| Subject: Which Came First...(1) |
Author:
Nestra
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Date Posted: 12:00:44 02/04/02 Mon
In reply to:
Nestra
's message, "Which Came First, the Chick or the Egg?" on 11:54:41 02/04/02 Mon
Nikita was roused from a sound sleep by the insistent pounding at her door. As she slowly pried herself out of bed, she amused herself by running through the list of potential pounders.
Not Michael...he knocks discreetly. Not Operations or Madeline...they'd just break in. Not Walter or Birkoff...they know enough to let me sleep. Or they'd call first. It has to be...
"Mick, what do you want?"
He managed to breeze in through the six-inch crack in the door. "Good morning, doll. This is your lucky day."
She sighed and shut the door behind him. "It's only barely morning, and there's nothing you can say to convince me that any day involving you is going to be lucky. Miserable, maybe. Painful and trying, maybe. But not lucky."
Mick looked hurt. "It wounds me to hear you say that. I'm sitting here, wounded. Bleeding on your couch. Got any coffee?"
Nikita closed her eyes briefly and offered up a prayer to any gods that might be listening. "No, no coffee. You have three seconds to tell me what you want before I shoot you," she said in her best threatening voice.
Unfortunately, Mick didn't look too threatened. "Is that any way to treat your favorite neighbor?"
"Mick, you're not even my favorite slimeball. Tell me what you came here for, now."
He put on his best attempt at charm. "Can I borrow an egg?"
Obviously, her prayers were going unanswered, because Mick didn't spontaneously combust. "An egg? You dragged me out of bed for an egg? A single egg? Don't they have grocery stores wherever you come from?"
He looked confused for a moment, and then his face brightened. "Oh, not that kind of an egg, luv."
Not that kind of an egg? What other kind of egg...oh, no...
Mick, unable to contain his good cheer, bounded off the couch and came to stand by her. "Didn't I tell you it was your lucky day? I have decided that you will be," a pause for maximum effect, "the mother of my child."
"Mick..." Nikita protested weakly.
"Can you imagine it? Between my dashing good looks and the whole Twiggy thing you've got going, I think we could pop out a simply stunning child." He beamed at her, clearly quite pleased with himself, while Nikita considered fainting.
"Mick, please tell me that this is a joke."
"A joke?" he protested indignantly. "A joke? You thinking that passing on my genes is some sort of joke?"
As Nikita became more and more preoccupied with Mick's ridiculous announcement, his voice faded to an insistent squawk in the background. "I know," she muttered desperately. "This is a test, isn't it? Madeline put you up to this. She wants to know exactly how much stress I can handle before I have a heart attack." She swung around and clutched Mick's upper arms fiercely. "It's a test, right?"
He smiled back, not in the least disturbed by her panic. "No, no test. Just you, me and a blessed event."
A blessed event? "No, no, no, Mick. No blessed event, no egg-lending. No. Am I making myself clear? No." She eyed him suspiciously. "Is any of this getting through to you?"
"It's okay, luv. You need some time to get used to the idea. I understand that good news like this can shock weak-minded people."
"Weak-minded?" she yelped, her grasp on his arms tightening.
"Ouch," he complained, pulling back from her. "Watch the arms, there. I bruise easily." He carefully brushed off the sleeves of his...oh God, it looked like velour...
Nikita mentally shook herself, took another deep breath and ground out, "Weak-minded?"
Pulling his attention away from his attire, he smiled at her again. "I mean that in the best possible way, of course. You know, delicate. Frail. Not weak-minded like Michael."
"Michael?" she repeated numbly.
Maybe I'm dreaming.
On the other hand, maybe I'm in hell.
"Right, Michael. You look at him and you can tell that there's no one home behind that poker face."
"No one home?" she gasped weakly.
"Doll, are you feeling okay?" he asked solicitously. "You keep repeating yourself."
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