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’.
Chapter 5
Four hours has gone by since they came back. And for that amount of time, Doyle had sat quietly in the chair at the end of the briefing room table. No one had come near him. No one had called him. He could have been the only one left for all he knew. Slowly he rose by pushing off the table. He felt guilty about his own actions for the first time he could remember. He knew he had been wrong and there were no possible excuses for them except for one; cowardice.
"I want to talk to you before you leave."
Doyle turned to find Michael standing in one of the smaller doorways. Wonder how long he's been standing there? "To where do you want me to report?" he asked the silent watching figure.
Michael shook his head. "Go to where ever you are staying. Be back here by noon tomorrow."
"That's it?" Doyle was suspicious.
"Yes, you stumbled. It's my responsibility to make sure it doesn't happen again. Go and think about it. Decide what you did wrong. Figure out how to make sure it never happens again. I'll let you know if I feel your conclusion and solution are valid. If not, we'll determine it together." He started to turn back into the shadows.
Seeing Michael's face half lit seemed to tell Doyle that there was more to this man than he knew. Perhaps anyone here in Section knew with the possible exception of Nikita. That made him dangerous because you never knew what to expect. It made it impossible to plan and prepare. He would have to find out what laid behind those cold green eyes. Doyle refused to go without a plan anymore. The world held too many unanswered questions now, making it much more complicated than it used to be. "No other shoe, Michael?"
"No." And then he was gone, decaying into the shadows. That image bothered him and he wasn't quite sure where it had come from. Doyle let out a breath he had held for a long time. He was going to live for a while yet. Somehow he was not happy but not disappointed either. It was time for a master plan.
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Dawn was breaking by the time Michael wearily opened the cabin door. He could hear the music drifting down from the second floor. It was soft but with an angry undertone. It was the same CD that played whenever she was very troubled. And one they always wound up making love to as well. He thought back on how good it had felt to feel close to her and to just lose touch with the outside world. He was beginning to understand why she called it losing herself. It was a relief to just focus on one thing, no that was one person, that made it all ok.
"I want to find them." Nikita had heard him come up the stairs. Her voice was small and soft. Michael could hear the longing in it and it matched his own. She was curled up against the window, staring out the panes to the lake over which the sky was slowly lightening. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring into the murky shadows of rest of the room.
"I know I do too. I dreamt about them the other night. It was actually one where I woke up with a smile. Not soaked in sweat and bewildered. Reese had lost a tooth and we had been trying to explain the tooth fairy to him. Neither of us could really get the right gist of it. You knew some and I knew some. But it was just pieces of it because we didn't have it as kids, either of us. He wanted to know so much where the teeth went. Katie came up with this twist that the teeth went to other little kids just getting teeth. That they recycled them I guess. I don't know. We were asleep up here when he came screaming upstairs from the kitchen. There was a dollar under his pillow and no tooth. And he looked so great standing there jumping up and down with the dollar in his hand and that stupid front tooth missing....."
He dropped his head into his hands. All at once the hurt was more than he could handle. Michael was doubting his own ability to do it anymore. Greg's getting him to promise to take care of Reese, Martina's ghostly letter about her wish that they would be the ones to raise him, keeping the truth about Martina from Nikita and her pain over having given Katie away then and now yet again. He remembered Reese calling him 'dada' and how Merle had never had the chance....
Michael jumped as he felt Nikita's arms wrap around him. He leaned into her. "I know it's there somewhere Nikita. I see it out of the corner of my eye at times. I feel it when I hold you, when we make love but right now it seems so far away. Like we're never going to get to that point."
"I know....Michael, I think they know about Katie." she whispered. His heart sunk at her words. What else was going to happen?
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Raymond placed the few remaining purchases in his knapsack and zipped it up. He smiled at the small elderly woman behind the counter. "Thank you, Mary. Paying you on Thursday is alright then?"
Mary smiled back at him. "I trust you. I know you're good for it. Do an old woman a favor. Pull up a stool and have a cup of morning coffee with me. Now that winter is setting in, we won't be seeing a lot of people here at the feeding trough. Winters seem to be getting longer and starting earlier. I can use the company."
A mug appeared on the counter steaming with coffee before he had a chance to say yes or no. One did not refuse a grandmother anyway. "Thank you, Mary. You are a special lady."
"Yeah that's what all the boys tell me but not a single one got the guts to make an honest woman out of me. All too worried about their damn social security. Old farts! Enough about my lousy love-life. So why'd you want that old Hewitt place so bad? They only used it as a summer place and when Pete died of that heart-attack couple years back, no nobody's been there since. Gonna get mighty wicked up that way when the snow starts. That little valley there attracts squalls like lemonade attracts yellow-jackets."
He smiled as he set down his mug. "I've been collecting deadfall and cutting firewood for over a month now. I'll keep it up until the snow gets too deep. And I did some insulating when it was warmer. You don't worry about me. Besides Sheriff Norton gave me the same lecture yesterday. Seems like you all watch out for each other here. I like that. Makes it feel like home. It's a good feeling. I need that."
Mary adjusted herself on the stool. "So what did she do? Divorce you, cheat on you or just walk away?"
Slowly Raymond shook his head. "Mary, I wish I could say it was a woman I'm pining over but I don't make it a habit of lying. Lies destroy no matter how much you convince yourself they won't catch up to you or that they're for the bigger good. I lied to myself for 27 years about what I really am. I denied my family, my heritage, my destiny, myself. I need to make recompense."
"Why? For what?"
"Didn't want to stay on the reservation with the rest of the old people stuck with old ways and old ideals. It was where I should have stayed. I gave up my spirit the day I walked out of my parents' dwelling. I went to the city. Went to the best schools. Became this well respected psychiatrist. I had all the answers and patients flocked to me. My father and my grandfather and all those before me where wisemen, shamans, medicine men; however you wish to refer to them. I was to be one but I rebuked their beliefs and their teachings. I used my abilities to gain money."
With a cough, Mary got off her stool and refilled their mugs. "So you told the family to hit the proverbial trail and you took the road from spiritualism to materialism. Your family disowned you, didn't they?"
Sadly Raymond nodded. "I became nothing to them. My mother warned me that one day something would happen. That one day Deh-oh-niot would appear to me. And I would know that everything in my world was about to change. He came in the form of a 17 year old who had been terribly abused. I was trying to make her whole again. In my heart and head I had no hope for this child. I just had in my head the conclusion that since she wouldn't let go she was never going to heal. In the middle of a session, she pulled a small pistol. Shot me and then killed herself."
She reached over and put her hand on Raymond's arm. "You didn't know she was going to do that. Maybe she didn't even know she was going to do that."
"I knew it. I saw it in her dreams. I just was too complacent and full of myself to think she would actually do it. Dreams and minds are my gift and my curse. I can step into a person's dream. Interact with them there, at least that is what I feel I do. I can see sometimes their hopes for the future, sometimes the regrets of their past, other times just the present. What is the person thinking? I get in their heads. By using what I find out, I help the person with their problem." Raymond suddenly stood and grabbed his knapsack. "Before you think me a total crackpot, I'll leave."
Turning his back to her, he started for the door. "Raymond, you know I really hate it when someone puts words in my mouth or tells me what I'm thinking. Makes me really hot under the collar and that isn't good for a lady of my age. Now bring your teakettle bottom back here and put it on the stool. And I'm not talking to hear my own voice either. I am serious!!"
Reluctantly, he turned to look at her and then cautiously walked back. "I don't want to appear like I'm crazy or something. What I said was pretty far out in left field. You're probably expecting me to pull out my rattle next and dance in circles, chanting." He studied her calm face with the slightly compressed lips. He did his best to hide any emotions or thoughts in his eyes.
"No, I'm expecting you to sit and finish your coffee. You don't live to be my age without hearing a few things that might raise your eyebrows or cause you to raise a prayer to heaven. Ever since I was a little girl, I always felt there were other levels to the world. Sometimes you see them, sometimes feel them or maybe even get to interact. You can call it what you want, even just plain lunacy. But if its got so many names and so many talk about it, well I guess that makes the case for it feasible. Now I'm not asking you for a show of your abilities to test your word or find answers for myself. But I am going to ask you not to doubt yourself or those around you who accept you."
"Accept me?"
"Yes, accept you. Don't hide. Maybe whatever the being or power is that guides us in this world had a reason for that girl killing herself. Maybe it will help someone else. Who knows? But I'm not going to say you're crazy or that I don't believe you. I don't judge Raymond. Nothing in this existence gives me the right to. I accept. And if I didn't, do you really think I'd be 90 years old?"
A small smile appeared on Raymond's face as he sat back on the stool. "But what about those old 'farts' you mentioned earlier? You're judging them aren't you?"
A mischievous smile appeared on Mary's face and she winked at him. "Old men...ya gotta call as you see them my dear... most times I smell them before I see them anyway." Raymond couldn't contain his loud laughter.
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Madeline looked up as her door slid open and Operations stood at the threshold. "Are you busy?"
She smile at him and beckoned him in. "No please come in. I need to talk to you anyway."
He returned the smile as he came in and leaned over her shoulder to see what she was doing. "What's this?"
"Helping with the profile on Kassov. I believe I've found a way to get to him." She looked up to see his reaction.
"And that would be?"
She settled back in her chair. "Let me explain. Regardless of how we try to hide everything about ourselves, there is always one thing that is our trademark, that says who we are. For Walter is things from the 60's, for me it's bonsai trees and flowers. For Michael, artist supplies. Nikita is music and sunglasses, things to hide behind. For Birkoff, well that's obvious. Simon has martial arts. You, you're a-typical. Nothing really strikes me on you."
"Because there is nothing." Operations folded his arms across his chest. Madeline filed that reaction away. It was a defensive gesture. One he had in common with Nikita. It held things in and kept things out, people included.
"Oh I'm sure there is but later on that. When you were showing the surveillance photos of Kassov in the briefing, something struck me about him. His manner of dressing, his swagger, the way he drawled his words out, his sneer. He likes 'country'. He has a thing for the West, the Old West. Horses, cowboys, Buffalo Bill, leather and tobacco... things like that. So I went through the data base to see if he had anything that might reflect this fascination."
He studied her face for a moment. "And...?"
"Well, looking over his financial records, I found a credit card account. Not in his name it's a company card but he is the only signer on it. I pulled a record of the transactions over the past 12 months. There is record store here in city that specializes just in country music or so their sales clerk told me. He likes to get his music there. There was another frequent charge on there from Lakeside Pleasure Resorts Inc. I researched some more and found it."
"I take that as being he goes there alone. What is it?" Operations was feeling a spark of hope. Madeline studied his face for a moment. She got the distinct impression of a bloodhound on a faint scent. She had to make a conscientious effort to stop herself from giggling like a child. The thought of Oscar with long floppy ears baying at the moon was hilarious. Her effort was not strong enough. A choking sound still came from her throat.
"Are you ok?" Operations was puzzled at the noise she made. "Don't stifle a sneeze. It's not good for you."
Madeline closed her eyes as she rolled them and bit her lower lip. Regaining control with a deep breath, she replied; "Thank you for the advice."
"Sure, alright go on. How did you find this card? Why was it missed before?" His attention was intent on the monitor in front of them.
"Woman's intuition." Operations made a dismissive face. She leaned back in her chair, a self satisfied smile on her lips. "One endeavor is Biens Immeubles de Honakes... Honakes if you take the 'es' off is Czech for 'cowboy'. Remember Kassov may have a Russian family name but he is Czech. I explored the connections and found a credit card. I found my lead. He goes to a bar, they call it a resort, but it is a bar about 3 hours from here. Why don't we set out a little bait? Place a tracker and then meet him on the way home. Invite him to come and visit our humble home? At the most 5 operatives needed. One to place the tracker... four to pick up. Neat and clean."
Operations smiled, impressed with her work. "Complicated but effective. Forward it to Miller. Tell her to work it up. Bait is already selected. Build it up around Nikita. She can handle it without backup and as well as any anomalies that might develop, though I doubt there will with this. She'll be able to get his attention quickly and she has no problem with placing a tracker." With a whistle and a jaunt in his step, he started to leave.
"Oscar, not so fast."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
Madeline stood from her chair. "No I wasn't going to ask that. I'm going to be away for a couple of days."
He turned to look at her, suspicion clear in his eyes. "Why and where are you going?"
"I want to look in on our happy wanderers. See how things are going."
"Are you going to tell them?"
"No. I'm not ready for them to know anything yet."
Operations inclined his head to her. He had hoped for a different answer. He could use the help. "Be careful."
"Of course, " she answered.
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"Are you busy?" Christine looked up at the voice with a smile on her face. The voice was easy to recognize. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her laced fingers.
"Oh just updating some patient files."
Simon grinned at her as he sat on the edge of her worktable. "Would mine be in that update? If
you need to check on me to complete any information, I'm free at the moment." His eyes held a teasing light and it made Christine glad to see it, he had been moping around lately. He stood up and walked over to a spot near the door and placed his hand on the wall. There he waited several seconds before walking back to her.
Christine shook her head, knitting her eyebrows together as she noticed that he had left something on the wall. "No everything is you is complete. Thanks for the offer."
"Oh, don't worry about it." He inclined his head slightly in the direction of the device on the wall. He brought up his hand and held up 5 fingers. "I thought you might want to double check my fingers. See they are all working very well now...1, 2, 3, 4, 5...... OK come here." He slide a hand into her hair and back to the nape of her neck, tilting her head up and exerting pressure on it as if he wanted her to stand.
She gave him a bewildered look and pushed his hand off. "Did you hit your head or something? You're acting strange." Feeling concerned she stood up. Simon closed his eyes as her fingers grabbed his chin and moved his head from side to side.
"No but I do have a problem. I'm going stir crazy here. Too much stand by and you've been rather elusive." He felt himself getting a little exasperated. Why isn't she getting my meaning? He tried to kiss her quickly but she pulled herself away just as rapidly. He saw a flicker of something he thought was fear in her eyes.
"Simon, shut...." Christine felt her stomach twist into knots. His actions were going to let everyone know.
He pointed to the device on the wall. "Five minutes...portable jammer. They can't listen or see. I'd like to pull it down sooner. Looks more natural that way. Tell me we can get together in the morning. I miss you."
"Don't push it Simon." She looked from him back to the jammer. She had no faith in it. "We've got to be careful." She wasn't ready for him to grab her hand and nibble at it like it was cheese. "Damn it! Stop it!" She tensed up, eyes flashing and temper starting to show.
"No! You're doing it again! Stop giving into your fear! It's interfering!" Christine pulled her hand from his and walked over to the wall. Simon comprehended what she was doing and almost fell trying to get to her before she completed her intention. "Chrissy, no! Don't!!"
"Not here!" She put her hand over it, ready to yank it off the wall.
Simon grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away. "NO!" He was breathing rapidly and his eyes were almost fearful. "It's registered to me. You pull it off, it sends an alarum to ops."
Fury blazed in her eyes. "This is not the place!" She pushed against his chest. Fear openly displayed across her face. "Someone is going to see. There goes the door! Damn you!"
"Then where is?" He threw at her in a harsh whisper as they shot away from each other. Simon slipped his hand over the jammer gently pulling it off and placing his arms across his chest.
Michael looked from one to the other. He knew he had interrupted something. The tension between the two touched him like a hand. Christine was shaking and trying to compose her face. Simon was trying to shut the anger off that poured off him. Michael hadn't felt that kind of anger from him in a long time. "Did I interrupt something?"
Slamming the mouse back on the table and shoving the chair back under it, she fixed her angry gaze on Michael. All attempts to calm herself down pushed aside. "Yes, both of you are. My peace and quiet, something that as usual is in short commodity around here! I use it to get my work done. On occasion, that is! No wonder I never get caught up! Will you both get out?!"
Simon held up a hand. "Gone! Thanks for the time, Chris!" he snapped and walked past Michael with an angry swagger in his step. He felt questioning eyes on him as he exited into the hallway and knew there would be words put to those questions as soon as Michael was done with Christine. He caught the hurt expression in her eyes. Feelings mutual woman.
Before the door was even closed, Christine's mind was working overtime. Not to mention how loud her heart was pounding. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that he could hear it. "I asked you to leave. I have work to do."
Michael continued to study her for a moment longer before he spoke. The scrutiny made her all that more nervous. "I do believe you commanded me to leave."
She pointed a finger at him. "Don't get into semantics with me! Just do it!"
"What did I witness here Christine?"
She raised an eyebrow at him and made a derisive snort. "Witnessed? Yeah...nothing. Just go....I not in the mood for an interrogation. I've got too much to handle right now."
"Too much of what?"
Christine leaned down on her hands against the top of her worktable staring down at it's transparent surface. She was glad she was not as see through as its surface, even though she was beginning to feel that way. Already she was shutting down the anger. In anger you couldn't think, you just reacted. And right now saying the wrong thing would mean the worse possible thing for the both of them. Simon was starting to take chances to see her. What she had been trying to do by putting distance between them was to keep their heads level. Maybe it wasn't working as she had hoped. He was tempted to take risks because of it instead.
Michael could see the almost defeated way she hung her head. He had a sinking feeling that the vibes he had felt off Simon at Claude's house had been right. And seeing what he just had only made it feel more right. Simon and Christine were involved. She was the girl he had mentioned to Billie. He was worried for both of them. His position lent him a degree of leeway. Neither Christine nor Simon had that. And Michael only had a bit of coverage to help it stay hidden. He walked over to her and placed a hand on a shoulder that was rock hard with tension. It seemed to get even more rigid under his fingers.
"I can't protect both of you. I don't want anything to happen to him."
Christine brushed the hand off her shoulder and shook her head. " What makes you think I need protection?" Resentment flared at him for the comment, memories of how he always stood up for her no matter what raced through her head. His concern was for Simon only nothing for her. They were long past that ever being possible again. Anger joined the resentment. "I didn't ask you to protect me. I didn't need it then. I certainly don't need now. I can do it myself! I'm a big girl now!!"
"Then?"
She felt like kicking herself and then him. Fool! Open mouth, insert entire left leg... "Bug off alright? I don't need you for anything. I can deal with any of my problems on my own. Like I said, I'm a big girl. OK?"
"You're into something that's over your head. I need straight answers so I can to help him." Christine rolled her eyes and tried to move away from him. To keep her close, Michael grabbed her upper arm. "Are you and Simon involved?"
She tried to yank her arm away but he refused to release her. "Let...go...now!" Her voice was low and he heard the veiled threat in her voice.
"Let's try a second question. I'm starting to develop a lot of unanswered questions about you. I don't like that. I want an answer to at least one of them. Who were you before Section?"
With a strong jerk, she managed to loosen his grip and then she slapped his arm away. "I can't tell you the answer to either of those questions." Christine looked at him seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. She wanted so much to talk to him, to tell him the truth. But the truth here was worst than any lie she could come up with. Biting her lower lip, she turned away from Michael and left the room. As long as they're secrets they can't hurt anybody......
He had seen the look that had crept across her face and then disappeared. There was something about her. Why can't I put my finger on it? It's like right here but when I focus on it , it vanishes. Michael gave his head a slight shake. Like drawing my parents... remembering their faces on my own... He betrayed his nervousness as he tucked a bit of hair behind his ear. Slowly he inhaled and then exhaled. Simon and Christine had not shown any interest in each other until....
Michael pulled his thoughts away from there. Still raw....still hurts... He closed his eyes before taking another deep breath. They are both safe Michael. Keep thinking that. She doubts your belief in that... I'm not sure what she'll do... Hell I don't even know what I'll do if I start to doubt. He ran a hand through his hair. The ride was getting to the point where he was considering getting off and leaving the park.
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Chapter 6
Doyle watched as the foot slammed into the bag almost tearing it from its rigging. It hadn't even started coming out of its arc before it was hit with a flurry of fists and then another roundhouse kick. He watched from the entrance as Michael danced back from the bag. It swung like a wild pendulum as he moved slowly around it. The man's entire concentration was on it. Doyle was glad he wasn't the bag. Not that he was afraid but he now had no doubt as to how strong or fast the team leader was.
It was late and he hadn't expected anyone to be here. By the looks of Michael, he had been here a while. His hair and clothes were soaked with sweat. With an anger gesture, Michael swiped the hair out of his face and attacked the bag again. The rigging snapped tight under the punishment the bag was receiving. Doyle watched as he spun into another kick, this one accompanied by a yell.
"Baise!!" The bag flew outwards and the chain snapped. It crashed into the plexiglass, making it reverberate around the enclosure. Michael stood still for a moment, eyes glaring at the bag as it laid on the floor. Hands on hips, he started to pace, muttering to himself in French. Doyle only understood a little of what he said, something about pictures and faces. Then he heard the word for children as Michael kicked the fallen bag savagely. A cocky smile graced Doyle's lips. Maybe I can find out a little about the Iceman now. He appears to be going through a thaw.
"You don't strike me as the fatherly type."
Michael spun his head in the direction of the voice. He knew it was Doyle and he worried how long the man had been watching him as well as how much he had heard or been able to understand. "What do you want?" his voice almost a snarl.
"What kids were you muttering about?"
"None of your concern." He pushed his hair up out of his face again and grabbed a towel from a barbell, wiping the sweat away. And at the same time attempting to control the anger and aggression that had built up as he had beat on the bag. It all started with trying to do that quick sketch of Paige. Another blank face had stared up at him from that scrap of paper and matched the image in his head . Michael had allowed himself to get frustrated after only 3 tries and wound up here, the bag absorbing his fury. It was better than venting on someone else or allowing it to fester inside as it usually did. That only lead to a vicious headache and more nightmares.
Doyle watched the way Michael was trying to ignore him. He ambled over and leaned against the weight bench. "Anything to do with the little tot you and Miss Bitch managed to lose?" He kept his face and voice friendly. But he congratulated himself on the tag for Nikita. It fit the way he was beginning to feel about her. He had hear some rumors about the last mission the two of them had been on. Something about a child of some head of another part of Section. The kid's father was the leader of the Asian Red Cell faction. And thrown into the mix had been Michael and Nikita. From what he could gather these two had gotten very attached to the child and there had been a question of them even returning to Section. Somehow Operations and Madeline had managed to make them but nobody knew how.
Slowly, Michael took the towel away from his face to look at Doyle. He refused to dignify the question with an answer or even with an acknowledgment. His face was blank and so were his eyes. That irked Doyle; he wanted an answer but even a reaction would have given him some satisfaction. Tossing the towel on the bench, Michael turned away and went to the bag. He hauled it up off the floor, examining the chain. Frowning slightly, he propped the bag against his side and reached up for the rigging to look at that.
Rumors were an occupational hazard in a place like Section One. Michael knew that there were things being toted around about the last mission and the roles he and Nikita had played in it. Simon told him some even thought that the child had been theirs and there was resentment over that. As a friend and having been involved in the ordeal, Simon was doing his best to set the record straight: Reese was the child of a double Section operative and a Red Cell leader. The mission had been to secure the child in a protective environment. The problems had been because of George and that Nikita and Michael had been on MR until they had been able to complete the mission, and then only upon action by Operations and Madeline, did the come back in. Not exactly the whole truth but no one here, Michael felt, who needed to know the whole painful truth.
"Yeah you broke it."
Michael let go of the rigging and picked up the bag again to put it over against the plexiglass wall. "Thank you for the confirmation. Did you finish what I told you to do?"
A shrug and glib, "Not yet...I will." was Doyle's answer.
Grabbing the towel, Michael started for the exit. "You're on inactive standby until you do."
Doyle stepped in front of him, preventing him from reaching the doorway. "Do you think I care?"
"You should. Excuse me..." He tried to move around Doyle who blocked his way again. He pulled tight on his self control, he was not in the mood to put up with Doyle right now. "Don't start something you don't have the guts to finish." Michael resisted wincing at his own words. That was not how he wanted it to come out. It was too confrontational.
"You don't think I got the guts to put a few holes in your icy exterior?" Doyle gave a disgusted snort. "You don't scare me in the least."
"I'm not trying to. If you'll excuse me, I feel like taking a shower." Again, Michael moved to the side, intending to go around Doyle and leave.
Doyle didn't like it at all that he was getting ignored and accused of having no guts at the same time. Michael bothered him a lot. He moved around Section One like the pampered prince. "Like I told Miss Bitch..."
"Her name is Nikita." Michael said, his voice low and calm but with a undertone of malice. He did not want this to escalate but it was not looking good. A finger was shoved in his face.
"Don't interrupt me! I expect a little respect. And listening is an example of showing it. You bother me Michael. You bother me a lot. As I was saying before..... Like I said to Miss Bitch..." He stressed the words, trying to draw Michael out and make him react. "....anytime you think you're ready."
Feeling disappointed in flaws he was beginning to see in Doyle, Michael tried to step around him a fourth time. He was not interested in a fight with him. There were always more important things to do than to fight somebody who thought they had something to prove. Doyle had other ideas. He launched a punch at Michael, who dodged it easily , tripping Doyle while he was off balance. "Not interested." With his back to Doyle, he moved to the door
"Jeelym!!" he heard Doyle growl from behind the instant before he hit the floor. "You don't ignore me or walk away from me, you bast..." Doyle started to kick at Michael's ribs only to find himself on his back and a hand attached to an anger man clutching his throat.
"I'm ....not....interested!!" Michael spat out each word at him. Rage was evident across his face and coursed through his body but he was keeping it under control. "You're a coward and a trouble maker. You've got only one chance left with me before I place you in abeyance personally. Got it?"
"Screw you!" Doyle grunted as he laid a hard right to the side of Michael's head. Both men twisted away from each other and flew to their feet. Doyle didn't wait to see what move Michael was going to make. He barreled into him and together they crashed into the weight bench. It went over and so did they. Flipping Doyle over his head, Michael got to his feet.
"Don't do this Doyle. You'll only have regrets." He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. A thin trickle of blood ran along the skin. He sniffed and shook his hair out of his face. Doyle was on his feet, a pipe for a barbell held tightly in his hand. Michael backed up, hands in front of him for defense. Doyle was strong and quick like himself but he fought with anger and the need to hurt. A long time ago, Michael learned that way of fighting only gave advantages to your opponent. He would let Doyle take the offensive track and let him beat himself.
Doyle slashed through the air with the length of metal. Michael spun away, catching him in the back of the leg with a well aimed kick. He fell against the wall and immediately came at Michael again. As he tried to sidestep Doyle and trip him at the same time, he found his own leg pulled out from under him and then the hard hit of the floor. The metal pipe came down beside his head with such force, he felt it bounce his head. They struggled together on the floor till Michael was able to smash a fist into Doyle's face that stunned him. Hauling himself to his feet, he shoved Doyle away with a kick.
"Stay down." He staggered away, his nose bleeding freely and so was the corner of his mouth. He wiped both on his hand and then on his pants. Stepping over the upside down bench, he was just out the door before Doyle was at him again. This time, Doyle's momentum careened them into a closed door. It slammed open, the glass in it shattering as they fell to the floor. Fed up, Michael decided to finish it up. Planning to knock him out, he managed to get control of Doyle and yanked him to his feet. He rammed him into the broken door, holding the metal bar against his windpipe.
"No, stop it now!" Christine grabbed the edge of the bar and pulled as hard as she could. Both men were bruised and bleeding. Michael immediately backed off, Doyle didn't. He smacked Christine aside as if she was a rag doll. All self control in doubt now, Michael grabbed Doyle and threw him into the wall, making sure he kept himself balanced over her in case Doyle went at her again.
Doyle caught him a couple of times. But Michael didn't retaliate so much as try to control him. But Christine could see Michael's own control slipping. It was obvious to her too that Doyle was weakening. One punch from Michael at this point could cause a critical injury. Pulling herself forward and then to her feet, her head ringing and jaw throbbing, she managed to get to Michael and grasp a forearm. He pulled back as she got between them and pushed off of him to move Doyle against the wall.
"Michael, Medlab now. Go! I want Flagler here." She saw his hesitation as she felt Doyle go limp behind her and start to slide down the wall. Reading Michael's thoughts were easy, he saw the action as a ploy on Doyle's part to come forward again. Christine shook her head. She turned catching him under the arms and lowering him gently. "NOW!!" Lurching backwards, Michael exited the room. Doyle's head flopped forward unto her shoulder. She leaned her cheek against the back of his head. "Doyle, I hope this put a little bit of sense in your skull. Don't mess with him unless you know you can absolutely win. And he'd have to be dead for that."
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"Did you have somebody check this?" Simon ran a finger lightly down the knuckle imprints on Christine's cheek. "I don't like the way bruises look on you, Chrissy." His voice was just above a whisper. Christine closed her eyes as he slid a fingertip over them again. It still throbbed and she had a slight headache but the caress of his finger and his soft voice made it feel better.
"I got between Michael and another man fighting. I'm lucky..." She inhaled deeply, being held would go perfectly with the stroking of his finger. But they could be seen. "Big brother." She whispered and he withdrew his hand. He tilted his head at her with a raised eyebrow. 'Yes, later' she mouthed at him and he slipped out of the room. Christine turned her attention to Doyle who laid unconsciousness in the bed against the wall. His right wrist bore a restraint strap that was locked around not only his wrist but the frame of the bed. She frown and inhaled deeply.
Michael had done damage of that there was no question. Unfortunately for Doyle, he did not take a punch from Michael very well. He also didn't know how to back off. The broken nose and hairline fracture of the right cheekbone were evidence of that. That in no way accounted for the pain he would have when he woke up. He had taken a lot of body blows too. The bruised kidneys were just an example.
She had managed to snag the surveillance tape of the area before anyone else thanks to Simon. Before Operations started on anyone's case about it, Christine wanted to know who started it. Doyle had instigated and insisted on keeping it going with Michael. She counted 4 times where Michael had tried to walk away but Doyle had gone after him again. A wry smile found her as she thought about him slapping her viciously to the floor of the office. Michael's first reaction was protection, just like when they had been children. She had been afraid of everything as a child, Michael had been just the opposite. He might have been younger but he never acted that way.
My brother... my protector.... It was a bittersweet thought. She reached over to snag the PDA from the bedside table to check something when cold fingers wrapped around her wrist. Christine looked down into hazel eyes surrounded by deep bruises, the result of his broken nose.
"My bodyguard." Doyle whispered thickly, letting go of her.
"Yeah, lucky for you I've got a hard head. Otherwise he would have probably beaten you to death.....at least part way." That was an afterthought. She doubted Michael had the heart to really do that, even as mad as he had been. .
"Next time, I get to win." He smiled weakly or at least tried to, it didn't work. "My face?" He tried to use his right hand to touch his face but couldn't. He tugged on the restraint then looked at her. "Why?"
"You went after a fellow operative without provocation. Don't try to deny it either. I saw the tape. And you went after me. Michael ordered the restraint. I won't countermand him. Operations has it now. Be prepared for some consequences from this."
"I'm not worried with you here, beautiful." He closed his eyes, keeping her face in mind. Doyle felt like hell but heaven was standing next to his bed. Somehow the pain didn't matter as he drifted off again.
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The exasperated sigh followed by a growl of impatience told anybody who heard it the entire story. "Who dreamed this one up?" came Nikita's annoyed whisper. Country music could be heard playing in the background and making her whisper a little hard to hear.
"Not having a good time, honey?" Birkoff asked with a huge grin on his face and chuckle in his voice as he moved from console to console in his chair. Michael paced quietly back and forth at the back of the platform, studying the video feedback from the clasp on the band of her hat as he listened to the activity around her. As usual she had caught some eyes but she was keeping to herself and not trying to attract that kind of attention yet. Nikita adjusted the hat so he couldn't see towards the crowd in the bar anymore.
"Fix the hat, Nikita." He heard her mutter as she did and the picture re established itself. "Shouldn't be much longer."
"It better be quick or you're both going to hear some unpleasant things. This music is making me ill."
"Eat some peanuts." came the helpful suggestion from Birkoff.
"You! They're swimming in something and I am not volunteering to find out what it is." Michael covered his mouth before he started to laugh out loud. She would make him pay later for it. They couldn't have picked anyone worse to send into a country karaoke bar than Nikita. Birkoff was not so sensitive to her 'plight'. His laugh rang through ops.
"Chicken!"
"Screw you!"
"You know the answer to that one, babe. Time and place are all I need." He snickered then remembered Michael as he walked forward.
"Keep dreaming, louse."
"Can we cut some of the chatter?" Michael asked quietly. He wasn't worried about anything happening between the two of them but the remarks didn't sound good on the mission tapes. Besides it got distracting. "Any possibilities yet?
"No, I'm getting bored.. I would rather be trying the car out."
"Be careful with that car. We need it for Caracas. Have you driven one of them before?"
" No. Don't worry, I won't hurt it. It's not that much different from the Porsche."
"Remember to bring it back with the tank full. Daddy might get upset if it's empty." Birkoff interjected with a mischievous snicker in his voice. Michael gently rapped him on the back of the head for the comment. But Birkoff's fingers were too fast for him to hear Nikita's retort as he turned the feed off.
"Birkoff..." he said softly. With a remorseful expression he knew the kid didn't feel, the bar noises came back to his ear.
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"No...no...over here man!" Three figures gathered around the dark green car parked under the lot light. Country music blared from the open doors of the bar behind them. The tallest of the three pointed to the parked Ferrari 550 Maranello. "This is Eddie's car."
Another one wearing a baseball, pulled it off and wiped his hand across his forehead. "Paulie, his car is blue not green."
Paulie shook his head. "The light makes it look this way. This is his car. Fred, you ready?" The third one got down of his back beside the car. He held up a pair of wire cutters and a flashlight.
A grin spread across his face. "Time to shed some light on the breaks of the game." He moved under the car. The other two stood with their backs to the vehicle while Fred worked.
"What happens if we got the wrong car, Paulie? We could kill somebody."
Paulie looked over at his companion with a look of bare tolerance. "Listen Joe...there isn't anybody else around here that has this kind of Ferrari. And how did he get it...by selling our songs to that company under his name only. We pay him back. Crack up his only result of the deal....serves him right."
Joe shrugged and readjusted his baseball cap. "You got a point. We were suppose to be partners in all this."
Suddenly Fred popped up next to Joe. "Shall we go grab a few brews? It was rather dry under there."
Paulie grinned at him. "Hit the brakes and spin out then snap...crackle...pop....right?" Fred nodded with a matching grin on his face. He clapped his hands together and pointed a finger at him. "Yup those are the 'brakes' of the game.."
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"I'm not going to hurt the car....oh God...this is too much..." Nikita made a slight gagging sound as the song played out of the sound system in the ceiling above her. "I need to move."
"No you've got the best seat, cowgirl" Birkoff snickered as he adjusted the background sound. Nikita groaned again, very unhappy in her spot.
Baby I ain't complainin' so please don't get me wrong
Sometimes you're like a puzzle with a couple of pieces gone
It's a mighty wild ride that you've taken me on
Sometimes I feel like a dog standin' on a toolbox
In back of a pickup truck doin' 90 'round a corner
Just tryin' to hang on for dear life
When you had to have a little pink house I said OK
When you pulled your Harley up to a church I just prayed
My life is like a mobile home in a hurricane
Michael grimaced in distaste as he heard the words that went with the music on his earpiece. He could hear Nikita groaning in misery. "My head is going to explode if I don't get out of here soon." He was inclined to agree with her. The songs were getting progressively worse. "If they start that damn karaoke or whatever it is...I'm out of here like a shot....completed or ....wait I see him."
Her head turned to the left and Michael could see that she was right. Kassov strode onto the dance floor like he owned it. He swung the redhead on his arm in front of him and they started to dance. "You're on Nikita." Birkoff said. "Play it dumb and clueless."
"Thank God."
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Yerik Kassov finally was feeling relaxed and in his element. He had been on edge ever since he has discovered the treachery of his most trusted compatriot. To think the man had the audacity to think he could take all that money! Just like that wench in... Yerik frowned as he stepped away from his thoughts. That was the job, the business; now this was pleasure, nothing else mattered. The bar was packed tonight and there seemed to be a lot of women without partners. The one he had found outside had looked great but she couldn't dance. The first song ended and he started off the floor, leaving the red head in a snit on it. It was time for a beer and to see who else was around.
Then she caught his eye. Tall and slim, a headful of blonde hair that fell loose down her back and a black Stetson perched on top. The jeans were black and skin tight. A red v-neck hung loosely to reveal a black lace tank top underneath. Her legs ended in red mid calf heeled boots. Kassov licked his lips. This evening's main course....
Nikita nonchalantly continued down the ramp. Softly in her ear she could hear Michael saying, "He's got his eye on you and headed in your direction. Make the most of it."
Then Birkoff, "Skin contact for the track patch Nikita." Just as she got to Kassov, Nikita looked over her shoulder and tripped. It was perfectly timed as the target neatly caught her and held her arm until she steadied herself. Flashing a bright smile at him, she adjusted her hat.
"Wow, thanks! Boy would that have been embarrassing. In front of all these people...Sorry I almost knocked you over!" The smile he returned exposed yellowed uneven teeth. He had looked ok from afar but not that she was closer, he turned out to be rather unattractive.
He returned her smile, marveling at the blue of her eyes and the lilt of her accent. "It was no problem. Wish I had beautiful women fall on me like that all the time."
Nikita let her eyes get big as she drove home the impression that there was really nothing in her head. "OH! I love your accent. Where are you from?"
"A little place near Moscow. And what about you?"
She gave a little laugh and acted flustered. "Oh Sydney....Australia...not Sheldon." Nikita giggled this time. Dumb and clueless....
"How about a dance?" Kassov asked and motioned with a thumb to the dance floor.
"Yeah! Sounds great!" she answered. He let her go ahead of him, watching as she sauntered down the rest of the ramp to the dance floor. Yerik was beginning to feel like tonight was going to be a delight.
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"Australia not Sheldon? Jesus...." Birkoff groaned as he leaned back in the chair. "That was awful."
"You said dumb and clueless. Nikita.... place the patch and wrap this up."
Through the earpiece he could hear her say breathlessly. "Wow you're a great dancer but listen, I gotta go...well you know....you want to hang out?"
"I would." Kassov's voice was deep and husky.
"OK I won't be long." Nikita pulled away from Kassov from what Michael could see. She melted into the crowd.
"Placed, Nikita?" He asked softly. He could tell she slipped out the fire exit and was at the back of the building.
"Up along the edge of his hairline. Should be just enough so you can send out the troops for him on the way home." She was at the car and pulled off the hat. Just as she did Michael caught sight of another Ferrari, this one a dark blue maybe pull in besides her. He could hear her exchange pleasantries with the other driver about the cars. Birkoff killed the video feed and turned to Michael.
"Already working. Operations said to let him go home and Simon's team would pick him up there. Kill the coms?"
"Yes. Tell Simon his team is on standby till Kassov is in position." He watched as Birkoff started to hit keys.
"Michael?" Nikita sounded softly in his ear. He placed a hand on Birkoff's shoulder.
"Leave my feed to her for a moment.....Yes?" He waited for her question.
"Do I need to debrief?" He heard the wistful tone in her voice.
"No, just bring the car back." He heard the music go on but so far it was turned down.
"After a test drive?"
"Be careful."
He heard her laugh softly then her voice seemed to be as close to him as if she was actually whispering in his ear. "See you back at the homestead, cowboy," she said trying to do a southern drawl. Birkoff looked up to see Michael hiding the smile behind his hand.
"Of course." Michael said and removed the earpiece. He laid it down on the console. "How fast is the top speed on that car?"
Birkoff hit a few keys. "199 mph....don't worry though she can't hit those speeds on the roads she's going to be coming back on. She's not a Grande Prix driver...."
Michael didn't reply to the comment. Not being one wasn't going to make any difference to her. He couldn't help the worry. She was not as emotionally balanced he would like to see, a bit of self destruction was still there. But then again, he knew he wasn't either. She would be reved up when she got home. It could prove to be a nice long night. "Mark me as out. I'm going home. Mark Nikita as well."
Tapping a few more keys, Birkoff said, "Gotcha...have a good night!" There was no remark from Michael who disappeared down the hallway, unbuttoning his jacket. Birkoff leaned back in his chair, fingers locked behind his head. "You are damn lucky dog, Michael. 3/4s of the guys here would love to be in your shoes. Me included. Wonder what it's..."
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The car handled like a dream. It responded to her slightest touch. A devilish smile crossed her lips.... Kinda like Michael.... She laughed throatily. "You are a wicked woman Nikita." She reached over and turned up the music, starting to sing along with it. The breeze from the open window, blowing her hair around and letting the music fly into the night. It was cold so she turned the heat up a bit, to keep her fingers from feeling so numb.
"We exist in a world where the fear of illusion is real....and we cling to the past to deny and con fuse the ideal...once inside, we conceive and believe in a God we can't feel.....Temptation..."
Nikita looked down at the speedometer. It read 75 but she still felt a little like she was sitting still. "One foot in the gr...." As she came around the curve she started to accelerate and looked up. She saw the headlights catch the eyes of a large animal that rapidly was getting larger. It was frozen in the middle of the road by her approaching headlights. She hit the brakes and felt nothing. She twisted the wheel too sharply for the narrow road and the speed she was traveling at. The wheels slipped across the cold macadam. "Damn it!" She said loudly as she fought for control. The rear tires hit the edge of the road and she felt the impact of the car against a thick tree stump. The animal had managed to recover from its paralyzed fear and tried to flee. However it decided to go in the same direction she swerved the car in. "NO!". She slammed down on the brakes again, still nothing. The windshield cracked as the animal hit it and the car careened completely out of control.
Nikita felt the tilt of the car as the tires on the left side slipped off the road. The car had spun in the opposite direction. The animal continued to fly over the top of the car. The seatbelt dug into her as it start to turn over and crash down the side of the road into a ravine. The slope was rocky in spots, smooth in others. For some ridiculous reason her only thought at the moment was Walter telling her that this was a Ferrari with the safety features of a race car. It had been made to protect the driver in case of a high speed crash on the track.
It bounced its way down to the bottom and ended up on its top, wheel spinning and smoke drifting lazily from the undercarriage. The impact had knocked her unconscious momentarily. With a groan she opened her eyes to find herself upside down. Her head throbbed with a horrendous pain that radiated down the side of her face and into her jaw. With a quivering arm, she brought up an equally shaky hand. Touching the side of her head, she pulled away a now bloodied hand.
Then she heard a crackling sound. The acrid odor of smoke reached her nose. "Out....now...get ...out." With hands trembling from shock and panic, she fumbled with the seatbelt. After two tries, it let go and she slumped down onto the roof. She stayed like that, the pain making it too difficult to move. An image of Michael with both Reese and Katie floated through her mind as she started to lose consciousness again.
"No..." she moaned. With her head feeling like to was going to explode just as a warning signal in the back of her mind kept repeating that the car was going to do the same, she started to move. With every motion causing excruciating pain, she pulled herself from the car. She made it only a few feet from the wreck before blackness claimed her.
End of part three...
written by Tammy
Continue on to Perchance To Dream, part four
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