Nikita slowly opened her eyes, only to find Michael's green-eyed gaze upon her. "Was I asleep long, Michael?"

"Ages." He continued to stare at her, as if he were memorizing her face, feature by feature.

"Were you waiting for me long, then?"

His lips parted as if in anticipation. "Forever."

She smiled mischievously, unconsciously hiding behind the veil of pale blonde hair that fell into her face from time to time. "You missed me?" She bit her lip anxiously.

"Endlessly," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

She stretched her arms over her head and could not help but smile. He was looking at her with such utter devotion, her heart felt filled to overflowing with love and affection. "Did I do something special to deserve this?"

"Everything about you is special." He half-smiled, then kissed her, as if he'd been waiting for hours to do just that one thing.

Winding her arms around Michael's neck, Nikita closed her eyes and let herself be swept away by the tidal wave of emotion that flowed between them. Suddenly she became aware that they were not quite alone. She opened her eyes tentatively, peeking out of the corners at the other occupants of the room.

Walter grinned at Nikita enthusiastically. "Hey, Sugar," he called softly. "Remember me?"

"Sure, Dad…Michael, was I asleep for days or weeks without knowing it? I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable with this reaction."

"You had a terrible nightmare, Kita." He stroked her hair back from her face, his palms aching to rest on her cheeks while he kissed her. "About the man in black." He watched her carefully, but it was clear that Nikita had no real memory of what happened.

"I dreamed about him again?" She frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember that."

"You were very sick…" Michael could not resist any longer. He needed to touch her like a blind man craved the light. He buried his face beside her neck, hiding his tears of relief that she came back to him.

"Neil was forced to hypnotize you. We needed to know what you saw."

Walter nodded. "You said you saw yourself lying in the street, dead." Nikita gasped. Whatever she expected to hear, that was not it.

He continued as if she hadn't made a sound. "You wouldn't go to the hospital. You were afraid that you would die. You kept repeating that the man in black was coming."

"And did I say anything else?" Nikita asked anxiously.

Walter glanced at Michael, who then traded looks with the nurse, Miranda Walsh. Michael nodded. "You said that the man in black was…Operations."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "But Operations is dead, Michael. Madeline killed him."

"You didn't seem convinced of that last night."

She blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "You said he was coming."

"Well, it was just a bad dream, Michael. It doesn't have the power to hurt us."

Michael didn't have the heart to tell her that he not only believed she saw a dead man walking, but that it was Operations. The thought chilled him to the bone. If that were true, it foretold something dire for the makeshift family.

But then again…Nikita was feverish, overtired, and coming off a set of rather extraordinary circumstances. Madeline's trip to the ER, for just one. Michael sometimes thought that Nikita had never admitted to herself yet just how much she cared for Madeline. Like the mother she should have had.

She was still waiting. Waiting for Michael to confirm that there was nothing out there with the power to hurt them. He couldn't quite bring himself to tell her that. It felt too much like a lie. If there was something, though, it most certainly was not Operations, all appearances to the contrary.

Michael finally said, "You're surrounded by people who would protect you with their lives if necessary, Kita."

Walter agreed. "No one's getting in here to hurt anyone, Sugar. Birkoff swept the perimeter this morning, like the techie wizard he is, and Declan backed it up by physically walking the grounds."

It was interesting, thought Nikita, that no one commented on the fact that what Nikita had was basically a prescient dream. Everyone treated the threat as if it were both real and current. A clear and present danger.

"Then you think there is a chance that Operations survived somehow? Even escaped?" Nikita tried to control the anxiety that provoked, but coming on the heels of that nightmare, she felt a leap in her heart rate just mentioning Operations' name.

Michael shook his head. "No. I don't believe that, and neither should you." He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. "But I was not about to dismiss the possibility that someone might be out there, Kita. Your dream was too intense to ignore."

She rubbed her face against his hand. "But it was a dream. Right?"

"So far." When Michael uttered those words, she knew he was not going to rest until he came to some sort of plausible explanation for this.

He leaned over her, his face almost touching hers. "But if I didn't think we were safe here, we wouldn't be here." She nodded, trusting Michael's instincts.

"I know you're still recuperating, Kita, but there were a few people waiting to see you who just can't wait anymore." Michael waved his hand in the air, and suddenly Madeline was standing in the open doorway, Neil beside her.

Neil slipped his arm from around Madeline's shoulder and exchanged looks with Michael, as if to say, you trusted me with your wife, now I'm trusting you with mine. Madeline gave a little cry and ran to Nikita's side, though her girth made movement awkward.

"Nikita!" she cried, hugging the younger woman. "I would have been here with you, if I could."

"Maddy!" Despite her apparent recovery, Nikita's emotions were still labile. Tears flowed easily from her eyes, but Madeline wiped them away.

"You know what? There's someone else who missed you, even more than I did."

Nikita's eyes grew wide. "Who?"

Birkoff entered the room, as if on cue, holding Fee in his arms. "Fee missed Mommy so much…didn't you, sweetie?" He gazed at Fee with such adoration, it was obvious she was well taken care of. Birkoff smiled gently at Nikita and said, "But watch this, Nikita. Fee has a new trick, just for Mommy."

Birkoff leaned over the child, evidently encouraging her, and suddenly, as they all watched, Fee, aided by Birkoff, struggled to her feet and stood unsteadily. She put a finger in her mouth, as she looked at Nikita, and eventually desire won out over fear, compelling Fee to take her first real steps. She teetered towards Nikita, and Nikita gasped, holding her arms out. "Come here, baby," she whispered.

Fee scrambled to the bed, and Nikita lifted her into her arms, embracing her. Now tears were running down her face in earnest. She turned to Michael, her eyes like tear-drenched violets. Michael tried to smile, but he was overcome at the sight of his daughter in her mother's arms again. "She walked to me, Michael. Maddy, she walked!" Nikita managed to say through her tears. Madeline tearfully nodded, glancing at Michael, who was no more composed than she was.

Walter cleared his throat. "She had a powerful motivation, Sugar. She likes Birkoff fine, but she wanted Mommy." As if to confirm this, Fee cooperated by saying quite clearly, "Mama," and reaching for Nikita's hair.

Birkoff smiled, trying not to cry, but since everyone else was, he didn't know why he was wasting the effort. Declan came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Not to be outdone, Chris wants to show you something, too, Nikita."

Nikita handed Fee to Michael, who gladly hugged his daughter, and waited impatiently for Chris. Declan put Chris down, and with considerably less unsteadiness than his sister, he proceeded to walk over to Nikita's outstretched arms. Nikita laughed as she grabbed Chris and held him. "My son, the overachiever."

Michael laughed as Fee regarded her brother with something akin to a blank stare. Walter saw it, too, and couldn't resist commenting on it, but Michael protested, "I swear, I didn't teach her that."

Fee turned her head and stared at her father. "Dad-dy." She poked him in the face, clearly emphasizing that she knew who he was, and Michael almost cried.

Madeline wept openly, though she kept smiling at Michael. It did her heart good to see him this content.

"Michael…did you ever think we would be this lucky?"

He smiled, for that was his line to Nikita, and he never tired of repeating it. But before he could answer, his son wailed loudly in Nikita's arms. Nikita looked puzzled, then decided, "I think he wants you, Michael."

Michael handed Fee back to Birkoff and took Chris in his arms. "What is it, Chris?" Chris grabbed Michael's hair, like Fee often did to Nikita. But instead of trying to eat it or at least put it into his mouth, Chris twined it around his tiny fingers. He pulled on Michael's hair several times until Michael winced.

Declan laughed. "Maybe he thinks you need a haircut, Michael."

Michael chuckled. "I might need one if he doesn't let go." Chris looked seriously at Michael, chanting "L-L-L-L-Luh" over and over. Michael shook his head gently, saying, "I don't know what that means, Chris."

More and more frustrated, Chris kept chanting the "Luh" syllable until finally, he looked at Walter. Walter suddenly looked incredibly guilty, his face flaming bright red.

Michael couldn't help but wonder what Walter had to feel guilty about, especially involving his son. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at Walter, and the older man stammered, "I think he's trying to say he loves you, Michael."

Michael blinked. "That would be wonderful, if I actually believed you, Walter."

"Uhhh…" Walter was at a loss for words, and worse, the nurse, Miranda Walsh, was regarding him with something less than admiration.

Miranda wanted to smile at Walter's discomfiture. He was such a sweet, gentle man. Funny. Not at all full of himself. But sometimes he could use a little help extricating his foot from his mouth.

"Walter, didn't you tell me that his name was Lucky?"

She had no idea what general consternation that statement caused. Walter hemmed and hawed, finally saying, "Okay, okay, I call him Lucky."

Michael hid a smile behind his son's head. "I think Chris is trying to tell on you, Walter."

Walter looked startled. "Well, I— huh?"

"I think he was trying to tell me his name was Lucky." Chris clapped his hands merrily.

Michael's eyes darkened, making him look vaguely dangerous. "But then again…I've been talking to him in French. Maybe he wants to be called Luc."

"Well, when he can talk, he can tell us," said Miranda, innocently stepping into the fray.

Nikita snorted. "A likely story. My son can't even speak two good words in English, much less French."

"Je suis fou de ta mere, Chris. C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?" Michael murmured, an enigmatic glint in his eye.

Miranda laughed, then realized that everyone was staring at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, didn't I mention that I speak French?"

Nikita said, "No, but I promise not to hold it against you." She sighed. "Okay, what did he say?"

"He said…" Miranda glanced at Michael, and Michael nodded, his face coloring slightly.

"I'm crazy about your mother, Chris. That's what I said, Kita," Michael stated flatly, trying not to feel like his every vulnerability was exposed.

"Oh!" Nikita's cheeks grew pink. They had such an audience, it was a trifle embarrassing.

Miranda made up for her inadvertent remark shortly afterward by shooing all the would-be visitors out of the room, ostensibly so that Nikita could rest. Only the children remained behind, and they sat, playing together, on the bed between Michael and Nikita.

Michael pulled Nikita into his arms the moment their well-meaning family left. "I am, you know," he whispered.

"What?"

"Crazy about you."

She looked deep into his eyes and saw what she needed most reflected in them. "I'm so glad you didn't leave me, Kita."

There was no mistaking his meaning. Now that Nikita knew how ill she had been, she realized that Michael had feared the worst and faced his fear alone, for the most part.

"I came back for you, Michael," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his face.

"I love you, Kita." He kissed her, his lips trailing across her mouth and neck.

"I love you, Michael." She closed her eyes briefly, then re-focused on his beloved face.

Suddenly aware that their children had stopped playing to watch their parents, Nikita laughed. "We're under surveillance."

"Always." Michael smiled.

"We should probably talk about when we're going to have the twins' birthday celebration…" Michael was lying on the bed, his head on the pillow next to Nikita. Their children were lying between the two of them, fast asleep, their bodies gone all soft and boneless to the touch, their arms and legs all entangled, like two kittens who fell asleep on top of one another.

Nikita reached out and brushed the hair off Michael's forehead, and he smiled sleepily, his fingers playing restlessly with hers for a few moments. "What do you think about Saturday? Too soon?"

"No," she whispered. "Saturday sounds okay. Can Maddy and Neil make it Saturday?"

He nodded. "I asked Neil earlier, and Saturday was his idea. Think Walter will have enough time to make something for the twins?"

She smiled secretively. "He's already finished something. But he wouldn't tell me. He said I can't keep a secret, Michael. What do you think?"

He gave her an enigmatic look. "I think we should talk about something else."

Declan was learning. How fast little feet can run. How fast little people can fall. How fast little mothers can chase the little feet before the little people fall. It was a challenge. One of the hardest he had ever faced since leaving Section. No, maybe he should include Section.

He loved Faith and Chris, but their continued forays into the kitchen were wearing him down. Every time he turned around, one of them was there. Grabbing his leg, or banging him in the knee with a wooden spoon. That was their weapon of choice right now. It had to be. He'd already taken away the pots and pans. His shins were still black and blue from the beating they'd taken after Faith discovered what an interesting noise the pot lids made when they contacted human flesh and bone.

He could not wait for Nikita to get better. Hopefully today. He knew she needed rest more than he did, but after the twins' latest attack, or series of attacks, he was beginning to wonder if Nikita was planning on coming back as a full-time mother, or if she intended to let Declan and Birkoff take care of the kids part-time. Declan started talking to himself. "I mean," he said out loud, "she's a wonderful mother, and kids need to spend most of their time with their parents. Right?"

He glanced down and found Chris patiently painting the bright white floor a hideous shade of green. "Chris! Stop that!" Declan grabbed the green magic marker from Chris and thought fondly of better days.

Declan hated the way he must have sounded. Like a tyrant. Or worse. Wait, what was worse than a tyrant?

He bent down to grab Fee, and she squirmed out of his arms, running towards her father. Declan looked up, immediately noting that Michael had a discontented look about him. Was he angry that he was trying to discipline the twins? Well, someone had to, and Nikita evidently was not up to the job just yet.

"What's up?" he asked cautiously, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Michael almost smiled. "Saturday. The twins are having their first birthday. You and Birkoff will be home, right?"

Declan sighed. "To watch the kids? Michael, we would like a chance to be together on the weekend, once in a while. I mean—"

Michael laughed. "Are you finished?"

"What?"

"I was trying to invite you to their party. Not enlist you as indentured servants."

"Oh!" Declan thought for a second. "I'll check with Sey then."

"Good." Michael turned and went back the way he'd come, leaving Declan wondering about what put the vaguely discontented look on his face.

Where was Birkoff anyway? Michael had big plans for Saturday, and he didn't want anything to go wrong. Anything. He'd enlisted Birkoff's help in doing something special for the kids, something quite beyond their capacity to understand right now, but something that would leave them and their own children a legacy one day.

Michael stopped on the porch and looked out over the front lawn. It was almost a quarter of a mile to the street. He could see it from here, but that was the general idea. He wanted to be able to see anyone approaching the house before they could see him. Security always concerned him. He didn't nag Nikita or the others about it because it was his job to keep them safe. He didn't want them to worry. He did it for them. Letting go of a deep sigh, he leaned against the house.

A hand reached around him and he spun around, almost wrenching Nikita off her unsteady feet. "Whoa!" she said, grabbing onto Michael for balance.

He caught her instinctively and righted her on her feet. "What are you doing up?"

Her welcoming smile faded. "I thought you would be happy I was finally out of bed. I guess not. I'll go back to playing the poor invalid." She turned around, hurt written all over her face, and Michael shook his head, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"Excuse me, Kita? Aren't you feeling just a bit sorry for your self? After the way I sat up with you for two nights? Not sleeping? Not eating? Just…praying!"

Michael had no idea where the anger was coming from, but somehow, Nikita's negative mood had triggered his. "What do you want, credit?" Oh, nice shot, thought Michael. Nikita was definitely feeling better. She would never challenge him like this if she were sick. Sickness made some people want to fight their illness. Sickness made Nikita want to curl up and cry herself to sleep.

Michael reached out for Nikita's face, but she flinched. He frowned. "That wasn't necessary."

"Oh…get over it, Michael." She flounced into the house in a fine mood, and Michael followed.

As they gradually drew even with each other, Michael asked Nikita to explain. "Why are we fighting, Kita?"

Nikita looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Kita! Why are you crying?" Michael was afraid to touch her again, he hated that flinch. He couldn't even stand thinking about it. He closed his eyes and replayed that moment in his head. No, he still couldn't tell if she was afraid of him or just pulling away.

"I'm afraid…"

"Of me?" His hand froze in mid-air. He would sooner die than hurt her. She was his life.

"No," she whispered. She stared at him in abject despair, tears overflowing her beautiful blue eyes. "Of what might be out there."

"I thought—" He gave up trying to make a coherent sentence. He took a deep breath and let it go. "I thought you trusted me, doucette."

"I do." She swiped at her eyes, but a tear escaped her grasp, and Michael fought her hand to touch her face.

"Please, Kita. Don't push me away." He absorbed what she was feeling, like a sponge, and when she was sad, he was, too. It wasn't even something he was conscious of doing.

"What are you afraid of?"

"That something is out there. Something that wants us. Something that wants what we have. Just because we have it. Maybe it's something we were never meant to have, Michael."

"You don't believe that any more than I do, Kita." He traced her tears with his fingers, gently but insistently. "I know I love you, and we were always meant to be together. No matter what."

Nikita closed her eyes, and a few more tears trickled down her face, leaving a sparkling silvery trail behind. "I'm scared, Michael."

"You don't think I can protect you?" He looked stricken.

"I know you'll die trying. I don't want to see that happen." Her voice choked with emotion, she couldn't continue.

"Kita, what's the alternative? That we give up what we have? Hand it over to whoever wants to take it away?"

Michael shuddered with reaction. "No one…not even Operations, if he came back from the dead…is going to take my wife…or my children away from me."

"He did once," she said, a note of resignation in her voice.

"If I thought we weren't safe here, we wouldn't be here, Kita."

"I know." She shivered, as though something cold had entered the house.

Michael searched Nikita's face for answers. "What can I say that will make this better, Kita?"

"I don't know." She started to cry, burying her face in her hands. "I dunno why I feel like this, Michael. I feel so…torn apart inside."

"So you're tearing me apart, too? How is that going to help either of us, Kita?" He repeated the last sentence in a husky whisper, dark with undertones. "How?"

"I…don't…know…" With that, she passed out.

Michael immediately thought that Nikita was suffering a relapse of the viral infection that struck her down, but when he touched her, she stirred. Her eyes opened, their bright blue depths dulled with pain that was emotional in origin, not physical. At Michael's touch, she shied away, turning her face so that his hands slid uselessly to her shoulders.

Satisfied that there was nothing physically wrong, he let her back away from him this time, as much as it hurt. He didn't understand. How could he? He wanted only to love and to protect her. She acted as if there were something wrong, something he was incapable of fixing. Maybe there was. He stared down at his hands, feeling powerless in a very real way.

He helped her back to her feet slowly, and she tolerated his touch only insofar as that maneuver went. Once she was standing, she merely remained there, watching, eyes glazed, as if she were now incapable of moving. He walked away, slowly, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder, and he regretted every step that took him away from her.

Nikita sagged against the wall for support, the tears coming again in force. She has gotten what she wanted. She had succeeded in pushing Michael away. But if she'd gotten what she wanted, why did it feel so wrong? Every instinct in her body cried out for Michael to stop and turn around and see her. But she made no sound.

That was how Madeline found the two of them later. Nikita slumped in a chair in the living room, unmoving, non-verbal, staring dully at the flickering images that paraded across the TV. Michael lying on the bed in the first-floor bedroom Nikita had been using. Not sleeping. Not tense. Just waiting. He smelled the bed linens and they smelled like her. His eyes closed painfully.

Madeline sat on the end of the bed, startling Michael out of his reverie. "Madeline? What is it? Is it Kita?" he immediately asked, unable to hide his anxiety.

"Michael…why are the two of you apart like this? Nikita looks tearful, you look equally depressed. What's going on? You've both just come through a major trauma. It's never easy confronting one's mortality. Even for people who should be well-used to it."

"Is that what's going on? You tell me," Michael said, his voice breaking. He didn't want to break down in front of Madeline, but he felt like he had little resilience left to deal with this.

She touched Michael's arm, and he looked up at her, his green eyes muddied by tears. He leaned his face on one hand, and she realized Michael was barely holding onto his emotions. "Come," she said softly, holding out her arms. He stared at her for a full second before he did. He went gratefully into her embrace and lay his head on her shoulder. It shouldn't have felt so reassuring to him, he told himself, but it did.

She hugged him as tightly as she could, which was not as tightly as she wanted to, due to the stage of her pregnancy. "Would you like me to talk to Nikita?"

He closed his eyes at the sound of Nikita's name, and Madeline felt him shake ever so slightly. Uncertain if he were crying or merely reacting, she didn't say anything. After a moment passed, Michael responded, "Please…" in a hoarse, tortured voice.

She smiled encouragingly at Michael. "I will."

He stared after her as she left. He didn't hold out much hope for Madeline getting through to wherever Nikita was right now.

When Madeline entered the living room, Nikita sensed her presence, but never acknowledged it. She kept her eyes focused in front of her, seemingly watching TV, but she could not distract herself from the pain inside her. Madeline touched Nikita's arm, much as she had touched Michael, but instead of triggering tears, as it did with him, it triggered an almost vicious response from Nikita. Suddenly her face was alive and animated, albeit with anger.

"What do you want? Come to play games with my head? Or are you messing with Michael's head this time?" Nikita's eyes were blue strobes, lacing back and forth across Madeline's body with electric intensity. "The Earth Mother, come to heal everyone?"

"Nikita," Madeline said, refusing to be distracted by what she now saw as subterfuge. "What are you afraid of? Of never getting what you want? Or having it?"

Nikita shot Madeline a look that would have killed a lesser person. Madeline didn't even flinch. "When things go well…most people would rejoice. Thank God, count their blessings, hold onto what they've got with a vengeance."

Madeline settled awkwardly into a chair opposite Nikita, knowing that Nikita was listening, even if she was no longer looking at her. "You push away the people who love you. You tear at the very fiber of the existence you worked so hard to create."

Nikita's head dipped down to her chest, her hair falling in a pale golden curtain around her face. A sob escaped her, and the sound echoed loudly throughout the room. Madeline grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV. "Nikita?"

"Oh, Maddy…I hate feeling like this…I hate what I did to Michael…did you see his face? Oh, my God…it was like I struck him."

Madeline edged her chair closer to Nikita, and suddenly, without any warning at all, Nikita almost flung herself into Madeline's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Talk to me, Nikita."

"Everything feels like it's beyond my control…ever since I got sick…it made me feel so…"

"Vulnerable? Weak?" When Nikita nodded affirmatively, Madeline stroked the younger woman's hair as she splayed her upper body across Madeline's. Under ordinary circumstances, it would not have been a comfortable position for either of them, but this was not an ordinary situation.

"Michael wants to protect you, Nikita. It's not something he has a choice about. It's in his nature to protect those he loves. He can't stop doing that. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she whispered.

"If you make him think he can't do that, either because you won't let him, or because you don't believe he can, you're chipping away at a very important part of your relationship."

"But Maddy…" She looked up into Madeline's face, drawn with compassion for Nikita. "We've always been equal partners. Well, if not equal…at least, I always felt I could pull my own weight if I had to." She paused.

"But when I got sick, I felt like I was no longer in control of my life. Like…the part of me that is me, and not Michael…wasn't there anymore. I don't know any other way to explain it…"

Madeline nodded and continued to stroke Nikita's hair. It was soothing both of them now. "So you started testing him."

"Testing him? How was I testing him?" Nikita sat up anxiously, pulling away from Madeline's arms.

"You push…and when you push, Nikita, you always push hard. You wanted to see if there were limits to his control. You wanted to see if he would curse at you, hit you, leave you…" Madeline sighed.

"And he backed off. As you knew he would. You knew he wouldn't hurt you. Deep down, you've always known this. Still…you try. To see if things changed. To see if you're still strong enough to survive. To see if you deserve to keep what you've got."

"You think this is tied to my childhood somehow, don't you?"

Madeline nodded. "Never thinking you're good enough? Never thinking you deserve good things? Never thinking you deserve a man who loves you more than his own life? Yes, Nikita…it comes up often enough…and we're not great believers in coincidence, you and me."

Nikita smiled despite her tears. Madeline reached her in ways she couldn't explain. "Maddy?"

"Yes, Nikita?"

"Do you think I…deserve you? Cause I really, really wish you were my real mother." Nikita's words sounded loud even though they were whispered. They went directly to Madeline's heart and stayed there. She would never forget them.

"Yes, Nikita." Madeline knew she was going to cry now. She couldn't help herself. "I wish the same thing."

Nikita wiped her eyes with her fingers and hugged Madeline. "Maddy? Would it be too weird if I called you Mom sometimes? I mean, I call Walter Dad now, and he doesn't mind…"

"Oh, Nikita…we make up our own roles based on what we need most…" Madeline started to cry.

"Is that a yes?" Nikita asked hopefully.

Madeline could only nod.

Madeline took Nikita by the hand and led her to the room where Michael was. Nikita looked worried. "Maddy, Mom…" she interrupted herself, "what do I say? How can I make this right between him and me now?"

Madeline kissed Nikita on the cheek. "Just as you were testing him earlier, now Michael will want to test you. He won't even realize he's doing it, but he will. He'll push you away, but you must not let him succeed. No matter what he says or does, you must stand fast. Once he realizes that you won't leave him, no matter what, he'll give in…he has to. He loves you."

Nikita bit her lip and pushed open the door.

Michael lay on his stomach now, staring unseeing out the window. The blinds were open, the sunlight streaming through them into the room, but Michael didn't register any of it. He felt Nikita's presence. He knew she was in the room. He kept his head down, hiding his all-too-expressive eyes from her. He wasn't in control, his emotions were floating all too close to the surface. He couldn't protect her. From himself.

Nikita sat on the bed, next to him, her demeanor curiously tentative. "Michael?"

He refused to answer. Afraid of betraying himself. Afraid of unleashing the emotions so carefully held in check.

She leaned on him, her hands splayed across his back, and she could feel the tension in him. Rolling over sharply, he trapped her hands and pulled her into his body, almost startled when she collapsed on top of him. "Why did you come?"

"I love you, Michael."

He winced, his eyes reflecting his inner conflict. He shook his head, ever so slowly. "Madeline sent you."

"She didn't have to, Michael. I would have come on my own. Sooner or later…"

He looked at her longingly, then he remembered what he had resolved. He wouldn't make it easy for her. Not this time.

He dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed. He sat up and removed his shirt. Nikita stared at him, her heart in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing how far you're willing to go."

Nikita lowered her eyes. He was testing her, just as Madeline said. But Madeline hadn't known what form the test might take. She hid a smile as she pressed her face into the mattress. If Michael thought that was going to drive her away, he was sadly mistaken.

He started to unbuckle his pants. Nikita reached out with one hand and touched the buckle, effectively stopping Michael. "You don't have to do this, Michael, to prove a point."

"Yes, I do…you think you're weak, Kita? Let me show you how strong I think you are…"

Michael pushed Nikita down on the bed, grinding his mouth against hers. His touch so abrasive at first, but softening within moments of contact. He tried to punish her with kisses, sensual, open-mouthed kisses, but it was futile. He felt breathless from trying.

"This isn't working," he said, frustrated. He raked his hands through his hair in an effort to displace some of his inner agitation. "I can't hurt you, Kita, at least, not deliberately…"

"I know." She pulled him back down to her, and he resisted for long moments. When he suddenly gave in, Nikita knew it was over. The testing. It hadn't taken nearly as much effort as she thought. Maybe because they both wanted it over so badly.

He was sure he was crushing her, but the truth was, she welcomed his familiar weight upon her. He lay his head against her heart and settled there. She entangled her fingers in his hair, so silky and fine, despite its tendency to curl. He sighed contentedly.

"If you really wanted to get rid of me, doucette, all you have to do is stop loving me."

"Oh, is that all?" Nikita laughed softly, knowing it would never happen.

"And even then, Kita, there are no guarantees…I might just stick around anyway."

"You think so?" She kissed the top of his head, feeling like she had come home again. She was whole again, the other half of her restored.

He nodded, rubbing his face against her chest. "For the next twenty years or so, so I can see the kids grow up."

"And then you'll make your move?"

He smiled and he was so close to her, she felt the muscles in his face move. "Well…by then, we might be so used to each other, no one else will have us."

Nikita laughed wholeheartedly.

On the other side of the door, Madeline relaxed at last. Eavesdropping was a very useful talent sometimes.

Nikita lay on her stomach, idly playing with Michael's hair. He was half-asleep, exhausted from their emotional exertions, but struggling to stay awake. "Michael?"

"Hmm?" he murmured.

She kissed the back of his neck, the way he did to her so often. Grasping his shoulders firmly under her hands, she proceeded to massage them, feeling the tension knotted there. "How does that feel?"

"Mmm…good."

"You know what? I think Dad likes Miranda."

Michael mumbled a sound, half-swallowed by the bed covers, that sounded something like "umph". He managed to open his eyes finally, then turned over onto his back. "What was your first clue?" he said, amused that it took her so long to enter matchmaker mode.

"Mi-chael…we have to find a way for them to spend some time together."

That woke him up a bit more. "Well, you can't have any more relapses today, Kita. I'm all tired out."

She sighed in exasperation and flung herself onto her back beside him. "Do I have to spend all day long recuperating?"

"If you have that much energy, you can go rescue poor Declan. He looked like he was about to go under for the third time when Fee hit his shin with her stuffed elephant."

"Oh, come on, Declan doesn't need rescuing any more than you do, Michael." Nikita dismissed the idea without another thought.

"Speaking of rescues…" Nikita whispered into Michael's ear. "Where is Zero?"

Michael groaned. "When last seen…Zero was trying to nip Josephine, and Josie was showing Zero why she has seniority."

Her face suddenly broken by a mischievous grin, Nikita said, "Do you think cats and dogs can get along, Michael? Or is it inevitable that they fight?"

"Are you comparing Walter to a dog, my Kita? I would not even attempt to go there, not to his face. I don't think he'd accept that, even from you." Michael stroked Nikita's eyebrow until her eyes closed, but he didn't hold out much hope that she would sleep, she was too wound up.

"Well…Walter is a bit like an enthusiastic puppy, and Miranda is sorta like this elegant little cat…and I can see the two of them…"

"You don't think elegance and enthusiasm mix, doucette?" Michael said, his lips replacing his fingers, to give her eyebrow a gentle kiss.

"Mmm…" she purred, content to be in Michael's good graces again.

"I wasn't describing us, Michael."

"I know." Michael smiled, though Nikita could not see it. She continued to sink a little deeper into the half-asleep, half-roused state Michael had engendered with his soft caresses and gentle kisses.

"Well…maybe just a little…" Nikita admitted.

"Anyway, Walter can get his own dates, Kita. Trust me. The man does not need any help in that department."

"O-kay, Mi-chael…" Nikita answered, just before she finally lost the battle with sleep. Michael leaned over and kissed her temple, his lips lingering lovingly.

"Sleep, doucette," he whispered.

The man in question was indeed interested in Miranda. But, in an uncharacteristic show of insecurity, Walter wasn't sure how to approach Miranda. He sensed that Miranda might be special, and that knowledge made him apprehensive. What if she decided to leave, now that Nikita was feeling better? What if he never saw her again?

Miranda gathered her things, replacing some of the items in her medical bag, storing others in her large tote, which doubled as a purse. The size of the tote dwarfed her, making her look even more petite than before.

Walter watched silently, wondering what he could say. Miranda suddenly looked directly at him, her hazel eyes warm and soft on his face. "You know how to reach me?" she asked, aware that he would necessarily be worried about his daughter.

"Um…no." Walter held out a slim hope that she would somehow read his mind, for he was behaving more and more like an inexperienced boy with his first date.

Miranda smiled, and Walter's heart caught fire. He almost reeled from the discovery that she could do that to him. Only one other woman with a soft, sweet smile had ever had that effect upon him. Belinda. He hoped he was not betraying her memory by contemplating dating Miranda.

"If you call Neil, he knows where I can be reached. If Nikita needs me again, I would be happy to come back sometime." That was odd. It was most unlike Miranda to feel so unsure of herself. She was used to giving directives and acting on her own initiative. But something made her hesitant to do so with Walter. She didn't want him to take it the wrong way.

Walter stared at her silently, willing her not to go. She felt the intensity of his gaze on her and looked away. "I have to go now."

Walter nodded. Suddenly Declan came out of the kitchen, followed by two mischievous imps who were apparently making the most out of just having learned how to walk. Fee teetered precariously after Declan, fascinated by his long red hair, but unable to reach it. Meanwhile, Chris walked more steadily towards Walter, holding out his arms to the older man.

"Up!" Chris said to Walter, obviously wanting to be picked up.

Walter picked up Chris and pitied Declan, who seemed to be besieged by the little ones today. "Walter," Declan said in a tortured voice, like a man driven to the edge of his patience. "I need a break. Please."

Walter glanced at Miranda, who seemed to be waiting for something. "Sure, Declan. I'll keep Chris with me for a while. How's that?"

Declan nodded. "That would be great, but it's his sister who's tormenting me. She keeps using my legs for target practice. I'm black and blue."

Miranda hid a smile. "Nikita will be up and about very soon, I'm sure that will help, Declan."

Declan smiled weakly. "I hope there's still something left of me to help by then, ma'am."

"Please, call me Miranda." The older woman smiled warmly.

Declan shook his head. "Wouldn't be polite."

Miranda laughed. "I don't mind, honestly. Besides…" She glanced significantly at Walter, who still seemed quite tongue-tied. "I might be coming back here soon…for one reason or another."

Walter smiled brightly at Miranda, as he continued to hold Chris, and Miranda smiled back. They were making progress. She liked a man who could laugh and who could make her laugh. To her, that was far more valuable than someone who could rouse her to great passion. As far as she was concerned, passion was highly overrated. Though, from what she had seen so far, Michael and Nikita seemed both passionate as well as affectionate with each other. So perhaps the two were not mutually exclusive.

After Miranda left, Walter seemed almost morose. He meandered around the big old house as if he had lost his way. Eventually, he ran right into Birkoff. "Hey, Seymour."

Birkoff nodded absently, concentrating on some problem Michael had given him to figure out. His fingers flew across his laptop, and suddenly he stopped, a brilliant smile creasing his young face. "That's it! Thanks, Walter!"

Walter shrugged. Birkoff looked happy. Happier than he'd ever been. Suddenly Walter thought, how important is it that I ask Miranda to go out with me? I have family here, I have things to do, I have a life. But his breath caught in his throat when he thought of Miranda's soft smile. Maybe it was more important than he let on.

Nikita took pity on Declan late in the afternoon and decided to take Fee for a walk around the yard. She put the tiny girl on her feet, and Fee walked unsteadily towards her mother, wrapping her arms around Nikita's legs, though whether for balance or for comfort, Nikita didn't know. She seldom had enough time to stop and reflect about what life was like now, but she did now.

Things were undeniably different now that their lives were filled with the children. Nikita never dreamed that she would be so lucky as to have Michael and his children, but she did. Maybe she was a little bit afraid to think about it, for fear that a jealous God would take them away from her. He took Adam away from Michael. Maybe she was afraid that her children would suffer the same fate. But things had been racing forward at such a breakneck pace for so long, anything slowing them down would seem like an obstacle.

She tried not to think about Adam. Now that she was a mother herself, she understood Michael's pain at Adam's loss in a completely different way from before. Yes, she had compassion and empathy, and she did understand how he felt, in both an intellectual and an emotional way. But now that she had Fee and Chris, she could not conceive of a circumstance where they would be ripped away from her and she would not grieve. Michael's initial difficulty in grieving for Adam was made so much more poignant to her. How dare anyone tell him to simply "get over it." Was that even ever possible?

Fee demanded her mother's attention. She punched Nikita's knee, and Nikita winced, wondering how Declan had put up with her shenanigans for so long without protesting more loudly. "Mom-mom…" Fee yelled in her tiny voice.

Nikita's ears picked up at that. Suddenly, Fee was calling Nikita "Mom-mom" instead of "Ma-ma". The difference in syllables aside, Nikita pondered why Fee made the change. Perhaps Michael's influence? "Fee, my darling girl," Nikita said softly, "is Daddy teaching you French behind Mommy's back?"

Fee regarded her mother with something akin to suspicion. She stuck her entire fist into her mouth, and when she finally removed it, her hand was wet with baby drool. "Mom-mom," she repeated.

"Maman?" Nikita inquired.

Fee blinked sleepily, her grey-green eyes looking so much like Michael's. "Mom-mom."

Nikita nodded. That must be it. Michael was teaching her daughter to speak French. Abruptly realizing just how much of himself Michael must be investing in his children, Nikita felt close to tears. He was committing to them in ways she didn't even know about. Just when she thought she could not possibly love him any more than she did, she did.

Birkoff collected Zero, who was attempting to chase Josephine around the yard, and held the fluffy black and white puppy in his arms. He enjoyed talking to Zero. Sometimes he would confide his innermost thoughts and feelings to him. Birkoff thought Zero was very wise for a puppy, and a mutt at that. No matter what he said, Zero would slurp at Birkoff's chin and kiss his face, never nipping at him with those sharp puppy teeth, like he did to Josephine, who he apparently considered something of a threat.

In his travels, Birkoff came upon Nikita and Fee, who were still playing in the grass at the back of the house. Birkoff sat down next to them with the puppy between his legs, and Fee immediately wanted to crawl over to investigate.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Nikita asked Birkoff, "Do you ever think about Section?"

At first, Birkoff looked startled, but he finally answered. "Heck, yeah, all the time. Don't you?"

Nikita took a moment to respond, her face somewhat hidden by a fall of pale blonde hair. "I do, but I didn't think anyone else did."

Nikita's admission stirred something inside Birkoff. "I dream about it sometimes. And I wake up…and my heart's pounding…and sometimes, I'm even…crying…cause I'm so scared." Birkoff looked down at the puppy, who was graciously allowing Fee to pull his tail.

"Then I remember where I am… and Declan is there…and he never asks me what I dreamed about. He just holds me till I stop shaking."

Nikita studied Birkoff for a long moment. "Does Declan dream, Birkoff?"

Birkoff shuddered. "He won't tell me about them. He says I'm better off not knowing. But I think they must be real bad, Nikita, because sometimes…he whimpers in his sleep…and I wish I could protect him the same way he protects me, y'know?"

Nikita looked thoughtful, smiling at the picture her daughter made with Birkoff and the Christmas puppy. "You look happy, Seymour. Does he treat you well?"

Birkoff blushed, and Nikita could only wonder what Birkoff imagined she was asking. "I am happy, Nikita. He's the best thing that ever happened to me…except of course, for being with you guys," he stammered.

"I'm glad."

Nikita reached out for her daughter, as if to reassure her that she was there. Her expression more readable now, Birkoff could see that Nikita was vaguely worried about something. "Do you think there's any chance that Operations survived Maddy shooting him, Birkoff?"

Birkoff never hesitated, answering emphatically, "No." He laughed softly almost to himself. "If I thought that, Nikita, I wouldn't be sitting here playing with Zero and talking baby talk to Fee. I'd be finding a new place to hide and the first thing I'd do is get behind Declan."

Nikita blinked. "Then you're convinced Declan can protect you?"

Birkoff almost sputtered out, "Of course!", too polite to do more than imply that was a foolish question. "Declan will protect all of us, Nikita. Him and Michael both."

He sighed, his hands moving restlessly against each other. "We may not have the security of Section here, but we've got two of their best field ops right here. That's gotta count for something."

Nikita snorted at Birkoff's count of two, questioning why he left her out. "What about me?"

"Well, I'm not counting you, Nikita, but not because you're not a damn good field op. You are. You know you are. Together, you and Michael were almost unbeatable, even unstoppable. That's undoubtedly what made the two of you appear right at the top of Operations' hit list."

"But…" Birkoff leaned forward and put his hand on Nikita's arm. "…we're not your priority now. You've got kids you have to protect. You can't be distracted by worrying about the rest of us. If it came right down to it, we'd expect you to save the kids and run and to hell with the rest of us!"

Nikita gasped. "You think I would leave the rest of you like that, Birkoff?"

"You'd have no choice, Nikita." Birkoff's face looked different to Nikita, more reflective, more mature. Showing more insight than ever before, Birkoff asked Nikita softly, "If you had to choose between saving Fee and saving me, who would you choose?"

Nikita backed away from Birkoff, her hands waving as if to deny what he said. "Oh, Birkoff, that's not fair."

Birkoff stared at Nikita, his chocolate brown eyes dead serious. "Life isn't fair. Michael would expect you to save the kids, Nikita. He has to protect all of us, but he can't be worrying that the kids are at risk. First thing he'd do is send you away and he'd make sure you took the kids with you."

Birkoff seemed so certain, Nikita finally accepted that there was no real risk to their lives right now. Otherwise, according to Birkoff, Michael would have sent her somewhere safe with the kids. It was what he'd told her. "If I didn't believe we were safe here, we wouldn't be here, Kita."

She felt terrible for putting Michael through the hellish ordeal of that morning. Even though they had reconciled their differences, Nikita suddenly realized that she owed Michael a very big apology for misjudging him. How could it be that the others could sometimes see things so much more clearly than she could?

She didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until Birkoff answered. "You're more emotional than the rest of us, Nikita."

She started to protest, but Birkoff said, "No, no, it's not always a bad thing. It's what makes you…you. You're the heart of this family. You are, Nikita."

He shaded his eyes against the still-bright afternoon sun. "I don't know if I ever told you how I feel before, Nikita, but you're the reason I'm not still at Section."

"I volunteered to be on that mission because I knew Michael needed someone good to do tactical. It was such a dangerous mission…and I wanted you to survive. Both of you."

Birkoff looked back at Nikita, and once again, she was struck by the new depth and maturity in his eyes. "Because there's always been something about the way you two care for each other, and now for us…it's different from anything else I've ever experienced. And this might sound dumb, Nikita, but…you were, like, my hope…and you kept us alive…and…" Birkoff began to cry, very softly.

"I just really love you, Nikita."

Nikita hugged Birkoff, and she could feel Fee's curious eyes upon them when they stayed like that for several moments. Wiping a tear from her own eyes, Nikita quickly kissed Birkoff on the cheek.

Fee, tired of being ignored by the grown-ups, as well as the sleeping puppy, looked up at Birkoff and suddenly grabbed his ponytail, yelling excitedly, "Buh-Buh", clearly meaning Birkoff.

Nikita laughed, as the rest of the tears traced their way down her cheeks. But now they were happy tears. Tears of laughter. Tears of friendship.