Title:  The Keeping of Secrets

Author:  Silk

Fandom:  La Femme Nikita

Pairing:  Michael/Davenport

Rating:  PG

Email address: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Date:  5/15/01

Webpage:  www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Disclaimer: Michael and Davenport belong to LFN Productions, Fireworks
Entertainment, Warner Bros, and USA Network. All of whom are not me. Still
not making any money off these things. Haven't given up writing 'em, though.

Series: This is a sequel to For Your Eyes Only. This is Part 7 of  the In
Command series.

Warnings:  Set at the end of Season 3/beginning of Season 4 for those who
need to be aware of spoilers.  No sex in this one, just angst as well as the
presence of Nikita.

Summary:  Michael realizes that he wants to accept what Davenport has to
offer. But is it too late?

This is for Gail, Kathy and Elaine, who wanted more. But most of all, it's
for Tinn, my most excellent Muse.

*****

The Keeping of Secrets

By Silk

Michael rounded the corner, his head down. He was unaccustomed to being distracted. Preoccupation was for people who didn't have long to live.

Narrowly averting a collision with an outgoing field operative, he flushed uncharacteristically. He had to stop thinking about Davenport. What kind of naïve fool was he to believe vows uttered in the throes of passion?

He stopped stock-still in the middle of the corridor, feeling the shoulders of those with urgent business elsewhere brush by him without giving him a second glance. Slowly tracing his lips with his fingers, he thought, he said he loves me.

No one had ever told him that. Not even Nikita. And now that her memory of loving him was gone, she never would. Maybe Davenport was right. Maybe it was time to let her go. Things had never been equal between them, Michael always assuming the position of superiority.

That was one of the things he liked about being with Davenport. Though he was technically senior to Davenport, their relationship, if he could generously call two or three exhilarating acts of sex a relationship, was more balanced than what he once shared with Nikita.

Belatedly realizing that he was outside his office, he quickly ducked inside and sat down at his desk, intending to glance over the profile for his upcoming mission. A peremptory rap on the open door caught his attention. Damn. It was Nikita.

Though it pained him to admit it, he acknowledged that it was difficult to be around Nikita now. It wasn't so much that he felt as though he were cheating on her, but that he found her thoroughly unlikable.

"Michael," she said by way of greeting. Draping herself across his desk, she strove for a casual look, one that bespoke interest, not scrutiny. Pasting a superficial smile on her face, she said, "Haven't seen much of you lately. How are you?"

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew she couldn't read his mind. But it was moments like these that he was grateful for his long years of experience and training. Her ability to get into his head was uncanny, even spooky.

"I'm fine," he replied tersely, his tone making it clear that he was *not* inviting her to stay and talk.

"I was just wondering-"

"Can it wait?" he snapped. "I'm in the middle of something."

Her eyebrows rose a notch or two. "Oh? What is it? Maybe I can help."

He abandoned all hopes of *not* being interrogated. Gritting his teeth, he managed a polite "Thank you, but no," before resuming his apparent perusal of the panel before him.

"Michael...this is me. What's wrong?"

If he didn't know better, he would have taken her concern at face value. "Wrong? What could be wrong?" he said almost absently. But inside he was shaking, tremors so fine as to be invisible. What if she guessed? What if she *knew*? What if she went after Davenport?

Now that Nikita no longer suffered the apparently unwelcome intrusion of unwanted emotions, she was dangerous. To him, of course. But he wasn't worried about himself. In a sudden flash of insight, he realized that he had transferred all of those protective feelings he once harbored for Nikita-to Davenport.

That shocked him. Somewhere along the way, he had accepted the love that Davenport offered. More than accepted. Embraced it for what it was. And in so doing, he had switched allegiances.

His mouth went dry. Trying desperately not to betray what he was feeling, he licked his lips, his tongue slipping between his teeth to moisten the improbably arid skin.

Nikita mistook it for invitation.

She leaned forward, bracing herself on her elbows, her intent clearly to kiss him. His heart fluttered in his chest. As his pupils dilated, in fear as opposed to excitement, he realized what she planned to do.

He mistakenly thought he could be indifferent to her. But he couldn't. He dreaded the moment that her lips would touch his. His breath coming faster and harsher, he knew that she thought he still desired her.

But he didn't. He wanted Davenport. Now more than any other time, he knew that for fact.

What would Davenport say if he knew? Would he think Michael weak? Would he think Michael willingly betrayed him? The consequences of a simple kiss filled him with trepidation.

Would Davenport withdraw from him, leave him alone again, helpless to penetrate the shell that constricted his emotions? "Please...," he whispered, his eyes almost black with pain.

She smiled and swooped down upon him, her mouth fastening onto his like a bird of prey seizing its next meal. It was all he could do not to bolt from his chair.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

They broke apart, their faces flushed and guilty. Nikita swiveled around to face the intruder. Moments later, she smirked triumphantly. "Oh, it's you, Davenport."

Michael stopped breathing. The sight of his lover's face transfixed him. He stared at Davenport with wounded eyes. Not my fault, he tried to say without speaking.

Davenport's dark eyes flickered with shadows of some unidentified emotion. "I didn't mean to interrupt." That's what he said. But it wasn't what he meant. His heart ached. The pull of Nikita was evidently still too strong for Michael to resist.

"Was there something you needed?" Nikita asked, oblivious to the silent entreaty waged by Michael behind her back.

"No," Davenport said finally, crushing Michael's hopes. "There's nothing here that I need."

Michael closed his eyes and wished he could cry.

End