Near dawn, Nikita woke out of a sound sleep to find that Michael was thrashing around in his sleep. In his restlessness, he had thrown off the ice pack and flung his arms wide, hitting Nikita’s shoulder. Half-asleep and disturbed by the tenor of Michael’s breathing, she abruptly found herself once again facing her fears about Michael’s mortality. Worse than any flashback of her abusive childhood, this was real and possible, and to Nikita, imminent. Lost in that twilight world between sleeping and waking, there was no way to tell which way lay reality and safety. She screamed hoarsely, and a million things seemed to happen at once.

Michael’s eyes opened, not with a flutter, but with a snap. The moment he was awake, he moaned in pain. This only served to increase Nikita’s anxiety. When she touched Michael, he flinched, because his entire body ached, but Nikita interpreted it to mean that he was getting worse. Feeling overwhelmed, she sat up, holding her hands over her mouth, trying not to cry.

Walter burst through the door in a heartbeat, rushing to Nikita’s side to hold her. Michael groaned as he forced himself into an upright position, making his whole head throb alarmingly. Birkoff fell over Walter’s leg and sprawled across the end of the bed, making Nikita scream again, which caused the pain in Michael’s head to renew its intensity. By the time Birkoff managed to regain a more normal position, Neil arrived, Madeline right behind him.

Looking stunned by the movement around him, Michael tried vainly to focus his eyes on something, anything. He turned to see Nikita crying in Walter’s arms, and he wondered why. "What the hell is going on here?" Michael asked, totally confused by the sudden flurry of noise and activity surrounding him.

"Is everyone all right? That’s all I want to know," Neil demanded, knowing that he should never have let Nikita stay alone with Michael. Everyone muttered to themselves and to Neil, and eventually, he sorted out that everyone except Michael was feeling fine.

Neil examined Michael’s face at close range and said, "I can give you a shot for the pain, Michael, it’d be a lot quicker than taking a pill." Michael held his head and replied, "Please. Whatever it is. Just do it."

Nikita touched Michael’s hand, and he held onto her fingers, acknowledging that he knew she was there. "Kita, are you okay?"

"I thought you were dead." Nikita gasped. "Oh, God, it was awful."

Michael blinked curiously, wishing he could clear his head, but knowing that he couldn’t. "What? Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yes...no...I dunno. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. I heard you moan, and I thought you were dying, or already dead." Nikita looked at Walter. "I thought you killed Michael, and when you grabbed me..."

Walter nodded. "I got the picture. We scared you out of your wits."

Birkoff shrugged. "I didn’t mean to trip over you, Walter. That didn’t help, I’m sure."

"Okay, blanket statement. Everyone’s intentions were good. But everything went to hell in a handbasket. All non- essential personnel, please leave. Oh, you did? Well, good," Neil drawled. "Then let me repeat, if you aren’t Michael or Nikita, please leave." Neil, for his part, was not having a very good night, and he was not beyond taking out his anger on an acceptable target.

"That includes you, Madeline," Neil threatened.

She glared at him, but she did as he said. Nikita’s well- being was more important than her ego. She gave Walter a nudge with her hip, and he got up reluctantly, releasing Nikita from his embrace. Meanwhile, Birkoff stood up unsteadily, patting Nikita on the back as if he were her real little brother.

"We were just trying to help, Neil. We weren’t trying to make things worse," said Birkoff.

Neil gave Birkoff a thumb’s up sign and sighed. After everyone left, he withdrew a syringe filled with fluid. Examining the syringe, he noted how many cc’s were in it and re-checked the orders the surgeon had left for him.

"Michael, turn over on your side. This is going to pinch, and then, it will probably burn. But trust me, you’ll sleep better than anyone else in the house after I give it to you."

Nikita watched with trepidation. "Is that going to make him better?"

Michael turned and looked over his shoulder at Nikita. "Nikita, what’s wrong? I have a broken nose. I’m not dying, even though it feels like it, at the moment."

"Don’t joke like that," she said with a catch in her voice. Her eyes were wet with tears, and she regarded him sadly.

Neil gave Michael the injection, and Michael winced, his facial grimace causing the pain in his face to renew its former throbbing intensity. "Damn!" he exclaimed.

Neil got up from the bed and surveyed the scene. Nikita in tears. Michael in pain. It looked like there was nothing else he could do. "Michael, I know you’re in a great deal of pain, but that will pass. You’re lucky to have Nikita. I hope you know that."

After Neil left, Michael stared at Nikita. "Is it me or did everyone in this house suddenly get philosophical?"

Nikita gave up fighting her tears and collapsed on Michael’s chest, crying. He rubbed the back of her neck softly. "Ah, doucette. You care too much. You’ll make yourself sick."

"How can you say that? I love you..." she sobbed.

"Kita...Kita...what brought all this on?" He wrapped his arms around her as best he could and he felt her sobbing lessen its intensity.

"When Walter brought you home...you looked like you were dead." She hiccuped. "You were so pale, Michael, you don’t know what you looked like. You were barely breathing, your face all swollen and bruised."

He pulled her hair through his fingers repetitively, finding the movement soothing, needing to have physical contact with her. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Go on, Kita."

Her tears continued to flow slowly, trickling down his chest and abdomen. She stroked his chest with her hand, needing to feel him, needing to touch him. "When we were in Section, Michael, we never knew when we might die, and that was something we all came to live with. But this isn’t Section, and this wasn’t a mission. I suddenly realized how easily I could lose you...."

"Ki-ta..." He kissed the top of her head, trying not to yield to the medication that was flooding his body even now. "You were the one who told me, we can’t change the past, and we can’t control the future. So we have to live in the present. That’s what we need to do, both of us."

He closed his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to sleep just yet. He felt like there was so much more he had to tell Nikita. But the medication was making his mind feel fuzzy, and he couldn’t think straight. Only one thing seemed crystal clear. "I love you, doucette."

"I love you, too, Michael."

This time when Nikita slept, her sleep was unbroken by dreams, bad or otherwise. Similarly, Michael’s restlessness and earlier agitation disappeared as if they had never been. If one were superstitious, one might attribute the change to luck or circumstance. If one were Nikita, one might believe in the power of love to work its healing magic throughout the body and mind. Did Michael believe in it, too? Well, he believed in Nikita, which was good enough for him.

Nikita stretched her arms wide and connected with...nothing. Michael was not lying next to her. In fact, he was not even in the room. She sat up, the blankets falling in a heap around her. "Michael?" She got up slowly, feeling a niggling pain in the small of her back, but she ignored it. She had more important things on her mind.

She dressed as quickly as she could. Impatient to find out how Michael was, she quickened her pace in the hall. Reaching Madeline’s office, she knocked tentatively on the door. The door slid open a crack, and Madeline peered out. "Oh, it’s you, Nikita. Come in."

Nikita entered, wondering why she suddenly felt like the fly walking into the spider’s web, but dismissed that feeling. I’m getting entirely too paranoid for my own good. But sometimes, they really are out to get you, she thought. Madeline indicated that Nikita should sit down.

Nikita dutifully sat. Now she felt like a child who had been called to the principal’s office to be chastised for talking in class. The vibes in the office were decidedly chilly this morning, and she was sure it wasn’t her imagination.

"I’ve been thinking a lot about you this morning, Nikita. We all have. It occurs to me that...that might be the problem." Madeline paced very slowly to the window overlooking her beloved gardens. They gave her such peace, especially at moments like this.

"You put your finger on it last night yourself."

"I did?" Nikita looked puzzled. "What did I say?"

"You said you were pregnant, not ill." Nikita nodded in agreement. "That’s right. But everyone’s been treating me like I was a piece of fine china that might break. It’s frustrating."

"For you, it would be. But imagine what it feels like to be Michael."

"I don’t understand, Madeline."

Madeline sighed. "Michael is devoted to you, Nikita. Of that there is no doubt. What you two have is something very rare and very special." She laughed softly. "In fact, sometimes, it seems as though you’re on another plane of existence entirely."

"You’re leading up to something, Maddy. Spit it out," Nikita said almost angrily, feeling as though she were being manipulated.

"I’m not trying to hurt you, Nikita. No one is. But when you have a family, certain elements come into play. People fill certain roles. Walter became your father. Birkoff, your brother."

Nikita stood up, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her fists. "Are you trying to say I’m being selfish? That everything has been about me?"

"I don’t think you’re a selfish person, Nikita, no. But yes, everything up to this point, your marriage and your pregnancy included, has been about you."

"W-What about Michael?" Nikita asked.

"My very next question, Nikita. What about Michael? Where does he fit into all this? He’s your husband, yes, and the father of your children to be. But has anyone besides me noticed how depressed he is?"

"He’s still depressed?" Nikita whispered.

Madeline nodded. "His nightmares are not the only problem, Nikita. Do you remember me telling you how alone he feels sometimes, as if he’s the outsider?"

"Yes," she said tearfully.

"I realize this is an important time in your life, Nikita, but it can’t be just about you. It has to be about the two of you. He knows you love him, please don’t misunderstand me. But everyone relates to him in terms of what he can do for you. Michael needs to be loved for who he is, on his own terms, or he’s going to lose himself."

"I don’t want that." Nikita looked hurt.

"I know you need him, Nikita. Your reaction to him getting injured showed that quite clearly. But he needs you, too, maybe more than he knows. He’s a natural leader, his power and his charisma make him so. But everyone gets tired, Nikita, everyone needs respite. Everyone looks to him to make decisions, run things smoothly, keep you happy. But who does that for him?"

Nikita felt as though she had fallen down the rabbit hole with Alice. She felt quite small. Inches high, in fact. Her own husband had these thoughts and feelings, and she didn’t know?

"I thought I did, Maddy," she choked out.

"Sometimes you do, Nikita. But I’m not blaming you totally. Michael himself makes hiding his feelings an artform few can master. If you didn’t know he was depressed, it was because he didn’t want you to know. Michael is a very complicated man, Nikita."

Madeline studied Nikita. Good, she was not breaking down. She was almost as strong as she had been before the regression. "Michael is still grieving over Adam, Nikita."

She gasped as if someone had physically struck her. "I thought he had gotten over the worst of it, Maddy."

"In a way. But your pregnancy brought up a difficult dilemma for him. He wants to claim Adam, Nikita. Oh, he realizes he can’t, of course, but therein lies the conflict. When Neil told you two that you would have both a daughter and a son, Michael fell apart."

"Because of Adam?" Nikita’s lips trembled as they spoke Adam’s name.

She nodded. "Please don’t mistake me, Nikita. Michael wants you to have his children. Part of him probably even wishes that Adam was your son as well. But he’s not. Michael can never be Adam’s father again, Nikita, and somehow he translates this into he can never be anyone’s father again."

"For lack of a better way to put it, he feels he would be loving your son at Adam’s expense."

"But I would never ask him to deny his feelings for Adam, Maddy. I just want him to love me and our babies."

"And so he will, Nikita. No matter what he tells you or himself. But part of him feels he’s betraying Adam. It’s not rational, it’s just the way he feels. And what makes things worse is he doesn’t feel he can tell you any of this. He hasn’t even tried, has he?"

"He could tell me anything, Maddy. I would never expect him to forget Adam. How heartless do you think I am? I cried, too, when Adam was taken away. Even Michael doesn’t know that." She dropped her eyes to the floor, her hair falling forward to cover her face. She clutched at her middle suddenly, crying out.

Madelined grabbed Nikita by the arm and forced her to sit down. "I’m so sorry, Nikita. I never meant to get you this upset."

"It’s all right, Maddy. I’m glad you told me. But I don’t see how I can help Michael through this. He was Adam’s father first. If he chooses Adam over our son, how am I supposed to feel? Like second best? I’m already second best wife, or is it third best? I have trouble sorting out Michael’s wives sometimes," she said bitterly.

"Nikita, I never meant that you didn’t come first with Michael. You do. You do yourself a great disservice when you compare yourself unfavorably to the other women he’s loved."

"They were all pretty and petite, Maddy." Nikita wept into her hands, the tears bleeding through her fingers. "Not huge and ugly like me. Even if I weren’t pregnant, I would still be tall. And now, I’m a great elephant of a woman, all blown up and distorted like some image in an amusement park."

Madeline fretted over Nikita’s emotionally overwrought state. It wasn’t doing her or the babies any good to be this upset. Now she understood why Michael was reluctant to share his conflicted feelings with Nikita. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t listen or care. She was far too labile, and sometimes, actually volatile, to fully understand how he could feel.

"Does Michael know where you are, Nikita?"

Nikita shook her head. "No, he was gone when I woke up. I dunno where he is."

"Perhaps we should look for him together."

Madeline helped Nikita stand, very carefully, and allowed her to get her balance. "Nikita, are you in pain?"

Nikita shook her head. "It’s just a twinge, Maddy, it’s nothing." But she wasn’t so sure herself. This unexpected kind of twinge could signify nothing or everything.

"Nikita..." Madeline stroked Nikita’s hair back from her face, and Nikita allowed Madeline to continue for several seconds before she protested. "You didn’t create Michael’s problems, and you can’t solve them by yourself. Nor should you try. The burden he carries is self-imposed. He’s the only one who can give it up. But he needs all of us to start seeing him, really seeing him, not just as an extension of you."

Nikita turned her face into Madeline’s hand and didn’t move for a moment. "Madeline, you’ve been very good to me recently. I just wanted you to know that the feeling is returned." Nikita lifted her eyes to Madeline’s and smiled, tears not far away from spilling.

"I know I tend to blame myself when Michael is unhappy. I feel like I’m not good enough, or smart enough, or beautiful enough...but none of that is really important, is it? Michael says it isn’t. He says he would love me, no matter what I looked like, Maddy. And you know what? Sometimes...I believe him." She started to cry in earnest, and Madeline held her.

"As important as he is to you, that’s what you need to tell him, Nikita. He doesn’t really believe it himself. Part of him is still locked away in Section, but you hold the only key. I could have had this same conversation with Walter or Birkoff, because they’re guilty of the same thing, taking Michael’s strength and innate sense of honor for granted. But you’re the only one who matters to Michael in any real sense. Where you go, he follows. So it’s up to you to show the others how he needs to be treated."

Madeline kissed Nikita on the cheek. Nikita blinked at the uncharacteristic gesture of affection. "I do care about you, Nikita. You think I’m blaming you somehow for Michael’s pain, but I’m not. I’m looking to you to help me make him better. Because I know you can...because I know you will."

"Thank you for putting so much faith in me, Maddy." Nikita hugged Madeline.

Madeline’s smile warmed her dark eyes till they gleamed. "Thank you for justifying my faith in you, Nikita," she said softly.

Michael lay on his back surrounded by Madeline’s blossoming flowers. The scent was irresistible to him, and the sunlight on his face felt welcome after the long, dark night spent in unfamiliar territory. He closed his eyes against the brilliance of the light streaming down from the sky, strangely no longer afraid to fall asleep.

Sleep was something he dreaded lately. It brought dreams. Bad dreams. Nightmares. Night terrors. He looked for clues to the way they connected with his reality here, but could find none yet. It was difficult work. He didn’t want to think about Adam anymore. It was painful. He didn’t want anything from the past infecting his future with Nikita and their children to come. But he was often afraid it was already too late for such thoughts.

He felt something tickling his chin and opened his eyes. It was his bright angel, Nikita. She was twirling a picked flower, letting the petals touch him intermittently. "Hi."

"Hi." There was no need for speech between them sometimes. They were so intuitive with each other now, they often read each other’s feelings in a facial gesture or a body movement. Still, he concealed things from her, in an effort to protect her from himself. He didn’t want her to know how badly things had gotten for him, she would only blame herself, and he didn’t want that. Besides, it wasn’t true. She wasn’t responsible for his feelings.

She ran her fingers lightly against his cheek. "How do you feel this morning?"

"The pain is just about gone. How does the swelling look to you?"

"It’s going down slowly." She was already sitting on the grass, but she unwound her body so that she could lie next to Michael. "The sky is so blue today, I hardly ever get the chance to appreciate it this way."

He glanced at her. "You seem more like yourself this morning, Kita."

She tried not to look surprised. "Have I been acting like someone else lately, Michael?"

He chuckled. "Not really. I just...like you this way, I guess."

She raised herself up on one elbow and twirled the flower near his mouth, tickling his lips. His gaze felt warm and almost mellow as it fell upon her. She replaced the flower with her mouth and for a brief moment, she noted the surprised look in his eyes as she kissed him. His hand caught her behind the neck and pulled her even closer. His fingers tangled restlessly in her hair, Michael deepened the kiss until they were both breathless. When he finally pulled back, his eyes had darkened to deep jade.

"You’re so good for me, doucette. Sometimes I wish..." His voice trailed off, leaving her to wonder what he might have said. Was he wishing that he could tell her the truth about how he felt?

She closed her eyes and lay back on the grassy bed they had made in the gardens. "Michael..."

"Yes?"

He played with her hair, grasping the flower she held and braiding its stem into several strands of her hair. He smiled, as if pleased with the results.

"You can tell me anything," Nikita finished finally. Michael’s hand froze on her hair.

"Madeline sent you." It wasn’t a question. His eyes suddenly cool, Michael looked almost sullen.

"Michael, please, we need to talk." Nikita rolled onto her side, facing him, but he pulled away from her.

"Not about this." He sat up, wrenching his hands through his hair so roughly, she cringed. He hunched over, resting his hands on his drawn-up knees. His body language screamed for her to keep away. But Nikita refused to be deterred.

She pulled herself into a sitting position with considerable difficulty, eventually managing to do so. "Michael, I’m not judging you...."

"Good, I didn’t ask you to," he said with considerable bitterness.

She sighed heavily. "Talk to me, please."

He shook his head. "Why? You already know everything I told Madeline. No one around here respects confidences. I don’t know why I expected this to be any different."

"Madeline was worried about you. About us."

Nikita touched his neck and he flinched, shrugging off her hand. That hurt. But she tried not to take it personally, understanding he was in pain and striking out at the nearest target.

"Us? Ha! We were doing just fine until--"

Michael cut off what he was going to say so suddenly, Nikita jerked as if struck. But her mind completed the thought for her. Until you got pregnant. She felt her face flush. She couldn’t be sure that was what Michael meant. Her own feelings were clearly coloring her interpretation of events, and this whole issue was so emotionally charged, it was hard to say for certain.

Nevertheless, she felt compelled to say something. "I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t plan to get pregnant at all, much less so soon." She wiped at her eyes surreptitiously, but Michael turned quickly, catching her in the process.

He frowned. "Is that what you think? That I don’t want you to be pregnant?"

"Well, it would have kept things simple for a much longer time," she said with a clarity of insight.

"You mean it would have kept us both in denial that much longer. Me thinking I was making you happy, you thinking God only knows what." He reached out to touch her cheek, and she controlled the urge to move away.

"You do make me happy, Michael."

"Do I?" He traced the side of her face with his hand, which held a fine tremor, betraying the inner agitation he felt. "I wonder."

She closed her eyes, savoring his touch even as she felt him pulling away. Opening her eyes again, Nikita knew she was close to tears, but she refused to cry. Not now. "You’re trying to distract me, Michael, and until a moment ago, you were doing a wonderful job of it, too. But I won’t be misled. I know you make me happy, dammit, and I know you know that. So stop trying to manipulate me."

She knelt on the grass, facing him, grasping his face with both hands, refusing to allow him to avoid eye contact. "This isn’t about whether or not we love each other, Michael. This isn’t even about whether or not I should have gotten pregnant. It took both of us to get here, Michael, and you know it."

He tried to shake himself loose from her grip, but she would not let him go easily. He closed his eyes, unable to look into her tear-filled eyes one more second. "Don’t make me do this, Kita."

"I have to, Michael. You have to talk about this. To me. It doesn’t matter what Madeline told me. What matters is what you tell me."

Suddenly the sun seemed incongruous, hanging there in its bright blue sky while there was such darkness and pain down below. She placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling him tense, and she knew she had very little time before he ran away from the turmoil she was stirring up. "Want me to start, Michael? I know you want to be with Adam."

Michael bent his head, and this time, she let him go. When she saw his shoulders move, she knew that he was crying. Silently. He made no sound. She pulled him into her arms, and she felt him protest non-verbally. She pulled harder, and he finally gave in, laying his head on her shoulder. He couldn’t speak. There were no words for this kind of pain. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never see Adam again. He knew he could not risk the lives of everyone he loved and cared about to glimpse a boy he could not reveal himself to anyway. He knew, and he understood. And still, it hurt so badly, he could not express it.

"It’s a pain that never goes away, Michael. You will always be his father, in his heart, and in yours. It was meant to be this way. God let you have Adam for only a few short years, but he will never forget you, and you will never forget him." Her voice broke as her own tears choked her throat. She stroked Michael’s hair softly, feeling the curling tendrils on his neck damp with the heat of the day.

He groaned against her neck, burying his face there, despite the pain it provoked in his broken nose. "How can you possibly understand?" he whispered.

"I love you," she replied simply, knowing it was true. She felt his pain, as if it were her own, because God had chosen to join them together this way. Their souls were bonded, and sometimes, she felt as though He had sent her to Michael, specifically for this purpose. To heal him through the love she could not feel for any other man.

He pulled back to stare at her helplessly. "I do love you, Kita." She wiped a tear from his cheek with her finger, and he grabbed her hand, pressing it to his lips. "I love you."

Nikita kissed him, her lips tasting bittersweet. "I’m not asking you to forget Adam, Michael. All I want is for you to love me and our children."

He paled. "Is that what you thought? That I would stop loving you or our children? Kita...."

"Well," she said a bit defensively, "you might not mean to, Michael, but it could happen. After all, I’m not your first wife. I’m not even your second--"

He stared at her in absolute horror. "I don’t value you any less because you aren’t my first wife, Nikita!"

She flushed unevenly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Now it was her turn to be subjected to intense scrutiny, and she suddenly realized how Michael must feel. "Then why would you value our son any less because he isn’t your first son?"

Michael felt as if he couldn’t breathe. "Is that what I said?"

She nodded slowly but significantly. "That’s the impression Madeline left with me. That loving our son would be a betrayal of Adam."

He sank back onto the grass, passing a hand over his face. "My God...."

"You did say that, didn’t you, Michael? And you didn’t even realize it." She touched his arm and he shivered. He closed his eyes in pain. This was a great deal to absorb all at once, but he refused to look away, now that they had opened up the issue.

He opened his eyes, and she was still there, his bright angel. "Ni-ki-ta...I never meant to say that."

"But it’s what you meant, isn’t it?" She sighed, cradling her face in one hand. "You can’t love us as much as you love Adam. We don’t come first."

"Not true, Kita. Not true," he whispered, barely even able to get the words out. "You do come first. You always have."

He sat up suddenly, galvanized by a desire to make her understand, even as he realized that his own thinking was curiously unclear in some areas. "You do come first, Kita. That I didn’t meet you first is just an accident of fate. God’s will. Something. But if I had, there never would have been any others."

"Even Elena, Michael?" She frowned at that. "You would never have turned down the deep cover mission. Not even for me."

"I would have found a way, Kita. I swear it. On my life."

She waved a hand restlessly in the air. "It doesn’t matter anyway. We can’t change what was, Michael. We can’t wish that Adam had never been born." Her face looked stricken. "I don’t wish that."

He blinked away fresh tears, but he refused to shed them. "No, I can’t wish that," he admitted.

"But I do love you, Kita, more than anyone else I have ever loved. It’s not just that you come first. You’re the only woman I love. Isn’t that better than being first? You’re the last. There will never be anyone else after you." He said it almost reverently, as if it were part prayer, part vow. He was swearing an oath of allegiance to her that no one else had ever made. Her dark, imperfect knight.

She leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "Michael...." she whispered.

"Please believe me, Kita. I couldn’t lie to you after yesterday. I can’t. It broke my heart to see the look I put on your face." He was begging, and Nikita had to put a stop to it. He didn’t have any idea of his own worth. He thought she was the one who couldn’t see her own value, but it wasn’t just her, it was both of them.

"Michael, I do believe you." She said it solemnly, as if she returned his oath of fealty.

"Thank God!" He kissed her with renewed intensity, his lips pushing at hers until her mouth opened. His tongue found hers, and he gently made love to her mouth. He bent her backwards until she gradually sank back into the grass, his body covering hers. Careful not to rest his weight against her abdomen, he kissed her repeatedly, his love for her evident in every touch, every gesture.

When he finally was able to pull himself away from her mouth, he stared into her tearful eyes, his own eyes still wet. "Michael, promise me you’ll try to love our son and daughter just as much as you love Adam."

"I don’t have to, Kita. They’re a part of you. I can’t help but love them."

"They’re a part of you, too, Michael. Never forget that."

"I know." He remembered. They made their love real on a rooftop a little over five months ago. These babies, his and Nikita’s, were a manifestation of that love, a part of them the love thieves could never claim.

Suddenly Nikita grimaced and clutched her middle. Michael was terrified. "Kita! Kita! What’s happening?"

"I’ve been having these strange twinges since yesterday. Sometimes they really hurt."

Michael ran his hands softly over her abdomen. "Are the babies okay? Did you talk to Neil? You did talk to Neil, didn’t you?" He was almost beside himself with worry now.

"No, Michael, I was too concerned about you." She stroked his eyebrow affectionately. He pushed himself into a crouch, then helped pull her to her feet. She winced slightly, and he frowned. "I don’t like this."

"I’m sure it’s nothing, Michael. I was just examined yesterday. What could have happened since then?" She rubbed her side gingerly.

He cocked his head at her inquiringly. "So now you’re trying to prove I come first? By denying you’re in pain? Or waiting till there’s a real problem?"

She smiled weakly. "I suppose Neil should know."

Michael put his arm around her protectively. "Damn right he should know. He owes us."

***

Neil didn’t mind re-examining Nikita. When he heard about the twinges she was getting, he had a feeling about what it was, but his repeat examination confirmed it. "Braxton- Hicks."

"Brax--Who?" Nikita sputtered out.

"Contractions. You’re getting intermittent contractions. It’s like practice before the big game. Your body is getting ready. They usually come fairly late in pregnancy, Nikita. I’m a bit surprised to see them this early, but then again, I don’t expect you to go full-term. So maybe they’re right on time."

He smiled patiently. "On the other hand, if they continue to get progressively stronger or more frequent, call me. It could be a sign that labor is starting, and we don’t want that to occur this early. But don’t worry, if push comes to shove, we’ll just put you to bed for the next few months. Alone." He emphasized the last word, as if for Michael’s benefit, but Michael didn’t even blink.

"Sheesh, tough room today. What’s the matter? Everyone woke up on the wrong side of the bed? At least, you two shared a bed. That’s more than I can say."

Nikita laughed merrily. "Is this your way of saying the professional part of the visit is over, Neil? Would you like to discuss your problems with someone? I hear Maddy is a good listener."

"Maddy is the problem," he said, with a sheepish grin. "Trust me to fall in love with someone so challenging. Sometimes I want to curse her, but life with her is never dull."

Michael looked deliberately at Nikita, his gaze once more warm and mellow. "I know the feeling, Neil."

Nikita raised a finger warningly to Michael, but when she saw how much he had relaxed, she dropped her hands. "I’ll let you have that one, Michael."

Michael laughed. Neil shrugged. "You laugh, Michael, but trust me, she’s keeping score. They all do."

Nikita chuckled, and Michael kissed her. Neil whistled politely. "And for my next trick...I will persuade a certain lady psychiatrist to join me for dinner later. Wish me luck."

Walter met Michael and Nikita at the door. "Madeline said you were ready to go home. I can give you a lift if you would like." Walter’s manner was curiously formal, almost stilted, as if he were having difficulty figuring out how to treat Michael now. Uncertain if Michael held a grudge or not, Walter was taking no chances. He knew he was wrong to hit Michael, Sugar had taken him severely to task for that, and he felt tremendous guilt for treating Michael with such a lack of respect.

Michael smiled at Walter. Virtually everything that Walter was thinking played out across his rugged face. Walter was so easy to read, it was funny. In many ways, he and Nikita were very much like a real father and daughter. They were both emotional, intensely so at times, and they both tended to act on impulse. It was clear that Walter was regretting his impulsive act right now, but Michael didn’t immediately move to let him off the hook. He could use a few minutes of wondering where he stood. God knows, Michael had endured more than his share of that, even within the secure confines of his little makeshift family.

Birkoff looked equally uncomfortable. Apparently, Nikita had read the riot act to him as well. Birkoff’s only crime, however, had been showing obvious concern for Nikita while totally ignoring the fact that Michael was the victim of Walter’s wrath. Nikita had taken both men aside earlier to take them to task for the way they had treated Michael, and evidently she had some strong ideas for how things needed to change.

Michael was in fact amazed at the protective streak Nikita was demonstrating towards him. She didn’t seem to care whether anyone liked it or not. Suddenly she was his brave defender, in much the same way Michael had protected her over the years. Ma belle lionne. My beautiful lioness.

He felt warmth pervade his body, knowing that she was the cause. She didn’t care if he were completely wrong, she would defend him to the death. He knew what the difference was now. He was no longer standing tentatively on the periphery of their life, he felt included. His arm crept around Nikita’s shoulder and he sighed contentedly. They were going home. At last.

***

Declan was waiting on the front porch when they arrived. He took one look at Michael’s nose and blinked. Very Section-like. He didn’t comment, he didn’t stare. He merely blinked and awaited further intel.

Birkoff grumbled as the others hung back. "Well, if no one else is going to say anything, I will."

"Say what, Birkoff?" Declan asked, somehow intuiting that the answer would be interesting.

"Well...you might be wondering why Michael looks like the Torture Twins worked him over."

Nikita coughed. Birkoff glanced nervously at Nikita and winced. "Sorry, Michael."

Michael looked like nothing short of nuclear disaster would disrupt his equanimity. His eyelashes fell slowly, covering his changeable gray-green eyes. A moment later, they rose just as slowly, revealing the way his eyes had changed color. It was true, Michael did look somewhat worse for wear at the moment. Nikita hid a smile behind her hand. She personally thought Michael looked like a football player who had been pulled from a game, the heavy black lines pressed under both eyes, like someone had done it deliberately.

"Nikita, you’re staring." Michael reminded Nikita carefully, as she had instructed him to do.

"Thank you, Michael." She acknowledged his comment and his appearance. "Actually, Michael, you do look rather like a chipmunk who’s seen better days." She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Walter and Birkoff stared at Nikita, wondering if it was too much to ask for someone to follow their own advice. Michael drew himself up to his full height and smiled. Removing the extensive bandage had left behind bruising and swelling that made Michael look nearly unrecognizable at this point. But Michael much preferred that to wearing the bulky dressing plastered across his face. It made him feel both blind and unable to breathe.

"Anyway," Birkoff looked pointedly at Nikita, "Nikita and Michael found out that they’re having a girl and a boy. Michael did something to make Nikita cry. Walter punched him, broke his nose, and sat through five hours of torture at the hospital while they put Michael back together."

Birkoff paused to get his breath, then continued. "Michael passed out from the pain medication, it took all four of us to get Michael into bed for the night. Nikita woke up in the middle of the night, thought Michael was dead, and screamed bloody murder. The rest of the night went fine. Then we came home. How’d I do, Sis?"

"Not bad, Birkoff." Nikita smiled.

Declan looked puzzled. "But what did Michael do to make you cry, Nikita? That’s the bit that makes me curious. If you don’t mind me asking, of course."

Birkoff glanced helplessly at Nikita. "Ummm...I don’t think I can answer that one, Declan."

Nikita started to say something, but Michael cut her off gently. "It’s okay, doucette. Declan asked a legitimate question. We have no secrets, right?"

She nodded. "But some things are private, Michael. You don’t have to do this. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t." She linked her arm protectively through Michael’s, as if lending him moral support.

He bowed to her judgment, which surprised both of them. He realized that he’d been trying to beat himself up like the very devil lately, and he had to regain control of that urge. It was self-defeating.

"Sorry, Declan, my better half prevails." He chuckled as he realized that it was true.

"Oh, Walter, I meant to tell you, if you spy Nikita having a "twinge" or just acting suspiciously, please let me know. She’s been having contractions on and off, but she’s not supposed to go into labor for at least another three months, hopefully. I’m only mentioning this because we both know how Nikita likes to pretend she’s fine." He stared at her for a moment, willing her not to cross him on this one point. He leaned over and whispered to her, "I need to know you’re all right, doucette, please don’t fight me on this."

She nodded her agreement, before kissing him full on the mouth. "I’m gonna be just fine, you wait and see." Birkoff smiled. She sounded like the old Nikita they all knew and loved.

Walter watched, uncertain how Sugar felt about him anymore. He knew he deserved to be chastised, but his heart was aching over their estrangement. Suddenly, as if reading his mind, Nikita smiled warmly at Walter.

"Hey, Dad. You’d better get to work finishing that second cradle. Looks like I’m not gonna make it to my ninth month."

Walter broke into a devilish grin. "Why, sure, Sugar, it’d be my pleasure."

Michael patted Walter on the back. "We still friends?" he asked softly.

"Michael, how can you ask me that?" Walter looked hurt.

"We’re more than friends. We’re family, right?" Walter said anxiously, waiting for Michael’s reaction.

"Yeah, we are. We sure are." Michael agreed, feeling as though things had definitely gotten brighter since early morning. The sun had literally come from behind a cloud today, and he wondered briefly if he needed to thank God for that.

Michael walked into their bedroom and chuckled at himself. Nikita heard him and questioned him. "I was just thinking, how the room seemed to welcome us back. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s why I laughed. It feels like we’ve been away a long, long time, and now the house is glad to see us."

"I don’t think that’s stupid at all, Michael. I think you’re just finally getting in touch with your feelings about everything." She reached up and caressed his face. "You need to put some ice on your face, love, to help the swelling go down."

She turned to leave the room, ostensibly to get the ice, but Michael stopped her, grasping her wrist gently. He pulled her into his embrace, deeply enjoying the feel of her burgeoning abdomen against him. He kissed her neck. "Are our babies awake, Kita?"

She stood very still as if she were listening to music that only she could hear. "Yes," she said breathlessly. "They are."

"Maybe they’re glad to be home, too, Kita." He kissed her tenderly, letting her feel everything he was feeling right now. The sense of wonder at discovering how new everything felt to him. His love for her and their babies. The peace that was finally pervading his soul.

"I love you, Ni-ki-ta Samuelle."