| Subject: Requiescant In Pace 2 |
Author:
Rox
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 19:35:57 01/16/02 Wed
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Requiescant In Pace (Sequel to Anguish of Angels)" on 20:35:55 01/15/02 Tue
* * *
Nikita sat in the booth opposite Michael and smiled at her surroundings. "You've eaten here before?"
"Every time they've sent me to Peking." He answered, waving over a waiter. The waiter bowed and smiled as Michael spoke to him in Chinese.
"Would you like me to order? Or do you have a preference?" Michael asked politely.
Nikita stared at the Chinese characters on her menu and shrugged, "You order‑-but not too exotic. I draw the line at eating pets."
"Pets?" Michael gave her a quizzical look.
"You know," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "Cats and dogs."
For only the second time since she'd known him, Michael laughed aloud. It took him several minutes to compose himself enough to order a meal.
For Nikita, the situation gave the feeling of deja vu. The last time they sat like this, in a booth in a fancy restaurant, Nikita had been given the task to get a PDA from another patron. Worried, she took a closer look at the people seated nearby. No one looked interesting from a Section point of view, however and so she relaxed.
Michael studied her face and smiled inwardly. Nikita's thoughts were so readable sometimes. He recognized the similarity of the situation as she had done, and paused a moment before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a small box, decoratively wrapped. When he placed the box on the table in front of her, he wondered how she would react.
Her eyes widened and he saw a brief moment of fear and shock, before she shuttered her eyes and quipped: "Bomb? It's too small to be a gun."
Michael placed both elbows on the table, laced his fingers together and balanced his chin on the arch of his entwined fingers. He gazed at her with vivid green eyes‑‑reminding Nikita of an inquisitive cat‑-but didn't answer.
Nikita looked down at the tiny package and sighed, "Last time I at least got to eat first." She fingered the satiny ribbon, sadly.
"Open it, Kita." Michael said softly.
His use of his pet name for her, gave Nikita pause. Perhaps it wasn't something too terrible after all. She reexamined the box. It was a very small box‑‑tiny in fact. About the size a ring would come in. The idea that Michael might be proposing marriage came and went back out again. That would signal the end of the universe as she knew it! Nikita sighed, however. It was a nice dream for the millisecond that it lasted.
With a huff, she plucked at the ribbon, shoved it aside and unwrapped the gilt paper. Inside she found a velvet-covered box. (Perhaps she had been a little hasty about the proposal?)
With her thumb Nikita flipped open the box, her eyes wide with expectation. She smiled at the contents.
Nestled and standing at attention on his bed of white satin, lay her St. Michael necklace, whole once again. Other than a ring, this was the best gift Michael could have offered her.
"He's fixed!" She pulled the necklace from its box to examine it more closely.
"I asked Walter to repair him for you. He kept you safe for me. I thought the least I could do, was to return him to duty." Michael pulled the necklace from the box and placed it around Nikita's neck.
Nikita caught one of his hands as they finished hooking the chain and kissed its palm. "Thank you, Michael."
It was only a moment of normalcy, but both savored it. Tomorrow they would catch a plane to Viet Nam and continue the mission, but tonight they would have all to themselves.
As the two slowly rotated on the dance floor, Nikita sighed happily and rested her head on Michael's shoulder. Then she gave a short laugh of delight.
"What?" He asked, one hand stroking the smooth skin of her bared lower back as he rocked her gently in his arms.
"I feel just like Cinderella." Just as she said it, Nikita wanted to take it back. Cinderella's hopes had turned into pumpkins at midnight‑‑it was too close an analogy to Nikita's real life. She didn't want to think past tonight and Michael's embrace. Just the thought of it was painful; Nikita dropped Michael's hand, looped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.
As if he understood, he hugged her back and whispered in her ear, "We have all night. Let's go back to the hotel."
There was a promise of more to come buried in his words and Nikita shivered in anticipation.
After quietly sweeping their rooms for listening devices, not uncommon in Chinese hotels that served Westerners, Michael showed Nikita the two concealed microphones near the telephones. Fortunately, no cameras were found, which was a relief to Nikita.
Michael turned off the lights and pressed Nikita against the wall with his hard body and a searing kiss.
By mutual consent, neither spoke. There was no real need. They embraced in the dark, in the silence of the room, and communicated through touch and taste. They made love silently, tenderly, wantonly, concealing their passion from eavesdroppers by rejecting the comfort of the bed‑‑with its nearby phone‑‑for the Oriental carpeting and pillows on the floor in the farthest corner from it‑‑ and again in the bath, with the water running.
Forgotten in their silent heaven was tomorrow and yesterday; both banished with the rest of the universe for the night. For now‑‑for tonight, there was only each other and bliss.
* * *
Walter watched Operations closely and saw tension--or was it excitement? They had been over Cambodia for nearly an hour, and while jumping out of an airplane was old hat for both of them, Walter was not looking forward to it. For one, the last jump he made, had landed him in a POW camp for six years, for another, hell--he wasn’t as young an ass-hole as he used to be!
Nevertheless, he would jump. Walter looked out the open door of the cargo plane. Somewhere down in that entangled, green hell were comrades-in-arms, perhaps, even men with whom he had served. He and Operations had few things in common, but they shared one obsession--accountability of the missing and captured men of the Viet Nam War. Even if they only found one man alive--it would be worth the risk.
Nikita clicked pictures from the open door of a reconditioned Army jeep. Michael sat in the front seat with their contact, a battle-scarred, fifty-something, Montagnard farmer named Huang. He and Michael carried on in French for most of the morning. Nikita caught a word now and then, but languages had never been her forte. She contented herself with the beauty of the countryside and watching a rather animated Michael. He seemed almost relaxed, and she decided he was simply enjoying hearing his native tongue again. Occasionally she would catch his eye and they would exchange glances that spoke volumes. There was a closeness between them that had never been there before. Dare she believe it was trust?
Nikita smiled at him, and playfully clicked his picture. At that moment in her life, she felt grateful to be alive and to be with Michael. Somehow, even being in Section, didn’t bother her anymore.
After a three hours, their driver pulled the jeep up sharply into a grove of palms and turned off the engine.
“We’re here, Nikita.” Michael said over his shoulder as he got out.
She looked up and realized within that moment Michael had shifted into machine mode. Instead of being upset by it, she realized that she, too, had shifted moods. She followed him as he followed Huang into the deep underbrush. They reached a small building nearly engulfed by the thick jungle foliage. Huang led them inside to where arms and clothing waited for them. What followed was a brief discussion between the man and Michael, then Huang left them alone.
Nikita changed out of her clothes into a green camouflaged uniform, while Michael inspected their equipment and communication gear. They worked silently, side by side, loading weapons and preparing themselves and their equipment. Personal thoughts had vanished as their training took over.
“Birkoff--comm check.” Michael said into his headset and Nikita slipped her arms into her backpack. Michael gave her brief assistance by shifting the weight of her pack into a more comfortable position as he spoke.
Birkoff sat at his console, half asleep and feeling miserable with a head cold. “I hear you.” He turned to look up at Madeline who was perched in Operations’ control mezzanine. She nodded, and continued to pace, her arms folded tightly against her body.
"We are leaving for the rendezvous point. Comm check in one hour. Out.”
“How far?” Nikita asked.
Michael shot an azimuth with his GPS, and pointed northwest, “Three miles to the rendezvous point. Let’s go.” He led the way, cutting through the jungle with a machete, while Nikita followed with her weapon drawn.
After about two hours of hacking their way through the vegetation, they stopped to rest.
“How much further?” Nikita slapped at the swarm of stinging insects that seemed to follow them everywhere.
“We are half way there.” Michael handed her his canteen from which she took several long drinks.
“How long until dark?” Nikita suddenly realized how deep the shadows had become.
“Soon. I smell rain.” Michael said looking up. No sooner than he had said the word, the sky opened up and the rain fell in sheets all around them.
After a half hour of walking in the soaking deluge, Nikita muttered, “Well, at least the bugs are gone. How much further? It’s getting so dark that I can hard---”
There was a metallic ‘klatch’ sound off to their right and Michael clapped his hand over Nikita’s mouth and shoved her to the ground. They lay in the tall brush in the pouring rain while a Vietnamese soldier stood nearby. The distinctive noise had been him releasing the safety on his AK-47. Nikita remembered the sound from weapons training and Walter’s tales of how the Green Berets preferred the Russian made weapon to their often unreliable M-16's. The only disadvantage as a weapon was the AK-47's characteristically noisy safety.
Michael slowly removed his hand from Nikita’s mouth, as they lay quietly, waiting for the man to pass them by. They had orders not to engage the target until the entire team was assembled for fear the POWs would be moved or killed before they could be rescued.
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 
