"

Nikita´s hands froze where they were. Michael moved away, but not too far. Her hands had felt entirely too good on him. He would be embarrassed, but he figured a biker would have no such compunction about touching.

He slid the soft black leather jacket onto his upper body, and Nikita admired the way it looked on him. "Nice, Michael. You definitely have the look down."

He gave her a crooked half-smile. "Thanks."

Then she frowned. "But walk for me."

"Come again?" He looked puzzled.

"Walk for me. I need to see your walk."

He blinked. What kind of nonsense was this? He felt impatient, but he was duty-bound to follow her direction. He walked a few feet, turned and walked back, standing in front of her.

She shook her head. "Nope. You´ve got the look, Michael, but you need more attitude."

"What´s wrong with my attitude, Nikita?" He looked vaguely unsettled, almost angry, but he never showed anger overtly.

She shrugged. "You need to swagger, Michael. Think you can do that?"

Walter snickered behind his hand. Michael glared at the older man, his gaze piercing him, warning him that he could easily be a casualty of that look.

He made direct eye contact with Nikita. "Yes," he hissed.

He pulled on his leather gloves, snapping them closed over his wrists, and raked his hands through his hair, deliberately undoing Nikita´s careful ministrations of a minute before. He stalked to the end of the hall, his bootheels clicking noisily on the hard floor. He turned, and the look he gave her was so dangerous, her heart leapt into her throat. She gulped. Oh, my…

He strutted down the hall to her, every step pulling on the sinuous leather, the muscles in his legs and his buttocks clenching and unclenching, flexing and extending. "How was that?" he whispered, knowing full well the effect it had on her.

She licked her lips, her tongue lingering on her lower lip. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, which jutted provocatively at her. "Ummm…"

Walter laughed, inadvertently breaking the tension. "Sheesh, you two are too twisted for color TV."

They went outside to their motorcycles. There were two. One was Walter´s, the other was Michael´s. Though Nikita was admittedly team leader, it was believed that the Angels would never accept an aggressive woman biker as the leader of their little group. So for the purposes of maintaining credibility, Nikita would ride behind Michael, ostensibly his ‘woman´.

Michael sat down hard on the Harley, legs flexed, unconsciously drawing the eye along the length of him. He put on his helmet and turned to look over his shoulder. Nikita slowly walked up to the bike and thrust her leg over the side. She leaned forward, feeling Michael´s muscular chest contract at her touch. Resisting the urge to kiss the back of his neck, Nikita murmured instead, "Think you can handle this thing between your legs?"

He revved the engine in response, his mouth tight and not a little grim. "I can…but can you?"

Nikita leaned her head on his back and bit back a grin. She didn´t mind Michael being a little angry, he was actually a bit easier to deal with this way. It mitigated some of the angst that cropped up between them now and then. But oh, things were going to get even more interesting…

"Talk about being all dressed up and no place to go…" Walter wisecracked.

Nikita sighed. "Any words of wisdom, Walter?"

"Yeah, yeah, now you notice ole Walter, Sugar. You females are so fickle, you break my heart." Walter grinned lopsidedly at Nikita.

He glanced at Michael, who was either half-asleep or ignoring both of them. "Hey, Michael! What colors do you want for your jacket?"

Michael frowned. "Colors?"

"Yeah, it´s kinda cool. Sorta like medieval knights wore colors to denote who they owed fealty to, and all that. Nikita needs to wear the same colors, cause she´s your woman."

Upon hearing that, Michael sat up. "My woman?"

"Well, she´s riding with you. If you don´t let these yahoos know right away that she´s spoken for, they´ll be playing slap and tickle with her before you can say Harley Davidson."

Michael shrugged. "Nikita can handle herself." He resumed his previous position in the seat, clearly meaning to ignore Walter. But Walter was nothing if not persistent.

"I´m sure she can. But these bad boys don´t play fair, Michael. They´ll rape or kill you just for looking crooked at ‘em."

Michael heaved a long-suffering breath and stared at Walter. "You´re not going to let me rest until I give in, are you?

"Nope."

Michael held out his hand. "Then give me the damn colors, Walter."

Walter hooted and hollered. "Which ones?"

"Pick one, Walter. I don´t care."

Walter looked long and hard at Michael, then Nikita. "I think green. Green has a lot of symbolism attached to it, y´know…and—"

Michael waved at Walter and closed his eyes. "Uh huh…"

When they finally made contact with the Hell´s Angels, it was nearly twelve hours later. First, they landed at Kennedy Airport in New York, unloaded the bikes, and drove nearly four hours to Virginia.

They stopped in a little diner outside Vienna, Virginia. It was clean, the fare simple, but they were ravenous by then, and hardly in the mood to wait for something better to come along. They quickly settled on hamburgers all around, wondering if heartburn came with the territory.

Walter laughed. "This is kinda fun, Michael. Aren´t you at all excited?"

Michael regarded Walter with something akin to disdain. "No," he said, in a tone that dared Walter to argue with him.

He glanced down at the bright emerald green bandana adorning his arm. "I feel damned conspicuous, if you ask me."

Nikita brandished hers, like a trophy she could never get enough of showing off. "I like it. I feel like I´ve been branded. Michael´s woman." She giggled, honestly amused by the idea of wearing matching bandanas.

Michael looked like he was barely listening, but his entire body tensed when he heard her say ‘Michael´s woman´. God, she was. Even the stupid bandana thing on her arm made him feel possessive. He knew he sounded annoyed with Walter for suggesting or even insisting that Nikita be protected from the very bikers they sought, but the truth was, he was right.

Nikita excused herself to use the bathroom, but when she didn´t return after several minutes, Walter began to get worried. "Michael, you better go look for her."

Michael sighed. He walked to the back of the diner, where the restrooms were located, and almost bumped into Nikita, coming out of the ladies´ room. There was barely enough space for two people to pass each other in the hall, and Michael suddenly found Nikita pressed up against his body, trying to slide her abdomen past his groin. He swallowed hard.

Nikita chuckled, deep in her throat. "Michael," she said huskily, "you´d better stop reacting like I´ve never touched you before, or no one is gonna believe we´re a couple."

He stared down at her, his green eyes darkening as he let his control slip for a moment. Nikita wet her lips with her tongue, and Michael´s eyes followed the entire motion. A tiny sound escaped her, and Michael bent his head and kissed her, swallowing the sound. "I´ve been wanting to do that all day," he confessed in a whisper.

She nodded silently. She reached up and pressed her mouth to his. His lips remained tightly closed. "Open your mouth," she commanded softly.

"No," he said, smiling slightly.

"Michael," she warned.

"Am I under orders to please you?" he said, running one hand inside her T-shirt and along her bare shoulder.

Her smile faded, and Michael felt the change in her immediately. "No," she said with a trace of disappointment. "I didn´t realize it would take an order for you to touch me." She pushed past him almost angrily, and Michael winced. He closed his eyes. God, I didn´t mean to hurt you, Kita. I was just torturing myself…as usual.

When he came back to their table, Walter was looking daggers at him, and Nikita merely aloof. "We´d better go, we have a lotta mileage to cover ‘fore we get to the meet point," Walter said coldly.

Michael met Walter´s cold glance with one of his own. Don´t push me, Walter, I´m better at this than you. Unfortunately.

Walter dropped his eyes first, conceding defeat. Yeah, well, I don´t claim to be a cold op anymore, but you really are a piece of work, Michael.

Michael´s eyes narrowed, and as suddenly as it started, their internal war was over. Once more, he had shifted himself into the position of outsider. It was a role he was comfortable with, even as he longed to be on the inside with everyone else, especially Nikita.

They rode in utter silence for another hour before they found the meet point. Walter immediately dismounted, taking the lead. Michael would have fought him for it, but Walter pressed a hand to Michael´s chest. "Look, I know these kind of people, you don´t. Let me do the talking."

Michael nodded.

Walter turned and faced Michael. "Oh, and don´t be surprised by anything that comes out of my mouth. Might have to get a bit…creative."

Michael smiled coldly. "I´m familiar with lying, Walter."

Walter returned the smile. "I´ll just bet you are."

Walter walked confidently into the small enclave of Hell´s Angels, feeling them move back, then surround him, almost as one.

Their leader, a huge bearded man with arms the size of hamhocks, met Walter´s cool glance. "You Walter?"

Walter nodded. "Yup. You Bear?"

The man nodded. For a moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly, the two men embraced as if they had known one another for years.

"Bear! It´s been so long, man!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. What do you think of the beard, man? Makes me sorta distinguished, doncha think?"

Nikita watched the two men from a careful distance and smiled. Walter was just full of surprises. She felt Michael, rather than saw him, approach her side. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Nikita glanced at him sideways. "Sure."

Michael didn´t look at her, and his tone remained completely neutral. "I didn´t mean to hurt your feelings back there, Nikita."

Nikita shifted her stance slightly. " ‘S´okay."

"Nikita, I—"

Walter came into view, waving his arms madly. "Hey, Sugar! Come here and meet Bear! And bring Mike, too!"

Michael and Nikita turned as one, staring at Walter. "M-Mike?" they chorused.

Nikita slung an arm around Michael´s waist, as if they were lovers, and whispered, "Be nice, Michael, or I´ll give you a nickname you really won´t be able to live with." When Michael moved as if to protest, Nikita merely smiled gaily and pinched his bare skin under his T-shirt. "Trust me, there are worse things than being called Mike," she murmured.

They came abreast of Walter and Bear, and Walter performed the introductions. Still uncertain if Michael would lend his protection to Nikita, as he had asked, Walter took matters into his own hands. "Bear, this is my daughter, Sugar."

Nikita didn´t even blink. She extended a hand to the big man and his grasp turned out to be surprisingly gentle. She smiled warmly, and she got a warm smile in return.

Walter established Nikita as his daughter to protect her from the less scrupulous bikers, who latched onto any woman considered available, and since availability was often in the eye of the beholder, he wanted to nip speculation right in the bud. As for Michael, Walter was ticked off at the cold op in ways he couldn´t quite express, but revenge would be sweet.

He indicated Michael and announced, "And this is my son-in-law, Big Mike." Walter smirked, enjoying Michael´s obvious squirming at that sobriquet.

Bear frowned. "Big? Hell, Walter, he´s just a little fella."

Nikita sputtered behind her hand. Michael was fuming, she could feel the tension in him, where her other hand still clung to his bare waist under his shirt. She smiled flirtatiously at Michael, who raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what she was up to now. "Oh, he has other…attributes…that are less obvious."

Bear laughed heartily. "Well, good for him! And you, too, if you catch my drift, little lady."

She returned Bear´s smile as she pinched Michael once more. Michael flinched and said, "Just Mike…will be fine." He gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long night.

Because it was relatively warm weather, the bikers decided to spend the night outdoors. They delegated people to build fires for light and warmth, if needed later during the night, and people began to drift away from the main enclave, searching for privacy.

Walter let it be known that he would continue to work his friendship with Bear for all it was worth, and Michael slunk away, like a dog with its tail between its legs, feeling whipped. He clambered up on some rocks, where no one else had ventured yet, and sought solitude. Some people craved being with other people, Michael craved solitude. Usually it made him feel more centered, more intensely focused. But now, all it did was enhance his feeling of aloneness, of being cut loose to drift apart from the others.

Nikita crept up behind him, her footsteps finally betraying her presence. He sighed. "Come to give me one more shot?" he said bitterly.

"No…" She sat down next to him, searching vainly in the dark for his hand. When she found it, she linked her fingers with his. "We´re supposed to be a couple, Michael. You disappeared. I had to come looking for you. We´re supposed to be inseparable."

He groaned. "That´s a laugh."

"Maybe Walter was right, Michael. You don´t care what happens to me."

He whipped his head around, incredulous. "Do you really believe that?"

She shook her head. "No…" She looked down at their hands, linked so carefully together.

He looked away, the darkness of the night making it harder and harder to see his features. "Sometimes I think I´ll go mad if I don´t touch you, Nikita," he said in a soft, low voice. "And sometimes I think…I already am…"

Nikita looked stunned by this revelation. "Then why don´t you—"

Michael turned back to face her, his eyes unreadable now in the waning light. "Would it make it any easier on us if I did, Nikita? Wouldn´t it be that much harder to go on, knowing what we know and feeling what we feel?"

"But Michael—"

He stroked her face with his fingertips, loving the feel of her under his hands, however little he permitted himself to touch. "Take what you´ve always suspected and assume it to be true, Nikita. Does it make it any easier, knowing what can never be?" He continued to stroke her face, and she refused to agree with him.

"You´re talking about the future, Michael. I´m saying, give us something to live on now. We can´t change the past, and we can´t control the future. But we can live in the present."

Michael bent his head and found her mouth in the dark, gently nudging it open with his tongue. Several breathless, wet, open-mouthed kisses later, Michael spoke again. "If I give you the words…will you throw them back in my face someday, Kita?" he asked softly.

"No," came her answer, swift and unhesitating. "Never."

"As you wish," he said against her mouth. He pushed her onto her back, deepening the kiss, feeling her shuddering breath against his cheek. But before he could say another word, Walter found them.

"There you are, the two of you! There´ll be plenty of time for that later! We got important business to take care of!"

"Now?" Michael groaned.

"Now," Walter stated firmly.