Set sometime in season 1. I don't know what this is. I think all the caffeine I consumed possessed me.

Michael and Nikita knew better. They weren't supposed to be seen, to be touching and holding each other like that. But they couldn't help it. The mission was at a gala, how were they not supposed to cross the dance floor. How were they not supposed to succumb to the music and the tension in the air. Neither knew who started it. It was probably her- wherever she led he always seemed to follow. But they were dancing regardless. The music was slow, and their bodies were close; so close they shared breath. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, and he wanted to wrap her tightly in his arms. Yet their eyes were locked on one another's, never letting go.

They were playing with fire. Both were aware, but both didn't care. It was dangerous, it was tantalizing. They were toeing the line, and if they crossed it they were going to burn. The two were burning already, however, so what did it matter. They were always destined to suffer and struggle. Air was always hard to breathe, life was always hard to cling to. Crashing, drowning, and torture was carved in their stones. There was no escape; there was no relief. The two simply had to grin and bear it. Fortunately, they liked the fire that clipped at their heels. It made them feel alive.

Chatter buzzed in Michael's ear. He ignored it. The coms was distant to him anyway. With Nikita in his arms, everything was distant. She felt as though she had to go. She was still hunted, she had to leave. But Nikita felt safe in his hold. Nothing could happen to her while she was dancing with him. He would protect her, like he always had. She could defend for herself, and could save herself. There wasn't that much of a need to worry. However, there was something special about not having to think about the danger she had to keep herself from. He was there to support and care for her.

Although they had been participating in a particular dance for years, it wasn't as real as it was during that dance. The fire could've been ignored or fanned away in the past, but there it was the strongest it had ever been. And they were only adding fuel. They were tired of ignoring how things were between them. They wanted to crash, drown, and torture. It was how they felt alive, free, powerful. Risk flowed through their veins, heightening their senses. Their eyes were hungry and their bodies singed at the nearness of one another. They experienced everything almost as one. That was what made them suffer the most. They were meant to be one, but the world they were in refused. The frustration of that seemed to increase the fire.

For once, Nikita gave Michael the lead. She knew he wouldn't pull her astray. He'd keep her right there, safe and sound. Yet he did have to move her away from the center of the dance floor, away from the spotlight. She loved the attention; she loved displaying her confidence and watching her enemies squirm in fear. He preferred the shadows. There was security in working behind the scenes. There was also power to protect. Somehow the two worked well with those differences. The push and pull was harmonious. They covered both sides of the battlefield, and conquered all before them.

Despite their tormenting attraction, the two didn't mean for the dance to happen; they were just drawn to one another like moths to a flame. She had been on her own for so long, she had forgotten what the care of someone else was like. He had forced himself away for so long, he had forgotten what the affection of someone else was like. Maybe that was why they bantered, fought. Their tongues wouldn't yield to the magnetic pull of their bodies. Their brains wouldn't succumb to their hearts either. There had been too much hurt from others and from one another. The hurt needed to be healed; it needed to be guarded against in case it happened again. Because it always happened again. So they fought each other and the pull. It was what they were used to.

Nikita couldn't help herself. She drew ever so closer to him, feeling even more of him. She teased and bit, brown eyes alight. Michael allowed himself to play along. His trademark smirk sparkled his green eyes, and gave ease to his words. Her backless dress called to him, forcing his fingers to trail across her bare bronzed skin. She shivered at the contact. She needed more of him. Slyly, she slipped her hand under his tuxedo jacket. She clung to the starch fabric of his dress shirt, yanking him to her. Their lips nearly brushed, and she grinned in satisfaction.

Their proximity helped change things. Trust was built and feelings were secured. There was no more denying. They weren't perfect, but they were together. To them, that was important. Everything else would simply fall into place as long as they pursued it as a team. They were strong and capable separate, yet together they were unparalleled. No one could touch them. They were on top of the world. Nevertheless, what went up had to come down; there was a constant rising and falling. They'd do it as one, though. They'd save each other from rock bottom and climb all over again. The fire wouldn't consume them, it would strengthen them. They would be forged by the flames and emerge more alive and powerful than they were before.

Michael and Nikita stumbled and tripped during their dance, but their hands held tightly to the other. They supported and held. They were there forever. She took over the lead, shoving him to a hidden corner. He made certain they actually were secure. She was rash enough to initiate a plan, but he was cautious enough to endure that it was flawless. His back hit the wall, yet only for a brief second. He spun her to the pulse of the music, thus switching their positions. His body protectively covered her's from prying eyes. He could blend in the crowd, but she drew glances everywhere she went. If they were going to fall, he had the allowance to be caught.

Everything was tortuous yet beautiful. It was a spark in the middle of the night. The spark meant danger was on the horizon. However, it illuminated the darkness in such wondrous ways. There was a reason stargazing existed. The light captivated, encouraging stories of adventures and romance. Yet there was always a hidden danger in stars. They could explode and destroy. The danger could be rationalized as a distant thing, but the threat was constant. The sun was a star, after all. The fire, warmth, and light was due to diminish one day. And once it did, all life would cease. It was a captivating danger, life and death wrapped together as one.

Again, Michael ignored the chatter in his ear. He had her backed against the wall, his hands splayed on her waist. Nikita yanked on the lapels of his jacket, but didn't smear her lips against his- not yet. She wanted to continue playing with him. The torture was apart of the fun. She slid her thigh over his, rocking her hips into him. He gasped slightly and gripped her tighter. Finally, she surrendered to the fall. They kissed passionately, lovingly, and thoroughly. The world stopped spinning during the affection. Nothing existed save the press of their lips and the roam of their hands.

Fire was powerful because of its dichotomy; it gave life as well as death. That was why the two loved to burn. They had power over the world. Creatures evil and pure bowed down to them. They were gods of their domain. The two had their allies that fortified them and gave them the drive to break the barriers. They also had enemies that strived to tear them apart, to divide and conquer. However, they were too strong. Their magnetism could never be severed. They were going to be together, despite all of the odds against them.

When the coms became too much, Michael was transported back to reality. The mission and saving the world took precedent once more. They were at the gala for a reason; they couldn't forget that. There would be time for kissing and passion and love later. For the moment, they had to defeat the evil. He reluctantly let her out of his grasp, whispering against her full parted lips, "Go. Save the world."

"You'll be here when I get back," Nikita whispered in return. It was a mixture of a plea and a demand. The world was only worth saving if the ones she cared for and loved were there with her. What was the purpose of finally reaching home, if those that made it a home weren't there waiting for her. His agreeing nod spurred her into action. She took off sprinting to rendezvous with Alex and save the target of a Division hit. He stared after her, gifting her the headstart. When it was sufficient enough, he gave chase. She was running and he was following. A dance and a pull to the fire they were all too familiar with. Yet they wouldn't have it any other way.