written by Tammy
The first song snippet in chapter 6 is from "Dog on a Toolbox" by James Bonamy from the album, ‘What I Live To Do’; the second is from "Temptation" by The Tea Party from the album, ‘Transmission’. The word ‘zerzuur’ in chapter 12 is Algerian and means ‘cricket’ or can mean ‘sparrow’.
Chapter 1
Even the pillow wasn't enough to muffle the sounds of someone being up and moving around.
The clanging and other assorted noises finally managed to awake the person in the bed. A hand came out from under the pillow and felt around on a shelf of the headboard. The beeper was pushed aside as well as the cell phone. The fingers wrapped around a watch and pulled it back under.
With a growl, the pillow fell to the other side of the bed as Christine sat up half way. She slapped the watch back onto the shelf. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" she said loudly so that her voice carried down into the open area below her. Receiving no response, she crawled to the railing. She leaned her forehead against the top one and looked over the edge.
Simon worked in the kitchen nook, making something to eat, headphones sitting squarely on his head. He worked in time with the music, the world beyond what he was doing cut off from his senses. She gazed sullenly down on him for moment and rolled unto her back, staring at the ceiling. Adjusting the oversized t-shirt she wore, she threw an arm over her eyes with a groan.
Yesterday was not suppose to happen. When she left Section she had intended to go to her apartment. Christine had cursed herself as she realized while mindlessly driving, the car found its way to Simon's loft down in the warehouse district. She should have just ignored him when he explained to her then made her repeat back the directions here. The area reminded her too much of growing up. The rough places, the rough people and the anger at the world were all alive here, just like they had once been in her. But it was transforming itself, erasing the elements that marred its appeal.
Or is it just concealing what it truly is? As she had sat in the car, looking around the neighborhood, it struck her that in a way it represented her. Christine recalled thinking that maybe she would find herself instead of the made up person if she went inside to see Simon. The answer was too much to pass up because it hadn't taken her long to knock on his door. Seeing his face when he opened the door put the questions aside for a while.
They had been back in Section for a month and she had avoided him as much as possible. Four days ago he had come into Medlab, shoulder out of place. Ignoring the warning he gave to everyone else, he'd been working out with Michael. His shoulder bore the results. Calrienne had taken care of him, she had been unable to do it. Christine couldn't allow herself to be that close to him. It would show and so she clamped down hard on herself, smothering the feelings that were unfolding. Make yourself almost dead inside and then feelings had no way to hang around. It had worked too until the note had popped up on her screen that night. It was simple and nameless but she knew who it was from. "You're not him. You can't keep it up." The clamp had fallen off in a second and everything overflowed again.
Christine opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling again. And now I'm here....have been since dawn yesterday. What the hell am I doing?! They gonna find out and cancel the both of us. This is going too damn far. God....I think I'm falling in love with this guy. I CAN'T DO THIS!!! Listen, this is not love at all....it's sex that's all....you are not falling for him....GOT IT?
Leaning over the side of the bed, she felt around till she found a shoe. She rolled to the other side of the mattress again and hung over the edge of the ledge again. It landed it about 3 feet from where he was standing. His reaction scared her. From nowhere he produced a revolver and spun around, the headphones flying from his head.
Simon leveled the gun from where he thought it had come from to peer into Christine's wide eyes. "Jesus!" Gently tossing the gun down, he placed his hands on the counter behind him and took a deep breath before he looked up at her again. "I forgot you were up there. Don't do something like that again."
"OK." Christine said in a small voice. "Sorry."
The stern face melted and he grinned slyly at her. "Good morning. Did you sleep enough?"
She answered him with a smile. "Kinda. Be right down."
She disappeared from the edge and he could hear her moving around. A small breeze could have knocked him over yesterday when he answered the door. She'd been standing there looking exhausted and unsure. Apologies for disturbing him were followed by breakfast and talking. Then she had tried to leave after he had asked her about her thoughts on them. They argued about the future which proved to be too much for Christine. She had started to cry, more in anger and exhaustion than sadness. The first touch of comfort he tried to give was brushed off and so was the second. Not so with the third try and with it was a confession.
"You're right. I can't." Since then he had been with her. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was 10 of 6 in the morning. He'd been up about 2 hours. He took a deep breath as he thought about the time they had spent together. Then a smile started to curve his lips. He had felt like he was dreaming. As he had watched her sleeping before he went for his morning run, he knew that there was only one way to feel anymore. He just had to convince her of that.
Christine scrambled down the stairs, a headache from lack of caffeine was starting to blossom. They were vicious creatures and she was not looking forward to a day of pain and blurry vision. Once one started it cruised right into a migraine. Simon held up a mug at her. "Yes, please, straight up." she replied eagerly.
Simon winked at her and gave her a devilish grin. "I was only asking if you wanted coffee." She looked cute but overwhelmed in his t-shirt and as he looked at her feet, a pair of his socks. He turned to pour the coffee and started to snicker. "Are those my socks?" he asked as he handed her the steaming mug. She took it from him, lips pursed and a hand tapping the counter top. "What is that look for?"
"Yes they are....I meant yes to coffee...and what is so funny?"
A genuine laugh slipped out. "Sorry Chrissy but you look ridiculous in my clothes. They are way too big for you."
"And what do you want me to do about that? I don't know where my clothes are!" Simon scooped her up and put her on the counter top, standing between her knees. He gave her a quick kiss and another grin. The look in his eyes unmistakable. "Not right now!!" She slapped him lightly on the chest as she said it.
He watched as her face took on a serious expression. "What's wrong?"
She chewed her lip for a moment before she spoke. "Nothing but I want to ask you something..."
Simon started feeling worried and it caused him to answer her cautiously. "Yeah?"
"When it's just us.....can you call me Paige? I want us to be real together." She hugged him tightly.
Closing his eyes, Simon hugged her back. "To me you are Christine. Paige is the past. The present and future are real to me."
She looked down to her lap. "Who I really am doesn't matter to you?"
He sighed thinking carefully about the words he wanted to use. "To me you are a warm loving giving person. To me you are Christine. That is the woman I'm falling for. Christine was the woman I started to become attracted to about a year ago. Not someone I don't know named Paige."
"Oh."
"Look at me." Christine didn't move her head so Simon lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "Do you feel when you're with me?" He felt her nod. "What do you feel?"
"Special, wanted, cared about... I don't know. Can I get down?"
"No. I want to know if you're going to give us a chance? I don't want this to become just a couple of people working off some sexual frustration."
"I don't know yet. First I better decide who I am."
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Michael was first to exit the lock as its door whooshed open. At first he seemed at ease until his eyes fell on Operations at the end of the hallway. He stiffened but didn't allow any distaste to show on his face. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his waistband as he started towards Operations.
"Well?" Operations had waited as patiently as possible for Michael to return with his team. It was the first time since the teams had been restructured that Michael had them out. He also wanted to know if they had gotten a hold of Heyward and his little disk. The man was the first piece of the profile.
In response to his question, he was handed a disk. Tonelessly Michael replied, "Completed as briefed.....They need work. Unless needed, siphon off to Simon for now." He started to go past Operations.
"What's that suppose to mean? You don't want to do your job?" He watched as Michael stopped and the fingers on the one hand curl up slightly and slowly straighten out. The figure in the black mission suit didn't turn to face him. It had been wrong to say it but he wanted some kind of reaction out of him. He had been reserved, standoffish and cold, sometimes to the point of rudeness. Operations wanted a little of the emotional man back. He wanted the old Michael back. Before all hell had broken loose. Best to forget it though, that was a lost cause.
Michael suppressed the urge for a caustic reply. He ignored the 'job' comment and forced himself to act relaxed. "It means that they are not up to my standards. I will need to work with them to improve them. It will take me a few weeks. Simon's group is fine. Use them." He continued to the end of the hallway and turned. Once around the corner, his jaw hardened and anger flashed in his eyes. With quick agitated motions, he began to pull the braiding out of the top of his hair. It was going to be a quick and to the point debrief. He wasn't in the mood for anything else. All he wanted was to go home and shed his Section cloak for a while.
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The man behind the counter looked up as Michael entered the shop. He smiled as he recognized one of his regular customers. "Hi, Douglas. You're out late tonight, aren't you? Find something that interesting to sketch in the museum? Or have they finally managed to convince you to work there?"
Michael returned the smile and shrugged at the older man. Sam was small and portly. But he was made of a good heart that didn't probe too much...most of the time. He was a grandfatherly sort who looked out for his regulars. And advice was always poured as generously as his coffee. "And what would you be doing here so late, Sam? Doesn't Marnie or Emmanuel usually work at night?" He started to look at what was in the refrigerated case.
"Yeah but both Marnie's kids and her husband have the chicken pox. Can you believe it? Wilbur the movable mountain with the chicken pox covered with Calamine lotion? Don't make me think about it. I've laughed so much about it that my ribs hurt. And El needed the night off for a date."
"A date? El? Where'd he find her?"
"Here? Get this Doug, she's...this gets me too...she's a meter maid...'lovely Rita meter'...sorry for the bad singing there....going to school at night. Wants to be a psychologist....."
"Perfect practice patient in El." Michael quipped back. Sam left out a loud guffaw. Michael laughed softly at the sound. Sam was a good listener and he made a mean pastrami sandwich according to Walter. Michael would just take that as the truth. Pastrami was not on his list of favorites. Fortunately it wasn't for Nikita either.
"Oh how true, how true. Hey, where's the pretty little filly tonight? I got that tea in she likes so much."
"Oh, the vanilla, good. I don't know. Been out of town. But I wanted to bring a peace offering. Missed a dinner date. Suggestions?"
A smile spread over Sam's face. "Always thinking aren't you, my boy? Keep the woman happy and she keeps you happy. Let me fix you up something. You want your regular coffee?" He asked as he started popping up a box and pulling things out of a small floor model refrigerator behind him.
"Yes, thank you."
"Have things been ok with the two of you? Besides the missed date?"
"Of course, why?" Michael leaned against the case and watched Sam preparing the food.
"Well, neither of you were around for weeks. But knowing the jobs you two have, you with the artsy stuff and her with the consulting work , things can probably get hectic. But son, let me tell you, something is bugging that girl. I can see it in her eyes. And I better not hear you say you haven't noticed it." He shook a mayonnaise smeared knife at Michael. "I will whoop you right over my knee like a 3 year old. Got it?"
Michael smiled at him and chuckled. "Yes sir. I know she has been out of sorts. It's a family thing. She will get over it, I think."
Sam wiped his hands on his apron and started pouring hot coffee into a large foam cup. "Maybe it's time you made your move then."
"My move?" Michael straightened up and looked at Sam with knitted brows. "What do you mean?"
"Marry the girl, Douglas! Start a family. The two of you settle down. It's high time my boy! You've been together.... what... 4 years now? Maybe it's not the family stuff that's bugging her. You know, a woman can get antsy about this kind of stuff." He gave Sam a half smile that was bittersweet. "Hey did I hit a sore spot? Has she said no to you?"
Looking down at the floor, Michael thought briefly of finding her the other night curled up on a chair on the porch. Nikita had the stuffed cat and teddy bear left behind at Claude's held tightly against herself. She was missing both Katie and Reese a lot and at night it seemed to be worse. He hadn't intruded though, patiently waiting until she had come to bed. He hid his own sadness from her. It would only make her feel worse. She had fallen asleep in his arms after they made love. Sleep for him never did arrive. He sighed, "No, not that. Just a lot of things with work for her plus the family problem. There's just a lot to handle. It looks like you're ready."
Sam smiled. "Yes you're set. Wait wait wait....I almost forgot. One of the couriers from the museum dropped this off for you yesterday. Boy, they hiring young ones and the red on his head was amazing!!! Anyway, he said you forgot this by the Monet picture, the one of the lady with the umbrella." He plopped a small brown bag on the counter.
Michael stiffened as he looked at the bag. He hadn't been there and why would anyone bring something here for him. Could Jon Jae be on the prowl already? Fighting to contain his deepening suspicions, he gathered up the things from the counter. "Thanks Sam. Put it on my tab?"
"No problem, Douglas my boy. Go home and cheer her up, will you?"
"I'll do my best."
He quickly went to the car and got everything inside. He closed the car door and then cautiously opened the bag, just in case. Michael pulled out three tubes of pigment and then two candy bars. With a puzzled expression, he held them up to light. One was a package of Reese's Pieces and the other was a Kit Kat. He was still on edge from Operations' comment and the way the mission had gone. A thought that brought instant guilt with it rose up. Had she done this to make him laugh a little? In hopes that he would relax a little?
Then Sam's words came to mind...young and very red hair. He did start to laugh. Jerrod had delivered the bag. Claude was good. With a smile on his face, he put the candy back in the bag and got in the car, turning the key in the ignition. Hopefully Nikita was at the cabin and still awake when he got there.
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Nikita watched the suds slowly swirl down the drain. She wasn't sure what that thing in the refrigerator had been but the odor had been terrible. Hopefully with the cleaning she gave it and the two boxes of baking soda, it would be fairly gone by morning. Wiping her hands dry, she wandered aimlessly into the dining room. The sun had set several hours ago and the cabin was finally starting to cool off. The crickets and other clickers were going to town. And every once in a while she could hear a bullfrog. From the loudness of his croak, he had to be the size of an elephant.
Stretching, she rubbed her neck and then her lower back. Residual soreness still held on but Christine assured her it would soon go away. Thinking about her back only reminded her of how it had got hurt. She made a face as she thought about the whole sordid mess. "Greg, there's no way to say how I regret what happened. We all got caught in it. I hope you and Margeaux found each other."
Focusing on the ceiling for a moment, she forced the threat of tears back. No more tears, Nikita! All the reasoning and explanations that Operations and Madeline had given them for the situation did nothing to make up for the hell they had been put through. Nikita doubt it would ever make sense. There were so many loose ends and .....
OK, so the ultimate aim was to protect Reese, that was acceptable. But why had it been so complex? Grabbing Reese and Greg then going from there would have been so much better. So much less damage. It bothered her a lot. Why couldn't they have been up front about it? There was no defense for the lies and half truths. No reason for the deaths and pain involved either. Yes, George had sold out and yes, he released a nightmare on Michael and recreated one for her. But why couldn't they have just warned the both of them? The secrets had almost been their deaths and just about for Operations and Madeline too.
Michael had told her about what had been running through his head as he held the gun on Operations. The pain, the anguish, the memories. The fight against pulling the trigger and ending everything. Things had been so chaotic that he had practically disassociated himself with what was happening. ....like I was watching someone else and I was rooting for him.
The next several weeks had been hard. He slept little, dreams punished him relentlessly. Christine prescribed sleeping pills. He'd thrown them down the drain, refusing to use a crutch. He would spend hours at the table upstairs, drawing and then crumbling it in his hands. The crushed ball of paper dropped to the floor to join others all ready there.
The old Michael was present at Section. Cold, hard and aloof; it was as if nothing had happened to them at all. He had fragmented himself again. There was one Michael at Section One. The one that everyone knew and was adjusted to. For them, seeing the emotion gone from him was a signal that things were back to normal. Section One was intact again and running as it should. Standbys brought back the marathon workouts. He didn't want to take the chance of sleeping there because of the dreams. Everyone would know how troubled he was.
The other side he kept shut off until he was on the outside. That was where the man who felt was able to breathe again. Where he laughed, smiled, screamed, yelled and even cried. She had seen him do all of that in the past month and accepted each scene as it played itself out. A rueful smile curved her lips. They were just about living together at this point. She hadn't been to her apartment in three weeks.
"But is this home? Or am I kidding myself? This isn't going to last. It happened too fast." Fixing the doily on the dining room table, she looked at the two doors that lead off to the side. For the amount of time she spent here recently, she really hadn't explored much. Well she had the time now. Lord knew when he would come through the door or even if it would be tonight. The thought of being alone upstairs wasn't very appealing. It wasn't much better down here. But at least the door was closer. That way.... Cut it out now!!! You're acting like a teenager again!! Afraid of her own shadow!! You're stronger and smarter than that!!!
Going into the one on the left, she found it nearly empty. The pool table laid in a heap to one side, it still needed to be repaired. Besides the broken legs, she could see the large fold in the felt on the top. Evidently the slate was cracked too. They'd have to get a new one. There was also a box of books, skimming them revealed titles on art, theory and psychology. Nothing that sparked her interest. The only other thing in the room was an old tattered chair that matched the overstuffed couch in the library. The chair belonged in the trash but as she had observed about Michael before he had hard time letting go. Maybe the chair meant something to him.
The other room was equally empty. This one held some boxes and two trunks. Curious she started to look around in the boxes. They held shoes, clothes, books and photos. As she turned over a frame, she found Simone looking up at her. Her chin propped on her hand. Something about the picture seemed familiar but then she dismissed it. It was just the trapped look in the eyes maybe. Something they all wound up....
Feeling like an intruder, she put things back in the box and closed it up. All of these probably held things that had belonged to Simone. On impulse she opened one of the trunks and pulled out a vividly colored bedspread. It had been the one on her bed in the apartment before that thing with Chaz. So everything wasn't Simone in here, peeking in the other trunk confirmed it. There were some sunglasses, that stupid fish thing, a blue glass vase, the art deco candle holder with its blue green candle. She pulled out the candle, inhaling the spicy scent of it, moving some of the clothing that covered the breakable items.
Reaching in she pulled out a small wooden box. It used to sit on the top of her dresser in the apartment before she went away. That day Jurgen had brought her back to her apartment, it had been empty. She had assumed that everything had just been tossed. That had been the only thing she really missed. Not that the box had anything expensive in it but even so she carefully opened it. A piece of newspaper, just beginning to yellow, laid folded inside. It was of a teenage girl, her arm slung around the neck of another.
She appeared to be about 16 or 17, her smile wide and bright. Her hair was light, blonde perhaps but the newsprint only made one guess, was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a short skirt and white tank top with a large shield design on it. It was split in half with the top figure too blurry to distinguish and the bottom resembling a goose. The word 'achieve' was a banner that ran along the bottom. Both girls held up tennis rackets in victory. The caption underneath read, "Applecross Senior High School juniors Mara Rowen (l.) and Lisa Maples (r.) celebrate after they win a marathon tennis match with their arch rivals Peggy Gage and Leigh Sisson from South Fremantle Senior High School in this afternoon's state tourney."
Nikita traced a fingertip across the face of the girl on the left. "You were so happy then Momma. What went so horribly wrong that lead to the life I remember? What took that smile I always wanted to see?" With a sad frown, she folded it back cautiously and placed it back inside the box and then put it back amongst the things in the trunk. Sighing, Nikita leaned back on her heels, gazing into it.
Yes, a large number of things had been thrown away, but not all. Michael had obviously gone through the place, taking things he felt meant something to her or at least to him. Slowly she closed them both up, the trunks held the past. And that was something she didn't want to think about. So much of it had a nightmare quality to it that it was probably better to just let the memories die of neglect. All it did was make the empty feeling more pronounced.
With that decision in mind plus a frown and a yawn, Nikita slumped up the staircase and gazed around the studio and the bedroom. It was impossible to get rid of the empty feeling which had a frame of real unease around it. Michael kept trying to convince her that they were fine. That Claude had them safe and sound and when he felt it was ok, he would contact them. He seemed so sure of it but she wasn't. She had caught that smile on Madeline's face just before....
Shaking off the dark thoughts, she dragged her feet over to the table Michael had his sketches scattered on. Curious as to what he had been working on, she leafed through them. There were a lot of new ones. Most were of a man and a woman but they were unfinished. There was a start of a body, a head shape and some hair but no faces. Nikita could make out the marks on the paper from being erased many times. There were three or four of the cottage in the forest when he had confronted L' Araigne. It wasn't the deteriorated shell she remembered but a cottage reminiscent of a scene from one of those English countryside calendars.
In the pile she found several that had heavy black slashes drawn on them. These had partial facial features but still no full faces. "Who are you trying to draw?" She set then down and picked up another set. Nothing new in any of them, except the last one which made her breath catch in her throat. It was one of Katie with Reese in her lap. Katie's chin was braced on top of Reese's head and she had her arms wrapped around him. Reese was in the position to clap and both had big smiles. He'd done it with colors and obviously from memory. They had no photos of either of them. But there was such detail to the drawing....
There was a noise from downstairs and Nikita was instantly alert. Without a sound, she was at the nightstand and opening the drawer. Carefully, she pulled out the gun and moved still silent to the top of the steps. "Kita?" she exhaled deeply. It was Michael. "Are you still up?"
"Coming" she answered back. Putting the gun back, she headed to the back of the studio to the kitchen stairs. As she entered the kitchen, he was pulling stuff out of a plastic bag and drinking from a foam cup at the same time. "You stopped at Sam's place."
Michael nodded. "Yes, he had a present for you."
"Oh?" Nikita started opening the packages to see what he had gotten. She started picking at one.
"Crab, thank you. What's the present?"
"Thank Sam, he made the choices. I told him you would be mad at me because I broke the dinner date."
She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's nothing new." She looked up at him and saw a bit of hurt in his eyes. "I didn't mean that against you. It's just the way things are. Can't be helped.....oh my tea! Is this my present?"
"Part of it. Open the brown bag." He took a bite of his sandwich. Curious she looked at what he had in his hand. "You've got your own." he said as he pointed to hers which laid open on the island.
"Just wanted to see what you had. Yuck, anyway. How can you eat that? Everything else is health and fitness central but that."
"Open the bag and leave my ...."
"Olive loaf, Swiss cheese and onion on pumpernickel....if you were a woman somebody would think you were pregnant." With a roll of her eyes, she grabbed the bag but didn't stop talking. "Bologna with green olives in it on dried out brown bread. Yuck!!!" Then she pulled the candy out of the bag and held them up. "Candy bars?" With a shake of her head, she put them back down on the island and pulled her sandwich over, still picking at it. "So how did it go?"
With a sigh, Michael put down his sandwich and snatched up the candy up. Cupping one in each hand, he put them in front of her face. "Read these please."
"Geesh, Michael," she said with a whine and then start to rattle the names of quickly and then as their names sunk in, repeating them more slowly. " Kit Kat... and... Ree...se's .....Michael why did you bring these home?" She looked at him with wide eyes as a tremor ran down her spine.
He had seen the tremor and was hoping that soon he'd see a smile. "A 'young courier from the museum with very red hair' brought them over yesterday to Sam's. He said I left them at Monet's La Femme avec L'Ombrelle. You know I wasn't there. We were in Mainz. Besides who else but Claude would know one to mention that painting or two leave something with Sam."
"How would he know about Sam's?"
"Because I told him how Sam is the only one who never makes a face about my sandwich choice. Even Annie makes a face when I mention them. And she likes head cheese!"
"Stop before my stomach ends up in the bathroom. OK, why Sam's and why these? And why that painting in particular?"
"The painting is because I told him when I first start admitting to myself that way I was feeling about you was sitting in front of that. Sam's one place he knew we would end up at sooner or later. Why the candy bars? You told me she called him 'Pieces'. And Kit Kat has parts of both your names in it. Make any sense to you? We're the only ones who know about her nickname for him......it's convoluted and sketchy but...."
With shaky fingers, Nikita careful opened the wrapper on the candy bar. There was nothing on the wrapper. Then she opened the foil. Inside was thin flimsy paper with writing on it. It was folded around a piece of Styrofoam. A triumphant smile started to form on her lips. Carefully she unfolded the material and smoothed it on the island. Then she began to softly read.
"Dear Mommy and Daddy ;
I hope Michael doesn't mind me calling him that. Did you like my idea? Uncle Claude says I'm smart like you are, mommy. We are all good. Reese asks for mama and dada a lot. I tell him soon. I miss you both. I am mad at Uncle Claude for not letting me go with you but I know why. I don't like it and I never will. But I am a big girl and I have to take care of Reese. Especially since he is my little brother now. I wish you were both here. Is Dreamer ok? Uncle Claude said I had to leave her behind with Reese's teddy bear. We got him a new one but he throws it on the floor all the time. I guess he only likes the one from you daddy. Believe it or not he knows some new words and is getting a tooth. He calls me Kay. He showed me superdude the other day. It was so funny. He thinks it is too. This place is ok. Aunt Annie just said I can't say where. She says soon mommy and daddy. I hope so. Me and pieces miss you a lot. We make sure we sent you both a hug and kiss at night. I love you and so does Reese
a bizillion hugs and kisses ...Katie
Nikita let out a scream and did a little dance then looked at Michael. He was watching her with unreadable expression. "What?" she asked breathlessly.
"Do you feel happier now?" Seeing her smile made him feel better. The light he had grown accustomed to seeing in her eyes had been so dim. Dim enough that he feared it was ready to disappear all together. It had brighten measurably.
She was immediately suspicious of the letter and his question. Is he playing me for a fool? Is this all faked? As soon as she gave credence to the words in her head she felt like kicking herself. Michael wouldn't do that. He missed them as much as she did. He didn't have it in him to be that cruel. "Yes....Claude's a good friend. Where did you find one like him?"
"I didn't kill him like I was suppose to." Michael's mood was soured by her question and that fleeting look he'd seen in her eyes. It had signaled an instant of doubt and mistrust before she had suppressed it. Guilty feelings hovered for his own moment of doubt. Now she had given the same back to him. He gathered up his meal and dumped it in the trash then stalked out of the kitchen.
Nikita closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face. He covered very well with everyone else but he didn't have it all together. Doubts were beginning to form that he ever would. Regrets were still shredding him into bits. That and not knowing about the children. It hurt more than either of them had the courage to admit to. The idea that he had been able to see the fleeting doubt in her eyes worried her too. It should have never been there. She dumped her own food into the trash, appetite gone and followed him. He was already upstairs and laying on the bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." His answer was short and sharp. With a sigh, she walked over to his table and sat down on the stool again. She moved side to side as she watched him on the bed.
"I found the drawing you made of them."
"Fine."
"I love it."
"Thank you." He could hear her moving papers around.
"I found some other ones too. They're not done though."
Michael moved his arm and looked over in her direction. He saw the unfinished drawings in her hands and swung himself off the bed. Going over to her, he pulled them from her fingers and ripped them in half. "They're just trash." He walked across the room and dropped them in waste can. He started to pull off his jacket as she spoke.
"Who were the people in those drawings? They weren't us. Are they your parents?" She watched as Michael crossed the room and sat back down on the bed, pulling off his boots and tossing them over by the dresser. They landed with a thump. Still silent, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on top of his jacket. "Michael, I asked you something."
His answer was the slamming of the bathroom door and then she heard the shower start. "Damn you," she whispered softly and got off the stool. Crouching down by the can, she pulled the papers back out and studied them more closely. The ones without faces were the ones she looked at carefully. The male figure reminded her of no one but the female did. He had the shape of the hair done as if it was his mother or so it seemed. In the picture that L' Araigne had shoved in his face, she had worn her hair like that, right?
In the bathroom, Michael let the steaming water cascade over his bowed head. Thoughts swirled around his mind. How could he explain those pictures to her when he couldn't explain them to himself? How could something that was complete in your dreams and you could say yes that is the person when you saw the photograph be so hard to draw or to picture in your mind?
He had been able to do the drawing of Reese and Katie without any difficulty at all. It helped to make him feel like they were still close to him. Simone and Merle would have been harder. They hurt to draw, that's why he didn't do them anymore. Nikita was when he was troubled, usually it helped. Lately it hadn't and he couldn't find a solution to it either.
A bit of him didn't like her looking through the pictures but he had left them laying out . Besides this was becoming her home too and ...... He lifted his head to let the water hit him in the face. It felt weird to think that but the way she had phrased the question about the candy bars had felt good.. For all intensive purposes she was living here. They were sharing a life together. But the only things that said she was here were the CDs, she had asked to change nothing. Her clothes were on a small shelf in the linen closet, what few there were. It was as if by leaving only a few things here, she could leave quickly if she had to..... Sam was right it was time and it was what he wanted to have happen too. But things were not that simple or easily accomplished.
Annoyed, he slapped off the water and grabbed a towel. Things that felt right at one moment seemed askew the next. It made him jumpy and frustrated. The day's activities hadn't helped either. Not that the new members of his team were new operatives but they weren't his operatives. He hadn't trained them himself or overseen their training. He didn't feel the connection as he did with the team before. He had seen the doubt in Pollins' and Billie's eyes too. He had trouble leading the mission. His ability had been questioned. Michael had forgotten how that felt.
When he opened the door he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, the torn papers on the mattress beside her. He picked them up and sat down in their spot. Looking down on them, he tried hard to picture Mama and Papa in his head but he couldn't. They had bodies, he could even hear their voices and recall his mother's perfume. But he could not see their faces of his own volition.
Nikita could see by the tautness on the side of his jaw, he was holding in something. "If you want me to back off, I will. If you want me to leave, I'll do that too."
"No I don't want you to leave." He brought his eyes up to hers and his knuckle to her cheek. "I want you here." He got up and put the papers back in the waste basket. "The answer to your earlier question is yes. Yes, I am trying to draw my parents and I can't. I can't see them and I can't draw them."
"I don't understand. You know what they looked like, you recognized your mother in that picture. You can describe them, what do you mean you can't see or draw them?"
"It's hard to explain. Yes I can recognize a picture of one of them. Yes I can verbally describe them. But that's because of what she told me, what she showed me. I'm repeating what I've seen and what I've been told. That's it, like a parrot that can talk. It can't understand what it's saying but it does it anyway depending on the stimulus it gets. Just like it, I can't do it on my own."
He was starting to pace, getting more restless or agitated, Nikita wasn't sure. She opened her mouth to make a comment but held back as he continued to talk. "God! Kita, I dream about them. I see them in life like detail. I can even smell my mother's perfume. But I sit down and start to sketch....their faces are a blank. I can't do it. I try to picture them in my mind, I can't do that either! There is a block in my head I can't get around. The day she broke me, I described the both of them....eyes, hair, height, structure of their features. I could see them in my head....I could have drawn them. But since that day I can't. Maybe it's a matter of forgiveness, like you have told me so many times. Not only by them but of myself. There's a lot from then I don't know. It's there, others can get it out but I can't. And if that's the case I don't want to know it. I can recall the beginning and the end of so many things that happened to me but the middles are blank. Just like their faces"
"Have you talked to Madeline about this?"
He rapidly shook his head. "No and I won't anymore either. It has too much use for them. Just something else to put in the arsenal. Right along with you, the rest of the past and now the children. I have this fear that the day I can, I will finally fall into that black pit I always seem to teeter on the edge of."
"I won't let that happen."
"You may not be able to stop it or it could pull you in too. It's already tried. You've got some of it on you just like I do...." Nikita watched as he took control of himself and pushed his thoughts in another direction. She breathed a little easier, he worried her when he talked like that. Michael came closer and it forced her to look up at him. "You thought that I made those up at first, didn't you?" He had changed the subject but she wasn't anymore comfortable with this subject.
Nikita brought her eyes down to her fingers as she laced them together. She didn't want to admit to those thoughts which had no right to having been called into being. Lie or tell the truth. There had been enough lies. That was what had gotten them here. She nodded.
"I thought so. It hurts to know it but I also understand it. I can't blame you. Because at first I thought you might have done it. It was only for an instant." He reached out and ran a hand lightly through her hair. Soft but strong just like she is.
"Are we ever going to get beyond that instant reaction to mistrust?"
Inhaling deeply, he said softly, "Someday I hope." He closed his eyes, the urge to keep them open was weak. Exhaustion had begun to weigh heavily on him. Sleep refused to come easily and when it did come it was not restful. If the darkness that he saw when he first closed his eyes would just stay complete, even for just a few hours of peace.
Looking up at him to see why he had gotten so quiet, she saw him sway on his feet. Deep dark smudges were under his eyes and his face was drawn and pale. Touching his hand, she moved backwards onto the bed and laid down. His eyes snapped open in response to her touch. "What?"
Nikita patted his pillow. "Your head, here.... now." Without protest, he dropped down beside her on his back, staring at the ceiling. "You have to close your eyes to sleep."
"I don't want to see what's there."
"Shhhhh....close your eyes. I'll be right here." Leaning over she gave him a kiss, first on the mouth and then on his temple. She moved so she was a little higher up than he was on the pillows. Propping herself up with her elbow, she started to stroke his hair. Slowly his eyes closed again and he moaned softly. "I'll be right here, I'll keep the dreams away" she whispered faintly.
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Chapter 2
"Nik, you should have told me."
"No, you're not real. You're a dream. You don't know where I am." Scrambling from her small bed, she glanced around, noticing for the first time how really small her quarters at Section were. Pointing a finger at Taylor in warning, Nikita tried to figure out how to get to the door.
"I looked for you and I looked for her too. I just wanted my daughter, Nik. Why did you let them take her? They'll make her just like you. Do you want her to be like you? Tell me where she is. You don't deserve her. You left her with strangers. Do you want her to have your life?" She backed away as he came closer. He took up so much space, she couldn't see around him to get away. "Remember how I used to tell you how pretty you were. I bet she is too. I bet she looks just like you. You don't want her to be like you, do you? Selling yourself out for them....like a who..."
"I'll hurt you. I can protect myself now. I'm stronger than you are. I can kill you." Grinding the words out made them sound better. Maybe they would scare him.
The laugh pulled up a scream that she forced down. He would laugh in her ear like that....No that was over. The hand coming towards her formed a fist. "Kill me? Try it, you little bitch and you'll regret it. I'll tell everybody how it was your idea. You got me high and drunk and then just reeled me in."
Shaking her head vigorously, she hit her back against the wall. There was no room to move.
"No... lies...it was you....you did that to me...I said no....no so many times...."
Fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her head towards the bed. Another hand locked around her wrist and shoved her arm behind her back. "Doesn't count after you say yes, slut." she hit the mattress too fast. Only thing left to do was scream and struggle....
The scream brought Michael to heart racing reality. Everything had been black and he had been trying to find his way out of it. Then the scream had torn him away from it. He had almost been out of bed before he realized she was the one who had screamed. Nikita laid on her back, one arm clawing at the empty air and the rest of her body tangled in the covers. Tears were coming out from under her tightly closed eyes and her hair hung damply around her face.
"NO!.... STOP!....NOOO!!!" The last no ended with the same scream that had woken him up. With his heart still racing, he yanked at the covers and wrested them from around her. Once he got them off of her, she stopped struggling and rolled to her side, facing him. Whimpers were accompanied by her drawing her knees up close to her, almost as if she was trying to roll herself up into a ball. "No, please don't."
Michael leaned closer, reaching out to touch her cheek with the knuckles on his hand. "Kita? It is only a dream. Wake up. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you." His touch jerked her awake.
Her hand came up to claw at Taylor's face only to see Michael's concerned eyes as her fingers started to dig into the side of his face. Nikita dropped her hand backwards unto the pillow. "Oh God..." she moaned as she buried her face into the mattress.
Gently lifting the hair that fell forward over her face, he exposed the tears that were streaming down. He tucked some strands behind her ear and smoothed the rest down with his hand. "Are you ok? Do you want me to do something?"
In a muffled whisper he heard, "He was at Section, he was in my quarters. I couldn't get away. He wanted Katie. Didn't want her to be like me....said I let them take her away... left her with strangers." Can't tell him the rest.
He watched as her hand closed into a fist and started to hit the mattress. Michael had a good idea of what the rest of the dream was about. It just wasn't about Katie. Not with a scream like that. Wrapping a hand around her fist, he tried to stop her fist from striking the bed. "Kita, it's alright. It wasn't your fault." The wildly angry and hard shove she gave him almost knocked him off the edge of the bed. She crawled off the bed and staggered into the center of the room.
"How do you know? Were you there? NO! No one was there! Just like always I WAS ALONE!!! I had to deal with things on my own. JUST LIKE I ALWAYS DO!!" She paced in a circle, hands curling in her hair.
Slowly Michael stood up from the bed. He was confused over the way she was venting on him. Somehow he was getting blamed for what was going on. "Nikita, where is this coming from? Can you just calm down a little? I'm a little..."
"CALM DOWN??!! YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN!!!??? How the hell am I suppose to do that when I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE HELL MY CHILDREN ARE??!!! And it's all your fault." She hissed the last few words at him.
"Wait a minute." Michael's hands came up in a defensive gesture. He kept his voice calm and even. "Stand still for a minute. I want you to stop and think for a moment before you say anything else."
"You want me to do this. You want me to do that. You want to take them to Claude's and now I don't know where they are. I'm never going to see them again. If you could have just left well enough alone. They would have never known. If you had just not had to be such a pig headed bastard about the whole thing.....They would be WITH US!!! Not God knows where!!! You just couldn't let things be!!"
With a sigh Michael sat down on the bed. He wove his fingers together and watched them as he decided what to say. With a tired tone he replied, "So you would prefer to be running with them to the proverbial 'God knows where' I take it?"
"Yes because I would know where they were. I would be with them."
He looked up at the woman who paced the floor like a lioness in a cage. She was feeling trapped and powerless. He was feeling the same thing and didn't know quite how to fix it for himself much less her. "What do you want me to do about it, Nikita? They would have hunted us down like we were a pack of wolves at a sheep ranch. We are more a danger to Katie and Reese being with them than being apart from them and not knowing where they are."
"No, we belong with them. They need us."
"They NEED to be safe." Michael could feel his anger growing. There was no need for this argument. He'd only been sleeping. The best thing to do had been done. There was nothing else that could be worked out. They would have to wait for the future to see where to go next.
Nikita felt ready to explode. Not only was he being too damn calm about it all but her head was telling her he was absolutely right. There was no other choice that could have been made. Her heart on the other hand was in agony. The dream of Taylor was only a manifestation of the guilt and fear. At least that was what her logic was telling her. Her emotions were another story. And they won out...
"WHERE DO YOU GET THIS DUDLEY DO-RIGHT COMPLEX FROM?????!!!!"
He had started to lowered his head back down but her comment snapped it back up. His first reaction was to laugh. The image was not as she had intended it but he couldn't help the thought. As soon as he laughed he knew he had done the wrong thing. Her face darkened and a look of hurt flew across her eyes. She headed down the stairs. "Kita, wait. Let me explain."
She grabbed her keys off the computer as she stalked by. "No need. Since I'm a joke."
He made a grab for her at the front door as she slammed it open. "Nikita wait, the damn alarm system...wait." The buzz started. "Merde! KITA!!!" He heard the car start and was half way out the door when he heard his cell phone. With a sigh of total exasperation, he turned and snatched the phone off the dining room table. "Yes?" he tried to keep the tone of annoyance of his voice but he wasn't successful.
"Louis?"
Recognizing Walter's voice, he forced the annoyance down. Walter would not hesitate to ask questions. "Yes."
"There was a call. Does it need to be answered?" Worry was evident in Walter's voice.
"No."
"You two are ok?"
Michael looked up to the ceiling as he ground his teeth together. They were everywhere and they knew everything. There was no way this was ever going to end. "Fine. Goodbye." He tossed the phone down on the coffee table as he walked by. Dawn was breaking over the other end of the lake. Might as well take a shower and start the day. He started up the staircase, the palm of one hand striking the flat metal railing in anger.
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"So you feel he is having a problem?" Operations shifted in his chair as he took a drink from his coffee cup. He inclined his head to the side as he considered Madeline's question.
"I'm not sure if it can be considered a problem per se. He is unsettled and unsure. He is not pleased with the team. It is unusual for him to be so vocal about it. Perhaps we should have left things intact for a while?" He put down the mug and started to pick up a PDA. With a sigh he put it back down. "No answer?"
"Impatient....I was just about to answer. Right now he is settling into almost a new environment. No, we were not too early on the team restructure. It is a challenge....can he make them work as well with him even though he didn't train them or select them. His support system is gone. No that's the wrong word for it. He had achieved a supreme balance between complete obedience and autonomy in his team by precise selection and training. We've taken the selection condition away. Now he has to rely on and mold what comes from others. I want him to create a new one in the mold of the old." She turned her head to read something on the computer monitor.
"He told me to siphon to Simon for the time being."
She considered for a moment. If dynamics changed it would make things harder to work on.
"Some but not much. Will we be using Nikita on Kassov?"
"Yes, I want to see what she does with it. Even though his pipeline is a moderate one, jamming it up should trigger a backwash onto several others that we've been watching. Maybe even pull some others in. The amount of money that these groups have at their disposal is staggering. If they continue to link up as we have been seeing, I see grave consequences for holdings in the Balkans. Too many of the officials there are reluctant to work with us. All they see is the money and how they can benefit from it, not the damage that is inflicted as that money is created."
"When do you plan to move on it?"
"Within the next few days I had hoped. Do you have other plans?"
"I want to start some work with her. It can wait. There is nothing pressing about it."
"Are you still concerned with her actions with Greg Linsdon?"
Madeline paused again before answering. She had not been pleased with the actions Nikita had taken. At first she had assumed that it was a blatant attempt at 'faithfulness' in regards to her relationship with Michael. But that had been a knee-jerk reaction. This went deeper and it had been exacerbated by the incident with Bauer. The main component was Taylor Foller, the father of Katrina, Nikita's 'deceased' daughter. It needed to be dealt with, there were things to be learned from it.
Michael's succinct mention of Nikita's condition when he had met her at the cabin during his tension filled debrief pricked at her. Put inelegantly, Nikita had freaked. She knew little of the details that made up the girl's past, almost nothing of the time spent in the foster home, especially after leaving Australia. Details were what she was interested in obtaining now. She needed to know more on what made Nikita tick. As yet, she was proving to be as elusive as Michael. Revelation was necessary however, the details were becoming important. Nikita had developed so nicely under Michael's eye that Madeline had let the details slip. Now they were a complication.
Perhaps some of the methods she had used with him would garner her the same results with Nikita. There was also the plan she was holding in reserve. And there was still the issue of the child, was she or wasn't she. All research led them to say that she was dead. But it stuck inside Madeline's head. There were traces of work on the files regarding the girl, deliberate dead ends. Things had been heard and things had slipped out. Operations himself had said that when Nikita attacked CC, she had screamed 'children' at her. In light of the boys who had been with Claude, they could have made up that plurality but she doubted it. No, they were both lying to her. And she refused to have lies undermining the running of Section, even if their own methods meant the use of them constantly.
"Madeline?"
Pulled from her thoughts, she focused a smile on Operations. "Yes?"
"I asked you something. Do you need me to repeat it?"
Taking a swallow of juice, she shook her head. "No, I heard you. Just was sorting some thoughts on the matter. There are things beyond the actions with the late Mr. Linsdon. Things that pertain to not only them together but on an individual basis as well. There have been some deceptions going on and I don't like them. I intend to get to the truth."
A wicked smile curved Operations' lips. "And those deceptions would be?" Coolly Madeline appraised him and watched as his smile slowly dissolved. "I would take it then that I am included in this search you are about to embark on?"
"Very perceptive. I have restrained myself since the circumstances arose here recently with George and Michael. I perhaps should have approached you immediately following the debrief I held with Michael and Nikita after they returned from Claude's. I have questions and I would expect to receive from you the most honest answers you have. Not what you are willing to admit to but what is the truth."
Operations pushed the rest of his breakfast plate away from him as well as closing down his terminal. Leaning back in his seat, he studied her. "Extremely formal diction, Madeline. Should I see this as an official interrogation?"
Folding her hands in her lap as she pushed away her own plate, she glanced at her terminal for an instant and then brought her eyes to focus on Operations. "If you feel that sanctioning this as an official interrogation is the only way for you to give me an honest answer, then yes, it is."
He couldn't help keeping the hardness out of his voice. Operations was still feeling a heavy burden of guilt for what had recently happened. He was not proud of his actions and necessarily pleased with their outcome. Yes, the job had been completed but he felt no satisfaction or sense of accomplishment.
Those involved had suffered losses and were still in a form of grieving. Michael had retreated into his Section shell again and the belligerent, rude side of Nikita was back. Simon and Christine were also strangely withdrawn and hesitant around each other and their colleagues. They had lost good people in this. Valuable members of the best team they had were dead, most notably Mullin who somehow George had gotten to and seduced to his side.
The relationship he had been trying to reforge with Madeline had also been deeply rent. For the first time he was understanding some of the pain he had inflicted on those around him. "How long are we going to keep the tip of the sword blade at each other's throats this time?"
Inclining her head, all traces of a convivial tone were gone. Her voice was edged with sharp bitterness. "Maybe when I feel I can trust you again. Hiding a child is small compared to what you've kept from me. Small compared to the gashes you put in the fabric of this place. A cold wind is blowing in through them and I don't like the chill."
"The chill is coming from you and Michael. The wind is coming from Nikita."
"Can you blame any of us?"
Operations stood, feeling personally attacked. He had admitted to make the wrong choices, at least to himself. However, he was not one to tell others, especially Madeline, of his guilty feelings. "I did what gave Section One and what it stands for the greatest chance of survival. If I had to do it again I would."
"I'm glad to hear it because I would follow basically the same course as well, except I would have pulled the three of them out of it a lot sooner. In fact, other profiles could have been utilized. We should have gone in, retrieved Linsdon and the baby, then brought him here for development. Not allow an innocent man to die alone and betrayed. And our best people caught with nooses around their necks."
"He was acceptable collateral under the circumstances."
Madeline stood. Her eyes icy as well as her tone. "And I suppose next to Martina's name I should also place the label of 'acceptable collateral'? If we had lost Michael, Nikita and the baby would that have been their final designation? What about Simon, Christine, Claude, the rest of his family? Me? How many of us fall under your flag of 'acceptable collateral'? Do you have the courage to include yourself in that category?"
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Operations glared at her. "Sometimes things have to happen to make continued existence for the greatest number happen."
"This happened over protecting one small child!" she asserted. She was getting angrier as she listened to him. What gave him the right? Some anger was growing for Michael and Nikita too. What gave them the right to aspire to a life and family outside of Section? They needed to give up that dream just as surely as she had done.
"Then you obviously don't have all the facts."
"Obviously because you seem to think you are the only one fit to possess them."
"I feel this whole thing is because you are feeling jealous over my protection of Martina's child. It had to been done." The room rang with silence for several moments before he spoke again. "If it had been your child, I would have done the same."
Madeline had been looking at the floor but her head snapped up. My child.... "Why is Reese so important to you?"
"Pull it out of the personal Madeline! This didn't concern me. So much for an official interrogation, this is turning into more of a Madeline hissy fit!!"
"Do you want me to get official with you again?"
"Don't threaten me!"
"Then answer my question! How was this mess going to make 'continued existence for the greatest number' happen? All I see is your continued allegiance to a relationship that died a long time before you even tried to let it go. But like you said I'll back off of the personal. That doesn't matter anymore between us. The past is over and it is done. I work with the present to insure the future. And damn it, Oscar, I want an explanation! Now!"
"Because as she did to Nikita, she made Reese a walking death sentence for us all. She implanted a microchip in her own child. He has the damn directory!"
"Then I'll deal with it. As it should have been dealt with in the first place." She started to leave the room but paused as Operations started to speak.
"What are you planning to do?"
"Get rid of the problem." And with that she left Operations in troubled solitude.
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"All right.... will you just let go! Geesh!" Birkoff pulled the collar of his shirt loose again from his throat. To say Nikita was in a bad mood was not an accurate description of the woman who stood in front of him. As he looked at her, all he could see in her eyes was cold hard anger. She had dragged him away from breakfast and a great run on his new game to the SIM room.
Nikita slapped a hand down on the console. "Unlock the test SIMs. I want them active."
Birkoff looked over the daily run listing. She had cleared every level at least twice from 10 up to 14. 13 and 14 weren't great, however she passed. Heck unless completely on his game, Michael never scored perfect on them either just consistently very high. 15 was shaky, only a percent above passing and she had tried it just once. He shook his head. "No, Michael wants them locked down. He hasn't worked them out all the way yet. He doesn't want anyone else to use them until he does."
"Too bad. I said unlock them." She stepped closer, trying to intimidate him. She was not in the mood for being told no again or not being taken seriously. She had been unable to shake the restless risky mood that had hit her. It had gotten to the point where Nikita felt completely powerless over the course of her life. If she could have some of power here, then it meant she still had a chance. If she failed then there was no sense in trying anymore. She thought of Katie and Reese somewhere in the outside world. They had gotten no choice at all, neither had she. No consideration was given to their hopes or dreams. It agonized her to think about it.
"No. I was told not to. They're under his control. Michael said no access. He outranks you and me." Birkoff swallow passed the lump that started as she pushed him back against the console.
"Is he here?"
"No..."
"I am, I outrank you in the field. I consider this a field training exercise and I expect you to do as I ask. Do you understand me?"
He started to shake his head again when she reached up with one hand and took off his glasses. Her other hand gathered up the material of the front of his t-shirt. He bit his lip, trying to decide what was going to hurt more. Michael's dressing down and possible report or Nikita's punch, at least that was what he thought she was going to do. "I don't..." He stopped as he saw the other hand coming up. He didn't even want to see whether it was a fist or not. "ALL RIGHT! STOP!"
Letting go of his shirt, she watched him turn and furiously input commands. It almost brought a smile to her face. She hadn't really been ready to hit him. But the threat of it had worked perfectly. "Thank you. I appreciate your assistance."
Birkoff scowled at her as he slipped out from between her and the console. "Yeah babe just be around to haul my ass out of Michael's firing range."
"No problem. I'm not scared of him." She grabbed the laser and goggles off the chair and flashed him a grim smile. "Why? Are you?"
"Yeah, I learned my lesson a long time ago." As he hurried out the door, he heard her disgusted snort.
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"And I can see that the man never has learned how to relax." Operations looked over from the screen in front of him to see where the voice was coming from. He recognized it. The boy as he had been, now a man, sounded very much as his father had. The differences between the two though were vast.
The man leaning nonchalantly against the entrance to Operations' loft appeared to be about the same age as Michael though he was actually a few years younger. Their builds were similar to. Speed and strength where you normally would not think to find it. His healthy complexion had not changed in the past 15 years though. And still served as a perfect offset to his dark hazel green eyes and wavy light brown hair. The boyishness he had at 16 was fairly tempered though. Replaced by wrinkles of reality around the eyes and mouth, the military look of his bearing and the hinted at strength that his body alluded at a quick study.
He might have been leaning there looking completely at ease but like a sunbathing snake, looks were extremely deceiving. The thick wavy hair bore the finding of experience too. Though it was finally regaining length after an obvious 'buzz cut', the strands of gray were evident, especially at the temples. The sparkle still shone in the eyes though not as blinding as it used to be...
"Do the ladies still flock towards your spark, Doyle?"
A wide smile crossed the younger man's face. "Aye! And if they don't well gentleman Doyle does bring it right to their door free of charge. And I must admit it was the thing I missed the most." A slight Irish lilt hung in his voice. He started forward and Operations rose to meet him. They shook hands.
"It's good to see you looking so fit. The time seems to have been easy on you."
Doyle shrugged and flopped down into the chair at the side of the desk. "Not that 15 years in an Irish prison is the best way to spend time growing up but...I made the best use of it. Ready to get back into the thick of things though. It feels good to be back out. Thank you for the time to assimilate myself to the outside world again. I hear things have been very interesting around here."
He studied Operations as the man sat down and got comfortable. The hair had lost most of the dark brown he remembered from the short time he had interacted with him. He had learned a lot from the man the world had known as Oscar Wolfe. He was the whole reason Doyle was still alive. His father's dream of making himself the most feared name in the international community was dead. Doyle just wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Yes, the past 15 years undercover in the Maze had been like living a nightmare. He has cursed Oscar; no correction he was supposed to be called Operations, numerous times for his plight. But at night as he had lain on his cot and remembered the lives saved, it all had seemed right and necessary. Father would have been ashamed.
The time that had gone by however had been difficult as evidenced by the cloud he saw pass over Operations' face and the grim set the mouth took on. "Yes, things... especially lately... have been difficult. I've had to make some hard decisions that took more out of people than I had hoped. But there was no other way."
"Is..." Doyle started but was cut off by Michael's arrival.
"You wanted to..." Michael stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Doyle stand up from the chair. He took in the figure, reserving the snap judgement of 'problem' that he had. "I can see you're busy. I will come back." He started to turn away but Operations called him back.
"No, Michael, stay. I want you two to meet." He stood as Michael turned back. He watched as they slowly studied each other.
Doyle was struck immediately by the blank look both in Michael's eyes and the set of his face. The man carried himself in a way that said strength and command but with sharp edges that warned of a deadly side. He'd met many men in the prison with that same air and a look of defeated rebellion but never with that look of nothingness in the eyes. He felt the chill of detachment that came from Michael. Doyle could not pick up a hint of what Michael's first impression of him was. Usually he was able to tell but this man was like ice, hard and cold. He felt nothing but the chill...
What thaws you out though? You move like .... I don't know... dangerous... Like to try him in a fight....he would be one to fool you. Down but never out. Mainshter, I can even feel your self control from here. You are not a man to be trifled with are you, Michael?
The impression Doyle was making on Michael was not a light one either. He studied the figure that stood by Operations' desk for signs of trouble and of weakness. Notes that might be of use later. Doyle stood seemingly at ease but Michael could see that he was on alert, ready to defend if he had to. He looked like he would prove to be a good operative. Women would go for his looks. Men wouldn't look twice. he thought offhandedly. The look in the eyes bothered him. There was a light but also a darkness that said trouble. For him he was sure of it, but who else would that affect. This Doyle was one to be watched.
After a few seconds had passed, Operations decided he had allowed them enough time to study each other. It was time to introduce them. "Doyle this is Michael. He is the second in command, the highest level operative here and one of the few at his level with in the entire organization. Michael this is Doyle. He's been our plant at Maze prison in Belfast since the 1983 escape situation..... Rupert was his father."
Michael offered no reaction to the name even though Operations knew of their history. Rupert was the target of the last mission he worked as an underling on and with Jurgen. They had been detected and the result was heavy innocent losses. Through sheer skill and force of will Michael had extricated the majority of the team and Rupert. Jurgen had been sacrificed and taken by the local authorities.
He remembered him standing silently by as Rupert had been interrogated to no avail. Michael showed no thirst for revenge or retaliation against Rupert. Jurgen and Michael had been close, like brothers. As he compared it now, he thought they had worked together like he does now with Nikita. There had been a completion there. Michael and Simone had both tried to lead with in the same group. And that was not to say that Michael and Simon haven't worked well together but... Michael's handling of Rupert's cancellation had been swift and simple too. Madeline had immediately upgraded Michael's status at that point. He had advanced swiftly from there. Now Operations wondered how the son would feel about meeting the one who had been his father's demise.
With a hand extended, Doyle nodded at Michael. "Good to meet you, Michael." He had noticed a transient flick of something in the cold oddly colored green eyes that looked steadily to his own. Like he knows all about me and feels bad about it...
However, Michael did not offer to shake Doyle's hand. Impassively he said, "Doyle." His eyes glanced over to Operations. His tone was formal but flat. "Will there be anything else? I have a session scheduled in 20 minutes with my team."
Operations repressed his sudden desire to fling a comment in Michael's direction. He sensed the resentment and antagonism from him as if it was a physical object. And he knew Doyle sensed it too, he saw it in the way his eyes moved from Michael to him then back again. "No that will be all. But wait, one moment. I know you are without a second for your team. I would like you to use Doyle. I feel he'll fit into the scheme of things well."
A brief blink and a tightening of chest muscles that pulled at the material of his closed jacket were the only reaction to Operations' command. "Fine." Michael replied. He looked Doyle up and down again. "I knew your father. I'm sorry."
"I'm not. He was wrong. He deserved what he got. I've only tried to make up for it. I think I've done a good job but I'm not done yet." Doyle kept his tone even. Something about Michael irked him. Before he could fully examine it, he was gone. With troubled eyes, he turned to gaze at Operations. Suddenly it hit him, that flick had been regret in Michael's eyes and pity too. Pity for Doyle and who his father had been. He did have a good idea of what Doyle was about. "He did the work on my father, didn't he?"
Taken aback by the accuracy of his statement, Operations was still and quiet. Slowly he nodded. "Yes, but what prompted you to say that?"
"I felt his pity. It told me all I needed to know." There was a slight sharpness to Doyle's voice. Doyle looked back to where Michael had exited. He felt dislike beginning to form. He had never regretted his father's death. The man had earned it with his treachery but to meet the person who was responsible for it. It put a face to the blank picture in his head and renewed life to thoughts he had assumed long dead and gone. He didn't like Michael in the least. Doyle doubted he ever would.
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Birkoff stiffened and felt his pulse race faster as Michael approached ops. Knowing the mood Nikita had been in, he could only guess what Michael's was like. The two ebbed and flowed off like the beach and the sea.. A storm on one produced chaos on the other. He forced himself to breathe normally and act as calm as possible as he watched Michael out of the corner of his eye. Just a systems check, Seymour...that's it. He won't look at SIMS .....no reason to.
"Who's using SIMS so early, Birkoff?"
With a heart beating louder than the cannon in the 1812 Overture, he stood up suddenly, as if alarmed by something. Muttering under his breath for a second, he said a little bit stronger, "Don't remember."
Michael glanced up to see the back of Birkoff's head. The kid was definitely not in a good mood again. Mornings were becoming more and more not his time of day. Nikita was not really a morning person either but give her about 20 minutes and she was at least civil. This morning had been an exception, he frowned at the memory. He'd finish it with her later.
Hearing Michael hit more keys told Birkoff he was checking the program usage and the sign-in record. "Birkoff!" The bark in Michael's voice told him that his hold on sign-ins was good but not on usage. He'd have to figure out a way to do that so it would work.
"Yes?" Slowly he turned. He wasn't looking forward to this. Eating broken glass suddenly sounded like fun.
"Who's running test SIMs? I told you to keep them locked down. I wasn't done with them."
"I know but a request was made. I complied ....."
He stepped closer and Birkoff swallowed hard. Oh man....I'm dead. When he's done ripping into her then I'm next. Shit...
"Only two people countermand my orders. One I was just talking to, the other doesn't use the SIM room for herself. There is only one person in there and that person is interactive with the program." There was no disguising the command or the displeasure in Michael's tone of voice. He watched Birkoff carefully, discomfort and uncertainty almost dripped off of him.
"There was a threat of physical harm." He looked down at the floor. He shouldn't have been afraid of Nikita but... Admit moron...you're not afraid of her...you've got a monster crush on her like a high school dweeb and would rather get kissed by her lips than her fist! So you do anything she wants...
"Who is it, Birkoff?" The command was still there but now he heard the slight coaxing and touch of worry.
As much as he didn't want to rat out Nikita, he also knew that untested SIMs were dangerous. "Nikita." Michael moved so swiftly that Birkoff actually felt the breeze of his movement. He leaned back against the edge of the console and rubbed his forehead. "I'm screwed...happy day." Knowing the fight that was going to happen in SIMs, he leaned over and muffled the room. Then thinking of the comment from Madeline the last time he had done that for a fight between Michael and Nikita, he changed his mind. Surveillance was once again active.
End of part one...
written by Tammy
Continue on to Perchance To Dream, part two
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