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Date Posted: 13:24:30 01/08/09 Thu
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 11)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 13:16:05 01/08/09 Thu


Nikita shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over the chair in the middle of the hall. It was nearly twelve. She had waited some time before returning to ensure that the house would be quiet and dark; all matters and people vying for her attention would wait until morning.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck as she kicked off her heals into a pile at the bottom of the hall closet. As she looked up, she caught her reflection in a gilded mirror and paused, frozen. For the first time in what felt like years, she looked at herself – truly looked at the woman she had been avoiding since...well, for a long time.

Did she seem – ? She tilted her head to one side, and looked critically at her features. She felt worn. One too many times around the track. Like her joints were used so much and so often that they were pitted and rusted over.

She looked into her eyes, and was met with a blank stare that was so familiar, it was ghostly. Is that what Michael saw tonight? He certainly didn’t act like it. And, frankly, she didn’t intend to allow it to surface. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t a matter of rising to the surface, anymore. Perhaps it was, itself, the surface.

Raising her hand slowly, she touched the side of her cheek, up to the corner of her eye, down to her chin, where his fingertips had branded her, guided her. Her gaze fell to her lips, and her heart jumped, once – not in delight, but in a deep and latent fear.

A tiny giggle rolled down the hall to her ears, and Nikita’s face snapped in the direction. Soft, warm light spilled in from the den, some four rooms away. A familiar rumble answered the girlish natter, and caused Nikita to go and investigate.

Reaching the threshold, she sighed quietly and smiled, leaning against the door jamb. The sight she beheld banished all those terrifying thoughts from her mind. Within the protective glow of the fire, Walter sat on one side of a chess set. Little Chantal sat opposite him – her bubble gum robe all but swallowing her adolescent frame.

Another life lesson, courtesy of Walter and a board game.

The girl had been suffering from a bout of bedwetting in recent months. Walter was all dignity about the issue, and preferred a back-door method to pull conversation from the preteen. At her age, whatever the problem was needed to be dealt with gently and with modesty – but in haste. With the sheer quantity of brothers and sisters she had, Chantal was already likely to suffer some long-term teasing.

“Now be patient,” Walter soothed, gesturing to the white queen on the opposite side of the table, “She’s powerful, but she’s the only one you’ve got.”

Chantal tucked a leg under herself, and nodded solemnly.

“If you wait it out – wait for things to settle – then you won’t be using her in fear, but with strategy.”

Nikita shifted in the doorway to bring Walter’s gaze to hers. He looked up and smiled in recognition, but his gaze quickly filled with concern. Nikita was astonished that he could read her so well – she felt rather controlled, but supposed it was just another illusion she was peddling herself.

Chantal’s little red head looked up as Walter’s lesson stopped, and followed his stare toward Nikita. At Nikita’s firm but loving return, Chantal smiled with a hand-in-the-cookie-jar toothy shine, and gathered her glass of milk. “Aww, Nik!” she protested weakly, “I was only a minute.”

Nikita nodded at her and flicked her head over her shoulder to the hallway. “Goodnight Chantal,” she reached down and kissed the girl’s forehead as she passed in a cloud of pink softness, “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

“I will,” came her sullen reply.

Nikita smiled as she watched her ascend the stairs, and then turned to find Walter staring at her intently from his leather chair.

“What?” she asked with a knowing grin, slinking down into the den, and occupying Chantal’s vacant seat. The chair was an ancient dark brown leather, and groaned slightly as she settled into its deep embrace.

“You tell me, Sugar,” he growled back, not amused, but still very concerned.

“Do you ever find that we’ve been doing this too long, Walter?” she asked as she distracted herself by bringing a soft wool blanket up around her shoulders.

He smiled at her knowingly, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s the second time this week that I’ve asked that, isn’t it?”

He was too much the gentleman to return that it was actually the third in two weeks. “What’s got you thinking that way tonight?”

She shook her head and flicked up a chess piece, catching it deftly. Truthfully, she didn’t know why Michael’s presence brought on that question. Perhaps it wasn’t because of him, but because of someone else. Perhaps because the prospect of giving in to the Devil, packing up and walking away was so appealing. Especially in the last year or two. Especially, even, tonight. It would be so easy. And his invitation was standing in that respect.

Nikita licked her lips and shook her head. She found comfort in fiddling with the tiny ivory piece. “Michael is back.” She couldn’t believe she had said it. Her eyes fell closed and she took a deep breath. When she felt the courage to open them again, she found Walter’s eyes full, his hand over his mouth, shaking slightly. She smiled weakly at him and shrugged, “What am I supposed to do?” Her voice felt strained and thready, she wished she knew the answers – all the answers. She wished that he hadn’t come and brought a thousand more questions with him.

“Sugar...” he sighed, reaching out a hand and plucking one of hers to hold it firmly. Her jaw clenched visibly, but she refused to cry. His calm, reassuring presence always made her want to cry. But Centre didn’t shed tears over anything – certainly not over a man twice dead and long forgotten.

“How do you feel?”

She thought for a moment. “Terrified,” she answered, chuckled humourlessly while shaking her head and looking up to the ceiling, “Thrilled. Lonely.”

Walter nodded with understanding, stroking the back of her hand. “What do you want to do?”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, truly assessing what her gut told her. Only, unfortunately, her heart was the rebellious sort. It always asked for the impossible, the ridiculous. “I want to go upstairs and curl up in his arms,” she nodded, tearing but refusing to quiver. She watched Walter’s heart break in his eyes for her. But oh – how she could feel his strong, warm arms around her right now. Even now. Especially now.

“It’s alright, Sugar,” Walter patted her gently, “It’s alright to want the dreams. Actually, it’s necessary,” he ventured with gruff wisdom, “You can’t run from dreams. In case you hadn’t noticed, time hasn’t made them fade, it’s made them clearer. Running from them now, when he’s here, will only set them on fire. They’ll chase you like the demons of hell unless you face them – with him.”

Her lips pressed as she realized the truth of it. Yet she couldn’t imagine taking these things to Michael – couldn’t imagine his reaction. “How do I make him understand?”

Walter sighed, staring at her intently. Searching. Then he rose, and stepped around to sit on the edge of her chair, wrapping his arms around her, “I’m afraid, Sugar, that that is not the right question.”

“What is the right question, then?” But even as she asked, she knew she wouldn’t get an answer. The question was the answer, and it was hers to find. Walter kissed her and stood, gazing tearfully once more into her eyes, and sharing briefly with her in her joy at seeing Michael, and her fear for the future of it. Then he patted her hand, and left.

Nikita sat the rest of the night, staring into the mesmerizing dance of the flames in the hearth. She wished, for the first time in all these years, that she could go back and undo it all.

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

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