written by Meilin
Walter sat on the vinyl mattress, his head buried in his hands. Beside him, Derek slept fitfully. The boy had just encountered a horrible nightmare, and Walter still remembered vividly the images of flailing limbs and tears streaming out of the child's no longer innocent eyes. What was he going to tell Michael and Nikita?
The sound of the apartment door opening jolted Walter from his brooding. He stood up and grabbed his gun, ready to attack. The door swung open, and a hand reached out to flip on the light switch.
"Walter!"
"Birkoff!"
"Jesus!" they cursed simultaneously. "Don't scare me like that!"
Birkoff swung his backpack down onto his counter and slid out of his leather jacket.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "It's 3 AM!"
"I need your help," said Walter. "We were attacked."
"We?"
"Me and Derek," informed Walter.
"What?" Derek got up upon hearing his name.
"You brought HIM here!" Birkoff half-shrieked.
"Easy, easy will ya. Don't scare the kid," Walter urged, holding Derek protectively against himself.
"If Operations finds out the kid's been exposed to me, he'll use me as a guinea pig for the cyborg experiment!" Birkoff paced his apartment in a fury.
"This is the safest place I could bring him," said Walter. "All I need is a little help protecting him. After all, he's Michael and Nikita's. Do it for them, okay?"
Birkoff shook his head. "I'll be a walking hunk of circuits," he moaned, walking up to the mattress.
He went down on his hunches to take a good look at the boy.
Derek perused him likewise.
"I don't need you to protect me," the boy said defensively. "I can take care of myself."
Birkoff laughed. "Yeah, definitely Michael and Nikita's."
He held out his hand. "Hi, my name is Birkoff. I'm a friend of your parents."
Walter smiled. The computer geek had finally matured and acquired some people skills.
Derek looked suspiciously at Birkoff's hand before taking it to shake. "Hi," he said tentatively. "I'm Derek."
"Derek," Birkoff repeated. "So what do you think of my place?"
"It's cool," the boy answered, honestly. "But there are too many computers."
"Yeah, well, think of it as a collection," Birkoff told him.
"My mom collects sunglasses," said Derek.
"I know," Birkoff smiled. "Seeing as you'll be staying here for awhile, how would you like to learn to play some new computer games?"
Derek shrugged. "Okay."
"Why don't you go back to sleep, now," Walter instructed Derek. "You need to get some rest, booger."
Derek nodded. "Okay. Nice meeting you," he said politely to Birkoff.
"Yeah. See ya in the morning," Birkoff responded.
Derek turned over on his back and promptly shut his eyes. Walter watched as the computer genius's face crinkled up with delight.
"Have you told Michael or Nikita yet?" Birkoff asked him.
"No," said Walter. "I don't know where the mission is. I need your help to patch me through to them."
Birkoff nodded. "Right this way," he said, sweeping an arm to motion at his line of computers.
*********************************
Nolan munched on his oreos as he watched Michael and Nikita
through the opened door of the adjoined rooms. They were each
typing on their own laptop. Both looked very studious and
absorbed in thought. Nolan reached for another oreo, feeling
slightly guilty for his laziness. The entire week for the mission
he had simply played the role of the naive businessman who was
oblivious to his wife's affair with another man, Vin Andre. He
had spent most of his time hanging out in their hotel room,
supposedly in a "business meeting" while Nikita worked
her charms on Andre.
The ringing of the cell phone prompted him to move his eyes to Michael out of curiosity. Was Section calling them? They hadn't had contact with them yet in the mission.
"Hello," Michael said into the receiver. A flash of surprise flitted across his stone face. Nolan sat up straighter, straining his neck to get a closer look at Michael. The expression had been small, but noticeable. Nikita too, was gazing at Michael, concern written clearly across her beautiful features.
Michael's iron mask was back in place however. His words were clipped and monosyllable, therefore revealing nothing.
When he finally finished the conversation, both Nolan and Nikita looked at him expectantly.
Michael ignored the fact that Nolan was watching. He focused all his attention on Nikita. Taking her hand into his, he spoke quietly to her, his green eyes scrutinizing her facial reaction.
Nolan couldn't hear what Michael said, but he saw Nikita gasp. Her lovely mouth opened and her blue eyes glittered with tears.
Michael walked swiftly over to her to pull her up and into his arms.
"Oh Michael!" she cried, sobbing against his chest.
"Shhh," Michael soothed her, stroking her blonde locks. From across the expanse, Nolan watched on, completely riveted at this display of pure love and compassion. And anguish. His heart ached for Nikita even though he didn't know what had caused her tears. He looked at Michael with a new sense of respect, thankful for the comfort this man was giving Nikita. Nolan choked back his own sob. He finally got it. He finally understood why this man and woman were married.
_______________________
52 stood, feet planted wide, as he faced his leader. He swallowed
nervously, wishing with all his might that when he spoke his
voice would come out clear and nonchalant, not cracking at the
first syllable. His eyes flicked to the man that stood, swallowed
in shadows behind the leader. This man stared at 52 with obvious
amusement. 52 glared back, enraged that this man was taking
pleasure in observing 52's discomfort. Then 52 focused his
attention back to his leader. He prepared himself to provide
cool, precise answers to whatever questions would be directed to
him.
Trafalq leader leaned back in his chair and regarded number 52 with an air of contempt, . . . and cool anger.
"Do we have a location on the boy or the old man?" he asked 52.
"No," 52 answered, "But I have all my men working on it. We'll find them. It won't take long."
Trafalq leader smiled humorlessly. "You miss my point, 52."
52 shuddered.
"And what point would that be," he queried, audaciously.
"You were not prepared when you ordered your team to kidnap the boy," Trafalq leader explained. "You underestimated the old man. How could that be? After all, you have watched surveillance of this Samuelle family for the past week. You told me that you had undergone an intense background search of the parent's of this boy. How could you have missed the fact that these two people are not civilians? How could you have missed the fact that this old man is far from docile?"
52 gulped. "It was a mistake."
"That is correct," his leader acknowledged. "You erred."
"This Samuelle family is a fake. They were posing. The wife and husband were pretending to be diplomats," said 52.
"Yes," said the leader. "Why did you not figure this out sooner?"
"These people are professionals. They were trained to deceive our cameras," 52 explained.
The Trafalq leader stared at 52 as if he were retarded. Reaching for his control panel, the leader flipped on his T.V. monitor. A tape of the blonde woman and old man appeared on the screen, and 52 focused on them.
"This is one of the surveillance tapes," the leader informed, smiling sardonically. "Watch it, and tell me what you observe."
52 forced his mind to be clear. He knew he had to make the right observation. He could not make another error. And so he watched.
The woman stood in the doorway of the old man's apartment, conversing with him. The man looked grumpy, he had obviously been roused from a deep sleep, 52 determined by looking at the man's pajamas.
"It's that damn job of yours," this old man was complaining the blonde woman. "You oughta do something that has better hours. . . like working as a freelance artist. Now that's something you'd excel at, sugar. Whatever made you want to become another damn terrorist fighter? The world's got too many of them already."
Trafalq leader stopped the tape. He looked expectantly at 52.
"At the time, I thought the old man referred to her as a "terrorist fighter" because she is a diplomat for war-ravaged countries," 52 confessed. "Now I know that my assessment was wrong. I am sorry for my error."
Trafalq leader's eyes glimmered dangerously in the dim lighting.
"She is not a diplomat then," he prompted 52.
"No," 52 replied. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment. "I- - I believe that she and her husband must work for a covert agency that targets various terrorist factions, such as our own. I am sorry that I did not realize this sooner. I apologize."
"That is interesting," Trafalq leader commented dryly.
"Ye- --yes, I suppose it is," 52 stuttered.
"How is that a man as incompetent as you are, is ranked so high in the Trafalq?" he asked lazily.
52 swallowed hard. The shadowy man that stood behind their leader grinned.
"If you give me more time," 52 began, "I promise you that I will find this Samuelle family. Let me bring them in," he begged the leader. "Once we have the boy, we will be able to make them all talk. We will discover what agency they work for, and we will bring down one more enemy of the Trafalq."
The leader pursed his lips, his eyes straying from 52's perspiring face to focus on an unknown point in the dreary room
"You said that these people were trained to deceive your surveillance cameras," Trafalq leader reiterated for 52. "What makes you think that they are truly a family? Why do you believe that they would sacrifice their agency for the life of a mere child?
"I, I made some wrong assumptions about these people," said 52, "but I am positive in my assertion that the Samuelle family is real. They have love for each other. The parents care deeply for their son. The old man is devoted to this family," 52 paused to moisten his cracked lips. "They have weaknesses we can exploit," he finished.
"Yes," Trafalq leader agreed, his eyes returning to scrutinize 52. "Thank you number 52 for your valuable input. You had made excellent progress on this mission. It is a pity that your blunders cost you so much."
Trafalq leader raised his hand. 52's eyes widened.
"Sir," he persisted desperately, "my mistakes were minimal. I can still accomplish this mission. I just need more time, sir. Please," 52 implored his leader.
"Request denied," Trafalq leader replied mechanically.
A shot rang out in the darkened room, and 52 jerked when the bullet impacted his skull. His body folded and dropped with a resounding thud to the floor. From the blackness, the man holding the gun stepped out to face his leader.
"You are now in charge of this mission," Trafalq leader informed the man. "If you do not succeed, number 64, do not expect my forgiveness."
Number 64 nodded. "What are my orders, sir?"
A dark shadow settled upon Trafalq leader's face. "Are you familiar with Section One?" he asked, momentarily ignoring 64's question.
"No," 64 answered truthfully. "Why?"
"Bring me both the boy and the old man," said the leader, again ignoring 64's query. "Then we will exploit the weaknesses of Michael and Nikita."
Confusion flit across number 64's face. "Michael and Nikita?" he repeated.
"Go," said Trafalq leader, waving his hand. "Just do as I say."
"Yes sir," 64 nodded and left the room.
Trafalq leader smiled to himself once he was alone. He had waited a long time for this. Now the anticipation was all the sweeter. Soon they would be his, his to love, and to control. . . The fair princess and her dark knight, and their child, would join him.
___________________________________________________________
Part III
Michael stared stonily ahead as he strode snail-like down the
hotel hallway. Andre's bodyguards surrounded both him, and the
heatily involved couple that were entwined before his glimmering
green eyes.
Wrapping one long, white leg around Vin Andre's waist, Nikita felt him hoist her tight around his arousal. She spread her lips, allowing him to plunge repeatedly into her mouth, and she struggled to conceal her disgust.
"Your husband," Andre questioned huskily, moving his tongue lower to lavish her neck, "Where is he?"
"Playing golf with some business associates," Nikita told him, aggressively backing Andre down the hall and to the door of his room.
An indescribable feeling of pure hate and rage pulsed through Michael's veins as he watched Andre slide his hand up Nikita's exposed thigh. He nearly exploded with anger when Andre's hand disappeared under the hem of Nikita's ridiculously short hem line. Michael cursed himself for letting her talk him into moving the final sequence of the mission to the current morning. Once she had learned that their son was in danger from the Trafalq, Nikita had demanded that they wrap up the mission right away. Her stubbornness had overruled Michael's attempts to change her mind. So here they were, at nine AM in the morning, about to complete the despicable last sequence.
One of Andre's men opened the hotel room door for them, and Andre and Nikita tumbled in, still engrossed in a fierce kiss. Michael waited hesitantly at the door, but when the rest of Andre's men brushed rudely past him to enter, Michael followed suit.
Nikita broke the kiss and lifted her head to see the men that surrounded her and Vin Andre. She arched a delicate eyebrow in surprise and waited for Andre's explanation.
"I'm sorry, my dear, that I didn't arrange for a more intimate setting," Andre purred, "but you see, I wasn't expecting this. Perhaps we should wait until tonight, so that the bed is at least turned down properly." He laughed huskily.
"Ambiance doesn't matter to me," Nikita replied, swirling her tongue into his ear, "Although, I do value some privacy" she emphasized by nodding her head to the five bodyguards plus Michael who had stationed themselves about the room.
Andre gripped the collar of her silk blouse to roughly jerk her face within inches of his own.
"Ah, but an audience will make it all the more enjoyable. Think of it as a chance to showcase your talents," he told her, his once laughing eyes now serious.
Nikita's mind whirled at the implications while her body instinctively tried to push Andre away. He responded by pushing her up against the wall so that her legs sprawled open and hung above the ground while her arms were pinned to her sides. Nikita grimaced as her head impacted the wall with a loud crack. Quelling her fright, she concentrated on getting one of her hands loose so that she could reach the sedative that would knock Andre out.
"Where is your husband?" Andre asked her tauntingly. He clamped his hand around her moving fingers.
"I already told you," said Nikita, a tremor creeping into her voice. "He's playing golf with some associates."
Andre smiled condescendingly at her. "Don't lie to me, my dear." He glanced over at her bodyguard and was not at all surprised to see the storm that brewed in those peculiar green eyes. Although there were times when Vin Andre would think more with his lower extremities than his upper, his skills of perception had always been superior. Andre had known from the start that this dark man was to be of suspect. How he could have missed the fact that the blonde was in league with the man, he did not know, but Andre decided it had to be attributed to her natural aura of innocence. No matter, they would both pay now that he had discovered their ulterior motives. Vin Andre was not one to take deception lightly.
Nikita whimpered as Andre crushed her fingers in his fierce grip, which was due in part to his vengeful train of thought. It was then that Michael finally stepped forward to intervene.
"As Mrs. Carlson's security guard," he said briskly, "I must request that you release her."
The dangerous glint of his eyes betrayed the false civility of this absurd sentence. Andre unconsciously loosened his grip on Nikita's fingers as he turned slightly to focus on Michael.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," said Andre. "You see, I have a dispute to settle here with Mrs. Carlson. She claims that her husband is out on a golfing excursion. However, I have evidence which contradicts this allegation."
As if on cue, the hotel room door opened and a disheveled Nolan was dragged in by two of Andre's men.
"Nikita!" he cried out in surprise.
"I rest my case," said Vin Andre, dryly.
Nolan, however, refused to rest. Taking advantage of his Section martial arts training, he managed to dislocate the arm of one of his captors and break the nose of the other. Like a cornered dingo, he wildly attacked the men who tried to subdue him.
Taking advantage of this diversion, Nikita slipped her hand under Andre's shirt. Andre's head snapped back to her, and he cursed himself for not focusing on his closest danger. The truth was, he had never dreamed that the blonde posed any threat to himself. Never underestimate your enemy, he thought dimly as he felt the prick of her needle. A warm feeling spread from his torso and flooded into his head, clouding his reason. Andre's head rolled back even as his hands clawed desperately at the woman who had successfully disarmed him. She pushed him away, and this time he was too overcome by the drug to resist. He felt his body fall slowly to the ground, and then he felt no more.
_______________________
Michael reacted before Andre's men when the arms dealer hit the
floor. Drawing out his silencer-equipped gun, he managed to shoot
three out of the five men before Nolan assisted with his own gun.
A sporadic plopping echoed about the room and mingled with the
grunts of fallen men as Michael and Nolan disposed of Andre's
guards. It was over in less than a minute.
Letting his gun fall to his side, Nolan heaved in a puff of air. He made a mental note to breath the next time he participated in a shooting spree. Post-adolescent blue eyes jumped nervously from dead body to dead body, and Nolan suddenly felt very ill. Half-running to the bathroom, he immediately dropped to his knees upon reaching the toilet and began retching violently.
Michael watched him flee, then cast his eyes upon the melancholy Nikita. Walking over to her, he stopped within inches of her slouching form and placed his finger under her chin to lift it. They exchanged a moment of silent communication as somber blue met tender green.
"Are you all right?" he quietly asked, taking her hand into his and bringing it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to the bruise Andre had given her.
Nodding weakly, Nikita gripped the collar of his shirt to help pull herself up and stand without the support of the wall that was at her back. Michael placed a hand onto her waist to steady her.
"I'm fine," Nikita stated quietly. "Download the files. The sooner we leave the better."
Michael nodded. "Derek will be all right. He has Walter," he assured her once more." Cradling her head in his hands, he brushed his lips across her forehead, cherishing his wife.
Their eyes met once more before she spoke. "I'll check on Nolan," she said, moving towards the bathroom.
Michael nodded, and simultaneously, their compassionate faces morphed into masks of iron. It was time to deal with Section.
*********************************
A burst of bright white light shocked Andre's eyeballs from
within. He opened them and tried to place his hand on his
erratically beating heart, but found that his limbs were numbs.
Gasping for air, he moaned as his chest constricted and sweat
rolled down his face in heavy beads. A painful jab in his ribs
finished his welcome to reality.
"What is the password?" a mechanical voice drilled him.
Andre lifted his burdensome head and felt fear overcome him as two very familiar green eyes pierced into his skull.
******************************************
"Nolan?"
Nolan stumbled as he hastily pushed himself up from the floor. He couldn't bear to have her see him like this, so weak and afraid. Swiping his shirt sleeve across his tear-stained face, he turned himself away from her.
Shutting the door securely behind her, Nikita stayed where she was, deciding against approaching him right away.
Instead, she verbalized comfort. "Michael is downloading the files. We should be out of here in less than half an hour. Everything's going to be all right, Nolan."
Anger flared up him. "Don't lie to me, Nikita," he bit out, staring hard at the shower drain. "Everything's NOT going to be all right. I'm not a killer. You know that as well as I do. I'm not going to survive much longer in Section One."
"Do you want to die?" Nikita asked, folding her arms.
Nolan laughed bitterly. "I wanted to die the very first time I woke up in the white room. I was ready to hang myself with the bed sheet because I thought my father and stepmother had finally sent me to the loony bin. I'm not crazy," he half-pleaded with Nikita. "I'm perfectly sane."
"Yes, you are," she acknowledged.
"I was just a guy that had gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd and dabbled a little too much with drugs," Nolan explained, in a faraway voice. "I'm not a killer. I don't belong in Section."
"A lot of people don't belong in Section," said Nikita, taking a few steps toward his tall form.
"Yeah, and those are the people that eventually show up on the casualty list," Nolan shot back without animosity. Slowly he turned to face Nikita, his once luminescent blue eyes now dull and weary.
"I'm not like you, Nikita," he said. "I can't think about saving the world from terrorists every time I shoot somebody. When I take a life, I'm filled with guilt for the person I killed no matter how evil he or she was." He rubbed his eyes and then dropped his arms at his sides in a gesture of defeat. "I'm sorry Nikita," he told her, ruefully.
"You're wrong," Nikita declared. "You are like me."
Nolan snorted. "I could never be you," he said. "You're perfection. Beautiful, compassionate, strong, intelligent, . . . and able to kill for the good of mankind."
Nikita matched Nolan's snort with her own. "Now you're wrong," she told him. Gazing off into the ceiling fan, she spoke, "I was recruited into Section because they thought I was a cop-killer."
"Were you?" Nolan asked, fearful of her answer.
Nikita looked him directly in the eyes. "No," she replied firmly. "I was a street urchin who happened to wander down the wrong dark alley at the wrong time. Section trained me to kill efficiently, but I was never one to follow orders. That's why Operations wanted me canceled. But I wanted to live. So I conformed to Section in my own way in order to survive. I told myself that as long as I had my soul, Section couldn't truly own me."
"Does that really work?" Nolan asked, almost cynically.
"It works for me," she replied. "It could work for you."
Nolan stared at her for a long moment. "Does killing ever get easier to deal with?"
"Yes." said Nikita. "And no. You'll learn to conceal your true feelings about killing from Section. But the guilt only builds with every life you take," she explained, honestly. "But there are ways to deal with it," she clarified, putting her hand on his shoulder. "There are people in Section that you can talk to. Don't keep your feelings bottled up inside. Sometimes you have to get rid of the pain before it starts eating away at you. Whenever you just need to talk, you can come to me. I'll be there for you."
Blinking back tears, Nolan nodded almost imperceptibly at her.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Nikita smiled warmly. "Would you like some time alone?"
"Um, no," Nolan uttered. "No," he repeated in a new, stronger voice. I can help Michael download the files."
"Good," Nikita stated simply. They nodded at each other once more, and Nolan smiled a hesitant smile.
Existing the bathroom, Nikita watched as Nolan stepped over the dead bodies without revealing a single emotion on his face. He may just make it, she thought proudly to herself.
"How much longer?" Nolan asked Michael.
"About fifteen minutes," Michael replied. He motioned to the now dead Vin Andre. "He was very helpful."
"Good."
Giving Nolan a quick once-over, Michael then glanced at Nikita before concentrating once again on the computer screen.
"Are you okay?" he asked Nolan as he typed out a sequence of keys.
"I'm fine," Nolan used the Section frequented response.
"Good," said Michael. "Make yourself helpful by locking the door."
"Right," said Nolan. He raked a hand through his hair and began the drear job of setting the various locks on the door. A bored, accented female voice caused him to freeze in the act of sliding the door chain.
"Housekeeping."
__________________
"What do you mean you don't know where he is!!!" Nikita
practically screamed at Operations.
Michael prepared himself to stop her from physically launching herself at Section One's leader and clawing the man's eyeballs out.
"You said that the Trafalq sector was in hibernation!" she cried, nearing hysterics. "You made it very clear that they would target us as a whole. You promised our family we wouldn't be split up, and that the kidnapping would be monitored!"
Steely eyes gazed
sardonically back at her. "The profile had to be
altered," he told her in an even voice. "The Trafalq
leader apparently decided to go after your son and use him as a
hostage to bring you and Michael in. We simply went along with
his plan. This is, after all, a zero-impact mission. The truth
cannot be revealed to the Trafalq until the very end."
"What about Walter?" Michael queried mechanically.
"What about him?" Operations countered, indifferently.
"He does not know about the mission," said Michael. "What did the Trafalq do with him once they realized he was of no use to them information-wise?"
Operations shrugged. "They probably disposed of him."
Michael nodded, comprehending the lie. Section was obviously holding back a great deal of material. He glanced sideways at Nikita, prompting her to continue her acting spree. They both knew the partial truth. After all, Walter had contacted them. He had assured Michael that Derek was safe with him, and had revealed their location. However, it was necessary for Nikita to play the part of the distressed mother. Section would be suspicious if she appeared anything below hysterical over the loss of her beloved son, whom she had always been fiercely protective of.
Crystalline azure eyes closed into dangerous slits. She resembled a raging tigress of the night, and Michael was duly impressed by this portrayal. Although, he doubted whether or not his wife was really just acting. With a little more provocation from Operations, Michael sensed that she could quite possibly lose her temper. Besides, Nikita truly was furious about the attack on Derek and Walter.
"Disposed of him," she repeated coldly, emphasizing her aversion for this degrading phrase. "Walter was one of Section's most valuable operatives. Surely his years of service to this contemptible place is worth something to you," she taunted Operations.
A dark shadow settled onto Operations' features.
____________________
Nolan fidgeted with his can of soda as he nervously watched
Michael and Nikita conferencing with Operations above him. Were
they telling him about his less than professional behavior on the
mission? Would Nikita reveal to Operations that he was a real
wimp when it came to killing the enemy?
"Hey Nolan," Birkoff greeted him as he plunked himself in front of his computer. "How's it going?"
Nolan grunted. "What do you think they're talking about up there?" he asked his friend.
Birkoff shrugged. He glanced upwards, and together they watched as a a very furious Nikita confronted Operations, while the ever passive-aggressive Michael stood unmoving by her side. "I don't know," he lied to Nolan.
"It's probably about the mission," said Nolan. "But I just don't understand why Nikita's so riled up. She looks like she's about to kick Operations where it counts."
"I wouldn't worry about it," said Birkoff. "It's their problem, not yours."
"How can you be so sure?" Nolan persisted. "I really messed up on that mission. What if Operations wants me canceled, and SHE's trying to protect me? I won't let her endanger her own life to save my ass."
"Trust me," said Birkoff. "It's not about your mission. Just between us, I checked out the report, and it stated that everything was pretty much textbook perfect. Like I said, Michael and Nikita have their own problems. You shouldn't interfere."
Nolan sighed. "Right," he mumbled. Keeping his eyes on the scene above him, Nolan felt admiration for his former trainer bubble up inside of him. Only she would have the strength to rally against Operations. He glanced at Michael and couldn't help feel disdain for this man once again. Why was he just standing there like a mannequin? Would it hurt him to support his wife a little? Something in the man's eyes stopped Nolan from completely ripping on him. Nolan saw the same admiration he felt for Nikita reflected off the man's luminous green eyes. Michael truly loved Nikita, Nolan reminded himself. But, he sure wished the darn cold op would do something with this love. Nikita deserved more.
Birkoff flicked his attention over to Nolan, gauging the younger man's expression. Determining emotions was never something Birkoff excelled at. However, he could tell that Nolan was getting things mixed up, and that he misunderstood Michael and Nikita's relationship. Biting his lip, Birkoff wished to hell that this whole Trafalq thing would blow over soon so that he could explain the situation to Nolan, . . . before Nolan did anything stupid.
_____________________________
Nikita gazed down lovingly at her sleeping child. She sensed
Michael walk up and stand beside her. He brushed his hand
reverently across her soft golden hair before kneeling as she was
to look at their son.
"How has he been?" Michael asked Walter.
"He's the best five year old I've ever seen," Walter proclaimed. "Never a picky-eater, and always eager to learn from my stimulating experiences." He winked at Nikita.
She did her best to frown at him, but couldn't repress her chuckle. Smoothing Derek's brown locks from his forehead, she commented seriously, "He must have been frightened when they came."
Walter nervously cleared his throat. "Yeah."
Nikita looked quizzically at him, but turned her attention back her son when Walter began rummaging in Birkoff's fridge. Sudden jerking movements beneath her hand alarmed her.
"Derek?" she breathed, watching with horror as her son began writhing in pain.
"Mommy!!" Derek wailed, his arms flailing about as he struggled in his nightmare. "Father, help me!"
Blatant concern erupted upon Michael's stoic features as he immediately took Derek into his arms and suppressed the boy's violent contortions.
"It's all right, honey," said Nikita, cupping her hand around the back of Derek's head.
In response, Derek let out a ear-splitting scream, and Nikita withdrew her hand in terror.
"Mommy, they're killing me!" Derek cried. "The bullets are making holes in my body. Father, make them stop, it hurts! There's too much blood, Mommy!"
Nikita placed her hands over her opened mouth, and watched on with despair while her husband's face crumpled in anguish.
"Derek," Nikita repeated over and over again. "Derek, please wake up."
Walter strode over with a cold face cloth and pressed it against the boy's heated little face.
"Shh," he murmured to Derek. "Be strong, booger."
Gradually Derek's writhing dissolved into slight tremors which Michael rubbed away. He patted his son's head and murmured comforting phrase in French until Derek's tiny form grew still, save for steady breathing.
"Mommy?" he whispered, teary blue eyes opening.
"I'm here, sweetheart," Nikita assured her son, encompassing the boy's form with her arms. Together, she and Michael cradled their child.
"I had a bad dream," Derek whimpered, burrowing his head into his mother's breast.
"It's all right, darling," soothed Nikita. "You're safe now."
"I missed you," was his muffled reply.
"I missed you too," Nikita managed to whisper, a sob catching in her throat.
Walter placed a comforting hand onto her shoulder. "I knew you'd pull through, booger," he said, ruffling Derek's damp locks.
Turning around, Derek's puffy face appeared solemn. His once sparkling innocent blue eyes were tinged with sadness. And the trio of adults despaired over this transformation.
"No," Derek stated firmly. "The shadows are going to get me."
"No," said Nikita. "There are no shadows that are going to you."
"No," Michael repeated the word. He gazed meaningfully at his wife. Then, pinning his son's eyes with his own, he spoke, "The bad men, the shadows, are still out there. And they ARE trying to get you." Michael ignored the gasp of surprise which came from Nikita. "That's why you have to run and hide from them," he told his son. "Protect yourself, until we can get rid of these shadows."
Derek nodded solemnly. "Yes, Father."
Nikita opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again. Likewise, Walter went through the same motions inside of himself. In the end, they both decided to trust in Michael's resolution.
"But I shouldn't just protect myself," said Derek. "Right? We need to protect Walter."
"Aw shucks, I'm fine. I can take care of myself," Walter guffawed. "Don't worry about this old man, he's still got a long way to go."
"Then we need to protect Mommy," Derek said decisively.
"Yes," said Michael, wrapping an arm around Nikita, but keeping his eyes on his son. "We protect Mommy."
_____________________
64 sipped slowly at his drink as he observed the two figures
interact on the screen. He scowled with disgust when he saw the
husband comforting the sobbing blonde. So much fuss over a
missing a boy, he thought dispassionately. The man soothed his
wife with softly spoken French phrases, and 64 rolled his eyes.
For a moment he pondered whether or not to get a translator, but
decided it would probably be a waste of time. On the screen, the
man had removed his wife's coat and was now leading her out of
the kitchen area. 64 flicked his eyes over to the screen which
monitored the bedroom and watched as the man half-carried the
blonde into the room. Suddenly, static exploded onto the screen.
64 jerked forward in his chair while his fingers scurried across
the keyboard to no avail. Uttering a curse, he pounded the
monitor when the static spread like a tumor onto the other four
screens.
With a vicious flick of his wrist he turned on the intercom.
"What happened?" he demanded, loudly.
"I don't know, sir," came the subordinate's reply. "There's something interfering with our camera feed."
"Then fix it," 64 spoke harshly.
"We're working on it now, sir, but from the way things look, we won't be able to get things online for at least another hour. I'm sorry, sir."
"You should be," said 64, vowing to have whichever idiot had caused the malfunction electrocuted.
Disconnecting the intercom, he settled back into his chair, still seething. No more mistakes, he told himself. If these imbeciles can't get the job down right, then I'll just have to bring this family in myself. He smiled with satisfaction. The Trafalq leader would be proud of him.
_____________________
Nikita bit her lip and struggled to get a hold on herself, but
the sobs that wrecked her body would not cease. She felt her
knees grow weak and she slid down. Before she met the floor
strong arms encompassed her and then cradled her trembling body
as if she were a small child.
"Shh. Hush, my love," he whispered against her ear. "We'll get through this. I won't let Derek become one of them."
Even though Nikita wasn't thinking coherently, her nebulous eyes opened in shock at what he said.
"The cameras," she mouthed, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"I deactivated the surveillance," Michael informed her. "We're safe for an hour." He laid her gently onto the bed and covered her fragile form with his long, black suit coat.
"His eyes were so cold, so empty," Nikita cried softly. "He'll never be the same again."
"Shhh, I know," said Michael, stroking her golden locks. He kneeled beside the bed so that he was at eye level to her.
"I promised myself that I -I would n-never let Section become a part of Derek's life," Nikita's voice wavered. She took in a gulp of air to steady herself. "He's only five. He shouldn't have to know evil like this."
Her eyes drooped and she struggled to keep them open.
"Sleep," Michael encouraged her. "You should rest." He placed a warm hand onto the softness of her soft cheek.
"Derek," Nikita moaned once more. "It's all my fault. I should never have agreed to the mission. I should never have brought him into this world."
Michael's grip tightened about her face, forcing her to open her eyes.
"No," he said forcefully. "Never regret what you did. I know you love Derek as much as I do. I know you think we shouldn't have tried to raise him, but you're wrong. Derek is worth it. He's one of the few good things I've brought into this world. He's our chance to leave behind the good that we are, the good that you are," he said, caressing her face.
"Derek has you in him too," Nikita whispered.
Michael hung his head and looked away from her. His eyes shone with remorse.
"Michael, look at me," said Nikita, supporting herself with her elbow. She reached out to cup Michael's chin in her hand.
"You are a wonderful husband and father," she told him. "Don't you ever think otherwise. You are a good man," she emphasized. "And you've contributed to what Derek is now."
Michael didn't answer, and Nikita could see the doubt which lingered in his tortured green eyes. But before she could say anymore, he pressed her body to his in a tight embrace. She hugged him dearly, running her hand down his back when she felt him shudder. He was weeping silently.
"I love you," she whispered.
Michael turned her face to his and captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. She groaned deep in her throat as his lips wandered across her face, and their salty tears mingled.
Michael's hand roamed over Nikita's body, comforting himself with every crevice and curve that he knew by heart. He kissed her greedily, driven by the forces of pain and regret and anger. Pain for the circumstances which had brought them here. Regret for the life he had led because of Section. And anger for the loss of his son's innocence.
"Michael," Nikita was breathless from his demanding mouth. "Michael, I - ."
He silenced her with insistent pressure against her pliant, open lips.
"Hush, my love," he ordered her. "No more words tonight. I need you."
Nikita shivered as his hands began systematically removing her clothing. Then she felt herself flush as a warmth creeped up her body because of the way Michael was gazing down at her. His luminous green eyes, usually so controlled and blank, were now stormy with passion. They lingered slowly on her every curve, drinking in her ambrosial, pale body.
Her breathing erratic, and her heart fluttering away, Nikita closed her eyes with pleasure when he finally lowered himself upon her.
"Love me," she begged him.
And he did, bringing them both to spiraling heights that would allow them to forget, if only for a moment, and give them blissful oblivion.
___________________________________________________________
Part IV
Michael strode briskly down the sidewalk, forcing himself to
downplay his incessantly observant eyes. He didn't want to be
unprepared for the expected Trafalq attack, but he also had the
cover of the "medial businessman, slash, loving
husband" to maintain. Beside him, Nikita pulled her long
coat more tightly around herself. Sensing that she was cold,
Michael immediately draped his arm around her shoulders to draw
her near to his warmth.
"Thanks," she murmured, still shivering slightly, although her tremors were due more to her apprehensiveness than the cold temperature.
They were now walking down a fairly deserted street that was lined with empty suburban houses. Most of the residents were either at work or running errands. The sound of an approaching vehicle prompted Michael to tilt his head slightly to the left to allow his peripheral vision to take in the black van that was slowing to a stop near them.
"Get ready," Michael whispered against his wife's temple. Then, giving in to his desire, he brushed his lips against her hairline, inhaling her balmy scent. He closed his eyes, mentally shelving away her fragrance for him to keep and treasure until he got her back.
*******************************
Accelerating swiftly down Maple Street, a young man biked
gleefully upon a slick patch of ice.
"Yahoo!" he hooted, flying over a frozen ditch.
Changing gears on his mountain bike, Nolan began pumping furiously down on his pedals when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. He managed to keep his pace ahead of the van for a commendable two minutes before he was passed by the it.
Moments later, he skidded to an abrupt stop, sending shards of sluiced ice spraying all over the place, Nolan swung off his bike and heaved in the cold winter air. He slid off his bike helmet and ran a hand through his blonde hair that was now slicked with sweat. Then he absentmindedly hung the helmet upon the handlebars. Popping open his water bottle, he squirted the drink into his throat while he pushed his bike alongside him.
"Mmmm," he grunted with satisfaction as the cool liquid flowed down his throat. He strolled leisurely down the street for several minutes, one arm lazily directing his bike as he walked.
Turning onto the intersection, he quickly spotted the same black van that had passed him. However, it wasn't the vehicle that captured his attention, it was the couple that was walking away from it that he eyed. A surge of melancholy envy and a desire for what could never be his swelled up within him when he saw Michael with his arm around Nikita. But this feeling was quickly replaced by alarm when the black van stopped and five armed men jumped swiftly out.
"Oh no," Nolan gasped, frozen with fear as he watched the men surround the couple. "I've got to help her."
He stepped back into the turn of the road so that he would be hidden from view. Fumbling around in his windbreaker, he cursed himself when all he could come up with was a Swiss army knife.
"A lot of good this will do," he groaned, watching with despair as the men roughly grabbed Nikita and held her at gun point.
"Do something, Michael," he hissed.
He felt anger rising in him when he saw Michael holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"Come on, Michael, you can do better than that!" Nolan seethed with contempt.
Dazed, he watched as Michael took out a wallet and thrust several bills at the men.
"What the hell are you doing?" Nolan cried out loud.
The men responded by viciously punching Michael in the face. Michael dropped to the ground like a stone.
"What in the . . . " Nolan was beyond shocked. While he had experienced a tiny feeling of euphoria at seeing his rival hurt, he hadn't expected Michael to be truly injured by such a trivial blow.
"Michael!" Nikita cried out, vainly reaching for her fallen partner. The men hauled her roughly into the van, and Nolan's stomach churned with despair when her form was swallowed up by the darkness of her captors.
"Nikita," he whispered. "Don't worry, I'll save you."
He folded his arms with determination and watched with disgust as Michael tried to pull himself up from the ground, only to stagger upon his legs.
"He's not even trying to help her," Nolan muttered while he dutifully memorized the license plate of the departing van.
His jaw set in a stubborn manner, Nolan kicked up the kick-stand of his bike, and climbed onto the seat. Pedaling rapidly to the fallen cold op, Nolan set forth to tell Michael exactly what he thought of him.
___________________________
The whirl of spokes alerted Michael's senses and he swiveled
gracefully on his heel to see what person was crazy enough to go
biking in the ice and snow of February. A tall lanky young man
who sat hunched over his speeding mountain bike exploded into
view and swerved to a haphazard stop just inches away from
Michael.
"What are you doing here?" Michael asked quietly and bluntly, inaverdently further infuriating Nolan with his calm demeanor.
"I saw what happened," said Nolan, smiling smugly to himself when he saw that his skid bike stop had soiled his rival's black pants with slush.
"If I were you, I'd forget this ever happened," Michael coldly advised the green operative.
"My trainer was just kidnapped!" Nolan shot back. "My trainer, who also happens to be your wife. Or did you just conveniently forget about that?"
"This area isn't clean," Michael stated matter-of-factly, his eyes flickering up and down the street.
"Don't give me any of that Section crap right now," Nolan bit out. "Nikita's in danger, we've got to do something."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Michael half-murmured.
Nolan opened his mouth, then hastily closed it to gulp down a nasty retort. Uh-oh, he thought, his brain cells backtracking to pick up the lost intel that he had discarded.
"I - I, apologize for my behavior," he managed to eke out. "Is this, like, a mission or something?" he asked, already knowing the inevitable answer.
"Go home, Nolan," Michael said quietly, already striding away from him.
"Wait!" Nolan called out, jogging a few steps to catch up with the cold op. "Please, I want to help."
Nolan stopped a few feet away from the man, and stared apprehensively at Michael's black back, wishing he would at least turn around to face him. Seconds later, Michael turned in his usual unrushed manner to address Nolan. A faint quirk of his lips signified amusement, and Nolan felt his stomach twist.
"Most operatives don't volunteer to get killed," Michael stated matter-of-factly.
"Well, I'm not most operatives," Nolan quickly responded. Hey, wait a moment. . .
"Nikita and I are involved in a highly classified mission," said Michael. "If Operations or Madeline found out that you saw what happened moments ago, you would be canceled immediately." He decided against telling Nolan that Section would find out no matter what, in a matter of minutes, due to the surveillance around the perimeter.
"Then put me on the mission profile," Nolan suggested, his mouth still running ahead of his brain.
Michael merely blinked.
"Look," said Nolan. "I know you think I'm just an inconvenience whose screwing up everything, but I sincerely want to help Nikita. I need a way to repay her for all that she's done for me," Nolan digressed. "She's the person that made me who I am, and I'm thankful for what she's done for me. She's always been there to haul my ass out of whatever Section predicaments I somehow get myself into. I- I, I'm very fond of her," Nolan blushed as the reality of who he was talking came back to him. "Please, just let me clean up whatever mess I've caused by witnessing this mission," he finished in a hurry.
Nolan held his breath, anxiously waiting for the older man's response.
Michael's eyes strayed to focus on a point above Nolan's shoulder. He is a good operative, Michael conceded to himself. Still a little green, but Nikita trained him well. His guileless manner is an unfortunate byproduct of her compassionate methods of training. This mission may be just the thing to pack some bricks around this kid's shaky interior. I won't let Nikita coddle him anymore. He's got to learn to survive on his own in Section, thought Michael.
Nolan fidgeted as the seconds passed. The apathetic expression on the cold op's face unnerved him. It was as if the man had turned into stone and had ceased all functions. Nolan scanned the man's eyes for a flicker of emotion, but got nothing. I bet Michael isn't even thinking, thought Nolan. He's probably ignoring me so that I'll leave.
"Fine," Michael spoke the word crisply, but quietly.
"What?" Nolan sputtered.
"I could use some back-up on this mission," said Michael. "I'll take you to a secure area where I can fill you in on the details. All right?"
Nolan nodded dumbly, still not believing that his persuasiveness had finally paid off. "Sure," he said. "Where to?"
Michael's lips thinned, and his eyes took on a detached look. "Just follow me," he said, striding swiftly down the street.
Nolan hesitated, then swung onto his bike and obeyed, blindly following this dark shepherd.
__________________________
Trafalq leader smiled eerily down at his captive. He admired her
fresh beauty. The wildness in this one's eyes brazen, but
something he could rid her of. All animals could be tamed with
time. That, and a method of rewards and punishments. He had one
member of the family. That was all he needed, although he would
have preferred getting the child first. He had wanted some time
to mold the child into his image so that he could show the
parent's his work. But alas, due to the incompetence of his
minions, they had lost the chance to capture the boy. The mother
would have to do, Trafalq leader decided, circling the woman like
the predator does its prey. As long as he had her, he had the
father as well. And if he controlled the father, he could get the
child. It was a roundabout way to get what he wanted, but if
would suffice.
Trafalq leader took the woman's chin into his hand and tilted her head upwards. He bent slightly so that he could examine her more closely. She recoiled from this perusal by spitting her venom at him. Angered, Trafalq leader snapped her neck back with the force of his slap. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he viciously yanked her head to face him. Crystalline ice eyes pierced at him, and her expression stubbornly remained defiant.
"Soon you will learn obedience," Trafalq leader told her, digging his nails cruelly into her scalp. "If you disrespect me again, your son will pay for your insurgence."
He backhanded her other cheek, and was rewarded with a whimper from the woman. Trafalq leader smiled.
_______________________
Rubbing wearily at his eyes, Michael poured feverishly over the
mission profile, nit-picking at every nuance. If anything
happened to Nikita as a result of a faulty profile, he would have
only himself to blame, he told himself. Michael sighed. It hurt
not knowing what was happening to Nikita. His usually restrained
imagination was now on overdrive, envisioning all sorts of
possible brutalities the Trafalq might inflict upon her. They
will pay, Michael thought grimly. I'll see to it myself. There
will be retribution for whatever they do her.
Glancing at his watch, his elegant eyebrows slightly in surprise when he saw how much time had passed. Birkoff and Walter would be meeting with him in less than a quarter of an hour. Hauling himself to the bathroom, Michael began the process of making himself once again presentable. His usual economic movements were now replaced with absentminded motions while his thoughts drifted to his friend, lover, and life-long companion. Nikita.
__________________
A high-flying projectile struck Nolan square in the forehead, and
he protested loudly to no avail.
"The evil Suba has kidnapped the fair Princess Josephine and is holding her captive in the high tower!" Derek shouted, zooming around Birkoff's apartment with his arms spread wide. "Her only hope now is for the courageous Sir Michel to save her from the evil clutches of terror - ism!"
"Derek, get off the bed!" Nolan ordered, completely beyond frustration. He had wanted Michael to let him help with the mission, not baby-sit a five year old. Being a Level One op sucks, Nolan groaned to himself.
"Uncle Walter, where are you going?" Derek asked, launching himself into the elderly man's arms.
Laughing, Walter grabbed hold of the boy's ankles and dipped him upside down.
"Well, booger, I'm going out," he said.
"Out where?" Derek asked from his gravity-defying position.
"Out dancing," Walter replied tossing the kid onto Birkoff's bed. "And flirting. And drinking. This old man's gonna have some fun!"
"It's been a while, you know what I mean?" Walter winked at Nolan.
"Uh, yeah," said Nolan.
Walter clapped the kid on the back. "Take care of him," he solemnly told Nolan. "Check the security system every hour, on the hour, and. . ." he slapped Nolan's gun holster, "be ready for anything."
Nolan nodded, his face grim. "You can count on me," he assured the former operative.
"Good," said Walter. He turned to wave at Derek. "See ya in the morning, booger!"
Derek ran to hop up and give his "uncle" a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Bye-bye," he said.
Setting Derek down, Walter then turned to leave, shutting the door securely behind him.
Only a second of silence passed before Derek was back into his bizarre role-playing game.
"The brave Sir Michel sneaks into the castle disguised as an innocent pizza delivery man and gets past Suba's guards," Derek continued in a dramatic voice. Reaching Birkoff's bed, he catapulted onto it and completed a series of forward rolls.
"Kids," Nolan muttered.
"Hey Derek, watcha doing on my bed?" Birkoff asked, coming into his room.
"I told you not to let him screw with my bedcover," Birkoff said in an accusatory tone, playfully jabbing Nolan in the ribs.
"Well, he doesn't always listen to me," Nolan replied. "Selective hearing, you know?"
"Tell me about it," said Birkoff, standing in front of his bathroom mirror to assess his image. Spritzing on some cologne, he then strode back out to Nolan.
"Gail and I will be at the cinema," he told his friend. "We should be back at midnight."
"What if I get called in?" Derek asked, ducking from a dirty sock that Derek had thrown blindly into the air.
"You won't be," said Birkoff, throwing on his leather jacket. "Michael, Walter, and I had a conference with the Section heads this afternoon."
"Maddy and Ops?"
"Yeah," said Birkoff. "They weren't too happy when they found out where we'd been keeping Derek for the past few days. But when Michael explained his new profile for the mission, they agreed to let it pass. You're the official bodyguard for the night, until we start the next phase tomorrow morning."
"Next phase," Nolan repeat. "And what would that be?"
"Getting back Nikita," said Birkoff, grabbing his wallet and keys.
"How are we going to do that?" Nolan asked, more than a little irked that he'd been kept out of the loop.
"You'll see," was all Birkoff allowed. "Take care Derek!" he called out. "And get the heck off my bed!" He gave Nolan a friendly nod. "Have fun."
"Why should I?" said Nolan. "Nikita's probably being beaten by those goons! Why is everyone going out tonight of all nights? Shouldn't we be working on the rescue profile?" he looked pointedly at Birkoff.
Birkoff sighed. He hated leaving his friend in the dark, but Michael had made it clear that Nolan was not to be apart of the conference they were having this evening. The whole "go out and have fun while you watch the kid" routine was just a ruse. And, Birkoff decided, it wouldn't take long before Nolan figured things out.
"The plan's already been made," Birkoff informed Nolan. "Michael's going to go over the profile tonight with a fine-toothed comb. We're already ready, already. And don't worry too much about Nikita, okay? That's Michael's job. Besides, she knows what she's doing," Birkoff half-fibbed. He truly was concerned for his blonde friend. If he met up with any Trafalq agents tomorrow, he'd blow their brains out, Birkoff vowed to himself.
But to Nolan, he simply said, "I gotta go, take care."
"I'll try," Nolan huffed, dodging another dirty sock. "Say hi to Gail for me."
"Yeah, I will," said Birkoff, leaving his apartment. "See ya."
"Bye." Nolan shut his eyes in frustration. God, I hope they don't hurt her, he thought.
A blunt object hit Nolan's rear, and he swiveled around indignantly to face the little Tasmanian devil.
"And Sir Michel attacks the unwitting Suba with his mighty sword!" Derek shouted gleefully.
"That's a spatula," Nolan intoned. "Ouch!" he rubbed the spot on his stomach where Derek had slapped him again.
"You're suppose to die now!" Derek prompted Nolan with another whack.
"Okay, okay!" Nolan cried throwing up his hands. "You killed me," he plopped down on the floor and rolled his eyes dramatically back. "Happy?"
"And the hero Sir Michel wins again!" Derek declared triumphantly, running wildly about the room. "He rescues Princess Josephine and takes her back home and together again they join forces to rule Section One!"
He plopped his tiny, exhausted frame onto Birkoff's bed.
"Section One?" Nolan repeated with alarm. "I thought Michael said to keep him from being exposed to Section."
"Derek," he said, pulling the kid upright. "How do you know about Section One?"
"Uncle Walter told me," said Derek, swinging his legs back and forth.
"Walter!" Nolan exclaimed, pausing to sort his thoughts out. Nolan could just see a "Proceed With Caution" sign glaring in his head.
"What did your uncle tell you about Section," he asked carefully.
"He said that the Princess Josephine and Sir Michel were the rulers of Section, and they protected the world from evil acts of terror-ism," said Derek. "Can I have a snack?"
"Sir Michel," Nolan muttered. "What does the Princess look like?" he asked.
"She's the most beautifullest woman in the whole wide world!" Derek declared.
"That doesn't help," Nolan sighed. "What about Sir Michel?"
Derek shrugged. "He's really strong."
"And?"
"Really tall."
Nolan groaned. "So how do these people fight terrorism?" he asked.
"The Princess uses her sugar spells and Sir Michel has his mighty sword. He also uses his magical iron mask," Derek informed him with exasperation, as if Nolan was retarded. "Can I have ice cream?"
"Later," said Nolan. Iron mask, he thought to himself. Of course! Michael's patented blank stare! How could I have missed it? Michel is Michael! That means the Princess Josephine is. . . Nikita!
"Nolan?" Derek called out, trying to get back some attention. "Earth to Nolan!"
"I'm here," Nolan smiled, affectionately rubbing the kid's mushroom cut hair before heaving him onto his broad shoulder.
"Come on," he said. "How'd you like to have a little talk over some chocolate ice cream?"
"What are we going to talk about?" Derek asked innocently.
"You'll see," Nolan grinned. And I finally find the light switch in the dark room I've been shoved into, he thought triumphantly to himself.
End of part two...
written by Meilin
Continue on to Fixated, part three
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