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Date Posted: 20:24:37 04/05/09 Sun
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 25)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 22:50:15 03/07/09 Sat



Nikita was pissed. She flipped her laptop closed angrily and stood. Stevens at Three was giving her a hell of a time – asserting himself like he had any clout. She snorted softly and shook her head. No, Stevens was not about to play any games with the System she had so carefully constructed. She tossed her com link onto the desk carelessly and walked at a determined pace to the door. How many times did she have to put that man in his place?

Her office door shook and groaned a bit as it shut in her wake. Nikita rarely let her frustration manifest itself physically, preferring to absorb and channel that particular emotion. But today had been a battle all day to deal with one simple man and one simple problem – when she had so much more that required her attention.

Her heals clicked firmly down the hallway as she rolled her eyes in an internal sneer. Of course, it wasn’t simple because Stevens’ rebellion wasn’t self-manufactured. It was caught. Like a disease. All she needed right now were two Operations defying direct commands. Raafsma was his own set of problems. Stevens was an irritant that didn’t need to be added to her plate.

Didn’t she already have ––

Nikita rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Her mind stuttered, turned itself over. Flickered.

Michael. In her kitchen.

She paused. Reframed.

Good lord – he’s smiling. Honest-to-goodness, teeth-showing smiling. She blinked.

She vaguely remembered a gorgeous vision of a man stealing her gaze outside her office an hour ago. That the same man was now standing in her kitchen – smiling more broadly than she had likely ever seen him – rendered her motionless.

Slowly her gaze pivoted in a scan of the domestic tableau before her. Eleven of the children were in the kitchen with Michael, all working diligently and in active conversation. Three were at one island with Walter, one was at the far oven wall, another had her head in the fridge, and six were standing with Michael at the other island.

The stereo on the wall was beating out a track she knew to be Simon’s current favourite – Simon was their resident rising musical star, and the authority on all things audio. The young man in question was the one currently gazing avidly into the light emanating from the glass on the second set of ovens. Simon, cooking?

Her gaze flicked back to Michael, and she somewhat startled to find him staring at her. His smile had faded into something warm and concentrated at her. Nikita found herself returning it, and walked slowly toward them. With her new movement, her tense muscles reminded her that she had been angry a moment before. Like shedding a coat, she rejected that idea and deliberately forgot everything but the tableau before her. And Michael was certainly a distracting influence, to say the least. Doubtless it would be easy to forget her own name when he laughed like he had been.

When Michael visibly-reluctantly returned his gaze to the sizzling pan in his hand, Nikita took stock of his little audience. Three children were poised avidly on each side, and all of them – including Michael – donned black waist aprons and were each engaged in their own contributions to the cooking.

Michael clearly had his eye on two: Chantal and Isaac – the youngest of the household – who had their hands in some vat of thick purple substance, each concentrated on the task of mixing the giant glob. By their red faces and endlessly bubbling giggles, it appeared they were having marginal success subduing the mixture. The two of them were perched along with their task ontop of the island where Michael and the other four were working.

Michael was at the helm of the stove along with his firstmates Andrew and Kaitlin, who each had their own steaming pots and pans to manage. His movements were gentle but efficient, his directives whispered softly. Each of the children responded immediately and together they were a seamless culinary symphony.

Evidently it was Sarah – the consummate comedienne – on Michael’s other side, who had them all enraptured with her latest tale; and no doubt in stitches, too. If Sarah loved anything, it was an audience. And Michael, with his unique ability to reside forever in attentive silence, was her newest pick.

When Nikita approached the island within speaking distance, he looked up at her again. He had flour on the side of his chin. Again her brain stuttered, flickered. She determined not to think about it.

“All done?”

Michael and Nikita were both surprised when Guillaume came up suddenly to their scene. He casually put a hand around her waist in a lame attempt at possession. Michael caustically wondered how long it had taken him to think up that cliché move in his time in the library. But Michael’s eyes narrowed as he watched Nikita immediately stiffen. Her discomfort was more than annoyance, and Michael felt himself growl inside. He deliberately looked down and concentrated on releasing each of his tight fingers from their hold on the pan’s handle.

It took Nikita a moment to sift through the confusion of her own mind. Again her brain did a somersault, and she nodded in an effort to reduce the fuzziness. “Yeah,” she finally managed to meet Guillaume’s eyes, “And it looks like dinner is almost done, too.” With an obviously distancing glare, she shifted immediately out of his grasp.

Michael felt a rigid breath from his other side, and casually flicked his eyes over to a stiff Andrew. When Michael followed his gaze, he found that the young man was staring at Guillaume. By his tension and his fixation on the altercation between Nikita and Guillaume, Michael surmised that Andrew was not a fan of the other man. Interesting.

They were all distracted by the awkwardness that seized the group so quickly, and poor Kaitlin didn’t notice that her pot had reached the climax of its battle with the lid. The pressure of the heat and steam caused the tight-fitting top to give a final screech and shoot off of the stove.

Michael’s hand was where the lid would land long before it arrived at lightening speed. Little Chantal’s gasp came late as Michael quickly removed the burning lid from where he caught it a hair away from her face. He placed it very carefully back onto the island’s surface.

Nikita was already there, too – her hands on Chantal’s shoulders as she was about to pull the child out of harm’s way. But she would have been a second too late – her pace around the island was a few feet more than Michael’s.

“Oh my gosh!” Kaitlin put her hands to her face as she realized what happened. She shook her head in shocked dismay at her mistake.

“Chant – “ Andrew muttered dazedly, walking belatedly around to the little girl.

Nikita’s eyes narrowed as Michael silently and secretively lowered his hand beneath the surface of the island, and behind his back.

“It’s okay,” Michael whispered, his focus on the teenager next to him. Gently, his free hand came up to Kaitlin’s shoulder in reassurance. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh my gosh,” she repeated, shaking her head as she stared at her little sister.

“Nothing happened,” Nikita repeated, checking Chantal’s shocked expression and nodding resolutely. “You’re fine, sweetheart?” It was best to treat the situation as if it were less significant, to prevent an inevitable swell of emotion.

It took a moment, but Chantal nodded – mercifully dry-eyed – and turned to Kaitlin. “Yeah... I’m fine Katie.” Again she nodded, as if to reassure herself. Then she smiled and shuffled across the island’s surface and received a big hug from Kaitlin. She gave a girlish chuckle at the tightness. “Katie – I’m fine!” came her last muffled assurance.

The tone in Chantal’s voice reassured the group of children watching with concern, and they all allowed themselves a quiet chuckle as Kaitlin continued her dire hold on her little sister.

When the tension loosened and the situation was under control, Nikita turned to stare stonily at the hero.

“Michael, can I see you for a moment?” Nikita said tightly, shifting to indicate he should precede her out the nearby threshold to a living room.

Michael saw her eyes brooked no argument, so he silently followed her direction, and walked ahead into a sunken living space. When they reached a far corner, he turned to her, his hands behind his back.

“Let me see,” she commanded, staring into his eyes.

Michael’s gaze shifted to the doorway to ensure no one was watching them, and then met her eyes again. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a fantastic liar, Michael,” she barked sarcastically and put her hand out between them to receive his. She watched his jaw tighten imperceptibly; his gaze hardening at the comment. Her shoulders surrendered as she realized that her reference had touched at a wound long since closed up and scarred over. “I didn’t mean that.” She let her mouth soften into a gentle smile and reached soothingly to bring his arm around. “Let me see,” she asked softly.

He produced his hand emotionlessly, staring into her eyes.

She sighed as she saw the telltale markings of a surface burn.

“You’re here ten minutes and you’re already saving lives?” she offered with humour, flipping over his hand to examine the rest. When his mask gave no indication he heard her, she realized that he had in fact hurt himself.

With a gentle but firm hand, she lowered him by his opposite shoulder to the couch. “Wait here,” she commanded and walked from the room to head to the medical closet upstairs.

When Nikita returned sometime later with ointment and a wrap, she found Michael sitting back in the cushions with Chantal perched on his lap. His injured hand was resting out of sight, burn-down against the arm of the couch. With his mask firmly in place, Michael was a rough audience for Chantal who was clearly trying to thank him in her own way: regaling him with a lengthy commentary on the life-and-times of her pair of hamsters, Ball and Fluff.

“Is he alright, mom?” Chantal asked wide-eyed as Nikita came and sat down next to him. Michael blinked at the term of endearment he had not yet heard from any of the children. Chantal’s concerned gaze returned to Michael’s face like he was a broken doll on her shelf. “He hasn’t said anything yet.”

“I’m fine,” Michael replied, and lifted the corners of his lips in assurance. A fraction of a second late – which only Nikita noticed – his eyebrows lifted, too, to complete the picture of happiness and well-being.

Satisfied, Chantal grinned, kissed his cheek, and left.

Michael paused. Blinked. Turned his gaze to Nikita.

The laughter threatened in her throat, as she worked convulsively to keep it down. Finally she burst out laughing – she couldn’t help herself. Michael was completely lost when a little girl would show him such mindless, innocent affection.

Michael just stared at her helplessly. It was Nikita who had him lost.

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

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Replies:

  • When A Time Comes (Chapter 26) -- Odelle, 22:05:56 04/05/09 Sun
  • This is such an... -- steph, 23:33:46 04/05/09 Sun
  • Re: When A Time Comes (Chapter 26) -- Del, 00:00:01 04/07/09 Tue
  • Another wonderful chapter. I keep trying to figure out.... -- Sheila, 02:18:23 04/07/09 Tue
  • Re: I wonder if something has ... -- BJ, 09:01:06 04/07/09 Tue
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