| Subject: Chapter 219 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 30, 07:05:00am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: There are a few mild bad words here, as well as the same, continuing confrontation. I'll rate it 16 and above to be safe.
Dreams in the Dark (219/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
The night pressed on, in its terrible way--the tense negotiations Adrian was maneuvering with Jones entirely unknown by the pair who were currently facing the barrel of yet another gun, the moment a shattering one; it was difficult to even think. The bullet-mutilated body of one gunman lay near their feet, the unconscious form of another just behind the man who was currently threatening them--the whole scene seeming to be more nightmare than truth. But no amount of shock could save them. They were caught, by yet another enemy--with no way of turning back.
Still, this opponent was different, being none too happy about his new role; Fain leaned over to search for Jamie's gun, all the while keeping the couple in his sights. None of them were aware of the ongoing negotiations across town. And the fact that those talks might indeed prove to be too late could well turn out to be a truth they only discovered on the other side of the grave.
Their ex-bodyguard continued the terrible evening, keeping his aim on them steady, even as he straightened from retrieving the gun from Jamie's breast pocket; he could see the actor's plans in his eyes, couldn't let him go on. "Don't try it, Michael. Move the gun over here." His own look narrowed along with his new opponent's. "It's Kitty I'll kill first, if you do anything."
The endangered man was sitting next to his partner, holding her hand--squeezing it tightly to try to comfort her, even as his look met their unwelcome guest's unflinchingly. He had yet to have given up his plan. If he could time it right, he might be able to pull Nikita down, out of the man's line of fire, could throw himself across her, as he aimed. It seemed possible to him now, the desperation driving him. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to save her life.
Roger could see this, explained the depth of his determination in terms the actor might understand; the newcomer knew nothing of Adam but was hoping that his opponent was intelligent enough to comprehend. "Jones has my son." He saw Kitty's eyes go wide and hated himself for it, even if he couldn't yet know all of her reasons--despising himself for everything he was doing to her. "He'll kill him, if I don't do what he wants." Although he had no idea at all why that monster might wish either of these people dead.
The pair before him understood what their current captor didn't--at least as much as it was possible to comprehend the motivations of a man such as Nikita's father. While they were slightly shocked that he had gone so far, the businessman had already made clear his dislike of their pairing. They supposed it only made a heartless sort of sense that he would go this far.
Both of them hated this, Michael looking at his partner only when she squeezed his hand, her gaze alone telling him to give in--for now--and he supposed he would have to. If their captor had a son he felt enough for to be doing this, he was unlikely to give up easily--and it was probably best that he not try such desperate actions just yet; his free hand fisted for a moment, before it moved toward the gun--his gaze leveled on the way Fain's aim at Nikita focused further. If for nothing but guilt alone, he himself might do something equally reprehensible to protect Adam; the gun slid across the bed. But none of this meant that he had any plans of letting his beloved wife die.
Roger could see this, respected the man for it all the more. And he supposed that one of the reasons he had even convinced the actor to come this far was due to his own, obvious hatred of these orders; if he had been a willing participant, Michael might very well already have taken his chance. But he didn't think either of this famous pair foolish enough to believe he could love such a degradation now.
The couple did see this, and it was part of Nikita's plan to use the knowledge--her earlier, delaying ploy working at least well enough to mean that she was still alive. If she could just continue to hold him off from actions he clearly didn't want to take, Jamie might come around to disarm him--or they might find some other opportunity. It was only the fact that her beloved had seen it in her eyes that had allowed him to give in temporarily, she was sure; she held his hand more tightly, trying to begin. At least this opponent wasn't as determined to see them dead. Maybe that could be worked in their favor after all.
Michael knew this, despising his own inaction but seeing that her technique might well be their only way out without more immediate bloodshed, which would only upset his beloved further. He was fortunate at her hardiness, really, at the miracle that she was still holding together. If she weren't so strong, she would already have been weeping hysterically; his gaze focused in poisonously at the man who was now following Jones's demented orders. He just wanted this over with so that he could finally take care of his wife.
He couldn't help his feelings, the hatred which surged through him at Fain, as much as he understood the man's motives--the whole night working into his rising insanity. He had no full picture of what had happened before he had arrived, but he had gleaned that Jamie had betrayed Hillinger--fatally, this time. And he suspected that all of that change lay with his partner alone; his hand held hers more tightly, loving her, praying they would make it through. Because he had no intention of living for even a single day, if she were gone.
His wife began, with his silent consent--Michael having decided that the time to berate himself for his inaction could only come later, if they both survived; her voice was soft. "You don't really want to be doing this, do you?"
Their unwilling captor could see her intention, couldn't allow it, as much as he might like to. The gun stayed level, the pair's now in his pocket--his every, immediate opponent unarmed. "'Want' has nothing to with this. If I want to see Kyle alive again, I've got orders to follow." His sigh went deep, the words almost inaudible. "It doesn't matter whether they make me sick."
He knew already that he was letting them in, wondered whether he hoped, on some level, to be talked down. Or perhaps he was just wishing that they could shed some light on his situation. It would be nice to have some sort of answer to the question of his blackmailer's motivations, before he carried out these evil tasks.
Nikita could see his confusion, decided to play along--*anything* which might delay the inevitable, which might make him change his mind. It didn't matter that the secrets she was revealing were deadly ones. If they went untold tonight, there wouldn't be anyone left to protect anymore.
She stepped straight into his questions, then, taking him to the heart of the situation. "Jones is my father." She saw the man's eyes widen, could see that he held the gun more tightly for just a second, before the mystery of the immoral man's motivations flooded back into his mind; she didn't address it just yet, trying to stretch this out as long as possible. "My mother was his mistress." Her head shook, when the horror only deepened in his gaze. "I only found out about a year ago."
He wasn't entirely shocked by the parts of this information so many others would be, however, had no sense of disgust at the woman for her bastard status. If the rumors he had heard of his own childhood were correct, he had only escaped illegitimacy by mere hours or days. And, especially since he was now the one holding the gun on two very decent people, he wasn't exactly moral enough to judge.
Still, his true concern escaped, before he could hold it back--the entire evening now only seeming all the more sick. "Then, why does he want Michael dead?"
The orders this question revealed made Nikita quake; she had been praying that she was his target too, as his earlier warnings had suggested. She was willing to die with her husband; her heart beat so much faster, the truth surging through her. But she wasn't at all willing to survive him.
She leaned in, subtly blocking the gunman's aim of her beloved--her determination at how this evening would be allowed to end rising with every moment, the images plaguing her. She would not stand in black by Michael's grave side, would not raise their son--as she increasingly imagined her unborn child to be--with only distant tales of who his father had once been. If need be, she would handle the gun herself to finish the job--would wipe out her child's life along with her own. She didn't care whether that was immoral or not; her gaze almost narrowed, before she held it back. There was no way she was ever going to outlive her beloved.
Michael could feel all these emotions flowing from her, hated Roger all the more for making her experience them. But, as much as he wanted her to live on safely, even if he were gone--as determined as he was to see to this, if the choice came down to the sacrifice of one or the other of them--he couldn't entirely fault her for her choice. He had already made the same decision. Neither of them were willing to live on alone.
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