Author:
~d
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Date Posted: 14:19:04 09/14/03 Sun
Christmas Snapshots
Rating: PG (mild sexuality)
Summary: Elena Samuelle’s Christmas letters are a poignant contrast to the reality of Michael’s life.
Disclaimers: La Femme Nikita and its characters are created by and owned in whole and in part by these entities: Warner Brothers, USA Network and Fireworks Entertainment. The piece of fiction is meant to entertain and provoke interest in the show, not to infringe on their copyrights.
Please note there is strong language and occasional violence in this piece of fiction. Although on the TV La Femme Nikita is bound by certain television censors and standards, these constraints do not apply to fiction writing. In my universe, characters such as Michael and Nikita would act and speak in a manner perhaps unacceptable to some of us in Real Life. Please be advised. All “adult” chapters are so noted and are not intended for reading by children under age 18.
Christmas 1
Dearest Friends and Family:
I am so sorry for not sending a Christmas letter last year; after losing Mother so quickly, I was simply unable to cope with the holidays in any meaningful way. Quite honestly, I didn’t celebrate Christmas at all last year. I returned to school in the fall and lost myself in my studies.
I do have some happier news this year: I have met someone. He’s handsome, he’s intelligent, and he’s simply wonderful. His name is Michael.
“This is the target.”
Michael glanced up from the file on the table and stared at the swarthy face in the holoscreen before him.
“As you can see, this is an older picture,” Operations continued. “Salla Vacek has been particularly difficult to locate and photograph. We believe, however, that he has been instrumental in several recent terrorist attacks, primarily Rome and Malaysia.”
A low murmur ran around the table at the mention of the last attack. Section One had been involved in that particular episode and had sustained the loss of several operatives, as well as serious injuries to a dozen more. Two of the operatives had been cancelled due to the extent of their injuries and a third had been permanently retired to Comm.
Operations flipped his wrist and the picture on the screen changed to a beautiful young woman. “Salla Vacek’s one weakness: his daughter, Elena. He has covered his tracks carefully; it took nearly two years of intensive digging to find her.” Operations put the remote down on the table, shutting off the image. “Elena [not Vacek, otherwise she’d be too easy to locate, find another name] recently lost her mother to a rare virus. She’s particularly vulnerable right now to a sympathetic shoulder. We’re hoping the onset of a new romance might entice Salla Vacek to lower his guard, step in to protect his daughter.”
Michael suddenly realized he was rubbing his fingers over his lips in concentration and stopped himself. The movement was a give-away, one that Madeline had recently indicating gave too much insight into his thought processes.
“Elena is a student at [the Sorbonne? university]. We’ve arranged for her class to be invited to a very prestigious exhibition opening. All members of her art history class will be required to attend.” As she spoke, Madeline glanced around the table, coming last to Michael. He kept his face impassive without effort. “She’ll be there.”
“As will you all,” Operations picked up the thread of the conversation easily. “Details will be downloaded to your panels within the hour. You will all need to consult with Madeline as to proper attire, then get your communications and weapons from Walter. You will leave at 1500 hours. Michael, my office. The rest of you are dismissed.”
“Questions? Problems? You know what you have to do.” Operations paced across his office, glanced at his computer screen for updated information as he absently lit a cigarette.
“One question.” Michael folded his hands and stood quietly.
Across from him, Madeline leaned against the plate glass window. “Go ahead,” she invited.
“Did we kill the mother?”
There was a hairsbreath pause, a telling silence, while Operations and Madeline exchanged glances.
“Does it matter?” Madeline said.
“No.” Not any more. “How far should I take this relationship?
“We’re not sure yet. Oversight is still trying to determine Vacek’s probable reaction.” Operations took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out. “The daughter is an unknown quality. You’ll have to use your best judgment how far and how fast to drive the relationship.”
“There’s a possibility that nothing will happen tomorrow night.”
“We’re aware of that, of course.” Madeline’s voice held the slightest tinge of reproof. “As Operations just stated, you’ll be determining the speed and course of the mission.”
“I’ll need appropriate attire.”
“A tuxedo, I think. Black tie. I’ll be ready for you in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.”
The room was stifling hot, warmed by too many bodies imbibing too much alcohol in too close of quarters. Michael moved through the crowd, seeking his target while appearing to admire the displays around him. A large crowd of younger people caught his eye; he retreated to the bar for a [seltzer] in order to watch them better.
College students, definitely; a couple of them had even brought their textbooks. Their instructor was leading them, gesturing in broad strokes as he described the attributes of each exhibit. About half the students were bored, their gazes drifted off and they lagged further and further behind the main group. His target would be in the focused half; Madeline had done her usual in depth analysis and he had had access to everything from Elena []’s test scores to her favorite color.
In the middle of the group, he spotted his quarry. Her hair was drawn up in a tight bun and a pair of heavy glasses disguised the beauty of her eyes. If she was trying to down play her looks, she was doing a fine job of it. This is a woman who is insecure about her beauty, insecure about her feminine appeal.
For the next half hour, Michael monitored the University group. Even after the instructor was done with his lecture, Elena [] stayed within the cluster of students, moving from display to display, idly chatting with other girls. It didn’t take a psychology degree or Madeline’s analysis to theorize her father’s abandonment of a six-year-old girl had left deep scars.
He stepped away from the bar, retreated to the privacy of the cloakroom and pulled out his cellular phone.
“Yes, Michael?” Madeline sounded as [brisk] as she did at the beginning of the day.
“I’ll need a dog.”
“A dog?”
“She’s been deserted by her father; she has deep reservations about men in general. I’ll need a dog to approach her.”
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line. “Very well, Michael, I’ll arrange one. How soon will you need it?”
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow if possible.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Disconnecting, Michael replaced the phone in his jacket pocket and proceeded to his next step. Studiously unhurried, he sauntered into the midst of the college crowd and pressed against his target’s back as he pseudo-attempted to slip through the students.
“Pardon me.” He was careful to put a neutral, polite expression on his face as she turned to face him. Behind her glasses, her eyes were wide, almost fearful. He met her gaze for a moment, carefully calculating the benign expression in his eyes and the exact number of seconds to hold her gaze. Then he tilted his head slightly in apology and walked on.
Christmas 2
[Engagement]
Dearest Friends and Family:
Merry Christmas everyone!
Life continues busily at my end. I’m still continuing my studies; I have another year and a half and then I’ll graduate with my degree in Interior Design. Michael’s been very busy with various archeological digs around the world, but he did manage to arrange his schedule to be home for the holidays this year!
I’m so very happy to tell you all that Michael and I are continuing to see each other as much as his calendar allows. Do I sound like a giddy schoolgirl? He’s simply the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened in my life.
“Michael.”
In the middle of last minute calculations for the planned assault on a Georgian terrorist cell, Michael lifted his hand in acknowledgement of Mowen’s presence, but continued entering his data in the computer. The information was needed in Systems right now, and Operations would need to review it before the final briefing planned in a half hour; but more importantly, Michael needed to funnel his decisions out of his thoughts and onto something substantial before becoming distracted by more details. Most likely unimportant details, he thought, but didn’t allow any of his thoughts to appear on his face. He had been promoted to a Level Four Operative within the past six months and was still acclimating to the increased amount of responsibility and information the position entailed. Rather than trust his memory, Michael relied on computer backup at all times.
Striking the “enter” key with a quiet sense of satisfaction – only two anticipated casualties for Section, a distinct improvement over Jurgen’s original estimated four – Michael sat back in his chair and met Mowen’s patient gaze.
“Yes?”
“Operations wants you to brief me on the Sukhumi mission.”
“Why?”
“He said I’m to take over for you.”
The hell you are. Michael bit back his instinctual response. Instead he substituted a more congenial and obscure answer. “I see.”
A long silence fell between them. Finally Mowen began to fidget. “Michael, look, I’m sorry, I know this is your mission and all, but what the hell do you want me to do? I’ve got you on the one side, all pissed at me, and Operations on the other.”
Mowen’s position was untenable and Michael knew it. But it gave him a small perverse sense of satisfaction to watch Mowen squirm. “Let’s go to the briefing room. I’ll show you what I’ve planned.” Then I’ll find out who and what is behind my removal.
Mowen was an completely capable operative. He grasped the basic concepts of Michael’s strategy quickly and would make an acceptable substitute for Michael as lead operative. Leaving him at the conference table to fine-tune last minute details, Michael mounted the steps to Operations’ aerie. As he expected, both Madeline and Operations were there, both in final preparations for the briefing on the mission.
“Michael.” Madeline gave him a scrutinizing glance. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Why have you removed me from the Abkhazia mission?”
Operations gave him a half-exasperated, half-amused look. “Because it’s going live on Christmas Eve, Michael.” His tone of voice was slightly chiding, as if the explanation should have been obvious.
Of all responses Michael had anticipated, that answer seemed to come from left field. Christmas Eve? He kept his face carefully blank, but could make no connections.
Despite his stoic exterior, Madeline [apparently] read his confusion and smiled. “You’re going to propose to Elena [last name] on Christmas Eve, Michael.”
That caught him off-guard. He opened his mouth, but caught himself before he could say something obtuse like But I’m already married to Simone and quickly decided silence would be a better response.
Operations crossed his arms, watching him closely. “Vacek isn’t responding to Elena’s involvement with you as we hoped, Michael. So we’re going to raise the stakes. Perhaps his paternal feelings will surface if his little girl is going to get married.”
“I see.” It seemed the safest response. He needed quiet, and Simone, to sort this out. How will Simone react? Part of his mind was certain she would understand; as a Level Four operative herself, she understood Valentine missions and the necessity to get a player like Vacek out of the terrorist network; on the other hand he was hers. This wasn’t a one-night stand or a short-term assignment; this mission was rapidly approaching a permanent status, given Vacek’s lack of response so far.
“Here’s your engagement ring, Michael.” Madeline handed him a platinum band. “It’s a Tiffany-style setting, of course, with a .75 carat. Enough to please most every woman, but not too ostentatious for a poor archeologist to be able to afford.”
He took the ring and looked it over carefully. It would fit perfectly; he didn’t even bother to ask. It would be insulting to Madeline to question her research. The diamond flared in reds and blues as he turned it in the light. How Simone would love a ring like this… They both knew it was out of the question; neither of them had ever raised the possibility of buying or wearing rings.
In the half-light of early dawn, Michael lay in bed, awake. Beside him, Elena’s even breathing kept a gentle rhythmic counterpoint to his thoughts. The ring was in his dresser drawer; he would present it to her tonight.
Simone had not reacted when he told her what Operations and Madeline wanted him to do. She stood in the kitchen, throwing together a quick stir-fry for dinner and kept her back to him for several long minutes after he finished speaking.
The first time he saw her face was when she turned and handed him his plate. There were no tears, there was… nothing. He had tried to talk to her, tried to sort out her feelings as well as his; but she’d refused to discuss it.
“What happens there, stays there, Michael,” she said firmly as she put her plate down on the little table. “You may not bring it here. She stays in Section, they all stay in Section. May they all rot there. Here there is only you and me.”
There was a warped sense of correctness in that edict. Michael had found over the past few years that his ability to compartmentalize his emotions and his life was getting better and better and he simply did it again.
In the night, Simone had silently communicated her rage and frustration. Out there you may be hers, but here you are mine, was clearly expressed as she rode him all through the night. Love, frustration and fear seemed to leach from her skin to his and he knew she would accept the mission. Never like it, perhaps, but accept it. And he would never discuss it again with her.
A long night of lovemaking with his wife had left Michael heavy-eyed the next day. He arrived at the apartment he shared with Elena explaining jet lag and a long flight from the Tigris Valley as reason for his appearance. Madeline had arranged for suitably filthy clothes to be packed for him. A remote Babylonian dig for Cambridge University explained his three-month absence.
Elena was, as always, happy to see him. She accepted of his absences and long periods of no communication with no recriminations. She had drawn him a bath, cooked him a meal and curled up next to him for sleep with no demands. At one time Michael might have thought her passive; in the past year he had realized Elena’s scars went much deeper than simply fearing rejection. She expected nothing from this world: no kindness, no love, no gentleness. She was grateful and enjoyed any goodness that came to her, with no expectation of continuance.
Her shyness had disguised a woman capable of great love and compassion. While Michael would not – could not – love her, he did respect and care for her. He had been surprised by the strong desire to protect Elena; he never felt so protective of Simone.
In the dark, he smiled slightly. Simone was likely to pass him to Level Five. She was a strong, capable, intelligent woman and a first-class Section operative. Elena, while strong and smart in her own right, was no match for Simone’s brilliant and flexible mind.
Elena stirred in his arms. “It’s good to have you home,” she murmured, sleep heavy in her voice.
Michael knew his cue. He bent his head and kissed her, drawing her tighter into his arms. Elena smelled sweetly of roses; Simone, like him, never wore any scent and smelled only of her own distinctive musk. Elena’s hair, like Simone’s, was long and black, but Simone’s was thick and heavy, hanging below her waist the few times she let it down.
It was dangerous, thinking of Simone at this time. Michael rolled and felt Elena’s body yield beneath him. Opening his eyes, he fixed his gaze and his mind on the woman in his bed. And prayed to a God he no longer believed in that Vacek would surface quickly, before Elena [] was drawn further into the spider’s web.
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