Nikita examined her reflection in the mirror. She knew she looked elegant. Her hair was swept back into a chignon at the nape of her neck, and the square-cut neckline of her dress showed off her new silver necklace to advantage. She picked up the intertwined hearts and studied them.

It was exquisite workmanship, the two stones were melded together as one, yet were still individually recognizable. The necklace was lovely, but more than that, it was a symbol of how Michael saw their relationship, united but still able to stand on their own.

The dress she wore was midnight blue and fell to her mid-calf. The washed silk material was cut to her waist in the back. It clung to every curve, and Nikita finally decided to go without underwear, as it ruined the line of the dress. Her legs were tanned, so she went without stockings, stepping into a pair of dark blue heels that accentuated the length of her legs.

Her hands were bare except for her sapphire engagement ring and her white gold wedding ring. From head to toe, she was a study in blue. She danced lightly back and forth on her feet, previewing how she looked, then started guiltily as the door suddenly opened.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, uncertain if he had caught her admiring herself.

"Ki-ta…" he drawled slowly. "You look…amazing."

"For a woman who just had twins, you mean?" she couldn't resist asking.

He blinked. "No…you could hold your own against anyone right now." His eyes darkened dramatically. "I'd prove it to you, but we have dinner reservations…and I really am…in the mood…for good food."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. "You sure that's what you're in the mood for?"

He gently extricated himself from her embrace. "Umm…can I have a second to think about that?"

"Well, if you need to think about it…" she said coyly, playing with his tie. Michael looked dramatic in black. It was hard to deny when the evidence was right there in front of her. He looked every bit as desirable to her now as he did when they first met.

He pulled his tie out of her playful fingers. "If you feed me first, I'll be much better company. Trust me…"

She pondered that a moment. "Okay…"

He leaned over, careful not to crush her dress, and kissed her. A moment later, he whispered in her ear, "Can I have you for dessert?"

She brightened. "But of course."

She held onto her evening bag tightly. It was hard to believe that something so special could be so small. But it was. And it was carefully hidden away in her bag.

Dinner was excellent. But Nikita was in such a state of anticipation, she hardly noticed. She wanted to see Michael's face when she gave him his present.

Michael sipped at his wine, noting how edgy Nikita seemed. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. "Are you feeling all right, Kita?"

"Yes." Flustered, she ran a hand through her hair, nearly dislodging her chignon. Damn, she wanted to be so cool, and she was becoming more agitated by the moment. What if he didn't like her present?

"Did you want dessert?" Michael showed no sign of trying to be funny. But Nikita felt like laughing quite hysterically, nonetheless. How did she tell her husband that she wanted him with a desperation that was driving her mad? She glanced down at the tablecloth, trying to think of something neutral, but nearly everything that popped into her head was related to lovemaking in some way.

She unconsciously dipped a finger into her water glass and traced wet circles on the tablecloth. Michael reached out with one hand and stayed her wrist. "Kita…what's wrong?"

"N-Nothing." She looked startled that he was touching her, and she felt her body react. Oh, no.

He began to stroke her hand with his fingers, in an effort to relax her, but he could see it was futile. Their eyes met for a brief second, and she colored furiously. He hid a smile. "Um, Kita? Would you like to go home now?"

"Yes. No. I mean, yes," she stammered out.

"Which is it? Did you not enjoy dinner?"

"Of course, I did. Dinner was lovely." She frowned, realizing she could not recall a single item she had eaten.

He signaled for the check, and when he had paid the waiter, he left a good tip. Dinner really was splendid. Too bad Nikita could not seem to appreciate it. He had a feeling she was up to something, and that was what was bothering her. He knew she hated deceiving him, so it must involve the item she palmed from Walter that morning.

When they pulled into the driveway at home, Nikita almost bolted from the car. Michael locked the car and slowly followed. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice in Wonderland would say.

The house was dark, though it was not that late. Michael followed Nikita upstairs, not seeing a sign of Walter, Declan nor Birkoff. He strode down the hall to the babies' room to check on the twins before heading to their bedroom. He tugged on his tie, feeling vaguely disappointed that their anniversary dinner had met with such a lackluster response. But it was not that important in the scheme of things.

He smiled at Chris and Fee, who were sleeping peacefully in their respective cradles. He loved them so much, he sometimes wondered how it was that his life suddenly took such a turn for the better.

When he walked into their bedroom, his tie was already in his hands, and he unbuttoned his shirt, intending to take it off. But Nikita stopped him. "Please…I have a present for you, too."

"Nikita, you're all the present I could ever want. You and the twins are more than I ever dreamed I would have." He protested, not out of some altruistic reasoning, but because he truly felt that she owed him nothing.

"I knew you would say something like that, but…" She bit her lip anxiously. "Are the twins asleep?" She abruptly changed the subject.

"Yes, Kita," he answered patiently.

She grabbed him by the hand and led him over to the rocking chair, pushing him gently into the seat. He smiled up at her and waited. "You know what I've been waiting and waiting for…well, I've been taking the birth control pills for almost two months now and…" Her voice squeaked. "Um…what I'm trying to say is…"

"You want me to jump on you and ravish you within an inch of your life?" Michael resisted the urge to smile.

"Oh, yes." She closed her eyes, as she sighed contentedly, but not before he caught a glimpse of the dreamy look in her eyes, a look he assumed he put there without even trying.

He nodded slowly. "Can I have my present first? Or is that my present?"

She laughed, finally starting to relax. "No, much as I might like that honor, I am not your present."

"Too bad," he said with a grin.

She stood before him, so elegant, so beautiful, but looking for all the world like a schoolgirl asking her biggest crush for a date. She suddenly reached into her evening bag and retrieved a small box. She stuck her hand out, the box balanced on the flat of her hand. "Here."

He took the box from her and opened it. Inside was a small religious medal on a fine silver chain. Michael stared at it even as his fingers wrapped around the chain and dangled the medal before his face. "It's…it…"

She cleared her throat softly. "It belonged to your sister. I found it while we were at the chateau. I kept it all this time, hoping there might be a way to restore it to its former condition, and Walter, um, Dad, finally managed to find a way to do that."

"I know it's not worth very much, and it certainly doesn't compare to what you bought me, Michael, but…" her voice trailed off as she realized that he was near tears.

"Thank you, Kita. It's worth a great deal to me. I never thought I'd see this again. She always wore it. It must have been left behind when we left the chateau for good."

"The original chain was broken, Michael, it must have fallen off," she explained.

"I'll keep this…for Fee. Maybe she would like to wear it…when she gets a bit older." He spoke hoarsely, as if something were stuck in his throat, and Nikita recognized that his feelings were close to the surface right now. Literally.

"I didn't mean to make you feel sad, Michael." She knelt by his knees and he suddenly looked up and straight into her eyes, his eyes not sad at all, but a lambent green, like emerald fire.

"No, not sad. You gave me back a piece of my life, doucette. This…" he held up the medal. "…is an example of what I missed by not standing in one place long enough to get shot."

"I'm sorry for what you missed, Michael, but I can't regret you still being around…to love me…and love Fee…and Chris…"

His eyes again dark and wet, he murmured, "I can't regret that either, Kita."

Pause.

"And if you'll help me out of this damned rocker, I'll show you how grateful I am to be alive right now," Michael said in a low urgent voice.

Nikita leaned over to help Michael out of the rocker, but he pulled her down onto his lap. Leaning back in the rocker, he spread his legs apart and settled her against his body. He trailed a hand down her bare back, tantalizing both of them with just how far his hand would go before it stopped. But he did stop. "I don't want to ruin your dress, doucette. Please take it off."

Reluctantly, he let go of her, and she stood up with minimal assistance from him. She walked over to the door and locked it. She slowly removed the clinging, silken fabric from her body. Michael sat back and watched as her breasts were exposed first, then her lower body. He gasped. "No wonder you were edgy, you're not wearing any underwear," he whispered.

"But you didn't take advantage, Michael," she pouted.

He groaned. "Now that was a missed opportunity."

She carefully hung up her dress in the walk-in closet, now wearing only the necklace and the high heels. Michael's eye traveled from her feet to the top of her head. "Kita," he breathed, "even without that dress, you look amazing."

"Are you sure?" she asked, moving closer.

"I'll have to examine you…more closely."

She started to bend over to kiss him, then thought better of it. "Now you, Michael." She knelt at his feet, beginning to take off his shoes and socks.

He wrenched the tie from around his neck and handed it to her. Whereas before Michael had moved in an almost languid manner, now he moved jerkily, as if someone had possessed his body and he were resisting. Struggling to remove his shirt, Michael seemed frustrated by his inability to be coordinated. "Kita, help me, please."

She did. She completely disrobed him in a few seconds, neatly folding his clothing to be put away later. This time, he ran his hands down her back and didn't stop. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her arms up over her head, kissing his way down the inside of her arm to her shoulder. "Michael…" she said, shivering involuntarily.

He stopped and stared at her for a long moment. "First time is going to be quick, Kita. I'm barely in control as it is."

She shuddered in reaction, licking his ear. "Ooh, I like the sound of that."

He pulled her chignon apart, repeatedly thrusting his fingers through her hair until it fell to her waist in a long, straight, pale blonde curtain. Brushing her hair back from her neck, he claimed her with his mouth, even nipping lightly with his teeth.

He backed her up against the bed, and he literally pushed her down, only to fall on her, almost roughly. She was beyond caring. Her heels fell onto the wooden floor with a loud clatter. Neither of them reacted to the sound. He pushed himself inside her, joining their bodies in a powerful movement that took Nikita's breath away.

"Did I hurt you, doucette?" He was almost overwhelmed by the silken feel of her around him. He was trying hard not to think about it. If he did, it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

"No," she replied, trying not to move, as she felt perilously close to climax herself.

"Don't hold back, Kita, let it go. I told you, this first time will be quick."

"You won't let me go without you?" She sounded breathless.

"No," he whispered, knowing it was true. He would follow her the moment she climaxed.

He joined their mouths, and she groaned under the sensual onslaught. He took full advantage, plunging deeper inside her mouth, even as his body began to pound hers. He was wrong. He came to climax first, unable to hold himself in check any longer, and she followed him over the brink a moment or two later.

He lay atop her, breathing hard. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She smiled. "We're just getting started."

She refused to let him go, keeping him inside her as long as she could. He took her with him as he moved onto his back. Now she straddled him, her breasts in his face, and he felt himself harden within her. Running his hands up and down her thighs, he helped her adjust herself into a more comfortable position. He pulled her down to him, kissing her mouth tenderly. "This time will be better, doucette."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I'm a man of my word."

Yes, he was. He told her he loved her, over and over, in English and in French. His tongue penetrated her mouth repeatedly, the motion emulating what he wanted to do with his lower body. He was letting Nikita set the pace, and so it was slower this time.

He rubbed his hands over her breasts and she threw her head back, arching her neck. He kissed the hollow at the base of her neck, then ran his tongue lightly down her body until he reached the space between her breasts. Before going any further, he asked, "Is this okay, Kita?", wanting to ensure that he did not hurt her.

"Oh, God, yes, Michael. Please do it," she begged.

He licked both breasts lightly, flicking his tongue across her nipples. She sank down onto him, feeling him grow harder against her softness. He took one nipple into his mouth, and at the feel of his mouth on her breast, Nikita moaned expressively. "Yes," she whispered, moving involuntarily against him as his mouth produced a tugging sensation in her lower body.

They moved together as one, Michael's arms clasped around her waist. Slowly but surely, the pressure began to build again. Still, they did not increase their pace yet. Michael continued to suckle at her breast, becoming even more aroused when he tasted her milk in his mouth. He pulled his mouth away from her breast, whispering, "Kiss me, doucette."

She did, and the taste of herself on his lips excited her. She began to move more erratically against him, panting and groaning low in her throat as he met the thrusts of her hips. She lay her head on his shoulder as she climaxed, and her low cries in his ear brought him right to the edge. Her breast trickled milk and he gently lapped at it. But the feel of her in his mouth made him groan one last time. "Oh, God."

She fell asleep in his arms, lying on top of him, and he didn't even try to move her. It was intense, their coming together, as it was meant to be. It would be again, now that they had a reliable form of birth control. He cradled her against him. "I love you," he whispered, though he knew she could not hear him. He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair and settled his cheek against her lovingly.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, with Nikita sitting between his legs and against his chest. Nikita had just washed her hair, and Michael was carefully brushing it out to its full length. After he finished brushing it, he began to braid it for her, plaiting it expertly. She felt so cherished when he did things like this for her, it was so loving and so affectionate. He might not always say the words, but his actions spoke loudly and often.

Nikita smiled sunnily as she leaned back against Michael. "Did Maddy and Neil ever get around to setting a wedding date, Michael?"

He paused in his ministrations. "No, I don't think so, now that you mention it."

Nikita frowned. "That's odd. I mean, they were so gungho on it one minute, and now, not a word."

Michael lifted her hair off her neck after he completed the plait and kissed her nape. He crossed his arms in front of her and pulled her against him. "You worry too much. You're a hopeless romantic, you know."

She laughed and turned around to face him, her eyes automatically softening. "Aren't you glad I am?"

He pretended to be offended. "Are you implying that I'm not?" But his eyes twinkled, giving him away.

Nikita pretended to consider this seriously. "Well," she drawled, "the truth is, Michael, you're more of a closet romantic."

"You mean I should come out of the closet?" he said tongue-in-cheek.

She cocked her head at him. "Unless there's someone more interesting than me in there."

He kissed her. "Never in a million years."

Michael held Nikita's hand as they came downstairs for breakfast, stopping off in the living room to see what chaos their babies had created in the past hour. Months had passed since Michael and Nikita's first wedding anniversary. Now nine months old, the babies were showing distinct signs of turning into little people with minds and hearts all their own. Sometimes it was heart-wrenchingly sweet to watch them, sometimes merely funny. At the moment, it was a little of both.

Nikita reflected on how much the twins had grown and matured. For one thing, she was no longer breast-feeding them. The time for that had come and gone finally. As much as she missed the closeness of breast-feeding them, she didn't miss the discomfort or the middle-of-the-night wake-up calls. In fact, since the twins were switched to bottle-feeding, Nikita found that she actually had more time to spend with them now. One of the nicer side effects of this was that everyone in the house took a turn at feeding one of the babies, and it not only brought the family closer together, it helped each of them develop their own special relationship with the twins.

Michael knelt down on the carpeted living room floor and smiled at Fee. Fee looked positively angelic, her changeable grey-green eyes flickering back and forth, keeping track of where Josephine, Nikita's cat, had gone. But Michael knew better. He knew, for example, that Josephine was hiding from Fee, because Fee had recently become fascinated with Josephine's tail. She would crawl up to the poor cat and grab its tail, giggling uncontrollably when the cat bolted and ran under the chair.

"Ca, ca, ca, ca…" she chanted, but it was a nonsense syllable. The entire household was waiting anxiously to see what the twins' first words would be, and which of the two babies would be the first to speak. Michael was convinced it would be Fee. She was continuing to outpace Chris in terms of development, but then, he was sure he was prejudiced in her favor. He adored everything about her, from her light cinnamon-colored hair to her too dark eyebrows, which only called attention to her somewhat startling eyes.

When her father lightly stroked the top of her head, Fee clapped her tiny hands excitedly, making more and more unintelligible noises. Michael chuckled. "You just can't wait to talk, can you, petite?"

Nikita settled on the carpet next to Michael. "I forgot to tell you what your littlest angel was doing the other day, Michael."

"Besides trying to pull the tail off the cat?" he asked.

Nikita rolled her eyes. "You know how they love their cereal now? Well, I found Birkoff and Fee flinging Froot Loops at one another."

Michael frowned. Nikita hastened to add, "Playfully, of course. Birkoff wouldn't harm a hair on Fee's head. He's her hero."

Michael shrugged. "I thought I was her hero."

"Hey, there's no reason a girl can't have more than one."

Michael snorted derisively. "She only needs one."

"Michael, you jealous beast, let me finish the story." Nikita tickled Michael under the arms and he curled his body into a ball, trying to protect himself from her.

He rolled around on the floor, attracting the attention of the cat and his daughter. The cat crept carefully out from her hiding place to sniff at Michael, and Fee took advantage to give Josephine's tail a good yank. "Meowwww…!"

"Michael!"

Michael straightened up and sat patiently for Nikita to finish. He put a finger to his lips, as he looked at Fee, and she giggled. "Now be sure to keep quiet, Faith Michelle Samuelle," he intoned in a fake deep voice, which made her laugh harder.

"You're positively incorrigible, you know that?" Nikita said with a definite grin. She never would have guessed that Michael could ever open up like this. He was playful with the children in ways that she wasn't, and though he was very clear about direction and limit-setting, he was an obvious pushover for a pretty face.

"You were saying, about the marvelous Mr. Birkoff and his unique approach to nutrition?" Michael queried.

"So he and Fee were throwing Froot Loops…when he saw me looking, he finally stopped…but he said it was only because it was a total waste of perfectly good Froot Loops!" Nikita chortled.

Michael laughed. "What's next? Oreos, the forgotten cookie?"

She smiled. Walter came into the room, his coffee in his hand. "Good morning, guys. How's the little princess doing?"

"Fee's fine, Dad."

"How's Josephine doing? That poor cat can't seem to walk anywhere without guarding her tail these days."

"Fee hasn't given up on that yet."

Walter shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't worry. It's prolly a phase or something."

He sat down in a chair, putting the hot coffee safely on a table out of reach of the twins. "How's my boy Lucky?"

Chris turned his head and appeared to be contemplating the older man. "See? He knows who he is!" Walter smiled, his weathered face creasing in a few new places.

Nikita despaired of ever curing Walter of his habit of running roughshod over people at times. He loved the babies, but he had his own approach to things. Once he made up his mind, he thought he knew what was best, even when he didn't, and there was no deterring him.

Case in point. Calling his grandson Lucky. She and Michael had both asked him not to call the baby that, but instead of getting better, sometimes it felt as though it was getting worse.

She rubbed the back of her neck. In no time at all, Michael was placing his hand over hers, attempting to entwine his fingers with hers. "You okay?"

She pouted. "Kiss it and make it better?"

His whole face softened. "Of course," he said, kissing the back of her neck. She giggled and lay down in his lap, her braid falling across his knees.

He bent over her and kissed her on the mouth. Fee giggled appreciatively, as if her parents were putting on a show, especially for her. He looked up, noting Faith's reaction. "Silly Mommy," he said to Fee.

She gurgled and made more incoherent sounds. Nikita lay in Michael's lap, feeling incredibly content. "This is the life I never dared dream about…" she purred.

As the others slowly wandered in from breakfast, the noise level in the room rose. Nikita sighed. Their moment of peace was broken. Reality had returned. With a vengeance.

Birkoff and Declan were arguing, rather acrimoniously, about what the babies' first words would be. To say they disagreed would be an understatement. Nikita could not understand this latest development in their relationship. Clearly they were good friends now. Equally evident was the love they shared for the babies. Yet lately, whenever they talked about the twins, there was a competitiveness that hadn't been there before.

Chris clambered over to Walter's feet and slammed a tiny fist down on the toe of his boot. He laughed at the sound it made, and Walter smiled at his grandson. "It never ceases to amaze me, Sugar, how you can spend the earth on a kid and he doesn't notice, but give him a pot or a pan to play with, and he's in Heaven."

She smiled sweetly at Walter. "That's true, Dad. I—" Nikita struggled to make herself heard over the ruckus, but to no avail. She abruptly put her fingers between her teeth and whistled, loud enough to be heard in another country. Birkoff and Declan broke off their argument, each of them breathing hard, as if they were actually becoming agitated.

"You guys are so noisy, I can't even hear myself think," Nikita snapped at the two of them.

Birkoff frowned. "It's just that it's obvious what their first words will be, Nikita. But Declan is such a—"

"Now, now, no namecalling." Nikita sat up, crossing her legs Indian-style. "What difference does it make what they say? As long as they say something?"

Michael smiled over Nikita's head at Walter. "That's so sensible, Kita, it doesn't sound like you."

"Well, I had a long talk with Maddy about this. About how disappointed I would feel if they didn't say Ma-ma first…and she reassured me."

"She did?" Michael and Walter chorused.

She smiled mischievously. "She said that most of the time, their first words are Ma-ma. So I'm not worried."

Walter blinked. It was so unlike Madeline to give false reassurance. He wondered vaguely if Nikita was making this up, but he dismissed that. She was not one to lie without good reason, and there was just no good reason for her to lie in this instance.

"Well, I know there's every chance that Fee will say the first word, and I hope it will be Da-da. But who knows?"

Michael secretly hoped that Faith would say his name as her first word, but he would never admit that to anyone in all seriousness. He feared for Nikita, though, if neither of the babies chose Ma-ma as their first word. He was sure she would be devastated, no matter what she said to the contrary.

And so it came to be that the babies babbled, the family argued, and no one could have guessed how it would all turn out.

Josephine slinked along the floor, attempting to get close enough to Nikita to be petted. But Fee had other ideas. She reached for the cat's tail, grabbed onto it successfully, and triumphantly exclaimed, "Kit-tee!"

Immediately everyone began squabbling anew, and Nikita was forced to resort to whistling again. "Okay, okay, now what did she say? Did anyone hear?"

Nikita lay on her stomach and approached Faith on her level. "Hello, sweetness, Mommy just wants you to say that again, okay?"

Michael rolled his eyes this time. "Oh, well, she must be the most amazing baby who ever lived if she can understand what you said and reproduce her first word on command."

Nikita hushed Michael, "Ssh…" She again entreated Faith to repeat what she had said earlier.

Faith clapped her hands, as if she were extremely pleased with herself and gurgled. "Kit-tee!"

"See, Michael? She's trying to say my name. Kita. She said Kita. She did."

But a few moments later, the truth of that was disclaimed. Faith saw Josephine and pointed to the cat. "Kit-tee! Kit-tee!"

Even Nikita could not dispute the wisdom her daughter appeared to possess naturally. All right, it wasn't Ma-ma, but it wasn't Da-da either. It was a neutral word. End of competition. It was settled then. Faith was the first to speak, and her first word was "kitty", though she seemed to prefer the French pronunciation.

Once everyone realized what happened, they laughed wholeheartedly. Reached by phone, Neil laughed until he cried. After hanging up the phone, he related the entire story to Madeline, who commented wryly, "I think the baby will get over bonding with the cat, but will the cat?"

Chris looked up at Declan, who was desperately trying to swallow a mouthful of scrambled eggs before he was interrupted again. Once he had, he smiled at Chris. "You're a damned lucky boyo, you are, Chris. All these fine people oohing and ahing over you. Hanging on your every…word. Well, I'm sure you'll catch up with the fairy Fee any time now, never you worry." Declan's usually cloudy storm-grey eyes cleared as he rubbed Chris's tummy affectionately.

"Hope your tummy is feeling better than mine, Chris." Declan felt a strange pang that was not wholly physical. He was trying not to take the feud with Birkoff to heart, but the fact was, he really liked Birkoff. Sometimes he felt that Birkoff was his first friend.

As if Declan had called him up, Birkoff came into the kitchen, chomping on a cookie. Birkoff threw the remains of the cookie crumbs into the sink and ran some water to flush them down the drain.

"You talking to yourself again, Declan?" Birkoff said with a bit of an edge in his voice.

"Not hardly, boyo. I was talking to the young master here." Declan sighed as he saw that Birkoff meant to keep up the antagonism between them.

"Bet you can't wait till he gets a bit older… Maybe you can train him in anti-terrorist techniques before he's two. That should keep you plenty busy." Birkoff didn't know exactly why he was lashing out at Declan like this, but he couldn't seem to stop.

Declan clenched his teeth and refused to dignify that with a response. He brushed past Birkoff and left the kitchen, feeling bad that he had to leave Chris behind. He enjoyed the time he spent with both babies, but being Chris' godfather held special meaning for him.

After putting both babies down for their naps, Declan straightened up the room, automatically picking up the debris left behind from a hasty bottle-feeding session that took place earlier. "Why can't we just lose our worries as easily, eh, Chris?"

Declan didn't say much for a long while after that. He was at a loss to explain his feelings, other than to say that he felt like an outsider again. He had allowed himself to care, and he had begun to hope and dream again. He muttered under his breath, "You fool", and he felt a curious wetness behind his eyes. "Damn…" he swore as he wiped at his face with his fingers.

Michael glanced at Declan as he entered. "Is everything okay?"

Declan sniffed and cleared his throat. "Oh, sure…everything's fine."

Michael could see that Declan wasn't fine. He didn't know the details of the disagreement that was forcing Declan and Birkoff apart, but he could guess. "You want to talk about it?"

Declan shook his head. He pulled the band from his ponytail, and his long red hair came loose. He raked his fingers through his hair several times. Declan was trying not to answer Michael.

Michael moved closer and touched his shoulder. Declan looked up then, and Michael could see the wild-eyed look in his eyes, as if he were losing control. He recognized the look. He knew it well. There were too many similarities between the two of them for Michael to pretend he couldn't understand Declan's fears and anxieties.

He took Declan into his embrace and the former Section operative collapsed against him, crying like the boy he must have been, long ago. Michael swallowed hard. He really cared about Declan. Michael was unaccustomed to admitting his feelings to anyone, including Nikita, and even that was with considerable difficulty sometimes. But for Declan, he would make the effort.

Declan pushed himself away from Michael and stood by the window, his fingers caught in the belt loops of his faded jeans. Michael's concern touched him, but how could he understand? His lack of companionship. His emotional investment in the little family. His belief that he would never have any of this, compounded by Birkoff's ripping away what defenses he had left.

"You know how I am…who I am…I am never going to meet someone like Nikita, or get married, or have kids of my own."

"You could never understand."

Michael shook his head. "I do understand."

Declan turned around, a look of anguish on his face. "How could you feel like an outsider in the middle of all this love and affection?"

Michael cut him off sharply. "How could you?"

Declan replied, "Cause none of it was meant for me."

Declan's pain hit Michael with a force that stunned him. Michael nodded slowly. "That's how I felt."

"You mean before? Before her?"

"And even after…sometimes."

Declan gasped. He admired Michael, even cared about him as he would a brother, but he never would have dreamed that he could share the same fears and insecurities.

Michael's admission took them both by surprise. Declan still felt unsure of himself, but he abruptly hugged Michael tightly. "I want to stay here…I want to belong here."

"You will…cause you do." Michael's words came from the heart, and as unfamiliar as Declan was with emotion, he knew the genuine thing when he heard it.

A noise from the doorway alerted both of them to someone else's presence. Declan groaned. It couldn't have been worse. It was Birkoff.

Michael left the two younger men alone, to sort out their differences somehow, but Declan despaired of ever making Birkoff understand.

But Birkoff moved closer, and Declan was stunned to see what he did. Birkoff was crying.