Walter noticed Nikita’s drawn face when he brought the food in, but he deliberately didn’t comment. "Hey, Birkoff, it’s a good thing they left this place so clean, you could eat off the floor. Cause it looks like we’re about to do just that!"

Birkoff laughed. "We got beds, Walter, what else do we need?"

Nikita flushed, then looked at the ground. "I’ll look into getting some furniture tomorrow." She swallowed hard and turned her face into Michael’s chest. Michael stroked her hair, then glanced at the others briefly. "Kita’s a little tired. It’s been a very long day."

Walter picked right up on Michael’s remark. "Yep, it sure has. Why don’t you take some of this up to your room? Your floor’s as good as this one. Hey, Birkoff, don’t eat all the hot sauce. I like that stuff, too, y’know."

Michael bent down to Nikita’s level, but she shook her head without speaking, letting her hair cover her face. "I don’t think we’re all that hungry, but thanks, Walter. We’re going to go upstairs now. You’ll lock up, right?"

Walter nodded. "Absolutely. First thing I did was install deadbolts on all the main doors. Tomorrow I’m going to start putting alarms on the windows."

Birkoff glanced anxiously at Nikita. "Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Nikita?" Michael knew Birkoff meant well, but his over-protective streak was showing. He gave Nikita a gentle push in the direction of the stairs, and turned back to Birkoff. He leaned over Birkoff, making sure that Nikita could not hear him. "She’s a little upset, Birkoff, but it has nothing to do with you, okay? Just let it go."

Birkoff protested, albeit gently, given his previous history with Michael. "Michael, are you sure--?"

Michael put one hand on the back of Birkoff’s neck and squeezed lightly. "Please...just let it go."

Walter gestured at Birkoff, who finally nodded in understanding. Michael turned and left the room, following Nikita upstairs. When he was gone, Walter flailed his hands at Birkoff, "What’s the matter with you? Can’t you take a hint? They want to be alone!"

"But Nikita seemed upset, Walter. Doesn’t that worry you? After the other night?"

"Birkoff, drop it. Michael isn’t beating her, if that’s what you mean. God, for someone with brains, you have absolutely no common sense." Walter scooped food onto a paper plate and started to shovel hot sauce on it in alarming quantities. Birkoff made a face at Walter’s plate. "Eww...you have no taste in food."

Walter glanced both ways before saying anything further. "Look, it’s like this, Birkoff. Sometimes couples have things they want to say to each other without an audience. Capisce?"

Birkoff added duck sauce to the heaping portion of Chicken Lo Mein on his plate, not noticing that his plate was actually fuller than Walter’s. "Like what?"

"Like maybe Nikita is pregnant, fool. Don’t say a word, not one word. I don’t wanna hear that you said word one to either of them. You got me?"

"Gotcha." Birkoff shrugged. "Sheesh, is that all?" He rolled his eyes.

"You better change your attitude, boy, or you ain’t never gonna grow any older. Uncle Walter’s Words of Wisdom."

"Words to live by, thanks, Walter." Birkoff shook his head, wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans. "And use a napkin, kid. You’re such a piece of work."

Walter muttered to himself as Birkoff continued to ignore him.

***

Nikita went into the bathroom alone and obtained the urine sample for the pregnancy test. With shaking hands, she put the drop of urine into the kit. She called Michael, and he pushed the door open very gently, coming to a stop directly behind her. "It’s okay, Kita. I’m here." He braced her shoulders with both hands, then ran his hands down her arms a couple of times. She closed her eyes and leaned back against Michael. He pressed a kiss to her neck, glancing at the sample and his watch.

"How much longer?" she whispered hoarsely.

"About ten seconds." He took a deep breath, then exhaled, trying to clear his body of any tension he might transmit to Nikita. He wished he knew what answer he was praying for. He honestly wasn’t sure.

He held his breath. He couldn’t help it. His watch ticked off the seconds, one by one...the test was negative. "Kita..."

She opened her eyes and looked at Michael, perhaps thinking she would read the answer in his eyes, rather than the test. "What is it?"

He said softly, "It’s negative, doucette."

"Oh, Michael..." Her face crumpled and she went into his arms, as he’d known she would. It was too soon. He told himself, it was too soon, this was for the better. But his heart grieved with hers, because he knew she wanted it to be true, and he wanted whatever she wanted. She cried so quietly, he wouldn’t have known she was there, but for the tears soaking his shirt. "Ssh, pauvre..." He felt the tears in his own eyes, but he refused to let them go, trying to blink them away, though he knew it was futile. He finally settled for closing his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her chest move as she sobbed without sound.

She let him take her into the bedroom, but she could not stop the tears. Perhaps they were tears she had meant to shed earlier, when she had been blaming herself for Michael’s plight. Perhaps not. She felt him pull her T-shirt off. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and she suddenly felt as vulnerable as if she had been standing naked in the street. She crossed her arms over her chest, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Michael, who realized that this was undoubtedly triggering some bad memories Nikita had locked away in adolescence. He sat her gently down on the bed and proceeded to take off her shoes, socks, and jeans. She looked mildly confused, as if she didn’t know where to put her hands now. "Kita, it’s okay. You’re safe here with me."

He felt the tension in her body, and he massaged her shoulders in an effort to break the grim line of her upper body. He stood up and took off his own T-shirt, throwing it into the pile of clothing on the floor. He stepped out of his boots and removed his socks. He would not normally wear anything to bed, nor would Nikita, but in her present state, she looked dangerously fragile. He found her T-shirt and pulled it back over her head. "You can wear this, Kita." He stroked her face, and she hiccuped, her sobs finally ending.

"It’s not fair. I only want someone to love me. It’s all I ever wanted."

His hand stilled on her cheek. He stared at her, his heart in his eyes. "I love you, Kita."

She acted as if she had suddenly noticed he was there with her. "Oh, God, Michael, I love you, too." She lay her head on his shoulder, and fresh tears wet his skin. He bowed his head, burying his face against her neck. She abruptly realized that Michael was crying, too. "I didn’t mean that your love isn’t enough, Michael. Please don’t think that."

"I don’t," he whispered in a low voice. He raised his head painfully slowly and looked at her. She regarded him with reddened eyes. "Michael...you did want it to be true...just a little...didn’t you?" He nodded.

He kissed her so sweetly, she could have no doubt as to the depth of his feelings for her. "Someday...it will be, Kita." He pushed her hair back with trembling fingers.

Michael tenderly placed Nikita under the covers and tucked her in. "Sleep, Kita." She reached out to him, her eyes suddenly anxious. "W-where are you going, Michael? I want you to stay with me."

"I’ll be back, doucette." He stroked her hair gently. "I want to check the locks myself." She smiled weakly. "Thank you for making sure all of us are safe."

He leaned forward and kissed her, and he felt her pulling him closer. "I’m coming back, Kita." He extricated himself from her arms and stood up. He grabbed his T-shirt, wrenching it over his head with one tug. He sat down to put his jeans back on, but he left his feet bare.

He got to the door and turned to look back at her. He wanted to stay and make love to her, but he knew it would feel bittersweet, considering how they both felt right now. He wasn’t deserting her, but he needed to clear his own head.

Michael padded down the stairs softly, and heard Walter and Birkoff’s voices coming from the kitchen. He slid the deadbolt off and slipped out the front door. In a moment, he was sitting on the front steps, where he and Nikita had been earlier. A minute later, Walter checked the locks and found the front door open. He peered outside and saw Michael sitting on the steps, alone.

He sat down next to Michael. From the look on his face, something was clearly bothering him. "Something wrong?"

Michael shook his head, picking up a stone and throwing it as far as he could. "Not wrong...just...I don’t know."

Walter pondered. "That sounds ominous."

Michael shook his head again. "Not ominous, Walter. Just not meant to be."

"Does this have anything to do with Nikita being upset before?" Walter inquired.

Michael nodded. "She...she thought she might be...pregnant." He thought of her lying in bed, waiting for him, and sighed.

Walter made an ‘o’ with his mouth and looked away. He had been right about the secret, but it was not Nikita’s time yet. "And...she’s not?"

"No," Michael said tersely, his voice no more than a sibilant whisper. He grabbed another rock, this one bigger than the first one, and threw it.

"How do you feel about that?" Michael turned to Walter with tortured eyes. "Don’t you mean, how does she feel about that?"

"Nooo," Walter drawled. "I imagine I know pretty much how Sugar feels about it. I asked how you felt."

"Conflicted." Michael ran his hands through his hair until it was completely in disarray.

"You want a child with her?" Walter’s eyes grew serious as they contemplated the younger man’s posture. Michael leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

"Yeah." Michael’s voice was barely audible. "But it’s too soon, Walter. We’ve only been together a month, most of that time apart."

"You need a chance to be alone with her first?"

Michael looked up sharply, nailing the older man with a riveting stare. "How would you know that?"

Walter held both hands up in a submissive gesture. "Hey, hey, I don’t eavesdrop. That’s Birkoff’s problem." He put his arm on Michael’s shoulder and watched as Michael’s eyes followed his arm to his shoulder. "I know people. I know Sugar. I know you. As much as you’ll let anyone know you, anyway."

The older man laughed softly. "You’ve got good instincts, Michael. You may not be a ‘people person’, but you know what Nikita needs. Right now, she needs to be loved and cherished. You can give her that. As for the rest..."

Walter shrugged. "When it comes, it comes..."

Michael nodded slowly. "She and Birkoff are more alike than we realized. They’ve both been abused..."

Walter turned his head sharply. "You see it too? I thought it was just me."

Michael nodded again. "Maybe it’s why they’re so protective of each other."

Walter smiled. "That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Michael." Michael sighed. "I know. As long as Birkoff realizes, I’m not the enemy."

"He will, Michael. He will." Walter patted the younger man on the back and slowly got to his feet.

"Don’t forget the deadbolt when you come back in."

***

Michael walked up the stairs slowly, still lost in thought. When he reached the bedroom, he paused outside the door. He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped over the threshold. Nikita heard his step. "Michael?"

He moved cautiously through the darkened room, automatically pulling off his jeans and T-shirt, to drop them on the floor. "I’m here, Kita."

He slid into bed next to her, and he felt the coolness of her body. "Why are you so cold?"

"I didn’t have you here to warm me." She kissed him. "You were gone a long time. Is everything okay?"

He nodded, though he knew she could not see him in the dark. He stared into the darkness for a long moment, then ran his hand along the side of her body, feeling her shiver. "Everything is okay, doucette."

"Viens ici. Come here, Kita." He pulled her into his arms and held her. He pressed a kiss to her hair. She snuggled under his chin. "You make me feel so special, Michael."

"You are, Kita. How could you not know that?" No, he thought, he knew why she didn’t think she was special. Constant emotional and physical abuse throughout her childhood and adolescence had taken their toll on her self-esteem.

"Never mind, Kita." He began to kiss her face, sweet, gentle kisses that hinted of how tenderly she was loved. "You will always be special to me. Do you understand, Kita? I will never love anyone else the way I love you. Never. You need to know that. And I need to say it."

He touched her hand and intertwined their fingers, admiring the way they joined together. "You feel that? That’s us. Together." He tickled her palm with one finger until she giggled. He smiled, though she could not see his expression in the dark. "Together. Ensemble."

She traced his mouth with her other hand, her fingers moving against his skin until he opened his mouth, allowing her entrance. She kissed him deeply, trying desperately to convey just how much she treasured his love. "You’ve changed my life, Michael," she whispered.

"You are my life now, Kita."

The sunlight streamed in the window of their bedroom, waking Nikita first. She stretched her arms, and Michael stirred sleepily at her side. "Is it morning?"

She smiled lovingly down at him, ruffling his hair. "Yes, cher."

That woke him up the rest of the way. "What did you call me?"

She grinned. "You heard me. Cher."

"Who’s teaching you French? Not Walter. He can barely speak English." Michael grumbled. "Birkoff?"

"Well...Birkoff’s computer, anyway. He found a French language program. He thought I might be interested in learning to speak the language."

He smiled before he kissed her. He pressed her back against the bed gently, his weight a welcome feeling against her body. "You want to practice on me? French, I mean?"

"Michael!" she said in a shocked tone. "First thing in the morning?"

"And last thing at night, doucette."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, looking into his eyes with powerful intensity. "One might almost suspect you were trying to get me pregnant."

His eyes slid away from hers. "Not really." She looked disappointed for a moment, then saw the uncharacteristic twinkle in his eyes. "But we’re not doing anything to prevent it either."

He kissed her mouth, then groaned. "Oh, Kita. We have so much to do today. We can’t just lie in bed."

"I know, cher." She stuck her tongue out at him when she saw his response to her French endearment. "Did you know that your eyes darken whenever I speak French, Michael?"

"No, maybe that needs further study, amante." He licked the side of her mouth sensually, then sighed.

"Ooh, lover, I like that one, Michael." She giggled as he pressed a kiss to her neck. She turned over slowly and started to get out of bed, but Michael’s arm prevented her from standing up. "What?"

"The errands can wait, Kita." He pulled her back into the bed.

"We won’t have any furniture, Michael."

"To hell with furniture," he growled against her breast.

Suddenly both of them froze at the knock on the door. It was Birkoff, who immediately covered his eyes. "I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt..."

"Again, Birkoff?" Michael sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Walter said to wake you guys. I was just--I’m sorry." He stood like a penitent child, awaiting punishment for unknown sins.

"Birkoff, it’s okay." Nikita smiled. "It’s okay. Isn’t it, Michael?" She poked Michael under the covers, as if daring him to contradict her.

Michael looked at Birkoff and remembered what he had said to Walter the night before. "It’s okay, Birkoff. It’s not a big deal."

Birkoff sighed with relief. He turned to go, but Michael’s voice commanded him. "Oh, and Birkoff...tell Walter we need a deadbolt on this door, too." He smiled innocently at Nikita as she pinched him. Birkoff nodded.

When Birkoff left, Nikita burst out laughing. "You leave that poor boy alone, Michael. He worships you, y’know."

"Moi? You’re mistaken, Kita. You’re the one he worships. Don’t think I haven’t noticed."

"Are you jealous, Michael?" She pushed him back into the pillows at the head of the bed.

He laughed softly. "Should I be?"

She smiled mischievously. "No, you know you have nothing to worry about....you beast!" He pulled her against him again. "Now where were we?"

***

An hour later, Nikita dragged a considerably more disheveled Michael down the stairs. Walter glanced at the couple, who looked far more relaxed than the night before. Birkoff, however, hid his face and blushed. "You been peeking in bedroom doors again, Birkoff?"

Birkoff’s face flamed bright red. "You set me up, Walter, didn’t you?"

Walter shrugged. "Nah, would I do that to you, Sey...mour? You just seem to have a positive talent for discovering when they’ve finally managed to be alone."

Birkoff rolled his eyes. "Not to change the subject, but please....change the subject."

Nikita winked at Birkoff, who flushed before he grinned. "I’m going to need a lot of help around here today. I don’t want to rush into buying just anything. But we need a kitchen table desperately. We need basic stuff like dishes, silverware..."

Walter and Birkoff said as one, "Food!"

"Oh, yeah, that too," she said sheepishly.

"I can get the table, Kita, if you tell me what you want." Michael leaned on her affectionately. She smiled.

"And I want lots and lots of paint. I have the colors all picked out for the bedrooms."

Birkoff groaned. "Just don’t make my room green or something. I can’t stand green."

"I’ll let you decide what color bedroom you want, then, Birkoff."

Michael played with Nikita’s hair. "What color did you choose for our room, Kita?" She knew this was no idle question when she felt him tug at a strand of her hair.

"I like mauve."

"Mauve?" Michael almost stammered. "Mauve? Isn’t that almost pink?"

Walter turned his head politely, while Birkoff snickered. He smacked Birkoff on the shoulder and frowned. Then he snorted himself, unable to keep the laughter at bay.

Nikita smiled patiently. "Sorta. Is that a problem?"

"No Frenchman worth his name would allow his bedroom to be painted pink, Kita!"

Michael looked as if he might very well strangle her, but she loved to tease him. "Michael, it’s a lovely shade."

Walter and Birkoff laughed merrily in the background, trying not to notice Michael’s obvious discomfiture. The loving couple continued to argue, albeit not very vigorously, about the color of their bedroom. But Michael was determined to win this argument. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he announced, "You can’t paint it pink, Kita! It’ll make me..." He glanced anxiously at their giggling audience. "...impotent..." he finished in a whisper.

She gasped, admiring the way Michael finessed his way out of that particular argument. "I see..." she said thoughtfully. "How does yellow make you feel?"

They looked at one another and burst out laughing.

Michael brought the kitchen table into the house. It wasn’t heavy, and he didn’t mind the physical work. In truth, it was a relief to do something that didn’t involve soul-searching and mental gymnastics. Moving a table was easy compared to life. He grinned as he thought about something Nikita had forgotten. Chairs. They had no place to sit but on the floor. Having a table was nice, but it wasn’t really useful without chairs. He found himself laughing to himself, and he pondered if he was going mad. No, he just thought he was starting to think more like Kita. Non-linear, Birkoff called it. Well, at least it hadn’t been a wasted trip. He thought of what he had waiting in the car for Nikita and smiled. Definitely non-linear.

"Michael?" Nikita had seen his car approach the house, and she was looking for him.

He saw her come down the stairs, her jeans and T-shirt showing the results of having lost the contest with a brush and two different colors of paint. He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Having fun?"

She smiled. "You have no idea." She looked at the table. "It looks better than in the catalog, Michael." She ran her hands over the smooth wood. Oak. Not unlike the rest of the house.

Michael leaned over and kissed her again. "I wish I was the table." His lips found her temple. She closed her eyes and groaned, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. "Ummm...we’ll never get anything done if you keep doing that, Michael."

He looked at her intently. "Oh, we’ll get plenty done, belle. It just won’t get the house furnished." He pressed her against the table, forcing her to lean backwards as he rested his arms on the table behind her.

"I see..." she whispered breathlessly, as he nuzzled her neck.

"I have a present for you, Kita." He smiled against her mouth, then kissed her as he pulled away from her. Not wishing to be separated from him, Nikita automatically followed him back to a standing position. "Tease."

"Always." He pressed a kiss to the inside of her hand. "You’ll thank me later..."

She glanced at him dubiously. "I will?"

"Oh, yes...you’re going to be very grateful..." Michael drawled, kissing the inside of the other hand.

"You’re driving me crazy, Michael," she muttered, half under her breath.

"Good. Now you know how you make me feel. All breathless and out of control." His grey eyes were warm with affection as he gazed at Nikita. She could definitely live with this side of Michael. It was as if he could not help seducing her all over again, every time they came in contact with one another.

Nikita smiled. "So where is my present?"

"In the car." He reluctantly let go of her hands. "I’ll be right back."

A few moments later, Michael returned, a curious bulge under his jacket. Nikita was intrigued. She really could not guess what it was. Then she saw the bulge move, and she gasped. "Oh, my God!"

Michael grinned as he revealed the head of a tiny tiger-striped kitten. "Would you believe it followed me home?"

"Michael! Let me, let me!" She bounced up and down like a small child. She clapped her hands excitedly. Michael carefully removed the kitten from his jacket, and it clearly resented being moved from its warm place, protesting with a tiny mew.

Michael handed the kitten to Nikita, who held it with a reverence some people reserved for their children. "It’s beautiful!" she cried, a tear coming to her eye. "She’s a female, Kita."

She cradled the kitten in her hands, murmuring sweet words to it in a low voice. "Oh, she’s precious." She kissed the kitten’s furry head, and it mewed.

Michael regarded the two of them with an ache in his heart. He bought the kitten impulsively, knowing that when they first met, he had discouraged her from having a kitten, claiming it was a distraction that could get her killed. She had kept the kitten for a few days in a burst of then-characteristic defiance, but eventually, because he demanded such allegiance to both Section and himself, she had given up the struggle and the kitten. Now, there was no reason for her not to be surrounded by the things she loved.

"You like her?" Michael asked, a little startled to hear how his voice had choked up. He cleared his throat briefly.

"Yes, I do. Oh, we have to find a good name for her." She fairly beamed at Michael.

"Well, I’ll just leave that to you." He turned to leave, and Nikita put a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Michael.

He nodded, a small half-smile curving his mouth. She pulled on his arm, until he was standing directly in front of her. She held the kitten up to protect it, then wrapped her arms around him. He gave her a hug, then pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Michael?"

"Yes, Kita?"

"Her name is Josephine."

He stared at her a moment, then smiled, his love for her washing over him suddenly, like an unexpected wave at the beach. He pushed her hair back with one hand, his fingers tangling in her hair as they trembled. He shook just a little as he took Nikita back into his arms. He could hear the tiny kitten protest, then he felt it snuggle against his chest contentedly. "Hey..." he said, looking down at it. He glanced at Nikita, and he was stunned by the depth of feeling she revealed.

"Michael..." she whispered. "You’re making me fall in love with you all over again..."

He closed his eyes then, emotion surging through him like a thunderous wave crashing into a breaker. He lay his head on Nikita’s shoulder and swallowed, feeling every bit as defenseless suddenly as when he had lost his memory. He stopping struggling against the tide and sighed. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

She stroked his hair and pressed his face against her shoulder. "I think you just did."

"Walter? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Michael’s whisper sounded loud in the quiet of the first floor, but he knew he could not be overheard by Nikita here.

Walter nodded. "What’s up?"

Michael glanced at Walter briefly. "I hate to push, but have you made any progress in planning our wedding?"

"Oh, yeah..." he drawled. "I completely forgot, what with the excitement of moving into the house and all...you two were getting married, that’s right..."

Michael blinked. "Tell me that was sarcasm, Walter. If you haven’t done anything towards getting us married..." Michael’s voice wasn’t so much threatening as exasperated.

"Umm...let me think..." Walter pretended to ponder. He hated to admit it, but he rather enjoyed letting Michael think he had forgotten to plan the wedding of his beloved Sugar. Let him think I’m just a dotty old guy, he’ll be so surprised.

Michael rocked back on his heels and ran his hands through his hair, torturing it into tufts that stuck out at the back of his head. Walter lowered his head and grinned, knowing he could not be seen.

"You in a hurry or something?" Walter said, almost certain that would provoke a response.

Michael’s expression never changed, his eyes merely flickered back and forth, finally resting on Walter’s serene face. "A hurry? No. Why would I be in a hurry?" Michael said softly, his voice suddenly growing in power as he continued. "I’ve only been waiting for three years!"

Michael turned and paced a short distance away, only to return a moment later. "I mean, maybe our firstborn can attend the wedding...how would that be?"

"You’re getting edgy again, Michael." Walter said wryly.

"Damn straight," Michael confirmed.

Walter stopped Michael’s pacing with a hand on his arm. "Are you worried about something? You afraid Sugar’s going to disappear on you? What?"

"No, I just..." Michael sighed and turned away.

Walter rubbed Michael’s shoulder. "You two already belong to each other, Michael. You can’t get any closer than you are. You don’t need to be married for that."

"I know." Michael’s whispered reply touched Walter, who decided that Michael had been teased enough for one day. But before he could say anything about the plans he’d made, Michael added, "But I wanted to give her the wedding she’s dreamed about, Walter...I mean, I’ve been married before, and no matter how Kita pretends it doesn’t matter...how do you think she’d feel, knowing I married Simone and even Elena, but not her?"

Walter looked guilty. "I’m sorry, Michael, I never thought of it from that perspective."

"I don’t ever want her to feel like she’s not as important as they were in my life. Does that make sense?"

Walter nodded. "Totally." And I am a dotty old guy, playing with his emotions like that. He started to speak again, but Michael suddenly cut him off.

"Thanks, Walter." Michael walked away, and this time, Walter let him go.

Walter contemplated what was left of his thinning hair and sighed. "I’d pull it all out and dance at Sugar’s wedding bald, if it would make it happen quicker, Michael," he said to no one.

***

Michael watched Nikita as she sat in the backyard, talking to her new kitten. He smiled. "Does she like her new home?"

"Oh, yes. I think she does." Nikita’s eyes fairly gleamed as she held the little kitten up. "Tell your daddy how much you love him, Josephine."

Michael laughed gently. "Have I adopted the cat, too, now, Kita? This is quite a family we have here."

He knelt down on the ground next to Nikita, petting the kitten. Nikita put the kitten down between them. "Michael...that’s the second time you’ve called this home." She stared down at the kitten, afraid to meet his eyes. He pulled her chin up with one hand. "This is home now, Kita. Anywhere you are is home to me."

She smiled peacefully. "I never had a real home before. This is like a dream."

He leaned over and kissed her. "I know, Kita." He trailed his hands down her shoulders, affection glowing warmly in his grey-green eyes.

"Kita...let’s get married..."

"Michael, we are getting married. Remember? Walter is planning the wedding." She smiled patiently, her fingers intertwining with Michael’s.

"I know. I meant now." He suddenly stared at her quite intently. "I want you to be my wife, Kita. Now. I don’t want to wait anymore."

"Michael, the wedding is just a ceremony." She kissed his hands, one by one. "We’re already married...in here..." she said, indicating her heart by placing their joined hands over her chest.

He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her into his lap. "You always know the right thing to say."

She kissed him. "Well, you always know the right thing to do. I’d say that was more important." He kissed her tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment on hers, as if reluctant to let her go. "So you don’t want to elope with me?" he said, half-seriously.

"And spoil Walter’s chance to be father of the bride? No, Michael, we can wait. However long we have to."

Michael kissed her fingers. "Can I at least buy you a ring?"

"Of course!" she laughed. "How could I turn down an offer like that?"

He stretched her hand out, looking at the prop wedding ring she still wore like a talisman. "You never took this one off."

"I know it’s not real, but I’d like to keep it, afterwards, for sentimental reasons."

He hugged her. "I’m going to give you mine as well. Maybe we can find a nice box for keepsakes to put them in."

"Michael! Are you getting mushy on me?" She giggled. He ruffled her hair, gently mussing it. "A little."

He sighed. "Now if we can only light a fire under Walter’s--" Nikita grinned, "Now, now...we have nothing but time."

He grabbed her around the waist and rocked her in his arms. Pressing a kiss to her neck, he whispered, "I hope you’re right, Kita."

There was a bad feeling in the air. Maybe it was something only Michael could sense. He wasn’t sure. Nikita had finely-tuned senses as well, and she was not picking up on it. But that didn’t mean it was his imagination. He knew from experience to trust his instincts, whether or not they told him something outlandish.

"I hope you’re right."