Subject:  You, Me and Dupuis - Chapter 6 |
Author:
Loveroy
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Date Posted: Monday, October 09, 05:18:20pm
In reply to:
LoveRoy
's message, "You, Me and Dupuis" on Friday, August 04, 04:19:06pm
By the third month Michael and Nikita had become the best of friends, with the blonde beauty sharing all her secrets, hopes, aspirations and dreams with the staunchly quiet but yet exceedingly attentive man. He, on the other hand, kept her on a need to know basis and it seemed that she didn’t need to know much – especially the tidbit about his recuperated eyesight. They ate every meal together, they took long walks by the seashore, they sailed short distances and regaled in each other’s company during the long trips they also frequently took. She was heads over heels over the man and his obvious charms and Michael – well, who the hell ever knew what Michael was thinking, much less what he was feeling.
Captain George and Dr. Adrian had long since left the younger couple’s company having bought a beautiful house by the open Bay within walking distance of Nikita’s home. Both Michael and Nikita, for their own personal reasons, were elated to see the couple move out. Of course a smitten Nikita felt that the older couple’s presence hindered her blossoming affair with the handsome man and Michael didn’t want his superior’s in such close proximity to his mission. The striking man was so respectful of the beautiful woman that for a brief moment she thought he was gay; this fleeting instant dissipated quicker than a wave visiting the shore and given Michael’s tale-tell physical excitement(s) over Nikita’s carnal beauty, she laughed at her silly notion and continued yearning over the hunk.
One evening, the couple finished a particularly emotional discussion about lost loves and hardly attainable relationships, which ended with Nikita silently crying and Michael emphatically restating his ‘I live my life split in two’ speech. So in the silence that ensued and while contemplating the blind man’s solemn form, or at least who she was sure was a blind man, she decided to test the power of hearing over sight and began stripping, noisily removing her wet bathing suit and throwing it over a railing with a ‘thwap’. Michael’s head didn’t budge, his dark glasses continued glued to the bridge of his nose as his mystical gray eyes followed the lithe body of the woman with an almost smirk in his lovely lips. She cleared her throat when she saw no reaction from the man who quietly devoured her with his perfectly good eyes and sighed noisily at the lack of response from Michael.
She remarked while blowing her nose, “I guess it is time to go to sleep.”
Michael stood up with a movement that would have afforded him an Academy Award nomination for best supporting work and slipped on a puddle caused by the wet garments she had removed moments before. He landed suspiciously within reach of the woman’s nude breasts, but just enough – he purposely didn’t touch her. His lips were so close to her now awoken circles that if he had yawned he would have swallowed her whole, but instead he found his balance, dusted himself off, did not acknowledge her lack of clothing and simply wished her a good evening as he walked proudly towards his berth. Nikita simply fumed.
The next morning Michael, after a restless evening of no sleep and loads of cold showers, received a message from Section One; The Powers That Be were calling their prodigal son home. Michael sat in his bedroom holding the crown of his nose and with lidded eyes agreed that he had to return to the womb of antiterrorism and do what he did so well – keep us safe from the unjust ends of those who mean us harm. He would return to his current mission eventually, George and Adrian would in the meantime keep an eye on his charge and Nikita, she would wait – or at least he hoped she would wait for the man to return. Michael was on his way to a deep blood cover that would play havoc with his orderly life; his wife to be was none other than the estranged daughter of a terrorism kingpin. And now as he made his way down the street to the ‘You, Me and Dupuis’ he pondered his convoluted existence with a longing for the moments recently lived, that left him spent of emotion for Michael Samuelle was returning to the grind that was his ghostly existence. The cane lay forgotten on the side of his nightstand, his bags packed in an opening and a closing of eyes that could see nothing but the grim reality of indenture servitude, and his time in bliss would soon come to an end to be replaced instead with a hell known as S1.
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