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Date Posted: 12:36:56 05/26/09 Tue
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 35)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 11:23:04 04/14/09 Tue



Michael found himself somewhat calm as his bike rode unimpeded past all the gates up the main drive of the estate. It was a strange case of déjŕ vu. But he was here for a very different purpose, this time. Quite simply, to antagonize Nikita. Thankfully, though, he was still recognized as friend, not enemy; at least to the policies and protocols of the guards. For the moment.

Henry would be another story. It was nearing four in the morning, and Michael wondered how far the butler’s composure would take him. Michael didn’t even need to raise his hand to the doorhandle to find out. Henry opened the large entrance smoothly, and nodded to Michael in simple acceptance.

As Michael entered the darkened hallway, he immediately felt Nikita nearby. The butler was instantly forgotten as if he never was, and Michael walked steadily toward where he knew her offices to be.

Slowly he neared the cove of doorways, where light emanated through the large glass doors and painted the floor golden in the hallway. He walked to stand in its glow, and looked in on the occupant inside. Nikita was sitting behind her large ancient desk, typing rapidly even as she scanned two of the other screens around her.

Michael clicked open the door and Nikita’s eyes snapped in his direction. Distant, unmoved, warning. He continued into the room and let the door click shut behind him, even though her stare told him he was treading dangerously.

She looked other-worldly. Dressed entirely in midnight-black, her skin and hair were strikingly pale in comparison. Her face was ashen and totally blank, and even her eyes seemed dimmed in colour.

For Nikita, every muscle deep within her body was telling her to get up and go to him. Her pulse was fairly singing in her ears at his presence. But her physical response steeled her instincts even more, and she remained seated and in control. She would not go to him. She would not depend on him for support. She needed no one.

Michael continued toward her unhurriedly. She was unable to form a prediction of his intent, and found herself a slave to his slow progress. He reached the chairs that sat across from the expanse of desk, and slowly placed his helmet in one of them.

She blinked – she didn’t remember a helmet being in his hands when he entered the room.

Michael watched a small frown of concentration crease her brow as she watched his black helmet settle onto the plush chair. He stood up straight and still beside it, and received her glare when her eyes flicked back to his.

“What?” she ground out tightly in a low voice.

Michael took in the state of the desk before him for a moment, before answering her softly, “How are you?”

Such a simple question, but it shot right into her core. The question left her with a choice of an answer, and her soul screamed out for him. She let her eyes fall from his, before darting them over to a computer screen to prevent him from seeing the move as vulnerability. “Do you have a problem?” she asked to the computer.

Michael regarded her profile for a long moment. His eyes flicked down to her typing fingers, and saw her little finger trembling slightly. “Yes,” he replied in a whisper, which earned her gaze again. She looked at him with a hardness that begged him to leave her alone – and Michael knew that he wouldn’t be leaving, even if she shot at him.

Nikita felt naked as he bore into her steadily, unanswering her unspoken query. She felt him venturing steadily toward her fortress walls, and scaling easily the first of them. He would not let her away with silence.

She stood. She wasn’t sure why, but she was standing in a moment. Her eyes searched her desk for something to use as a reason, but couldn’t formulate anything. She looked back up to Michael. He was so steady and present before her – she groaned inside, wanting. With a shake of her head, she ignored everything but her strong instincts to push him away. “You need to go.”

Nikita’s immediate resistance to him – with no clear recent history to provoke it – confirmed his prior instincts that she was running from him. Fast. Whatever she was suffering, she must fear his ability to heal her. Or, rather, her ability to heal herself. Determination filled his veins, made his body hum with the match to her anxiety.

Michael carefully looked down to see her leaning her thighs for support against the side of the desk. When he met her eyes again he deliberately shifted his head a fraction – testing. Her gaze was slow to match his. Dizzy. Was she sick? Ill in some way? Nothing else showed – she was proud and unmoving.

“Ni-ki-ta,” Michael whispered a soft plea, calling out to her, inviting her to accept him, and he stepped slowly to walk around the desk.

Nikita stood taller, letting herself feel threatened instead of reassured by his intent to invade her space behind the desk. It worked – more anxiety filled her, her pulse racing. “Stop,” she commanded with hard, angry authority. And she watched as Michael was slow to pause, only a few feet from her.

That he had stopped moving provided her with the visual orientation to shift away from him. She turned, focused on the table and chairs at the far wall, and started toward them. “Go away, Michael,” she ground out again, silently grateful that she had abandoned heels in favour of flats, “I don’t want you here.”

Michael watched her back as she walked, seeing the inefficiency in her muscles. Coordination. “Yes you do,” he whispered and walked silently to follow her.

Nikita arrived at the little side table, and rested one hand on the marble top as she reached to pour herself a glass of water. The glass jug was heavy, and it banged hard against the tiles as she tried to lift it.

Michael was already there, though, and plucked the glass handle from her fingers, not touching her. He eyed her profile as she glared in fury into the space above the vignette, and poured her a glass of the cool liquid.

Nikita listened as the tempting drink swirled like heaven in the crystal glass. She was suddenly so thirsty. She tried to remember the last time she had felt a cool glass of water soothe her throat.

Michael gently offered the full, sparkling crystal glass in front of her – but was not the least bit surprised when she knocked it out of his hand to send it flying against the far wall. It crashed and sparkled into a thousand pieces, water spraying the wall and the floor.

Her eyes were a deadly fire as they landed on his. “Get out.”

“Non.”

“I don’t need you, Michael.” She squared her shoulders to him and stared at him evenly.

Michael paused, breathing softly. He heard her cry to him, and opened himself to her unguarded. “Maybe not,” he whispered softly, and deliberately let her in himself, “But I need you.”

Her gaze flickered. She wanted desperately to cling to the promise in his words – to offer her own needs to him. But she wasn’t in control of herself any longer. She shifted toward him and spat the cruel words that lay between them, “Not for the last decade or so.” Hate delivered, she moved to step back from him, but he caught her wrist.

Nikita reared up, but didn’t retaliate. Her nostrils flared, and she stared into him through the haze of her exhaustion. She didn’t see pain in his eyes at her spiteful words – not hurt or anger. She saw victory – patient victory.

“I love you,” he whispered, not quite as a sentiment. He shifted closer to her. “Let me in,” he whispered, and put his arms firmly around her.

“No,” she growled, twisting from him. But she was unsteady, and the move only sunk her against him further. “Stop,” she pleaded, “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Panic filled her voice, and she beat one weak hand against his shoulder.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he murmured against her temple, feeling her struggle against him again. “I won’t ever hurt you, ‘kita.”

The truth of it sank into her, and she felt the fight leave her body, but not her voice, “Leave me – leave me alone.”

Michael shook his head a little against hers, “No, not again. Never again.”

A sob tore unbidden from her throat, and made her angry at herself for feeling. She would not give him enough power to make her cry. She reared back enough to slap him hard across the face.

Michael didn’t release his hold around her waist, but met her eyes pleadingly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with emotion, “I’m so sorry, ‘kita.”

Baffled and angry, she hit him again. Red bloomed on his cheek even as a tear fell from her eye.

“Forgive me,” he murmured beseechingly.

“No,” her voice was low with emotion. Another tear fell, and she pushed at him weakly with her hands.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“No!” she yelled immediately.

“I love you,” he repeated, insistent. “I’m so sorry.”

Tremors wracked her body, and she fell against him slowly. Another sob tore from her throat and her muscles gave in. She felt so weak, so vulnerable.

Michael sensed her final release and scooped her up instantly into his arms, walking them to the couch nearby.

Nikita had no more strength in her left to fight him, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. He didn’t understand what he was asking for – didn’t know the depths to which she had fallen in his absence. But yet he tucked them into the corner of the plush cushions, and rested her against him to run his hand soothingly up and down her back.

Up and down, up and down, up and down – with steady, warm pressure, he lulled her. She wasn’t crying; she didn’t have the energy to cry. He murmured his apologies against her hair, and begged her softly for forgiveness. The secure repetition of his caress and his words were relentless, and Nikita felt herself slip easily into an exhausted trance.

Michael placed his lips against her hairline, her forehead, her eyebrow, her temple. He didn’t know where the need to make amends came from, but it flooded him with an emotional desperation he hadn’t felt before. He had abandoned her; totally abandoned her. It lay between them like a gaping chasm. He didn’t know how to close it, didn’t know how to connect them. He needed her to forgive him – he needed her to need him.

He kissed the shell of her ear, the corner of her eye, the top of her cheekbone – and felt her stiffen.

“Michael,” she pulled back just slightly, her voice low and warning, “Stop – don’t.” Nikita felt herself sitting on his lap and frowned, realizing belatedly her intimate position. She shook her head and tried to move, “Off, out – please, Michael.”

Michael sensed that she was not pushing him away in the same manner as a few minutes ago, and slipped from under her and off the couch. He crouched on the ground in front of her, and let her wipe her face and gather herself.

Nikita took a deep breath in, and sighed softly as she leaned forward on her knees, eyes closed. Now or never, her mind told her. You can start to tell him now, or you can shut him out forever. And she was simply too exhausted to refuse voice to the things she was aching to reveal to him – to have him shoulder with her.

Michael felt her battle, and kneeled on either side of her feet, giving her a sense of physical security, if she needed it. He stared up into her face, searching – patient, but desperately wanting to know.

Nikita sighed again, and cleared her throat softly of the emotion that threatened just beyond her control. “Guillaume and I had an arrangement,” she began carefully, opening her eyes to Michael’s. His gaze was strong and steady, so she continued. “And he...well, I – “ she sighed, trying to find the words. Michael’s hand came up and took one of hers. She watched her fingers lace with his, and knew she had to tell him, no matter the rejection she faced. “Over two years ago I was taken,” she shrugged, “by someone.” Vague was better. Vague would bring words without memories. She didn’t want Michael to see her absorbed by the memories. She continued, “And I was held for three months. Tortured.”

Michael’s eyes fell closed, and he exhaled slowly. Three months of torture. Pain washed over him and through him. He couldn’t imagine – couldn’t believe he hadn’t been there to protect her. He couldn’t breathe.

“It was – “ she sighed and shook her head, “I came back pretty broken.” Absently, she looked up to glance at his cheek where she had slapped him twice. She lay her hand gently on the skin, her instinctual need to heal herself manifesting in her need to soothe him. “I couldn’t sleep – didn’t sleep. The nightmares never stopped. I started hallucinating, and wound up in Medlab.”

Michael held her hand strongly, caressing his thumb rhythmically over the back. He absorbed the throbbing ache of feeling her pain, and swallowed his deep guilt to focus only on her.

“Guillaume had just lost his wife. He was an analyst at Oversight. And he offered to – “ she shrugged, “Help.” A humourless chuckle at the events of this past week bubbled in her throat and she shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. “Help us both.” It seemed so ironic – so ridiculous – given the outcome.

Michael felt a new wave of venom fill him at the betrayal of someone who had deemed himself her protector. The man had been entrusted with her care, and had violated it in the worst way.

“We were never together in any other way. I can’t – “ she struggled for the words as a familiar heat crept up her throat in shame, “Sexually, I can’t – “ she struggled to explain. “For those three months...”

Michael’s eyes fell, and he knew. He felt the pain and humiliation of it exude from her, and he knew. She had been raped. Raped and likely sexually tortured for those three months. And left broken. Agony coursed through his veins and he was filled with a desperation to heal her, to comfort her.

“Guillaume,” she swallowed to clear her stuck throat, “agreed never to touch me – not without permission. And certainly never to come on to me.” She felt dirty just saying it – she couldn’t look at him, “But I needed him to sleep with me, to stop me from hurting myself in my nightmares – or lash out at one of the children.” She recoiled a little bit at the thought, and shook her head in self-disgust. The danger she put the children in made her want to vomit.

“Nikita,” Michael whispered softly, and raised himself up on his haunches to pursue her withdrawal. “Don’t – it’s not your fault.”

She looked at him like he had grown another head, “I invited him in here, Michael. In my home, in my bed! I subjected the children to his surveillance – and the eyes of whoever he works for.”

Michael shook his head in denial, “No – you agreed to his help, Nikita. So you could sleep. That’s all. He owns his betrayal.” Unable to stop himself, he ran a cautious hand down the side of her hair reverently, wanting to heal the deep wounds that lay open within her. He longed for more answers – how was she taken? By whom? Where was she held? What did the monster want from her? But he kept silent, knowing that his questions wouldn’t help her right now.

She closed her eyes and sighed, “There were other options, Michael – of course there were other options. But he was willing and I just...” she felt herself become emotional, unbidden, “I was so tired – so very, very tired.”

Michael cupped her cheek and wiped at her tear with his thumb. He needed words; words he never had – words of comfort that he wished he knew to say to her. She must be utterly exhausted. She must not have slept much in the nearly four nights since it happened. And that was extremely dangerous, for her own health. Sleep deprivation was fatal. He might not have the words, but he could show her.

“’kita,” he whispered softly, stroking his thumb over her eyebrow. “Let me help you.” He could stay with her – take her up to bed and give her the rest she needed.

“No,” she groaned and opened her eyes to him, “I can’t – I won’t treat you like him.”

Michael smiled sardonically, “I’m not Guillaume, Nikita.” She looked at him at the cruel obviousness of it, but Michael was grinning, “For one, I don’t promise not to touch you.”

At this she chuckled, and let out a first relieving sigh. Obviously not – he hadn’t stopped touching her since the moment he had returned.

“But,” Michael stood slowly, and put his hand out to receive hers, “I do promise that you can trust me. I’ll never leave you.”

She looked up at him and felt the security of his words flow through her. He had climbed neatly inside her impenetrable fortress, and was offering to lead her to freedom. And briefly, she felt afraid that she was going to need him, for far more than a night of rest.

She looked down to his proffered hand, and put hers gently within it.

Michael moved to tug her up, but she stopped him with a firm hold. His eyes met hers questioningly.

“I don’t think I can do stairs.”

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

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