Perhaps it was inevitable that after talking so much about Section, he would dream about it. Birkoff’s eyes twitched back and forth beneath their eyelids, betraying an inner restlessness he could not control. He was dreaming that Michael and Nikita did not make it out of Section. He recalled the fever that Michael had, how he had been poisoned by someone, probably Operations, but in this version of reality, Walter wasn’t along for the ride. There was no one available to make an antidote to the poison. Michael died. Nikita was captured shortly afterward and canceled. Birkoff was facing the same fate.

He was locked into the chair in the White Room, but it was no longer Madeline who paced back and forth, questioning and querying irritably. It was Operations. The last thing that he heard was Operations’ harshly whispered, "You picked your side, boy, now you can die like the rest of them..." And with that, Birkoff sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air.

He was trying to scream. He knew this because his throat felt sore, raspy, inflamed, as though he had just swallowed acid. He couldn’t breathe. But he was. He panted like a dog, his tongue hanging out, and he regretted telling Nikita about his dreams, or rather nightmares. However, that regret lasted but a second, for he remembered the outcome of their talk. Nikita’s hug. Her fond words. His own stammered declaration. He did love Nikita. Truly. Just not the way he had always envisioned it.

Declan heard Birkoff come awake, and he turned towards him, struggling to open his eyes. It was the middle of the night. Declan sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and finally clearing his vision. "Another dream, Sey?"

Birkoff nodded. The anxiety attack was passing now. He would be okay again. Especially now that Declan was awake. "I’m okay, though. Cause you’re here." Birkoff smiled shyly at Declan.

"Always."

Such a wave of love overcame Birkoff, he almost lost his diffident manner, but not quite. Declan pulled his long red hair back with one hand, sweeping it into a makeshift ponytail that fell down his back. "What?" Declan asked, noting the intense way Birkoff was staring at him.

"I love you."

Declan grinned at Birkoff. "I know, Sey. I love you, too."

"No, no, I mean, I really love you."

"I really, really love you, too." Declan grinned again, his expression a little less happy and a little more puzzled.

Birkoff exhaled a huge breath, unaware he’d even been holding it all that time. "That’s not what I mean, Declan. I mean, I--oh, never mind..."

Declan abruptly blinked, his storm-grey eyes darkening. "You mean, you just realized that you love me, like you would love a woman?" He wasn’t sure how to take that. He thought he and Birkoff were well and truly bonded by now, he didn’t like entertaining the thought that they had been operating under slightly different definitions and assumptions of that love.

Birkoff shook his head violently. "No, Declan, I came to that realization a long time ago."

Declan breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh." He waited expectantly. "Then what?"

"I want us...to be together..."

"We are together, Sey. I was rather hoping you’d noticed that bit by now."

"I mean...together..."

Birkoff was being cryptic, and Declan was sleepy. Not a good combination. But suddenly, the wheels turned and something clicked into place. "Oh! Together!" Declan said.

Birkoff didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. He wasn’t unsure about what he wanted. He just didn’t want to be the first one to move. Declan’s expression grew even more enigmatic. "Are you sure, Sey? Cause I dunno if there’s any turning back after this point."

His answer was a kiss. It was the first time he initiated a real kiss between the two of them. But it felt right. It was time.

He wrapped his arms around Declan’s neck, and he pressed his mouth to his. "I love you, Declan. I don’t want there to be any mistakes between us. So..."

Declan waited impatiently a moment longer, trying not to guess at what was in Seymour’s mind. He nodded. "I love you, too, Sey."

He buried his face against Declan’s neck, overcome with shyness, but compelled to tell the truth about his feelings. "I want...you to make love to me."

Declan smiled softly, his grey eyes changing color again to a paler, more translucent shade. "It’d be better if we made love to each other, Sey," he corrected gently. "Only cause...I wouldn’t ever want you to feel like I was taking advantage of you..."

"You couldn’t," he whispered back, realizing it was true. He trusted Declan with his life. How could he not trust him with his love?

***

Madeline felt like a wandering minstrel who finally came home. She had so many fascinating stories yet to tell, and yet sleep was winning out over the tales. Neil was not asleep, though he knew she thought he was. He often woke during the middle of the night, especially in the past week, checking on Maddy almost compulsively.

"Hey, Maddy..." Neil whispered, feeling as if anything louder than a whisper wouldn’t be tolerable. It would break this wonderful, peaceful feeling he had. This feeling that all was finally right with the world. His world. The one he shared with Maddy.

"Neil?" she said with a fond look in his direction. "You’re awake."

He nodded. "Watching you, my Maddy."

"Whatever for?"

"Just to make sure...you’re still there." His voice broke. He disliked crying, as a rule, and he disliked crying in men intensely. But he couldn’t help it. He felt as if he had been so close to losing her, he could hardly believe everything was going to be all right.

"Oh, Neil. I wouldn’t leave you yet. My work isn’t done here."

"What work is that, Maddy?"

"I have to heal Michael and Nikita...Birkoff and Declan...matchmake for Walter and Miranda...and oh, yes, there was one more thing." She smiled her madonna-like smile for him, and he bit his lip. He loved her so much.

"I have to give birth to our son."

He kissed her fervently, his lips almost cool from anxiety, but quickly warming themselves on hers. "I love you, my Maddy."

"I love you, Neil."

***

Michael lay on his side behind Nikita, his arms wrapped around her. She grasped his hands in hers and kissed them. His response was a drowsy smile.

He stroked her hair back from her face with the tips of his fingers, finding touching her as soothing as she found his touch.

"Are you tired, love?"

"A little." She rubbed her lip with her thumb. "Would you make love to me if I asked?"

"You don’t have to ask."

"I have to tell you something, Michael."

"What is it?"

"I was wrong yesterday. I never should have misjudged you like I did. I’m so sorry." Her eyes filled up with tears, and she immediately thought of Birkoff. She hoped he was not tortured by nightmares this night, but if he was, she hoped that Declan would continue to be kind.

He kissed the nape of her neck, rubbing his mouth against her neck afterwards. "I never expected an apology, doucette."

"I know. But you deserve one, Michael."

He stopped kissing her neck quite suddenly. "Is that what this is, Kita? Payment for services rendered?" Michael’s voice sounded bitter, as if he hated even saying the words.

"Noooo..." she said, humbly begging his pardon. She turned in his embrace and she saw his enigmatic grey eyes turn frosty. "I mean it, Michael. Nothing like that ever even occurred to me."

He searched her eyes carefully. "I’ll know if you try to deceive me, Nikita."

"Nikita? Hmm...I dunno if I like the sound of that, Michael. Whenever you call me by my full name, you’re either concerned or angry."

"I’m not concerned, Nikita."

"Angry then, again? Oh, Michael..." Nikita turned her back on Michael and tried to wriggle out from his embrace. To no avail.

His arms remained firmly wrapped around her, while he began kissing her neck again. "Oh, Kita. I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to love you and protect you as best I can."

She cried silently, her tears sliding off her face and onto his arms. "That’s what I want, too."

"Then why are you crying, doucette?"

"Cause I love you...and I hurt you...in equal parts, it would seem..." She raked her fingers through her hair, in an almost agitated manner.

He pulled her away from the edge of the bed, turning her around so she faced him. She bent her head down, in an effort to avoid his scrutiny, but he would not let her get away. "Kita...listen to me...I could say the same thing about the effect I have on you. But this is getting us nowhere fast."

He hugged her tightly, and just when she thought she had no more tears, she continued to cry. "I didn’t mean to hurt you, Michael. I wanted to apologize...and now, I’ve made things worse."

"No, doucette. I let myself react to what you said, and I shouldn’t have. It was just..." He shook his head. Nikita wanted him to continue. She wanted to understand.

Michael looked so conflicted. Nikita wanted to help, but there didn’t seem to be a way. Wait, maybe there was. The only way they ever seemed to communicate without misunderstanding. She reached up and kissed Michael full on the mouth. He looked at her, his eyes unconsciously softening, his heart unfurling like a banner. A banner that read "I love you."

"Kita, it’s not fair in any sense of the word, but I love you so much, I could, and probably would, forgive you anything. That’s a damned dangerous thing to tell you, I know, but I just can’t stand watching you worry yourself to death."

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement closely. "Make love to me, please, Michael."

He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. "Always and forever, doucette."

Quickly dressing, then tiptoeing out of the house, Michael and Nikita left a note for Declan on the kitchen table in plain sight. Michael helped Nikita into the Jeep on the passenger side before coming around to the driver’s side. He backed out of the driveway swiftly, reversing when he came to the road. Once they were on the road, Nikita sought Michael’s hand and held it in her lap as he drove. He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, but he squeezed her hand, hard, so she would know he was still there. Extremely aware of her.

He drove silently through the night for a long, long time. The ride to the mountaintop seemed short on the motorcycle. But now that he had the children, it seemed important to him not to take unnecessary risks with his life. He didn’t know exactly when he came to that conclusion, but he did.

He paused at the bottom of the mountain, shifting the Jeep into four-wheel drive. This was better than the motorcycle. When they had come on the motorcycle, they had to walk the rest of the way up the mountain. Now, they could drive right up the mountain. He parked on the incline before the top of the mountain, carefully setting the parking brake. He immediately recognized the place where he had cut up and buried his mission blacks. It didn’t look any different to him than a hundred other similar pieces of turned over dirt, but he would know it anywhere. It was an important symbol, an important event in his life.

He touched the silver cross that hung at his neck, ever so briefly, and he wondered if God would be offended by what he wanted to do here. His doubts lasted only a moment. God would understand. God must know them well by now.

Nikita studied Michael’s profile. "Michael, why did we come here?"

"You’ll see," he replied enigmatically. He took the blankets out of the Jeep and stretched a hand out for Nikita to hold. They held hands the rest of the way up to the very top. The moon was still out, though it was not full. Michael dropped the blankets. It was crisp and cool, almost unseasonably warm for the season, but there was no snow here. It would not have mattered.

Michael spread the blankets out over the ground and undid his jacket. He pulled Nikita down to the blankets, slipping his hands inside her jacket. "You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Kita."

"Are we going to make love up here, Michael?"

He nodded. He pushed her hair away from her face. "Ma belle lionne..." He hadn’t called her that in a long, long time. Still, it was an image of her he carried within his heart. His brave lioness. It fit her more now than it did then. Fierce protectoress of him and their children.

"Nikita...here in front of God, I want to show you how much I love, honor, and respect you. No one has ever...held your place in my heart. No one else...ever can. Or will."

It struck her suddenly. Michael was renewing their wedding vows with her, here, in this special, somehow sacred place. He wasn’t waiting for their second wedding anniversary. He chose tonight. He wasn’t waiting another day. It would be dawn soon. They would make love, and lie in each other’s arms, until the sun came up.

"Oh...Michael." She wanted words. She wanted the right words. Not just any words. But she wasn’t gifted or articulate, like he was. Michael...she thought...please hear what my heart wants to tell you.

He searched her face carefully, looking for something as yet unnamed. Something he would nonetheless recognize when he saw it. Nikita shivered. "Are you too cold up here, doucette?"

"No, Michael." She shook off the chill that ran up her spine.

Slowly, they undressed each other. When they were done, Michael wrapped Nikita in one of the blankets for warmth. Then he lay next to her, trying to give her his own body heat. Still, her breasts peaked in tiny pebbles he could feel when he ran his hands lightly over them. "You are cold, doucette. I’m sorry. We should go home."

"No," Nikita wrapped her arms around his as he held her. "I’ll be fine. As long as you hold me." She stroked his face, feeling the stubble of his beard beneath her fingers.

He kissed her, so tenderly, she thought she’d dreamed it. "I love you," he whispered.

She lifted her face to his, and they kissed, over and over, some kisses tasting almost bittersweet, the ache was so intense inside her. "My love," she said in a low voice, unsure if she was addressing Michael or describing how she felt.

"I wish I had your faith, Michael...you seem so strong in it lately."

"You can borrow mine anytime, Kita."

He gently covered her body with his, and she gasped at the warmth of him against her. "Yes," she answered. "I will take you inside of me, and when we are the same person, I will know what you know...feel what you feel..." She didn’t know where the words suddenly came from, but it was exactly how she felt. She vaguely wondered if God was lending her His hand.

He kissed the pulse at the base of her throat, and she felt his tears on her skin. She stopped him, her hands shaking as they clung to his. "What is it, Michael?"

He stared at her, his green eyes like watery emeralds, their fire hidden but not diffused. "You say you don’t have nearly as much faith as I do, doucette, yet you go on. Trusting me. Loving me. I think that takes more faith than even I have."

"Do you think God gives me the strength to do that, Michael?"

"I believe...I think that’s where it comes from...yes."

"Then we are celebrating something more than our love...our faith in each other."

"Our faith in someone bigger than we are, doucette. Even we could not do this alone. We would never have made it out of Section alive without His help. You would not be here in my arms...if I hadn’t prayed to God to spare your life...the other night."

She wiped his tears away, her fingers continuing to stroke his cheeks even after the tears were gone. "God saved me, Michael?"

He nodded. "And I wanted to thank Him. It would have been selfish to ask Him to save you for me, doucette. So I asked Him to save you for Faith and for Chris."

"The end result is the same...I am still here to be with you."

He smiled wistfully. "Yes."

He traced the lines of her face lightly. "As strong as my faith has become, I know I could not go on without you, Kita. Even for Faith. Even for Chris. And I love both of them more than I love this life."

"You’re just saying that, Michael. I know you wouldn’t leave our babies alone in the world. Without either one of us." She started to cry, her hands trapped beneath his as he gripped them tightly.

"I like to think I wouldn’t, doucette. But the other night, I didn’t have that kind of strength." He sighed heavily, even as the tears continued to well up in his eyes. "I think maybe God saved you to show me something. That my faith was not misplaced in Him, maybe. I don’t know. But He knew I was close to losing my heart..." he choked out.

"I am your heart, Michael. As you are mine." Nikita kissed him, and the ache inside of her intensified. It was love...and angst...together.

"I love you, doucette...but the words seem so inadequate now."

"Never. Never, Michael. When you tell me those words, my heart sings, and my body aches...because we are halves of the same whole."

"Then we should be together." His green eyes darkened, as much with passion as with love.

"Forever."

She opened herself to him, and he slid into her silken depths, feeling as though he had truly come home. For long moments, they lay that way, unmoving, yet joined at the very core of their being. It was such a sweet ache, this ache to be one. But a force beyond them drove them. Michael moved against her, slowly, deeply, and Nikita no longer considered the coolness of the surrounding air.

He wrapped his arms around her, through the blanket, trying to keep her warm, even as they moved rhythmically together. She kissed his hair as it fell forward into her face, and the tickling of the fine strands against her cheeks made her laugh softly. He smiled, burying his face against her neck as they approached total union.

Nikita’s cries were lost to the cool dawn air. But the sound of her, the silken throb of her under him, drove him completely over the edge. When he climaxed, he poured his essence into her, as though she were the sacred vessel that contained his love. He collapsed on top of her, and she kissed the top of his head, stroking his beautiful, cinnamon-colored hair. His ear against her chest, he listened for her heartbeat. Slowly returning to normal.

"Do you suppose God minded?"

She chuckled. "I think God appreciates the creative way you interpret Him."

He kissed her, and the sweet ache that was once so strong faded. "God knows how much I love you, doucette."

She kissed him back. "God always knew, Michael."

They lay in each other’s arms, watching the sunrise, and as the sun came up over the mountain, they kissed again. "Look, Michael, He made the dawn, especially for us."

But instead of looking at the dawn, as incredible as it was, he looked at her. His Nikita. "He made you."

Walter knocked on the door, his knuckles rapping loudly and echoing throughout the near-empty house. "Yo, Declan! Michael left a--" He pushed on the door, which was not locked, and it opened. He peered inside.

Declan suddenly appeared, the bed sheets wrapped around his lower body, his long red hair in total disarray. "Don’t you believe in knocking?"

"Well, excusssssseee me," said Walter dryly. "I did knock, for your information, Declan. But apparently, you not only didn’t hear me, you were...ahem...otherwise engaged."

Declan glared at Walter, but he couldn’t fault him on that. The door had no lock. He’d never needed one. Till now. "You’re a cheeky old man, Walter, you know that."

Walter grinned unrepentantly. "I do, indeed, Declan. I do, indeed."

"Hey, I figure I’m practically the only one in this house not getting any, I might as well wake you up." Walter waved over his shoulder. "By the way, Michael left you a note..."

Declan yelled after him, "You are the only one in this house not getting any, Walter! Go ask Miranda out already!"

Walter stopped dead in his tracks. He gestured with his fingers and looked at Declan, an intriguing expression on his time-ravaged face. "You and Seymour--?"

Declan’s face turned a curious shade of pink. "Uhhh..."

Walter laughed, clapping his hands delightedly. "Well, it’s about freaking time! I was wondering how long you two could sleep together without--" Walter stopped himself from completing that thought when he caught the dangerous glint in Declan’s grey eyes. "Hey, it’s none of my business, right?"

"Right."

"You look cute in the sheet, though, Declan. It’s a good look for you. Tell Birkoff I said hi." Walter’s eyes twinkled merrily. He was incorrigible, and it did absolutely no good whatsoever to get angry at the man. He was never going to change.

"Walter..." Declan caught Walter’s arm, stopping him from moving away. He looked back over his shoulder, noting that Birkoff was still asleep. "I won’t even ask you how you know we weren’t--. But you won’t mention this to Sey, will you?"

"Wha--?" Walter closed his mouth abruptly. "You think I would hurt Seymour like that?"

Declan looked lost for a moment, and Walter suddenly got a sense of the inner self that Declan seldom showed anyone. Except Birkoff. "I know you go back a long ways with him, Walter. You probably understand him better than I do in some ways. But I love him, and I would do anything to protect him."

"Then we understand each other better than you think, Declan." Walter smiled peacefully at the younger man. "I’ve known Birkoff a long time, and I’ve never seen him look happier."

He frowned. "But if I ever hear of you treating him bad..." he said, his finger poised threateningly in the air. "You will...answer to me. It’ll be you and me, kid. No one else."

Declan nodded silently. He understood Walter now. There was a bond between Walter and Seymour that was more like father and son than anything else. They were more than friends. They were family. Declan knew, and Walter knew, that Declan could easily kill the older operative. But if Declan abused Birkoff’s trust or his love, he would gladly submit to the older man’s punishment. He would deserve it. What was between them was nothing short of a commitment, just as real as marriage, just as sacred to Declan as church. If he broke that faith, he would not only let Walter shoot him, he would hand him the gun.

Birkoff woke slowly, and noticed that Declan was not in bed. He could not see without his glasses, but he could tell that someone was standing in the doorway. He grabbed his shorts and pulled them up over his hips. He wandered over to the door, almost bumping into Declan before he realized who it was.

"Hey..." Birkoff smiled sleepily at Declan. Before Declan could say anything in response, Birkoff kissed him. He sighed contentedly and lay his head on Declan’s shoulder. "I missed you. Are you coming back to bed? We can sleep in this morning."

Declan glanced out of the corner of his eye at Walter. He wasn’t sure who was more startled when they saw each other. Walter or Birkoff. Walter cleared his throat. Birkoff’s mouth dropped open.

Walter shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "Umm...actually, you can’t. You have babysitting duty this morning. That’s what was in Michael’s note."

Birkoff looked crestfallen. "Oh."

That one word spoke volumes. Declan knew that last night had been the first time they had allowed themselves to express their love in the physical sense. For anyone else to be disturbed like this on their honeymoon would be sad, but for Birkoff, it might be tragic.

Walter didn’t misinterpret Declan’s concerned look. He knew how sensitive Birkoff was, himself, and Declan obviously felt that they needed more time together. Alone.

"Hey, Declan, I just remembered what you said before, about me asking Miranda out! That’s just what I’m gonna do! Thanks for the advice, kid!" Walter tapped Birkoff on the shoulder. Birkoff looked like a little boy who’d lost his last stuffed animal.

"Hey, Birkoff, guess what? I’m gonna have to trade babysitting duty with you guys!"

Birkoff looked puzzled. Declan merely smiled. His grey eyes softened, though, when they looked at Walter. Thank you. Thank you for understanding.

"Y-you are?"

"Yeah...Miranda really went for those babies. I think they’re a chick magnet or something! Shows everyone how sensitive I am!" Walter cackled.

Declan said, a bland expression carefully in place, "You’re such an altruist, Walter, truly you are."

Walter shrugged his shoulders, an easygoing grin on his weathered face. "Hey, I can be the soul of sensitivity sometimes. Don’t you ever forget it."

Birkoff rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother."

Walter saluted the two of them. "Oh, and Declan, I’m gonna pick up a lock. For your door. Word to the wise. Be glad I’m not Michael."

Declan’s face flamed bright red, and Birkoff buried his face against his shoulder. "Jeez."

"Does everyone in the world have to discuss my private life?"

"Nope," said Walter, that merry twinkle back in his eye. "Just me and Declan."

Birkoff stared at Declan. "You told Walter about us?"

Declan blinked hard. "Hell, no! What do you take me for, a fool?"

Walter could see he’d put his foot in his mouth once again. "Sorry, Birkoff. Declan didn’t say a thing. I’m just running my mouth. As usual."

Birkoff drew himself up to his not so considerable height. "Walter...if you care anything about me..." Birkoff shook his head. "I can’t even joke about this."

Walter nodded in agreement. "I know, Birkoff, I know. I didn’t mean to make light of it."

Birkoff’s eyes filled with tears. "Well, it’s just that you wouldn’t do it to Michael and Nikita. Why does everyone think we’re fair game?"

Declan pulled Birkoff into his arms. "They don’t, Sey. Nobody’s talking about us. Cept you."

Birkoff lay his head on Declan’s shoulder, his face away from Walter. Declan silently urged Walter to go, and Walter nodded, understanding the unspoken message.

Declan nudged the door shut with his foot, not willing to let go of Birkoff, even for a moment. He was too upset, though he was not crying. His fingers twined in Declan’s hair, he seemed to find the support he needed in being held.

"I’m sorry, Declan..." he whispered finally. "I’m screwing this up, aren’t I?"

"No, Sey. What makes you think so?"

"I don’t know how to talk to people."

"It’s no one else’s business, Sey. That’s all. You said it just fine."

"I did?" He looked up at Declan, his eyes like melting dark chocolate. Such expressive eyes.

"Aye, you did." Declan pressed a kiss to Birkoff’s forehead.

When they reached the bed, Declan sat down, but he still didn’t release Birkoff from his embrace. "Are you okay now?"

Birkoff nodded. "I think so."

"Good." Declan let go of Birkoff, tumbled backwards into the bed, and pulled the covers over himself and Birkoff. "We’re going back to bed now, Sey."

"To sleep?" Birkoff’s eyes looked suspiciously bright.

"Well, now, I didn’t say that." Declan smiled mischievously before he kissed him.

"Let Walter get his own breakfast."

Michael and Nikita yawned almost simultaneously. He looked at her, his face betraying a softness that was only there when he saw Nikita or his children. She smiled sleepily, her arms still wrapped around him. "Let’s go home."

He opened the door to the Jeep. Immediately afterward, he literally swept Nikita off her feet and into his arms, staring down at her with such utter tenderness, she felt as though she had died and gone to Heaven. "Mi-chael..." she whispered. He kissed her with the same intensity she saw in his eyes, and she sighed against his mouth, her hands automatically cradling the back of his head.

"Je t’aime, mon amour." He refused to set her down or let her go. He kept her trapped in his embrace for several minutes, while he seemed to be memorizing her every feature, as though he might not see her for a long, long time. When he was done, he gracefully lay her on the passenger side of the Keep, taking the time to arrange the blankets around her. "I don’t want you to get cold, doucette."

When he opened the driver’s side door, Nikita studied her husband. He was not a man given to casual gestures. Every move was well-thought-out and considered carefully before being executed. He must have planned this trip to the mountain days ago. Long before she became ill. Still, it could not have been better timing. She needed something powerful to bring her back to herself. He was right. She had been steadily losing the faith that she herself had once brought into the relationship. It was time to connect again with that part of herself. For her own sake, for Michael’s sake. For her children’s sake.

He leaned over to her side of the Jeep suddenly, tracing a finger down the side of her face. She closed her eyes a moment, savoring the feel of him, vaguely wondering how such a simple movement of his hand could be so touching. And it did touch her, deep inside. It always had. "How do you do this to me, so consistently?"

She opened her eyes, to find his face inches away, and she knew he would kiss her. "I love you," he said, as if it were the answer to every question that could be asked. It was.

His face descended to hers, and his eyes slowly slid shut of their own volition. His lips teased hers apart, so gently, she thought she imagined it, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. Oh, she ached inside in a way she could not express. He captured her moan even as he did her tongue. His fingers intertwined with hers, they restlessly moved back and forth, playing with her palm, massaging her knuckles. He could no more stop touching her than he could stop breathing.

"Ki-ta, doucette, je t’aime, je t’aime..." he murmured almost agitatedly in French.

He backed her up against the passenger door of the Jeep, pulling on the blankets he had wrapped around her, drawing her even closer. He slid his hand inside her shirt, glad she had not put her underwear back on. He needed to make contact with her skin. He wanted her with a very real desperation, as if they had not just made love, mere minutes ago.

He opened her jeans, sliding them down her thighs until he could caress her lower body. She sat back, opening her legs, and he ran his hands along the inside of her thighs. Until he finally touched her. There. She was hot and wet where his hand stroked her. She whimpered low in her throat, and he continued to kiss her as his hands moved restlessly.

If the last time they made love had been spiritual, this time was more carnal. Michael’s arousal strained against the fly of his jeans, begging to be released, and when Nikita touched the zipper, Michael gasped into her mouth, the sensation was so intense. She slid the zipper down, palming him in her hand, loving the silken texture of him. He edged closer to her, spreading his own legs, as much as was possible within the limited confines of the Jeep.

They sat facing each other, their legs overlapping one another’s, until Michael found a way to join their bodies. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he grasped her hips even as he sank deep inside her. "Yessss..." she hissed, nipping at his ear with her teeth.

He could barely move, but he didn’t have to. Within moments of entering her, Michael climaxed, unable to stop or even control the spasm that shook both of them to the core. Nikita followed him, mere seconds later, and he buried his face against her neck, panting as much with relief as excitement. Framing her face with his hands, he kissed her, finally drawing back only far enough to lean his face against hers while he caught his breath at last.

He knew they were wearing some of the evidence of making love, but it couldn’t be helped. Perhaps they would be able to sneak into the house without anyone seeing them. Nah...Walter and his eagle eyes would spot them. Michael reluctantly withdrew from Nikita, wrapping her in the blanket again. "Ma belle amante," he whispered, tucking the edges of the blanket around her neck.

What an intense rush of lovemaking, yet what came before and what came after was fraught with such tenderness, it seemed to come from a completely different person. Michael was such a complicated man, Nikita could never pretend to know all of him, or even understand most of him. What might initially seem quixotic to some was often followed by an amazingly structured and logical set of constructs.

She searched for his hand and held onto it. He looked down at their hands, then back at her face, transformed by their lovemaking. "You are the other half of me, doucette. That’s why..." He looked away, suddenly tearful. "If anything ever happened to you..."

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. It was too painful to contemplate. Life without her. But with his faith intensified now, he knew he would go on. He had to. For the sake of their children.

Her hand cupped his cheek, his tears spilling over onto the back of her hand. He kissed her hand. "I’m sorry, Kita. I didn’t mean to ruin our beautiful dawn together. I don’t know what came over me."

"Don’t be sorry, Michael. You didn’t ruin anything for me. Every time we make love, it’s different...yet the same." She kissed him, softly, and he pulled her close, kissing her back.

"Whatever we do, we do together. You’re not taking advantage of me, Michael. There is nothing that we could do...that I could not accept. As long as it comes from you with love." She played with a strand of his hair that threatened to fall into his face, and he grabbed her wrist, stroking the inside of it almost hypnotically.

"I love you," he whispered.

"That’s all I need. Ever."

"Now we can go home?"

"Now we can go home."

***

Declan was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, his booted feet up on another chair. He looked to be in a state of complete relaxation. Birkoff sat opposite him, chomping on cereal, as he was wont to do for breakfast, no matter what was offered.

Declan looked up as Birkoff slurped the milk at the bottom, like a little kid. "Do you have to do that?"

Birkoff grinned. "I always do. Didn’t know it bothered you."

Declan leaned forward, his newspaper dipping down with the movement. He regarded Birkoff with grey-eyed intensity. "Everything you do...bothers me."

"Ooh, I’m so scared..." Birkoff laughed.

Declan put down the newspaper. He pulled Birkoff closer, so that they were nose to nose. "Cocky little sonuvagun, aren’t you?"

"Yeah."

"You think just cause I love you, I won’t hurt you?"

"I know you won’t."

Birkoff stuck out his tongue at Declan, and Declan laughed, throwing up his hands. Declan leaned his forehead against Birkoff’s, in almost perfect imitation of the way Michael touched Nikita.

Declan kissed him, his thumb stroking his cheek. Birkoff held onto his hand, reluctant to let go just yet. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Always and forever?"

"Always and forever."

Declan pulled on Birkoff’s shoulders, deepening the kiss. "This is nice, having the house all to ourselves. Like two normal people. At home."

"Yeah."

"What have I done to you, Sey? We’ve made love, and now you’re struck dumb? All you can say is yeah?" Declan smiled, the love he felt in his heart spreading its warmth to his grey eyes.

Birkoff grinned. Everything in his life suddenly came together with a clarity that would have scared him a year ago. "Yeah."

They kissed, giggling all the while, the intensity of their feelings belied by their playfulness.

Suddenly the door opened. Michael stood there, a quizzical expression on his face. Nikita almost walked into him, so abruptly did he stop. "What--?"

Declan and Birkoff jumped apart, Declan’s feet hitting the floor with a tremendous thud. Birkoff scraped his chair back noisily, almost leaping to his feet. "Michael! You’re back!" Declan cried.

"It would seem that way," Michael said, with a trace of amusement.

Nikita poked Michael in the ribs. "Don’t tease Declan, Michael, you wouldn’t like it if he did it to you."

Michael looked at Nikita, and the warmth of that look almost melted her into a boneless state. "Very true."

He turned back to face Declan, who looked curiously guilty, and Birkoff, who managed to look curiously innocent. "My wife, my conscience."

"I take it you’re enjoying the run of the house today?"

Declan nodded silently, afraid to open his mouth for fear of what might come out. He felt the strangest compulsion to laugh.

"Walter has the kids?"

Birkoff nodded. "Walter is trolling for chicks with ‘em."

Declan kicked Birkoff’s shin under the table. Birkoff yelped and glared at Declan.

Nikita smiled at the by-play between the two lovers. They were well-matched. "I hate to interrupt, but I am in desperate need of a bath. Michael...don’t kill Declan. We need him."

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but the expression on Nikita’s face stopped him. She was communicating something. Look, she said, they’re together in a way we’ve never seen before. Leave them alone.

He regarded the couple with genuine amusement. "Once again...my wife prevails. Must be someone’s lucky day."

***

Nikita turned on both taps in the bathroom, adjusting the temperature of the water for her bath. When she turned around, Michael was there, a curious smile on his lips. "Would you like some help?"

"In running the bath...or taking it?" She licked her lips to moisten them, and Michael kissed her.

"Taking it." He nuzzled her neck, and she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Mmm...are we going to end up in bed again?"

"Maybe. Now tell me why I spared Declan and Birkoff from certain death, Kita."

"Well, if you were really observant, Michael, you would realize that they finally became lovers...in the most basic sense of the word." She smiled mischievously, her fingers tracing his mouth.

"Ohhh...that." He pulled her into a tight embrace, so close they were almost one. "And this somehow led to Walter taking the kids out to do God knows what?"

She sighed. "Sometimes you are so focused, Michael, you lose the bigger picture. Obviously, Dad took over with the kids, so Declan and Birkoff could be alone. For a change."

"You got all this from a look? You’re better than I am, doucette." He was indeed in awe of her observational powers sometimes, but this time, he suspected she had a little help.

"Well, that and...this." She produced a note, which she had plucked off the door when they came in. It was from Walter, advising them of the change in plans and why.

Michael laughed.

Walter hugged Lucky, whispering to the tiny boy to be good. "You look so much like your Mom," he said, patting his pale blond hair. He looked down at Faith, who was sitting quietly in the double stroller. That was unlike her. She was always restless, always in motion. He touched her forehead, wondering if it was his imagination, or if she really felt warm to the touch. Oh, well, he was in the right place for expert medical attention. He was standing in front of Miranda Walsh’s apartment door.

He pressed the doorbell once, firmly, then started rehearsing what to say to the lady in question. All too soon, the door opened, and there she was, the petite Captain of his dreams. Miranda. Of the honey blonde hair and hazel eyes. He sighed, then jumped to attention when he saw her amused smile.

"Hello, Walter."

"Hi." There was a long pause. Walter suddenly realized he had no idea how to explain how he got there, or why, without totally embarrassing himself.

She waited expectantly, almost enjoying his obvious discomfiture. He was so cute. But she had a feeling he could use a firm hand now and then. Hmm...she pondered. Could she be the woman for the job?

"Uh...you’re probably wondering why I’m here...would you believe I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought, why not look you up?" Ouch. That was lame. Even for him. She was never going to go out with him now. Sweet babies in arms or not.

"Walter...would you like to come inside?"

He looked surprised at that. "Um...sure. You don’t mind the kids, do you? I’m babysitting today," he announced proudly.

"I thought so." She motioned to the now open door, and Walter pushed the stroller inside. Faith looked around her curiously, seemingly unperturbed by the change of surroundings. Chris, or Lucky, as Walter persisted in calling him, was sucking his thumb, a sign he was a little uncomfortable.

Walter sat at Miranda’s request in one of the overstuffed chairs in her living room. The entire room was like her. Soft, comfortable chairs. Homey curtains at the window. Flowers everywhere.

"You’re the first person to see this room and not say something like, Why, you were in the military, a Captain even, this room looks totally unlike you." Miranda thought to herself, I knew you were different. The moment I saw you, I knew that. And you are.

"Nah, I think the room is exactly like you. Soft and warm and comforta--" Walter blushed. "Sorry."

Miranda smiled to herself. If the courtship was half as interesting as she thought it might be, she was looking at a long-term relationship here.

She cocked her head at him. "How is Nikita doing?"

Walter smiled. Now they were back on familiar territory. "Good. She’s so damned resilient, she just bounces back. She went off with Michael this morning. That’s why I’m taking care of the kids."

"They don’t get that much time alone."

"It’s nice of you to give them that time, Walter. You’re a very...caring man."

Chris stared at his grandfather quizzically, as if to say, it’s your turn, Grandpa, what do you say to that? Walter thought a moment, then said, honestly, "You give me way too much credit, Miranda."

He continued, "The truth is, I brought the kids with me, cause I wanted to see you again, and I thought maybe you would think better of me, cause they were with me. Pretty dumb, huh?"

His hand picked at a non-existent bit of lint on his pants leg. Miranda followed the restless motion for several seconds before she spoke again.

"No, I don’t think it was dumb, Walter. The truth is, I wanted to see you again, too," she admitted.

"But I couldn’t very well invite myself over, on the pretext of seeing Nikita, now could I? I would have looked like a brazen hussy." She laughed at her self-characterization. She didn’t say so, but she would have done it, too, if it was the only way. She wasn’t shy. Luckily, neither was he.

"So...you wanna go out with me sometime?" Walter asked hopefully.

"Could you possibly be more vague, Walter?" She laughed again, this time at his apparent preparation for rejection.

"Well...I--"

"The twins are finally celebrating their first birthday this Saturday. You wanna come?"

"I’d love to."

He smiled. He loved it when a good plan came together.

***

"How’d you do that, Declan?" Birkoff asked. He was watching Declan build a memorable birthday cake for the twins’ celebration tomorrow. Declan’s artistic bent was starting to show itself more and more often lately. Perhaps it was the encouragement provided by Birkoff and Nikita. Perhaps it was just that he was finally feeling secure for the first time in his life.

Declan stood back and admired the concoction. It had to go into the refrigerator immediately after he was done. "It did come off well, didn’t it?"

"You know it did." Birkoff studied the design on the bottom layer. "Is that Gaelic, Declan?"

He nodded. "Cead mile failte. Sorta like a thousand good wishes, Sey."

"I like it, it’s pretty. Can I help you with anything here, or you got things under control?"

"Things are under control here, but...where are you going then? You’re going to leave me flat here?" Declan looked mildly disappointed.

"I thought maybe I was just getting in your way. I mean, it’s not like I know anything about what you’re doing and..."

Declan abruptly kissed him. "You’re chattering, boyo. Tis the only way to stop you."

Birkoff smiled slowly. "Stop me again, Declan."

Declan gave him a crooked smile. He ran a hand through his long red hair, which was tied back with a leather thong. "I think you might have some whipped cream on your nose now, Sey."

Birkoff laughed. "Yeah?"

Declan replied, "Yeah." Right before he licked it off.

***

Nikita popped her head in the kitchen door, smelling delicious odors coming from the vicinity. "Mmm, that smells good enough to eat."

Declan smiled at Nikita. "I should hope so. Me slaving over a hot stove for how many hours is it now, Sey? Ten?"

Birkoff leaned on Declan. "At least." He rubbed absently at his nose, which still bore traces of something white.

Nikita hid a smile. Who would have thought that Declan’s worldliness and Birkoff’s ingenuousness would mesh in such an unexpectedly sweet way? She would tell them, but she was sure it would only embarrass them.

"How goes things on the birthday front?"

Birkoff rubbed his hands together. "Well, I got the things that Michael asked for. It was a really tough thing to do, too, but I managed to pull it off."

"What things?" Nikita asked.

"Oops, must be a big secret then. Sorry." Birkoff blushed. Michael would kill him if he knew he blew the big surprise.

Declan wiped his hands on a red and white striped dish towel. "The cake is done, Nikita. It’s in the refrigerator now. All we need is the kids. Did Walter get back yet?"

Nikita shook her head. "I don’t suppose you guys have any idea where he went."

"Us? Nah. No clue." Declan shrugged.

Nikita said, "Pity you can’t lie to save your life, Declan."

Declan muttered, almost to himself, inadvertently revealing something he hadn’t meant to disclose. "That’s why Section wanted to cancel me."

Nikita gasped. "Declan! No! How did you escape?"

Birkoff took one look at Declan’s face, suddenly tragic with remembrance, and he knew it was something he dreamed about. Like Birkoff had told Nikita.

Declan hugged himself, his arms wrapped as tightly as they would go, and still it was not enough. His past was creeping into his present. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t ever want it to touch these people. Especially not Seymour.

"How did I get out?" Declan repeated hoarsely. "One word. Madeline."

***

By the time dinner was over, and Walter still had not returned with the twins, Nikita was beside herself with worry. No phone call, saying he would be late. Nothing to indicate that he knew Nikita would be concerned.

Michael stopped Nikita from pacing. "He’s okay, Kita, he’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. He just lost track of time, that’s all. You know Walter."

"And to think I thought it was funny when Birkoff said that Dad was using the kids to get girls." Nikita fumed. Michael would be very surprised if Walter didn’t get an earful when he returned.

In fact, Walter did get an earful from Nikita, but by then, his welfare was the last thing on her mind or anyone else’s. Walter brought the twins inside, Miranda behind him, and it was obvious that something was definitely wrong.

Walter kept shouting about getting oxygen, and at first, Nikita thought it was because he was having difficulty breathing. Then she realized the truth. Faith was feverish. She sounded congested.

Her baby couldn’t breathe.