Declan finished washing the breakfast dishes and slowly stacked them in the rack to dry. He was in a contemplative state this morning. He was still lost in thought when Birkoff came upon him several minutes later.

"What's up, Declan? You look lost."

Declan wrinkled his nose. "I am. Got something of an ethical conflict on my mind. Don't know what to do yet."

"Something I can help you with?" Birkoff looked hopeful, but Declan shook his head negatively.

"Sorry, boyo, but I keep my own counsel when I get like this. Gotta work through all the consequences and permutations."

"Sheesh, there's a three-dollar word for you. Didn't know you field ops knew words like that," he snorted at Declan.

Declan's storm-grey eyes narrowed. "There's probably a lot you don't know about us, Birkoff. You'd be surprised how intelligent some of us are."

Declan clearly took offense at Birkoff's implication, but Birkoff backed off instantly. Oh, not because he felt intimidated by Declan's gesture, but because Birkoff truly had not meant to imply such a thing. Especially not about Declan. Come to think of it, Birkoff thought that Michael was fairly well-educated as well. As for Nikita, she was beyond reproach, no matter where her education was obtained, street or Section.

Birkoff apologetically said, "I didn't mean it that way, Declan. Honest. You're the last person I would accuse of being ignorant."

Declan blushed. "Thanks, Birkoff. I'm sorry if I'm a bit prickly this morning. Like I said, I have a lot on my mind."

Birkoff nodded. "Sure."

Nikita woke to find herself completely and utterly alone. She rolled over. The blanket Michael had draped over the two of them was still there. But Michael was gone. She sat up expectantly. Glancing into the two cradles, she checked on the twins. Both were sleeping. She ran over the checklist she kept in her head. Color good. Breathing without difficulty. Body temperature within normal limits.

Wrapping one of the blankets around her body, she carefully stood up, waiting a moment to regain her balance. Nikita pulled her hair back into a long thick braid before reluctantly leaving the twins. She had to use the bathroom before she went downstairs. Noting that she was still bleeding, albeit only a small amount, she sighed. Neil had told her it might take up to three to six weeks for the lochia to stop.

Stopping into the master bedroom only to put on a pair of socks, Nikita padded downstairs. Once she reached the kitchen, she asked Declan if he had seen Michael.

Declan replied evenly, "He went out."

"Out? Out where?" Nikita frowned.

"Just out. That's all he said. No explanation. No ETA for his return. Just out." Declan slammed the refrigerator door and Nikita unconsciously jumped. Her nerves were a bit unsettled, that was all. She could deal with this. It wasn't a problem exactly, more like a concern.

"And?" Nikita prompted.

"And what?" Declan pretended to misunderstand her. Just like Michael. Nikita despaired of ever learning anything without prying it out of the men in the household. Except for Birkoff. If he knew something, she could always depend on him to respond to her more subtle machinations.

"And was there anything unusual about him this morning?"

"Well…I'm a bit conflicted as to how to answer that, Nikita. I'm still deliberating."

"I see." Nikita was fuming. "You do realize whose house you're living in, Declan, don't you? It's not polite to bite the hand that feeds you."

Declan looked pained. "Ah, but your ladyship, you know there are all kinds of loyalty in our world. I'm in the process of sorting that out right now."

"Fine," she bit off sharply. "Let me know when you come to a conclusion you can share with the rest of us."

She stalked off angrily, her footsteps fading as she stomped upstairs to check on the twins. Birkoff stared after her, then whistled at Declan, who looked somewhat stunned himself that he had declined to answer Nikita's questions more directly.

"Wow, I'm impressed, Declan. I never last more than about a minute when Nikita gets into that power mode. She must have learned it from Michael. It's very…effective." Birkoff swallowed.

"Yeah, well…boyo, wait till I tell you what I didn't tell her."

Declan whispered to Birkoff for several minutes and when he was done, Birkoff's eyes had never been wider or rounder. "No way, Declan. Can't be."

Declan nodded sadly. "I saw it myself, Birkoff. So you can see why I don't know what to say."

Birkoff shook his head. "Talk about being between the proverbial rock and a hard place."

Nikita picked up the twins, one by one, and breast-fed them, while sitting in the rocking chair. Immediately her mind turned to Michael. Where was he? Why didn't he leave a note or a message with one of the others for her? Didn't he know she would worry? What was going on?

She placed the twins back into their respective cradles and smiled fondly at them. There was little that could happen to dim her happiness right now, but her preoccupation with Michael's mysterious disappearance was close to doing so. She showered and dressed, re-plaiting her long, white-blonde hair. She had precious little to do but ruminate on what might have happened.

Walking into the kitchen, she caught the tale end of Birkoff and Declan's hushed conversation, which only served to pique her interest more. "Dressed in mission black? Who, Declan?"

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped tentatively at the hot liquid. Declan's eyes slid away, not unlike Michael's when he was either lying or withholding information from her. "Okay, Declan, spill it. I know something is going on. You'd better tell me now, or there'll be all hell to pay later."

"I can't, Nikita."

Declan actually looked distressed. He didn't want to lie to Nikita. He loved being a part of this family, and he was deeply afraid of what Michael might do to him if he told Nikita what he knew. Oh, he wasn't concerned about physical harm. He was afraid of being expelled from the confines of the only safe haven he'd found since leaving Section many years ago. Oh, he'd found safety of a sort with Madeline's help, but nothing like this family. He had never belonged anywhere. Now he did. He couldn't bear to lose that.

Nikita pressed her advantage. She knew Declan would break. He respected her too much to lie to her. He wanted to tell her the truth. She would make it easier for him.

"Declan, I know you want to do the right thing. I promise not to judge you for keeping a secret or a confidence, or whatever it is you're doing here."

"It's not that, Nikita." Declan gritted his teeth and looked at Birkoff, who nodded.

Suddenly he blurted out, "It was Michael, Nikita. He flew out of here this morning. Early. On the back of Walter's Harley. Dressed in mission black."

"M-Mission black?" Nikita stammered. She paled and swayed on her feet. Declan caught her before she grew any more unsteady.

"No…" she repeated over and over again, burying her face in her hands. Declan and Birkoff managed to work together to move her onto the living room couch. Once she was lying on the couch, Declan sent Birkoff in search of Walter.

Declan knelt by Nikita's side, praying that her reaction was strictly emotional and not partly physical. If Neil and Madeline had to be called into this, Declan shuddered to think what would happen.

He grasped her hands and rubbed them together. "Nikita, Nikita, I'm so sorry…I didn't know you would take it this way. I should have known better…" He continued to berate himself this way until Walter arrived, out of breath and out of sorts. When Walter saw the shape that Nikita was in, he quickly took command of the situation.

"Declan, who's watching the babies?" Walter asked gruffly.

"Uh…" Declan glanced nervously at Birkoff, who bolted upstairs to check on the twins.

"Okay, Declan, Birkoff told me what you saw and what you told Sugar…now let me tell you something." He directed his fiercely protective gaze at Declan, who suddenly looked younger than his 25 years.

"You were in Section long enough to know…things ain't always the way they seem. Well, this is a damn good example. You saw Michael, you drew a conclusion, only problem is, you put 2 and 2 together and got 5. Never ever take things at face value. You should know better."

"I happen to know there is a perfectly simple explanation for what you saw this morning." Walter raised an eyebrow at Declan. "But I don't feel much like enlightening you at the moment. I think you need to sweat it out a bit longer. Might make you think twice the next time."

Nikita moaned, and Walter's attention swung back to the woman he called his daughter. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. "Sugar, you're gonna be just fine. Your ole Dad's here, Sugar, and he'll take care of you."

Michael drove the Harley straight up the road that wound its way around the mountain. It was the same place he had taken Nikita all those many months ago. Where they had danced together. Where they had shared their love. Where he needed to be now. To make amends.

He didn't consider himself a religious man, not in the typical sense of the word, but lately, he had started conversing with God. Given the benefits he had reaped in his life recently, concluding with the birth of his and Nikita's babies, he determined that God was indeed listening.

He left the house early, so early he hoped that no one would see him or notice he was gone. He was so certain he would be back before the entire house awoke, he never considered that Nikita might awaken and find him missing. This was just something he wanted to do. No, it was something he needed to do.

He dismounted the motorcycle at the bottom of the incline and left the helmet hanging over the handlebars. He trudged up the path to the top of the mountain and he was quite breathless by the time he arrived at the top. Kneeling, he carefully removed his mission black clothing, folding each piece neatly in front of him. Clad only in a white T-shirt and white shorts, he removed a knife from the pocket of his leather jacket.

Nikita looked at Walter. "You knew he was going to leave?" she asked tearfully.

"Sugar, don't worry. He'll explain it to you himself when he gets back. It's just something he had to take care of himself."

She clung to Walter, and he held her for a long time, listening to her sobs grow less intense with each passing moment. "Ssh, Sugar, everything is gonna be okay."

Michael took the knife and cut the mission blacks into pieces. He dug a shallow hole with the tip of the knife and threw the shreds of clothing into it, smoothing it over with the knife's flat edge. He patted the rest of the dirt down with his hands and stood up. It was now a visible monument to the life he had left behind. Permanently. Forever. Section no longer owned him. Or Nikita. Or the lives of those he cared about and loved. Most especially, Section did not own the lives of the children he and Nikita had brought into the world.

He faltered for a second, but he closed his eyes and found his new connection with God still open. He knew he didn't need to cut the mission blacks into pieces, but somehow, they had become a symbol of the life he resented and despised and eventually left behind. With their complete and utter destruction, he felt a tremendous relief, as if God had lifted the greater portion of his burden from his shoulders. Symbolically cutting them from his life was merely a way for him to make his pain, and hence its removal, real.

Michael bowed his head gratefully as he finished praying. He opened his eyes and pulled a pair of light blue jeans from a bag he had carried with him. He pulled his leather jacket on over the white T-shirt and replaced the knife in his pocket.

His life was full in ways he could never have imagined. Trudging back down the hill, he began the long journey home, a whole lot lighter in spirit. He could hardly wait to see Nikita and their children.

When Walter heard the Harley roar into the driveway, he ran to the front door. He saw Nikita sit up on the couch, and he cautioned her about jumping up too quickly. But he knew he would be unable to stop her from meeting Michael. He just hoped that Michael was now in better shape than Nikita.

He needn't have worried. Michael was in fine shape. His leather jacket slung over one shoulder, he was clad only in the white T-shirt and light blue jeans. He looked younger, softer, and far more vulnerable, as if his talk with God had blurred the hardened edges that were once Michael's exterior. Nikita stood at the door and watched him come. Her heart almost stopped. No more mission blacks.

She didn't completely understand yet. But she didn't need to. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He no longer belonged to Section. He belonged to her. He belonged to their babies. He was no longer Section's Michael. He was Nikita's husband; he was Chris and Faith's daddy. He was home.

Nikita waited for Michael to approach the door. When his hand was on the door to open it, she nearly fell into his arms, but she didn't take him by surprise. He framed her face with both hands and kissed her within an inch of her life. "Allo, doucette! I love you!"

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I know you do, Michael. I love you, too!"

He picked her up off her feet and swung her around in a semi-circle, finally putting her down reluctantly. She laughed softly. Now her tears were in his eyes. "I am so lucky, doucette, I just had to thank God!"

"You and me both, Michael. He finally answered my prayers when He gave me you."

Michael kissed her, his lips barely grazing her mouth and cheek before coming to rest against her neck. He wrapped his arms around her as he murmured to her in French. She didn't understand, but her heart knew the words.

It wasn't really an argument. Exactly. Well, it was. Exactly. But it was over something so silly and yet so difficult to explain that no one but themselves would ever understand.

The babies were now three weeks old. It was time for Nikita's post-partal check-up. She was due to be evaluated for possible complications, abnormal lab values, and of course, the resumption of sex. It was the latter that was causing great consternation in the household. Well, not the household. Just the bedroom. It seemed that Nikita was no longer satisfied with torturing Michael every other night. She wanted to be able to express her love for Michael without having to think and stop, just as things became interesting. More than that, she wanted desperately for Michael to express his love for her, in the fullest sense of the word.

Wait, it wasn't trivial at all. Nothing having to do with love could ever be trivial. And nothing that happened between the two of them was ever done without love.

"Michael, I'm going to ask him."

"Kita, he's going to think I'm pressuring you." Michael was becoming exasperated with trying to explain himself to Nikita.

"What do you care what Neil thinks?"

She examined the newspaper article one more time and packed it away carefully in her handbag. Michael put his hand on her shoulder. "He's going to think you're married to a sex fiend," he hissed.

"Don't be ridiculous. Now who's exaggerating, Michael?"

He threw his arms up in the air and stalked into the bathroom. "Fine. You never listen to me anyway. Do exactly what you please."

"Thanks. I will." She set her mouth mutinously and picked up her handbag. "Are you coming with me, Michael? Or are you planning to stay at home and pout?"

"That stung, Kita." He poked his head out of the bathroom and glared at her. "Maybe I will. Who's watching the twins?"

"It's Declan's turn. Does that meet with your approval, my lord? Or did you want to give the assignment to someone else?"

"This isn't Section, Kita."

"And you're not in charge anymore. You don't like being partners, do you, Michael?"

"Is that what this is all about? I could have sworn we were talking about having sex again!" he almost shouted.

"Not really. I was talking about making love, you were talking about having sex."

He stared her down, his eyes narrowing to pinpricks of brilliant green light, piercing her through and through. "Actually, you have it backwards. I'm the one who mentioned making love. You're the one who reduced it to having sex. Suit yourself, Nikita." Oh, Michael was well and truly angry now. He never raised his voice, and it upset him when she provoked him to that point.

Nikita made a face at Michael and turned her back on him. He reached forward and tugged at her hair, which was tied back in an unfashionably long ponytail. "You know I don't like arguing with you, Kita," he said in much softer tones. He dropped his gaze to the floor and sighed heavily. He leaned against the door jamb, as if he were waiting for something.

Nikita turned suddenly, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry, Michael." He hugged her, his arms tightening around her involuntarily. He couldn't bear arguing with her, it made him feel dangerously close to losing control, and he always associated losing control with losing her. It didn't make sense to his logical mind, but he was sure that Madeline would have some deep, dark, psychological explanation for it. If he ever told her.

"You ready to go?" he asked, giving her a quick kiss. She nodded, patting the article within her handbag.

Neil gave the lab results a cursory glance. Nothing particularly unusual. "You're anemic, no real surprise there. You are still taking your vitamins, aren't you, Nikita?"

"Of course," Nikita lied, her fingers crossed behind her back.

"You're not gaining as much weight as I'd like." Neil said this as if warning her. She stuck out her tongue at him. Neil blinked.

"Well, Neil, that's the disadvantage in being too close to your patients. They know all your weaknesses and they use them against you." She frowned. "No, that's marriage I'm thinking of."

Michael poked Nikita in the ribs, smiling innocently when she turned her icy blue glare on him. Nikita tickled Michael, and he was forced to retreat, albeit reluctantly.

Neil studied the two of them. Evidently, things were more or less back to what passed for normal in the Samuelle household. "So, Nikita, any questions? Something on your mind?"

Michael passed a hand over his chin and rolled his eyes. "I wish you hadn't asked that." He paused a moment. "Actually, you may wish you hadn't asked it either."

Nikita smiled at Neil. She rummaged in her handbag, coming up with the article in question a moment later. "I just read this article, Neil—"

"Oh, God…another well-informed patient. Whatever will I do?" Neil clapped both hands to his face.

"That's not funny, Neil." Nikita simmered while Michael actually hid a grin.

"Please, Nikita, go on." Neil adjusted his facial expression accordingly. He had no problem listening, but Nikita was in a damned odd mood.

"You told me that Michael and I should wait six weeks before having sex again."

"That's right. You just had twins. What's your rush? It's not like you'll forget how or anything."

Neil's dry sense of humor usually met with Nikita's approval, but today, he was rubbing her the wrong way. It might have been her earlier disagreement with Michael that colored her feelings. Or it might have been simply the fact that he was a man. And a man just couldn't understand her need to be with Michael. Madeline understood. Maybe she could get Madeline to explain it to Neil.

Neil had the sensation of being sized up by Nikita and found wanting. He would ask her, but nah, he didn't really want to know. He was better off not knowing. Madeline would tell him anything he really needed to know. Maybe.

"This article says that we only have to wait three weeks."

He nodded. "And your point is?"

"Well, it's three weeks now, Neil. What do you think my point is?"

Neil looked at Michael. "What are you doing to the poor girl, Michael? Isn't it enough that she gave up eight months of her life to have two babies? You want to have sex that badly?"

Michael grinned at Nikita in triumph. "I told you."

Nikita glared at Michael. "You're a sore winner, Michael. Nobody likes that."

Michael shook his head. "I've been waiting patiently, Neil. It's Nikita who can't stand another three weeks of….torture."

"You torture each other?" Neil looked aghast. Michael dismissed that with a careless toss of his head. "It's a long story."

"Nothing about you two is remotely…average. What is it with you?" Neil protested.

"Normal, you wanted to say normal, didn't you, Neil?" Nikita crowed.

"Anyway, Nikita, as I was attempting to say….there is something to be said for waiting another three weeks. It depends on how comfortable you feel. It depends on your method of birth control. It—"

"Enough, I get the idea. You'd prefer it if we waited a bit longer?"

Neil nodded. "I would. But I can understand your frustration." He flipped open a folder and studied it. "So what kind of birth control are we using, Nikita? And if the answer is none, you know that you are not going home tonight to make love, correct?"

She pouted prettily, and Michael put his arm around her. "It's okay, Kita. It's not the only way we have to show how much we love each other."

But it is, Nikita wanted to protest vehemently. Or at least, it is the most important way. For me. For you. Maybe not for everyone else. But for us.

Neil droned on about birth control methods, and Nikita tried to listen, truly she did, but she was beyond disappointment. When the session was over, she had a prescription for birth control pills, which would take up to two months to become effective. She couldn't wait another two months. She didn't understand her own feeling of desperation, but she knew that she couldn't wait that long. What if Michael couldn't wait either? What if Michael found someone else? A tiny tear traced its way down her cheek, and Michael kissed it away, as if he knew what she was feeling. Could he read her mind? Was he reassuring her of his love? Or was he feeling guilty because he really didn't want her anymore? Now that she had given him a family?

Nikita slammed the front door. The vibration rocked the entire house. Birkoff looked up from his seat at the kitchen table, addressing Declan. "Sounds like Nikita's home."

Declan studied the baby he was holding. Chris was a good baby. He rarely cried, he slept through the night, and he gurgled appreciatively when he was held by either of his parents. Faith, on the other hand, was already beginning to show signs of her mother's personality. She was an active baby, she cried to demonstrate a wide range of emotions, and she rarely slept at night if she found something interesting to watch or listen to.

He thought it was curious that, even as young as they were, the twins clearly reflected their parents' personalities in so many ways. Chris was the spitting image, as his mother used to say in Ireland, of Nikita. Yet he shared almost none of her personality traits, favoring Michael in almost every way. Faith looked astonishingly like Michael, in coloring as well as attributes, but she was her mother's daughter in every way that was important.

Therefore, it came as no surprise to Declan that when Nikita slammed the door with such vehemence, Chris merely yawned and went back to sleep, while Faith began to howl. They were Michael and Nikita all over again. Declan grinned to himself. Weren't the original two quite enough? Or was this God's way of having the last laugh? Perhaps He wanted to help them reveal themselves to each other more fully by showing them their strengths and weaknesses in the form of their children. Or perhaps it was just the luck of the genetic draw.

Nikita made her way into the kitchen, where Declan and Birkoff were hiding out with the twins. She dropped the car keys onto the kitchen table. "Why is Faith crying, Birkoff?"

"Gee, beats me, Nikita. Could it possibly have anything to do with you slamming the door?" Birkoff said wittily, knowing how dangerous it was to play with Nikita when she was in one of her "moods".

"I don't think so, Birkoff. Chris slept right through it." Nikita said gleefully, delighted to prove Birkoff wrong.

"Chris is more like Michael everyday," Declan said. "He didn't sleep through it at all, Nikita. He registered the noise, decided it was no threat to him, and made a conscious decision to go back to sleep. There's a world of difference."

"Meaning what? Chris would make a fine little Section operative?"

Declan whistled as Birkoff rolled his eyes. There was trouble in paradise. Nikita was feuding with Michael. More than likely it was nothing important. But sometimes it got noisy just the same.

Nikita stomped out of the kitchen, clearly disinterested in pursuing any further conversation with the godfathers of the twins. Michael finally entered the house, quietly, heaving a long-suffering sigh when he crossed the threshold.

"Which way did Nikita go?" Michael asked softly.

Both men pointed to the east, indicating that Nikita had probably gone upstairs. Making no move to follow his wife, Michael picked up Faith and rocked her back and forth. The tiny girl quieted instantly, seemingly mesmerized by looking into her father's enigmatic grey-green eyes.

Declan stared at Michael. "I dunno how you manage to do that, Michael. She started as soon as— well, she heard a noise, and usually nothing stops her—"

"I know. Kita slammed the door." Michael smiled crookedly at his daughter. He let her play with his fingers for several moments before inquiring after Chris.

"Well, I was just telling Nikita, Chris clearly favors you, Michael. He evaluated the noise, decided it wasn't a threat to him and went back to sleep."

"That must have gone over well, Declan," Michael said with a trace of humor in his voice.

"So you basically told Sugar that her son is a god while her daughter is a noisy brat? Way to go, Declan, that Peace Prize ought to be yours any day now," Walter snorted as he entered.

"Why? What did I say now?" Declan asked, with more than a trace of exasperation.

Michael shrugged it off. "It's okay, Declan. No one can say anything right to Kita today. It's not your fault. Just stay out of her way if you want to stay in one piece."

Michael reluctantly went upstairs, knowing that an argument with Nikita was inevitable. She was in the mood to provoke him, and that was always dangerous. He walked into the bedroom, not terribly surprised to find Nikita sprawled across their bed. She was lying on her stomach, seemingly reading, but Michael knew she was lying in wait.

"Nice of you to show up."

Michael ignored her sarcasm and proceeded to take off his jacket. Hanging it in their closet, he then started to walk out of the room. But Nikita had other plans.

"Michael…" She grabbed his wrist. He looked down at his hand and his eyes went flat.

She reached into her handbag and dropped a handful of condoms into his other hand. He stared at her, as if he were unbelievably disappointed.

"That's not going to work, Nikita."

"Why not? Michael, I need you. I need to know you love me." Nikita was not begging, she was demanding, in her own way, assurance of Michael's love and affections.

Michael refused to feed into that type of emotional blackmail. "No, Nikita. My word isn't good enough for you now? You want proof?" He moved closer, so close that Nikita thought he would kiss her.

She swayed towards him, but instead of a kiss, he sadly shook his head. "I love you, Kita, but I won't perform on command. You want tricks, get a dog."

He stopped at the door for a moment, his face reflecting his own pain. Whatever he was going to say was lost. He made a sound that might have been a groan and left.

Nikita threw herself onto the bed with a vengeance. She pushed him too far. He was angry again, and he wasn't afraid to reject her. Was she just feeling insecure? Or did he have someone else already? Part of Nikita knew that this was self-doubt talking. Part of her knew that she was inventing excuses to keep them apart. Creating a hostile environment where love would find it difficult to thrive. She was testing him. But he refused to play along. He knew what she was doing was destructive.

Michael skidded to a stop just outside the back door. He sat down on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him. He picked up a sliver of grass and carefully shredded it, scattering the tiny pieces every which way.

Nikita crept up behind him, as quietly as possible, but Michael spun around and grabbed her wrists, releasing her as soon as he saw it was her. "What do you want, Kita?" he sighed wearily.

"I don't want to argue either, Michael." She sat down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest. She rested her head on her knees and peered sideways at him.

"Michael…"

"What, Kita?"

"Is there somebody else?"

"How could there be somebody else, Kita? I'm with you or the twins twenty four hours a day. I don't sleep any more than you do. Where would I have the time or the energy?" Michael was too hurt to be angry now.

"Or the desire?" She turned wounded eyes on Michael, who had done nothing but reassure her since he woke up that morning.

His eyes filled with tears, but he refused to let them fall. "Kita, you have some stupid idea in your head that I don't want you anymore. I don't know how to fight that. I tell you I love you. I do. You want me to go against Neil's advice and make love to you?"

"Yes," she whispered tearfully.

"Why, Kita? Why?" He stared at her, anguish seeping from every pore in his body. "I don't want to hurt you. Why do you want to hurt me?"

Nikita flinched as if physically struck. "I don't. Michael, I don't."

He pulled her close and hugged her, burying his face in her hair. "I want to believe that, Kita. How could you think I want someone else? I think about being with you all the time. I love you."

Nikita wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. "I love you, too." Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.

He pulled away from her, trying to hide his face from her, but she grabbed his chin and held him. When she saw his eyes, she knew how deeply she had wounded him. "Michael…"

He took a deep breath. "You were right earlier, Kita. When you said we know each other's weaknesses and we exploit them."

"But—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "You know what hurts me most, Kita? That you sound like you don't trust me again. I've never given you any reason to doubt me."

He stood up slowly, brushing the grass off his jeans. Nikita clung to his hand. "Michael, if you'd just make love to me, everything will be okay again."

He shook his head. "No, Kita. If you can't trust me, how can I make love to you? And how can anything ever be okay again?"

Dinner was a silent affair. Michael stared at his plate without eating, eventually pushing it away. He apologized softly to Declan, then excused himself. Nikita pushed the food around on her plate, in an effort to make it look like she had eaten, but Declan wasn't fooled. He collected the plates and nodded at Birkoff, who followed him into the kitchen.

"I thought this was just another one of their noisy spats, Birkoff. But something's very wrong here."

"Yeah," Birkoff agreed. "I'm going to talk to Walter. Maybe he has some ideas."

Walter was muttering to himself when Birkoff entered his workshop. He saw Birkoff and grinned. "Hey, Seymour. How's it going?"

His reaction told Birkoff two things. He hadn't heard about the argument between Michael and Nikita, and he didn't know how desperately unhappy they both were. Birkoff hated to be the one to enlighten Walter. He was so attached to Nikita, he sometimes overlooked her more obvious faults.

Birkoff sighed. As much as he loved Nikita, he knew how difficult she could be to live with. He lived with her for weeks before they found a way to bring her and Michael together. He knew from first-hand experience what kinds of emotional gymnastics she could perform. As if that weren't enough, he knew how stubborn the two of them were. So coaxing them into abandoning whatever their current agenda was would not be easy.

Michael entered their bedroom very slowly. He made his way to the rocking chair and sat down gingerly. His chest felt as if it were filled with glass; he thought if he took a deep breath, he would bleed to death before anyone could help him. Insulated from this type of emotional pain for months, Michael felt as though his meager defenses had been breached. Totally.

He didn't want to blame Nikita. Nikita was…well, Nikita. He should know that better than anyone. It wasn't as if her accusations were credible. He knew there was no basis for them. He hadn't been out of her sight long enough to be with anyone else. But that wasn't what hurt. It was her lack of trust.

Before the twins were born, they had spoken long and intensely about having faith. In themselves, in each other. It was such an issue, their daughter was named for that faith, that belief they shared that they belonged together, no matter what. Now Nikita was threatening that faith. Declaring war on it. She might well think that making love would solve everything. But he knew he could not forget her ill-timed lapse so easily.

He heard her come into the room. He turned, not wanting to re-open the wounds between them, which were still too fresh in his mind and his heart. "Nikita…"

She blinked, wiping a tear away. They had not spoken since they left the backyard. It had been hours. Hours of silence. Hours of torturous thinking. "Yes?" she asked, keeping all hope out of her voice.

"I don't want to make things even harder on you. Maybe it would be best if I sleep somewhere else tonight."

"No!" she cried. Too late, she tried to call back her reaction. Michael stood up and walked toward the door. She ran after him, literally colliding with his body. He backed up, as if he found touching her almost physically painful.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She stepped so close to him, she could feel his breath on her face. She wanted to kiss him so badly, she hurt. But she couldn't stand the thought that he might reject her again.

"Me, too," he whispered back. His eyes darkened as they fixed on her face. He reached out with his finger and traced the outline of her mouth, watching as she closed her eyes slowly.

"Kita…you know there is no one else for me. Tell me you know that much." There was so much pain there, she couldn't help but react to him.

"I know. That was stupid." She dropped her gaze, but he cupped her chin. "Thank you."

"I can't make you trust me, Kita. Only you can do that yourself."

"I do trust you, Michael. With my life. With our children's lives." She spoke with such clarity of conviction, he could not help but believe her this time.

"Then why does it feel like we're still so far apart on this?" Michael said, more than willing to meet her halfway, if this could be resolved so easily.

"We're not." Nikita touched Michael's face, unable to resist some form of contact between them.

She sighed heavily. "This isn't easy for me to say, Michael. But you know what Maddy told us, about the way we express our love for each other…for us, it's a physical thing, even though it's not about sex."

He nodded. "Yes."

"I need that. I need you. I know I'm not an easy person to love—" Nikita began to cry, and he stopped her with a kiss, so tender she barely knew it was there.

"Don't even finish that thought, doucette." He leaned his forehead against hers, intermittently kissing her. "I don't ever want you to feel unloved. That was the past. The past is gone. We can't change that."

"You can't let it continue to influence how we live in the present, doucette."

"I know."

She bit her lip anxiously, waiting for something more. He gave her a half-smile. "I don't want to sleep somewhere else tonight, Kita. But if I stay, I don't want to feel pressured into making love to you."

"If you stay…I'll accept whatever you give me, Michael. I always have."

He kissed her more slowly, his lips lingering sweetly on hers, as if reluctant to leave her. "Now you're trying to make me feel guilty, Kita, for all the times I started something that we couldn't finish."

"Is it working?" she said with a crooked smile.

He laughed softly, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah."