| Subject: Chapter 206 - Part 2 (end of chapter 206) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, October 12, 07:20:28am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
It was as she was thinking this that Michael's knock sounded, her heart calming a little, as she invited him in. She was well aware that Nikita was safe in Wardrobe, one of her dresses for a romantic scene having been dubbed--correctly--as a bit frumpy. Rene and Angie would look after her there; her gaze focused deeply on the man. Now, it was time for business.
Michael nodded, as he closed the door, understanding from the look alone how important this meeting was. Just the fact that she had arranged to see him on the lot--which was anything but secure--could have told him this usually, but this method was an inevitability now. What with every night spent waiting for an attack, there wasn't much time left for socializing.
He waited to see what she had to tell him, understood her too well to bother with polite chatter. "Do you know a date?" was all he asked, but she just shook her head, letting him see that the cause of this meeting wasn't any new knowledge about when Madeline would attack; it didn't settle him, but he did understand, was silent--pausing to see what new insights she might have. Although he and Adrian hadn't been at all close before he had been blessed with Nikita's love, they had quickly formed a sort of partnership, both instinctively knowing that the other would do whatever it took to look after the woman. That alone--far more than any bonds by marriage--made them allies now.
"There's been a new development," she began, knowing he understood the importance of business. The quicker they could begin, the less time there was for someone to eavesdrop; Michael nodded, listening carefully. "I need you to make certain that neither you nor Nikita has to visit the infirmary."
This was, even on a daily basis, the rule of anyone with either sense or knowledge at the studio--Chernov's mercies questionable, at the best of times. Still, far more was clearly happening here--Michael's gaze deep. "What's she done?" The "she" had no need to be defined.
Adrian continued, pleased as always for this man's businesslike style; it made planning so much simpler--their discussion of their enemies on track. "There seems to be some new activity there." Her look dug in further. "I suspect she's got a new way to keep people in line."
There were a thousand of those, as only too many casualties of the studios clearly showed. Nearly everyone had some sort of prescription routine to help them through the bad days--or simply through the constant grind of their daily lives; certainly, everyone who was giving the studio some sort of trouble did. Still, his gaze deepened, suspecting the worst. Just what was Madeline up to now?
This question was asked, if in a different way--Michael looking for words that wouldn't be immediately stolen by any potential listeners. "Is it the usual kind?"
She shook her head. "Intravenous." It was the closest she could come, in this place, to the truth--still praying they were undisturbed.
Jesus. His eyes closed for just a second, the knowledge sinking deep. Heroin. The tutor was actually planning to hook them even worse than usual.
He looked up to his compatriot a moment later, saw her nod--knew they both understood. If ever the time for caution had arrived, this was it. Neither he nor his wife would survive, if they let their guard down now.
The horror of this new event sank in for several seconds, giving neither of them any way out--their concern for the woman both of them so cared for linking them for life. Still, the insights it gave were terrible. While it was possible that Madeline had begun stocking up on this drug simply as a precaution for the future, or as a way to control some other rogue element, none of this was likely--only two real options foreseeable. Either she intended to drug Nikita into compliance with her plans, into an inability to resist, whenever the attack might come--forcing Michael into constant vigilance just to keep her going, his attention diverted--or she was intending to turn him into her pawn; he had to shudder, neither option desirable. Whichever way it went, his ability to protect his wife would be gravely compromised; the horror deepened, mixing with a renewed will. There was just no way to allow it without a fight.
Adrian saw his fears, understood them only too well. Still, she had to continue. "There is another option, of course." He looked back up to her, hating every second of the thoughts but refusing to dismiss her valuable theories. "I'm frequently in her way." His eyes widened, understanding too well--watching her look become even more apologetic. "Or she could intend it for after . . ."
He nodded, cutting off her words, knowing they were better off not saying too much. Besides, he couldn't bear hearing it--every outcome unbearable. The very thought of losing his beloved . . .
He didn't finish this idea, returned to his previous paths--needing to focus. If it were Adrian the woman was after, their ability to function as Nikita's protectors could be seriously compromised. The distinguished actress guarded so much information, all the leverage they had against their opponents. To see her crazed from withdrawal, willing to do anything for Madeline for just one more fix . . .
The thought was unbearable, both for the damage to the safety of his beloved and for the terrible idea of the woman's potential suffering. While Adrian had been through much in life, didn't entirely possess the spotless past that the public attributed to her, she was still noble, her self-possession as aristocratic as her image. To think of her in such a state was painful--and not just for the possible effects on Nikita; Michael had to sigh. He just hoped that they would be able to avoid that possibility, for everyone's sakes.
His ally saw this, nodded in thanks--appreciating her grandson-in-law's concern for her. Still, she had an answer. "Geoffrey and Jim have orders if anything happens to me." She didn't make clear what they were but understood that Michael knew better than to question; her look deepened. But as to the other option . . .
He saw her unspoken point, feared it, a terrible, freezing sensation taking over his soul. If Madeline were stocking up on her supplies in order to drug him after Nikita's death, he could too easily become her pawn. Numbed from the pain of life, able to function only so long as that numbness continued, he could be the perfect, public, grieving husband, while still fulfilling all his duties as a star. And, should he ever deviate from her plans, become more troublesome, all she had to do was withhold his supply. That was all it would take to turn him into her puppet alone.
This thought terrified him, almost as much as the possibility of the tutor managing to drug his beloved. Of course, if that outcome happened--as terrible as it would be--Michael would know how to proceed. He had seen Rene through a hideous withdrawal already--18 years or so ago. It had been almost unbearable, for both of them. But, somehow, they had managed to make it through.
The actor was relieved by this memory but not proud--the pain of it too sharp for that, the memories never quite gone. Every hour of the man's torment, of his struggles to escape, to gain some relief, had stretched into weeks--the days into months and years. There had been many times when he had been certain they wouldn't survive--that Rene would either die, or kill him in an escape. There had been no guarantee at all that either of them would make it through.
He was shaking his head, the horror of the memories still fresh, still beating him, after all these years. He wasn't even certain how he had begun the process with the man, what had made him decide to start--or to think that he could ever see it through. It wasn't like he had known much about the drug before he had run away, before his introduction to the big city. Still, even a little time there had taught him a great deal--and the ugly horrors of this sort of addiction had been just one of his lessons.
He was lucky, really, that he had never had to experience this for himself, wasn't certain how Rene had started--had never bothered to ask. The process had evidently begun long before they had met, the results not even noticeable until many months after they had become friends. It was only, in fact, after another of their circle had died of an overdose that he had come to see the real dangers Rene faced; his shudder ran deep. And it had lit a determination in him never to have to witness such devastation again.
It had been this whole, terrible process which had sealed the eternal friendship between the men, Rene's loyalty unswerving ever since. It had probably been at least 15 years since either of them had spoken of it, but the bond--the designer's gratitude--was there, all the same. While he might question Michael's actions on occasion--was the truest type of friend, the kind who wouldn't lie, who would set you on the right path again, when needed, no matter how painful the advice--he would never attack him to the greater world. Even in the moments of their greatest distance, after Simone's death, Michael had never doubted Rene's confidence.
These memories had made the relationship between the men, but they now caused a far greater horror for the actor. Rene's illness--his fever, his dementia, his pain--were all etched irrevocably on Michael's soul. To think for even an instant about his poor Nikita suffering the same way . . .
He wouldn't ponder this now, refused to. He *would* protect her from the hideous excuse for a doctor, from this part of Madeline's cruelty, at least. If anything were to happen on the set, anything which might prove an excuse to take his beloved to the infirmary, he would find a way around it; his entire will was focused. He refused to ever witness such pain from Nikita at all.
This truth was set inside him, was part of his soul, but one other--terrible--possibility did remain; his gaze took in the woman near him, needing only one thing. If he failed his beloved, if she should die, there was no life for him, nothing to ever live for; it was terrible--but impossible to ignore. And that alone made his request inevitable.
Adrian saw where this was going even before he began, but she let him speak, knowing it needed to be said; her gaze was sad, waiting, as his words came forth. "If I should fail, if Nikita . . ." He trailed off, clearly unable to finish the thought; she understood, nodding. She didn't want to hear the rest of that possibility, either.
He closed his eyes for a minute at her comprehension, at the very idea of his beloved wife's death; his voice was a little hoarse. "Whatever's being stocked up by Chernov." He sighed, his focus lost on the floor. "Whatever they plan." His head shook. "If I fail, . . ." The words trailed off for a second, before he pulled himself together. Then--his gaze locked with hers, much stronger now, absolutely truthful--he made his request. "Don't let me live like that, Adrian. Even if I'm incapable of action, . . ." His head shook, his soul on display. "Don't ever let me live without her."
Lord, it was a terrible thing to ask, but the woman understood him too well, her nod simple. It had been clear for sometime that Michael couldn't survive without her granddaughter, that something in the man would break for good at her loss. While the woman might well withstand the death of her husband--not with happiness, probably never to love again, but still alive--it was as though some part of this man's soul was utterly dependent on his partner, would fracture irreparably without her; it was why he had never been quite whole before they had met. Whatever the logic of the situation, it was clear, nonetheless. Nikita was his sanity. And, without that, he would much rather be dead.
There was a pact made between the pair at that moment, one as fatal as it was firm. Adrian would not allow this man to suffer, even if he failed the one woman they both so needed to protect; he would not be turned into Madeline's pawn. If the worst came, she would help him to die, one way or another. After all, she had many, deadly friends. And she was old, as well, wouldn't live long enough to pay the penalty, if such a crime had to be hers. That knowledge alone would have to get them through.
This agreement was sealed now, both of them understanding the future, seeing one last escape, if all others failed. Certainly, they were determined to protect Nikita. But, if they didn't, they *would* see an early end to Michael's despair. One way or the other, the future was known. The couple wouldn't be forced to suffer for long.
[End of Part 206]
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