| Subject: CHRISTMAS PAST 2 (Adults only) |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 22:10:05 01/23/02 Wed
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Christmas Past 1" on 15:26:51 01/22/02 Tue
Nikita eyed the young girl on the street corner, as Michael busied himself with putting their groceries into the car. She was about fifteen, perhaps sixteen, already street wise with a hard expression on her face.
‘God!’ Nikita thought to herself, ‘That’s me, four years ago.’
It was cold. Nikita was shivering and had only been outside for a few moments. The girl was wearing a light cloth jacket, with a hood, but no gloves. Instead, the girl’s sleeves were pulled tightly down over her fists, and her arms were folded tightly across her chest.
Nikita knew the sensation of cold, chapped hands--of a nose that ran continuously. She watched the girl and remembered. . .
‘Oh, to be warm!’ Nikita thought as she stood on the street corner staring into the well-lit grocery store. It was late and the owners of the small store were checking out the last of the evening’s customers.
Nikita’s fingers and toes had gone from numb to burning with the cold. Hoping to get warm, even for a moment, she slipped inside unnoticed and made her way to the produce department. There, food could be gobbled quickly, without drawing too much attention with noisy wrappers or bulky boxes.
She popped couple of grapes into her mouth, then shoved a couple of carrots, then a stalk of celery up the sleeves of her sweater. A small apple went in one bra cup, a medium potato went into the other.
That done, she slipped into the bathroom. The shelters were already full for the night and this might be her last chance to go until morning.
Just as she was about to flush, the lights suddenly went out and she was plunged into sudden darkness. By the time she felt her way to the door to leave, she found the entire store darkened. The only light came from the streetlight just outside. She’d been locked in!
A moment of panic was followed by the realization she was locked into a warm building, with nearly all the comforts of home! There was a large janitor’s sink in the rest room, dirty, but deep enough in which to bathe and wash clothes; food and drink, of every description; even a small radio in the manager’s office!
Squealing with her good fortune, Nikita’s set about washing herself and her clothes. She dried herself using an entire roll of paper towels, and dried her ‘cleaner’ clothes, using a small space heater, she’d also found in the manager’s office.
Supper consisted of several easy-open cans of beanie-weenies, heated over a small makeshift stove created from an empty coffee can and a box of matches; two cans of root beer, a bag of potato chips, and two packages of Twinkies.
She fell asleep in front of the space heater, atop a mattress created from ten packages of toilet paper, and a long piece of cardboard . . . .
“Nikita?”
Michael’s voice jerked Nikita out of her memories. She blinked, suddenly noticing the girl had gone. She felt disappointed, having hoped to at least go over and offer the girl a few dollars.
“Yes?” She answered, still searching the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl.
“Are we finished?”
Nikita sighed. The girl was nowhere to be seen. “Yes,” she answered him. “Let’s go home.”
‘Home.’ Michael stole a glance at Nikita’s pale face as they drove to his house. She seemed distracted and far from the bubbly self she had been earlier in the day.
“Is something wrong?” Michael asked. He drove with one hand, while he sought out her hand with the other. He found it and held it.
Nikita shook her head, but only because she had no words for what she was feeling. Depression for the young girl--and for her younger self, mixed with an incredible rush of appreciation for her life at the moment. She had everything she needed now, a home, food, warm clothes--and Michael. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.
Michael poured red wine into Nikita’s glass, as she put the finishing touches on the tree. He’d watched her for over an hour, fussing with the exact placement of ribbon, lights and angels, but it had been worth it. It was a beautiful tree, more so for the glow on Nikita’s face, than anything else.
It was such a strange and wonderful feeling. Michael’s eyes dropped to the ruby color of the wine he clasped in his hand.
For so many years, Christmas had passed unnoticed, like every other holiday. Instead Michael’s calendar had counted the days to and from assassinations and tactical assaults. He’d forgotten what it was like to notice the seasons changing--the scent of wood smoke and evergreen, the taste of spiced cider, roses in summer, daffodils in spring. . .
Simone had reminded him to live, but he had soon forgotten the lessons when she was gone. It had hurt too much to remember, when there was no one to share it with.
He watched Nikita, seated at the foot of the tree, happily sniffing the crisp clean scent of evergreen, as she enjoyed the lights dancing in a choreographed circle around the tree. Like a child, like an angel--enjoying the simple moments of her life, and gifting him with the moments of her delight.
Michael sat his wine on the counter and knelt behind her. “It’s beautiful,” he said with pride. “You’re beautiful.”
Nikita leaned back against him, closed her eyes, and gave him a smoky, sensual smile of happiness.
Michael brushed her mouth with his. The odd angle of kissing her upside down made then both smile. They moved to lay face to face on the soft cream carpet. They remained there, watching each other in silence, listening to Christmas carols on the radio, until Nikita shifted herself onto her back with a sigh.
“Tired?” Michael asked seriously, leaning over her.
Nikita gave him a mischievous smile and grabbed his dark sweater with both hands and pulled him closer.
“Not on your life!” she said and kissed him through a smile.
Michael kissed back, savoring the moment and her happiness. ‘If only it could last,’ he thought fatalistically. ‘If only. . . ‘
Nikita surprised him by pushing him over onto his back, and straddling his waist. Without a word, she reached down, grabbed the bottom of her sweater and peeled it over her head. Dropping it off to the side, she undid the clip that held her hair and shook it loose over her shoulders.
Where Simone’s breasts had been almonds and honey, Nikita’s were peaches and cream. Michael cupped his hands over them, then gently caressed the blushing tips with the edges of his thumbs. They peaked happily at the attention. He gazed up at her with rapt adoration in his green eyes.
“Noooo,” She whispered with a smile, brushing a cinnamon curl off his forehead. “Don’t touch--not yet--” She gently pressed his hands away and began to tug his sweater up to take it off.
“Now what?” He asked, with some curiosity, but not resisting.
“Be patient.” Nikita taunted him with his own words, but smiled when she said them. She wiggled down him, until she could comfortably kiss his navel---which she did--before her hands caressed and found him through his clothes.
Michael reacted with an intake of breath and closed his eyes as Nikita’s hand touched him, then her mouth.
Nikita felt his body grow taut beneath her, straining at the pleasure and wanting more. And more she gave, until Michael was desperate for her, touching her, kissing her, tasting her.
Nikita panted as his mouth took her as intimately as she had done for him, gasping out his name when he brought her to the pinnacle of sweetness, before he pulled her atop himself and buried himself in her moist heat.
A moment later Michael cried out so loudly that Nikita looked down to see if he’s been hurt, only to be pulled down into a kiss so tender she thought she would melt.
They lay, still entwined, sated and happy. Michael gently ran his fingers through Nikita's hair as she lay atop him.
"I'm glad you're here." He said, his voice as soft as his touch. He kissed her hair, just as she lifted her head to look at him.
"I'm glad too, Michael." She smiled and leaned on her elbows to look down at him. "And happy." She brushed his hair off his forehead.
That shy smile of happiness--the same she had given him at the restaurant, all those years ago. The smile that had faded when she had opened his "gift" and realized the date had only been a job. It had been like pulling the wings off of a butterfly; the guilt of it ate at him still.
Michael suddenly sighed and looked away, causing Nikita to frown.
"You're worried, aren't you?" She asked softly.
He looked back at her, surprised at her insight. “Yes."
"Me too. I'm too happy. I'm having trouble trusting that." She smiled wistfully.
Michael rolled over with her, balanced himself on one elbow, while he traced her jaw with his other hand.
"There are things about me. . . " He began. "There's so much you don't know."
"Shhh. It will keep until you're ready to tell me. Please trust me, Michael." Nikita looked up at him with sincerity in her vivid blue eyes.
She saw his eyes close, as if he were making an important decision and didn't want to be distracted.
"I love you, Michael. I always have. I always will, no matter what." She slipped her arms around his neck and wished he didn't look so sad.
"Nikita, I . . . "
The sudden shrill ringing of Michael's cell phone jarred them both. Michael rolled his face away in bitter disappointment as Nikita reluctantly moved to allow him to answer it.
Nikita remained on the floor, and admired Michael's beautifully sculptured body as he traversed the den and picked up the phone.
"Yes?"
The phone call lasted all of a second or two, all of it evidently one-sided. But Michael stood for several seconds unmoving and the long pause was alarming. Nikita sat up and wrapped her sweater around her shoulders and braced for the worst.
"What is it?" She asked, very concerned. Michael had his back to her and she couldn't see his expression. When he turned around however, he was smiling.
"A wrong number."
A wrong number. The relief of it was almost comical; Nikita let out the air she’d been holding in her lungs.
‘It’s almost Christmas,’ she prayed, ‘don’t let anything spoil it, please.’
* * *
“Where are you going?” Michael asked, as Nikita put the finishing touches on her makeup.
“Shopping--it’s Christmas Eve. I need a few more things for Christmas dinner.”
“Can I come?” Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck.
“No, you can’t come!” She said in mock seriousness. “I also have a gift to buy and you can’t be with me when I buy it.”
“Why not?” He asked with a smile hidden in his voice.
“You know why not.” Nikita turned in his arms. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
Michael stroked a lock of gold off her brow. “Be careful.” He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.
Nikita’s mind worked furiously as she drove off. She wanted to get Michael a gift, but had no idea what to get him. For all their recent closeness, she had to confess, she really didn’t know that much about his likes and dislikes.
‘What did you get an assassin for Christmas?’
She frowned at the thought. Michael did kill for a living, so did she--but was assassin the right word to describe their jobs? A shudder went through Nikita. Was it true? Was she an assassin? Was Michael?
Nikita pulled the car into a parking space and turned off the engine. She sat there for a long while, depressed by her thoughts.
‘No!’ a part of her argued, ‘Michael kills to protect the innocent and so do I’ Another part of her argued they had allowed the innocent to die as well. Memories of poison gas and a building full of people stood up to convict her.
“Oh, God.” Nikita said aloud. “I don’t want to do these things any more. I want a life. I want a home and family. I want some peace!”
Nikita looked across the street and spotted the young girl she’d seen on her most recent trip downtown. She watched as the girl paced in the frigid air, smoking a cigarette for the warmth it gave her thin face.
‘If only,’ Nikita thought, ‘if only my life had been different. If only someone had helped me. . .’ The thought gave her pause. A moment later, she got out of her car and trotted across the street towards the girl.
“Hi!” Nikita began cheerfully, then mentally kicked herself. She remembered being on the street. People who were too friendly, were that way for a reason, and often it wasn’t in your best interest to trust them.
The girl stepped back warily--point well proven.
Nikita took a deep breath and began again. “It’s cold out here, isn’t it?”
Again a look of distrust, mixed with a sneer over her statement of the obvious.
“Look,” Nikita started over. “I used to be in your shoes. I lived on the streets for nearly four years.”
“So? Want a medal?” The girl snorted, blowing smoke through her nose.
“No, just want to help you, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. You’re a Girl Scout now.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“No. Not even close.” Nikita smiled at the irony. She reached inside her purse and pulled out a handful of money. “Here. Take this and get yourself some food.”
The girl didn’t hesitate and reached for the cash. As she did so, Nikita saw the track marks on her arm, and snatched the money back again.
“You’re using?” Nikita asked the girl, holding the money out of reach.
“And you said you’d been in my shoes--I knew you were shitting me! Nobody gives something for nothing! Nobody!” Without warning, the girl pulled a knife with a five-inch blade from a pocket inside her ragged coat.
“Okay, bitch, hand me the money and I won’t hurt you!”
Nikita’s eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed in anger. “You’re being stupid,” she told the girl unflinchingly, “I only want to help you.”
“Shut up!” The girl took a moment to look around to see if they had been noticed. They hadn’t, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She motioned with the knife. “Down the alley. Now!”
Nikita shrugged and complied. When they got to the middle of the alley the girl ordered her to stop.
Nikita stopped and turned to face her. “Now what?”
“The money. Hand it over.”
“No.” Nikita folded her arms and smiled grimly.
“Do it! I’ll cut you if you don’t.”
“You can try,” Nikita replied, sounding bored.
The girl responded by attacking. Nikita parried by catching the blade in the voluminous folds of her winter coat, then caught the girl’s wrist and broke her hold on the knife. A second later, the girl found her face forcefully pressed against the rough- textured brick wall of the adjacent building.
“Ow! Let go!”
“In a moment. I want you to hear something first.” Nikita said quietly as she reached into her purse with one hand.
There was a soft click-click that followed.
“Did you hear that?” Nikita asked.
“Yeah, so what?” The girl continued to struggle, but Nikita had her left arm pinned in a painful position behind her back.
“Do you know what that sound is?”
“No.”
“Does this, give you a hint?” Nikita pressed the barrel of her Ruger 9mm pistol to the girl’s temple. “Now, I’m going to let go of you. When I do, I want you to turn around slowly. Do you understand me?”
Wide-eyed, the girl quickly nodded.
“Good.” Nikita let her loose and stepped back with the pistol aimed and ready.
“Don’t!” The girl pleaded, as she raised her trembling hands in the air.
“Give me one good reason, why not?” Nikita said coldly.
“Please! I don’t want to die!” Brown eyes filled with terrified tears.
“Oh really? You could have fooled me. By the looks of your arms, I’d say you’re half-way there already. I think I’ll be doing you a favor by making your death nice and quick. One shot, right between the eyes--it’s quite painless that way, I can assure you.”
The girl’s legs buckled and she slid down the wall and huddled there pleading. “Don’t! Please!” she wailed, covering her face with her arms.
“Get up.” Nikita said, lowering her weapon.
The girl struggled on shaky legs to comply. Suddenly, she realized Nikita wasn’t going to harm her.
“You a cop?” she spat out, the rebellion returning to her eyes.
Nikita raised the gun again and pressed it to the young woman’s forehead. “Cops have rules. I don’t. If you want to live through the next few seconds, you’d better pay strict attention.”
The fear returned and Nikita got a little nod.
“Good. Now that we understand each other . . . “
”What do you want from me?” The voice wavered, and Nikita felt suddenly ashamed and confused. ‘What did she want, indeed?’
“Only to help you,” Nikita sighed. It was the truth. She saw herself in the scraggly, blond waif. She wanted better for this young girl than the life she was forced to live. Sadly, Nikita also knew, the chances were slim the girl would take any help from her or anyone.
“Why?” The girl asked, suddenly quite puzzled.
Nikita shrugged, and put her weapon away. “I told you, I’ve been here.” She gestured to their surroundings. “You’re me, four years ago. Hungry, dirty, and cold.”
“So, okay. Give me the money and I’ll go buy some clean clothes and some food.” The girl offered with a smile.
“No, you won’t. You’ll head right to your connection and buy drugs.” Nikita retorted, unamused.
“Look, I’m cold! Make up your mind! You gonna help me, or not?”
“What’s your name?” Nikita asked.
“Kim.”
“Kim. You want a bath, some clothes and a meal? That’s what I’m offering.”
“In return for what?” Kim asked warily.
“I want you to get your head clear and think about what you are going to do with the rest of your life.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s a lot, I promise you. Deal?”
“Yeah. Okay, deal.”
“Fine. First—let’s get you warm and fed. Want anything special to eat?”
“Yeah, a turkey dinner.” Kim said sarcastically.
Nikita shrugged, “Why not? Let’s go.”
As Nikita watched Kim finish off her third piece of pumpkin pie, she felt torn between compassion and concern. If the Section could see her at this moment, she was sure she’d be in Madeline’s office for one of her infamous mother-daughter chats. Signing inwardly, Nikita was sure she’d be in trouble with Michael as well. He’d warned her repeatedly about getting involved with civilians, with good reason.
To be fair, Nikita hadn’t expected this turn of events. She had only intended to give the girl money for a hot meal and a warm bed on Christmas Eve, but when she saw the needle marks on Kim’s arms, Nikita knew giving her money would have only invited her to shoot up for the holiday—perhaps fatally.
“So,” Kim said, interrupting Nikita’s thoughts, “what do you do for a living?”
“Had enough?” Nikita replied, ignoring the question.
“Yeah. You a social worker or something?”
“Or something. Let’s go shopping.”
“Are you for real?” Kim asked, cocking her head to one side.
“Nope. I’m just a figment of your imagination. Let’s go.”
Kim bounced on the end of the bed, and for the first time, awarded Nikita with a smile.
Nikita pulled a package of throwaway razors, shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and some make-up out of a small paper bag and placed them near the sink in the motel room.
“I’ve paid for the room for the rest of the week. I’ve also arranged for your meals to be brought to you during that time. Now, go take a hot shower and wash your hair. I have to go.”
“I think I have this all figured out, now.” Kim said, her face falling.
“What do you mean?” Nikita asked.
“I’m not stupid. You get me all cleaned up and farm me out to the johns, right?”
Nikita sighed. Of course the girl would think that; Nikita would have thought the same thing, four years ago.
“Kim, for what’s it’s worth, I give you my word. There are no strings attached. No johns—I promise. You’ll just have to believe me. I have to go. Just promise me to think about your life. It’s a big world out there—good and bad, and you only get one chance, one life. Don’t waste it. Get straight. Find someone to love. Have babies. Grow old. Do it for me. Do it for yourself.”
Nikita gathered her coat and purse, to hide the tears that had suddenly welded up. Part of her warned that Kim was probably not going to change, but she still hoped for it anyway.
Nikita reached for the door, then paused when Kim blurted out, “Hey—thanks.”
Nikita turned and exchanged a long look with Kim.
“Merry Christmas,” Nikita said at last.
“Yeah. You too.” Kim replied quietly with a wistful note of hope in her voice. “And really—thanks again.”
Nikita looked at the time. It was nearly five in the afternoon and she realized with a rush of horror that she only had an hour to find Michael a gift before the stores closed. Damn! Her problem was still the same—what could she get him?
She mentally cataloged all the facts she knew about Michael in hopes of getting an idea. When she finished, she was shocked at how very little she really knew. He wore black a lot, rode a motorcycle, was once married, and a father, painted---painted!
Nikita put the car in gear and made a sharp U-turn in the parking lot of the motel. Hopefully, she could get to a hobby store before it closed!
* * *
“I’m back!” Nikita called cheerfully, as she pushed open the door with an armful of packages.
There was no immediate answer, so she dropped all on the kitchen counter and trotted upstairs, merrily singing.
“Michael! I’m back.”
Again, came silence.
“Michael?” A shiver went through Nikita as a quick search of the house found no one. She was alone.
The shrill ring of her cell phone, made her run back downstairs to answer it.
“Hullo?”
“Josephine.” It was Michael.
“Yes?”
There was a brief pause, and almost a sigh, “Come in.”
“Of course,” Nikita answered, softly as she closed her phone. “So much for Christmas.”
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