Nikita moved to the bed and helped Madeline sit up. She waved Declan away. "Go talk to Neil. The man looks like he's been run over by a truck, for God's sake."

Declan didn't move immediately, and Nikita raised an eyebrow in question. "What?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Nikita. You didn't see what happened just before you came in."

Nikita's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Declan's bruised cheek, which continued to swell. "If he did that, I have to wonder why you didn't just get out of the way, Declan."

Madeline spoke for the first time since Nikita entered the room. "I asked…no, I begged Declan not to hurt Neil. I was afraid Declan would kill him."

Nikita whistled low. "Are you that dangerous then, Declan?" She waited a beat for an answer, and when none was forthcoming, she shrugged. "That was a stupid question. Michael respects you. I'm sure that didn't come out of weakness or vulnerability on your part."

Declan's eyes darkened with remembered pain. He almost admitted that was exactly the case, but he knew he didn't need to. Nikita's own powers of observation were so acute, she had already jumped to whatever conclusions she needed.

"Better get going then." Declan stepped back carefully, but before he could go, Madeline gripped his arm. "Don't leave, Declan. I still need you."

He shook his head. "You've got Nikita with you now, Maddy. You don't need me."

Madeline looked anxious. "I can't tell her what I can tell you, Declan," she whispered.

"Maddy…" he knelt down to her level and hugged her, pulling her head down on his shoulder. It was such a loving gesture, it made Nikita wonder again about their relationship, past and present.

Madeline rubbed her cheek on Declan's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could, to prevent more tears from rolling out and down her cheeks. Declan held her and murmured comforting words that Nikita could not make out.

Finally he drew back, his own eyes filled with pain. "I hate to see you like this, Maddy," he said in a low voice. He brushed her bangs off her forehead. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to trust someone else. I did."

"You did?" Madeline sounded surprised.

"Aye." Declan smiled faintly at her. "I did. You might try it yourself."

"May I ask who— ?"

Declan shook his head, and his ponytail flew from side to side with the gesture. "Nice try, Maddy. But you know me better than most. Don't go spoiling it now." But the last part was said with such affection, Nikita knew it was not a real rebuke at all.

Declan kissed her cheek and stood up. He nodded at Nikita and exited the room without another word. Nikita sighed. "Maddy, how..what..where do I start? Tell me what happened."

Madeline sank back onto the bed and Nikita leaned over her, feeling empowered even as Madeline relinquished control of the situation. "Declan is right. You need to talk about this. You might as well trust me, Maddy. You know me. I'm not going anywhere till we talk about it." Mouth set in a tight thin line, Nikita crossed her arms over her chest, prepared to wait indefinitely if necessary.

Madeline took a deep breath and began to speak…

Amazingly, Neil did not hit Declan when he saw him come through the door to his office. He sat behind his desk, staring out the window, not really seeing the beautiful flowers that blossomed under his wife's tender care. A stray tear traced its way down Neil's cheek.

Declan cleared his throat, feeling very much the intruder in enemy territory. "Neil?" he said hoarsely.

"Tell me you don't love her," Neil whispered without looking at Declan.

Declan winced and stared at the floor. "I can't tell you that, Neil."

Neil closed his eyes, giving in to the overwhelming feelings of despair that had haunted him the past few months. "Of course you can't. I know how easy she is to love. "

"Aye, that's true. But—"

Neil took a shuddering breath. "You know, it's stupid the things a person remembers when someone dies…or someone leaves you…hey, it's pretty much the same thing sometimes."

"We're not running away together, Neil." Declan stated flatly, knowing that Neil was beyond hearing him in some ways.

Neil laughed inappropriately. "That's a surprise. I thought you loved her." Neil turned to face Declan, his entire face shadowed in pain and darkness.

"I do." Declan watched as Neil grimaced. "But I'm not in love with her."

Neil looked puzzled for a moment, then his face brightened. "You're not?"

Declan pulled over a chair and sat down in front of Neil, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. "No, I'm not. But you are."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes," Declan replied. "Lucky thing, though…she loves you, too."

Neil buried his face in his hands for a brief moment, then looked blearily at Declan. "Did she tell you about what happened?"

Declan leaned forward even further, placing his hands over Neil's. "No, but you will. You need to talk. And damned if I'm not a good listener."

Neil smiled weakly before he began to speak…

Nikita stood up and stretched her back, stiff from sitting next to Madeline for so long. "Maddy?" She was finally asleep. Without drugs. Without therapy. All she needed was good old-fashioned TLC. Nikita smiled at the results of her handiwork.

"Now to see how Declan is doing with Neil…" she muttered to herself as she left the room.

Declan was not kidding when he said he was a good listener. If nothing else, a good part of an operative's job was waiting for the right moment to come along. He learned early on that observation and listening were two of the most valuable skills an operative could have. It was fine to be a martial artist of some renown or a weapons expert in multiple weapons, but the truth was, without skilled observation or listening, even the best moves or the best shot would miss the target if they were not executed at the right time. There was no substitute for this. It wasn't a step that could be skipped or glossed over.

Neil was missing a large part of the picture. This was Madeline's fault. She might be the most intuitive psychiatrist in the world, but when it came to herself and her husband, she was guilty of the most elementary mistakes. She didn't know enough to trust her husband above anyone else. It wasn't even that she couldn't, but that she didn't. She was in such denial of her recent loss, she could not celebrate what should have been a time of joy now. She wanted to protect Neil, but she would not give him the information or the tools he needed to cope with. And that was just scratching the surface. Declan didn't need to go any further.

He rubbed Neil's shoulder, though more perfunctorily than he touched Maddy. When he saw Nikita, he gave a sigh of relief. "How far apart are we on this, Nikita?"

Nikita smiled wearily. "Not that far. They've got faith, Declan, in each other and in their future together. Now all they need is a bit of luck."

Declan shrugged. "Faith and luck. Sounds good to me."

Nikita stood in the hallway with Declan. "Maddy is finally sleeping. But she's got to talk to Neil. She can't keep her pregnancy a secret. It's killing her."

"It's killing Neil. Poor man doesn't know if he's coming or going." Declan acknowledged Neil's pain, even validated it, but he envied him even so. Madeline loved Neil. Madeline now inhabited a world Declan could only visit. That their bond remained as strong as it did, after all these years, was a testament to Declan and Madeline. Force of habit had brought Madeline to Declan. Declan knew he would have to do something harder than he'd ever done before. Give up the one relationship that meant the most to him. Maddy had to learn to rely on Neil now. Her inability to trust someone else with her innermost feelings was at the heart of her continued reliance on Declan. He would have to sacrifice himself for her sake.

Nikita noticed the sadness in Declan's eyes and waved a hand in front of his face. He almost didn't notice. "What?"

"Declan, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied hoarsely. "Everything's okay, Nikita."

Neither Declan nor Nikita noticed the door was cracked open. Engrossed in their conversation about Madeline, they never saw Neil press his ear to the door in an effort to glean additional information. Neil was sure the two knew more than they were telling him, but he couldn't convince Declan to say anything significant. He was loyal to the nth degree.

He frowned when he saw the sadness in Declan's face. Neil knew it had something to do with him and Maddy. He even wondered if Declan was lying about his involvement with Maddy. Declan claimed their relationship was platonic, but he looked devastated just the same.

"Nikita…" Declan said, a catch in his throat. "I have to get back. To make dinner." He trailed off lamely, thinking that was a poor excuse for avoiding any further contact with the woman who single-handedly gave him back his life. "If Maddy asks for me…" he started hopefully. He sighed. "She won't ask for me," he said, finishing his thought with a mild trembling throughout his body.

Nikita was perplexed. Never an easy person to figure out at the best of times, right now Declan was positively cryptic. She stared after him, long after he'd left the hallway.

Neil closed the door gently. Now he knew what had upset Madeline. It wasn't any of the myriad of things he might have supposed. It was both the most obvious and the most difficult. She was pregnant again. His eyes filled with tears. "Maddy…" he whispered aloud, thinking he would have understood. If she had only tried to tell him.

He wanted to go to her, convince her to trust him, first and most completely. But Nikita said she was sleeping. She needed to rest more than she needed more words. He would wait. Not patiently. But when she woke would be soon enough.

Michael studied his son in the cradle. He had already given him a bottle, and Chris was drifting off to sleep, his face relaxing in that way that only infants have. He made unintelligible noises as he shifted back and forth, trying to find a comfortable position for sleep.

Just looking at Chris made Michael wonder where Nikita was. He was such a living reminder of his mother, Michael could not help but think of her. His hair still pale blond, his eyes were darkening slightly as he matured. They were an unusual shade of dark blue, and sometimes Michael wondered if it was a blending of their genes that produced that color, or if it was just one of those miraculous things that occurred from time to time, reinforcing your belief in God.

He heard the front door slam and he turned. "Nikita?" he called out. No answer. He shrugged. It must be one of the others.

Declan walked hurriedly through the house until he found his room. He unlocked the door and he pushed up the window, letting the fresh air into the room. Feeling positively claustrophobic, he suddenly felt the urge to go outside. He grabbed his jacket and ran back the way he came.

He walked around to the backyard and sat down in the grass. Walter's arthritis must be bothering him again, he thought idly, noting that the grass had not been cut for days. He lay on his stomach, smelling the fragrance of the grass in his nostrils. It was such a clean smell. It always reminded him of home. In Ireland. The grass was so green…and it went on for miles.

He swallowed a pang of what could only be homesickness. He didn't understand why it struck him now, when he could least defend himself against it, but it did. He began to cry. He could never go home. Section had seen to that. Still, he had a life now. Madeline had seen to that.

Madeline. He cried harder, burying his face in the tufts of overgrown grass. Some of it was soft against his cheeks, some spiky as tendrils and leaves sharpened to a point scratched him.

It wasn't as if he could never see her again. But their relationship would never be the same. The one constant in his life till now had been Madeline. But he would gladly give it up for her chance at happiness. He could no more deny her that than fly.

"Declan…" Birkoff's voice startled him. It was so close. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled.

"Yeah?" he said gruffly, trying to hide the fact that he'd been crying.

Birkoff shifted from foot to foot, expressions chasing each other across his face with great rapidity. "Um…you okay?"

"Yeah." Declan answered flatly, hoping that Birkoff would take the hint and go away.

"Could you use a friend?" Birkoff asked helpfully.

Declan sighed heavily. "Right now, I need more than a friend, Birkoff. So if you don't mind…"

"I could do that," Birkoff said, his eyes dark as midnight.

Declan rolled over onto his back, leaning on one elbow. He stared up at Birkoff, uncaring that his face looked ravaged by tears. "You've no idea what you're saying. Go away."

Birkoff moved restlessly beneath Declan's gaze. Sometimes Declan made him feel so uncomfortable. But he cared about him. Birkoff sat down clumsily, coloring furiously. "Sorry."

A muscle twitched in Declan's cheek, and suddenly Birkoff's eye was drawn to the swollen side of his face. "Holy sh—! What happened to you?"

Declan fell back onto his back, too tired to mince words with Birkoff. He covered his face with his hands and his voice came out muffled and indistinct. "Neil hit me."

Birkoff gasped. "Jeez! For what?"

"For being there? I don't know. It's a long story, Seymour."

Birkoff reached out to touch the bruised part of Declan's face, and Declan swore six ways to Sunday. "God—! Don't touch me, Seymour, okay?"

Birkoff nodded silently, wondering why Declan sounded so odd. "Want me to get you some ice?"

Declan groaned and rolled over onto his stomach again. "No-o-o-o, Birkoff, just go away."

"Did I say something wrong, Declan?"

Declan wondered why he was being punished this way. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He was certain that Birkoff's interest was entirely innocent, but Declan was on the verge of admitting something important to himself. He didn't want to know it, but he had a feeling he couldn't avoid knowing it for very much longer.

Nikita barely managed to stagger through the doorway when Michael accosted her. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What?" she asked, trying vainly to focus her eyes. "It's been an excruciatingly long day, Michael. I'm going to skip dinner and head straight to bed."

Michael blocked her way with his arm. When Nikita spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. "Get out of my way, Michael."

His eyes darkened, glittering dangerously. "Let me get this straight. You take off for parts unknown, you leave your babies in the care of Birkoff, you waltz back home at…" He paused to look at his watch with dramatic effect. "9 PM."

"And I'm in the wrong for asking you where you've been?"

Nikita sighed. "I just don't feel like I need to explain my every move to you, Michael. Now let me pass."

Michael was not about to let her pass. Not without a fight. "What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership'?"

"Screw the partnership! I'm tired and I want to go to bed!"

Walter came out of the kitchen, rubbing his hands feverishly, a painful grimace in place on his time-ravaged face. "What the heck is going on out here? I could hear you two clear across the house!"

Michael and Nikita stood nose to nose, glaring at each other. Neither wanted to be the first one to give in, neither wanted to move before the other did.

Nikita shrugged. "Michael's being incredibly stubborn, as usual."

Michael's vivid green eyes narrowed to slits, looking not unlike cat's eyes. "Well, Nikita is expressing herself articulately, as usual."

Walter looked from one to the other. "Uh oh, I don't think I like the sound of that. Sugar, you feeling okay? You look a bit peaked. Why don't you go lie down or something?"

Michael did a slow burn as Walter encouraged Nikita to do exactly what he didn't want her to do. "Are you going to tell me where you were and what you were doing, Nikita?"

"Not a chance, Michael."

"Fine."

"Fine."

With that, they separated and stalked off in opposite directions. Walter whistled. It had been a while since he'd seen a fight of this magnitude between Michael and Nikita. But it was probably nothing. He hoped.

Nikita ran upstairs, her bag hanging halfway off her shoulder. By the time she hit the landing, full force, it jumped from her shoulder to the floor, loose change jangling every which way. She swore fluently, as she attempted to pick up the change, her hair flying into her face. Grabbing a handful of her hair, she yanked it back, hard, feeling tears come into her eyes. Suddenly, she was both cursing and crying, as she tried to negotiate the door to the babies' room.

"Damn!" she muttered as she flung herself through the door. Dropping the recalcitrant bag to the floor, she made her way to the cradles, where the twins lay, peacefully sleeping. Not wishing to disturb them, she merely leaned her weight on one of the cradles, feeling as though everything had gone wrong from the moment she thought about Maddy.

She put her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. Closing her eyes, she rested her hands on the edge of the cradle, feeling the coolness of her tears tracing their way down her flushed cheeks. "You don't know everything, Michael. You don't know the half of it," she said aloud. "First Neil acts like he's hiding something…then I find out he and Maddy eloped six months ago." She took a deep shuddering breath.

She raked her fingers through her hair, swiping carelessly at the tears that persisted. "Then Maddy tells me…" She bit her lip and almost broke down completely. She looked at her own babies and found herself whispering, as if they might understand what she was saying and be frightened. "She lost a baby…about two months after mine were born."

Michael, who could not bear fighting with Nikita for any length of time, crept further into the room. He'd seen Nikita go upstairs, and he promised himself he would give her some space and some time to calm down. But he couldn't stay away, knowing she was so upset. When he saw her start to cry, he made it as far as the doorway and stopped, leaning his head on the frame of the door, listening. No wonder she was distraught.

Nikita shivered. "After that…Neil was devastated. Maddy was depressed. Neither of them can help the other, they're both broken-hearted. It's so sad."

She sniffed. "You two are so lucky. You have each other." She adjusted the blanket around Faith, her fingers lingering to caress her soft baby skin. "Now Maddy is pregnant again…but she won't tell Neil, for fear of the same thing happening." She shook her head.

Michael slowly but quietly made his way across the room until he stood behind Nikita. "Kita…" he said softly, realizing he was startling her.

She flinched slightly, turning to face him, carefully wiping the remainder of the tears from her cheeks. "Michael…"

He reached out for her, and she gratefully sank into his arms. He wrapped both arms around her, as she lay her head against his chest, crying again. "Kita, you have such a good heart. I'm sorry I yelled at you, but…" His eyes flickered back and forth anxiously for a few seconds. "I was so worried. I hate not knowing where you are, or what happened to you…"

"I'm sorry, Michael. I meant to leave a note, but I was so flustered, I didn't think." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and sighed. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he held her even tighter. "You know how I hate fighting with you."

Suddenly Nikita drew back, horrified. "Oh, my God, Michael, I completely forgot about Declan."

"What happened to Declan?"

"Neil hit him."

"Oh." Michael absorbed this news with complete equanimity. "Did he at least get a shot in himself?"

Nikita shook her head. "No. Maddy stopped him. It seems that Declan is almost as deadly as you, Michael."

She noticed that Michael was not surprised. She would have pondered this further, but for the fact that the man in question suddenly appeared in the doorway. His cheek was considerably more swollen now, the discoloration making it look monstrous in the shadowy light in the room.

"Oh, Declan, I'm so sorry it turned out the way it did."

Declan smiled weakly. "You have no idea, Nikita. No idea at all how my day has gone from bad to worse, all in the space of a few hours."

"Want to talk about it?" she inquired.

Declan almost cringed at the thought of reiterating any of the awful day just past. "I don't think so. I just wanted to touch base with you two and let you know I'm still in one piece. Well…more or less…" he said, lightly touching the swollen cheek.

With a wave, he was gone. Nikita turned to Michael. "As you can see, it's been every bit the excruciatingly bad day I said it was."

He nodded. "Want me to make it better?"

"Could you?" she asked hopefully.

"I can certainly try," he said with a half-smile.

Madeline slowly came awake in the dimly lit bedroom. She felt a bit better for having unburdened herself to someone. No, not just someone. Nikita. Their relationship had shifted again. Now Madeline found herself on the receiving end, and Nikita was the dominant one, sharing her insight regarding Madeline's very real dilemma.

Madeline knew what she must do. But it would be hard. Harder perhaps because she didn't do it initially. Now there would be hurt on both sides, not just for the news she imparted, but because she had withheld that news so long. Neil was bound to feel that she didn't trust him. But it wasn't like that. Was it?

For someone who usually had all the answers, it was difficult to be in the position she was now. She was used to controlling events, not being controlled by them. She closed her eyes and repeated the Serenity Prayer to herself, knowing there was a great deal of wisdom in so few words.

Neil appeared in the doorway, clearly torn between knocking and just barging all the way in. "Maddy?" he queried, unsure if she was awake.

"Neil…" she said softly, as if even saying his name comforted her. She held out her arms to him and that was all the encouragement he needed.

After almost running to her side, Neil picked her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held her, his eyes softening as he studied her tear-stained face. Slowly he sank down to the bed, but he continued to hold her, as if he could not bear to let her go.

"Maddy…you trust those friends of yours more than me. I love you. I'm your husband. How do you think that makes me feel?" His words were softly spoken, but cut deeply just the same.

"Neil…it's not that I don't trust you."

"That's crap, and you know it, Maddy. If you trusted me, we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

She nodded, acknowledging his point. "My relationship with them…and Declan…goes back years, Neil. Long before I knew you. But you're right. I should have trusted you. Declan told me to."

Neil released her suddenly, looking almost exasperated. "So you're agreeing with me, but only because Declan said so. That's just…great."

She shook her head gently. "I didn't mean for it to sound that way, Neil."

Neil plucked repeatedly at the comforter on the bed. "No, no, it probably came out exactly the way you felt, Maddy."

She put her hand over his, stilling his anxious movements. "Neil, you know that Declan is special to me. You've always known that. You can't be jealous of him."

"Why not?" he snapped back. "Because you say you two aren't lovers? Or because he says so?"

Madeline searched for the right words, but Neil grew impatient. "Maybe you're not now, but you were. Is that it, Maddy? You two were lovers?"

Madeline felt like she was betraying Declan, but she had to tell Neil the truth before things became much, much worse. "No, Neil. We were never lovers."

"I don't believe you, Maddy. Give me one good reason why I should believe you," he spat.

"He's gay." Madeline closed her eyes, trying not to feel anything at all.

Neil stared at her. "You're serious."

"Yes," she barely managed to choke out.

"I never would have guessed that."

"Nor should you. It's not a secret, but it's not something everyone needs to know either."

Neil agreed. Madeline went on, "And it has nothing whatsoever to do with what I have to tell you."

Neil regretted his earlier heavy-handedness. He already knew what Madeline was trying to tell him, and he wanted to make it easier on her. But part of him resented Declan and the others for being privy to her thoughts and feelings before him. He didn't want to feel that way, but it was hard not to.

She pulled on his hand and brought it to the side of her face, eventually rubbing her face against it lovingly. "Neil, I know how much it hurt you when we lost the baby—"

"Maddy, that doesn't matter now."

She frowned. "You know?"

Neil couldn't keep silent another moment. "I overheard Nikita and Declan talking outside my office." He looked down, averting his eyes from hers, as if knowing what she would read in his eyes. Guilt, for eavesdropping. Shame, for feeling happy that she was pregnant again, when the loss of their first baby was still so fresh in his mind.

"Neil, I want to be happy about this. I want you to be happy, too." He held her other hand and squeezed it. "I am."

"But you feel bad, too." He nodded slowly. "I don't want to, it doesn't make any sense, Maddy."

"Yes, it does, Neil. If we didn't care about what happened to our first baby, there is no way I would risk having another. When that baby died, Neil…" she tried not to break down, but she couldn't help it.

He took her into his arms and kissed her. She began to cry, and he framed her face with his hands, trying to kiss the tears away as they fell. "I know, Maddy, I know. Part of us died, too."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I wanted to tell you, Neil. At first, I was so happy. But then, I thought, what if I can't hold onto this pregnancy either? I didn't want you to hurt anymore."

Neil kissed her tenderly, his own breath catching in his throat at the thought of just how much he loved this woman. "Oh, my Maddy…"

She melted against him, her body completely pliant. He wrapped both arms around her as he stroked her long, dark brown hair. "We're going to get through this together. This time we're going to make it, Maddy. I know it."

"Oh, Neil, I'm so afraid. What if you're wrong?"

"Then we'll still have each other. Forever. And no one can take that away from us, Maddy. No one."

Michael led Nikita by the hand, slowly and inevitably, toward that most sacred of places in his mind. It was a warm night. The moon was waning, and there was little light to illuminate the altar. But that didn't matter. He had brought the light with him. Into the darkness. It was always with him. In the form of Nikita.

They stood together, their bodies a hairsbreadth away from touching. Michael slid down to his knees, kneeling at Nikita's feet. She looked down, the little moonlight there was catching her pale blonde hair and turning it into molten silver. They didn't speak. There was no need. They were already one.

She knelt, facing him. Their hands touched briefly as they leaned towards each other. Michael removed Nikita's shirt and placed it beside them. One at a time, he removed each piece of clothing, until she wore nothing. When it was done, he sat back on his heels, waiting.

Nikita, unmoving until now, began to push Michael's shirt aside, her hands almost massaging his skin as they disrobed him. When she was done, she too sat back on her heels, waiting. They stared at each other, quietly, as if to break the silence would somehow ruin the intimacy between them.

There was something otherworldly about being naked under the nighttime sky. Nikita finally spoke, her voice husky and moved by the poetry of Michael's actions. "This is where we were married…" she whispered, indicating the altar, which still stood as a monument to their love.

"Yes," he whispered back.

Gently, and ever so carefully, Michael pushed Nikita onto her back. Now she lay in the grass, almost covered by the overgrowth. But his hands found her. His lips found her. When he joined their bodies, a tiny sigh escaped Nikita, turning into a low, deep exhalation as Michael settled against her.

He kissed her ear, moving so slowly, she thought she would expire from anticipation. His tongue flicked out and touched her skin, and she sighed again, this time from contentment. Michael whispered, "Make a good memory with me, doucette."

He was reminding her of their wedding day, brought to an untimely conclusion by her wounding and subsequent kidnapping. It was something Michael frequently ruminated about, and his inability to forget what happened cast a shadow over any time spent in the backyard. He was offering her a chance to change that. For both of them.

He picked up her hair and spread it across his face, reveling in the silken feel of it. She lay still, trembling, as he moved over her, his lips caressing her shoulder. Her mouth parted, her eyes shining brightly despite the relative darkness, and he smiled. His hair, now shoulder-length, tickled her as it fell across her breasts. He laved each breast with his mouth, the taste of her sweet on his tongue. Still, she did not move, sensing somehow that Michael wanted her to remain passive.

He slid his palms against hers, eventually joining their hands, their fingers automatically entwining themselves. Gradually, he began to push against her, very, very slowly, and the ache that created in Nikita grew. Her foot touched his thigh as it made its way down the length of his leg.

As he drew closer, he licked the hollow between her breasts, seemingly in slow motion, stopping only as he came to her neck. He buried his face there, kissing her repeatedly, until she could no longer hold still beneath him. Their hands still joined, his mouth invaded hers, their tongues intertwining.

When he finally broke away from her, they were both breathless. But somehow Michael found enough breath to whisper, "Je t'aime, doucette. Tu es la mienne toujours." I love you, doucette. You are mine forever. The words echoed inside Nikita's heart, creating such a groundswell of emotion, she could not hold anything back.

"I love you, Michael," she said with a telltale shiver. He smiled, knowing their journey together might seem to end soon, but like their love, it was neverending.