Refuge

"Adam, will your father be here tonight?"

The boy looked up from his notebook and stared at his teacher for a moment. Then he nodded, with a bright smile.

"Yes, Miss. Wise." He looked at her for a moment more, as if he expected her to inquire further, and then went back to his work.

Jenna Patterson watched him, her eyes straying over the rest of the class. Sixteen ten and eleven year olds, eight boys and ten girls. All were dressed for the cold weather, most were dressed conservatively.

She knew she was fortunate to have this job. This school was somewhat exclusive, serving as it did the needs of a small, isolated community. Here in the Northwest, isolated could mean no outside contact during the worst winter months. The small town was wealthy; she made far more than she could have in a large city school, and her class was small enough that she could really *teach*, something she loved. The kids were motivated, their families successful and involved.

It was an ideal place to raise a child; friendly without being nosy, safe but interesting, eccentric without being weird.

Jenna Wise was happy to be here. But there was always a fly in the ointment. For this teacher, that fly was Adam Seul's father. From the first day she had met him - at the school open house before the year began - Michael Seul had bothered her.

There was no reason for it. No explanation she could give to her friends or colleagues. Seul appeared to be the perfect man; tall, dark, and handsome, with a French accent to die for. There had probably never been Frenchman living her before. Add that he was apparently wealthy - though he didn't seem to work - and that he was a widow raising a bright, friendly child alone, and he was the hero of a romance novel. Most of the women in this town would have fallen at his feet if he so much as looked their way.

She mused on the situation as she worked on the exam she was giving next week. Perhaps that was the problem. Michael Seul was *too * perfect. Unfailingly polite, impeccably dressed, whether he was attending the highly-rated local symphony or one of Adam's soccer games. He walked like he owned whatever room he was in, and it was clear even to her that he loved his son deeply.

Jenna glanced at the clock. It was almost time for the bell to ring. She sat back and began tidying her desk. The kids began putting away books and notebooks, looking at her expectantly, eager to go to lunch.

"Go already," she laughed at them and they all got up at once, except Adam, girls in the lead, whispering secrets and chattering while the boys trailed behind, scuffling and challenging.

Adam was the last to leave the room. He paused by her desk, as if he wanted to say something, but instead just looked at her. His dark hair was cut slightly long - it was darker than his father's, his mother must have been a brunette, but his father wore it long as well - and fell into his eyes. She resisted the urge to brush it back.

"Yes, Adam?"

"Daddy told me to ask if you need him to bring anything tonight. You didn't send home an announcement or anything."

Adam spoke with no accent at all, which made Jenna wonder where he had been raised. He had started here in first grade and apparently never attended school before that, but he was ahead of his peers in most academic areas.

"No, we've got everything taken care of," she told him, feeling mildly guilty. She had no reason to dislike the man. Absolutely no reason to be frightened of him. And yet she was. Hard as she tried, she worried that Adam knew that. "Tell him we'll be happy just to have him here."

"Okay." His smile was brief, and then he trotted out of the room.

He didn't have his father's innate grace, but it seemed that he might one day develop it. Jenna Wise sighed and picked up her coat, slung over the back of the chair. This might be one of her last chances to get outside during the lunch break; the weather had been threatening to turn nasty for a week now. There was no telling how long a storm could last.

In the teacher's lounge she quietly ate her leftover lasagna and chatted with the three other teachers she was close to. Richard Simon, the music teacher, was all atwitter about the performance his kids would be giving that evening. He was fairly subdued for a gay man, but today he was practically flaming with a combination of nerves and expectations.

"I think that's enough caffeine for you!" Sheila, a kindergarten teacher, swiped the second can of cola Simon had just bought from the machine. "You're going to sprout wings and fly away if you're not careful."

"He's just afraid Ryan Dobie's father will realize his son doesn't have a speck of musical talent."

Across the table from Jenna, Kat Thibideau smirked. Simon flushed and shot a glare at her. It was an old argument and Jenna didn't want to hear it again. Ryan Dobie's father was the lead guitarist in a rock-and-roll band that she had never listened to as a teenager, a frighteningly successful band by all accounts. His son didn't play the guitar, but the piano, and everyone at the school knew he wasn't very good.

"If Ryan's father cared about that he'd have Ryan taking private lessons somewhere. I think he's aware that his son's talents lie elsewhere." She took the role of peacemaker again. Kat gave her a speculative look, tilting her head. Her curly dark blond hair looked like a halo, cut so short.

"But Adam Seul is good, isn't he, Simon? I'm sure his father will be here tonight." Her smirk returned as Jenna felt herself blush.

"I've saved him a seat up in the front row." Simon answered with a touch of glee. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Put him right beside you, Andy, so you can both get the full effect of Adam's performance."

They had it all wrong. After that first meeting with Michael, Jenna had asked about him as discreetly as she knew how. It wasn't discreet enough, though, and now everyone thought she had some school-girl crush on him.

There was no way she could explain how wrong they were. They wouldn't understand if she tried. With her appetite gone, Jenna put the lid on her leftover container and began putting her lunch things away.

"Why don't you just ask him to dinner?" Sheila patted her hand. "I know he's wonderful, but the worst he can do is say no. Adam says his mother died when he was four, that's a long time for a man to be alone."

"I don't want to ask him to dinner." Jenna stood, trying to swallow her temper. Usually things were pleasant here; people usually minded their own business. These were supposed to be her friends, so they thought they had the right. "I don't think of him that way."

"That hair, though eyes, that *voice*," Kat practically purred. "How can you *not* think of him that way? You have the perfect in, too - I'm jealous. As Adam's teacher you have the excuse to ask him to talk to you." She stood and smoothed her green wool dress over her curvaceous form. "If I could even get him to look in my direction -"

"He doesn't look at me," Jenna protested uselessly. "Not like that. He doesn't look at *anyone* like that."

"Maybe he would, if you'd encourage him." Sheila smiled at her, a best-friend smile.

"He's too - intense for me," Jenna said, wanting to end the conversation. She put her coat on and headed for the door.

"That's what makes him so wonderful!" Kat called after her as she left. It was cold on the playground. Jenna huddled in her coat, feeling the wind chill drop. The clouds hung low and grey in the sky, swollen with snow. The kids were running around, generating their own heat. She studied them, a little bit envious.

Adam was hanging upside-down on the monkey bars beside his best buddy, Ryan Dobie. He was talking, his hands tucked into his coat. Despite his outgoing nature, he was a reserved boy. She realized that his restrained movements reminded her of his father.

That was a way to describe what bothered her. It was as if Michael was hiding something. Maybe they were *both* hiding something. She straightened suddenly, staring at the upside-down boy. His hat was pulled low, covering most of his face.

Could the dead-mother story be a cover-up? Was it possible that Adam was supposed to be with an alive mother somewhere? Michael Seul didn't strike her as the kind of man who tolerated being told what to do. If some judge somewhere had given custody of his son to an ex-wife, it seemed reasonable that he would take the boy and run.

It was something she needed to look into. But privately - if she was wrong, she would lose her job over any accusations.

The bell rang and Jenna walked close beside Adam as they went back inside. She rested her hand on the top of his head and the look he gave her was curious but happy.

Yes, she needed to look into this. It would explain so many things.

The crowd was gathering in the auditorium. Jenna had decided to keep the seat Simon had suggested, knowing that Michael would sit beside her. It was a well-known idiosyncrasy of his; he always took the last seat on the right end of the second row; the one closest to both the emergency exit door and the stairs that went up to the stage.

Adam was in the back, getting ready with the other kids. She'd seen him arrive but his father hadn't been with him. But he had never missed a school function Adam was involved in - he was probably in the parking lot, in the dark SUV he drove. Everyone here drove something with four-wheel-drive and snow chains as a matter of necessity, but Michael's vehicle was unusually high-tech looking even in this community. Not the kind of thing you could buy off the lot.

The lights dimmed and the first performer trekked out onto the stage, looking nervous. Jenna wanted to support him so she gave the girl her full attention, not glancing to the side when a shadow materialized and took the empty seat.

The man beside her applauded politely after each child played their piece. There was an advanced orchestra program, so they sat through several quartets and trios and solos on violin, cello, flute and piano. None of the kids was what she would call gifted, but Simon was a good teacher and everyone got through it without embarrassing themselves, even Ryan Dobie.

Adam was to play last. When he came onto the stage his eyes locked onto his father immediately and Michael leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap. Turning her head, Jenna thought that he was nervous, and she couldn't say how that made her feel. Considering her recent thoughts about him, she wasn't willing to give him any credit.

Adam had chosen an advanced piece - Jenna knew from Simon's worries at lunch for the last three months that he thought it was too much for the boy - and he attacked it with gusto.

There might have been a few sour notes, but the boy's tossing hair and enthusiastic attitude helped a lot. When it was over Michael surged to his feet, clapping so loud it had t hurt his hands. Jenna found herself laughing and standing with him as the entire row rose. Adam stood up from the piano and bowed, blushing brightly.

The smile on his father's face was the most natural expression Jenna had ever seen there. It vanished too quickly, swallowed by the controlled calm she was used to.

Everyone filed out to the cafeteria for punch and cookies to celebrate the concert. Adam came through the far door and dashed across the room, shouting.

"Dad! Dad! I did it!"

Jenna, right behind Michael, watched as he dropped to a crouch and opened his arms, taking the weight of his child as Adam slammed into him with an eager hug.

"You were wonderful." Michael murmured, brushing his face over the tousled black hair. He hugged the boy tightly.

It was a very private moment. Jenna sensed some undercurrent of tension and watched, though everyone else was ignoring it politely. Maybe they didn't see the tension there, the pain she did. When she caught sight of Kat smirking at her, Jenna turned away and went to the refreshment table to gather three cups of punch.

When she went back to the pair they were both standing, Michael's arm over Adam's shoulders. Adam was smiling up at his father.

"I thought you might need this." Jenna offered the two extra cups.

"Thank you, Miss. Wise." Adam gulped his down.

"Merci." Michael accepted a cup but did not drink it.

"Adam, you better go get some cookies before they're all gone," Jenna said, smiling at him. He looked up at his father, who nodded, and then ducked under his arm and headed for the table surrounded by munching kids.

"He's very talented." Jenna sipped her punch. Michael took a swallow of his. It seemed like an afterthought.

"He gets it from his mother." His eyes tracked the room, and lingered on Adam.

"She must have been very special. Adam speaks of her with love."

"She loved him very much." His eyes traveled the room. They didn't stop; it was like he was looking for trouble. Jenna couldn't remember if he had always done this.

"Yes. Tell me, how did she die? He doesn't seem to be traumatized."

His eyes flashed back to her and they were hard. Cold.

"Any child that loses their mother is traumatized." He paused and looked at the floor, then away. Back at Adam. "No. It was a traffic accident. In Paris. A drunk driver. I was fortunate; Adam survived."

"You were very lucky." Her mind was sorting through the information. Paris. That explained the accident. But then why didn't Adam have the accent?

He could have lost it over the years. She would have to ask Sheila if he'd had it in kindergarten.

"Yes." The look he gave her was blank yet somehow threatening. "If you will excuse me." He turned and left her. Jenna watched while he approached Simon and they conversed.

She'd gotten a reaction, but not the one she'd expected. Michael had seemed angered by her questions. Because he had something to hide, or simply because he thought she was being insensitive?

Either way it was enough to cement her belief that she had to find out more.

The storm began just after midnight. Safe in bed, Jenna listened to the howling of the wind. She'd left the curtains parted on the street-side window of her bedroom; her little house was just outside of town, at the very beginning of the mountain. Through the window she could see the cloud of snow that was falling, thick and fast. It was backlit by moonlight, making everything seem spooky.

It was as if she was the only person in the world. Locked in by the snow and the storm, but in a good way.

After opening the curtains wider, Jenna settled in the armchair in front of the window and snuggled down to watch the snowfall. It was wonderful and beautiful and frightening.

The next night found her sleeping beside the window again, unable to resist the tranquility of the scene. After a record ten inches of snow with more falling, the town was locked down tight.

Everyone had been through this before; everyone knew what to do. There was no need to go anywhere or do anything. Cell phones continued to work, satellite dishes brought television signals into homes - better to stay inside and warm. Or go outside just long enough to build a snowman and have a snowball fight, and then rush back in to the welcome heat of a fire and the sweet bitterness of real hot cocoa.

Lots of time to surf the net and do a little research on missing children, even if you didn't find anything particularly interesting.

The snow would stop falling eventually. There would be plenty of time then for life to start again; work and chores and school, shopping and paying bills and shoveling. Today the snow was a gift.

Soon it would be a curse.

There had only been a few cars out during the day. Jenna sat up suddenly, wondering what had woken her.

An engine groaned and gears ground; who was out at this hour? A look at the clock confirmed that it was past three in the morning. Was there an emergency of some sort?

She looked out the window and saw a blur of dark; a truck of some sort? An SUV, trying to climb the steep grade in the unplowed snow. Gears gnashed and shrieked - she went to her closet and began pulling out warm clothes. Whoever this person was, wherever they were trying to go, they needed to get off this road until later. Not being in the city proper, it wouldn't be plowed until Monday morning.

Her door flew open, light spilling onto the snow as she ran toward the straining truck. The headlights flickered as the vehicle slew sideways, so fast that she was afraid it would roll, then it shuddered to a stop, slanted across the narrow road, the rear tires caught on a patch of heavy bushes. They spun uselessly, throwing up a spray of snow and icy mud.

Jenna stopped a few feet in front of it, waving her hands.

"Hey! Hey! You can't go any further!"

With a last grumble of protest, the engine died. The headlights illuminated the road and one side of Jenna's house at an angle; it looked twisted. Scary.

She waited to see who would get out of the truck. If this had been a big city someplace, or the Midwest, she might have been worried. But it didn't really cross her mind that she could be in danger. That kind of thing happened in the movie, not sleep snowed-in Northwest towns. Not to fifth-grade teachers.

The lights went off. It was suddenly dark, with only the moonlight and the light from the window to see by. The truck door opened with a creak, the metal stressed by the cold. A tall dark figure bundled in a heavy parka stepped out.

It was a woman, and she was white; that was all Jenna could see from where she stood. She hadn't grabbed a muffler, the wind was beginning to burn her cheeks.

"Come inside and get warm." She gestured at the stranger. The woman hesitated, then walked to her side, with long, determined strides that didn't falter in the deep snow.

Leading her into the house, Jenna waited until they were inside, shutting the door tightly behind them, before speaking again. She peeled of her coat and offered a hand. The woman shook it and waited.

"I'm Jenna Wise." Her eyes traveled the taller figure. The dark pants seemed to be made of leather, the boots had three-inch heels, and the pale face was finely boned. Aristocratic. Stunning.

"You've arrived at the worst possible time; the storm is only supposed to get worse for the next few days. You should turn back and get a room in town. Until the roads are clear again."

Icy blue eyes fixed on her with a trace of warmth.

"I can't do that. But I do seem to be lost I'm looking for 3400 Route Nine?"

The address registered in Jenna's brain about the same time the rich accent did. Not French, but something else - Australian?

A spectacularly beautiful stranger arriving in the middle of the night looking for Michael Seul's home. Jenna sighed mentally. Of course. What else?

"That's further up the road. You'll never be able to make it in that truck. If you wait until morning I could give you a ride on my snowmobile."

"I can't wait until morning. Could I borrow the snowmobile, or buy it from you?"

"Is it an emergency? Is someone sick or hurt? If someone is hurt I can call for a helicopter, get an emergency lift out -" Jenna spoke sincerely, trying to not consider the situation too closely. Maybe this woman didn't understand what the roads were like right now - maybe she'd never been in this part of the country before.

"No one is injured." The woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just need to get there."

There was a catch in her voice. When she looked at Jenna again, there was a shadow in her eyes.

It reminded Jenna of Michael, and the way he sometimes looked at his son.

"It would much easier to go in the daylight, Miss -" She still didn't know her name.

"Nikita. Nikita Samuelle." It seemed she was watching to see if Jenna reacted to that name.

"It's nice to meet you, Nikita." Jenna smiled at her. "Even under the circumstances."

"I didn't realize the storm was so bad. I needed to get here, so I just kept driving -" Nikita stopped talking as if someone had thrown a switch.

Something about her made Jenna feel sad. Though Nikita was beautiful and thin and apparently wealthy, Jenna knew instinctively that she wasn't a happy person. That made her next words more understandable, even if they were still crazy.

"Michael's isn't too far up the road. If we bundle up I bet we can make it in less than an hour."

"I can't ask you to do that." The voice low, eyes narrowed.

"I can't send you out there on your own. If you got lost or something happened to you I'd never forgive myself. Since you can't wait -" Letting the sentence trail off, Jenna went to the mud room off the kitchen and began pulling on the thick insulated suit she wore when snowmobiling. Nikita followed her and she nodded at the second suit that hung on the wall. They were dry after her playtime that afternoon, whizzing over hills and speeding down smooth drifts. Her favorite part of winter.

The visitor was velcroed into the suit almost before Jenna had her own on properly. The boots were last, and she eyed Nikita's footwear with worry.

"What size shoe do you wear?" They didn't look like they could stand up to the wind chill.

"Nine." With the parka off and the hood of the snowsuit down, white-blond hair fell about her face in a smooth wave. It was past her shoulders, and Jenna envied it briefly. Of course, this woman would be a perfect blond. What other kind of woman would come in the middle of the night looking for the mysterious Mr. Seul?

"I only wear a seven. You'll just have to grin and bear it." Covered from head to toe, Jenna surveyed Nikita. "Want something hot to drink before we go?"

"No." Jenna waited, but she said nothing else.

"Let's go, then."

She went to the front door and locked it, then stopped at her phone to turn the answering machine on. Her cell phone went into a pocket; she hadn't seen if Nikita had one.

"Do you have a bag?"

"In the truck."

"Get it while I get the monster out." So it was weird, having a name for your snowmobile. Nobody knew about it but her. She unlocked the door for Nikita and then locked it again behind her before going out the back to the shed, where her monster slept.

The well-tuned engine roared to life happily and she went around the house slowly, checking the traction of the treads, knowing there was ice on top of the snow now. If they went into a deep drift it would be hell to dig out again.

Nikita was standing beside her truck, a medium-sized black bag slung over her shoulder. Jenna idled the motor and then tied the bag on before mounting up herself.

"Get behind me and hang on." She revved the throttle and grinned when the noise jumped. Nikita just took a seat behind her and slid her arms around Jenna's waist, not tightly. She gave her a minute to get settled and smiled again when Nikita gave her a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror.

With a thought for how foolish this was, Jenna revved the engine, kicked the throttle, and they roared off into the black night, up the unplowed road.

It was very cold. Colder than she'd been in a long time. Maybe she'd never been this cold.

Nikita held onto the woman, Jenna Wise, and wondered why she was doing this. Welcoming a stranger and helping her; it wasn't something Nikita had seen often in her life. Certainly not since she became Operations.

This woman had identified the address as Michael's very quickly. But she hadn't asked for more information. Was it possible there was something going on between them?

Nikita dismissed the thought as quickly as it formed. It was unworthy. Their lives hers and Michael's were separate. This insane trip was just an aberration. When she returned she would chalk it up to stress, and stop thinking about Michael again. It didn't matter what he did, or didn't do. He was no longer a part of Section, and Nikita was Section.

She leaned closer to Jenna Wise, though there was no warmth to share in this cold wind. Just being close to another person was strange enough to be comforting.

She wondered what the woman, Nikita, was thinking. Why she had come here, why she was so desperate to see Michael Seul.

Jenna tried not to wonder why she was doing this; taking her to his house in the cold dark.

Especially since Michael frightened her. In the daylight, would Nikita be frightening as well?

There was plenty of time to think as they sped along. The road climbed and curved gently, as long as she stayed on it they would be okay. Cold, but okay.

The house came into sight many long minutes later. Jenna slowed the snowmobile, knowing it could be heard from inside. There was one light burning, on the second floor was Michael still awake? It was past four a.m.

They stopped beside the front steps. Jenna staggered a little as she got off, and Nikita caught her with a hand. She was startled by how strong the woman was, but not surprised. It was another thing that fit.

The front door opened and a man's voice called out quietly in the dark.

"Who is there?"

The accent was unmistakable. Jenna waited for Nikita to answer, but when she didn't felt she had to say something.

They had never been on a first-name basis, but it still felt odd to be calling him Mr. Seul when she was standing here in the cold at this hour.

"It's Jenna Wise, Mr. Seul. You have a visitor; she stumbled onto my doorstep and I thought I should get her here to you."

"Jenna?" He sounded suddenly awake, and wary. "A visitor? Who is it?"

The woman beside Jenna had been standing so still and silent. Now she tilted her head to look up at the black splotch that was Michael in the darkness. Her hands didn't move; she stayed still. But her voice pleaded.

"Michael, it's me."

There was a moment that lasted forever, and then he answered with something that sounded like a prayer, though it was only her name.

"Nikita."

He came down the steps slowly, as graceful as ever. Like ice and snow didn't dare touch him.

They couldn't throw him off balance and they sulked because they knew it. He stopped on the bottom step, less than a foot away from them. But he didn't reach out.

"Nikita?" Jenna thought she should turn away, should cover her ears and hum, should do *something* -- anything -- to block out the raw pain in that voice. Pain she had never suspected lurked behind those blank eyes.

Pain she was embarrassed to see, because it was so basic. So human.

"Michael." Pain there, too, and more, but better hidden. Jenna took a step away from Nikita, and then a second.

"Miss. Wise " Michael reached out, but for her. "You cannot return home until it is light. Please, come inside and get warm."

She looked at both of them. Nikita was staring at Michael like he was, well, something and Michael glowing, and he wasn't looking at her at all. Jenna nodded.

Michael turned and led them all up the stairs and inside the large stone house. They went into a masculine sitting room. Michael went to the bar and lit a flame, then opened a bottle of brandy.

Jenna looked around as she shed her snowsuit, looking for a place to put it while it dripped.

"Just leave it by the door," he said, and she did. Nikita followed her.

They took seats on opposite leather sofas, a wide expanse of dark granite coffee table between them.

Michael passed out glasses of warmed brandy. Jenna took a minute to look at him. Despite the hour, he was fully dressed; dark grey slacks, navy blue turtleneck sweater and black socks.

The socks made her smile. No shoes, but still he managed to look somehow formal. She sipped the brandy, an unfamiliar taste. Nikita was drinking hers like she had it every day.

Michael was swirling the liquid in his glass and staring at it.

Finally he looked up.

"How is everyone? Jason?"

"They're fine. Everything stays the same, Michael. Nothing changes. You taught me that." Nikita answered, drinking again from her glass.

"Everything changes and everything stays the same." he murmured, barely loud enough for Jenna to hear him. "That's what I tried to teach you."

"Yes." Nikita nodded. Her glass was empty. She put it down on the table and ran her hands through her bright hair.

"How's Walter?" Michaels' eyes followed her hands closely. It made Jenna want to giggle nervously; watching the two of them was more intimate than watching another couple make love.

"Walter's dead." It was short and flat. Michael didn't flinch, or even look away. He balanced the glass on his fingertips.

"I'm sorry."

The silence that followed was so tense that Jenna couldn't stand it any longer. She stood, tugging at her clothes.

"I know I'm intruding, but I'd like to get some sleep before I head back down the mountain in the morning. Michael, it there someplace I can crash for a while?"

"Yes, of course." He was on his feet in a minute. "The guest bedroom is made up, just let me get a fire going. The bathroom is this way..." he led her up the stairs and showed her which door before disappearing into another.

There were women’s pajamas in the top drawer of the bureau. Jenna wondered why they were there. Slightly too long for her, and in a rich wine colored silk; she suspected they were for Nikita. What kind of name was that, anyhow?

The sheets were smooth and cool, the room warming quickly with the newly lit fire. She lay in the bed and tried not to speculate on what might be happening in other parts of the house. Michael Seul had not seemed *happy* to see this woman. More like stunned. And, perhaps, a little bit angry? The history between them wasn’t all sweetness and light, Jenna could guess that much.

It was obvious that Nikita was not Adam’s mother; there was no physical resemblance between them at all. Even if that color of blond came from a bottle, the skin tone didn’t. Those blue eyes were natural.

Mysteries drove her crazy.

Jenna shifted in the bed, feeling sleep beckon. It had been a long day, more tiring than she’d expected. There would be time tomorrow to ponder further on the puzzle her curiosity had presented her with.

Michael went back downstairs. There was a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years.

It used to be with him all the time; from the minute Nikita joined Section, he had felt that tightness. That almost-pain had been a part of his life every minute that she was.

It was fear, and it was love. It was anger and lust. All of the things this woman made him feel were wound into a tight ball and planted in the center of his chest. Displacing his lungs. Making breathing take just that little bit more effort.

It had eased during his exile. Sometimes he couldn’t even feel it at all. He would look at Adam and breathe, and smile. Laugh and love without pain.

Now, tonight, it was back, as if it had never left.

The love, the betrayals, the anger and the hurt.

The love and the anger.

The love.

The love that had made her let him go, and the honor that had made her stay.

The love that had made him leave, and the anger that she had not left, too.

Now there was another anger; that she would come here, and endanger that which was precious to them both.

But her pain had to be enormous. Once he would have rejoiced that she brought him her pain and asked him to heal it.

Once he would have hidden his joy from everyone else.

Now he didn’t have to.

"I can go." Her voice came from the foyer. The bottom of the stairs.

The same flat, calm voice she had used in the old days. When she told him to do what he had to. When she told him to do whatever it took to stay alive.

The voice she used when she was really, really frightened.

"No!" His shout startled him. He took the last few steps in a bound, dignity cast aside. "No. Nikita -"

"I didn’t know where else to go, Michael. I don’t know what I’m going to do." Not quite a wail, but loud in the silent house. What was the teacher thinking? Upstairs, tucked away in Michael’s house?

He knew Adam’s teacher distrusted him. Suspected him. He’d been a student of human nature too long to not see it in her eyes. But of what, he wondered.

At the foot of the stairs. He took Nikita’s shoulders in his hands, gripping tightly. Good to leave bruises, good to make her remember. His strength. His touch.

"You’re going to - " he stopped.

He didn’t have any words for her. Not this time. Her pain was a physical thing, swallowing him and sucking the joy from his soul. What must it feel like for her?

Michael took a deep breath, and a step back. His hands on her shoulders gentled their grasp, and his fingers stroked hesitantly.

"You’re going to come upstairs with me, and let me hold you." He always said the right thing. It was a Michael Samuelle trademark. It might be harsh, it might be cruel, but it would always be what needed to be said.

"Michael," she whispered, and leaned forward, resting on his strength. A sound like a sob passed her lips and he was ready when her knees buckled. He caught her and lifted her, swinging her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. It wasn’t that he’d continued to work out with the same dedication he had when his life and hers depended on it.

It was just that love could be as light as a feather when you welcomed it with open arms.

Silent, dry-eyed, Nikita clung to him as he mounted the stairs. It should have been harder than it was, but the ease stayed with them. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed. He could smell the exhaust from the snowmobile in her hair, and the stench of civilization; the airport, the crowded cities.

Beneath all that was the warmth of leather and the sweetness of her. It brought back memories, so vivid he had to catch his breath.

"Michael," Nikita murmured.

"Nikita," he replied. There would be more to say, but for the moment his path was clear.

For once; perhaps for the first time in their lives, Nikita was free to need him, and he was free to give her what she needed.

His bed wasn’t large; he had never expected to share it with anyone. When he lay Nikita on the rumpled bedclothes she held onto him, and pulled him down with her.

"Michael, stay." She sounded calm, but wanting. "Stay with me."

"Yes." That word had defined his life with her. He lay back, pulling Nikita to his side. Her arm went around his waist and her face was tucked into the crook of his neck. Her breath warmed him. Inside, where he had only barely realized he was cold.

He held her until her breathing evened and she slept. He held her until his body remembered what it was to hold her and all he wanted to do was wake her back up.

The shout had woken Jenna. Scared her, a little. There had been more emotion in that one word than she thought she’d ever heard in that man’s voice.

It was the shout, and the sadness that followed, that had gotten Jenna out of the bed. She had cracked the door open. It was wrong to spy, yes, but this was a strange enough situation that she thought she could be excused.

Michael Seul had carried the woman up the stairs. Whatever he’d been mad about, it was clear he wasn’t any longer. The controlled, blank face had been tight with emotion, his eyes glowing with feelings Jenna had only seen in movies. But this had been real.

"Mr. Seul?" Jenna crept down the stairs, her shoes in her hand. It had started snowing again during the night, From the bedroom window she’d seen that it was coming down very thickly. She wasn’t going to be getting out of here until it stopped.

"In here." His voice came from the kitchen, and she turned in to find him standing at a large built-in cooktop. Adam was seated on a tall stool at the island, stuffing a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

"Ms. Patterson!" he sputtered around the too-large bite. Michael picked up a washcloth and wiped the syrup from his son’s face.

"Finish that bite before you try to talk, Adam," he said, without heat.

Adam swallowed and gulped down some milk.

"What are you doing here? Daddy said you were here, but he didn’t say why you were here -"

"Michael?" Everyone turned to look when Nikita stepped into the doorway. She was wearing a long, dark robe, clearly Michael’s. Her blond hair was twisted up into a rough knot.

"Nikita." His eyes smiled at her. Jenna was watching Adam. Did he know this woman? "Would you like some breakfast?"

Adam’s eyes were very large and round. He hopped down from his stool.

"I remember you."

Nikita crouched, the robe held tightly closed.

"Do you, Adam?" She sounded hopeful.

"You used to stay with us. Before Mommy died." he said it casually, and a smile started on his face. "And you were there, the day the bad men gave me back."

Bad men? Jenna caught herself staring, and moved, heading for the full coffee pot. There were cups set on the counter beside it.

"Yes, I was there." Nikita seemed to be holding back.

"I missed you!" Adam rushed to her and she caught him in her arms. Jenna glanced at them, and couldn’t keep her eyes from swinging to Michael’s face.

There were tears in his eyes.

"I missed you, too," Nikita said, and her accent was thick. She hugged Adam close.

"You like pancakes, don’t you?" Adam pulled away, too much a boy to be held for long.

"Yes, I do, very much." Nikita kept an arm on his shoulders while he stood. Adam led her to the island and pulled out a stool for her. "This is my teacher, Ms. Patterson. I guess you’re the surprise she brought to me."

"I remember that you liked surprises." Nikita tousled the boy’s head and he grinned, bashfully. Andrea watched, wondering where this strange woman fit into his life.

She thought she might be just a little bit jealous.

"Andrea?" Michael was speaking to her and she made an effort to focus on him. "Would you like some pancakes?"

"I really should be getting home -" She picked up a cup and started pouring. The rich fragrance of the brew told her it was better than anything she’d every drunk before.

"You won’t be going anywhere in this storm," he waved his spatula at the big window, where a bank of grey snow swirled in struggling daylight.

"But I need to get home."

"Do you have a pet; a cat or dog that needs care?" Nikita asked, and she sounded like she was actually concerned.

"No, it’s just me."

"Then better to stay here, safe and warm, than risk your life out there." Nikita glanced at Michael. "We want you to stay. Don’t we, Adam?"

"Yeah." His face glowed at the prospect. "We can play Monopoly. When I play with Daddy it’s just the two of us and he always wins."

"He does like to win," Nikita leaned close to him to stage whisper. "But I bet if we gang up on him -"

"Unfair..." Michael complained, but it seemed to Andrea that he was doing it by rote. His eyes lingered on the woman wearing his robe, and the look in them was a strange combination of hurt and need and worry. There was love, too, Andrea thought, but it was almost hidden behind the other feelings. She had never seen this man’s eyes so easy to read, his face so open. Nikita’s arrival must have shaken him, it wasn’t just surprise that made him look like that.

"I like Monopoly." She volunteered, pleased with the smile that lit Adam’s face. "And I bet we could find the stuff to make cookies, or brownies." Her eyes caught Nikita’s and she saw that they were thinking the same thing; get through the day without a scene. Make it a good day for Adam.

They were adults. They could do that. And maybe then Michael would calm down. The tension in his body was all too plain to see.

They did end up playing Monopoly. As Adam had warned, Michael played for keeps, ruthless in his acquisitions. But Nikita’s strategy was sneakier and, in the end, more successful. It was down to just the two of them when Michael landed on an expensive hotel property. He was almost out of cash and more than half of *his* property was mortgaged, but he seemed determined to mortgage the rest and drag the game out to a painful end.

"Daddy, I want to make brownies." Adam crawled onto his father’s lap. Nikita was on the other side of the coffee table, Andrea on the couch. Adam got into his father’s face and used both hands to push the long brown hair away from his ears. "Nikita already won, can’t you just give up?"

"Giving up isn’t in his nature, Adam." Nikita answered while Michael cupped Adam’s face with both hands. "Some people are just made to fight until the bitter end."

Andrea sensed the tension growing again, so she got up.

"Let’s go see if we have the ingredients to make brownies, and let them finish the game alone."

"Okay. But I’m going to eat them all if you’re not done by then!" Adam climbed up, Michael adroitly using both hands to defend his groin from injury, and he went into the kitchen with Andrea.

She didn’t know what agreement the two came to, but they were in the kitchen as well ten minutes later, with no discussion of who’d won or lost.

"Should we have lunch or just eat brownies?" Nikita asked everyone.

"I think some actual food would be better than just sweets." Michael gave her a scolding glance.

"He’s just an old stick-in-the-mud," Nikita complained to Adam, who was giggling at them.

"Soup," Michael said firmly. "Some hot soup, and then you, Adam, can watch a video in the den."

"Really?!" It was clear that this was a special treat.

"I can watch it with you." Jenna looked at the two of them. It was clear to her that they were angling for some time alone. She didn’t know how long Nikita was going to stay, but she was betting it wouldn’t be long. Whatever their story was, she knew it had to be interesting. "Would it be okay if I checked my email from your computer?" she asked Michael.

Nikita gave her a sideways look that she couldn’t decipher, and Michael hesitated before he answered.

"Of course. It has a satellite link, so the storm shouldn’t interfere with the connection."

A satellite link on a computer? She’d never heard of that. It occurred to her, as she waited for the soup to be heated – Michael pulled some homemade out of the freezer – that he could have just used the storm as an excuse for her to not get on the computer, but he hadn’t.

Lunch was finished with Michael urging Adam to eat more. The brownies were completed and put into the oven quickly, then Jenna took Adam’s hand and let him lead her to the den, where he pointed out ‘Daddy’s chair’ and chose a movie from the assortment in the cabinet there.

Jenna settled into an armchair near Adam, who was sitting in his father’s chair, and looked around. Everything in the room spoke of wealth and taste, but there was very little that revealed anything personal; a single picture of the three of them; Adam with his parents, when he was much smaller, and a small framed painting on the wall. She got up to look at it more closely, feeling a stab of envy when she realized that it was genuine and not a print. The things that money could buy.

It was by an artist whose name she recognized, but she could never have placed the time or style. All she knew was that it made her feel sad. It was dark and light at the same time, but gave her the feeling that the darkness would win in the end.

She abandoned the picture to go sit at the computer. There was still some research she could do even if she was stuck here.

Michael led Nikita to his den. It was a traditionally furnished European-style room, the formality softened by an intensely-colored carpet in an almost modern geometric pattern and a scattering of bright throw pillows on the dark leather chairs.

"I didn’t realize you were into design, Michael," she told him, teasing.

"Camouflage," he answered shortly, taking a seat behind the large oak desk. He leaned forward, turning on his laptop and typing.

"What are you doing?" Nikita did not sit. She was questioning both her reasons for coming here and her assumptions about his welcome.

"Watching the teacher."

"What is she doing?" If Michael were suspicious, then so was she. Nikita put aside her own concerns and went around the desk to look over his shoulder.

"Running a search on missing children."

"She can’t think Adam isn’t your son. He looks just like you. He has your mannerisms."

"Which might only mean I took him from an ex-wife, or a lover."

"Of course." Child custody really wasn’t an area she was familiar with. "She won’t find anything."

"I’ve wondered myself." He turned his chair slowly to face her. "They told me my wife had died, but I may have believed too quickly."

"My father told you that." Nikita heard the way her voice tightened but couldn’t prevent it. "Just days before he gave his life for Adam. There was no reason for him to lie."

Michael stared at her with darkening eyes.

"He had a reason for everything he did.," she finished. Even what he did to me.

The words hung unspoken between them.

"Now that you are Operations, do you have a reason - for everything you do?" He asked it quietly, but she heard so many things in his voice. He was always so hidden. From everyone but her.

She felt an urge to cross her arms over her chest, protectively. That would have told him she felt vulnerable. Body language was one oft eh first things he had taught her to disguise.

"I have *my* reasons."

"Those may not be good enough here."

"You’ll have to decide that for yourself."

His eyes caught hers, held them.

"Tell me."

"I can’t. Not yet."

"Are we in danger?"

She shook her head.

"No. I only found you because of Sydney. And he is -"

"Manageable."

"Yes."

Michael turned his attention back to the laptop screen. Page after page of pictures were loading. It was clear the teacher was looking for little boys that matched Adam’s general description.

"Will anyone be able to track you?"

"No," she answered, putting hand on his shoulder. Trust yourself, she wished at him. Trust the way you trained me. Trust the way you know I feel.

"I have some work to do. It must be taken care of before tomorrow, or I would not abandon you. Can you entertain Adam for a few hours?"

"Of course." She waited, but he did not turn to her. "We can cook dinner together."

"That would be nice."

After a minute more, she left the den. Feeling still vulnerable, but putting that aside. She had known what she was doing. Her decision to come here, at this time, was not accidental. Risky, and painful, but - necessary.

Jenna watched Nikita come out of the den, looking subdued. She sat on the sofa and began to watch the video, ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’. It was old and ridiculous, but Jenna found herself laughing when Adam did.

During a quiet scene, Adam looked around, then climbed up from the floor into Nikita’s lap. She welcomed him with a smile, and held him, his head on her shoulder for the rest of the movie. Jenna blamed the pang of envy she felt on Nikita’s blond beauty. It couldn’t be because Adam loved her.

The computer search hadn’t turned up anything. There had been a few children in the files that bore some resemblance to Adam, but none with his distinctive features. Of course, Jenna realized, if he’d been taken as a baby she probably wouldn’t recognize him. For now she blamed the entire thing on growing up with a cop for a father; he'd made her overly suspicious. The situation felt weird, yes, but like her mama always told her; the rich are different.

She should have given Michael the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was private and unsociable because of his wife’s death. He might have been downright friendly before. Either way, it was clear that Nikita, whoever she was, loved him deeply.

This led Jenna to more romantic thoughts as she pondered what could be keeping them apart. Michael's feelings were just as obvious, if a little more ambiguous. Maybe it was Nikita’s job. What did she do, that she wore black leather and looked so damned good? Maybe it was the memory of Michael’s wife. Adam’s mother.

Maybe Nikita was married to someone important. A criminal. Jenna could see her by the side of some mafia boss, working with the same grace and dignity as Jackie Kennedy. She would be an asset to any man.

It was plain Michael didn’t see it that way.

She helped Nikita and Adam make dinner; a spicy rice concoction. Nikita told Adam it used to be one of his Daddy’s favorites. Michael came in just as they were adding the finishing touches; a sprinkle of fresh chopped green onion and a clove of mashed garlic, raw.

"Smells good," he said, going into the dining room. Jenna and Adam had set the table. "Have you chosen a wine yet?"

"I thought I would let the expert decide." Nikita flashed him a beautiful smile. He nodded and went down the stairs to the cellar. Jenna helped Nikita carry the food to the table. "Adam, go wash your hands," she told him. He obeyed without a fuss.

"He’s such a nice little boy. Was he ever any trouble?" Jenna asked casually. She was really just trying to make conversation. But the way Nikita looked at her reminded her that other people could be suspicious too.

"Always. Elayna was more lenient than Michael, but they both stressed good manners."

"So he wasn’t a fussy baby." Jenna sat and unfolded her napkin. Nikita waited for Adam.

"I don’t know. I met them when he was older. Elayna never mentioned it."

So they hadn’t been friends that long. Not as long as Jenna had thought.

Adam came back and displayed damps hands to Nikita, who approved with a laugh. He was hungry, so she gave him some bread with olive oil to dip it in.

"I wonder where Michael is." Nikita looked back toward the kitchen. "If he’s gotten lost in his own wine cellar..."

"I’ll get him," Jenna offered.

"No, I’ll go. "I forgot Adam’s milk. Would you get that?"

They spilt up in the kitchen.

At the bottom of the stairs, Nikita paused for a minute to let her eyes get used to the dim light. She saw Michael standing to one side, a bottle in his hand.

"Michael?"

He didn’t answer. She went to him and touched his shoulder. He didn’t move.

Nikita walked around in front of him and bit back a question.

There were tears in his green eyes.

"It was easy to be strong when you were not here," he said, his voice raspy. "I came down here, and I remembered that day, when we thought we were free. ‘The house with the white picket fence’."

"This was the wine we drank, at lunch." she recognized the label.

He nodded.

"I made the right decision."

"Adam is wonderful."

"No regrets," he said softly. His eyes grew wary again. Nikita leaned in close to him, her hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the soft sweater.

"Come to me tonight," she whispered in his ear.

He turned his head just enough to kiss her neck. Then he caught her face with one hand and pressed their cheeks together.

"Yes." The word was deep and soft. Achingly familiar.

"Dinner is ready. Adam thinks he’s starving," she said a moment later, before pulling away.

"Me too." While she watched, he put away the bottle and chose another.

Dinner was relaxed. Jenna was surprised to see Michael smile. He even teased her about Adam’s homework not being done.

"It looks as if the weather will clear tomorrow and I will have to kick you out. Is that machine of yours going to make it back down the mountain?"

"That depends on how many people will be riding it."

"I will," Nikita volunteered. Jenna winced.

"You’re leaving so soon?" Michael’s disappointment was plain to see, and painful to hear.

"I can’t be gone too long, Michael. You know how it is."

To Jenna, Nikita’s response seemed forced. Too carefully casual.

"I want you to stay!" Adam announced.

"I’m sorry, sweetie," Nikita ruffled his dark hair. "I want to stay, too."

"Then do."

Michael sounded unlike himself. There was a hint of desperation. Jenna watched Nikita. The way she looked at him when he said that. In that quiet tone. Not exactly needy. But - wanting.

"I can’t."

"I think I’ll start the dishes," Jenna hopped up from the table. "Adam, can you help me?"

"I always clear the table," he told her, successfully distracted from the interplay between his father and Nikita. "Then I do my homework. Only on Sundays. On school days I have to do my homework right after school, or ‘No TV’." he did a fair impression of his father’s voice and Jenna laughed.

She didn’t see anything else that happened in the dining room, but Michael came in to help her after only a few minutes. Adam had already abandoned her.

"Nikita is helping him with his homework," Michael told her. She wondered why.

"I know I’ve said this before, but you have a very special little boy."

"I know. He reminds me very much of his mother."

Jenna washed, he dried. She waited, hoping he would say more. Her patience was rewarded.

"My marriage to Elayna was arranged by our parents. They were frustrated with my lifestyle and insisted I ‘settle down’. I was older than her, and did not know her well. It wasn’t until after I lost her that I realized how much she meant to me."

"That must have been hard."

He gave her a small smile.

"The marriage was easy. Losing her, that was hard."

"I can’t imagine."

She waited, but it seemed he was done sharing. When he spoke again, it wasn’t personal.

"I would be happy to give you a ride down in the morning. I think the schools will still be closed.

"You don’t have to," Jenna managed a laugh, to lighten the atmosphere. "I actually like riding that things. It makes me feel tough."

"All right." Michael gave her another small, sad smile, and left the kitchen. Jenna waited for a few minutes, glad for the privacy. She wanted to think.

She was going home in the morning, but tonight she would be on the lookout for anything interesting that might happen.

With her door cracked, Jenna kept an eye on the hallway while she read. At least, she tried to. Michael had graciously allowed her library privileges, but she hadn’t found much leisure material. She’d settled for re-reading a worn copy of Moby Dick, but had to admit she hadn’t liked it the first time she read it in high school. Maybe it got better with age.

Her curiosity about the relationship between Michael and Nikita was too distracting. Hermann Melville’s tortured tale didn’t stand a chance. She skimmed the pages and watched the door.

When the clock read 12:04 am, she heard a door open softly, down the hallway. It was lit by a dim build – for Adam’s sake, she assumed. She clearly saw the dark red robe and black pajama bottoms as Michael walked by slowly. He didn’t glance her way, but she had the feeling he knew she was watching.

And somehow she thought he didn’t mind. Like maybe they wanted her to know. To watch, to be here.

To bear witness?

This was the most interesting situation she’d ever been in.

***

When he opened the door, she was sitting up in the bed. The lights were off. A single tall candle burned in a holder on the highboy. He recognized it as having come from the dining room table.

Her smile was almost shy.

Closing the door behind him, Michael stood still, his hands restless by his side. He recognized the nightgown she wore. From a time they had played at being married. A hard case with a harsh ending, like so many times in their lives.

"I didn’t know you kept that." His throat was tight, the symbolism too powerful.

"No one did. I made sure."

If Madelyn or Operations had realized – they had played such a dangerous game those years. So many years. It was still hard for him to believe it was over. That he had survived. So many hadn’t.

"Why did you keep it?" Standing at the end of the bed. He wanted to reach out.

"As a reminder of what is good in the world."

Like a blow to the stomach, the words made him gasp. She used a hand to flip back the covers, and her smile settled into surety.

"Michael, come to bed."

He slid in, feeling worry ebb out of him. Although he’d dreamed of this for long years alone, he’d never really believed she would risk everything to come to him.

She put her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He put an arm around her, and sighed deeply. A pressure inside him eased.

"Nikita -"

"Shh," she kissed his chest. "I don’t want to talk. Not yet."

Accepting this, he stroked her hair with his free hand. It was longer than she used to wear it. He wondered if that was an effort to maintain her femininity in the urber-stressful position of Operations.

It was hard to be feminine while sending people to their deaths. Madelyn had managed, but Michael had always thought she was certifiably psychotic. Only Operations had been able to keep her under control.

It was quiet. He thought, should I check on Adam?, but the thought slipped away when Nikita raised her head and kissed his throat. His hand caught her head, kept it there and he shuddered.

He hadn’t touched a woman since the last time they were together. When they had thought they would have time. When they thought they had the rest of their lives.

"Michael," she whispered, and slid over on top of him, her mouth covering his.

There was no question of whether she had come here for this. It was nothing to them, and everything. A meaningless act in so many cases, that meant everything between the two of them. His hands covered her breasts and he groaned, then remembered he had to be quiet. The teacher was down the hall, listening. Adam was two rooms away, asleep.

"Nikita," he whispered back. Her tongue was in his mouth, sweet fire swept through him. Her hands traveled his body, stroking, smoothing lower. He arched into her, felt the dampness of her crotch and smothered another groan in her shoulder.

"Yes, Michael. Yes." She rose on her knees and he lifted the gown off. Her breast was round and lighter than he remembered, still sweet on his tongue. She gasped and clutched. He growled and turned them over, needing to taste more of her. With both hands he tugged at her panties until they came free, dropping them off the bed. His robe went next, and then her hands were down the front of his pajamas bottoms and he was bucking into her, on the verge of losing control more completely than he had since he was in his teens.

"Wait!" he gasped, and she did. her hands were gone, and he was able to stand just long enough to kick the silk off, then he looked down at her, spread out on the bed between his legs.

She stared back up, flushed and waiting.

"Nikita."

There was nothing more to say. He dropped to his knees, lifted her thighs, and fitted himself to her. He wanted to touch more, to taste more, to *say* more, but the need was too great. She opened to him, soft and wet and he sank home with almost no resistance.

"Michael -" his name, gasped in her voice. He shuddered, and put his head to her chest, his cheek flat against the soft skin between her breasts. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands stroked his back, soothing.

He panted, struggling for control. It was his to take, he knew. It had always been his strength.

His weakness?

Throwing it away without a second thought, he began to move. It was hard and fast and greedy. He suckled her breasts and grunted with each stroke. Wanted to sink so far into her she could never leave again.

Nikita clung to him and gasped into his throat, her wet lips pressing random kisses and he took her along for the ride. When she started to make little crying sounds he pulled back, just a few inches, and changed the angle so she got more stimulation. She cried out and writhed against him, so wet and open. He fought to keep his eyes open so he could watch her.

Too soon she shuddered and moaned, her hands sliding from his shoulders as she reached for the sheets to fist. She tightened around him. He sucked in the new heat in the air hungrily, wanting everything that came from her.

He was shocked when his own climax came. He’d been concentrating so hard on her, it almost escaped him. His fingers dug into her thighs and he pushed in as far as he could physically go, then stayed there, shaking and moaning.

When he could move again, he lay down, clumsy with emotion, and she guided him to lay behind her, spooned together.

Gradually his breathing quieted and he became aware that she was shaking in his arms, her head bowed forward.

"What is it? Nikita?" he whispered in her ear, holding her tighter. She hadn’t come to him for this. Beautiful as it was, it wasn’t anything to them. "Talk now," he told her.

"Walter died two months ago," she said. The words were clear despite the evidence of tears he felt on her cheek when she stroked it. "Cancer."

"He was still with you?" she’d kept him at Section, despite orders to get rid of him. Section didn’t have a retirement plan.

She nodded. Then gasped, and turned in his arms, clinging to him like a child. Her sobs grew violent.

He held her against the storm, almost guilty that he was so - glad - to be able to do so.

Jenna listened, but heard only faint whispers of sound that were more frustrating than enlightening. After only a few minutes she gave up and went to bed. She slept well, better than she had thought she would, under these circumstances. Being stranded in this man’s house, seeing him with his child and the woman he apparently loved, was educational. If she’d thought she wasn’t in his league before, now she was sure of it.

Her sleep was quiet and peaceful, full of flowing dreams.

Shrieking giggles woke her. She got to her door, using a robe she found in the bathroom, and looked out. Adam was running up and down the hall, Nikita chasing him, laughing as hard as he was. He wore Pooh pajamas, the blond woman wore only a long t-shirt and underpants. Seeing Jenna, she stopped and pulled at the hem of the shirt modestly.

"We didn’t mean to wake you. I was trying to let Michael sleep in." the glare she cast at Adam, hiding behind the balustrade, was completely faked.

"Not doing a very good job if it," Michael startled all of them, coming out of his room in jeans and a sweater. The charcoal grey made his face look more haunted. Then Jenna wondered if that wasn’t just because Nikita was here.

"Sorry," the smile Nikita gave him could have lit the world, but there was a darkness to her eyes. Sometimes not knowing the story behind a situation made Jenna crazy. This was one of those times. She knew there was something here. Something big. And no one was going to tell her what it was.

"I should get dressed." she smiled at them and went back into the bedroom. Outside she heard Michael greeting Adam, sending him to his room to dress. By the time she donned yesterday’s clothes, not improved by the night on the chair, she’s decided that quelling her curiosity was the e best course. Even asking might trigger an unpleasant situation.

She should just be glad he had someone, and Adam had someone. That was the important thing.

Downstairs Michael had made eggs with the usual side dishes. Breakfast was quiet and stilted. Adam had lost his good humor. He played with his food, earning a soft-voi13ced scold from his father, and then he pouted. Normal kid behavior, just not what Jenna usually saw from this boy. She tried to cheer him up, but his eyes kept straying to Nikita, dressed again in leather, who was also not eating. Michael did eat, but it seemed more mechanical than enjoyment of his food.

"The weather has cleared. The forecast predicts a clear day with no snow," Nikita spoke quietly, pushing her plate away. Michael just took another bite, his fork seeming to tremble in the air.

"That means I can go home and get out of your hair," Jenna said as cheerfully as she could. There were advantages to a quiet life. She was looking forward to returning to them.

"Can you wait long enough to give me a ride?" Nikita stood after her, gathering dishes.

"Leave them," Michael said. His voice was suddenly harsh. Hard, and Jenna saw how much this was hurting him.

"I don’t mind," the blond said, ignoring his words and continuing.

"Nikita, please."

Michael stood. He stooped to lift Adam out of his chair, holding the boy on his hip as if he were much younger. Adam wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and lay his head on Michael’s shoulder. Jenna was struck by how much they looked alike.

"Michael," it seemed they were pleading with each other, Jenna didn’t know why or what for. She wanted to break the moment, to get Adam out of here, but then it was gone. Nikita walked to man and boy, leaned in to give Adam a kiss. He turned his head away with a frown.

"Be a good boy," Michael chided softly. Adam tilted his head back and a slice of his endearing grin graced his face. Nikita smiled back and gave him his kiss. She whispered something in his ear, then stepped back.

She and Michael exchanged a look, then she turned away without saying anything else.

"I’m ready when you are," she told Jenna.

"I’m not in that much of a hurry..."

"Please. I would not delay your return home."

Michael met her glance with a flat stare and a tiny nod. Giving in, Jenna nodded back. She found a smile for Adam.

"I’ll see you at school after the snow melts, right?"

"All of it?" his eyes grew round.

"Just the stuff on the road."

"Okay. See you then."

There was no goodbye for Michael. She wanted to give him one. Thank him for his hospitality. But she wasn’t sure if she’d brought a blessing or a curse to his home and so restrained herself.

"Let’s go," she told Nikita.

They walked out of the house together. Michael and Adam stood in the doorway. Michael had a throw, taken from a sofa, wrapped around his son’s shoulders. Jenna thought they must both be cold, but didn’t say anything about it.

Her snowmobile was the same as it had been the day before. She didn’t think she would enjoy this ride nearly as much.

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