Feeling as if the constraints imposed by Nikita had been lifted, Michael felt more responsive to her continued attempts to make love. He chuckled when she began nibbling on his bottom lip. "Wait, wait, Kita…slow down."

She froze. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he whispered. "I like it. It's just…I'm not used to you being so…aggressive."

He backed up against the door and locked it with one hand behind him. "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Why don't you make love to me?"

"But I need to know that you still want me, Michael."

He gently took her hand in his and slid their joined hands down the length of his body until she could feel his arousal. "I do want you, Kita."

"I know, but—"

"Still not convinced? I'll tell you a secret I've never told anyone." He looked uncomfortable, almost shy, and he had difficulty meeting her eyes.

"When we were in Section…" He stopped and started over. "Until I met you, I had no problem…performing."

Nikita's curiosity was piqued. "As a Valentine Op?"

Michael nodded. "Yes." He continued, "But once I met you…" Michael stopped again, apparently embarrassed. He looked away from Nikita, but she interlaced her hands with his, bringing them to her mouth for a tender kiss.

"I…I couldn't get aroused by a woman unless I…thought about you."

It was a very revealing admission to make, and the fact that Michael trusted her enough to tell her something so significant, so singularly evocative of his feelings for her made her feel almost powerful.

He looked directly at Nikita then, and the love in his eyes was so intensely real, she gasped. In a heartbeat, his mouth covered hers, swallowing her gasp, transforming it into a moan of such utter sensuality, it excited both of them.

Michael kissed her, his mouth a source of comfort as well as pleasure now. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. His hair was so silky, so like their son's hair in texture if not in color.

He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "Madeline tried to tell me that one day, you would find someone and fall in love…she didn't think I was prepared for that. She didn't know how much I hated her for saying that, for not realizing you already had…and not realizing that someone was me."

His eyelashes fluttered down, masking the brilliant green of his eyes, only to sweep upwards again, revealing the vivid color. "You've always been special to me, Kita. Right from the beginning, I think I knew that you would change my life somehow."

"We've changed each other's lives, Michael." She smiled, secure in her newfound power, power he had given her, willingly.

Trading places with her, so that her back was against the door, he placed a hand on either side of her head, resting his weight on the flat of his hands. He stared intently into her eyes for long moments before his eyes closed slowly and he claimed her mouth. He coaxed her mouth open, his tongue penetrating the interior. She was so soft and wet under him, he was becoming unbearably aroused by mere kisses.

She moved her head restlessly back and forth, and he kept pace with her movements, never losing sight of his target. Her warm, wet, open mouth. He moved his hands down her body, feeling her nipples harden at his touch, their sharpened points piercing her thin T-shirt. She moaned under his tender ministrations. He slid his hands down a little further, so they rested just inside the waistband of her pants, and he felt her slight intake of breath.

"Is this what you want, Kita?" he said, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

She nodded, without speaking, and he wrenched her T-shirt up with both hands. His hands now rested on her breasts. With no cloth between them to dampen the sensation, Nikita was aching for him to do whatever he would. "Please…"

"Please what, Kita?"

"Please…make love to me." Her breath came in tiny fits and starts. It had been long enough for both of them that the slightest touch of a finger or moistness of a mouth was more than enough to provoke lasting sensation throughout their bodies.

She pressed her own hands over his, willing them to touch her harder. He studied the sight of their hands, and then, as if he knew it was arousing her, he deliberately stroked his fingertips across her breasts. She groaned, her hands seeking his arousal. He jumped at the touch of her hands on him. "Careful, Kita…" he warned.

"I don't want to be careful, Michael. I want you—" She moaned, her eyes closing seemingly of their own volition.

"You don't want to be careful? Do you want to get pregnant all over again?" Michael's eyes flashed at her. He ground his lower body against hers, through their clothing.

"I want you…inside me," she managed to choke out between excited gasps.

He breathed against her mouth, "There are other ways to make love, belle amante."

She shook her head from side to side. "No, I want to feel you…inside me…come inside…"

He licked the side of her face, from chin to cheekbone, with tantalizing slowness. Her mouth dropped open, and he captured it yet one more time. "I love to kiss you, doucette. Your mouth is so pretty…and you taste so good."

"You don't want to come inside?" She leaned back against the door, panting.

"You know I do," he whispered, his mouth touching hers. "But I can't…we can't make another baby so soon, doucette…it wouldn't be fair to the ones we already have."

"I know." She smiled, and it was so unexpected, it took him by surprise.

"What?"

"Can I take you up on your offer?" She looked so playful, he began to worry.

"To do what?"

"To make love to you."

"Of course." He smiled back.

"Can I touch you any way I want?"

His smile broadened. "Any way you want."

She pulled him away from the door and told him to lie down on the bed. He did as she asked, watching her with amusement. She looked so serious, far too serious for someone about to make love.

She pulled off his shoes and socks, throwing them on the floor, before she stripped off his jeans. She crept along his body, like a little cat, licking her lips just before she pounced. After she removed his shirt, she licked the insides of his arms up to his shoulders. From his trembling, she assumed she was doing something he liked.

"Did you like that, Michael?"

"Yes," he answered, smiling down at her as he rubbed the top of her head. She licked his hand, and he laughed gently. "Pretty little cat."

She relished times like this, when Michael was responsive to her playfulness, but what she loved more than anything was being called "little". And like the little cat she was emulating, she purred with contentment.

She pulled off her own T-shirt, letting it fly. She straddled his body, and the part of her that could not be breached yet sighed even as it ached. She closed her eyes, and her imagination was so strong, she could just see them together.

She leaned over him, daring him to touch her, kiss her, but he didn't. Over and over, she leaned into him, waiting for him to caress her face, her neck, or her breasts. After several moments, Michael gave in, his hands restlessly stroking the sides of her face and neck. "Yesss…" she whispered.

He arched under her, probably unconsciously, in an effort to get more comfortable. She felt his hardness against her softness and she sank onto him more fully. "Ki-ta…what are you doing?"

"Just playing…"

He ground his hips against her. "I see," he shuddered.

She moved back a bit, sitting on Michael's legs. Slipping her hands inside his shorts, she touched him intimately. She pressed and stroked and massaged him most gently until he was moaning beneath her. She laughed merrily, thinking that he could not move because she was sitting on his legs. She liked playing with Michael.

Suddenly, with a swiftness she could not foresee, Michael moved, trapping her underneath him. He leaned over her, his hair falling across his face. He looked so vulnerable. Ever since he had come back from his trip to the mountain, he looked softer to her. Oh, not his body, which was still lean and firm, but his face, which was somehow younger without the edges Section had put there.

He laughed, but quickly sobered, his green eyes lighting up as he contemplated kissing her. "Would you like to finish this?"

"I thought we couldn't," she said, puzzled.

"I can't, but you can." He nipped at her mouth gently, and she arched her back, thrusting her lower body into more direct contact with his.

"You must have iron control, Michael," she gasped.

"Not exactly. You were getting to me, Kita." He laughed again, knowing he had narrowly avoided climaxing in her hands.

"Mmm, you're getting to me…" she said, giggling.

"That's the general idea." He stroked her through her underwear, feeling her grow moist beneath his hand.

He shifted his weight off her and changed his position again. His fingers worked their magic on her lower body while his mouth clung to her breast. She began to shiver, knowing she was close to going over the edge. But she resisted, knowing she didn't really want to go without Michael. As if he sensed this, he moved faster, his mouth replacing his fingers for one brief moment. It was all she needed.

She groaned one last time, the waves growing more and more powerful before they finally began to fade. He kissed her, so grateful they were together again, his own pleasure forgotten. She came first. She was so certain that she didn't, but he knew better. She would always come first with him.

"I love you, doucette."

"I…love…you…," she replied with unmistakable emphasis.

He smiled peacefully, his hand entwined with hers.

Nikita stayed awake a long time, listening to Michael breathe softly and evenly. He had fallen asleep, his head on her abdomen, his lips nearly kissing her skin. She idly played with a few strands of his hair, loving the feel of it in her hands.

Thinking how close she had come to pushing him away for good scared her. A nervous thrill set itself up in her stomach and she grimaced. In his own way, Michael needed her attention and tenderness as much as the children. She just hadn't realized he could be so vulnerable to her. She, who had never known true power over anyone before, held his heart in her hands. Now she knew better than to be so careless with it again.

Birkoff glanced at the clock. "It's getting late, Walter. It's awfully quiet up there. You think they killed each other or something?"

Walter shrugged. "You have an overactive imagination, Birkoff. If you go up there and interrupt them, I will cancel you myself."

Birkoff waved Walter off. "Okay, okay, I won't bother them. But what do you suppose they're doing?"

Walter rolled his eyes. "What do they usually do after a fight?"

"Ohhhhh…." Birkoff snickered.

Walter shook his head sadly. "I dunno, Birkoff, I'd find you a woman, but I don't think you'd know what to do with her."

A baby crying. That was what woke Nikita. She sat up, startled, and Michael slid onto the bed with a bump. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Who is it, Faith or Chris?"

Nikita listened for a moment. "Faith. I have to get up, Michael. Move."

Nothing and no one stood in the way of Nikita and her babies. Michael didn't even hesitate. He moved.

She pulled on a robe and bolted towards the door, forgetting they locked it earlier. Frustrated by trying to slip the deadbolt, she started to curse under her breath. Michael, who had taken the time to pull on his jeans, stood next to her, shirtless and disheveled. He slid the bolt open, and Nikita didn't even pause to thank him. Racing down the hallway, she pushed open the door to the babies' room.

She picked up Faith, but the tiny girl didn't stop her strident crying. That was not like Faith. She usually responded well to Nikita's touch, enjoying being gently rocked back and forth. But not now. Faith looked overheated and overwrought. She screamed almost continuously, and Nikita felt her desperation grow.

"Michael!" she shouted, not caring if she woke the entire house. She knew when she was in over her head, and she needed help. Right now.

Michael came running, taking in the situation at once. "What's wrong, Kita? Is she sick?"

"I dunno, Michael." She continued to rock the baby, to no avail, and tears streamed down Nikita's face. "I dunno what to do, Michael. What should I do?"

He looked at her stricken face and made a decision. "I'm going to call Neil, Kita."

"What if he thinks I did this? What if he thinks I'm a bad mother?" Nikita cried.

Michael put his arms around Nikita and kissed her. "He won't say any such thing, Kita, cause it's not true."

He listened to Faith scream, the constant wailing worrying him more than anything else. He turned and left the room, to use the phone in the bedroom, and Nikita tried valiantly to hang on to what was left of her sanity.

Neil told the couple to bring the baby over right away, despite the lateness of the hour, and hung up the phone. "It's Michael," he said to Madeline.

Madeline's dark chocolate eyes grew huge with worry. "Oh, no, what's wrong?"

"It's Faith. It sounds like she's sick."

Madeline jumped out of bed and paced back and forth. "I knew it, I had a feeling tonight, that something was wrong."

"Well, hopefully, it's not something serious, Maddy." Neil kissed her, in an effort to comfort her. "You know how first-time parents can be."

"True. But Michael isn't an alarmist. If he says something is wrong, there is."

Neil nodded. "I'm going to meet them in the exam room. Want to join me?"

Nikita managed to persuade Birkoff that whatever was wrong with Faith, it was not his fault, before she and Michael left for Neil's office. Birkoff was positively beside himself. Declan glanced at Walter, concerned that Birkoff was taking it so hard.

"Chances are, it's nothing, Birkoff," Declan said, attempting to reassure him.

"She looked so upset, Declan…Nikita and Faith both. God, I can't believe this is happening. She's only a little thing, Declan. Walter, you know more than me, what do you think is wrong with her?"

Birkoff's pacing nearly mirrored Madeline's earlier anxiety. Walter looked shaken. More for what Sugar was going through than anything else. He didn't know much about babies, he couldn't even hazard a guess as to what might be wrong.

"I don't know, Birkoff," Walter said, suddenly feeling totally inadequate. He knew the others looked up to him. From an age and an experiential standpoint, he did have the wisdom that came with the territory. But sometimes, like this, he felt he was merely scratching the surface of what he didn't know.

"Oh, my God," Birkoff said. "Do you think whatever it is might be contagious? Then Chris could have it, too!"

Declan made one last effort to calm down Birkoff, but Birkoff simply shook off his hand on his arm and kept pacing. There were some times when no one else could understand.

Nikita fretted all the way over to Neil's office. Unable to even think about driving, she allowed Michael to do so, not realizing how glad he was for something to concentrate on.

"Kita, it'll be okay." Michael didn't know who he was trying to convince more. Kita or himself.

"Michael, you can't say that. You don't know what's wrong with her."

Michael flinched. "You're right, Kita. I'm just as worried as you are, that's all."

She leaned over and lay her head on Michael's shoulder, remembering what they had just been through and what she had learned. "I know, Michael." She kissed his shoulder, as it was the only part of him she could reach with the crying baby in her arms.

He nodded, trying to focus on something else. Nikita needed him to stay strong, she didn't need him to fall apart.

Madeline was waiting. Not patiently. The moment Nikita crossed the threshold, Madeline was on Nikita. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno, Maddy." Nikita burst into tears. Madeline looked at Michael and he shook his head.

Madeline took the screaming baby away from Nikita and rocked her, but there was no change. She continued to cry. With a vengeance.

Once they were all in the exam room, Neil started looking over Faith. After an exhaustive screening, Nikita begged for answers. "Please, Neil. Say something."

Michael and Madeline stood on each side of Nikita, almost physically holding her up. After Madeline saw the way Nikita cried, she had assumed the role of Nikita's mother for the duration.

Finally Neil spoke. Everyone held their breath.

"When's the last time you fed her, Nikita?"

Nikita stared at Neil in abject horror. The feeding. She had forgotten to feed her babies. Instantly feeling guilty for making love to her husband and forgetting that her babies needed to be breast-fed, she colored.

Michael did not make the same connection as Nikita did. But he knew she was blaming herself for something, and he could guess the rest.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Is there anything anyone would like to tell me?" Neil asked.

"Yes," Nikita said, trembling in Michael's arms. Michael had moved to embrace her the moment he saw her distress.

"I missed the feeding."

"How?"

"I…was trying to seduce Michael."

"Thank God!"

"Thank God?" Nikita nearly fainted.

"I'd be surprised if you hadn't. You two are never happier than when you're together. In every way possible. Even doctors notice." Neil smiled brightly at Nikita.

"But I— we…" Nikita couldn't speak.

Michael felt his own face color, but he couldn't let Nikita take the entire blame. He grasped her hand in his. "After we made love, we both fell asleep. That's how we forgot the feeding."

Nikita loved the way Michael said "we". He was so supportive, so protective of her, even now. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled.

Neil smiled at both of them. "Congratulations! You're both human! You made a mistake! And guess what? Faith is not going to suffer from missing one feeding, which I am sure you are going to make up to her anyway. In fact, Faith is young enough that she won't remember this. Or hold you personally responsible twenty years from now when a therapist tells her that's why she hates her parents."

Nikita laughed, instantly imagining her daughter as a grown woman petulantly complaining about Mom and Dad. Michael kissed her temple.

"Can we have our baby back now?" she asked.

Neil smiled. "I don't know…" he drawled, turning to Madeline. "What do you think?"

Madeline rolled her eyes. "I think we all need to go back to bed."

"To sleep," she added belatedly, making the rest of them laugh.

How could someone feel relieved and ashamed at the same time? Nikita wondered anxiously. Okay, she would admit to being human, and subject to the same frailties that everyone else was, but how could she have forgotten to feed her barely one-month old daughter? Or was it more embarrassing simply because everyone now knew what preoccupied her during that point in time? Didn't anyone understand? She didn't choose making love to Michael over feeding her baby. She…oh, what was the use?

She could feel Michael's gaze on her. He was driving them home, but his attention was clearly split. Faith was contentedly snuggled against Nikita's chest, having been fed until she was sated.

He didn't know what to say to her. He felt just as sheepish as she did. But he acknowledged that they were human, finding a way to embrace the relief he felt that Faith was not truly ill, rather than cling to the negative and welcome the guilt that came with it.

"Kita…" He reached for her hand, while struggling to keep his eyes on the road. He would take no chances with their lives, especially now, when emotions were still running high.

She let him hold her hand, finding comfort in the physical contact they shared. "Thank you," she whispered, trying not to wake Faith.

By the time they arrived home, rain was coming down in torrents. The sky looked ominous, and the clouds parted for a few seconds, to illuminate the moon, only to capture its wide white face. Something about the change in the weather made Nikita shiver.

They ran into the house, unable to escape being soaked to the skin. Nikita handed the baby over to Declan, immediately ordering him to dry her off before putting her down for the rest of the night.

Nikita walked upstairs, peeling off piece after wet piece of clothing as she went, dropping them to the floor. Michael followed, picking up each piece moments after she dropped it. When they got to their bedroom door, Michael stopped, almost running into Nikita's back.

He blinked. "Are you planning on doing a striptease?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted for the bathroom. He dumped the clothing on the floor in a heap. He appreciated how she felt, but this was doing no one any good.

He followed Nikita once more, finding the bathroom door locked. He knocked gently, calling her name. "Kita…"

He listened at the door for several seconds before giving up. He walked back downstairs to tell the others the glad news about Faith, but Nikita was heavily on his mind.

Birkoff heaved a great sigh of relief. "I'm so glad it turned out to be nothing, Michael. I don't remember the last time I was so worried."

He smiled. Birkoff was maturing before their very eyes. He had a compassionate nature, Michael always felt, which made Section One a struggle for the younger man. But lately, this ability he had of putting others first made even Michael sit up and take notice. In a way, Birkoff was flourishing in the garden they had planted here.

Michael resisted the urge to ruffle Birkoff's hair, knowing how much he would hate being treated like a boy. But it was tempting. He truly liked Birkoff, a fact he never seemed aware of when they were trapped within Section's confines.

Walter was less obvious in showing how worried he'd been, but Michael could feel his relief. The older man looked a bit worse for wear than when Michael and Nikita left for the doctor with Faith in tow. "I'll bet Sugar is over the moon now that Faith is okay," Walter said with a grin.

"Something like that," Michael said evasively, protecting Nikita's privacy.

Only Declan looked as if he didn't quite buy the facile explanation of what happened and how Nikita felt about it. But then, more and more, Michael was starting to think that Declan was his younger counterpart. If they had been related by blood, Declan would have been his brother. The bond was that strong at times.

Declan said, "Terrible thing to be afraid for a child, Michael. There's nothing else like that, especially to a mother." It was as if Declan was issuing an unspoken warning to Michael. He was telling him to treat her tenderly, taking into account the circumstances, and the outcome, before judging her too harshly. Such insight and understanding in one so young always made him wonder about what and how much Declan had seen while he was in Section. Maybe no one had treated him with the kindness he was demonstrating now.

He nodded to Declan, and as usual, they didn't need to say anything overt to convey their mutual understanding. Michael smiled wearily and waved goodnight to his "other" family.

Nikita had not come out of the bathroom when Michael came back upstairs. He refused to worry about what she might do, knowing she loved her babies too much to let them go motherless into the world. But he did wonder if she was going to let this incident color their romantic moments from now on.

He took off his clothes, folding them neatly before placing them into the hamper. The damp clothing Nikita had stripped off earlier was still sitting on the floor outside the bedroom. He picked up the wet clothes and added those to the hamper as well. He reminded himself to check on these before they were ruined by mildew.

God, he sounded just like a real househusband. He laughed out loud. He never would have seen himself in such a role, nor would he have imagined himself comfortable as a stay-at- home father. But he loved his life now. It was so reassuringly normal, he found himself taking pleasure in things that most people took for granted. He didn't think the novelty would ever wear off. Not as long as he had Nikita in his life.

He slid beneath the sheets, turning out the light. He wasn't going to harass Nikita into coming to bed. She would come when she was ready. She knew how much he loved her. He rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but it was no use. He was listening for Nikita. Was she crying herself sick? Was she hurt? Was she feeling abandoned emotionally?

He jumped up, the interior of the room quite dark, despite the stream of moonlight coming through the window. Barking his shin on something unseen, he cursed aloud in French, finding it more imaginative than English. The door to the bathroom opened a crack, letting more light enter the bedroom.

"Michael?" Nikita's voice sounded hoarse. She was crying, and trying desperately not to show it.

"Kita…" He saw her peek out of the doorway. He followed the light to her side and wrapped his arms around her.

He rocked her back and forth, their bodies swaying gently, almost like dancing in the moonlight. He began kissing her, placing tiny, exquisitely tender kisses, on her mouth and face. She threw her head back, wanting to stop him, to tell him she did not deserve his tenderness or his consideration, but he refused to listen to such body language. He wanted only to preserve her kindness, her empathy, her compassion. He needed her to be that way. She was his Nikita.

"Kita, stop fighting me, doucette…" he said against her face, as she actively resisted responding to him.

"If you think we are never ever going to make love again, you're wrong." He drew back and stared deeply into her sapphire blue eyes, now starred with tears.

"I can't." She felt so guilty, she was drowning in it.

"Yes, you can. I won't give you a chance to think about it. I'm going to sweep you off your feet and take you to bed."

She blinked tearfully. "We shouldn't. Michael, Neil said—"

"That he was happy we were together again, Kita." Michael kissed her fervently, his lips nudging hers apart.

"But—"

He pushed her gently backwards until she stood with her knees against the bed. He pulled at her towel, wrapped casually around her body. Her hair was still wet from her shower, and trailed damply down the length of her spine. There she stood, framed in the moonlight, like the Goddess of the Moon herself, Artemis. All silken and supple, like molten silver.

Lightning streaked across the night sky, and its electric brilliance lit up the room as well as its two occupants. Thunder sounded its clarion call, and Nikita shivered in Michael's arms, unable to withstand any further sensual onslaught.

"I hate storms," said Nikita with a visible shudder.

"I know, doucette." Michael kissed her, finally feeling her mouth open under his.

"Why are you being so nice to me? I almost starved our daughter to death."

He leaned his forehead against hers, giving her a crooked smile. "You exaggerate, Kita."

He touched her bare shoulders with his mouth. "I love you, doucette. I love every part of you. The parts that make me sigh, and the parts that make me cry. You cannot blame yourself for being human. It's what I love most about you." He finished the last sentence in a whisper, his voice almost hushed and reverent.

She sank down onto the mattress, not taking her eyes off Michael's face the entire time. "You always say such beautiful things to me."

"You always think you don't deserve them," he said, accurately pinpointing the problem. He pushed her hair back off her forehead and she leaned her cheek into his other hand.

"You touch me like you've never touched me before," she whispered.

"It's how you make me feel. Every time," he whispered back.

She smiled faintly, feeling empowered by every tender gesture, every kind word. "There are no words sometimes for what you make me feel, Michael."

"When words fail…there is always this, Kita…" He covered her body with his, but he made no effort to join them together. He stroked her face with his fingers, over and over, eventually replacing his fingers with his lips. His heart and hers were one. They had no need for words.

"I love you, doucette." Michael woke Nikita with a tender kiss. She smiled up at him and stretched her arms wide, eventually wrapping both arms around his neck to pull him close.

"What a nice way to wake up," she said, her blue eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

"Happy…Anniversary…Kita…" he said, punctuating each word with a kiss.

She shrieked gaily and kissed him back. "You remembered!"

He laughed softly. "How could I possibly forget?" He buried his face in her neck, murmuring to her in French. She raked her hands through his hair.

"Of course, I left reminders all over the house…" she whispered.

He smiled against her neck. "I remembered all on my own, Kita," he whispered back. "There's a surprise waiting for you outside."

She frowned. "I hate surprises."

He kissed her softly. "It's not that kind of surprise, Kita."

"Is it bigger than a bread box?" she asked, with a lopsided smile.

"Much," he answered enigmatically.

"What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"You'll just have to get dressed and go see," he said patiently, seeing a definite resemblance between her and Faith now. Despite the fact that Faith looked more like Michael than Nikita, their daughter had begun to demonstrate a certain exuberance of spirit that clearly came from Nikita.

She threw off the covers and jumped up, leaving him staring bemusedly after her. She darted into the bathroom, and he grinned. She was so easy to get fired up, his Kita. It was slowing her down that sometimes became a problem.

Nikita flew past a stunned Walter and Birkoff, her long, blonde braid waving behind her like a flag in the wind. She literally jumped off the front porch and came abruptly to a stop.

Walter and Birkoff slowly followed, wondering what was going on. Declan, preoccupied with fixing breakfast, merely registered that Nikita was awake. He turned to the twins, who were lying in their respective carriers, regarding him with something akin to interest. "Yeah, that was your mom, all right," he said to them, as if they had asked him a question. Declan often found himself talking to the twins, though he knew they hadn't a clue to what he was saying. He could hardly wait for them to start talking. He was curious what their first words might be.

Michael came up behind Nikita silently and touched her shoulder. She turned, her eyes sparkling like the sapphires they resembled. "Michael! Do we have company?"

"Why do you ask, Kita?" he replied innocently, knowing full well that they did not have company.

"There's a strange car parked in our driveway."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress his own sense of excitement. He had finally managed to get a jump ahead of her. It was damned hard sometimes. She had such an agile mind, she was quick and intuitive, and she frequently figured out things before they came to pass. But she didn't see this one coming. Michael finally laughed, causing all three of them to stare at him.

Walter raised an eyebrow, as if asking Michael to confirm what he thought. Michael nodded imperceptibly, and Walter hooted briefly before clamping both hands over his mouth. "Oops, sorry."

Birkoff's eyes widened as he came to the same conclusion that Walter had. "Oh, man…"

The car in question was a shiny black Jeep Laredo 4 x 4. Brand-new. Beautiful. Safe. Michael knew the exact moment when the light dawned inside Nikita's head. She gasped, and he clamped both hands on her shoulders, kissing the nape of her neck.

"Happy Anniversary, Kita," he whispered in her ear.

She blinked. "It's way, way, too much, Michael," she said in a low voice.

Walter and Birkoff turned as one and stared at Nikita now. "Are you serious?" said Birkoff. "You know what one of these runs? You're not actually going to turn it down?"

Nikita shrugged helplessly. Michael hugged her around the waist. "You're worth all this and more, Kita. Don't you dare throw it back in my face."

She looked incredulous. "I wasn't going to, Michael. But how can we afford something like this?"

He whispered to her, "All those years in Section, I put money away."

"I never had anyone to spend it on. Till now," he added significantly.

Nikita stared at Michael, realization slowly coming to her. "Are you saying we're rich?"

"Rich is such a relative term, Kita." He smiled roguishly. "We're fairly well off."

She whooped for joy and bolted towards the Jeep. "It's beautiful, Michael!"

"I didn't buy it for its beauty, though." He carefully ran a hand over the sharp lines of the Jeep. "I wanted something safe for you and the twins."

She grinned at Michael. " A Volvo is safe, Michael. A BMW is safe. This, this is a fortress on wheels. I can drive through rivers and up mountains in this rig."

Michael paled. "But of course, I wouldn't," she quickly added.

"Of course not," he agreed, swiping a hand over his now-perspiring face.

As enthusiastic as a child, Nikita dashed around the Jeep, examining every detail. "Can we take it out for a drive after breakfast, Michael?"

She beseeched him, her heart in her eyes, whining, "Please…" When Michael hesitated for just a second, Walter and Birkoff added their voices to the chorus of "Please…"

He held up his hands, begging them all to stop. "Okay, okay, we'll all go. But you have to actually eat breakfast, Kita. Not play with it or hide it. You're entirely too creative when it comes to avoiding eating."

She clapped her hands gleefully, jumping up and down. She hugged Walter and Birkoff, but she kissed Michael. "Oh, this is so great! I can't believe it!"

Michael smiled. "I had no idea you would react this way, Kita. I was so sure you would think this was a totally unromantic idea for an anniversary gift."

"No, Michael. This…this is exactly what I would expect from a man who protects us like you do," she said confidently.

"Then I guess you don't care what's in the glove compartment…" he said with a shrug. He looked away from her, as if he didn't care what she said next, but he had anticipated Nikita's every move.

"Glove compartment?" she echoed.

She looked at Birkoff, who said, "Hey, it's your Jeep. I'm not touching anything till I'm invited. And by him," he said, pointing at Michael.

Michael produced the key to the Jeep and dangled it in front of Nikita's face. Her eyes grew huge in her face. He opened the door on the passenger side, waving Nikita inside.

She opened the glove compartment slowly. There was a faded bouquet of flowers inside. "Oh, God, Michael…" she said in hushed tones. She thought she would cry.

It was the bouquet she carried at their wedding one year ago. The wedding that was marred by the appearance of Perry Bauer and his gun. Everything had been splattered with her blood, her dress, Michael's white suit. Everything important had been destroyed. Except their love. It was alive and well and living here in Europe with them. And their family.

Walter looked at Birkoff. "That's the nicest thing I've ever seen, Seymour. I think I might cry."

"Don't you dare, you know how you get." Birkoff chided the older man, but he loved him dearly. There was no one like Walter. And apparently, there was no one like Michael, either.

She picked up the bouquet, realizing the flowers were much too fragile to be handled extensively. She sniffed its scent, which was somehow preserved along with its faded beauty. Tears slowly ran down her cheeks as she remembered how much she had dared to dream for the two of them. And how much had come true.

"Look inside, Kita," Michael said softly.

She gasped again, disbelieving what she saw. It was a sterling silver necklace. On its length hung two hearts intertwined as one. One heart was crafted of dark green jade, the other of brilliantly blue lapis lazuli.

Michael picked it up and carefully pulled Nikita's braid away from her neck, fastening the necklace. He whispered, "Anyone can have emeralds and sapphires, doucette. I had a jeweler make this by hand. Especially for you."

"It's so…beautiful, Michael." She kissed him softly, smiling through her tears. "Like you."

"I'm not beautiful, Kita. You are."

They kissed again, completely unaware of their audience. Now Michael had tears in his eyes. She was beautiful, his beloved doucette, in ways he had never even dreamed of.

Michael recovered first, noting Walter and Birkoff's interest in them, and he stepped back from the car. He slid the back of his hand along Nikita's cheek almost delicately, his eyes never leaving her face. She closed her eyes briefly, squeezing back a few tears. "Thank you," she barely managed to whisper.

"You're welcome," he answered, with such love that he might have been saying something else.

Nikita kicked Declan out of the kitchen immediately after breakfast. She wanted privacy to feed the twins, and she had every intention of bringing them along for the test drive of the new 4 x 4. She was so excited she had trouble sitting still, a fact that was not lost on Faith.

Faith's eyes, more and more like Michael's everyday, stared up at her as she clamped onto her breast. Nikita winced as Faith gripped harder. Her breasts were becoming sore from the multiple feedings needed to supply the twins with enough sustenance to grow and thrive. She loved breast-feeding, it made her feel even closer to her babies, but she feared she might have to give it up soon in favor of bottle-feeding. The twins were voracious feeders, and they would soon outpace what Nikita could provide. Switching them to bottle-feeding would allow for more frequent feedings, and it would lessen the physical demands on her body.

She put Faith down in her carrier, smoothing the baby girl's hair. Faith cooed in response, and Nikita's heart melted. She was so beautiful, her fairy princess Fee, as Michael called her. She knew that given their respective genes, both babies would grow up to be tall, like their parents. She was denigrated for her height, as a child, and it hurt. Slowly, over the years, she accepted being tall, but she never felt graceful or elegant until she came to Section. Bah, she couldn't possibly be waxing poetic over anything that Section might have done to her. But it was true. They taught her how to dress, how to walk, and how to appreciate being tall as well as beautiful.

There was a part of Nikita that would never be comfortable with that knowledge. Yet she loved to hear Michael call her beautiful, for when he did, she always believed him. His love had transformed her from an awkward, graceless creature into a splendid, elegant woman. So this nickname Michael had lovingly bestowed upon Fee went straight to her heart. In Michael's eyes, their daughter would be beautiful, no matter what height she eventually achieved.

Nikita snapped herself out of that all too pleasant daydream and began to feed Chris. Or Lucky, as Walter had started calling him. Chris was Fee's antithesis, in much the same way that Michael was Nikita's opposite. Chris was a quiet baby, but one would never make the mistake of thinking that he was not intelligent or aware of his environment. As Nikita had discovered, after Declan pointed it out, Chris was very much like Michael. There seemed to be nothing going on on the surface, but underneath, there was a complex being sorting out his new world.

Nikita sighed as she finished feeding Chris. Replacing him in his carrier, she then straightened up, placing a hand in the middle of her back. She needed to get back to her physical workout routine soon. She was not that fond of exercise, per se, but she was losing some of her edge. That made her feel vulnerable, despite Michael's obvious ability to protect all of them. She had come to depend on herself to a certain degree, and she needed to regain that feeling.

Nikita hefted the two carriers, one in each hand, and bumped straight into Michael. "You can't manage those alone, Kita. Where do you want the twins?"

"In the back of the 4 x 4."

Michael shook his head. "They're too young. I know how you drive."

"Now you're being silly, Michael. If the whole idea was for us all to be safer, how can you say what you just said?" She frowned at him.

Trapped by his own words, Michael stood there, flustered. "Well…"

"I thought so. Out of my way." She smiled merrily and moved past him. He stood there, at a loss for words, knowing he had just lost something, but he would be damned if he knew what.

Nikita brushed past Walter and he whispered something to her. She nodded. Michael watched the two from the doorway, suspecting they were up to something, but as usual, he would not know what it was until they finished conspiring together. He smiled as he saw Walter pass something into Nikita's hand. Nikita quickly pocketed whatever it was, and truthfully, it was rather well-executed, if he did say so himself. As a trained observer, he might have missed the hand action if he were distracted even a tiny bit.

Once the babies were placed into the infant seats in the back, Michael locked up the house, noting that Declan was admiring the new car. He ambled over to Declan, who was seeing the car for the first time, since he had been making breakfast during the Grand Tour. "What do you think?"

"It's a beauty," said Declan. Declan cleared his throat and muttered under his breath to Michael, "You do know that Walter just passed something to Nikita, right?"

Michael smiled and nodded. "Good of you to say so." He mumbled to Declan, "Nice pick-up."

Declan smiled back. "Thanks."

Nikita slid into the driver's seat, and Michael reluctantly sat on the passenger side. "Don't go—"

Nikita put the car into gear and expertly reversed out of the driveway, leaving Michael to finish his sentence moments later.

"— too fast."

Nikita drove and drove, clearly loving the feel of the new car. Michael and Declan exchanged weary glances, wondering just how far she would go without stopping or without revealing the mysterious item she palmed from Walter. But Michael was filled with trepidation when Nikita suddenly revved the engine and left the main road.

"Kita, wait!"

Nikita knew what she was doing. She was actually enjoying Michael's discomfiture. And she had no intention of doing anything remotely dangerous. Her babies were aboard. In fact, her entire family was aboard. She grinned. Her family. She never thought she could feel so good. She hit the button for the power window, opening the driver's side window a third, loving the way the wind made her braid stream behind her like a colorful banner.

She veered back onto the main road and headed for home. It was exhilarating, this feeling. It was empowering. She felt energized for the coming celebration of their first wedding anniversary. She didn't know if Michael had made plans, but she assumed he had. She would not interfere with those plans, but she definitely had plans of her own. For after dinner. And they had nothing to do with dancing.