a teeny bit more to add to 111

*
“What now?” Nikita asked breathless and sagging to the ground beneath a tree.

“Nothing. You need to rest.” Michel said, stroking damp strands of her hair off her forehead.

“But isn’t this it? Aren’t we where we are supposed to pick up the airmen?” She leaned her body against the tree with a weary sigh.

“Perhaps. Wolfe has sent men out to reconnoiter. They’ll let us know if they find them.” As he unscrewed the cap of his canteen, handed it to her and watched her drink, his gaze was intense.

Noting his expression, Nikita smiled as she handed back the canteen. “I’m fine Michel. Being pregnant isn’t like being sick. I’m not going to break or anything.”

“I know,” he returned softly.

“Then, since we have a moment to rest, come here and put your head in my lap.” Nikita patted her thigh.

Michel did as instructed, wanting to touch her in any way he could without arousing her suspicions. He listened to her breathing, heavy at first from exertion, then slow and calm as she rested. Her fingers came to stroke his hair, and Michel closed his eyes to soak in their touch. His hand parted her shirt and reverently kissed the soft skin of her belly.

Nikita smiled. “So, what should we name him?”

“It’s going to be a girl,” Michel replied, kissing her belly again.

“Oh ho! What makes you think so?”

“Just as beautiful as her mother.”

Nikita nearly laughed. She glanced at her ragged clothes, her dirty nails, her arms that were scratched and sunburned, and knew she must look awful. Beautiful indeed! But she looked into Michel’s eyes and saw nothing but adoration. Her heart turned over in her breast as she asked, “Then, what shall we call her?”

(So what should they name her? I'm asking for suggestions--Rox)