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FIC: in the agony of parting [3/4] [la femme nikita]
in the agony of parting
by abby82
category: AU--Canon Divergence for season 4's "No One Lives Forever"
rating: Explicit
word count: 7860
disclaimer: they don’t belong to me, no money is being made. I’m only borrowing them.
author’s note: Michael looks exactly like how Roy Dupuis looked in his 2004 movie Mémoires affectives. He looked absolutely stunning in that movie.
story began: October 2020
links: LJ | AO3 | Tumblr
summary: The Oversight pilot program is real. Nikita is free from Section One.
On a January morning eight years after she was allowed to leave the most covert antiterrorism unit on the planet, Nikita stood at the cash register of a small but thriving bookstore near McGill University in Montréal. The winter sun struggled to cut through the heaviness of the overcast sky. The daytime temperatures rarely creeped up to freezing but she was warm and comfortable nestled among the Cliff Notes display and their collection of locally sourced stained glass artwork.
Something made Nikita look up and out onto the snow cleared street in front of the shop.
What she saw took her breath away.
Michael stood there straight, unflinching, and dark. An unmovable object on a street starting to come alive with pedestrians. He wasn’t even trying to be surreptitious. She knew it was his potent gaze that motivated Nikita to look up.
She stared at him standing there and a slight twinge of apprehension went up her spine. Michael equaled Section; Section equaled captivity. Yet her apprehension was also mixed with excitement. He wasn’t dead. Despite appearances, Michael wasn’t superhuman. Nikita had spent a countless number of nights whispering promises into the silence of her apartments. She didn’t care who heard them, as long as Michael was still safe out there.
Please keep his aim sure.
Please keep him healthy.
Please keep him sane.
In return she offered a number of vows from accepting repeated unwanted lunch invitations, to extra shifts at her volunteering commitments to extra charitable donations.
They were inane promises with no repercussions within Section One, but Nikita couldn’t help but indulge in the butterfly flaps its wings sort of way.
Michael’s appearance also caused the same kind of dread she’d held onto when she used to meet with her Oversight counselor, Henri. It was the type of dread that suggested she wasn’t doing good enough, wasn’t adapting fast enough. Her failure was going to get her dragged back to Section One where her inadequacies would be showcased for all to see…for Michael to see. After Henri’s departure, she always felt an alarming amount of relief.
The bell above the door gave its cheerful greeting.
First Michael was outside. Now he was inside.
His sinuous gait was the same as he made his way towards her.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she returned, her voice embarrassingly breathless.
All she could do was stare as she cataloged the changes in him. His hair was shorter. It no longer grazed his shoulders, but it was longer on top. The wind outside had left his hair tousled and wavy. Before, Michael’s hair had always straddled the line between auburn and brown, now it was artfully dusted with a dignified amount of gray. His clear green eyes shimmered as they took their own inventory of her. Nikita tightened her hold on the pencil in her hand to stop the impulse to cup his cheek and feel the texture of the short beard on his chiseled features.
In short, Michael was devastatingly beautiful.
Nikita saw Michael in her dreams irregularly, but she never indulged in wondering what he would look like now. In her head he’d looked exactly the way she last saw him eight years ago.
He’d come to her door just as she was trying to make peace with the thought of not seeing him one last time. Instead, he walked into her apartment, his wool coat still carrying residual coolness from the weather outside.
Michael loved her. He’d never actually said it, not once. Others had even commented on it—Madeline, Adrian, Jurgen—and right now Michael’s love for her came off of him in waves.
He loved her enough to let her go, not just once but twice.
Nikita welcomed Michael into her bed one last time. It saddened her that so much between them was going to go unresolved. There had been some distance between them. Distance that she had obliquely requested and Michael had honored.
Their last night together Nikita felt cherished beyond measure. She felt Michael’s love with every kiss, every touch, and every gaze. She felt his desire, his heated passion, and his sadness. She hoped that she was able to convey to him the magnitude of her feelings for him as well. She was still confused emotionally and she didn’t know if she could give him what he deserved, but she felt for him so intensely.
She wanted to cry as they languidly made love for the last time. It was all tortuous sensation. Michael’s hardened muscles beneath her fingers, the bottomless depths of his eyes as their bodies moved together, his whispered words of endearment as he pressed his heated lips to her skin.
She wished they had more time. More time for her to resolve her lingering issues with the Gelman Process, more time to resolve her complicated emotions towards Helmut Volker, more time to articulate her confusion to Michael, and more time to enjoy the gift of having Michael’s steady arms around her. Although, perhaps it would have been worse then. Perhaps, the opportunity for freedom would have paled in comparison to Michael’s uninhibited, guileless love.
In the end, Nikita left the apartment first. With one final kiss, she turned her back to him and walked out the front door. She carried with her the scent of his skin on hers. When she finally showered it was a symbolic cleansing of everything Section, including Michael.
“Nik…bagels.” With her silent perusal of Michael in front of her, she’d failed to notice that her business partner Grace had returned from her early morning breakfast run. A bag of bagels and a tray with two coffees appeared before her. “Luc sends his love and he added a little extra something, something for you.”
Michael had disappeared further into the bookstore she co-managed. She found him skimming a display of employee recommendations.
Nikita looked back outside, wondering if anyone else was watching her or if they’d seen Michael coming in.
Against her better judgment she rounded the register counter and made her way towards Michael. He was holding a copy of Nikita’s recommendation, Ursula K. Le Guin’s alternative POV retelling of the Aeneid. A colorful index card, scribbled with her abbreviated thoughts on the book, stood next to the short stack.
“You didn’t come all this way for a recommendation, did you?”
“No.” She saw the corner of his mouth quirk up into the faintest of smiles. It was almost enough to make her throw herself into his arms and luxuriate in the feeling of them around her.
He was looking at her with undisguised affection that Nikita knew that it was up to her to think rationally for the two of them. With her eyes she subtly glanced towards a portion of the shop away from the large floor to ceiling windows up front. Her walk to the back was casual and Nikita straightened up stray books as she went. She could feel Michael following behind her at a discrete distance until finally they’d reached their destination.
“I’m not supposed to have contact,” Nikita stated quietly as she fiddled with a display of available stage plays. She struggled to not look at him, to soak him in while she still had the chance. “You must know that.”
“You have nothing to worry about. It’s alright.”
It happened quite suddenly. One second she’s speechless at Michael’s sudden appearance and filled with longing for the man before her. Now after his so called assurances all she could think about was how irritated he was making her.
“Michael, you can’t be here.” She’s turned to face him full on. There was urgency in her voice and even a small amount of incredulity. No one more than Michael should understand the ramifications of defying Section. The thought that he was being so dismissive of the life she’s built for herself was not only insulting but troubling. Had Michael changed this much in eight years?
Now in relative privacy, he’s completely unrestrained in his perusal of her. His eyes caressed every part of her—her eyes, her lips, her hands and her body.
They’re standing too close to each other and Nikita didn’t exactly know when that had happened. She could see the faint lines around his eyes and the gray that dotted his whiskers. He smelled of winter air, leather, wool, and that intoxicating scent that always blessedly clung to her skin whenever he was around. Arousal was coiling in the pit of her stomach and she could feel herself leaning even closer to him. His half hooded eyes welcomed her in.
Then, with startling clarity, Nikita emotionally caught herself before she fell for the dangerous allure of Michael Samuelle.
“Employee recommendations are 20 percent off,” she awkwardly informed him before she abruptly turned away.
She left him there. The flustered feeling was beginning to overwhelm her. Perhaps if she ignored him he would go away. She never outright asked him what he was doing here, aside from the obvious. To do that was to invite more information then she really needed. Maybe he just needed to assure himself that she was okay.
Back at the register Grace observed her with thinly disguised curiosity. She pushed a still warm bagel with a smear of cream cheese towards her and smiled. Michael remained just outside her view. Just because she couldn’t see him didn’t mean he couldn’t see her.
More customers trickled in. One of their university part timers came in for her shift as well and a sense of normalcy settled in the shop. Nikita drank her coffee, munched on her bagel and bundled up online orders away from the main register. She wondered if Michael was even real or a very vivid figment of her imagination. The rational part of her brain told her she was fooling herself if she believed that she conjured up an imaginary Michael to approach her at the store.
“Nikita? A customer wants to thank you for your help earlier.”
The look of envy on Thérèse’s face caused Nikita’s heart to sink. Only one man could inspire that kind of girlishness in unsuspecting women.
Nikita took a deep, fortifying breath, schooled her face to reflect outward indifference, and prepared herself to bid Michael a firm farewell.
“You know there are plenty of other bookstores in the city,” she remarked when she approached Michael at the cash register.
She could feel rather than see Grace and Thérèse giving her questionable looks at her curt remarks.
Michael, as he tended to do, took her rudeness in stride.
“But only one of them has you,” he said sincerely.
He slid over two twenty dollar bills to cover his purchase and deposited the change into the nearby tip jar.
“Thank you for your business,” Nikita shoved the paper bag with his purchase, the Le Guin, towards him on the counter. “Have a nice day and adieu.”
Another quirk of his lips accompanied the bedroom eyes he was giving her. There was no better way to describe the look on his face. She vividly remembered being on the receiving end of those eyes once their attempt at a relationship truly began in earnest.
“Au revoir, Nikita.”
Her name on his lips brought it all rushing back. Michael whispering her name in barely controlled passion, Michael moving deeply inside her as he took her to the highest highs of pleasure, Michael brushing her face with his fingertips and lips as he attempted to wake her—all those memories were wrapped in the always unique way he pronounced her name. No one else, only Michael.
Her eyes tracked him as the front door bell signaled his departure and he walked down the street and out of sight.
Nikita felt dizzy. What was that?
“Well hello, mystery man,” Grace finally remarked with admiration and mirth.
“That he is.”
“Wow,” added Thérèse. “Look up smoldering in the dictionary and you get a picture of him.”
“He’s more than easy on the eyes, that’s for sure,” Grace added. Then, acknowledging the emotional extremes she’d seen Nikita go through that morning, including her uncharacteristic curtness. “But I for one have seen one too many handsome, mysterious men to not be cautious around them.”
Nikita turned to Grace and smiled in gratitude.
“You, Miss Nikita, better not break Luc’s heart. Who else will keep us regularly stocked with free maple donuts?”
Michael returned two weeks later, closer to closing this time. He sat in an armchair with a copy of another of Nikita’s recommendations, a whimsical book about a man who insisted his young wife had been replaced by a double.
He sat there unobtrusively for about two hours as business for the evening slowly wound down.
“Why?” She asked him as he checked out. He never approached her, only tracked her progress as she moved around the shop. The feeling of his eyes on her trickled up and down her spine. Just like his fingers used to do, a tiny, traitorous part of her brain tried to remind her.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Nikita could barely contain the eye roll she wanted to give his trite line. When she handed him his purchase, her new recommendation for the week, she could see mischief dancing in his gray-green eyes.
“Good night, Nikita.”
And then he was gone, just as before.
In February a fierce winter storm swept through the area. It wasn’t the harshest the area had experienced, but for Nikita it was more than she was accustomed to.
Business was slow. Many were heading home early to prepare for the worst of it. Michael was the only patron that had walked through the front door in the last three hours.
“The city is going to shut down later. Why did you even bother?”
It was the first time she’d even attempted something resembling a conversation since his first visit.
“I wanted to see you,” he said simply.
“You’d risk getting stranded?”
“Yes, but I won’t get stranded.”
Nikita snorted at Michael’s arrogance. It was so him. Getting stranded didn’t fit with his plans and therefore he was certain it wouldn’t happen. Everything was carefully accounted for, down to the last detail.
“And what if you are?” She countered. It was the combination of the miserable weather and being alone with Michael that had Nikita feeling obstinate and looking for a fight.
“Then I’ll report in.” He smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried. You’ll deal with the consequences as you see fit.”
Michael continued to take her in. There was a softness on his face, but there was also the slightest hint of indulgence. He’d obviously picked up on her mood and was letting her steer this encounter.
“I might shut down early, too,” She said it in an off handed way, as to suggest that she was bored with their sad excuse for a conversation. “It’s dead here and I’d like to get home.”
“Of course.”
Nikita turned on her heel and walked away. She wasn’t kicking him out…yet, but she would if she had to. Like always, she could feel Michael’s eyes on her the entire time.
Another thirty minutes went by in which Nikita tended to various odds and ends and Michael continued to read quietly.
In the break room, she eyed the half pot of coffee and idly contemplated the man outside reading. Michael liked coffee. Several of their early interactions outside of Section revolved around the pretense of sharing a cup. Slowly, their outings evolved from tentative but genuine invitations to supportive but still sporadic times away. Their time together was never meant to be social. There was no laughter or flirtatious innuendo between them. Instead, it offered them the opportunity for reflection and to voice aloud what was troubling them. Eventually, the smell of coffee brewing in their homes reflected the growing intimacy between them. A cup was often delivered in bed along with a decadent morning kiss. Coffee had become the conduit from which their Section roles of mentor and trainee became that of friends, of man and woman.
Nikita remembered the last time they shared coffee. It was right before she left to marry Helmut Volker.
After the briefing, she’d left Section and the depressing, impromptu gathering with Walter and Birkoff for some time alone.
The decontamination of her apartment had been completed while they was on their mission, but she knew she’d find no solace if she went there.
She felt numb. She was exhausted. She didn’t want to marry Helmut Volker.
Nikita had passed the church numerous times over the years. It was beautiful. It wasn’t one of those grand gothic cathedrals, awash in flying buttresses and pointed arches, that the city was known for, but Nikita always found it quite impressive.
She sat quietly and listened to the tail end of someone practicing the church’s organ when she realized she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
She had called Michael and he picked up after the first ring. He was sharply attuned to her emotional state. She didn’t need coddling. She needed Michael’s stalwart efficiency. When he arrived, he sat one pew behind her. His advice was practical if not pained. She had to remind herself that Michael was being punished as much as she was, for his insistent and continued defiance of Section mandate.
She’d been relieved that she didn’t have to playact as the docile, Section focused Operative she’d been under Gelman, but neither of them had anticipated this type of depravity from Section One’s command.
When she rose, Michael rose as well. They’d arrived separately, but they left together.
They sat side by side in a cafe booth. Their thighs, their hips, and their shoulders touching. Michael curled his fingers around hers on the table top for all the world to see. Their coffees sat mostly untouched and cooling in front of them.
Nikita felt vampiric. She took in as much of his strength as she could. She would need it and Michael freely gave everything he had to offer her.
She turned her face towards his and he gently ran the fingertips of his free hand down her face in a feather light caress.
The ringing of Michael’s cell phone shattered the moment and again they went their separate ways. Nikita to accept Helmut Volker’s marriage proposal and Michael back to Section One.
The memory of that afternoon spurred Nikita forward.
She brought Michael a mug of coffee a short while later. He looked up to find her holding it out to him. “It would be a shame to throw it out,” she offered in explanation.
She was careful to avoid his fingers when they exchanged the mug.
“Thank you.”
The shop was still empty. It was just the two of them. Nikita debated with herself on whether or not she should sit down. Michael watched her expectantly as he took his first sip of coffee.
“Will you be alright?” He asked her. “Getting home.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten better at navigating through the weather.”
She could see the need to protect her, even from the elements, in his eyes.
Nikita turned her attention to the increasingly snowy street outside.
She wished that she could really look at him. She hadn’t had the opportunity to do so ever since he first appeared a month ago. Since then, she’d cast surreptitious looks his way, but she was always acutely conscious that Michael was aware of them.
They haven’t spoken, not really. Mostly stilted pleasantries on her part as she tried to parcel out Michael’s reasons for visiting. Then there were the brief Michaelesque statements on his part.
“If feels like we’re the only people in the world,” she said, still staring outside.
“Yes,” came Michael’s soft answer. She stole a glance his way and she was struck by the open emotion on his face. Michael had always been a man of few words. It rivaled his ability to school his features into a blank canvas.
That was not the man before her. He was open with the emotions that drifted across his face. It was a curious and wondrous thing to witness. It was a side to Michael he’d only revealed while they sequestered themselves in the privacy of their beds.
She glanced down and watched his long fingers tighten over the spin of the book that lay across his thigh.
“Arthur Rimbaud?”
“His poetry has always been a favorite.”
Nikita quirked her head at the information. Eight years apart and she had just learned something about him that wasn’t new, as in a recently acquired preference, but something that was true when they were together.
She searched her memory for indicators on Michael’s literary tastes. He wasn’t one for floor to ceiling bookshelves, but she saw evidence of Michael’s interest in reading when she spent time in his loft. Whether it was a book by his bedside nightstand or a small stack of books on a table, it was clear that Michael made time to read. That he read poetry shouldn’t surprise her. Poetry, with its ability to evoke powerful emotions in beautiful lyricism, would appeal to a man like Michael who felt so much but subjugated most of it.
Nikita nodded her head in acknowledgement before she turned her attention back outside. The silence that settled wasn’t awkward. It simply was. Knowing Michael, he’d be content to simply sit there in quiet contemplation for as long as she’d allow him.
“One more hour," she spoke to her reflection in the window. "The quiet isn’t so bad, but then I am shutting down. There’s no need for either one of us to tempt Mother Nature.”
She turned and left Michael to his coffee and his poetry.
During Michael’s fourth visit a month later, Luc dropped by the shop as well.
For the first time since his visits started, Michael hesitated. It was the slightest reaction, but Nikita noticed it all the same.
Luc Tremblay was a regular in the shop. The bakery he worked for was just a few blocks away and the two businesses frequented each other regularly. Luc made her laugh and she enjoyed his company tremendously. He was just a friend, though. She knew that he harbored a slight crush towards her, but he respected her boundaries and it allowed them to maintain their friendship.
Michael had disappeared into the bookstore stacks, but she was certain that his sight of her and Luc never wavered.
She and Luc talked liked they normally did on his visits. It was a combination of light flirtation and familiarity. They made tentative plans for a movie that weekend and he promised to bring her and Grace dinner tomorrow while they stayed late and began their quarterly inventory.
After Luc walked back out into the March sunshine, Michael materialized before her, her latest recommendation in hand.
This time it was a new and increasingly popular post apocalyptic book about teenagers fighting to the death.
“You’re not really going to buy that are you?”
“Why not?”
“It’s classified as ‘Young Adult.’”
He blinked at her.
“Teenagers are the target audience.”
The part of Michael that had always been so frustrating—his blank stare—had apparently not diminished in the years she’d been away.
“Have dinner with me.”
Nikita sighed and looked down at the counter top between them. His invitation hung between them like something tangible. “Michael, I can’t. You know that. You’re putting both of us in danger by coming here.”
“I promise you that you’re in no danger.”
There was something vulnerable in his gaze.
“What do you want? To know that I’m okay? I am.”
In that moment, the blankness that shielded Michael’s face dropped. In its place she saw the Michael that she’d opened her heart to many years ago. The Michael who put her safety above all else stared back at her.
“Nikita, please. Meet me.”
There was a quiet craving in his voice. Michael tentatively laid his hand on top of hers and a sob threatened to leave her lips. It was their first contact in eight years. The warmth of his hand radiated out into her entire body. She felt exposed. She wanted more. God help her, she wanted more.
“Somewhere private. You choose.”
She had to force her gaze up and away from their hands when Michael spoke. She hastily slipped her hand away from his.
“That’s not fair. You have no right to put me in this position. I’m out.”
“You’re right,” Self reproach reflected in Michael’s eyes. “It’s selfish, but I need to see you. After we talk, I’ll leave if you want me to.”
Despite her best judgment, she was curious. He and Section had left her alone for eight years. Whatever his reason for being here, it wasn’t on an accelerated time table. Michael had been leisurely in his visits. They carried no urgency. She likely wouldn’t get answers to all her questions, but she’ll probably get some.
She reached over to one of their shop business cards and jotted down a restaurant name.
“Here, meet me at seven. It’s not far in the Saint Henri District, near the canal.”
“I know the area. Thank you.”
He took his purchase and with one last look, he turned and walked out of the store. The bell once again signaled his departure and she was able to breath again.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she muttered to herself.
Nikita had left New York City. The news surprised him. Marc Sheridan, Nikita’s boyfriend of two years, had relocated to Seattle and was busy establishing a new restaurant. She had not followed him.
Instead, she was in Montréal. She had left New York City and her boyfriend to settle in Canada.
The information was not something that he had sought but it had landed in his lap, nonetheless.
With this information came a dilemma. Could he, should he check in on her?
Michael had watched Nikita from afar in her early years away from Section. It was partly to ensure she was alright, but mostly it was the selfish need to still have her in his life. He could never realistically shed her from his life.
Nikita had invaded his bloodstream. It was where she remained, a part of him.
Despite his selfishness, he never allowed himself the temptation of surveillance photos or video. Not even when he tracked her in London and her early years in Manhattan.
Seven years later the same temptation was presented to him once more.
Michael was at war with himself. He wouldn’t exactly call it a wound that never healed, but the hole Nikita left behind never filled. He would be inviting complications that he certainly didn’t need.
Michael went about his business as he contemplated his next move. He knew that if he allowed himself one taste of Nikita, he would be lost. He would follow her forever. He knew that with great certainty.
Access to Nikita presented a problem that he didn’t feel when it came to Elena and Adam. When it became available to him, he’d allowed himself information on Elena and Adam’s wellbeing. It tugged at his heart to see Elena love and eventually remarry, but he wanted her happy. All indications showed that Elena would have a marriage filled with love and happiness. Michael hoped her new husband could be the man she deserved.
He had allowed himself video surveillance of his blood cover family.
His son was now a teenager.
From a distance, he watched Adam grow from an active, curious boy to an outgoing and intelligent teenager. With the onset of adolescence, Adam was beginning to share more physical similarities with himself, now that the softness of childhood was leaving him.
Elena’s new husband wasn’t ‘Dad’ but Joe. He was the father figure in Adam’s life.
Michael Samuelle was merely a passing presence in their lives.
He knew that Elena would keep his memory alive, but Adam was so very young when Michael’s mission ended. He would have no memories of his own, other than vague impressions. To Adam, his father was a series of hastily salvaged photographs and the sunny, glossy memories of a woman whose own recollections were starting to dull and lose complexity with time.
Perhaps, it was for the best. His son and Elena would forever be free of Section One’s intervention. Still, Michael yearned to hold his son, but he knew that would never be possible. It was moments such as these that Nikita’s absence was acutely felt.
In the end, after a year of internal debate and what he could ultimately chalk up to sentimentality, Michael made his decision.
Michael logged in his destination and departed to the private airfield where his plane awaited.
He knew nothing of Nikita’s life in Montréal. He decided he would let her current circumstances dictate his next move.
The city was alive with Christmas revelry and the bookstore where Nikita worked was no exception. Bundled up against the elements Michael saw Nikita in person for the first time.
His heart entered his throat at his first glimpse of her. She was alright. It was one thing to read about it in a surveillance report, but a completely different experience to witness it firsthand. Everything around him faded away as he watched her juggle her tote bag and a few brightly wrapped presents. Her blond hair spilled out in front out of her dark trapper hat and it swirled around her face when it got caught in a gust of wind. From his secluded corner, he heard Nikita’s laugh at something an arriving patron said in greeting. She was absolutely luminous, imbued with the vitality of life. She had genuinely flourished in her time outside of Section’s influence.
The snow had begun to fall in earnest and she rushed to her car seeking shelter. Before Nikita climbed into her SUV, she paused momentarily and looked out into the near secluded street. Michael knew he was well hidden, but for just a moment Nikita’s face turned in his direction. Her cheeks were flushed from the harsh winter air. In Michael’s eyes she had never looked more beautiful. Her bright blue eyes scanned the street. Satisfied, she settled into her vehicle and drove away.
Michael felt her departure acutely, but he also felt a reassuring calm come over him. It was then that Michael made his decision. He couldn’t just watch her from afar this one time. He had to get closer. Anything else was unacceptable.
He made plans to visit Montréal the following month. He stood outside the shop in the early hours and watched Nikita from across the street. He couldn’t quite muster up the courage to go to her. The decision was then taken out of his hands when Nikita looked out into the street and saw him.
The minute their eyes locked with each other was unlike anything else. Eight years and the connection between them was still potent.
His feet carried him across the street and into the welcoming warmth of the bookstore.
He stood before Nikita and took her in. It should have been embarrassing how much joy standing in front of her brought him.
She was surprised at his presence and he watched her go through a myriad of emotions. Her breathy hello spoke of her surprise.
Michael shamelessly took her in. She was beautiful. Even irritated and annoyed with him, she was beautiful. Same wheat blonde hair, same bright blue eyes, same sensuous lips. When he heard her husky voice he was instantly transported to times in which they sat quietly and spoke of things outside of Section.
He never planned to cause her discomfort but he got some satisfaction in knowing that she was as much affected by seeing him as he was in seeing her. Eight years did little to diminish the attraction that crackled between them or the way their bodies reacted.
Michael desperately wanted to touch her. He wanted to ease away the tiny wrinkle that appeared between her brows as she contemplated his presence. He wanted to skim his fingers along her jawline and tilt her face towards him. He wanted to bring her body against his, warm and supple, and bury his face against her temple, where the scent of her skin would invade his nostrils.
But he couldn’t do that. All he could do was look and for now that had to be enough. After eight years, he would take what he could get.
Michael returned to her as often as he could. His responsibilities got tended to with his usual precision, but he no longer spent what free time he had tethered to his work.
His flights across the Atlantic happened with great regularity and a crew remained on stand by for greater efficiency. He would not waste a single moment that could be spend in Nikita’s presence.
He enjoyed watching her move around the bookstore. She was clearly comfortable there and she and her business partner had an easy relationship. It was clear that neither one of them felt a duty was beneath them. They tended to customers and assisted with menial tasks while still maintaining the store’s administrative duties.
Her coworkers eyed him with curiosity, but they followed her lead and left him alone.
During every visit Michael would buy a book…her books. He did it to be close to her when he had to return to Europe.
There was no hidden meaning behind her selections. He just enjoyed the glimpse into what she found interesting.
The books accumulated on his bedside table. He saw them when he prepared for bed and he saw them when he awoke. It was like having a tiny tangible piece of Nikita with him.
It was difficult leaving her. Their interaction was minimal but after years of nothing, Michael relished the opportunity to be in the same room as Nikita.
He desperately wanted time alone with her, but she was understandably skittish around him. The specter of Section One hung over them. Her pleas for discretion said as much even while he calmly assured her that she was in no danger.
When he saw Nikita laughing and talking with another man, Michael momentarily wondered if he’d misjudged Nikita’s life in Montréal. The possibility of Nikita involved with someone was very real but he’d dismissed the possibility the minute he saw her in December.
Michael watched the two of them laugh and talk for a good hour. The man was clearly interested, but Nikita’s actions showed no reciprocation. She was friendly, but it stopped there.
When Nikita’s companion left, Michael knew he couldn’t wait any longer.
His invitation to dinner was accepted reluctantly.
He told Nikita he would leave if she wanted him to. God help him if she did request that.
Could he do it? Was he capable of letting her go a third time. He was not that strong a man. He had only been half living these last eight years.
He could not and would not manipulate Nikita into opening her life to him. He could only hope that the strength of their connection proved to be a powerful motivator for her to allow him back in her life.
For all the times that Michael had steered the direction of their relationship over the years, today Nikita held their future in her hands.
+
Nikita had planned to arrive first. She’d wanted to establish dominance for their meeting because that’s what it was, a meeting, not two former lovers reconnecting.
Michael, the bastard, had other plans. He was already seated with an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. Couldn’t he have just given her this?
He stood when she arrived at his booth. He’d removed his heavy overcoat and underneath he wore a speckled gray turtleneck sweater. With his hair and short beard, he created a welcoming and relaxed image. Damn him.
“Thank you for coming.”
From the waiter who seated her, Nikita ordered some rooibos tea. Just as before, Michael took her in with something akin to longing. She could feel the weight of his eyes. She could feel the restraint that Michael was maintaining a tight leash on. She wanted to be flattered, but to allow herself that seemed like conceding that this meeting was a precursor to something much bigger. That anything that followed was a foregone conclusion and that Nikita had no say in the direction it would go.
“You look well…vibrant.”
She couldn’t help but preen slightly at his compliment, and she smiled at him in thanks.
“I’m relieved to see you still alive,” she admitted cautiously.
“You had doubts?”
Surprise colored his face. Michael, ever confident in his abilities.
“Law of averages. No one’s invincible.”
“A couple of close calls here and there,” he conceded.
Nikita paled at the thought of Michael recovering in MedLab alone with no friendly face to keep him company.
“You look good too.” He did. He looked healthy and strong. The strength of his magnetism had not diminished over the years. If anything age had amplified his appeal. His masculine beauty was in full but unassuming display. Nikita knew she was veering into dangerous territory if she allowed herself to fall into the depths of Michael’s eyes.
At that moment the waiter came with her tea and a pair of menus for them before she silently slipped away.
“Are you here to take me back?” She bluntly asked the question that had been on her mind since she first spotted Michael.
“No, Nikita, no,” The subtle disbelief in his face was real. His eyebrows furrow slightly and he moved to touch her before he stopped himself. “I genuinely wanted to see you.”
“But you do know it’s what your presence made me think. It’s a logical conclusion.”
“I hadn’t planned on making contact,” he revealed.
Michael’s gaze drifted to somewhere beyond her for just a second before he redirected his focus back at her.
“I thought, that perhaps I could see you from a distance. That it would be enough.” He looked down into his coffee before capturing her gaze. “It wasn’t.”
“You’re not one for impulse, Michael.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
Michael’s confession took her by surprise. Years ago, insight into his feelings were rare occurrences. They happened but not with the frequency that one could build a stable relationship on. For him to admit something like this in the first few moments of their meeting left Nikita feeling unmoored.
Their waiter quietly returned at that moment and in her halting French Nikita ordered the smoked sturgeon. She’d been here before. She knew what she liked. Taking a cue from her, Michael did the same.
“So now…we’re here. Now what?”
“Now…we catch up.”
“You’ve been coming by the shop unannounced for three months.”
“You were busy and perhaps it wasn’t the best place to talk. I also wanted your undivided attention.”
Something in the way he said that made her flush. She remembered vividly what it was like to focus solely on Michael.
“So you’re going to tell me everything you’ve been doing since I’ve been gone, too?”
Michael stared at her like he normally would but this time the corner of eyes crinkled ever so slightly suggesting that he wasn’t shutting out her completely.
“Didn’t think so,” she conceded.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Well, not necessarily everything. Generalizations I guess. To know how people are. Those left behind.”
“There are some differences, given the state of the world.”
Nikita nodded in understanding.
“Those you care about are well.”
She smiled at the confirmation. Walter and Birkoff…those she cared about.
“Are you including yourself in that category? Are you doing well?”
“Well enough. As you pointed out, I’m still alive. There are difficult days. Your absence…is always felt.” Michael gave her his version of a chagrined smile. “It sneaks up on me when I least expect it.”
Nikita could relate to that. The tiniest of things could remind her of her former life.
“But there are victories, large and small,” Michael continued. “Personal and professional.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The silence between them wasn’t oppressive. In their quiet corner of the restaurant with the white noise of the other patrons around them, it felt like in that moment she could tell Michael everything—all her worries, all her happy moments. Michael wouldn’t judge her.
“I dated. I tried to move on,” Nikita felt it was best to get that out in the open. “What’s a normal life without companionship? The thing is, you cast a very long shadow, Michael. Everyone, I always compared them to you. I tried not to. I told myself it wasn’t fair to hold them up to someone else. It was an impossible standard.”
He looked like he was searching for the right words.
“I’m sorry that was difficult."
She waved her hand dismissively, “It’s what it was.”
Nikita took a sip of her tea, enjoying the warmth she got from the cup in her hand.
“And you?” She asked the question she couldn’t avoid. It was a question she’d selfishly been afraid of.
Michael looked at her questionably.
“Have you been able to see anybody? Share yourself?”
She’s almost wistful as she asked. She was torn between wanting to know and not know.
Relationships did happen within Section One. That they were denied that privilege was due in large part to Operations and Madeline feeling threatened by the strength of their connection. They feared what could happen if they turned their considerable influence towards challenging their authority. Absent of that fear, Nikita had no doubt that Michael would be allowed the opportunity to engage in a relationship if he found someone that captured his attention.
Lustful mooning aside, Nikita had known of women that would have complemented Michael nicely. The type of women that, had Nikita been the matchmaking type and if Michael had not been Michael, she would have had great confidence that he would have had some passing interest in her choices. Despite his quiet exterior, he was a passionate and fascinating man. To be on the receiving end of his intensity had been exhilarating. His sensuality needed an outlet that would be satisfying to him. Valentine missions would have offered physical release but not emotional connection.
“There’s been no one. I chose to focus on the work.”
“But…”
An upswell of emotion threatened to take her over. To have this beautiful man deny himself human connection felt so incredibly wrong.
“It was my decision, Nikita. My priorities after you left shifted. It wasn’t difficult to compartmentalize.”
She nodded her head, accepting Michael’s explanation. It didn’t lessen the sadness within her, but she accepted the choice he made for himself.
“Have you been happy?” He asked her, pivoting the conversation back towards her.
“Yes,” she didn’t hesitate with her answer. Yes, she had been very happy.
There it was again. On Michael’s face was the smallest of smiles.
“Tell me about your life.”
“Michael, I know there’s a file somewhere in Section that catalogs every detail about my life since I walked out of my apartment eight years ago.”
“Yes, but it’s not the same as hearing it from you.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes, I really want to know.”
She told Michael about Marc; about loving him but not loving him enough to move across the country with him; about her fear that he was about to propose marriage to her and her fear of hurting him because he was a good man, one of the best she’d ever known.
She told Michael about meeting Grace while in line at the post office; how she started as a regular employee at the bookstore and how she eventually became Grace’s partner when the store’s original elderly owner retired.
Michael smiled at her, really smiled. His mouth widened to show teeth, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and she heard a warm breathy chuckle. She vividly remembered that low chuckle. The memory is a swirl of warm bed sheets, of Michael pressing his face into her skin during their more carefree moments together. It came from moments when she witnessed him lowering his guard to show her glimpses of Michael the man and not Michael the Section operative.
Oh…she was definitely in trouble.
Nikita was in awe of this man before her who took in her stories like they were precious artifacts.
Telling Michael about her life since Section was relatively easy. Switching the conversation back towards him and Section One was a path filled with potholes.
“Sometimes I think I’m being watched. It’s just a feeling, but when I look, there’s no one there. I don’t know if that’s because there was never anyone there or if I’m just so rusty that I’m missing something I could have easily caught if this had been years ago.”
Michael’s eyes didn’t close off the way she expected them to. His posture became slightly more guarded but nothing about him suggested the topic was best left unspoken.
“Did the program continue?” She asked tentatively. “Were others released as well?”
“Some but not many. You were special. Others had difficulty adjusting. The program has been temporarily suspended.”
“Why?”
“Section was almost compromised by a less cautious operative.”
Nikita could read between the lines.
“I’m still being watched, aren’t I.”
“Yes.”
“Have you known where I’ve been this entire time?”
“Yes.” Michael hesitated slightly. “Generalizations. Not specifics. The temptation to seek you out would have been too great,” he admitted. “I stopped getting reports when you were in New York.”
“So what’s changed? This wasn’t just a coincidence.”
“Actually, it was. Section Three had operatives assigned to the local French consulate. One of their attachés had familial ties to a radical separatist group that had the potential for violence. At one of their cultural events, your bookstore was one of the sponsors.”
Nikita suddenly remembered the event. “I remember. We made a donation.”
“Yes, so the name of the shop was listed on the event literature. Section Three ran routine background and your name came up. It would have likely of ended there. No one knows the alias you go by, but I recognized it when I was reviewing the Section Three report. Up until that point, I hadn’t known you’d left New York.”
“That event was more than a year ago.”
“Like I said, the temptation was too great. I eventually broke down.”
“So…what now.”
“That’s up to you. I meant it when I said I’d leave you alone.”
Michael looked at her straight on. His eyes were pools of light and his face was as open as she’d ever seen it. She felt like in that moment she could break him with the wrong words.
“Do you want me to leave?” Michael asked her.
Nikita raked her eyes over him. Being back in his presence was intoxicating, like it’s always been.
“I don’t know.”