Summary: Four years after Nikita lets Michael and Adam go, Michael shows up unexpectedly one night upon her doorstep. M/N, one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to La Femme Nikita.

A/N: This is my first LFN fiction! I'm not entirely sure how active this category is anymore, but here it is anyway. As it says in the summary, this takes place around four years after the final episode, and Nikita is still Operations. Please review!


Nikita released a soft chuckle at the story Martin Henderson was telling her as they finished up dinner. She had to admit it to herself; of all the years she had spent trying to push his Mick Schtoppel alias out of her life, she had come to greatly appreciate his company. She thought that they had killed him after he was forced to break his disguise, and she was pleased to find out that wasn't the truth. If it wasn't for him, these past four years would have been unbearably lonely. They both knew; however, that there was nothing between them and there probably would and could never be. Nikita was still holding out for one certain someone, and much to her surprise Martin had finally settled down with one lady.

"Here, I got that," Martin said, taking the dishes from her and placing them in the sink. She wiped her hands on a towel before slumping down on her loveseat. Opening her laptop, Nikita was about to press the power button as a knock sounded from the door. Both Nikita and Martin exchanged suspicious looks, for other than himself and occasionally Walter who was now retired, Nikita rarely had visitors.

Nikita got up to her feet, making her way slowly but surely to the door. She looked to the tiny screen to the right, and gasped as she saw who it was.

Michael.

She was not expecting Michael. No, not for a very long time.

"Who is it, popsicle?" Martin's voice pulled her away from her old lover's visage on the screen.

"It's… its Michael."

Martin looked as if he was about to choke. They both stood stiffly for a moment, both of them in shock that Michael Samuelle was back, and here, at Nikita's apartment no less. "Well, let 'em in…"

Nodding absentmindedly, Nikita turned the locks on her door, releasing a tiny gasp as she looked upon the man she had dreamt about everyday for the past four years. He was here, in the flesh. Although she did not know why, Michael appeared to be rather shocked as well, though he was the first to speak.

"Nikita…"

"Michael, I… I wasn't expecting you for a long time…"

"I know." Michael said in that same, quiet voice that she remembered all too well. It was the same voice that haunted her dreams every night.

"Well, Michael Samuelle, now there's a face I haven't seen around here in a long time." Martin sauntered over to the door, assuming that they'd want time to be alone.

Nikita's unexpected visitor looked towards her, and she once again felt nervous under his ever watchful eyes. "What do you call him now?" The last time Michael had seen this man, he was posing convincingly as Mr. Jones, the head of Centre.

"Mar, Martin Henderson." She informed him. Nikita found herself wandering off absentmindedly to the balcony, opening the doors and allowing the chilling night air to sweep over her body. Why was Michael back? Did he want something? The last time he came back she was forced to watch her father die right before her eyes. She didn't blame Michael for her father's death, she couldn't, but needless to say his being back here this early unnerved her.

As Henderson left she heard Michael's sure and steady footsteps approach her from behind. She wrapped her arms securely around her body, releasing a breath of air she had not realized she had been holding. "Why are you here? Why now?"

"I would have thought you'd be happy to see me." He whispered.

"I am happy to see you, Michael. I just don't understand why you're here." Nikita's eyes slipped closed as she felt Michael cup her face in both of his hands.

"I was passing by," he began quietly, "I wanted to see if you still lived here. I didn't expect that you were."

"Adam?"

Michael let himself smile, although Nikita did not see it. "He's in summer camp."

Nikita said nothing as she felt Michael's fingers lightly trace over her eyelids, and a part of her silently prayed that he didn't notice how her inhalation suddenly seemed to cease. He stepped closer to her then; his breath warm and inviting against her throat.

Michael's hands roamed downwards to caress the skin below her neck, but she stepped back, reluctantly breaking the contact. "Michael…"

Her grey-blue eyes were cautious, but not nervous as she gazed at her lover. They were measuring what they saw. She did not want to let him back in, knowing full well that he would have to leave her again.

Michael cleared his throat, matching her gaze. He sighed, reaching out to tuck a stray blonde lock behind her ear. "You're still so beautiful." He whispered breathlessly.

"I missed you, Michael. But," She paused, watching as Michael's face grew more solemn as he waited for her to finish. She remembered how hurt he was when almost a lifetime ago; she had told him she didn't love him anymore. It wasn't true, but she had to convince him it was real. Neither of them truly realized how much they had hurt each other over the years, yet each of them lived for the other.

"But I don't know if I can let you back in my life yet Michael, I don't know." She grasped one of his hands in her own. "Not until I know you can stay."

Please, please Michael, stay. Do not leave me again.

"Nikita… you know I cannot. Not yet. One day-" Michael was silenced as Nikita brought a finger to rest against his lips. She shook her head slowly, gazing at him through narrowed, discerning eyes. Nikita looked down at her slender fingers that were laced with his.

Michael knew then that perhaps it was best if he left. He probably should have never come in the first place. He knew better, but he simply couldn't help himself. He had to know if she was still there. And now that he knew, he had to leave.

He stepped back from the woman who consumed the majority of his thoughts. He stepped back from the girl who he had wanted to marry and have children with. For everyone's sake, it was best that they parted.

Fighting the urge to reach out and wipe away a lone tear that rolled down her cheek, he turned around, making his way slowly to the door. He didn't even reach the handle as Nikita called out to him, drawing him back. "Wait!"

Every night I have dreamt to have just one last night alone with him. All I wanted was just one night to be alone with him. When we had to separate after my father died, he told me for the first time that he loved me. He said the words. It was then that I knew I would be bound to this man forever, that he was the one and only person my heart belonged to. I wanted to see him one last time, and now that he is here I am afraid. I'm afraid of letting him in. I'm afraid of becoming attached to this often distant man once again. But I would give anything, anything for just one night. Perhaps I've been granted it now, if so, why am still so afraid?

Michael turned around to look at her, the despondence clearly evident on his features. Nikita looked up into his eyes. "Stay with me tonight, Michael."

He could do that. He could stay with her until the sun rose, and then he would be gone. It could easily have been a dream, for the both of them. "I'd like nothing better." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled Nikita close to him, and she did not resist.

Nikita clung to him, savoring the warmth she felt in his arms. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and soon she was absentmindedly unbuttoning his white dress shirt. She planted a kiss to the naked skin she found there, and rested a warm hand gently over his steady heartbeat.

"I love you, Michael." Michael did not answer her with words. Instead, he tilted her chin upwards and kissed her full mouth. What started as gentle and soft soon became urgent and passionate, fueled by all the time they have been apart and everything they had been through together. They both were thoughtful and worried, neither wanting the night to end but knowing it would. Michael and Nikita found themselves in a wild blaze of passion, their arms coiling around each other tightly, deepening their kiss.

It was Michael who finally broke it, lifting Nikita in his arms as a groom lifts his new bride. He laid her on the bed gently, his hands lightly roaming over her arms.

"Michael…"

It was then that all thoughts and worries were forgotten, and their focus was set on the present. Joined by mutual love and ecstasy, Michael and Nikita became one again for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.


It was the ringing phone that woke her. Nikita rolled to her left tiredly, reaching out to embrace her lover, but found nothing. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she opened her grey-blue eyes. "Michael?" She moaned, rubbing her forehead.

Silence.

The bed was neatly kept, save for where she slept, and the pillow showed no signs of anyone resting their head upon it. She hurriedly threw the coverlet off of her body. "Michael?" She called out again.

Silence.

Nikita anxiously searched the rest of her apartment for him, but he wasn't there. If it wasn't merely a dream, he had already left. Opening the balcony doors, she looked to the sky, inhaling deeply as the crisp morning air swept over her. With the break of dawn, Michael Samuelle had walked out of her life for the third time.