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Date Posted: 23:32:21 02/07/09 Sat
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 16)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 13:16:05 01/08/09 Thu

(Still alive and writing, just a little late this time guys, sorry. Enjoy! -- Odelle)




Of course, Michael had no food in the house.

A half hour later, they were ensconced in a cozy booth at a little café down the street. The seat was a tacky vinyl and red with sparkles – but, as if in compensation, the smell from the bakery in the back was deliciously overwhelming.

They sat in somewhat comfortable silence. Michael sipped silently on his coffee, surveying their surroundings, watching Nikita gently.

Nikita was staring absently into her mug, lost to her thoughts. A night without dreams? A morning without a heavy, hazy fog? And, to make it all impossible, she suddenly possessed a ravenous hunger for food?

Not in years.

She looked up at her companion and sighed, a small smile of consolation visiting her lips. She wondered what he thought of her.

The waitress arrived with an unspeakable array of wonderful treats. Nikita’s stomach announced its appreciation audibly, which allowed all three of them a quiet chuckle of humour. When the older woman ambled away, Nikita leaned in to snatch a first taste, and decided to broach the beginning of the topic, “I don’t think I’ve been this starving in years.”

Michael leaned forward slowly to pluck a heated confection from the plate. He sat back and stared gently into her. “You’re always starving, Nikita,” his lips showed a tender humour, though his statement was a clear disagreement.

“I used to be,” she replied softly. She didn’t want to do this she realized, looking off to the side –it was so much easier to pretend. She clenched her jaw and gave him more, “Until I became Centre.”

He cocked his head at her in question, sipping at his coffee.

She cleared her throat uneasily, “The transition, a few years ago, was really rough. Still is. Rough. I haven’t eaten or slept much. Haven’t – haven’t ever had a night without dreams. Nightmares. And certainly never woken up with an appetite.”

Michael’s eyes fell in front of him, then back up to hers, “How long?”

“Two years.”

He paused, then whispered, “Why?”

Why – oh, the question that she couldn’t answer. The question that she couldn’t even ask herself.

“I get enough, though – sleep and food,” she continued as if she didn’t hear him. Whether he noticed – of course he noticed – she didn’t think about. “I have ways of doing those things,” she shrugged, “Ways of making it work.”

When she wasn’t going to continue, he ventured with another question, “Making what work?”

“Hm,” she sighed, “Being Centre, and yet being...internally unstable. Out of control, at least of myself.”

After a moment, he shook his head, “You don’t seem unstable, Nikita.”

“Then what do you call this morning?”

“You were afraid,” his eyes flicked to the side in memory, then returned to hers, “You were angry.”

She nodded with a rueful sigh, “Every morning. Every time I wake up.”

“Why?”

Stop asking that! she wanted to scream. Instead she clutched her cup closer and shrugged, “Package deal. Don’t you still have those nights?” It sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

In return he visibly watched her evasion again of his question, and tried his own, “How do you make it work?”

She took a deep breath. I sleep with someone, and he doesn’t mind if I try to kill him every now and then. “I manage. I sleep for short periods of time, I eat on a schedule so that work doesn’t make me wither away and die.”

“What about last night?”

Her jaw tightened, and her gaze dropped to somewhere near the right of his chin. “I don’t know.” She sighed, shook her head, “It wasn’t enough.”

“What wasn’t enough?”

Her eyes snapped up to his. What wasn’t enough? -- the question was so simply asked. But the answer was anything but simple. Could she give him that answer? Could she not? This was Michael, she thought. Her other half. She looked in his eyes and felt the sheer completeness of herself. It was the thing that had brought her to him last night. She felt whole this morning; for once, she felt like herself. Because Michael was here. And if he was here, if he held her through the night, and was with her in the aftermath of the morning, maybe he deserved the truth.

“Guillaume.”

Michael froze. She watched something unidentifiable flash across the recesses of his gaze. She focused on the memory of this man her friend, and continued, “Guillaume stops me from hurting myself, or others.” But he’s never stopped the dreams – the disloyal thought dawned in herself, and she fell silent.

Michael swallowed, looked at his mug, “Last night?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “You were here,” she whispered shaking her head softly, “And I knew if I was with you for just a moment, that I could feel safe – finally, safe, for just a moment.” When she looked up at him, he was watching her with his strong gentleness, and her heart melted about her. “And I miss you so much.”

He reached across the table and took her hand, bringing it up to kiss the back softly. He brushed his fingers over it and then rested it between his hands. His eyes haunted, he met her gaze seriously, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

Her eyes pricked. Why couldn’t she withhold the tears with him? She clutched his hand back to her to return the same show of affection. She lowered his hand again and met his eyes, “I’m glad you are now.” She shook her head, “Things are really...complicated. But I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

His eyes searched hers, and she knew he saw the truth within them. He nodded and swallowed. “I won’t leave you again, Nikita. I promise,” he whispered softly.

She smiled softly at him in return, seeing the severity of his vow in his eyes. “Even if my world makes it difficult?”

His look was sure, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, “I haven’t had a challenge in a long time.”

She laughed and leaned her chin on her free hand. “Okay.”

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

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