| Subject: Priority Mail 150 |
Author:
Nikita507
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Date Posted: Saturday, January 29, 03:05:33pm
In reply to:
Nikita507
's message, "Priority Mail 148+" on Thursday, January 27, 08:17:10pm
“Physically stay in the room with her, Walter. I won’t be long,” Michael directed as he placed Nikita down onto the bed in the main master bedroom. She looked up at Michael. “I’m not going to leave.”
“And I’m not going to take any chances,” Michael stated as he leaned over and grabbed a towel from the laundry hamper and tossed it to Nikita. “For your lip.”
“You should have let me go,” Nikita declared as she let the towel hit her in the chest. Michael shook his head. “I’m not going to let you go and if I have to fight you every day until you can process that, then I’ll go buy stock in Band-Aid.”
“Michael,” Walter spoke up before he left the room. Michael caught the towel that Walter tossed him and simply nodded his head. Walter got that right now he was too afraid to leave Nikita alone.
Walking downstairs, Michael wiped at the cut that was on his cheek and he did not realize that Nikita had drawn blood on his much as she truly had. Davenport stood there in the living room with the first aid kit on the table. “You should shower and clean up… You are probably bruised badly.”
“You need to make sure that security is so tight that she doesn’t get out,” Michael directed as he opened up the kit and walked to the mirror in the living room. Michael winced as he wiped the disinfectant against the cut on his cheek and then he caught Davenport standing there. “What are you waiting for?”
“I have tripled the men outside there, Michael,” Davenport reported.
“You have to remember that she was Operations. That means that she is damned good,” Michael pointed out as he dropped his hand from his face after placing a Band-Aid across the cut.
“You could have stopped her from cutting you like that,” Davenport changed the focus of the topic.
“Nikita can get out if she wants.”
“You trained her so I blame you,” Davenport shook his head from side to side. “And you shouldn’t let her hurt you this badly. Then she’ll feel guilty.”
“When she starts to feel guilty, we’ll know that we won’t need all of these men,” Michael closed up the first aid box and pulled it up into his hands. “We’ll need to keep this stocked.”
“Michael… if she wants to leave, she’ll find a way.”
“That’s why I’m going to be there with her,” Michael added and Davenport exhaled. “Are you going to handcuff her to you?”
“It’s a possibility,” Michael answered, but Davenport grabbed at Michael’s arm. “That can’t be good for either of you.”
“It’s a possibility,” Michael repeated again and Davenport dropped his hand before nodding his head. “A possibility.”
“If she gets out,” Michael nodded and Davenport sighed. “She isn’t going to leave the house, Michael.”
“She was Operations.”
“It was a position. But it wasn’t who she truly was inside,” Davenport wisely pointed out as he rolled his head to the side. “The water should be hot. Maybe she should get cleaned up some.”
“I have things under control,” Michael indicated as he started to walk out of the room until he heard Davenport snort. Michael turned and glared at Davenport. “What?”
“ You’ll have things under control until you get a concussion.”
“She won’t hurt me that badly,” Michael spoke firmly as he truly believed from how Nikita had been fighting him that she wasn’t going to truly try to hurt him that badly. Her punches and kicks were about anger, but it wasn’t about physically hurting him. She needed to get it out and for now; Michael was allowing that to happen. It wouldn’t last long at all.
“Should I get Mick and Adam out of the house?” Davenport stood there as Michael continued to look at him. Michael turned his head and thought for a moment. “No.”
“But what if one of them tries to stop Nikita…”
“She didn’t turn on Adam when he went after her. She won’t hurt him. She isn’t capable of doing that,” Michael responded as he then went back up the stairs. He stopped in the bathroom that was shared by all of the other rooms and changed into a pair of dark jeans and a navy blue polo. He saw the bruises blossoming over his chest, back and arms, but Michael knew that they were just superficial. He cleaned any indications of blood and swallowed hard.
This just had to work.
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