Nikita hit the enter key on her laptop and filed the last of her mission report. She sat back in her chair and pulled her hair off her neck, yawning as she did so. It had been a long day. Her team had gone into overtime on what initially seemed like a wild goose chase, but the mission profile had finally been completed. She stretched, unaware that someone was watching her. When she stood up, she put her hand in the small of her back, unconsciously drawing attention to her small waist and sleek black mission pants. There was an audible intake of breath nearby, and it finally penetrated her consciousness. "Who's there?"

She looked around, saw no one, and felt silly for even saying anything. Muttering to herself, she said, "There's no one here, I'm the last one leaving Section. As usual. I need to get a life." She sighed heavily. She closed the laptop and tucked it away. She took one last look around the area, but again, she saw no one. But strangely, there was now a note where there had been none.

"What light through yonder window breaks…tis the sun…and fair Nikita the moon… But even the moon's brilliance would pale next to your skin, your hair, your radiant beauty…"

The note was unsigned. She didn't recognize the handwriting either. It was pretty, even poetic in its own way, she supposed. Maybe it was Birkoff playing out one of his adolescent fantasies. No, she thought, after the episode with her double, Birkoff had steered clear of even hinting at romantic feelings for Nikita. The obvious culprit would be Michael. But Michael had not come near Nikita in months. A fact that frustrated her no end. After they went out for coffee several months ago, they had never gone out again. She had tried to ignore Michael, hoping that her own inattention might whet his interest, but sadly, she didn't even think he had noticed. Oh, well…she shrugged it off. It was probably a practical joke. Just what she needed. A romantic practical joke. Fate was clearly laughing at her.

When she arrived at the apartment, she automatically looked around, to see if anyone was lurking nearby. But no, not even Mick Schtoppel was around. Pity, she thought, she could have used his comic relief right about now. She let herself in and to her amazement, the entire apartment was ablaze with light.

"I didn't leave all these lights on. Now this is strange." She crossed the room, flicking off light switches as she went. She heard a noise behind her and whirled around. Nothing. No one. If someone were stalking her…

She smiled to herself. "If someone were stalking me, he would have to be pretty good. Cause I'm pretty good myself." The question was, why would someone be stalking her? They were suddenly overcome by her good looks and sterling personality? She sighed. She needed to get some sleep. Her imagination was definitely playing tricks on her.

She tugged her shirt over her head, throwing it onto the floor. Another yawn caught her as she pushed her mission pants down, revealing the leotard she always wore underneath. She kicked the pants into a pile near her bed, and jumped onto the bed. After a minor struggle with the bedcovers, she managed to settle into bed. She closed her eyes, but her mind kept returning to the mysterious unsigned note. And soon she dreamed…

He was kissing her. She stirred restlessly. A man dressed all in black, his face covered with a black mask, had come into her bed. And he was kissing her. His lips felt warm and moist against the back of her neck. His breath was hot on her shoulder, as he peeled her hair away from her neck. But when his tongue flicked out to touch her ear, she gasped. She knew she was dreaming, but it felt so real. His hand touched her chest, and she came awake in an instant. She turned sharply, but there was no one there. Of course, there was no one there. Just her and her overactive imagination. Still, she was panting. The kisses had felt so real.

She wiped her forehead. She was sweating. Maybe she needed to take a shower. Or maybe she just needed to go back to sleep. And dream some more. Her phantom lover was better than what she was getting in real life. She turned over and pulled the covers up to her neck, making a conscious effort to slow her breathing. He wasn't real. No such luck, Nikita.

A few moments later, she was fast asleep again. Dreaming. Her man in black returned. Now he had turned her over on her back and covered her with his black cloak. He kissed her cheek, her hair, her eyelids. She frowned in her sleep. There was something daring about this dream lover, to take such liberties with her body, and yet…there was something familiar in his caresses. Her mind busily working, despite her dream state, she worked on the puzzle that had started with the mysterious unsigned note.

He turned her face so that he could take her mouth. He nudged her lips apart, gently at first, then more urgently. His open-mouthed kisses left her breathless, and a tiny whimper escaped her. It seemed to excite her secret admirer, and she felt him nibbling on her lower lip until she thought she would expire from desire. Her eyes closed, deep in sleep, she stopped fighting her arousal and wrapped her arms around her dream lover. He never spoke, but she knew his touch. He had touched her so seldom, but she knew his touch. "Michael…" she breathed against his mouth. He stopped in mid-kiss. She felt bereft without his touch. "Michael…" she called again. Her arms closed on nothing. She woke with a start, her vision blurred by sleep and not a few tears. No one was there.

She gazed around the room, perplexed. Was she losing her mind? Was it real or fantasy? She touched her mouth with one finger and felt the moistness there. No, she wasn't imagining this. Someone had been here. And someone had been kissing her. Someone capable of stealing her heart. Or breaking it.

The next day, at Section…

Nikita smiled at Michael as she gave him a sidelong glance. "Michael?" she drawled. He barely returned her look. "Yes?" he said tersely, continuing to examine the papers in his hands.

"Did you—er…were you at my apartment last night?" She suddenly found herself very nervous, and the anticipation of Michael's answer was killing her.

He frowned. "Why would I be at your apartment?" He seemed honestly puzzled by her question.

A very good question, Nikita thought. Now I'd like a very good answer. "Well…someone was…" she said almost coyly, working her finger over her mouth.

Michael blinked. "You were compromised?"

She almost laughed out loud. Not quite, Michael, she thought, with an inward sigh. "Not…exactly…"

"Either you were or you weren't. Why are you wasting my time playing games, Nikita?" Michael sounded more than a little irritable. Maybe he hadn't been asleep in his bed last night, Nikita pondered.

"Never mind, Michael. It couldn't have been you." She decided that she must have been mistaken after all. But she had been so sure it was Michael last night.

"Fine," he said shortly, then walked away.

Nikita tried to put the whole incident out of her mind, but another note appeared on her desk by lunchtime. This one said: "She walks in beauty like the night…" Short but to the point. Again, it was unsigned. Again, she didn't recognize the handwriting.

When her mission was aborted due to a tactical delay, Nikita heaved a great sigh of relief. She could use the time to get some much-needed sleep. She was definitely not looking for mysterious admirers in her bed tonight. She was going directly to sleep without dreaming, if she had to take a bottle of Benadryl.

But her secret admirer apparently had other plans. The moment Nikita entered her apartment, she felt another presence. She couldn't explain it, logically, but she knew that someone else was there. Somewhere. And the someone else was not threatening to her. She instinctively knew this. She put a CD in the stereo and music filled the apartment. She decided to run through her basic exercise routine, hoping it would tire her enough to sleep without dreaming.

A few minutes later, her velvety skin coated with a thin patina of sweat, Nikita blotted her face with a thick white towel. She entered the bathroom, disrobing as she went, and suddenly she was face to face with her admirer. Wait, she said to herself, I'm not asleep yet. I can't be dreaming this. I'm awake. The man in black bowed to her, as if he had been waiting for her arrival there. She gasped and covered herself as best she could with her bare hands. He merely smiled.

She played with the towel, trying to stretch it across as much of her body as she dared. The man in black spoke for the first time since she had seen him. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" She dropped the towel to the floor. It was Michael.

She bent over quickly to pick up the towel, but he stopped her. "Beauty such as yours deserves to be seen, not hidden." She froze, feeling like a statue on view as he carefully perused her entire body. She heard him breathing, and she realized that if this was Michael, she had never seen this side of him before. He was never out of control. But this Michael looked transfixed by the mere sight of her.

He approached her as a panther might approach its prey, slowly, cautiously, but with steady progress. Suddenly the wait was over. Nikita swallowed hard, and looked directly into Michael's eyes, which had turned dark grey with some unnamed emotion. "Do you know how wildly besotted I am with you, ma belle amante? Don't worry, you will. Soon enough." He wrapped his silken black cloak around her and watched the material drape itself over her sleek form. "Mine," he whispered to her before he enveloped her in his arms. Nikita felt as if she were dreaming, no matter that she was perfectly awake. Nothing this startling or romantic had ever happened to her, and the fact that it was happening with Michael made it seem even more unreal.

He kissed her, his mouth warm and pliable against hers. Nikita closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from succumbing to whatever this was. Seduction? Romance? Gameplaying? She had no idea why Michael was acting this way, but she was not about to speak his name aloud, as she had the other night, and end the dream. His tongue slid into her mouth with a practiced ease that might have given her pause, but in truth, she was grateful for Michael's expertise in this area. He was a caring and thoughtful lover, and oh so sensual…though she had only distant memories to remember this by.

His arms slid back and forth against the silk of the cloak, trapping her body within. He kissed her again and again, sensual kisses that promised of moonlit madness, and she whimpered in his arms. That was it, that tiny gasp of breath that responded to her slightest sound. She pressed herself against him, and she knew this was no dream. She could feel his arousal. She slid her cheek against his, licking his ear, and things began to escalate. He lifted her into his arms and took her into the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed. His eyes were ablaze with inner fire, but it was his mouth that held her attention. She reached up and kissed him, taking the initiative for once, and he pushed her down almost roughly, clearly fighting for some kind of control.

He leaned over her, his breath harsh in her ear, and she heard him whisper, "Have I ever told you that I love you?" She was stunned. She could not speak. "N-no," she answered, not sure if a reply was even necessary. "I do," he continued in that husky whisper that made her ache down to her toes.

After Michael made love to Nikita, he disappeared. Nikita was hoping for some sort of clarity to come upon her, but it didn't. She was totally confused, and, she realized, not for the first time, totally at Michael's mercy. She was in love with him. Still. Forever. But she didn't pretend to understand what had happened.

Nikita pondered what to do, and as strange as it seemed, she found herself in the office of the one person who probably knew more about Section personnel than they did themselves. Madeline. Madeline smiled patiently at Nikita, waiting for her to come to the point. "Madeline, is it possible for someone to do things…without being aware of doing them?"

"How do you mean? Give me an example."

Nikita gnawed her fingernail. "I dunno if I can."

"Then how can I help you?"

'Well…" Nikita looked so uncomfortable, Madeline finally took pity on her. "Does this have anything to do with Michael?"

She nodded, relieved in some way that Madeline had guessed. "What is it he's doing?"

"Well…he came to my apartment…and he kissed me…I was sure it was him, but when I saw him…here…he denied it. I don't mean he lied, he literally doesn't remember doing it…"

Madeline raised an eyebrow politely. "Is there more to this story?"

"Well…last night he came back…and he…um…we…"

Madeline grinned. "You made love? Good for you, Nikita." She seemed curiously pleased that the two of them had been together, which Nikita imagined was a good thing, since admitting what had happened could have been an extremely bad thing. One never knew with Madeline. One stray remark could land a person in the White Room.

"So what seems to be the problem?"

"The problem is…Michael doesn't remember any of it."

Madeline smiled condescendingly for a moment. "Are you sure? Perhaps he is simply being a gentleman. Gentlemen do not like to kiss and tell, Nikita. You are perhaps unused to gentlemen."

Nikita felt the intended slight pass right over her head. She had no plans to get involved in a competition with Madeline.

Madeline listened to the rest of Nikita's story and said, "To answer your earlier question…Yes, a person can do things without being aware of doing them, Nikita. If a person literally dissociates under great stress, or because of strong desire," she nodded to Nikita, acknowledging this as a potential reason, "the person enters what we call a fugue state."

She smiled at Nikita. "While in this fugue state, a person can do just about anything. The main personality, however, would literally know nothing about what happened during that fugue state, experiencing a gap we sometimes call 'lost time'."

"How would you heal someone like that?"

"Therapy, perhaps. Or hypnosis. Hypnosis is actually used quite often and gives excellent results. But a combination of both is probably best."

Nikita looked suspiciously ready to cry. "Could you tell—-I mean, if a person said or did things in this fugue, is he telling the truth?"

"What did Michael tell you that worries you, Nikita?" She frowned, as she did not like information being held back at any time.

An errant tear spilled over and ran down Nikita's cheek. She whispered to Madeline, "He said he loved me."

Madeline resisted the urge to put her arms around Nikita. So often, she found herself wanting to mother Nikita, when she was perfectly capable of handling her own emotional crises. Most of the time. Where Michael was involved, she had to be careful.

"I imagine he does, Nikita. We've all felt that for a very long time."

"You do?" Nikita looked totally surprised.

Madeline nodded. "The question is, do you love him?"

"I always have," she said in a low voice, finally admitting the truth to herself.

"Does Michael know this?" Madeline said sternly.

"No—I dunno…I dunno. Really." Nikita's eyes took on a frightened look.

Madeline took Nikita by the hand and calmly stroked her. "I don't know what caused enough stress to cause Michael to dissociate, but if he has, Nikita, you are the only one who can heal him. He is acting out…something he wants very much to do as himself. Something he apparently wants so badly, he finally started to reach out to you."

"How can I help him?"

"I don't know if Michael has admitted to himself that he loves you. That's your first obstacle, Nikita. But your second…is that you must admit you love him. To him."

"Michael?" Nikita had just passed Michael in the hall outside his office, where she had been prowling for the past hour, in an attempt to find him.

"Yes, Nikita?" he said, obviously preoccupied.

"I need to see you. Right away. It's very important."

He sighed in exasperation. "Can't it wait? I'm busy."

"No, I don't think it can." She looked worried enough that Michael finally took notice. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his office. He put a finger to his lips and activated the jamming device. "What's wrong?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can't tell you here!" She wanted to strangle him with her bare hands. She loved him to death, but she couldn't stand it when he deliberately misunderstood her.

He nodded impassively. "Why not?"

"Michael!" She sighed. "Just trust me, okay?"

He stared at her. "You want me to trust you?"

"Yes, is that such a difficult request to process?" She almost stuck her tongue out at him, but that would have been gross insubordination, and the way things were going, he was liable to report her.

He shrugged. "Okay."

When they arrived at her apartment, the sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting the entire apartment in warm color. She grabbed Michael by the hand and pulled him to the couch. "Michael…how have you been sleeping lately?"

"Not much, actually. Why?"

"Any gaps in your memory?"

"Now that you mention it…yes…what are you getting at, Nikita?"

She wrapped her arms around herself for support and took a deep breath. "I know why."

"You do?" Michael once again looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

She leaned over and began to explain about the mysterious notes, the way he had shown up at her apartment to kiss her in her sleep, and finally, the way things had gone between them the night before. To say he was surprised was an understatement. "What kind of nonsense has Madeline been filling your head with, Nikita?"

Suddenly she wasn't as sure as she had been in Madeline's office. What if this was all a test? Section loved to do things like that. No, she had to do this. She had promised Madeline, for Michael's sake.

She told Michael what Madeline had said about fugue states and he merely stared at her blankly. "So what mysterious statement is supposed to unlock the key to my psyche?"

Michael sounded so bitter, so cynical. She was afraid to reveal her feelings to him. He didn't seem at all loving or kind, like he had the night before. "I think I like you better when you aren't yourself."

He peered at her curiously. "You liked this other person I supposedly became?"

"More than liked, Michael. I love the man who came to my bed last night. That man kissed me within an inch of my life and made me feel desired. Cherished. Loved."

She spoke so passionately, she almost didn't notice the change that came over Michael. His eyes darkened dramatically. She looked down at her hands and sighed. "I love you, Michael. I always have. I've been waiting and waiting for you to come to me and admit that you love me, but the truth is…maybe I've had it backwards. Maybe I should have come to you and told you that I loved you months ago."

Michael sat back, seemingly carved out of stone. "That's an interesting thing to say."

"It is?" Nikita frowned, wondering at his reaction.

He looked at her, his eyes warming to the sight of her. "Yes. I've been barely able to think straight lately, but I had no idea why. But if you love me, that changes everything."

"It does?" Nikita felt hope creeping back into her heart, along with the love she already kept there.

"I've been trying so hard to give you enough time and space to come to your senses, but I was getting to the point where I couldn't bear another day alone."

"Oh, Michael." She edged closer to him on the couch. He reached out for her finally, and she went wholeheartedly into his arms. "Tell me this is no dream."

"But it is, Kita. It must be. Only we're finally sharing the same one."

"I love you, Michael."

"I love you, Kita." He kissed her fervently, and she abruptly realized that her sensual lover of the night before had found his way back to her. She looked deeply into Michael's eyes and knew that his dissociation was no more. Together, they had healed him.

End