Suddenly Michael sat up in bed, his heart pounding. Nikita sleepily reached for him, alarmed to find that he was shaking. She grabbed his arm, feeling the inner tremors that still ran through him. "Michael! What is it? A nightmare?"

He stared straight ahead, seemingly speechless. Unable to articulate the words that even now threatened to consume his peace of mind.

She pulled Michael back and forth, as if to shake him out of whatever stupor he was in, but it was no use. He was trapped inside his head.

"Michael, you’re scaring me! What’s wrong?" She wiped the rest of the sleep from her eyes with her fists, unsurprised to discover that more than a few tears came with it.

Just as suddenly as it came on, whatever it was left Michael’s body. She could tell by the abrupt relaxation of his arms and head. His head fell forward onto his arms, which somehow were propped against his drawn-up knees. He groaned, as if beset by some physical pain, yet he bore no visible mark.

"Was I dreaming, Kita?" He still seemed curiously spellbound.

"Yes, I think you were. What did you dream, Michael? It must have been very bad. You were almost out."

He leaned on her, swallowing hard as he tried to find the strength to utter the words that so terrified him in the nightmare.

Gritting his teeth, he turned to his wife and ran his hand down her cheek, feeling the wetness there. "You’re crying. Why?" He frowned. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, love. What would make you think that?"

"Because if you ever said to me...what you said in my nightmare..." He stopped, breaking down completely. He clung to her, his head on her shoulder. He needed to feel her in his arms right now. He needed to know she was physically there.

She listened to him cry, her heart breaking with each and every sob. She kissed his hair, his cheek, and his neck. "Oh, Michael, what did I say in your dream? What?"

"That you didn’t...love me...anymore...." He cried harder for a moment, as if his brain were registering the words his heart found impossible to bear, and even more impossible to believe.

"Michael!" He flinched at the sound of his name on her lips. Still visibly shaken, though no longer crying, Michael struggled to regain control of his runaway emotions.

She placed a hand on each side of his cherished face, looking intently into his now dark green eyes. "I...love...you. I will...always...love you. When I die...my last breath...will be spent...saying your name."

She could not bear the hurt she saw still reflected in his eyes and face. She kissed him as tenderly as she could, trying to convey non-verbally what she wanted him to know. "Please...believe me," she whispered.

"I do, Kita. I do. It’s just that...the nightmare was so real."

"No, Michael...what we have between us is what’s real. It’s not only real, it’s forever."

Together they slowly sank back down to the mattress, their bodies seeking each other for comfort, for reassurance, for what they needed most. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth, before he took another breath to speak. "That’s real to me."

"I love you, too. And that’s forever."

***

When morning came, Michael never mentioned the nightmare. In fact, when she questioned him, he seemed curiously unaffected as he described what he could recall. Eventually, Nikita decided that Walter’s wedding probably reminded them all of unhappier times, best left forgotten if at all possible.

Eager to get to the chateau, Michael packed the Jeep with anything and everything he thought they might need. He slammed the back door shut. "That should be it."

Nikita brought the twins out to the Jeep. "Look, Faith, we’re going for a long ride." She tried to sound enthusiastic, but coming on the heels of that dream, it was difficult. She didn’t like thinking about the miles that would separate them from Maddy and Neil and the new baby. Or from Walter and his new wife, Miranda. Luckily, Declan and Birkoff were going with them. That helped a great deal.

Michael attempted to give Walter more last-minute instructions, but the older man merely grinned and pushed gently at Michael’s chest. "Go. Go away. Can’t you tell when two people want to be alone?"

Michael almost smiled. Walter’s skill with the ladies was well near legendary in Section One. But he was a changed man in the arms of his lady love. Miranda. She of the honey-sweet voice. She of the bright hazel eyes. Damn, if he didn’t love her every bit as much as he’d loved Belinda, only in a different way.

"We’ll be fine. Now git. Skedaddle. And all those other American slang words you never learned at the Sorbonne."

***

The drive was long but ultimately uneventful. Michael and Nikita spelled each other for the driving, while Declan and Birkoff fed and changed the babies. When they weren’t otherwise occupied, almost everyone slept. That was how it should be. Everyone relaxed.

Except Michael. He kept thinking about the nightmare. Though his head knew it was not something that would ever happen, his heart felt wounded just the same. Ah, well. He would soon forget.

***

Declan could not get over his first glimpse of the chateau. It was a magnificent structure. Or it had been. The thought of being part of its restoration clearly appealed to the artist in him. He nudged Birkoff with his shoulder, waking him. "Are we there yet?"

"Take a look."

Birkoff smiled. "This is where you guys went on your honeymoon? Wow, it’s sorta like Disneyland, only it’s got a real castle."

Michael made a slightly impolite noise. "Declan, can you help me with the bags?"

"What? I said something wrong?"

Nikita raised an eyebrow at her husband. "No, it’s just that Michael is being very French at the moment."

Michael regarded her coolly. The others laughed, wondering how long it would take Michael to make Nikita regret that remark.

Walter chased his new wife into their bedroom, the two of them giggling like children at play. "I can’t believe we are finally completely alone."

"Well, Michael did seem a bit reluctant to leave towards the end, Walter, but I don’t think it had anything to do with us housesitting for the summer."

"Yeah, he is kinda attached to this place. I’m sorta sorry we aren’t joining them at the chateau...but having you in my arms almost makes up for it."

"Almost?" Miranda’s hazel eyes glinted dangerously, and Walter knew he had some heavy-duty making-up to do.

"I--I...Did I tell you how much I love you today, Honey?"

"Nice segue, Walter." She wrapped her arms around his middle, which, due to her height, was the only part of him she could reach without straining.

***

After sating themselves on each other, Miranda and Walter lay abed for several hours, dozing intermittently. Interrupted only once, by a phone call from Maddy, Walter counted his blessings. He truly loved his Honey. And he literally had the world on hold while they loved one another.

"What did Maddy say?"

Walter kissed Miranda’s nose. "Well, Honey, she’s working on trying to persuade Neil to take some time off, so’s they can join Michael and the others at the chateau, like they originally planned."

"Good. That man works too much. He doesn’t know when to slow down."

"Neither do I."

Miranda laughed gently. "True. But in your case, even Mother Nature is reluctant to intervene."

***

Hours later, while Walter was out, Miranda heard the doorbell ring. That was odd. They weren’t expecting anyone. She was wondering whether or not to answer it when the doorbell rang again.

Her hands wet from washing dishes, Miranda wiped her hands on a paper towel. She smoothed her hair back and slipped open the deadbolt on the front door.

There stood a good-looking man around her age, dressed in black from head to toe. Not elegantly dressed, like Michael, for example. Not casually dressed, like her Walter. But nice.

His manner was avuncular. Not overly familiar. Not aloof, like a stranger. She knew she had never met this man, but somehow he seemed familiar. She had no idea why.

He looked surprised when his eyes met hers. As if she were not who he expected to see. Well, excuse me, she thought, but her mother didn’t raise a stupid daughter. She was not going to give him any information. No matter who he claimed to know.

He didn’t ask for anyone specific. Again, it was as if he knew who was supposed to be there, and when he saw her, he was disconcerted.

It was true. The mysterious man in black did not recognize Miranda. He didn’t have any idea who she was. But he knew who he was looking for. She was not the one he sought.

He murmured something about having the wrong address. He didn’t leave a message. He just withdrew, and it was as if his presence somehow overshadowed the house and everyone in it. Just for a second. Then it was gone.

Oh, well, that was it for herself then. She didn’t even think to mention it to Walter, it was that unimportant.