Subject:  Chapter 3 |
Author:
Cynaera
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Date Posted: 15:28:28 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 3
"Team Two, report." Birkoff's voice was tinny in the headset of the team leader.
"Got 'em," Randy said abruptly. "In transit now." He didn't say that Michael and Nikita were seemingly untouched by the horror of the situation in which they'd been surrounded. They were quiet, and sat close together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. Their hands were clasped in their own laps, their eyes straight ahead. Randy swallowed - he felt like an unwanted guest at a party for two…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Debrief was a breeze disguised as a nightmare. Michael was called into one office, and Nikita into another. Their reports were completely cohesive and in collusion with each other, because neither had anything to hide. They cooperated fully, relaxed and receptive to questions. Hours passed. Questions were re-asked, and answers re-given, verbatim. Finally, both operatives were released, and as Nikita headed to debarking,
Michael intercepted her. "Are you all right?" he asked very softly, as they strolled, mentor-to-trainee for the benefit of the surveillance cameras.
"Fine," she replied neutrally. Her eyes conveyed another message: Meet me outside.
Michael gave an almost imperceptible nod and parted ways with her, heading to his office. He busied himself for a couple of minutes with e-mails and paperwork, then logged off, grabbed his jacket, and left his office, knowing that Section security would turn off the lights at the prescribed hour unless whoever was awake typed in a special code to keep everything operating.
He quietly left Section One, and after scanning the area, saw Nikita standing in the parking lot, her hands shoved in the pockets of her parka. The weather was cold, even at mid-day - her breath was visible, regular and untainted with stress or fear. Michael approached her, took her in his arms, and held her close, feeling her shuddering. "M-Michael…" she said, and her teeth chattered. "C-can we go somewhere warm?"
He smiled a little, and guided her to his car quickly. After helping her inside and taking command of the driver's seat, he turned up the heat, scanned his CD programming for something mellow, found "Afro-Celt Sound System" and locked it in. As "Saor/Free" began to play, he whispered, "Relax, Nikita…"
She took him at his word, slouched down in her seat, trusting him to take her where he himself would feel safe, and closed her eyes, listening to the music. She didn't recognize it, but she loved it - a low, monotone bass, and what sounded like some sort of ethereal bagpipe. The beat was rhythmic and she thought she recognized mandolin and bongos … She drifted away to the sounds, and she was flying, without wings, without anything other than her own volition. She was gliding twenty feet above the surface of the Pacific Ocean, heading into the sun, the heat on her body, the glow of orange and silver beckoning to her, the beach behind her. She was in complete control - she was a seabird flying, absorbing the warmth and the light, a goddess…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Nikita…" Michael's soft voice coaxed her back into reality. She opened her eyes, and her first view when she followed the sound with her eyes was that of Michael's celadon-green gaze, tender and soft. "We're here."
Still fuzzy, Nikita giggled, thinking, "Of course we're here - if we weren't, we wouldn't be having this conversation because it'd mean we didn't exist." Then she came awake completely, focussed on Michael's eyes and his gentle, tolerant, patient expression, and pulled herself together for him. "I'm awake," she said, clearing her throat and sitting up.
Michael shut off the engine and took the keys from the ignition, sensing that Nikita needed to come back to reality in her own way. He'd learned it the hard way, on the barge in Lyons. He'd kissed her once, insistently, in the dead of the night, and she'd come awake with a right hook that had almost taken out his eye. He'd been awake enough to block it, but from that second onward he'd had no doubt that Nikita had been no man's woman, even in passing…
"Where are we?" she asked softly, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn.
Michael didn't answer immediately - instead, he climbed out of the car, closed his door and went around to Nikita's side to help her out, fairly certain that she was exhausted. She'd be wobbly, no doubt, and he braced himself.
He was right. She staggered against him, and he caught her easily, his arms strong and sure around her as he closed her door. He led her, silently, up a brick walkway to the front door of a house - nestled in the trees, away from the street, it was like a cottage in the woods. Michael held her against him like a large Raggedy-Ann doll as he deftly fit his key into the lock, opened the door, switched on a light, and helped her inside, then kicked the door shut behind him. He'd lock it later, after he'd gotten Nikita situated.
"Watch your step," he cautioned quietly, and lifted her a tiny bit as she walked. She counted the steps down into the sunken living room - there were three - and as Michael seated her on an overstuffed, extremely comfortable couch, she couldn't seem to resist curling up on it, her body shuddering with cold. She thought of their mission - of the debrief, of the missiles flying overhead, of the deafening crash of impact, of Michael's body, warm and hard and comforting against hers… She drifted to sleep, losing the fight for consciousness.
Michael had gone back to lock the door and set the security system. He lit a fire in the large fireplace, and when he turned back to speak to Nikita, he saw her asleep on the couch, and his heart pounded. She's so beautiful… he thought. And she's mine… He heard P.J.'s voice in his mind, telling him to tell Nikita he loved her. Good advice, he thought. Then, God, I miss you, P.J…
He was tempted to sit on the brick ledge in front of the fireplace and simply watch Nikita sleep, but his body would not allow it. He went over to her, knelt down by the couch, and tenderly touched his fingers to her face. Then, immediately remembering her penchant for awakening with the fist of death, he moved out of range. To his surprise, she didn't come up fighting - her eyes opened, and they were silver-blue and slightly
unfocussed. "Michael…" she breathed, and reached for him.
Michael let her put her arms around him and pull him down. He whispered, "Nikita…" and closed his eyes, surrendering to her lips and skin even as he clenched himself against the onslaught of desire.
He was surprised when Nikita whispered against his ear, "Are we being monitored?" He'd thought she had abandoned herself to the same emotions he himself was feeling - again, she'd surprised him.
He shook his head. "No. Section doesn't know about this place."
Nikita didn't believe him, and she automatically scanned the room for cameras or anything that looked like surveillance devices. She saw none. Maybe he's telling the truth, she thought.
Then, before she could consider it further, Michael's arms tightened around her, his lips found her neck, and he whispered, "We're safe here." Nikita needed no further words.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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