Declan pulled up in front of the Arcadia Bookstore, giving the kickstand a swift kick with his boot. Birkoff reluctantly released his grip on Declan, forcing himself to get off the motorcycle. The wind had torn Sey’s leather thong from his hair, and his hair lay loose and disheveled upon his shoulders. But that wasn’t what drew Declan’s attention. He was in the process of preparing to kiss Sey goodbye when he noticed how pale he was.

Birkoff shivered involuntarily, seemingly frozen to the spot. "Christ, Sey, you’re scaring the hell out of me. What’s wrong?"

"This is...it." That was all he said. Nothing else. Declan searched his memory desperately for a clue to what Sey meant. Then sudden realization hit him. If memory served him right, they were standing on the exact spot where Sey killed the big man who threatened Declan’s life.

"Sey...baby, are you okay?"

"I forgot to tell you. I’ve been using the back way ever since...it happened." Sey’s voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away. Other than the strangest light-headed sensation, Sey felt fine. Then he saw how his hands were shaking.

Declan took the keys out of Sey’s trembling hands and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, guiding him carefully towards the door of the bookstore. Sey kept repeating that he was all right, but Declan didn’t listen. He opened the door for Sey, pushed him inside, and made him sit down behind the counter.

"I’ll be okay, honest. Dec, you’re going to miss that class, if you don’t go now."

Declan framed Sey’s face with his hands and kissed him. A moment later, he was holding Sey so tightly, neither of them could breathe. "I’m so sorry, acushla, I never meant to leave you alone like this." Sey closed his eyes. He could hear the unshed tears in Declan’s voice, and it brought him dangerously close to the edge of losing it.

"I know." He pushed himself away from Declan, quite deliberately. He could see the shock on Declan’s face. "I’m over it, really."

"Sey, you’re a helluva lot more important to me than the class."

Sey kissed Declan. He touched Declan’s mouth with one finger. "That’s going to have to last you all day now. So don’t you forget who you belong to, okay?" Sey said, pretending to a bravery he didn’t feel.

Declan wasn’t buying Sey’s act for one moment. But he knew it would kill Sey if he stayed. Sey wanted him to graduate as planned. He was almost prouder than Declan himself.

"I’m okay, it was just standing on the sidewalk, where it happened, that threw me. That’s all. I promise to stay inside."

"Promise?"

"I swear."

Declan kissed him again, visibly reluctant to leave Sey this way, but knowing it was for the best. "Hey, I’ll take you out to dinner tonight, when I come pick you up."

Sey smiled, despite his anxiety. "That’d be great, Dec, but you forget, we have two kids at home."

"James can take care of them. He’s champing at the bit, trying to get Neil to let him come back to work early."

"It’s not that, Dec. I don’t--*we* don’t see much of the kids when we’re working this much. I don’t want to give that up."

Declan didn’t hide his disappointment. "I understand."

"No, you don’t, you thick-headed Irishman," Sey said lovingly.

"But I’m your thick-headed Irishman, sweetie. Don’t forget." Declan sighed and turned to leave. Sey grabbed his arm and pulled him back into one last embrace.

"I’ll call James and ask him to come keep me company, here in the store, okay? Walter can drive him."

Declan’s whole face cleared. "That’d be great, baby." He kissed him goodbye.

"Try not to be too late. You know how I worry," Sey called after him.

Declan waved from the front door. "See you later." He looked up and down the street outside, noting there was no one coming or going in either direction. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouted, "I love you!"

Sey smiled to himself. Of course, he loved him. Damn, but he was the best thing that ever happened to Declan.

***

Neil looked out at his waiting room and cringed. Not only was it as crowded as it could be, but there were two familiar faces outside. Faces that were well-known to him. Well, one was, anyway. Nikita and the new girl. What was her name? Derry Cassidy. Oops, Derry McLaren.

In addition, he had a tearful wife waiting anxiously for the results of the pregnancy test he was running. His fingers fumbled the test strip. He sighed and took a deep breath. He was not as unaffected by all this as he seemed. Of all of them, only Connor seemed to be suffering no after-effects at all. He believed in the power of good vanquishing evil. He believed in Michael.

Come to think of it, so did Neil. Believe in the power of Michael to do the impossible. And he had. Well, all of them had. Now they were free. Safe. Well, relatively, anyway. Didn’t that make things more complicated, in a very real sense? Now there was no excuse to put off living their real lives. Now there was no one to blame if things didn’t happen, or things went bad.

Welcome to the real world.

***

By the time he ushered Derry McLaren inside his office, Neil was exhausted. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his head, undoubtedly the result of trying to do too much in too little time. He also tried to ignore the rather large appendage at her side. Davenport. He wasn’t leaving her alone. Not for one second.

The girl acted like he was going to hurt her. Who did this remind him of? Nikita, when she first came to him. Sighing heavily, he decided that Section One was indeed a very, very bad place if it could do this to two such strong-willed young women.

"Miss McLaren...I’m here to help you. Not to harm you." Neil’s voice was soothing, comforting, reassuring. But for one thing...something he couldn’t help.

"You’re English."

Neil nodded. "Yes, I am. Is that a problem?"

Davenport said, "No," in his quiet but firm voice. Cassidy looked at him fearfully. "Jake..."

"Trust me, Derry. You’ve gotta trust someone sometime. This is a very good man. Trust me. Please."

"No, it’s not a problem," she said in a subdued tone. Neil wasn’t sure he approved of Davenport coercing his fiancee into accepting him as her doctor. But then, he didn’t know why she was there.

The review of systems was as easy as it was thorough. Derry was familiar with her entire medical history, not unlike Nikita. That was a godsend. Basically, there was nothing wrong with her. So what was her problem?

"I’m pregnant."

Neil tried very hard not to look surprised. But he was. He didn’t handle all that many pregnancies, although the number of pregnancies within the makeshift family was growing, almost alarmingly.

Once he convinced Derry to lie down on the examination table, he was able to proceed with a closer hands-on exam. By the time he finished her physical assessment, the labs and the urine specimen results were back. Glancing at Derry cautiously, Neil asked, "Do multiple births run in your family?"

She appeared shy, almost diffident. "I-I dunno, actually. Wait--wait a minute..." she stammered. "I just met my brother. Declan. He would know better ‘n’ me. In fact, we *are* fraternal twins."

"I see." Neil bit his lip.

Davenport knew how to read body language. Something was wrong. Or at least, out of the ordinary here. "What is it, Neil?"

"I hope the wedding’s going to be soon."

"She is pregnant then?" Davenport seemed delighted. "How far along is she?"

Neil smiled. "That’s a hard call with twins."

"Twins? She’s carrying twins?" Davenport literally whooped with glee, looking like the world’s oldest little boy at that moment. "Darlin’!" He flung his arms around Derry, alternately kissing and hugging her.

Poor Derry. She merely looked dazed and overwhelmed. "It’s early days yet, Dav. You’re going to need to watch her diet, make sure she eats, sleeps, all of that good stuff. Got that?"

When Derry could finally speak, she said, in a tremulous voice, "But-but it’s my first time. How could that be?"

"Just lucky, I guess. Oh, darlin’, I am going to take such good care of you. No fast food. No late nights. Lots of milk and broccoli and--"

"I hate broccoli, Jake."

"Huh?"

"I said, I hate broccoli, Jake. Why do you want to take all the bloody fun out of this? I’m pregnant, for the first time, and I have to give up everything worth having? That stinks! It stinks bigtime!"

Neil sighed. He was afraid that Derry’s reaction might be something like this. It was understandable. Strike out at the one person loving and supporting her the most. Anyone else not only wouldn’t matter. They might hit back.

He left Davenport trying to soothe his fiancee back into a calmer state.

***

Moving on to the next exam room, he saw Nikita waiting inside. Nikita was feeling good, so good, she left Michael behind this time. Neil smiled. "So what’s up with you?"

She grinned from ear to ear. "I’m pregnant again."

Neil checked the time. "Hold that thought one moment, please."

***

Outside in the hallway, Neil quickly found Maddy’s test results, buried under the avalanche of paperwork since he’d run them. He sagged weakly against the wall. How were they ever going to survive the next six months?

He stared at the slip of paper in his hand. Pregnant. All three of them.

When Nikita returned home, she didn’t see any sign of Michael. Sighing to herself almost happily, she started to walk upstairs. Before she reached the staircase, however, the doorbell rang.

Doubling back, she opened the front door. To her amazement, there was a messenger. Surrounded by a huge bouquet of red roses. She tipped the messenger almost absent-mindedly and shut the door. Sniffing at the fragrant bouquet in her arms, she smiled. Plucking the card from their scarlet depths, she soon discovered the source of the flowers.

"Michael." She said his name aloud. It was like a magic talisman. Just the sound of his name made her ache to be held in his arms again. It was if he knew the exact moment she would be home. Which was quite impossible since Neil’s waiting room had been overrun for hours.

She didn’t know how he managed to do such things, but he did. Over and over again. Against all odds. She found a vase and arranged the flowers, one by one, lovingly. Filling the vase carefully with water, she admired her handiwork. They were so beautiful. Red. For love. No holiday in sight. Just a gift of love. Perhaps for the confirmation of her pregnancy. She couldn’t wait to tell him.

His next child, the one she was certain would be a son, would be born in six months. April. It was going to be a spring they would all remember.

***

"Jake! It’s the middle of the afternoon, for goodness sake!"

Davenport continued to back Cassidy towards their bed, his mouth never leaving hers, except when she tore herself away to shout at him. When they reached the bed, Cassidy toppled backwards, though not with any force, as Davenport gently cradled her fall. Pulling his shirt wide open, he finally answered her. "What’s wrong with the middle of the afternoon?"

"Decent people don’t do this sort of thing during the day," she said firmly. He laughed. "Where on Earth did you pick that up?"

"Well, I-I dunno." Poor Derry. She looked confused and overwhelmed. It was little wonder she could not remember where she heard the saying. In fact, it was buried deep within her mind, where her memories of her life before Section lay, such as it was.

"I’d say it was your Irish Catholic upbringing, but--you weren’t brought up by your own people, Derry. Maybe it’s a little bit of irony on Operations’ part. Or maybe he was just trying to keep you from forming any attachments to anyone. He always did think love affairs were dangerous."

"He certainly wouldn’t have liked me ending up with you."

Davenport shrugged. "Probably not, darlin’. But it’s too late now. I’ve got you." He dove into the space next to her on the bed, still as enthusiastic as a kid winning his first softball game. He laced his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. Gradually, Derry’s curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced at him. "What are you doing, Jake?"

"Daydreaming, darlin’. About our kids. I hope at least one of ‘em looks like you, honey. You’re so pretty. I sure don’t want a kid to end up looking like me," he added self-deprecatingly.

She edged closer, eventually snuggling her way against the length of his body. He pretended not to notice, but his arm found its way around her shoulder and she didn’t protest. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and she sighed. "Jake? I am a little bit...excited about all this."

He grinned inwardly, but his face reflected nothing but a blank mask. "Oh? That’s good, sweetheart."

"Jake?"

"Yeah, darlin’?"

"What color is your hair, when you don’t cut it all off, I mean?"

"Black. Why?"

She buried her face against his chest, feeling the answering thrill run through his body. "Just wondering."

"You feel like you don’t know anything about me? Like you’re in love with a total stranger?"

"No. It’s just that--" She stopped and smiled to herself. She did know quite a lot about Davenport now. Over the two years they had been sleeping together, she had discovered the man beneath the operative. He was the oldest child of two. He had a younger sister. Wendy. That was where his overprotective streak was born. He took care of Wendy, defending her against all enemies.

When she was attacked by a former boyfriend, he not only protected her, he sought vengeance on her behalf. His deadly assault on the other man led to a prison term. That was how Section recruited him, a familiar story to most imprisoned there.

He was mostly Cherokee, but part European, probably a mixture of English and German. He was strangely conservative and traditional, in ways even she couldn’t fully explain. Oh, and he loved her. He wanted to marry her. And give her Irish-Cherokee babies to raise.

"What are you thinking?" He whispered against her brow.

"That I actually do know you. That you love me. Enough to protect me from practically anything. That our babies are going to be beautiful. On the inside as well as out. But not cause of me."

He disagreed, but he didn’t say a word, preferring to communicate his feelings in less vocal ways. He caressed her face, gently abrading her skin with his roughened fingertips. "You’re so soft where I’m not. So warm where I’m not."

She looked into his eyes, those melting pools of onyx, and wondered, as she always did, how something so dark could feel so warm on her face. "Jake?"

"Yeah, darlin’?" He never took his eyes from her face. He couldn’t stand the thought of missing anything about her.

"I love you." So sweet. So simple. And so true.

"I love you, too." You’ll never ever know how much.

James couldn’t lift anything heavy. In fact, he actually wasn’t supposed to be doing anything remotely physical. But staying in bed, or even in the house for hours at a time, was boring. Worse than that, it gave him too much time to think. About things he needed to forget.

He watched Birkoff talk to a customer. His deep blue eyes shining with admiration, James said, "You’re good at this."

Birkoff smiled. That crooked, I’m-up-to-something-but-it’s-my-secret smile he sometimes gave Declan. It was endearing. And it made him look damned appealing to James. "I wasn’t always like this, y’know."

"No way," James said, eyeing him carefully. Leaning his chin on his hands, James studied the older man. "You don’t seem like the shy type."

Birkoff laughed softly. "You have no idea how funny that is. Shy? I’ve always been scared of my own shadow. It’s only recently that I’ve even been comfortable being outside in the real world for such a long period of time."

James frowned. "Then why do you do it?"

Birkoff leaned on the counter. "Well, I like to think that people can change. No matter what they’re like. I sure hope so. Cause I’ve been working hard on all of my...I guess you would call ‘em phobias."

James nodded, seemingly preoccupied. Birkoff shelved a couple of books and returned to the counter. Glancing quickly at James, Birkoff thought of all the pain the younger man recently went through, and he thanked God for giving him Declan. When he thought of how things might have turned out for him, Birkoff shuddered. His life just wouldn’t have been the same without Declan.

"Sey?"

"Hm?" Birkoff was barely paying attention at this point. He had just noticed a discrepancy while running the totals on the cash register.

"Do you think I’m...you know...attractive?"

To say Sey’s head came up quickly would be a major understatement. "Excuse me?"

James moistened his lips and stared intently into Sey’s dark chocolate eyes. "You have the most beautiful eyes," he said almost reverently.

Sey raised an eyebrow and prayed he was mistaking hero worship for something else entirely. "James, I like you. But--"

"You like me? Oh, Sey!" With that, James flung his arms around Sey. Luckily, there was no one in the store. That was the least of Sey’s problems. It was dangerously close to closing time. Which meant that Declan was about to walk through that door. Any moment.

Sey placed his hands over James’ hands, intending to push him away, but before he could do anything, the inevitable happened. Declan arrived.

Walking through the door, Declan was the picture of frustration. Clad in black jeans, white T-shirt, and black leather jacket, Declan looked more than recovered from his late night, he looked pissed as hell.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Declan snarled.

James wanted to release Sey, but his hands were trembling so badly, he couldn’t seem to move. This was much, much worse than facing Philo. This was the man who decked Philo. This was the man who made Philo go away. Permanently.

"I-I’m s-sorry," James managed to stutter out, now paralyzed beyond belief.

Birkoff turned to face Declan, his eyes relatively calm in the midst of the storm. "Calm down. Nothing’s going on. James and I were just...having a--"

Suddenly Sey poked Declan in the chest with one long, slender finger. "Hey, do you trust me or not?"

Declan bit back on his very visible anger and said slowly, "I trust you. It’s him I don’t trust."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, he’s got atrocious taste in men."

"I beg your pardon?" Now Sey’s fuse was lit.

"I meant Philo. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Sey."

"What a charming expression that is," Sey drawled sarcastically.

"Sey--"

"Declan--"

"Stop! Stop it! This is all my fault! I’m sorry, I made a huge mistake! I never should have tried to hit on you, I never should have tried to hit on Sey--"

"He hit on you, too?" Sey asked querulously.

"Well...yeah..." Suddenly Declan felt defensive. "Hey, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you!"

"And when were you going to tell me, huh?"

James covered his face with his hand, barely peeking through his fingers at the two of them. His judgment had never been so poor. He had tried to apologize...but wait... What were they doing now?

Declan and Sey stood face to face. They would have been nose to nose if Sey were taller, but Sey only came to Declan’s shoulder. But their mouths were inches apart. If Declan dipped down, just a bit...he could capture Sey’s mouth.

Breathing hard, Declan stared down at Sey, his eyes the color of molten silver. Sey returned the look, with the same intensity, from the same breathless state. "Are you as aroused as I am?" Declan whispered.

"God, yes."

Without another word passing between them, Declan took Sey’s mouth, claiming it so possessively, there was absolutely no doubt who belonged to who. James sighed as he watched the couple’s impassioned response to each other.

When it was over, Declan put his arm around Sey, glaring at James. "You’re bloody lucky I like you, boyo."

James shifted uncomfortably under that hot silver gaze. He wanted to feel relieved, but he kept having the sense that things were not quite over.

"Let’s go home, baby." Declan paused significantly, his eyes soft and warm on Sey’s face. "Lock up. I’ll wait for you outside. Cause I trust you."

His eyes flickered to James for a moment, dismissing him, and he turned on his heel and left the store.

The moment Declan went over the threshold, Sey whirled around, his hair flying loose from its thong. Turning on James, Sey exclaimed, "Don’t you ever, ever touch me again! You got that?"

James nodded hurriedly, only too happy to put the entire incident behind him. Sey locked the cash drawer and began walking towards the door, belatedly realizing that he was going out the front. He gritted his teeth, ready to try to face his fear again. But there was no need.

As soon as Sey put the key in the lock of the door, Declan appeared. "I didn’t forget, Sey. I know the memory still haunts you." He waited for Sey to turn the key in the lock. Once the door was secured, Declan pulled Sey into his arms, looking over his head to James, who merely seemed curious.

"Why don’t you go sit in the car?" Declan said to James. It was not a question or a request. It was a command, and James knew it.

Once James was in the car, Declan kissed the top of Sey’s head and held him until his shaking subsided. "Don’t be ashamed of feeling what you feel, baby. You’re the only one of us left who can."

"More and more, you keep giving me back the man I was. Before Section. Before all this death and destruction."

Tilting Sey’s face up, Declan kissed him tenderly. "You’re still my miracle, Sey."

"...miracle," Declan murmured under his breath.

Suddenly, with a jolt, he came fully awake. He had the sensation of people staring at him. They were.

He was in class. He’d been looking out the window, admiring the way the sun glinted off the glass. It was almost hypnotic, the effect it had upon him. Declan didn’t remember falling asleep. But apparently, he dozed off in the middle of class.

In the middle of a class that his mentor, Professor McNulty, a fellow Irishman who had been transplanted to France, like Declan, taught. It was quite a daydream. Ludicrous, really. James was no threat to Declan. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly the way things were between Declan and Birkoff. He would never make a clumsy pass like that at Sey. And the very idea of Sey being interested in anyone else made him want to laugh out loud. Not that he wasn’t capable of feeling jealous anymore, he was. But James was not his competition. That was just...well...bloody silly.

As for the rest of it... Declan was aware that when he and Sey argued, things often grew heated. In more ways than one. Frequently a prelude to other, more pleasant things. And Declan could kick himself for actually managing to forget about how deeply affected Sey was by being forced to kill someone. Obviously, it weighed heavily on his conscience, heavily enough that even standing on the same sidewalk where it happened provoked an anxiety attack.

He wished he could take that particular burden away from Sey’s already overladen shoulders. He truly did. Declan’s mouth curved into an appealingly crooked half-smile. He wished he could be Sey’s knight in shining armor, the way he portrayed himself in his daydream. Declan sighed, leaning on one elbow.

His heartfelt sigh caught the attention of his professor, who had already noted the uncharacteristic way Declan kept dozing off during class. "Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. McLaren?"

"No, no, not at all..." Declan almost stammered, his face flaming bright-red at being discovered by his teacher.

Professor McNulty, a short, chubby older man with flushed cheeks, resisted the urge to throw his stubby little piece of chalk at Declan’s head. It was a habit that was hard to break. Teaching for over twenty years, McNulty knew that Art History was hardly a scintillating topic that would enthrall every student, but it was very necessary for learning and understanding the things that informed their own work.

"Are we boring you, Mr. McLaren?"

"No, sir."

"Then perhaps you had a rather late night last night? Out drinking? Carousing with your buddies?"

Declan sighed. "I don’t drink, sir. And I don’t go carousing. With anyone."

"For such a creative person, Mr. McLaren, you have an overly literal mind sometimes. This can only cause you trouble when you try to create your own works of art."

Declan didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t have an answer for the next question either. "Perhaps you’d like to join our little discussion?"

Declan nodded, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming in one of his most important classes. As an Art major, and now a part-time instructor, Declan had certain obligations and responsibilities, which Professor McNulty was only too happy to make him aware of. One of these, or he should say, chief among these, was that he must never ever fall asleep during one of his classes.

"The question, Mr. McLaren, the question."

"Sir?"

McNulty looked quite exasperated with Declan, but he let him off the hook. This time. He rather liked the young man. He thought he had astonishing potential. But Declan himself seemed charmingly unaware of this. It made a nice change from the arrogant, too-full-of-themselves artistes he usually dealt with.

"Stay with us, Mr. McLaren. There *will* be a test on this, you know."

Everyone sighed in unison. Declan wanted to hide. He chided himself for daydreaming, but he promised he would make up for it.

***

Michael stared out the window of the second-floor classroom. Idly twirling his pen, he contemplated just how green the grass looked. Verdant. That was a wonderful word. And it perfectly described the grass. He pictured Nikita lying on that green, green grass, her bright hair spilling out behind her in perfect contrast. She would have received his flowers by now. He smiled faintly, unaware that he had completely lost track of the flow of his teacher’s lecture. Michael had never been a daydreamer. Though he was often introspective, by nature, he rarely let his focus slip long enough to slide into some alternate reality. At least, away from his computer keyboard. His fiction was another story.

"Mr. Samuelle, what do you think?"

Disconcerted, Michael couldn’t even come up with a snappy comeback. "About what?"

"Come now, Mr. Samuelle, are you suggesting that you weren’t listening?"

"Um..." He smiled unexpectedly, all at once looking younger and more carefree. "No."

"Then what do you think?" She crossed her arms and waited.

He chuckled. "I think it must be time for recess."

"This is not an elementary school, Mr. Samuelle. I’m sure you’re aware of that."

Nikita had news for him. He could feel it. He needed to go to her. Now. "Yes," he answered tersely.

"And?" the teacher prompted.

He stood up, grabbing his bookbag and his black leather jacket. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he said, "I have a family emergency that I have to take care of."

"How would you know that? You didn’t receive a phone call. What are you, psychic?"

Michael nodded, breaking out into yet another brilliant smile. "Yes."

"Then tell me, what’s the emergency?"

"My wife’s going to have a baby." Michael didn’t mention that she would not be giving birth for another six months. He had a feeling that people outside the family didn’t understand the nature of the compulsion that drove him to be with Nikita.

"Oh!" the woman said with an unintentional facial tic. "Well, congratulations."

Michael smiled one last time before taking his leave of the class. He was about to do something totally unexpected. Something so unlike Michael, even he could not believe it. He was going to cut class. To go home. To be with Nikita.

To see how his wife liked the roses.

"Ki-ta!"

No answer.

"Ki-ta?"

It was the middle of the afternoon. He wasn’t expected back home for hours yet. But Michael had done the unthinkable. He left school. No, he *cut* school. To be with his wife.

No sign of anyone else either. That was strange. Then he saw the note. It was from Walter. It read: Took the kids (yeah, yeah, all of them!) to McDonald’s. Davenport took Derry somewhere mysterious (yeah, I know, he’s in love!). Declan’s at school, Birkoff’s at the bookstore, so’s James. Madeline is in the throes of some big whupptydo she’s planning, but we’re not supposed to know about it (got the word from Neil, who thinks pregnancy at her age might turn her into a human being!) That account for everybody? Walter’s name was scrawled across the bottom of the note in huge black letters. No mention of Nikita.

Michael dropped the note on the kitchen table with a frustrated noise. Well, this was a fine turn of events. He came home early, wanting to surprise his wife, and she was nowhere in sight. Not only that, but the house was actually empty. An impossible feat at the best of times.

He trudged upstairs, letting his bookbag drag along the floor, as if the effort of holding it any longer was too great. Opening the door to the bedroom, Michael set down the bookbag. Shrugging out of his black leather jacket, Michael lay it on the bed. Walking slowly over to the rocker, he reached out a hand and started it moving back and forth.

For a moment or two, he watched it. Then he sighed again, much more heavily, and walked over to the bed. After pulling the covers back, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He pulled off his boots, one at a time, and decided to take a nap. He wasn’t really tired. Just disappointed.

***

Nikita closed the back door after letting Josephine inside the house. Josephine looked up at Nikita, her proud, almost haughty face creasing in what looked to be a feline smile. A few moments later, she ran, her delicate feet barely touching the floor, her long tail held high, waving in the air like a flag.

Nikita wiped at her brow. She was overheated from trying to get the garden ready for its winter hibernation. She liked working with her hands, though she was now showing signs of having overexerted herself as well. The weather would be getting colder soon. She wasn’t dressed warmly enough, having relied on an old T-shirt and worn jeans to do the job. No sweater. No jacket. Michael would take one look at her and pronounce her hopeless. She could just hear him now. Do you want to catch pneumonia, Kita?

Added to Michael’s voice in her head was Nikita’s own internal voice. Come on, Kita. You’re pregnant. Why are you taking such chances? Do you want to lose this baby, too? She shook her head, as if to clear it of the imaginary voices.

"No," she said aloud, smiling to herself. "I want this baby. I’m going to take better care of myself. I swear."

And with that, Nikita promised herself that she would eat better. Well, she could try. It wasn’t that she had no appetite. She was just picky. But she needed to eat more now. Her son, and she was indeed convinced that it was a son, needed good nutrition to grow big and strong. Like Michael.

Dusting herself off, she ran both hands down her jean-clad thighs. She was still firm, still muscular. Working outside everyday helped keep her in good shape. She trotted up the staircase to the bedroom, not realizing that Michael was inside.

As she walked through the door, she was in the process of pulling her T-shirt over her head. Unaware that Michael was watching her, she raced into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Michael stared at the T-shirt, so casually dropped on the floor. That was Kita. Always in a hurry on her way to somewhere else.

He stood up carefully, trying not to make any noise whatsoever. That wasn’t hard. Section trained all of its operatives to be stealthy, and Michael excelled at that type of thing. He made his way to the bathroom door and pressed his ear to the door. Water was running. Kita was undoubtedly going to take a shower. The water had that distinctive sound.

Undressing quickly, he slid through the bathroom door moments later. The shower curtain was drawn around the bathtub. The sound of the water hid his approach well. Nikita faced the shower spray, turning her head this way and that to wet her now impossibly long pale hair. Her back to Michael, she couldn’t hear anything but the drumming of the water.

Michael waited. He wanted to surprise her, not scare her half to death, and he was more than a little afraid that having someone grab her from behind might do just that. She reached for the shampoo, the one that left that wonderful jasmine scent he always associated with her. Spilling a tiny amount into her palm, she lathered her hair, bit by bit. When she had finally rinsed it clean, she turned her back to the shower spray.

Despite Michael’s best efforts, Nikita did in fact scream. Once. Clapping both hands over her mouth, she immediately recognized the intruder in her shower as her own husband. "Michael," she sighed happily.

He pressed a thumb to her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin against his. "Doucette," he breathed, almost inaudible above the sound of the water.

"You’re home early," she said, blushing as she realized that she was stating the obvious.

He gave her a rather intense look. Not quite a smile. Not quite a predatory glance. But definitely somewhere in between. As if he wanted to...consume her. Absorb her. Become part of her.

"I came back for you," he said, feeling the echo of the people they once were again.

Nikita stood there, water pounding against her back, drenching her hair until it lay plastered against her fair skin. Her brilliant blue gaze traveled over Michael’s body, inch by inch, clearly pronouncing him good enough to eat. His chest was still ruggedly defined, his abdomen still flat and solid. Oh, there were a few more grey hairs at his temples, a few more laugh lines crinkling at the edges of those wonderful grey-green eyes. But he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and no matter how many times she thought this, she knew it was still true. It always would be.

He met her eyes, his gaze intensifying, if that were even possible. "Did you like the flowers?"

"I loved them, Michael." I love you. I don’t know how you do this to me. You twist my insides into a knot only you can unravel.

As for Michael, when he looked at Nikita, he rarely saw the tiny telltale signs that she was no longer a young girl. She had always had an innate elegance and grace all her own. Even when she first came into Section. Granted, she was raw material then. But she was *his* raw material. In some ways, he had helped shape her into the lovely creature she was today. But on her own, she had gradually refined that style until he could no longer claim credit for her transformation from street waif to what she was now. His wife. The mother of his children. But always and forever, she would remain his lover. His soulmate. The other half of him.

"What did Neil say?"

Her smile erupted like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "We’re definitely pregnant, Michael. Three months."

"Our son," she lingered tellingly on the word, " is going to be born in April."

The water started to turn chilly. Michael grabbed a fluffy white towel and wrapped it around his wife, who was starting to shiver. Reaching for another towel, he tied it loosely around his waist. He helped her out of the shower, turned off the taps, and re-adjusted the towel around Nikita. "Come..."

He wrapped his arms around Nikita, his lips tugging on her earlobe. "Make love to me."

He could not have said anything more shocking if he’d tried. Though they were clearly equals now, it had not always been so. Their relationship was curiously unbalanced, even skewed in one direction or another, for the longest time. Usually in Michael’s favor.

It wasn’t entirely Michael’s fault. He liked being in control, and Nikita let him set the tone for their relationship. This almost always resulted in Michael making love to Nikita. For him to relinquish control was a gift he rarely gave. But now, here he was, asking her to hold full sway over him.

"Please...," he entreated, his lips caressing her soft, wet flesh. For he could not resist the siren call of her body to his much longer.

"Love me...," he whispered to her, grasping her hands and placing them over his rigid male nipples.

"Oh, Michael, I do...."