Nikita sat in the cool afternoon sun, her eyes drifting shut, her chin nearly sliding off its perch on her hand. Michael steadied her with one arm around her shoulder, and she smiled sleepily. "Not asleep, not asleep," she murmured.

"I can see that, doucette." He lifted her up, sitting her between his legs, letting her lean back against his chest, her long legs stretched out in front of her on the long picnic bench. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he supported most of her weight. He buried his face in her hair for a moment, savoring the clean fragrance of it, but it was the silky texture of it on his face he loved best. He parted her hair and found her neck, nuzzling her softly.

She giggled happily, sounding more like Faith than herself to Michael’s ear. "Stop that, you’re trying to put me to sleep."

"I’m trying to wake you up," he said significantly.

"Oh? Are you going to make the announcement then?"

He nodded. He cleared his throat and finally managed to get everyone’s attention. "I have a special announcement to make." He paused for effect.

"Thanks to our resident computer whiz, Birkoff," Michael acknowledged him with a smile as well as a wave, "I’ve been able to do something I’ve wanted to do for years." Everyone moved restlessly in their seats, obviously wondering what he meant.

"The chateau where Nikita and I spent our first anniversary? It belonged to my family for some several hundred years. Through no fault of my own, I was unable to claim it until recently." Michael chose his words almost painstakingly, abruptly realizing that he could not mention Section or his reported "death" in front of Neil or Miranda.

"But...because of Birkoff...our children will now have the legacy they deserve." He smiled down at the two babies, gleefully shoving crumbs of chocolate cake into their mouths. "Let’s just say, he managed to restore the chateau to its rightful owners."

Nikita smiled proudly at Michael, knowing this had been a dream of his for so long. Achieving his heart’s desire at long last, Michael looked quite overcome. "For me...to know that my son will be able to pass the chateau on to his children...that it will stay in the family, where it belongs...means so much."

He stopped, suddenly unable to continue. Nikita looked over her shoulder at him, her hand pulling his face down where she could reach him. She kissed him lightly. She knew how much this meant to him. For someone to be in Section meant to cut all ties with family. For someone like Michael to live, cut off from his past as well as his family, must have been especially painful. Now, they could begin the painstaking restorative work the chateau needed.

Walter said, "From the way you described it, Michael, it sounds like one tough job."

"It will be, Walter. That’s why I was thinking about moving us to the chateau for the summer. What do you all think?"

Nikita looked surprised that Michael suggested the move, knowing how much he loved their house, but she intuited that he really wanted to make his presence known there and see that the work was done properly. She stroked Michael’s cheek with her fingers, almost nuzzling his chin with her lips. "I think it’s a good idea. Are we bringing the kids?"

Michael nodded. "I wouldn’t leave them here for the entire summer, Kita." He sounded vaguely offended that she would even think that he could do that.

Declan sat quietly, not making eye contact with anyone, and Birkoff wondered if he was upset. Suddenly Declan spoke, making it perfectly obvious what he was thinking. "Is this offer only open to immediate family, Michael?"

Michael shook his head. "No, Declan, why do you think I asked for feedback? The offer is good for anyone who wants to go."

Declan nodded. "I’d like to go. I dunno how Seymour feels about it, though."

Birkoff eyed Declan shyly. "I want to be wherever you are, Declan, you know that," he said so softly, the words were apparently meant only for Declan to hear.

"You wouldn’t mind then?" Declan asked just as softly.

Birkoff shrugged. "Nope."

"It would appear we’re in, then, Michael," Declan announced as Birkoff threw his arms happily around Declan’s neck. "Can’t leave home without my best friend here."

Madeline smiled warmly at Declan, her eyes gentling as they met his. It would be good for him and Birkoff to be away from home for a bit. It would give them some much-needed time alone to strengthen their bond.

Neil looked curiously at Madeline. "I don’t know, Madeline...you ‘re pregnant."

Nikita chuckled. "Neil, she’d be just as pregnant if she stayed home."

Neil sighed. Madeline said, "Besides, Neil, the baby is due in May. When are you planning to leave, Michael?"

He half-smiled. "If it were up to me, I’d leave right now. But...I figured, the end of May, beginning of June?"

Nikita leaned back in Michael’s arms and yawned. "Then we’re having our anniversary here?"

Michael kissed the top of Nikita’s head. "Yes, right here. At home."

"Uh oh, you sound like you’re up to something, Michael."

He buried his nose in Nikita’s hair, his laughter ruffling the strands nearest his mouth. "You’ve been watching American television again, haven’t you, Kita?"

She giggled. "Well...just a little."

"So what’s the verdict then, Neil?"

Neil nodded. "We’ll go. The baby should be about a month old by then. That should be okay."

"Congratulations, Neil!" Madeline proclaimed. "You are no longer an old poop!"

Neil looked almost embarrassed, then grinned. "Um, thanks."

"Walter?"

"Michael, I can’t believe I’m actually saying these words, but...I asked Miranda to marry me, and she said yes! So we’re planning to be on our honeymoon sometime around then."

"Would you do me a favor then?"

"Anything, Michael. Anything."

"When you come back from your honeymoon, would you and Miranda consider staying on here at the house, so there is someone here, protecting our interests, no matter what?"

Walter looked like he was about to cry. "Damn, I’m getting all foggy-eyed again."

Michael smiled against Nikita’s hair and rubbed his face affectionately back and forth. "Is that a yes?"

"What do you think, honey?" Walter asked, unconsciously deferring to Miranda. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable in any way.

"Honey votes to stay right here with you, Walter." She looked up at him lovingly, and he kissed her nose. When he looked back at Michael, there were definitely tears in Walter’s eyes now.

"We’re staying."

"Did we miss anyone?"

Nikita laughed. "The babies! Look at them! Think that’s a comment of some sort?"

What Nikita was referring to was the way the babies were acting. Faith kissed her brother on the cheek with a loud smack, then clapped her hands gaily, as if she were applauding herself. Chris was sitting quietly, regarding his sister with a most enigmatic expression, perhaps equal parts suspicion and affection.

"Remind you of anyone you know?" Nikita said, chuckling despite her resolve to keep a straight face.

"Um...us?" replied Michael, taking a wild guess.

Nikita kissed him. She did feel most affectionate towards Michael this afternoon. Maybe it was all the talk of the future, but she could not help but feel hopeful. It was a wonderful thing to wake up each day and know that you wanted to celebrate your life. Just a little over a year ago, most of them were living in prison, more or less, victims of Section. Now she knew, what she’d thought was life, wasn’t.

This was.

"I just know I’m going to regret this, Michael."

"Kita, no."

"I will, I just know it."

"Someday we’ll look back on this and laugh, Kita."

"I don’t think so," she said flatly, ending the discussion.

The twins were going for their first haircut. It was going to be a nightmare. Faith disliked strangers touching her, and Chris abided by whatever Faith decided, apparently preferring the path of least resistance, an irony not lost on his mother, who stated her son was becoming more and more like Michael each day.

In an effort to persuade Faith that there was nothing evil about getting one’s hair cut, the entire family decided to go en masse to the stylist. This was the kind of thing that could kill a friendship fast. People grew attached to their hair, and change was not always a good thing. Already the infighting had begun.

Who would go first? Who would go last? Who would get only a trim for show purposes? Who wanted to go extreme and cut it all off? That last bit bothered Nikita the most. She was afraid that Dad was going to make good his threat, and the idea of a bald Walter just didn’t sit well with her, no matter how thin his hair was getting.

The stylist was beginning to cringe. As he listened to the arguing, he swore he could feel his tip eroding by the minute. Michael sighed and put a stop to the dissension. "That’s it. If you don’t want to cut your hair, no one is going to draft you. This isn’t a mission."

Walter smiled, a curious twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Miranda had moved her things in last night, and he was ecstatic. Michael approved Walter’s plan to renovate his part of the house, knocking out the wall between his room and the one adjoining it, to create a combination bedroom/sitting room, so that the soon to be newlyweds would have larger quarters as well as more privacy.

Declan liked the idea so much, he asked Michael if he could do the same for him and Birkoff, and Michael agreed. Michael only hoped that by doing this, he wasn’t creating a problem of family members isolating themselves and forgetting they were part of the bigger picture. He didn’t want to lose that sense of community they had achieved when they first came together as a family.

The stylist, growing increasingly anxious, reluctantly approached the gentleman with the long cinnamon-colored hair. He saw his eyes, that unusual grey-green, and hoped that he wasn’t making a big mistake. "Can we get started?"

Michael nodded. "I’ll go first. Make sure Faith is watching, Kita."

"Michael, don’t you dare cut your hair too much. I swear, you’ll be sorry." She leaned over and whispered in his ear, and his eyes changed color before her very eyes. Good, he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear. I like your hair long enough to fall into your eyes, I like it long enough to touch my cheek when you lean over to kiss me...

The stylist fawned appreciatively over Michael’s hair. "Such color, such texture, and the curl, you have lovely curl, but you wear it too long. You’re draining the life out of your hair. You--"

"Could we skip the commentary, please? Just trim it back to here," he said, indicating a point just above his shoulders. He glanced at Nikita, and she nodded, approvingly.

When the stylist was done, he asked Michael if he liked it. Instead, Michael turned to Nikita, clearly waiting for some sign. She ran her hands through his hair several times, as if testing the way it felt, paying special attention to the hair curling on his neck. She kissed him. He gave the stylist a thumbs-up gesture and smiled.

Nikita was next, but Michael pulled on her long hair, which easily reached her waist now. "Hey, same rules apply, Kita." He wanted it long enough to wrap around himself when they made love. He wanted it long enough that her hair shimmered like a silky golden curtain when she covered his body with her own. He had erotic dreams about her hair. He didn’t want her to cut it at all, but he understood her reason for doing this.

He reluctantly let go of her hair, and Nikita sat in the stylist’s chair. She closed her eyes, unable to look as the stylist snipped carefully at her hair. When it was over, he was glad he had gone by the look in Michael’s eyes instead of how much Nikita wanted him to trim.

It now fell to a point midway down her back. It was longer than Nikita wanted, but she bowed to Michael’s wishes, as he had to hers. He kissed her, his fingers playing with her hair as his mouth slanted across hers. "You approve?" she asked.

A sigh was the only response Michael gave of hearing her. He turned to Walter, who decided to let his thinning hair "do its thing", whatever that might be. Birkoff was next. Birkoff’s eyes had never looked bigger or darker to him. If he was that anxious, this wasn’t a good idea. He looked at Declan.

Declan closed his eyes a moment. He didn’t want Birkoff to cut his hair. As it grew longer, it grew thicker, and lately, it flowed past his shoulders like a damned horse’s mane. But Birkoff often wore it pulled back, apparently in homage to Declan. Declan opened his eyes, not wishing to appear overly sentimental about his lover’s hair, but unable to appear as if he didn’t care. He did.

Birkoff was shaking visibly. He didn’t want his old buzz cut back. His Section look. He didn’t want his hair to be that short ever again. He prayed that Declan would intervene. Say something, he begged silently.

Declan finally caught the plea in Birkoff’s eyes and smiled, pressing a finger to his lips. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. He couldn’t do this for himself, but for Sey, he would do anything.

He addressed the stylist directly. "No shorter than shoulder-length, please."

The stylist stared at the young man with long unruly red curls. "It’s not your hair."

Declan gave the stylist a feral smile. "It is if I say it is." He paused a beat. "And it is."

After it was over, Birkoff nearly wept with relief. It wasn’t that much of a change. He bit his lip, wondering how to tell Declan he loved his hair being so long, so curly, so unruly. It was part of him, like his Irish accent and his storm-grey eyes. He reached out a hand, forgetting they were under the close surveillance of the entire family, and touched Declan’s hair. "Don’t...cut it..."

"Just a trim then?" Declan asked, relieved that he didn’t have to cut his hair to please anyone.

Birkoff nodded. Afterwards, Birkoff reassured himself that Declan’s hair was basically the same, much the way Nikita had. His fingers fondled Declan’s hair, caressing it with the touch of an intimate.

Declan put his arm around Birkoff. "I don’t think we’re exactly inspiring anyone, much less impressing the kids."

As if by command, Faith looked at Declan and stuck out her tongue. "Dec?"

Michael turned and stared at Declan. "Your name is on the tip of my daughter’s tongue?"

Declan swallowed the urge to stammer like a raw recruit. "Well, actually, she has about seven words now, Michael."

Birkoff chimed in. "Yeah." Ticking them off one by one, he said, "Mom-mom, Daddy, Buh-buh, kit-tee...um, we’re not counting swear words, right?"

Michael’s eyes fired a warning at Birkoff, as if to say, don’t even go there. Birkoff grimaced and continued his list. "Pop-pop, up...and now Dec."

Nikita linked her arm with Michael’s, pulling him gently away from Declan. "Don’t be so jealous, Michael. Your daughter loves you best," she whispered in Michael’s ear.

He turned his green gaze upon Nikita, wondering if he was that transparent to everyone, or just her. He used to hide his feelings much better than that. Or was it that he relaxed his guard around his family?

She stroked his face with her long fingers and he slowly felt the tension abate. "Sorry," he whispered back, kissing her fingertips lightly.

Nikita bent down to Faith’s level, observing the baby sucking her thumb. "Fee, I owe you an apology, darling girl. Mom-mom was wrong. You can grow your hair as long as you want, as long as we can keep it clean." Stroking the baby’s forehead, not unlike the way she had just stroked Michael’s face, she watched as Faith closed her eyes and yawned.

"I guess we didn’t prove that cutting your hair is not a scary thing, Faith," Michael added. He sighed heavily. "In fact, I think all we did was prove that we’re all neurotic and completely resistive to change."

Declan laughed softly, tapping Michael’s shoulder. "Speak for yourself, Michael. I like change just fine, as long as it’s something I want to do." Birkoff raised an eyebrow at this, as if to say that makes absolutely no sense.

"Like I said, Faith," Michael repeated, smiling at Declan’s attempt to break the tension between them. "Some of us are more neurotic than others."

Declan smiled back. "Aye, fairy Fee, you just wait till you can express yourself properly. I bet we’ll be wishing for the good old days right quick."

"Are you saying my daughter talks too much, Declan?" Michael said with more than a trace of amusement.

"Aye...you’d never know she was your daughter, Michael, that’s a fact. Now, Nikita, on the other hand, clearly had something to do with that child’s personality..." Declan snorted at Nikita, his lips twitching with laughter barely under control.

"What about Chris, Declan?" Michael asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"Chris is you, Michael. And if you don’t think seeing a year-old baby imitating Daddy’s blank stare is frightening, you haven’t lived."

Michael looked almost proud. Or he would be, if he could be proud of what he’d accomplished at Section. It left him feeling conflicted. Thinking about Section always did. Here was this big chunk of his life that he literally could not talk about, except amongst the family, and no one knew what it felt like to be him, except for Declan, who had been there. Even Nikita, who understood better than anyone else, could not feel what he felt. Declan could. It was why they were getting closer. But it was also a source of friction at times. Because Michael felt almost as if he were in competition with Declan.

Nikita kissed Michael, rubbing her lipstick off his lips a moment later with a giggle. He smiled at her. "This time next month, we’ll be celebrating our second anniversary, Michael. I don’t know what to get you."

"Couldn’t you just save money and have yourself gift-wrapped, Kita?"

She smiled enigmatically. "So you could unwrap me?"

He pressed a kiss to her temple. Though they were conversing softly enough so as not to be overheard, Michael often felt shy about expressing his feelings, even in front of the family. His eyes told her what she needed to know anyway. Dark jade. The color of night. Passion.

His tongue licked a wet circle at her temple, the quick gesture unnoticed by anyone else but Nikita. She noticed. She had a feeling she should be looking forward to their wedding anniversary with considerably more enthusiasm than she already did. Heady thoughts indeed.

You would have thought that Michael and Nikita were getting married all over again. It was the hoopla. The hoopla always did it. It was taking over their lives. Declan was baking, Birkoff was decorating, Walter was creating...God only knew what...while Michael stood in the center of it all, wondering how a simple event like renewing their marriage vows had turned into a circus. Nikita was more philosophical than he was, she simply shrugged and went on about her business, acting as if this type of thing was status quo for their family.

Madeline was due to deliver her and Neil’s baby in another month, and everything seemed to be going well thus far. Still, Neil fretted and worried, unable to commit to attending the anniversary party, fearing the excitement might be too stimulating. Madeline sometimes felt as though she had been wrapped in a cocoon of the softest cotton, where no unkind thought, no unsightly appearance, and no unpleasant feeling could intrude. Unfortunately, she also felt like she was being smothered. So, unbeknownst to Neil, she intended to be at the anniversary party, one way or another.

Michael pushed open the door to the kitchen and found the industrious twosome, Declan and Birkoff, plotting away like Santa’s secret elves. "What are you up to now?" Michael asked with a trace of very real exasperation.

Declan and Birkoff looked extremely guilty. Whatever they were plotting, it must be phenomenal. "It-it’s a surprise."

Michael looked bemused. "I assumed that much. What kind?"

Birkoff groaned in frustration. "Well, if we told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise."

Michael nodded slowly, not at all convinced. They could be up to playing out some elaborate plot of Kita’s, he thought with a start. Except that Nikita didn’t appear even remotely interested in the anniversary party. It was what lay beyond that she found fascinating. He got the distinct impression that Nikita thought that something special and exciting was going to happen here tonight. That was why he questioned Declan and Birkoff. He was automatically suspicious of anyone and everyone trying to get involved or worse yet, leak information to Nikita. He did have plans for Kita. But they didn’t need a single other person’s help to implement them. Unless he counted the person designated as babysitter for the twins.

Declan and Birkoff watched as Michael left the room, then instantly resumed their excited chattering. Nikita had plans for Michael as well, but they were sworn to secrecy.

Michael found Nikita slumped in a chair in the living room, dispiritedly flicking channels on the television. He came up behind her and slid one hand down the back of her neck, gratified to feel her come alive under his hand. It was an act then. A very good one, but still an act. Brava, Kita.

"Bored?" he asked, knowing the truth.

"Yeah," she said, knowing he knew the truth, but still had no clue what she had planned.

"Can I help?" he sighed against her neck, kneeling down on her level. She brushed him away, as if she were totally disinterested, which amused him no end, since he could feel the thrill that ran through her when his lips touched her neck.

"Not really," she said, pretending a calm she was far from feeling.

"This party has developed a life of its own."

She nodded, her expression bland. "Maybe we should elope."

"From our own anniversary party? Kita! For shame..." He suddenly turned her around in the chair so she was facing him. "Tell me what you’re up to."

She smiled, knowing she had piqued his interest. "Nope."

"It’s a surprise?"

She nodded again. "It certainly is."

"And you can’t be persuaded to tell me anything ahead of time?" He traced a finger across her mouth, and she kissed it, her eyes brighter now than when he’d come in.

"Well..." she drawled slowly, "I didn’t say that...I might be amenable to a little...persuasion..."

He picked her up, sliding her along the length of his body until she was standing. He sat down in the chair she previously occupied and held his arms out for her to sit in his lap. She shook her head, and his eyes questioned her.

That was when the two men in black grabbed him and pulled him away from her. Nikita waved to Michael as he was abducted, laughing merrily at his consternation. Such an obvious ploy, and he fell for it.... Oh, well.

Walter came into the living room shortly afterwards. "How’d it go, Sugar?"

"Just as planned, Dad. Michael doesn’t suspect a thing. Well, he suspects something, but it’s sure not what he expected."

They laughed conspiratorially together.

"What made you decide to do this anyway, Sugar?"

"A girl’s gotta have her secrets, Dad. Only way to keep a man off-balance. Keeps him interested."

Walter chuckled. "Michael didn’t need any help in staying interested, Sugar. Hell, if he was any more interested, you’d be pregnant again."

Nikita shot him a warning glance. "Very funny, Dad. I suggest you try that with Miranda and see what happens. She told me she knows martial arts."

"Ooh, I can hardly wait for the honeymoon."

Nikita smacked her father lightly on the arm. "You’re incorrigible, Dad, you know that."

"Hey, she likes that. Don’t ask me to change, Sugar."

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

***

Michael could have gotten away from his two captors, but he was more interested in what was going to happen if he didn’t. This was obviously some part of a plan Nikita hatched. Therefore, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, his two captors were Frick and Frack from the kitchen...

"Declan? Birkoff?" he whispered to the two men holding onto him.

Muttering. Then a muffled curse.

"Uh, guys? I’m cooperating, okay? So don’t hurt anything I might need...later...okay?"

More muttering. Then a colorful swear word Michael hadn’t heard since Section. Had to be Declan. Birkoff didn’t know any colorful swear words.

Michael’s eyes were blindfolded. Archaic idea, but effective, nonetheless. He could tell by the smell they were outside. Where exactly remained a mystery. He had a feeling, though, that he was going to miss his own anniversary party.

Which might be interesting....

Her husband objected to being made to act the bawd. Oh, it was perfectly okay for him to ask her to "perform for me", but let one little request cross Nikita’s lips and.... Well, Michael seemed to think he was too cool to do as she asked. Or he was playing games with her. Or both.

Nikita laughed uproariously, her pale blonde hair escaping from under the black leather cap she wore. She carelessly tossed the cap aside. She stomped her black leather booted feet, legs apart, hands on hips. Clad in an outfit that clearly resembled what she wore during the latter part of the first Bauer mission, Nikita didn’t show any residual effects of having borne twins a year-and-a-half ago. Her abdomen was flat, and not a spare ounce of flesh protruded between the black leather bra and the black leather underwear she wore.

Michael still didn’t know where he was. That was hardly surprising. He had never been here before. Nikita found an abandoned farmhouse not far from where they lived, several weeks ago, and planning ahead, she was able to purchase it for virtually nothing. It had no value as a home, and the property was not much to look at, but its intrinsic worth as a romantic fantasy was priceless.

She knew she was probably playing havoc with Michael’s own plans for their anniversary, but on the other hand, he could easily have gotten away, at any time, if he’d wanted to. Ergo, he didn’t want to. Ergo, he was fascinated by the way her mind worked. Again.

Declan and Birkoff were willing conspirators. They brought Michael here, then left him to her devices. Probably chortling all the way back to the house. She didn’t want to hurt him. Stroking the bare expanse of leg she showed, she smacked the bed with her riding crop. She just wanted to shake him up. A little.

Michael raised an eyebrow. That was about the only part he could move. The rest of him was quite...tied up. Literally. Nikita had his wrists and ankles bound with silk scarves. It gave new meaning to four-point restraints. He wasn’t uncomfortable. Yet. Just curious. Nikita didn’t have any violent tendencies. Other than what Section taught her. Oh, God...he hoped this wasn’t some form of delayed retribution.

No...it was just Nikita doing what she did best. Unsettling Michael. She didn’t ever want him to become complacent. Not that there was much chance of that happening.

She leaned over Michael’s body, feeling him straining at the silken restraints that held him down. She took her riding crop and ran it down the length of his body, noting the way he unconsciously moved towards her, rather than away from her.

Suddenly, without warning, she collapsed on top of him, not only surprising him, but driving all the air out of his lungs. "Oof! Are you trying to be sexually captivating, Kita, or kill me?"

She snuggled against him, and he became aroused despite his resolve not to give in too easily or too quickly. "You’re no fun, Michael. I can’t surprise you anymore."

"You just did."

She pressed a kiss to his chin, staring up at him, her blue eyes darker than usual. "I just wanted to put a little excitement into our lives, Michael."

Now she had his complete attention. "You think our lives are boring?"

Nikita snorted. "Hardly."

"Then what?"

"I just wanted to do something memorable."

"Well, you certainly did that, Kita." He felt frustrated now, by his inability to touch her. "Untie me, Kita."

She glared at him mutinously. "Not yet."

"We’re going to miss the party, Kita."

"I don’t care." She stood up, suddenly looking more like a little girl playing dress-up than a grown woman with two babies.

"I don’t care either, Kita, but if you don’t untie me...all your planning will be for nothing...cause I can’t stand another minute of not being able to touch you." He regarded his wife with dark grey eyes, and she suddenly realized that he was willing to go along with her fantasy, he just needed to be a participant, not an onlooker.

"You promise not to run away?"

He laughed heartily. "To where? You said we’re in the middle of nowhere!"

"You promise not to take over? You always do, even when you let me have my way with you..."

"I promise..." She glanced at him suspiciously. "...to try."

She stroked his arm tantalizingly slowly. "Not good enough, Michael. Sorry."

Michael chafed at his silken bonds. "You’re not sorry, you’re enjoying this!"

"For once, I’m in charge of you, Michael. I like it. I need it. And you can’t do anything about it." She paced slowly back and forth, tapping the riding crop against her bare leg.

His dark grey gaze followed her as she moved. "You’ll be sorry when I get loose, Kita."

"Oohhh, I’m so scared, Michael..." she chuckled.

His mouth tightened into a hard, thin line. She wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a very dangerous game to play with a man like Michael. But she wanted to see him lose control. Completely. Come apart in her arms. He did it to her. All the time. Turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it? Even if she had to resort to elaborate fantasy and subterfuge.

"You will be, Kita."

Interesting, she thought. He hadn’t switched to calling her Nikita yet. Therefore, he wasn’t really angry. Just perturbed, perhaps, at the change in power.

She leaned over him, brushing his mouth with hers, and he tried to turn his head away. She tapped the crop on the side of his face, preventing him from moving, and joined their mouths. His eyes slid closed and he couldn’t help but respond. "Ki-ta..."

"More," she said, breathing hotly against his mouth.

He wanted to wrench himself loose from his bonds and bury his tongue deep inside her mouth, pulling her head closer. But she stayed just out of reach, and he had no hands free to bring her back to him.

Her tongue flicked out and wetly caressed his mouth. He almost captured her that time, but he was frustrated yet again. "Kita, I’m warning you..."

"No, Michael...I’m warning you." She pressed her breasts against his chest and he groaned into her mouth as she kissed him. She could feel his arousal, it was pressing against her groin right now. But she wanted more than for him to be hot. She wanted him to abandon all caution. Totally out of control. It was going to take a bit more work.

She slid her body against his, and she could feel his desire. She smiled almost triumphantly as he tried vainly to press himself into the vee at the top of her legs. Moving her body back, she slowly pulled the zipper to his pants down, releasing his arousal from its confines. "No underwear, Michael? You were hoping to get lucky later, weren’t you?"

"I’ve since given up..." he whispered hoarsely.

She struggled with pulling his pants off his legs. It was too difficult to do with the silken ties in place. She didn’t dare release those now. He was still in control.

She slid her mouth onto his arousal and she knew she had him. He couldn’t move away, even if he wanted to, and he did want to, at first. Later, he didn’t care.

"Kita, don’t...please don’t," he begged.

"I must," she replied.

"Michael..." she called to him. "Do you remember the night we spent on the rooftop? How you lost control?" Her mouth worked its magic on him, and he was almost, but not quite, beyond the bounds of his control.

"How we made love and that love became our babies?" His eyes flew open, bright green, and he made eye contact with her, but did not, could not speak.

This was what she was waiting for. That moment when his control slipped its leash. She grabbed his ankle and released the tie. Quickly, she released the other ankle, then both wrists. He moved so swiftly, she never had a moment to catch her breath before he took her mouth. "Michael...we could make another baby."

He ground his mouth against hers with feverish intensity, unable to help himself. He would have thought he was hurting her, but no, she was giving every bit as good as she got. He joined their bodies, her wet silken heat clinging to his arousal for a moment before she sheathed him within herself. Spreading her legs further, he pounded her body, stroking long and hard and deep inside her. The idea of his seed taking root inside of her was so powerful, it was almost an atavistic urge. He kissed her repeatedly, but eventually, he was so overcome, his mouth slid to the side of her neck, and he simply buried his face there, panting harshly.

When the last spasm shook him, he vaguely realized that she was climaxing as well. He wrapped his arms around her and held onto her for dear life.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw him staring at her, an enigmatic expression on his face. "You made me lose control."

"Yes," she answered, unable to resist touching his face.

He frowned. "Why?"

"That time on the rooftop...you gave yourself to me, Michael, in a way that is all the more special because of who you are. You gave up control...literally...and you gave it to me...."

"You need it that much, Kita?"

"Yes...oh, yes...it’s a gift you give me so rarely, Michael...but it’s something only you can give me..."

He kissed her tenderly, his face still coated with a fine lather of perspiration, the hair near his neck curling into wet tendrils. "Then I give it to you freely, doucette. With all my heart."

"Mmm...I love you."

"I love you, too, doucette."

Despite the lateness of the hour, they continued to hold each other, perhaps praying that Declan would not be able to find his way back to them tonight. Nikita sighed, realizing she should get dressed and ready to go. Michael snuggled deeper into her embrace, his shaggy brown head nestled lovingly against her heart. Well, maybe not just yet.

"We’re going to miss renewing our vows, Michael," she whispered.

"Hm? I think we just did, Kita," he said softly, his voice muffled by the proximity of his mouth to her chest.

She smiled, lowering her head to kiss his hair. "I wanted this to be our retreat away from home...someplace we could come when we needed to be...just us."

He glanced at her sleepily. ""Just us?" Michael repeated.

"You know, just us...no kids, no family...just us."

"Kita, we’ve never been just us," Michael pointed out.

"Maybe we need to be..." she replied.

She wrapped her arm around his neck, and he leaned his face on her arm, his mouth against her skin. "I love having your babies, Michael...and I think my next pregnancy will be so much better than the first...cause we’ve come a long way."

"But?"

She sighed. "But Faith and Chris weren’t planned. Next time, I want us to be ready."

He kissed her arm softly. "We will be, doucette."

Nikita smiled to herself. Michael sounded genuinely hopeful that they would have another child. They had come a long way from those early, more conflicted days. "At the risk of bringing us both back to reality, I hope Declan gets here soon, cause this old house has no working plumbing."

Michael groaned. "Some anniversary present. Get me all hot and sweaty and no relief in sight."

She slid down in the bed, taking him with her. "Well, I didn’t say that..."

***

Meanwhile, back at the anniversary party...Walter filled Miranda’s glass with champagne again, and she giggled excitedly. "So where are the guests of honor?"

"Oh, it’s a new thing, haven’t you heard, honey?" He flashed a grin at Miranda, rather enjoying the answering twinkle in her hazel eyes. "Throw the party without them?"

Birkoff was in a corner of the living room, talking to Declan in a low voice. "So when do we get to use the old farmhouse, Declan?"

Declan muttered to himself. "Well, Sey, Nikita claims she wants to keep the place for her and Michael. Exclusively."

Birkoff groaned. "I was kinda hoping we could use it, too. Once in a while."

"You and me both, Sey." Declan sipped politely at the champagne. He rarely drank, and he didn’t really care for the taste.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love being part of this family. But it would be nice to just be us sometimes."

Declan ran his fingers under Birkoff’s chin, anticipating kissing him. "Just us, Sey. I like the sound of that." Their lips met tenderly but hurriedly, not wishing to draw attention to themselves.

Declan felt Birkoff tense, and he wrapped his arms around him, heedless of who might be watching. "You know what? We’re being entirely too careful. We’re amongst family, Sey. They know we’re in love."

"Are you trying to tell me to relax, Declan?"

"Yeah...relax, Sey," Declan echoed, not realizing the word had certain special connotations within the Samuelle household.

Birkoff smiled enigmatically. "Let me explain to you about relaxing..." he whispered to Declan.

***

So it was that when Madeline popped out of her hiding place and joined the party already in progress, no one knew that Neil had told her, flat out, that she could not attend. So it was that Declan was late in returning to pick up Michael and Nikita.

Madeline was so certain that she was going to deliver her baby on Mother’s Day, she never considered the possible effects of the overstimulation at the party. She’d been ignoring what might have been labor pains all evening long. Hellbent on trying to avoid Neil’s censure, she simply put the pain out of her mind. Therefore, it did not exist. Until now.

She grabbed Declan’s arm, a frightened look in her dark chocolate eyes. "Declan!" she whispered harshly. "Help me!"

He cast a startled glance at Birkoff before taking in Madeline’s face. She was flushed and perspiring profusely, her hair wet and straggly along the hairline. "What are you doing here, Maddy? You look--"

"I’m in labor, Declan! Help me!"

"Help you do what? I don’t know a thing about having babies, Maddy! Where’s Neil?" Declan searched futilely for the doctor.

She grabbed Declan by both arms and shook him, almost growling at him. "He’s not here, Declan! I need help in delivering this baby!"

"You need a ride to the hospital, you mean!"

"No, I mean, I--" Another labor pain gripped her and her fingers dug deep into Declan’s arms. "I’m not going to make it to the hospital! You have to help me!"

Birkoff shook his head. "Madeline, Miranda is a nurse. She’d be more help than anyone else."

"I don’t want Miranda! I want Declan!" Madeline was nearly hysterical and more than adamant in her choice of who she wanted to attend her.

"Never argue with an hysterical woman, Sey. You can’t win. Help me get her into the guest room at the end of the hall."

***

Once they settled Madeline on the bed in the guest room, she began panting. Normally that would have scared Birkoff and Declan both, but they were at least minimally familiar with what Nikita had undergone at the end of her pregnancy. Declan noted that Madeline’s water had broken, and he felt it was imperative that they move her to the hospital. But first things first...

Declan sent Birkoff to get Miranda, while he called Neil. Neil was more than perturbed to learn that Madeline had defied him, but he was relieved that Declan was with her. "Well, I’m bloody glad you’re relieved, it doesn’t do much for me, though!"

Neil chuckled nervously. He was excited at the prospect of becoming a father, but he was afraid that something untoward could happen to Madeline. This was the main reason for his hypervigilance during her pregnancy. This was why he was so overprotective of her. Didn’t anyone but him understand that?

Miranda walked briskly into the room behind Birkoff and Walter. She quickly assessed Madeline, and she confirmed that Madeline was not going to make it to the hospital in time to have her baby there.

"It’s coming, Neil," she told him over the phone. "And it’s coming now."