They walked along the path that led into the forest surrounding the chateau. They walked hand in hand, their arms swinging back and forth between them. Nikita giggled merrily. "Michael, I feel like Hansel and Gretel walking into the forest. Shouldn’t we have some bread crumbs or something to find our way back?"

He gave her a crooked half-smile. "I know my way around these woods, Kita. We won’t get lost."

She assumed he was right. He had an unerring sense of direction, and he always managed to find her, no matter where Section or the other side hid her. Her imperfect knight. "Michael! Look over there!"

She pointed to a tree with something carved into its bark. Something carved so deeply, it had evidently survived a long, long time, living in the wood. "What is it? What does it say?"

She crouched closer to the tree, suddenly realizing what the letters formed. "Michel..." She turned quickly, catching Michael unaware. "Did you do this years ago, Michael?"

He nodded. Nikita clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, I wish I had a camera. I would take a picture of it for our children to see."

"It’s not that interesting, Kita."

"But it is, Michael. It’s part of your past, your history. I love that you’re able to share this with me." She slipped her hand loose from his and carefully traced the letters, forged deep within the tree’s trunk.

When she stood up again, Michael’s hand searched until it found its mate. She smiled brightly. "What were you like as a boy, Michael?"

He shrugged. "Normal, I guess."

A diffident Michael was not something she was unused to dealing with. Sometimes she felt that extracting information from the enemy was easier than getting Michael to answer a personal question. "Define normal for me, Michael."

His eyes seemed far away for a few moments, as if remembering how it was. Shifting uncomfortably, he wasn’t sure what he should tell her. Unlike Nikita, he had had the benefit of two parents until they were killed. He had raised his sister, who was far younger than he, until he was presumed dead by L’Heure Sanguine, the French revolutionary group he had joined with Rene Dian. After Michael’s supposed death, arranged after his recruitment by Section, Rene had taken over the job of raising Michael’s sister. It was something he would always be grateful to Rene for. It had placed him in Rene’s debt, and it helped forge a personal bond that made it difficult, if not impossible, for him to cancel Rene when the time came. Nikita had done that for him. Not out of some misguided idea that Rene was a terrorist figure to be hated and cast out, like so many that Section routinely handled. But because Michael had stood there, unable even to arm himself against Rene, waiting for Rene to shoot him.

Did he think he deserved to die? Part of him clearly did. The part that told Nikita, "You should have let him do it." Did he think Nikita did the right thing? Part of him rejoiced that he was still alive. The part that was able to tell Nikita how much he loved her, the part that welcomed the thought of bringing a new life into the world. A life that was part of him and part of Nikita. A life that never would have come to be if Rene had been allowed to end Michael’s life that day.

He was lost in thought for so long, Nikita stopped waiting for an answer. She smiled patiently as she pushed back an errant lock of hair on Michael’s forehead. "Michael?"

"Do you ever wonder what our child is going to look like?"

"Hopefully our child will have ten fingers and ten toes."

Nikita snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "Michael!" She settled down on the ground. "Sometimes you are the most exasperating man..."

He sat next to her, his knees touching hers. "Okay, I’ll play. I hope she has blue eyes like her mother. But it would be too much to hope that she would be blonde like you. My hair is too dark."

"Your hair is not too dark. It’s all gold, and red, and brown. Like the warm colors of the earth."

"Nicely put, doucette. But you obviously want me to ask you the same thing." He smiled faintly, and Nikita didn’t actually notice that the smile never quite reached his eyes.

"Well," she began, clearly warming to her subject. "I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Since the check-up. It made the baby real to me."

"It was real before that, Kita. The morning sickness felt very real. Still does, when it comes up." He hated reminding her of the morning sickness. He hated the thought of her being sick in any way, no matter how normal a process it might be in this case.

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "I think that he’s going to have your hair, Michael. But I pray that he has your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes."

He never failed to notice every little detail about what Nikita said, especially when she was discussing the baby. But when she said *he*, something inside of him chilled. He felt part of himself going cold or numb or both. Ever since they found out that Nikita was pregnant, Michael had been trying desperately to avoid thinking about Adam. Oh, his mind wandered there errantly, when he could no longer hold it back, but he kept a very tight control on that particular set of memories. He was afraid if he ever discussed this with Nikita, it might destroy them both.

She laid a hand on his arm. "You look sad, Michael, what’s wrong?"

Damn, he thought, cursing her unusually fine sense of observation right now. "Just a bit tired, that’s all."

She accepted his explanation. Whether it was because she believed him or because she didn’t want to know what demon would conflict his soul about his own son, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t know what Nikita must be thinking.

He rose to his feet. "Come, doucette." He extended a hand to her, to help her to her feet. "There’s something else I want to show you."

She brushed the grass and dirt off her pants and grasped Michael’s hands. She leaned back against the tree, studying Michael’s carefully veiled expression. He’d lost her again. Sometimes they were so close, she could almost read his mind, and then, inexplicably, he would retreat from her, just like in the old days at Section. She wasn’t sure if it was habit or self-preservation. His defense mechanisms were much stronger than hers. But she would let him go, because sooner or later, he always came back to her. As Madeline had said, it was important not to push.

She took his hand and pulled him to her. When he was close enough, she kissed him, allowing herself for once to reveal the total depth and complexity of the feelings she had for him. When she pulled back, finally, he looked wistful, as if he realized that he was holding back something, maybe even something important. But he did not speak. His eyes clouded over, though his facial expression remained the same. She rested her lips on his cheek for a moment, feeling him react, until he abruptly moved so her mouth met his.

"Doucette...it’s not you, it’s never you. It’s always me," he whispered.

"Michael, you can tell me anything," she replied softly, knowing it was true. Though his defenses were far stronger than hers, she sometimes felt that she was the stronger of the two of them. She had been forged in pain, she had met it head-on, and she had survived. Michael had experienced pain just as great, in some ways, but he had survived it by denying its existence, by sheltering it inside him, by giving it continued life and power over him. It was the darkness that lived inside him even now. Her heart ached for him, knowing he was helpless to give it up yet.

He kissed her lightly. "There’s nothing to tell, Kita. Come..."

The tense moment was over, and she allowed herself to be led away from the tree that had provoked the memories of Michael’s past. All in good time, she thought, all in good time.

When they came to a pretty little brook, Nikita noticed the small white wooden bridge spanning its width. "What’s this?"

Michael smiled. "This is the Wishing Bridge. Rumor has it that if you throw a coin into the brook from the bridge, your wish will come true."

"Have you ever tried it, Michael?" She glanced at him, excitedly.

He shook his head. "I’m not superstitious, Kita."

Cocking her head sideways, Nikita said, "I’m not sure you’re right about that, Michael, but I’ll let it go." She scrambled down the bank of the little brook and examined the water. Cool and clear. She let it run over her hands for a moment, rejoicing in the sensual pleasure of the cool liquid flowing over them. She pulled her shirt open and splashed some water on her neck and in between her breasts.

Michael watched her in silence. She was like a forest sprite one moment, a water nymph the next. She blended so well with her surroundings. It was a gift.

She jumped up, grabbing his hand. She ran for the bridge, Michael close behind her, if only to keep up and prevent her from stumbling and falling. "Kita, wait!"

She raced to the wooden planks that marked the middle of the bridge. She whipped around so quickly, her hair caught Michael in the face. He gently removed the silken strands that clung to his mouth, but not before feeling them slide across his face. He was overcome with desire for her, quite suddenly and without provocation. It was unexpected but welcome. His earlier introspection had worried him, even made him wonder if he would be capable of arousal. That was no longer in question.

"Michael!" Nikita said, high color in her cheeks now. "What happens if a person makes love on the Wishing Bridge?"

His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated involuntarily. "I don’t think it’s ever been done, Kita."

She pressed herself against his body, feeling his arousal, and smiled rapaciously. "Should we see what happens?"

He swayed gently towards her, but didn’t otherwise move. "What if someone comes?"

"Is that likely?"

He shook his head. He was just making excuses. The thought of making love to Nikita, outside, in the forest, aroused him desperately.

He leaned on her, resting his head comfortably on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and he sighed with contentment. Her fingers trailed down the back of his head to his nape. He kissed her neck, his lips warm and soft on her skin. "Give yourself to me," he whispered.

"I have...I will...I am..." she whispered back. Her mouth opened under his, and they kissed sweetly, softly, tenderly, despite their desire for each other.

He pulled her shirt open the rest of the way, exposing her breasts, and his hands cupped them. When Nikita felt the roughened tips of his fingers on her, she groaned into his mouth, and he deepened their kisses. She felt her legs growing weak under her, and as if sensing this somehow, Michael gently lowered her to the level of the bridge. She could feel the weathered wood beneath her, hear the rushing water even further beneath them.

He licked the side of her mouth, then eased his tongue inside. Kissing her slowly, almost languidly, he subdued his own desire in an effort to give her more pleasure. He was in control. For now. "Ni-ki-ta," he spoke her name low.

She responded by pulling his shirt up and over his head, dropping it next to them. "I want to feel you." He rubbed his bare chest against her, and she groaned, her breasts growing taut under his movements.

"Have you made your wish yet?" Michael asked Nikita in a bemused voice.

She abruptly opened her eyes, fever-bright with intensity, and stared at him. "Do I need a coin?"

He slid her hand down his leg, guiding her inside the pocket of his pants. "Let me know if you find something you can use." She giggled and he claimed her mouth voraciously.

Her hand closed around a coin, but she couldn’t resist touching him through his clothing. "Will this work?"

"Oh, yes..." he said as he moved against her hand briefly. "It seems to be working."

She licked his mouth. "I’ll take my chances with the coin."

He made a little noise that might have been choked laughter. She closed her fingers on the coin and removed it, holding it up in the air between them. He stared at the coin as she did.

"Do I have to keep the wish a secret, Michael?"

"I think so." She threw it over her shoulder, and they both heard it hit the water with a splash.

"Did you make a wish, Kita?"

She laughed. "I’m not telling."

Nikita lay beneath Michael passively, as if sated, but he knew better. He rolled over onto his back and let her control their lovemaking. She arched her back above him, and he reached for her waist, pulling her closer even as he thrust into her. Droplets of sweat clung lovingly to her silken form as she moved, occasionally landing on Michael’s chest. His palm rubbed back and forth against one breast, and Nikita sighed contentedly. "More..." she said.

"How much more can you take?" Michael said, sounding as amused as he was aroused.

"How much more can you give me?" she asked, groaning as his body responded. Her eyes fluttered shut and she seemed deep in concentration as she began to breathe in a more irregular fashion.

Michael slid her hands off his chest and into his mouth, suckling her fingers, a few at a time. She gasped. He released her hands, knowing she was using them to balance herself on top of him. She fell forward, her mouth finding his instinctively. Their tongues met and dueled furiously as they kissed. His nails raked her back gently. "Kita!" he groaned.

She licked his neck, then his chin, and he shook his head, the wet curls on his neck standing out in spiky disarray. "Now?" he managed to choke out. She barely nodded. He rolled over quickly, keeping their bodies joined, and surged into her as deeply as he could. He felt her muscles tighten, then shudder as she began to climax. He followed her over the edge a few moments later. Their breathless cries echoed throughout the forest glade surrounding them. He lay on top of her for a full minute before he found the strength to disengage from her.

Still breathless, he smiled crookedly and said, "I have to ask, what the hell did you wish for?"

She laughed, snuggling closer to him. "That’s for me to know and you to find out."

He peeked at her cautiously. "I thought I just did."

"That was nothing, compared to what I could do to you."

This time, he laughed. "Thanks for the warning."

Nikita idly played with a strand of her hair. She rested her chin on Michael’s still-bare chest and gazed at him lovingly. "I love you, Michael."

He kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, too, Kita." He wrapped his arms around her, partially hiding her naked form. With a sigh, he said, "I suppose we should get dressed and head back."

"I suppose." She settled against his body, as if she had no intention of moving, ever.

"I suppose we should jump off the bridge and into the brook to wash up."

"I suppose," she answered sleepily.

"I suppose you’re falling asleep on me, Kita." He kissed her cheek and reached for her T-shirt. The afternoon sun was clearly warm, even hot at times, when the sun blazed down upon them, through the trees, but he didn’t want to take any chances with Nikita’s health. He shifted her body so that he could pull the T-shirt over her head, and she complied, immediately resuming her place against his heart. Michael closed his eyes and decided they both could use a nap, but he had no desire to be caught in the woods after dark.

His body responded automatically to Michael’s command to wake him in an hour. He opened his eyes, saw the sunlight still dappling the leaves on the trees, and knew they would be okay on the journey back. He sat up carefully, making sure Nikita did not hit her head as he lay her back down on the bridge. He stood up and swung a leg over the bridge, jumping down into the water. He splashed the cool, clear water over himself, enjoying the contrast against his hot, sticky body. He pulled himself up onto the bridge and grabbed his clothing, dressing quickly. Nikita still slept.

Tickling her gently, he woke her. She moaned, "Go away, I just need a few more minutes." He brushed her ear with a leaf. "I don’t think so, Kita."

She stretched and yawned, and he was overcome with desire for her yet again. "It’s going to be dark soon, Kita. It’s not safe out here at night."

She nodded absently. "Okay." She sat up, blearily casting about for her clothing. He pulled her up into a standing position. "Here, let me help." He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the brook, where he let her splash playfully and try to wash herself. He took off his T-shirt and wet it in the brook’s clear water, applying it to the task of laving Nikita’s back first. He washed her chest, and she nipped at him, giggling. He sidestepped her advances, knowing that to be caught after dark would not be good.

After he finished washing her, he wrung out his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, to let it dry on his body. It felt refreshingly cool. He helped Nikita dress, and soon enough, they were on their way back. When they came to the spot where Nikita saw the tree with Michael’s name, they paused.

Michael took out his Swiss Army knife and without a word, began to carve something into the tree, next to his name. He refused to let Nikita see what he was doing until he was done. Then he snapped the knife closed and stood back to look at the result. "What do you think?" he said to her.

She studied the carved words for a moment, knowing she was going to cry again. "I love it, Michael. Thank you."

She hugged him and he kissed her hair as she clung to him. He kissed her eyelids shut and absorbed her tears. "Please don’t cry, Kita. I only want to make you happy."

"You did. You are." She kissed him lightly. "Let’s go home."

And as the couple walked away, even the trees in the forest rejoiced at the love that surrounded them today. Because the carving now read: Michel & Nikita.

"Michael, shouldn’t we call home first? They won’t be expecting us," Nikita fretted.

He raised an eyebrow at Nikita. "You’re kidding, right?"

He put down the suitcase and looked back into their room for anything they might have left behind. "We are talking about the same Walter and Birkoff, aren’t we? The ones who have probably been camping out at the train station since we left?"

"You think so?" Nikita still looked unconvinced.

Michael framed her face with both hands and kissed her thoroughly. "My love, do you know how hard you are to forget?"

She smiled shyly under his warm appraisal. "I dunno, Michael, you might need to keep reminding me." He kissed her again. "I will, doucette."

"Michael?" He was at the door with the suitcase when she called to him. "Yes?"

"I won’t ever forget this. It’s been so special, every moment of it. And I just wanted to thank you."

Michael blinked. "I didn’t do it for your gratitude, Kita."

"I know, but I appreciate it, all of it." She kissed him tenderly. "Michael, you’re getting so much better at giving your love. But you still need to learn how to accept it."

She wound her hands through his hair and kissed him more deeply, feeling a shudder run through him. "I love you, Michael. I love everything about you, even the parts you won’t share with me, the parts you think are too dark for me to see, I still love you. Every bit of you. That will never change, love."

"Thank you," he whispered.

She wagged a finger at him playfully. "Now, was that gratitude? I didn’t do it for your gratitude, Michael."

He smiled lopsidedly. "I love you, Kita."

***

When Michael and Nikita stepped onto the train platform, they honestly didn’t know who would greet them. Michael did call ahead finally, and he managed to reach Declan, who promised that *someone* would pick them up. Come to think of it, he was curiously vague. Michael would have wondered at that, but frankly, he was preoccupied with the knowledge that he was happy to be home.

"Kita," he whispered, leaning on her shoulder. "It feels good to be home, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, Michael." She wanted to shout for joy. He honestly felt that the house they shared was home. She felt twice blessed. Once, for the child they expected. Twice, for the home they had made and shared with their makeshift family.

They turned in a circle, and there they were. All of them. Not just one. Declan, Walter, Birkoff, Madeline, and Neil. They smiled. Everyone rushed them. At once.

They all spoke at once. Then Walter put his fingers between his teeth and whistled. Shrilly. "Okay, people, one at a time. I go first."

"Sugar!!!" Walter grabbed Nikita by the waist and hugged her fiercely. He drew back suddenly and gasped. "Oh, my God, Sugar, you gained weight!" He ran his hands over her a bit too familiarly, and Nikita stepped back. "Ummm...."

"Sugar, you’re starting to show! And you never told me! Damn! Dad is always the last to know!" Walter was off and running. He almost paced back and forth. "I can’t believe it! I--"

Nikita smiled and said softly, "Hey, Dad. Get a grip. We can’t have you losing it this early in the game, you’ll never make it to the last inning."

He smiled, tears in his eyes, and everyone sighed, either in relief at Nikita’s control of the situation or in sentimental sympathy.

Madeline stepped forward and held Nikita’s hands almost graciously. "You look wonderful, Nikita. Clearly this was a good idea for both of you."

"Thanks, Maddy." Nikita smiled back, feeling as though she was finally starting to warm to Madeline as a true confidante and friend.

Neil shook her hand and nodded. "I have to agree, Nikita. You’ve filled out nicely, but more than that, you just look, well, relaxed. Something must have agreed with you."

She bit back a laugh and smiled enigmatically. Michael squeezed her hand lightly, just to remind her he was there, and her heart filled with joy.

Birkoff patted her on the shoulder. "Hey, Sis, you’re looking good. The old man been treating you pretty good, huh?"

Michael raised an eyebrow at that. But his mouth curved into a wry smile that even Birkoff recognized as friendly.

Declan didn’t so much step forward as hang back. Michael pulled Nikita closer and abruptly hugged Declan. He didn’t know who was more surprised, himself or Declan. "I’m glad you came," Michael said to Declan. Whether he saw himself in Declan or just another kindred spirit, it was clear that Michael and Declan had bonded in some way. Declan replied, "Me, too."

"Well, Declan, welcome to the family. There’s always room for one more," said Nikita with a grin.

Neil smiled, pausing as if about to make a huge announcement. "That’s good, Nikita. Because after running a few more tests, I’m almost positive that you’re going to have twins."

"Twins?" Nikita said, leaning heavily on Michael.

"Twins?" Michael echoed, trying not to look overwhelmed.

"Twins? said Walter, wondering if he had hit the jackpot in the family sweepstakes or something.

"Twins?" asked Birkoff, thinking, I knew it, I was right, I heard two heartbeats, yes!!!

"Twins?" said Madeline, hoping that Nikita and Michael were well rested.

Declan snorted. "Well, after everybody and his brother said ‘Twins’ in that tone of voice, don’t hold your breath waiting on me to join the club. I don’t play well with others. It’s been on every one of my evals in and out of Section."

Michael grinned. "Declan..."

"Yeah?"

"You’re full of it."

Declan cackled, and everyone laughed. There were going to be twins born in the Samuelle household. Who knew what lay ahead?

"Well, that’s just great," Walter huffed as he helped Nikita into the house.

"What?" she asked.

"My surprise. I been workin’ on it all week long, Sugar."

"Is it for me?" She beamed like a child anticipating her birthday.

"Yes-s-s," he drawled.

"What is it?"

"Well, now, that’d be telling," Walter said. "But if you’re having twins, Sugar, that changes everything."

"It does?" Now Nikita was intrigued. What kind of surprise could it be?

Michael came up behind Nikita and kissed her on the nape, wrapping his arms possessively around her waist. "What does?" he said, coming into the tail end of the conversation.

"My surprise," Walter answered. "It was for one baby. Now that there are two..."

"Oh." Michael still wasn’t used to the idea of Nikita having twins. He wasn’t even sure if she was used to the idea yet herself.

"Can’t you just make more of whatever it is?" Nikita said, still wondering what the surprise was, if Walter intended to reveal it now, or keep her in suspense.

"Oh, sure, like it was easy to make one, in the first place." Walter shrugged.

She yawned prettily. "Well, I have to go to bed. I feel like we’ve been up forever." Michael hugged her before releasing her. "Go ahead upstairs, Kita. I want to talk to Walter."

She glanced at Michael over her shoulder, kissed him quickly, and smiled. "Don’t be too long."

"I won’t." He looked after her, knowing that no matter how many times he saw her, the expression on his face would never change. He felt Walter’s eyes on him.

"What is it, Walter? I’m in love with my wife. You don’t approve?"

"I’m waiting to see how long it takes for that look to disappear." Michael laughed. "Don’t hold your breath."

He surveyed the older man, noting how tired he looked. "Walter, are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, now you’re concerned. But when the two of you were off gallivanting, did you give a care for me? Nope. So go on."

Walter’s eyes twinkled, a sure giveaway that he was up to something. "Okay, Walter. What’s up?"

"I gotta show someone. You’ll do, I guess." Walter almost giggled.

Michael raised one eyebrow, his green eyes looking askance at Walter. He missed this? He chuckled to himself. Hell, yes, he missed this. Walter led the way to his workshop in the back of the house and paused dramatically at the entrance. He put a finger to his lips, indicating silence.

Michael frowned. "Am I going to be so surprised, you think I’ll scream?"

Walter smirked. "You might. You’d be surprised, Michael. There’s a first time for everything."

Walter whipped a white sheet off something concealed on his workbench. "It’s not finished, but I wanted to show it to someone. Especially now that I gotta make another one."

Michael’s eyes dropped to the object revealed. It was magnificent. Made of oak, it was hand-carved to perfection. It was a baby’s cradle. Michael felt his eyes fill with tears.

"God, Walter, I’m impressed. It’s wonderful," he said in a voice choked with emotion.

"Made it myself, of course," Walter said proudly.

"Of course," Michael echoed. "Am I the first one to see it?"

"Yep. Guess you’re entitled. You are the dad, y’know." Walter smiled as if barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

"Yeah," Michael said wonderingly.

"Guess I kinda knocked you for a loop, huh?"

"It shows?"

"You could say that. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me." Walter continued to smirk and rock back on his bootheels. He almost burst out laughing at Michael’s reaction.

Michael traced his hands over the wood, feeling how smooth and how warm the wood felt. Like it was alive. Like it was being brought to life by a skilled craftsman for a very special purpose. Walter had clearly labored long and hard on creating this work of art. It was every bit as wonderful as he thought the first time he laid eyes on it.

Walter felt himself getting a bit overcome now, seeing Michael’s unusually emotional reaction. "It is special, you know, Michael. One of a kind."

"I figured, when the baby was born, I could carve in the name."

Michael looked up at that, and Walter saw how genuinely moved he was by Walter’s surprise gesture. "Thank you," Michael whispered.

"No problem." Walter shifted uncomfortably beneath Michael’s piercing gaze, then said, "Oh, for Heaven’s sake..." He hugged Michael tightly and Michael clapped the older man on the back.

"You’re a great old guy, Walter, don’t let anyone tell you different."

"Thanks, Michael. I’m gonna hold you to that, next time you insult me for no reason." Walter laughed as they stood there, contemplating his masterpiece. "It’s really something, isn’t it? Think Sugar will like it?"

"She’ll love it," Michael said mistily.