| Subject: Identity Crisis (Part 2) |
Author:
Nestra
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Date Posted: 07:22:27 07/03/02 Wed
In reply to:
Nestra
's message, "It's done. Mostly done. I hope." on 07:08:43 07/03/02 Wed
One day, Madeline calls him into Section. He's not thrilled; Madeline scares him. If anyone can look past Mick's jovial façade, Madeline can. He also has a hard time reading her, which increases his sense of unease. Today she's wearing her usual expression – placid, yet somehow menacing. He resolves to tread lightly, not overplay Mick too much.
"Sit down, Mick."
He settles uncomfortably into the chair she indicates and wishes he were somewhere else. Or someone else.
"We have an assignment for you."
"Okay," he says, unsure where this is leading. Normally, when he goes on a mission, Nikita contacts him. Sometimes Michael. Never Madeline.
"We need you to find some way to keep Nikita in her apartment next Thursday night."
For a moment, he's not sure he heard her correctly. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this. "You want me to…why?"
"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. We simply need a chance to take some baseline readings, and it's difficult to persuade Nikita to sit still for anything."
"Uh, can't you do it while she's asleep?"
"No." For a moment, the menace in her expression outweighs the placidity. "Thursday night. Do we understand each other?"
He hesitates. "Well…how am I supposed to guarantee that she’ll stay in? I can't exactly invite myself over for dinner."
Madeline smiles gently, and he fights back a shiver. "I'm sure you'll figure out something."
He's sure he will too.
************
She opens the door, and he launches into the scene he's prepared. It's not the most original diversion, but he didn't have much time to come up with something.
"Picture this," he says, sticking a foot in the door and interjecting enthusiasm into his voice. "Venice. It’s five in the morning, and I’m just walking back to my hotel -- from where, you don’t need to know -- and I see this in the window."
He flashes a silver pin at her. For all he knows, it could be from Venice. Or it could be from Taiwan. It doesn't matter. He knows she won't accept it. "And I said to myself 'Nikita'. Here, it’s fun. I mean, look at it. It’s nice."
She frowns at him. "I can’t take gifts from you, Mick."
"Pity. Still, I do need a favor." He pushes his way into the apartment, pretending not to hear her exasperated sigh.
"What would that be?"
"My mum. She’s coming to town next week for a quick visit."
She's losing her patience. "What’s the favor?"
He has to play this just right. A touch of embarrassment but filtered through Mick's typical shamelessness. "Well, she has a certain, uh… how could I say… impression of who I am."
"What does she think you do?"
"She thinks I’m a dentist." Nice, safe, mundane profession. Exactly the kind of thing he'd tell his mother to get her off his back.
"A dentist?"
"An oral surgeon, actually."
Tiny lines of frustration bracket Nikita's mouth as she figures out where he's going with this. "Who’s married to…"
"Oh, a gorgeous, leggy, blue-eyed, blonde chippie. That would be you." Toss in some flattery. Probably won't help his cause, but you never know.
"No way, Mick. No. I can’t do it."
"Oh, come on! One night, dinner, I’ll cook. She’s old." He really can cook, although Nikita probably doesn't know it. It seemed like something he would be able to do, so he'd taken lessons a few years ago.
Nikita shakes her head at him and opens the door, plainly expecting him to leave. Time to play the sympathy card. "I might never see her again. It would mean the world to her." Nice touch. He's almost inclined to pat himself on the back. Not too maudlin, just a hint of vulnerability.
She rolls her eyes and sighs, clearly resigned to sacrificing a future night of her life in return for current peace. "If I say yes, will you leave?"
He laughs out loud and shakes his fists in the air. "Yes!" He obligingly turns for the door before she gets angry at his gloating, but the scene needs one last touch. He points to a random picture hanging on her wall. "And could you take that one down? 'Cause it’s a bit much, isn’t it? And mum’s a bit conservative when it comes to art."
Narrowing her eyes, she fixes him with a glare she clearly learned from Madeline. "Mick, don’t push."
"Tell you what. We'll talk later." He backs out the door quickly, sensing that he's fast approaching her breaking point.
"Good-bye, Mick." She shuts the door, and he does a little dance of victory in the hall. Maybe she's watching him on the monitor. Maybe not. Doesn't matter – he just feels like dancing.
************
The two of them sit in Nikita's dining room, not speaking much. He's coached her in what she's supposed to say to his mother, and she knows her lines. It's time for the charade to end, and he's almost surprised to realize how bad he feels about lying to her. Neither espionage or acting encourages truth, but he's personally manipulated her, played on whatever friendship they have so he wouldn't have to face Madeline again. She doesn't know that, but that almost makes it worse. He looks around at the room -- the plates and silverware on the table, the candles decorating the room. He's not proud of himself.
"I think I'm going to call the airline," he says.
"I'm sure she's fine."
"Me too. I just...she should have been here by now. Maybe she missed her flight."
Nikita smiles at him as he takes out his cell phone and dials his apartment number. He lets it ring a couple times, then pretends that someone on the other end has picked up. He goes through the motions of a conversation, filling in the other side in his head, reacting to lines only he can hear.
"Yeah, yeah, I understand. But you're absolutely sure she was on that flight? And it landed at six? Yeah. Right. Yeah. Thanks. " He hits a button and closes the call. From across the room, Nikita looks at him expectantly.
"Well?"
"I don't know what could have happened to her." He doesn't have to work hard to make his voice sound uneasy. "Maybe I should check the hospitals. I knew I should have gone to pick her up myself. I knew it."
His phone rings. He's not surprised by this, since he'd programmed the alarm to go off. Actors always know how to manage their props.
"Hello? Mom! Hello, mom? Yeah, where are you? I thought they'd…" Let the relief trail off as his mother goes into her excuses, wait, wait just a second longer to let the hurt sink in… "Yeah, right. Yeah…yeah...yeah...yeah, all right then. Yeah, thanks for calling."
He hangs up from his imaginary call. Nikita, who's probably realized exactly what's going on, is putting on an earring.
"Well, where is she?"
"Um… she's not going to be able to make it."
"Why?" she asks, eyes narrowing.
"She ran into somebody at the airport."
"Who?"
"Felix. He's an old flame. He's a bit of a cad, actually. Use to make her pay for her own dinners when they went out. She's going to spend a couple of hours with him, instead of with me." He knows Felix's entire story, from his days growing up as a shopkeeper's son, to his gambling debts, to the reason Felix happened to be on the same flight as his mother. He's sure that Nikita won't press him for details, but he has to be prepared.
As he expected, she doesn't speak for a moment. Then she looks at him kindly. "Well… come on, Mick."
She stands up and heads in his direction, but suddenly he can't bear to be there any more, abusing her friendship. He starts to head for the door.
"Let's have some dinner," she says.
"No. You know what, it's fine. You go ahead. It's cool."
"Are you sure? It's ready."
He allows himself a last look at her, this rare glimpse of her as herself -- not a Section agent or a neighbor. "You look really great, you know that? It's a nice thing you were going to do for me." And that is possibly the only true thing he's said all night.
She watches him go, but he doesn't stop until he's safe behind his own door, still clutching the cell phone. Bravo, Mick, he thinks. A flawless performance. A sudden burst of fury almost makes him throw the phone across the room, but he can't relax, even here. Madeline might be watching. Center might be listening. Instead, he sets it down on the table near the door and walks slowly, painfully, towards his darkened bedroom.
************
As a child, growing up in Cardiff, he doesn't have many friends. Making friends requires approaching people, speaking to them without being self-conscious. He keeps to himself instead, and sits in corners reading books.
And then one day he's not a child any longer. He's fifteen, and a teacher steps into his corner and gently pushes his book down. He looks up at her with fear, automatically assuming he's done something wrong, but she just smiles at him and says, "We're going to do a school play this year. Romeo and Juliet. Would you like to try out?"
He opens his mouth to refuse, but what comes out is, "I…um…all right."
They cast him as Father Laurence. At first, the sight of all his lines terrifies him, but he reads them over and over again, and before he realizes it, he can speak them without hesitation. He doesn't stutter or trip over words; the rhythm of iambic pentameter is no longer foreign, but a pattern that echoes deep inside him. The three performances his school puts on awake a profound desire in him to do this for the rest of his life.
When he graduates, he rents a tiny flat in the city, and on the application, under "Profession", he writes in bold capital letters, "ACTOR."
************
"Section's definitely done something to Nikita."
"Define 'something'."
"She's changed. They've done something to her. She's completely redecorated the apartment –painted over her walls, thrown out all her old stuff. She barely even talks to me any more. I don't know what the hell Section gave me to sprinkle around her apartment, but something is very wrong with her."
"You sound upset."
"Is there something wrong with that?"
"No. As long as it doesn't get in the way."
"Look, you're the one who told me to go ahead and do what Section wanted, and now Nikita's changed. Don't you even care?"
"Should we? She's just an operative."
"No, she's not! Do you think I'm stupid? I've been reporting on her movements and her relationship with Section for a year now. She's not just an operative to you."
"Very good. You've been paying attention. Michael will probably approach you and enlist your help in returning Nikita to normal. Do whatever he asks."
************
When Michael does find him, it's in Nikita's apartment. It's a grand coincidence; not even he can manipulate Michael so expertly. Michael greets him with a punch to the face, and he doesn't remember hitting the floor.
When he shakes himself back into consciousness, Michael's staring down at him, and he doesn't look like he's in an understanding mood. "Michael, lovely to see you. Would you like to go to my place for a drink?"
Michael grabs him by the collar and yanks him up; it cuts off his airway for a moment, the fabric of his shirt tightening into a noose. Then Michael shoves him across the room, and by the time he's recovered from that, Michael's pulled his gun.
"You know, I got a problem with guns. Do you mind?" He's only partly facetious; it's entirely possible that Michael will lose control when he finds out what he's been doing in Nikita's apartment. He's never actually seen Michael lose control, but if anything will trigger it, the change in Nikita's personality will. He can only hope that he's too important to Michael's plans for Michael to kill him.
"What are you doing to Nikita?" No, he's definitely never seen Michael like this. The flat tone of voice and blank expression aren't signs of Michael's usual control. This is more like…tension. And the weight of some horrible knowledge. Michael must have known something was wrong the first moment he saw Nikita.
"Me? To Nikita? Do you think I’ve been rogering her?" He tries to laugh. "Michael, Michael! Absolutely not. No. No, no, no. You got it all wrong. Not that I didn’t try of course. Before I found about the two of you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I’m watering the plants. They do look a bit thirsty, I’ll grant you. Maybe I was slacking off." He gets more and more desperate as Michael stalks toward him, and when Michael presses the gun under his chin, the cold metal shocks him into action.
"Bye, Mick."
"Wait! Wait. I’ll show you…slowly. Very slowly." He reaches into his coat and extracts the vial that Section sent him. "Don’t ask me what it is." He's got a good idea of what it is, actually, but he's pretty sure Michael does too.
Michael takes the vial and examines it for a second, then focuses that blank gaze on him again. "What do you do with it?"
"I just splash a few drops on the floor."
"Why?"
He shrugs as well as he can with a gun pressed against him. "You know the old saw, Michael. You tell me, we’ll both know."
Michael pauses, and he can see him processing information, considering and discarding scenarios. "Who at Section asked you to do this?"
"I haven’t a clue. It was done anonymously." He takes a shuddering breath, and the pressure from the gun eases slightly. Just slightly. "Look, mate, I like Nikita. This hasn’t exactly been my favorite detail. She’s changed, she has. It’s got something to do with that. But you know, I wasn't exactly given a choice."
Michael considers him for another moment, then pulls back and walks toward the door.
"Michael," he says, "if you take that they will find out and blame me."
Michael barely even takes the time to look back. "That’s possible."
"Ouch," he whispers, but Michael is gone. He's glad that he doesn't have to try and resist Michael, because there's probably no limit to what Michael would do in order to get Nikita back. He debates whether he should call into Section and report this incident, but he decides against it. If Section finds out, they'll focus on Michael's actions; if they don't find out, so much the better.
He's seen what Section did to Nikita. He's not very inclined to cooperate with them at the moment.
************
Michael contacts him a few days later, giving him curt instructions on what he's to provide and where to bring it. He actually has to call in Center's help in order to obtain some of the rarer items that Michael needs, but they send them to him without comment. Michael effortlessly manipulates him into bringing Nikita to meet Michael, and that's the last he hears of any of it for a week.
Then she knocks on his door. So he opens it.
He's surprised to see her, and a little apprehensive, considering that he'd handed her over to Michael last time he saw her. For all he knows, she's here to kill him, either on Section's orders or because she's decided that she doesn't like him. But the sight of her reassures him; it's not the unnaturally straight and still posture she'd perfected after Section did whatever they did. Instead, she lounges against the doorframe, looking uneasy and fragile.
"Hey," she says."
He can't help it; he smiles. "Hey, doll. You wanna come in?"
"Yeah, okay." She takes three steps inside and looks at anything but him. She seems tired, dark circles under her eyes, her head drooping a little bit.
"You feeling okay?" he asks.
She sighs quietly. "Better than I was, I guess. I…don't remember a lot about the past few weeks. She looks up then, finally meeting his eyes. "Did I…hurt you? I feel like I might have hurt you."
He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. "No, I'm okay."
"You sure?" Her desperate need for reassurance makes his throat clench, but he forces it down.
"Nah, nothing more than a love tap. Kinda turned me on, actually." He flashes a grin at her, and he's never going to tell her about the time she had him pinned to the floor, poised to snap his neck.
That provokes a genuine laugh, when under normal circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes at him and said something cutting. "Good," she says. "That's good."
He lets his hand slip off her shoulder, and she starts walking to the door. "Anyway, I just wanted to come make sure everything was okay. I'm kinda tired, so I'm gonna go take a nap."
"Nikita?"
She turns around, almost flinching, and he wonders what she expects to go wrong. However Michael brought her back, it obviously wasn't easy, and he hopes, for her sake, that she can live with whatever she did while under the Gelman process.
"Nothing," he says. "I'm just glad you're back."
*********
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