| Subject: Chapter 253 - Part 2 (end of chapter 253) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 02, 07:11:09am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
It was because of these--to him--obvious truths that the paper now lay in front of him, allowing him to find his pen, ready for communion. If he had been cast out of their paradise by their enemies, kept from any closer sort of sacrament, he still had this one left. She alone would know the words of his heart--or as close to them as he could manage, given his current training for Hell. They had already agreed that others might see their words, might scan the letters in order to search for treason or loose tongues. He would have to hold himself back somewhat--especially from any real discussion of his fears. Still, she would understand him. She always did--and that alone was enough. He wrote:
My dearest Nikita,
To say that I miss you is too great an understatement. Still, I'm here and well. My major concerns lie with you and our child. I'm waiting to hear how you are.
It's been a week since I've seen your face, and every moment I worry about you. How are you and your life at the studio? How is our child? Have you heard more of the studio's plans or of your father? How about Perry? Has he made himself known to you lately? And how is Andrew behaving? I need to hear anything that happens with you.
I know that this letter is short--and I hate that it's the first that you've received from me. The days here are so full, and so empty, that even the longing to reach out to you hasn't been allowed. I want to be in touch every day. I want to be there with you. But I fear that my pathetic attempts at words may be very few and far between.
Please don't ever let this make you think that I've forgotten you. There's not a moment of any day which goes by when you're not in my thoughts and my soul. But I have to work to the schedule I'm given, so I can only tell you, so inadequately and infrequently, how very much I love you.
The address you can write to is on this envelope. While I know your time is no more your own than mine is, please let me know whatever details you can as soon as you can. My mind is more with you than it is with my surroundings. Please, if it's possible, relieve some of my fears.
I don't want to end this one connection to you, but I fear my time for privacy is rapidly disappearing. Take care of yourself, my love. Do what you have to to be as happy as you can. It's you alone I can never live without.
Your loving husband,
Michael
He could hear the chatter of the men, as they were released from the service, could hear them all approaching--and knew that he had to be quick. Seeing a letter to Nikita would inevitably set off Eric, and Ackerman would clearly be intolerable simply because of his rival's absence at the service. If the letter were in view, it would only hasten the fight which was brewing. Any sign of tenderness between himself and the woman he loved would immediately be seen as the moment of weakness they had been waiting for all along.
Still, as he judged how close they were from the sounds of Ackerman's loud, meaningless chatter, he couldn't help briefly studying his work. It was nothing compared to how much he loved Nikita; it would never convey even the smallest portion of his feelings--but he couldn't really hope for that. He folded the letter, forcing himself on. He couldn't even tell her what they had been doing in any detail, couldn't tell her the job he trained for; Van Vactor had made the need for his silence clear in his briefing on that first, full day. He couldn't even relieve her mind very much. Still, he hoped that Adrian's connections would allow her to know more, would let her fill in the beloved woman on all the more mundane details which were denied him; his sigh was silent, more reasons filling him. Besides, he didn't wish to clutter the page with meaningless complaints--and detailing the idiocies of Ackerman and Elkins to her, to anyone, was a waste of paper. They had both known that he would face prejudice once more. It wasn't worth either of their time to fill in all the minutia.
He put the letter in its envelope and sealed it quickly, addressing it in as steady and rapid a hand as he could. More than anything, he needed to know what was happening, just how endangered she was; he had done his best, in the vague way the situation demanded, to ask. All he could really do was remind himself that Adrian, Rene, Helmut--and so many others--were watching out for her. All he could do was think of that and hope.
He finished addressing the envelope, fanning it quickly to dry off the ink, as he put away his pen and paper. A moment before he was rejoined by the others, he folded the letter and stuck it in his back pocket. He could post it on the way to supper. Then, at least, it would be beyond his current nemeses' hands.
He was stuck standing, looking as though he were just putting something back in his trunk, when they came in; there wasn't enough time to sit down and look entirely guiltless. The fact that he had only been doing what was perfectly normal didn't matter here. It only mattered that Nikita got his letter without any more interference than necessary.
This would-be interference came quickly, his unconscious predictions about Ackerman's mood, once he returned, proving accurate--the man no calmer for having spent time in supposed communion with God. He stalked toward the actor, just as the chest closed, Michael standing up fully to meet him. His self-declared enemy glared icily for several long moments, before he said anything. Finally, it came. "I see you think you're too important to read the Good Book anymore." Michael had no idea if this were really a point of annoyance for him but didn't bother to ask. Hatred of Catholicism tended to go along with the man's other disease; the younger recruit's gaze narrowed. "So, what have you been doing around here by yourself, while we've been gone?"
The sort of assumptions he was making were evident, as was the way he had just sided the entire other 29-or-so recruits--especially those who worked with them daily--with himself while leaving his enemy on his own. Michael noticed but didn't comment--any more than he spoke the question which circled caustically in his mind: "Did your God tell you to be such a tremendous jackass?" It wouldn't help the situation. He simply met his eyes calmly, sighing quietly--like a long-suffering father dealing with a fussy child. "I read." When his tormentor's eyes traveled toward the Bible on the actor's bed--the one which Sikes had left with him kindly, apparently having mistakenly decided that the older man was secretly Jewish and wished for a different kind of service--his aggressor flushed a much darker shade of crimson. That clearly hadn't been the answer he had been expecting.
Michael ignored him, stepping back before making his way around him--moving toward the bathroom. He had already once had to silently play the "whose is bigger?" game with Ackerman at the next urinal, knowing enough of how such men worked to know that it would shut him up for awhile; it had, for about a day. While the more experienced man hated the whole, meaningless rivalry, he would act as alpha dog, if he were forced to. Anything that would keep him safe until he could return to Nikita once more.
His exit left a few moments of oppressive silence in the room behind him, much of the earlier speculation dying. While Ackerman lifted the top of Michael's trunk once, glancing inside, he clearly didn't see anything he could make a story about just yet. In the nearly echoing silence which accompanied the top's slamming fall, Sikes decided not to retrieve his Bible just yet.
This brought the end of this particular, brief confrontation--to the tortured man's quiet relief. It was difficult enough being away from Nikita, spending day after day worrying over her, wanting her in his arms, without having to waste his time marking his territory, dodging petty squabbles with a man with enough intelligence to probably know better. Whatever bad things could justifiably be said of Ackerman, he wasn't stupid, just incredibly prejudiced. The world wouldn't have been in anything like the shape it was, if the two unpleasant traits always coincided.
These concerns aside, Michael was at least able to get out his first letter to his wife. Maybe, if he were very lucky, there would be a response someday soon. The moment there was, he would remember salvation. It was only an abstract concept to him until then.
[End of Part 253]
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