"Jesus, Em, we're not ready for this yet."

Emmy trailed her long, well-shaped fingers down the length of his dick. When she approached the tip, it twitched against the pad of her finger. "Part of you disagrees."

"That's not the part I think with."

"Maybe you should reconsider."

Chris almost hit his head trying to jerk away from the feel of her fingers on him. It felt too good. It felt like…more. "You want your first time to be in the fucking woods?"

Emmy smiled enigmatically and suddenly Chris had a vision himself, of all the surrounding trees bowing and nodding their approval. "I don't have any condoms," he added lamely.

"Well, this must be your lucky day."

"You brought some?" he asked weakly.

"Nope. I've got something better."

"Huh?"

Emmy pulled her T-shirt over her head, her bra still clinging to her breasts. She slipped the bra straps over her shoulders and dropped the bra next to her. Emmy ran her hands over her nipples, moaning as she pinched each one.

"Em, you're not helping."

She reached for one of his hands and sucked his fingers into her mouth. Chris groaned as the sensation went straight to his dick. When his fingers were thoroughly wet, Emmy rubbed them against her naked breast.

"Oh, God, is this a test or something? Cause I'm definitely flunking."

She shook her head slightly. "I have a secret. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Yes," he said, his voice cracking.

"We don't need a condom."

"Ummm…why?"

"I've been on the pill for three months."

"Soleil! I thought you were a virgin!"

"I am."

"Then what are you doing on the pill?"

"Waiting for you."

Chris didn't want to hear another word. What further proof did he need of her complete and utter devotion to *him*? He pulled Emmy into his arms and kissed her, nudging her lips apart with his tongue.

"I want you so bad," he breathed against her mouth.

"Then do something about it," she replied in between fervent kisses.

He pulled her hair out of its upswept ponytail, watching in awe as it cascaded around her shoulders. Emmy stood up and unsnapped her jeans, slowly sliding them down over her hips and off her legs. Now she was naked except for a pair of white silk panties. In a fiercely romantic gesture that Emmy would remember for the rest of her life, Chris ripped the side seam, allowing the soft material to flutter to the ground at her feet.

Rising to a kneeling position, Chris proceeded to take off the rest of his clothing. "What? You're not going to stop to fold everything neatly?" she chuckled.

In answer, Chris hooked his arms behind her knees and brought her down in one smooth motion. After seating her on his lap again, Chris wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands clasped at the small of her back. He traced a finger between her breasts, suddenly aware that he had been fairly close to losing control for several minutes…and nothing bad had happened.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he said.

Emmy merely shook her head. "You won't."

"Things could get a little…rough," he added, again fingering the space between her breasts.

"If they don't…" she whispered hotly, "…I'm holding you personally responsible."

He regarded her silently, his expression as inscrutable as his father's infamous blank stare. Then he lifted her up by her hips and slowly lowered her onto his rigid length. She gazed back at him with such a look of utter trust that he nearly faltered when he met resistance.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes," she whispered, placing her hands over his.

She threw her head back and offered her neck. He suckled there, raising a magnficent welt that would mark her as his. He pushed harder, sliding in a little deeper, and she sighed.

His hips jerked spasmodically and he was finally in all the way. He panted, tiny beads of sweat falling on her pale skin. She smiled and lowered herself to the ground. He knelt between her legs, his cock buried to the hilt, and waited for her to adjust to being filled.

But she reached for him, her arms instinctively winding around his neck, pulling him deeper. He bent his head to her breast and licked the sharp peak he found there. Then suddenly he was moving, they were one astonishing undulation, both unison and counterpoint.

He groaned and spilled his seed inside her, and she came apart under him, the miniscule tremors of her inner muscles tickling his cock like fingers of electricity. With one last sigh, he collapsed atop her, his face buried in her hair. "Je t'aime, Soleil," he exhaled her name with a breath.

"Mmm," Emmy purred agreeably. "Me…too…"

Suddenly she opened her eyes and peeked at him curiously. "Umm…did you know you have leaves in your hair?"

"Umm…" he returned with a faint grin, "would you believe I don't care?"

Michael stared at the paper in front of him. He was almost done reading the last of the term papers submitted. Usually he left most of the grading to his T.A., but when things at home became tense or chaotic, he sometimes sought relief in the mundane task. It made him poignantly aware of the new life he shared with Nikita. It was so…normal.

He leaned back in his leather recliner and closed his eyes, listening to the routine sounds of his family getting ready for dinner. Sometimes this was truly all he needed to feel at peace. It went a long way towards quieting the demons that still lay buried deep inside.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck from behind. His reflexes barely touched by the time he'd spent out of Section, Michael spun around and caught the unwary intruder on his lap. "Kita!"

Nikita threw her head back and laughed. "Remind me not to sneak up on you next time."

"You're allowed." He ran his hands down her back, instantly registering that she wasn't wearing a bra. Nikita snuggled closer and kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, savoring the feel of the increased throb of his pulse there.

"You seemed deep in thought."

"I was."

"I don't want to disturb you—"

Michael thrust his fingers into her pale hair and held her head fast for a thorough exploration of her mouth. When he finally came up for air, he said, "You always disturb me. I think you always have."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked breathlessly.

Michael nodded. "I'm not sure I know any other way to explain the effect you have on me. Sometimes…it's like the wind ruffling my hair. Sometimes…it's like the sun coming out from behind a cloud to bathe me in its light. It's always different. But it's always good."

"You learned a few new words at work, didn't you, Michael?" Nikita said, an impish smile quirking the corner of her lips.

"Nothing that does you justice," he whispered, suddenly overcome by feelings whose intensity never faded.

He pulled her close until their mouths met again. He felt helplessly inarticulate when it came to telling Nikita what was in his heart. But this was something that never failed him. They were two halves of one spirit, constantly seeking to become whole. His hands moved restlessly through the hair at her nape, pushing it aside to expose the pale skin beneath.

His mouth brushed against her neck, the tip of his tongue flicking out as if to taste her. She sighed happily and flopped comfortably into his lap like a favorite rag doll who's been loved until she starts to lose her stuffing. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes again. He had everything he needed right here.

"Mom?"

Nikita stirred sleepily in her husband's embrace, surprised that Michael hadn't woken first. "Chris?"

"I need to tell you something."

Nikita sat up, inadvertently dislodging Michael's arms from around her waist. "What is it?"

"I—" Chris opened his mouth, then closed it a few seconds later. "Are we going to have dinner soon?"

Nikita nodded. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I think…something's burning."

"Oh, damn!" Nikita levered herself out of Michael's lap and stood unsteadily. "Now we'll have to order out. I don't have anything else in the house."

"Why don't we go out?"

"Out?" Michael asked, peering curiously at his son.

"Yeah, like a restaurant."

"Why?"

"Um…no reason. Well, maybe a little. To, like, celebrate."

"Celebrate what? You haven't graduated yet," Nikita pointed out.

"Well, I just—"

Michael's eyes narrowed as he took in his son's disheveled appearance. "Do you know you have leaves in your hair?"

Chris looked alarmed. He raked a hand through his hair anxiously and said, "Oh, no, I thought I got them all."

"There were more? What were you doing? Rolling around in the woods?" Nikita chuckled. Suddenly her face sobered. "Oh, my. You were, weren't you?"

Chris blushed and thanked God that Emmy wasn't there to witness his complete humiliation. "It wasn't exactly like that—"

Michael stared at Chris blankly. "Why don't you tell us how it was? Exactly?"

"You don't *really* want to know, do you?" he asked, hoping against hope that it was true.

"What do you think?"

Chris raised his head up, his chin jutting out determinedly. "Emmy had a vision. We were looking for the place in her vision."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

Chris' eyes, so like his mother's, met Michael's. Michael gave his son credit. He refused to look away or flinch from his relentless scrutiny. "We made love."

"Aren't you getting a little bit ahead of yourselves there? I thought you were going to wait until you got married."

"I was. I—I don't know what happened, Dad, I swear. One minute we were kissing, the next—"

"I get the picture."

"No, you don't. We're in love. It's not like we…got carried away or something."

"Then you planned it?"

"No!"

"Then you *did* get carried away." Michael shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Chris, but—"

"You're disappointed? Why, cause I'm not Adam?"

"This has nothing to do with Adam."

"We're going to get married, Dad."

"Someday."

"Maybe sooner than you think."

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid!" Chris shouted. "I'm not a kid either! I love Emmy and she loves me!"

"I know."

"So we're going to get married."

"When?"

"I don't know. We haven't decided yet." Something about Chris' uneasy look gave Michael pause.

"You mean you haven't asked her yet."

"What difference does it make?"

"A lot."

"You think she's going to turn me down? Jesus, Dad!"

"I think…we should go out to dinner like you suggested. We need to talk."

"Can Emmy come?"

"That would probably complicate things."

"You're going to forbid me to marry her, aren't you? Aren't you? You let Adam move into his own place when *he* graduated! And now he and Jazz are living together! How is that different?"

"For one thing, Jazz didn't move in until this year. After he graduated. For another, Adam isn't married to Jazz."

"Only because it isn't legal."

"True. But the fact remains that Jazz can't get pregnant. Emmy can."

"You think we don't know what we're doing?"

"I think you're letting yourself be ruled by your emotions, Chris, and that's not like you."

"Maybe you're right." Chris' shoulders slumped and Michael could read defeat in every line of his body.

"You need to think about this a lot more. Now why don't you make the reservations for us?"

"Okay."

Chris walked out of Michael's study and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Chris needed to slow down. As much as Michael was convinced that Chris and Emmy belonged together, he didn't want either of them to rush into something they might regret later.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to face his wife. "Doucette, he's so young."

"Not so young that he doesn't know what he's feeling, Michael. He's going to marry her."

"Eventually."

"Unless you just pushed him into trying to prove something."

"He wouldn't."

"If you ask me, he's in exactly the right mood."

They walked into the kitchen, but no one was there. The stove was turned off, a pot still faintly smoking on its surface. Michael surveyed the area like a man on a mission. The phone was off the hook, the receiver dangling from the long, coiled cord.

Michael picked it up and replaced it carefully. He felt the distinct urge to break something.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Michael asked Nikita.

"He'll think about it, Michael, and come home," she said, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"Emmy's not old enough to get married without parental consent, Kita."

"Would that stop *you*?"

Michael gazed at her in disbelief. "No."

"Michael, where are you going?"

"To find Chris."

"He'll think you don't trust him."

"I don't. Not now. Not where Emmy's concerned."

"Michael…" Nikita rarely felt the need to flex her muscles around Michael, but sometimes it was the only way to reach him. "Give them your blessing and leave them alone. It's going to happen one day anyway. Stop fighting the inevitable."

"But we're already losing Skye," he protested.

"We're not losing *Skye*, Michael, we're making Sasha even *more* a part of this family than he already is. You *understood* how it was with him and Skye. Why are you standing in Chris' way with Emmy?"

A dark look crossed Michael's still handsome visage as the former field operative contemplated how to answer. "I love all our children, doucette," he began with characteristic slowness. "I know I shouldn't have favorites, but…"

"You do. You're only human, Michael. Even if you don't always *act* like one," she said affectionately.

Michael reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn into Nikita's embrace and pressed his face against her breast. "He's in such a hurry to grow up."

Nikita sighed heavily and rested her chin on top of his head. "I know you want to do the right thing. But the right thing for *Michael* isn't necessarily the right thing for *Chris*."

"I'm not ready to let him go yet, Kita."

"If you try to separate him from Emmy, you'll lose him, Michael."

As Michael raised his head, Nikita felt his eyelashes flutter against her neck. "I don't want that."

"I know, love." Nikita kissed his forehead lightly. But Michael was not about to let her get away with such a casual caress. He cupped her chin and kissed her. It was a warm, passionate kiss that resonated through both of them, a reminder, as ever, of the unbreakable bond they shared.

The kiss, in its own way, was a revelation, giving him sudden and infallible insight into his son's seemingly inexplicable behavior. "God, he's so much like me, isn't he?" Michael whispered.

Nikita smiled and stroked the side of Michael's face with her fingertips. "Yes." Her thumb wiped away the tiny bit of moisture that had accumulated at the corner of Michael's left eye. "He's the very best of both of us."

"And no one's ever been able to keep *us* apart," he responded in the same low voice.

"Not even Section," she added, rubbing her cheek against his.

"Then we'll wait for him. Together."

Nikita nodded. "Together."

They were still holding each other when Faith entered the kitchen. With a polite sniff, Faith said, "I was going to ask what's for dinner. But I see you've already burned something."

Nikita glared at Faith, but in reality, she felt anything but angry. She felt curiously at peace with Michael in her arms, but she had a feeling that was about to change. "Are you making fun of my cooking, Fee?"

"Um, no. That would imply you'd actually managed to cook something, Mom."

"You are such a brat. Tell me again why we shouldn't sell you to some gypsies."

"Um…cause I would give them a bad name?" Faith quipped helpfully.

Against her better judgment, Nikita chuckled. She shouldn't encourage Faith. Faith really was quite incorrigible. But that was part of her charm.

"Anyway, thank God for brothers. Let me know when the pizza gets here."

"Excuse me?" Nikita asked with a puzzled look.

"What did you say?" Michael queried.

"Pizza. You know, the thing with tomato sauce and cheese and—"

"I know what pizza is, Fee. What did you mean about your brother?"

"Just that I saw Chris on his way out. He said he was going to get pizza." Faith narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her parents carefully. "Why? Is he in trouble?"

"Not yet," Michael muttered under his breath. Nikita jostled him with her elbow.

"We were just wondering when he'd be back, that's all."

"Well, I figure he's going to take his time, y'know?"

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Cause he had Emmy with him. You know how long he could be gone when she's involved."

Michael gave his wife an enigmatic look, but Nikita could read him as well as if he'd spoken.

"I told you so" translated fairly well into almost any language.

"Are you okay, Dad? You look funny."

Michael forced himself to smile through clenched teeth. "No, I'm fine. Did Chris say where he was going for pizza?"

Faith shrugged her shoulders expressively. "Same place we always go to, I guess. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"It's okay, Faith. We're just…hungry," Nikita explained, squeezing her husband's hand tightly.

"Then I hope he gets back soon."

"So do we."

"I can't believe he did this without talking to us first," Michael said, his underlying anxiety making his customary terseness sound like anger.

"After the way we reacted?" Nikita looked askance at him.

"After the way *I* reacted, you mean. This is my fault."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Dad, it's just pizza. I don't know why you're so upset about it."

"Never mind, Fee. You shouldn't be listening to other people's conversations anyway."

"Oh, right. Like it's hard to turn off my super hearing when I'm standing, like, right next to you guys. But I'll try."

An hour passed without any word. Michael grew more and more tense, shaking off Nikita's well-intentioned touch with a brusque gesture. "I can't stand this any more, doucette. I have to go out."

"And do what?"

"I don't know." Michael raked his hands through his hair, thoroughly mussing it. "But I have to do something."

"About what?" Chris asked his father, peering around the two pizza boxes he was carrying.

Michael blinked. He struggled to maintain a blank stare, but for once in his life, control totally eluded him. "You're back."

"Yeah. I was going to call for reservations, but Emmy reminded me that it's the weekend. The restaurants are packed. So I decided to get pizza. But the line was right out the door. That's why it took so long."

"Oh." Michael couldn't think of a single other thing to say. Nikita nudged him.

"I thought maybe you…and Emmy…"

"Dad! You told me to think about what you said."

"So I did."

"I know you said you wanted to talk to me without Emmy being there. But…this concerns *both* of us, Dad."

Michael nodded dazedly. His son hadn't taken off for parts unknown, never to be seen or heard from again. He'd just…gone for pizza.

Faith looked from her brother to her father and back again. "Okay, something seriously weird is going on. What is it?"

"It's none of your business, Fee," Chris said quietly.

"Gee, thanks," Faith said sarcastically. "What do *you* have to keep such a big secret about anyway?"

Chris stared back at Faith, his light blue eyes suddenly glinting dangerously. It was an expression Nikita was all too familiar with and she stepped forward to intervene.

But Emmy got there first. "Back off, Fee. It's personal."

"And you can't tell *me*?" Faith whined.

"It has nothing to do with you," Emmy continued, looking like the fierce Celtic princess she often resembled.

Michael watched the interaction between his daughter and his would-be daughter-in-law with avid interest and more than a little sense of deja vu. He turned to Nikita and said, "My God, she reminds me of you."

Nikita grinned. "I knew there was a reason I liked her."

Dinner passed in companionable silence with occasional curious glances from Michael to Nikita, as if to say, I don't know what happened, do you? Michael helped Nikita clear the table and entered the kitchen, using the fact that they were alone to ask, "He's being very mature about the whole thing, isn't he?"

"Yes. Are you surprised? He's your son, after all."

"But I would never have handled it this well."

Nikita frowned in concentration. "True. You wouldn't give up this easily."

Michael stared at his wife. "And neither would he."

Nikita nodded. "I hate to say it, Michael, but I think we've just been played."

"That's not like Chris. He doesn't lie or manipulate. He has a strong sense of honor."

"So do you, Michael. But that never stopped you from lying to or manipulating *me*," Nikita said without a trace of bitterness. The past was past. It would stay there.

"But he wouldn't."

"Desperate situations make for desperate people."

"What do you think he'll do?"

Nikita gave Michael a long, considering look. "What makes you think he hasn't done something already?"

"But he hasn't outright lied to us," Michael pointed out.

Nikita shook her head. "You just haven't asked him the right question yet."

"So…" Michael folded his hands in front of him and contemplated the two serious young faces before him. "You're thinking about getting married."

Michael couldn't believe how matter-of-fact he sounded when nothing could be further from the truth. it was sheer torture to wait for Chris to answer, but in reality, the 17-year-old didn't even hesitate.

"We were."

"Were? You're not thinking about it anymore?"

Chris' face took on a somber expression, but he never lost eye contact with his father. "No."

"Why?"

Chris smiled faintly, his body language somehow tense and relaxed at the same time. Again, Michael was struck with a sense of having intimate knowledge of that pose, and it was an artful pose, despite the apparent casualness of the position. "You gave me a lot to think about, Dad."

"Then you agree that getting married right now would be a mistake?"

"What can I say, Dad? I'm sure you're right."

"You are?" Michael wanted to believe his son, but he recalled Nikita's feeling that they were being adeptly manipulated. He trusted her instincts. Sometimes they were even better than his.

"We know we'll be together eventually." As if in response to what Chris was saying, Emmy reached over and clasped Chris' hand.

It was almost frightening how well they played off each other. Michael could swear they both came by it naturally. It really wasn't something that could be taught.

"What made you change your mind?"

Chris squeezed Emmy's hand and chuckled softly. "She did."

Michael studied the 16-year-old girl for a few moments. "You don't mind putting off the wedding for a couple of years or more?"

"Well…it's always hard to wait for something you *really* want with all your heart," Emmy replied, never taking her eyes off Chris' face.

"I'm glad you're both being so reasonable," Michael said, tapping his fingers on the kitchen table. It was unusual for Michael to show his hand this way. Chris found his father's anxiety endearing, but slightly unnerving just the same.

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll be okay."

"As long as you have each other," Michael said, evidently surprising his son by completing his thought.

"Yeah." Chris smiled, but this time, it was the genuine article, the smile reaching his eyes and warming them, gentling his entire face. "That's really how it is."

Michael nodded thoughtfully. Chris and Emmy were too calm. His natural suspicions aroused, Michael couldn't help but think that he was missing a piece of the bigger picture. But he had no proof.

Yet.

"Are we done, Dad?"

"For now."

Chris stood up, still holding Emmy's hand. "Good night, Dad."

Michael gave Chris an enigmatic look. "You're not going out, are you?"

"No, I'm just going to walk Emmy upstairs."

"I see."

Chris slid an arm around Emmy's shoulders, his fingers possessively tracing a random pattern on her upper arm. "It might take a while."

Michael didn't so much as blink. "I won't wait up then."

Chris seemed almost amused by his father's reaction. "We're just going to say good night to each other, Dad."

"Of course."

Michael sat there until he heard the front door close softly behind them. His life was getting a little complicated again.

A mysterious smile curved Michael's lips. God knew how much he liked it when things got…interesting.

End