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Date Posted: 23:36:57 03/26/09 Thu
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 24)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 22:50:15 03/07/09 Sat



Whether the aging man in the old-style grey butler’s suit who answered the door was expecting him or not was totally unreadable. The man’s face was utterly blank – neither uninterested nor arrogant. Simply...weathered – there was nothing left to phase him. Not that Michael’s presence this late afternoon, helmet tucked under one arm, should have phased him; that Michael was coming to the house for dinner seemed to be well known to the entire security of the estate. The guards at each of the three successions of gates coming up the main drive permitted his bike to glide easily toward the house without interruption.

The property itself was sprawling; not at all the ‘house’ that Nikita had described. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really. While the physical home itself was not ostentatious in any way, the sheer size of the property was incredible for a location that remained within the borders of the city’s core. In fact, from the front drive the house appeared to be only one-storey. But by the way a smaller road pulled off and around each side of the property, Michael assumed that there must be much more house tucked behind the wooded groves shrouding some of the front.

Michael had parked his bike on the brick drive, somewhere in the middle of an endless row of striking black imports – SUVs, sedans, limos – and made his way past the four sentries guarding the modest, single-door entrance without ceremony. The butler had been waiting.

His coat and helmet had been taken and were now situated in a room next to the front door, which may have been called a “closet” were it 13 feet shorter. Silently, Michael followed the butler’s lead down the hallway a short distance, their destination a mystery to him.

They reached a cove of doors that were clearly the offices of the house. That they were so close to the entrance was practical, Michael supposed, so that business could be conducted away from the main part of the home.

“Ms. Jones is currently occupied,” the butler intoned, looking in the direction of the pair of central, large double glass doors.

Nikita was leaning against her desk, visibly deep in conversation. Com link in one ear, PDA in one hand – she saw them immediately, locked eyes with Michael and raised her free hand in greeting. She was a vision in powerful beauty.

Michael was becoming familiar with new the feeling that seized him when he saw her physically, since he had returned. It was like something pressing on his chest – his breathing slowed, he became immediately aware of his own heartbeat. It made him feel like he was breathing underwater; instantly aware of his own humanity – though not insecure or afraid. Aware. Deeply aware – of being alive.

Michael finally pried his eyes from hers when she was visibly forced to consult the reports scattered across her desk. Michael then slowly turned to the expressionless face of the man who may or may not have been issuing directions in the time since they had arrived at the offices. Whether the man was annoyed at Michael’s inattention didn’t show an iota. Nor did his eyes even flinch when the sound of a bomb-like explosion tore through the hallway an instant later, accompanied by raucous laughter and a few playful screams.

Michael’s eyes shifted in the direction of the chaos as three teenagers came storming at a run down the hall.

“Henry!” the girl yelled at the butler as they ran past. “You shoulda seen it!” laughter bubbled through her as she and the other two boys ducked into the room across the hall. A moment later, the sound of their footsteps charging up a staircase that must be located in that room accompanied their animated chatter until they disappeared upstairs.

Michael’s eyes shifted back to the room that held the mysterious explosion. A gruff and familiar voice was complaining in muttered frustration. A small smile began at the corner of Michael’s mouth, and he was immediately drawn down the hall to the source. He walked slowly, his anticipation making him feel strangely separate. He craned his neck slightly as he neared the doorway. Then, ten feet away, the owner of the voice emerged.

Walter looked just as Michael remembered. Fit, petulant, good-humoured and gruff. Walter stopped mid-stride as he saw Michael standing before him. Michael watched the emotions play openly across his features, and knew his own were a mirror. In an instant, Michael was enveloped in the firmest hug of his entire adult existence. And in that moment something that he didn’t know hadn’t been fitting within him clicked into its rightful place. He closed his eyes and sighed.

When they separated, Walter barked a laugh and punched him ungently in the upper right of Michael’s chest. “Michael,” he exclaimed with a laugh, rubbing his face and shaking his head. He clasped him on the opposite shoulder and shook him slightly.

Michael felt the same. Of course, he wasn’t emotionally free to display his feelings – but he understood and appreciated Walter’s ability to express such a welcome. He smiled shyly and looked deeply into the sparkling eyes of the man who had been the only father he had since he was twenty.

“Whoo are yoou?” An impetuous, girlish voice interrupted them, coming from somewhere below Michael’s right elbow. Henry had made himself scarce, but they didn’t stand alone in the main hallway. Five teenagers – including the original three – stood watching them from a distance. And a little girl who didn’t look more than twelve stood looking inquiringly up at him.

“This is an old, old friend of mine, sugar. This is Michael Samuelle.”

The girl turned wide-eyed back to Michael and whispered, “-The- Michael Samuelle?”

Michael’s eyebrow arched slightly at this pronouncement, and he felt all the more the intense curiosity of the children clustered in the room.

“I don’t know,” Walter replied innocently, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pivot her in front of himself to face Michael. “Michael, this is Chantal Jones,” he introduced with a proud grin.

Michael nodded, looking down into her shining blue eyes. He gave her his sweetest of charming smiles and raised the back of her small hand to his lips. He deliberately held her gaze as his lips grazed her knuckles – and the poor creature was instantly, totally lost. It was an elaborate show designed to win her favour, of course – if not possibly the other children watching avidly from the sidelines.

For her part, little Chantal responded with a shy girlish giggle and nodded “Yup, you’re him.”

Michael looked over to the other children – the teenage girl was naturally swooning, the boys shifting and gauging him cautiously. Michael wondered how to engage each one of them. Nikita said fourteen – if little Chantal was so easily won, he wondered about the rest. Not that they were his challenge – but Nikita had him here for a reason. She wanted to show him her life. And he wanted desperately to learn to be a part of it. To do that, he had to be something he had a very hard time being: relationally engaging.

“You’re having dinner with us tonight,” one of the boys lined up with his friends blurted out this knowledge. Michael met this one’s eyes, and something within him snapped in familiarity. Birkoff. No glasses, his hair long and streaked with blond – but he was definitely from Birkoff. Or Jason.

“Yes,” Michael affirmed openly.

“Can you cook?” this question was from a lanky young man just barely reaching out of his teenage years.

Michael couldn’t place his identity. A small smile confirmed the young man’s challenge, “Yes.”

“Good,” said a third – the one who’s posture and tone said he was the leader, “’Cause we need help.” He nodded in the direction of the doorway, and they all walked into the expansive kitchen.

As it turned out, the explosion was caused by Walter teaching them some volatile kitchen chemistry at one of the three islands in the huge space. The remnants of the lesson were sprayed orange, red, and green across the cupboards on that side of the room.

Standing on the opposite side of the mess were three men – one of them Michael immediately recognized as Justus Hannington. The three seemed to have just arrived on the scene, and each had a towel in hand.

The little crowd with Michael and Walter approached the area, but Michael noted that they all stayed a cautious pace back. Whether from guilt or fear of punishment, he didn’t know.

“Do I need to guess who’s responsible for this?” one of the men asked – he appeared to be around Hannington’s age, certainly not one of the children. His wide stance and frowning features put him firmly in the role of judge and jury.

“That’d be me, Gui,” Walter stepped in, “Just a little lesson in chemistry.”

“And physics,” one of the bolder teenagers chipped in with snort, to which the rest of his crowd chuckled.

Michael immediately recognized that “Gui” was the man Nikita had spoken of. Guillaume. So this was the man. He was a half-inch taller than Michael, but more slender. His head was shaved completely, and his clothing was tailored and immaculate. His irritation regarding the mess the children made was perfectly in keeping with the caricature he physically presented. The conqueror in Michael smiled. What easy prey.

“Just clean it up, guys,” Guillaume replied, tossing his towel onto the island as a tool to get started.

The teenagers and younger ones grumbled at the ceasing of their fun, and shuffled begrudgingly toward the scene. Michael noted that they went together – guilty and innocent – to clean up the mess. Their sense of community was strong – stronger than their desire to avoid the work and the blame.

Guillaume, Justus, and the other young man walked around the scene, closer to Michael and Walter.

“Michael,” Justus said warmly, putting out his hand to shake the darker man’s, “Nikita told me you were coming tonight – one more adult gives us a fighting chance.”

The corner of Michael’s lips lifted to acknowledge the humour Justus was trying to inject into this meeting, though truly he was more interested in getting on with introductions.

“This is Liam Jones,” Justus presented, gesturing to the young man. With quicksilver eyes, light blond hair, and a scruffy goatee, Michael couldn’t place his origins. But there was something infinitely familiar about him. Something stuttered within Michael as they shook hands. He knew this young man’s eyes – very well.

After acknowledging Liam and shaking his hand, Michael could then stare freely into the eyes of the man sleeping with his Nikita. He shifted his gaze to Guillaume, and held unflinchingly – his face a perfect mask.

Guillaume’s eyes were a light, intelligent blue-grey. His posture was clearly challenging, his knowledge of who Michael was clearly visible in his stance and tension. Michael reciprocated in kind. Their handshake was tight and finished before Justus had completed introducing him as “Guillaume Lias.”

The air crackled around the five men as Michael’s authority swept through the room like a thick liquid wave and obliterated any possession Guillaume could have claimed.

Michael’s voice contained all the humour and assurance of his first meeting with Gray Wellman, as he whispered with private mocking, “Nice to meet you.” His intoned confidence found its target and Guillaume looked away, his gaze finding refuge in Justus.

“Well,” Hannington cleared his throat in a timely way, “The adults typically hide in the library until dinner.” His invitation was clear, and shifted to lead the way.

“I promised my services in the kitchen,” Michael replied softly, also shifting but in the opposite direction. The corners of his lips allowed the explanation to seem rueful.

“Och,” Justus scoffed, “That sucks. You’ll learn faster, don’t worry.” His assurance was accompanied by a pat on Michael’s shoulder. Michael's stone mask gave a small smile in reply, forgoing comment. He valued a relationship with Hannington, but right now time with Nikita’s family was his goal.

“I’m going to stay and cook too, then,” Walter added, and met Michael’s gaze in a desire to spend more time with him.

Justus just chuckled, shook his head like they had both gone crazy, and led the other men from the room. Michael’s eyes followed Guillaume’s retreat, noting and filing away the other man’s pace, footsteps, balance, and posture. When they had rounded the corner out of sight, Michael turned to face Walter.

Walter started chuckling, “That went well.”

Michael looked down to hide his grin, before meeting Walter’s eyes again and simply allowing himself a small chuckle in reply. Michael didn’t doubt that this situation with Guillaume was definitely not going to be easy – but he could concede Walter’s obvious point: the other man was not an iota like him.

“Glad you’re back,” Walter grinned, “Really, really glad.” And he gripped Michael in another fierce hold before Michael could possibly react.

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

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