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Date Posted: 11:39:15 04/20/09 Mon
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 30)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 11:23:04 04/14/09 Tue



Nikita raised her eyes slowly from the absurdity on the table before her. The roaring fire that burned steadily within her felt like a narcotic – it made the edges of her sanity blur nicely. It felt dark, impenetrable. It made any action she took seem reasonable. She felt distinctly separate. The whole situation was infinitely clear – and the clarity gave permission for brutal decisiveness.

She turned just as Guillaume entered the room. He strode in and stopped. She stared at him, and searched herself for a memory of anything other than this moment. As she felt the solid assurance physically embodied next to her, she realized that there was no truth before this moment.

Guillaume clearly looked from Nikita to Michael and back. It was obvious that he sensed the massive offensive he had just placed himself in front of. He shifted a step in no particular direction. “What’s going on?”

Nikita felt the familiarity of his voice flow into her mind – a remembrance of the human reality of this individual. She had let him into her home – into her family, into her bed. She could hardly believe her own folly. Even as this confrontation began, she started to meticulously pick up every shred of attachment to him, compartmentalize it, and burn it in the inferno of her fury. She would not allow a single cell of her body to react personally to his presence. He violated her home, her trust, her children. He was anathema.

“Michael found something in his home,” she said slowly. Without breaking his gaze, she reached onto the table and picked up a handful of the electronic creatures.

Guillaume’s chin hiked up an inch and he shifted his glare to Michael. “Of course,” he stated as if it were expected, “What do you think I would do? He can’t be trusted.”

Nikita waited with the patience of an irritated superior until Guillaume brought his eyes back to hers. He immediately felt the force of his submission as she looked into him and cut his pedestal down a solid foot. Her eyes denied him permission to look away from her again. She let the little spies slip slowly from her hand and scatter across the floor. Guillaume swallowed and tightened his muscles defensively.

“He will only cause problems,” he continued with conviction, “He needs to be watched.”

Nikita responded slowly, picking up more of the devices from the table, “And these?” Guillaume’s eyes shifted to the desk, and the evidence of the hundreds of spies that had been hidden in the house lay scattered in a dark mass of technological rubble. He realized that she must have found them all – that both she and Michael must have searched the house, and found everything.

Guillaume’s posture hardened further, his hips shifting as if to stand in readiness. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Nikita arched a brow at him, “Protect me?” It was an absurd thought, under the circumstances. She decided to humour him, “From what?”

“From him,” Guillaume dared to leave her gaze to glare at Michael. The roaring furnace that was the man standing a few feet apart from Nikita caused his righteous anger to surface, “He is the problem – he’s going to destroy everything; all we’ve worked for.”

Nikita almost found humour in the ridiculousness of the statement. Guillaume had never been involved an iota in her development of the System. Nor in its implementation. His role with her had been specifically defined, and intentionally limited. His work for Oversight predated any “we”, and they never partnered on any projects. “What we’ve worked for?” she asked evenly, “And what’s that?”

Her question clearly caused him alarm. His gaze immediately became trapped, cornered. Whatever he and his masters had been working toward by surveilling her home was not within his control. And she had clearly touched on the root of it. Fear momentarily suffused his gaze. He looked warily at Michael, bringing his fear under his more dominant frustration. “You see – “ he looked back and shook his head at her, “You don’t understand. That’s why I needed to do this – to protect you. Because you don’t understand.”

Her patience at his jumbled mutterings almost mimicked that of a parent, if it weren’t for the coldness in her emotionless eyes. “What don’t I understand?”

Guillaume looked to Michael with suspicion and anger, clearly at odds with talking to her in front of a trespasser, “No, no – he needs to go. He’s not a part of this. He needs to leave.”

He wanted Michael gone, Nikita surmised, because Michael’s physical presence represented the wrinkle in whatever plans Guillaume had. “Seems to me that you made him a part of this,” Nikita replied calmly.

“He made himself a part of this,” Guillaume shifted his stance toward Michael in a challenge, “You forced your way in here, all by yourself, didn’t you?”

Michael just stared at him steadily, reading the man in intense detail.

“You should leave,” Guillaume continued, arching his head a fraction in assertion, “Now.”

Michael bore into him until the other man felt the skin beneath his arms tingle in fear. Then he slowly shook his head back and forth, back and forth.

Guillaume had had enough – ambushed, cornered; his fight-or-flight instincts finally reared up. He reached beneath his suit jacket at lightening speed.

Michael was prepared, and had his gun drawn and held steady on its target, before Guillaume could finish pulling his own glock from his waist.

The men stood ready, arms outstretched to one another, several feet between them. Each had their weapons cocked and aimed at the other squarely.

Guillaume almost seemed surprised when he looked over at Nikita and found her standing with her own gun pointed squarely at his chest. That she would pull a gun on him – that she would side with Michael in this fight – seemed, absurdly, to be a shock to him.

“Put the gun down, Guillaume,” she commanded immediately.

Guillaume regained his surprise and focused again on Michael. “Leave!” he raised his voice a fraction. Michael held his gaze unflinchingly – his body humming with power and control. Guillaume rallied himself, “You don’t belong here. Nikita and I need to talk – get out, so we can talk about this.”

“I think we’re way past talking,” Nikita replied instead, her voice low and even. “How do you think this is going to end, Guillaume?” Nikita would prefer to get him to come closer to one of them. With his training, Guillaume had placed himself in the best triangle of visibility so that neither of them could get to his gun before it went off. She needed him to move closer, to shorten one of the angles just a few feet more.

Guillaume looked from her, to Michael, and back – clearly assessing his options. In a moment, he nodded, “Better he dies. He needs to be eliminated.” He seemed to think about this and nodded again, “You’ll see, Nikita – I’m doing this to protect you. If you kill me, so be it. But Michael needs to die.” He looked back to Michael and aimed squarely between his eyes.

************

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