Subject:  Chapter 2 |
Author:
Cynaera
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Date Posted: 12:54:28 01/16/02 Wed
In reply to:
Cynaera
's message, "Two Hearts Beat As One (Sequel to "From A Child's Eyes)" on 12:45:47 01/16/02 Wed
Chapter 2
Michael and Nikita huddled together in a ditch, listening to the massive firepower which burned a perverted path of fireworks above their heads. It was night. It was the future they'd dreamed of, gone horribly wrong. Even with all the contingencies Section had forecasted, they had not planned for this - this completely left-field loose-cannon in the form of a supposedly-departed enemy called Stavros. Even as Michael had dived for cover, making sure Nikita was safe beneath him, he'd thought, This shouldn't be happening - we shouldn't be here…They hung us out to dry…
Section One. They. Not "we" anymore. Things had changed - the battle was a new and different one, and the players had rules which were not posted. Now, Michael was coming to the realization that the trust and faith he'd placed in Section's abilities to protect and defend had been seriously misplaced. In the next instant, he thought, anguished, Why didn't I listen to Nikita when she tried to tell me?…I should have trusted her more…
He knew it was because of the way he'd been trained from day one. He'd been indoctrinated into Section-think and Section-speak since the moment he'd come to consciousness in the now-notorious "white room". They'd snapped him up when he'd been young and impressionable, and they'd known exactly how to mold him into the kind of man they'd needed for their purpose. Michael knew he'd been so devastated by the bomb-blast that he would have succumbed to anything as a way of atoning for the deaths he and Rene Dion had caused - even the deceptive, insidious ways of Section One.
Now, he lay in a trench, with rockets from both zones zigzagging overhead, each side determined to annihilate the other. He and Nikita were caught in the deadly crossfire, and unless he could come up with a plan, Michael knew it was only a matter of time before both of them were caught or killed.
Michael could feel Nikita shaking against his body. He breathed into her ear, "Don't be afraid, Nikita. We'll get through this." He hoped he wasn't lying to her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Section One had closed down. Birkoff was operating the databases in stand-alone mode, which meant they were temporarily untraceable, but also limited in their outgoing transmissions for help. Mad'laine and Operations were huddled in the aerie, discussing the mission in neutral, non-threatening tones. "Our security's been breached. We need to cut them loose. We can't afford to be exposed now - we're too deep into the game," Operations was saying as he paced. Mad'laine was standing close to the farthest wall from the door, conveying by her body-language and her position in the room that she was behind his decision, whatever it might be after she'd voiced her thoughts.
"I disagree," Mad'laine said softly, her eyes deep and almost melting - Operations was momentarily distracted, effectively disarmed by her gaze. She went on, "Michael and Nikita are our two best operatives. You know as well as I do that as long as they are permitted to function together, they will get the job done, no matter what it might require. And right now, we're up against an enemy who can destroy us." Her voice had never elevated beyond conversational level, but her words were screaming. She paused, gauging Operations' reaction, then she finished, deftly, "We need Michael and Nikita - alive. We should send a team in after them to recover them. They're the only ones with enough combined intel to bring down Stavros again."
Operations nodded, reluctantly, his arms crossed over his chest, the familiar cigarette conspicuously absent from his fingers. His recent encounter with a thirteen year-old cancer patient named P.J. had moved him to quit the habit, and he hadn't smoked since then. The funny part, he mused, completely off topic, was that he didn't miss it anymore. But I miss you, P.J., he thought, and was glad no one could hear what was clearly going on behind his ice-blue eyes…
"As usual, Mad'laine, you're right," he acceded softly. "Get Murrow to assemble a team. Bring them in - zero margin for error." Operations strode out of the aerie with an air of determination. Mad'laine remained behind for a second, watching him leave, her expression knowing and a little amused. If Operations had known her thoughts, he would have swan-dived from the aerie rather than taken the stairs…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Michael…" Nikita whispered. His face was so close to hers that she had only to turn slightly in the trench - he was plastered against her back, spoon-fashion, his left arm under her neck, cradling her head, his right arm over her ribcage, holding her close to him. It was comfortable and comforting, but the reality of where and why they were there was not lost on either of them.
"What?" he responded, equally softly.
"P.J. just talked to me."
"Nikita…" Michael's voice was scared and cautious at once. He hadn't been aware of wounds which would have impaired her capabilities or caused her to hallucinate…
"No, I'm all right, Michael," she whispered back, found his hand near her ribs and squeezed it in reassurance. He waited, holding his breath, hoping for something more Nikita-ish…
"He told us to break and run like hell for the trees…"
Merde! Michael swore silently. Itis P.J… He hauled Nikita to her feet, closed his eyes and prayed to an unknown entity, Please… please… They ran as fast as they could, with explosions and fireworks all around them, until they reached the shelter of the forest, then collapsed in the safety of the tall trees. Michael held Nikita in his arms, feeling her heart pounding under his wrist, knowing she could feel his own heart hammering against her back.
They clung together, catching their breath, their eyes closed… A voice was echoing between them like a liaison: Save each other… Protect each other… It was P.J.'s voice. Michael recognized it from his long conversation with P.J. at the dock, only two days before the boy had died. He could feel Nikita in his arms, stiffening, and he knew, somehow, that she was hearing the same message. Yet, he had to confirm it. "Nikita?" he whispered to her, hearing her indrawn breath as she fought for control.
"What, Michael?" she asked very quietly.
"Did you hear it?"
"Um - hear what?" Nikita didn't want to reveal to Michael that she'd been hearing P.J.'s voice clearly in her mind - he'd become "Section-Michael" on her, and she didn't want or need that now. Her answer was deliberately guarded in self-defense.
"P.J."
Nikita's jaw dropped. Michael had heard it, too. She couldn't conceal her feelings. "Yes, Michael - I heard him."
"What did he tell you?"
The silence between them was so prolonged that Michael had almost given up expecting a response from Nikita, when she finally said, very softly, "He said, 'Protect each other…" She left out the "save each other" part, because she sensed that Michael already felt he was beyond saving, and she needed his conviction and strength to get them both out of the certain death in which they were buried.
She felt Michael's body unclench - he seemed to sag against her then, and she didn't know if it was because of relief or because he'd finally given in to defeat. It scared her - to her credit, she did not succumb to fear or resignation. She kept her body rigid, even though her insides were jello.
Michael sighed - loudly, and in obvious relief. Nikita stifled a smile - he was finally getting the hang of listening…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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