| Subject: Mea Culpa 5 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 12:38:28 12/10/01 Mon
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Mea Culpa (Sequel to Unto Death)" on 16:09:49 12/07/01 Fri
Nikita turned the engine off. “We’re home,” she said quietly, not daring to look at him.
“Good,” came the soft reply.
Nikita felt his fingers as they brushed her hair behind her ear a moment before he leaned over and tenderly kissed her neck. The sensation caught her breath in her throat, and Nikita moaned Michael’s name. There had been other words attached to his name, but Nikita forgot all of them after his lips moved to hers.
“Let’s go inside,” he whispered against her mouth between kisses.
“Mmmm” Nikita nodded, too happy to think, much less argue.
Michael thought he had it all under control, but nothing about his feelings for Nikita was controllable. He had planned this seduction carefully but hadn’t counted on Nikita and her reaction. From the moment they stepped inside the darkened living room of his house, she took the initiative and earnestly began to seduce him instead.
She pressed him back against the front door with a kiss, effectively closing the door and trapping him there. Her slender hands tugged at his shirt and found their way beneath it. Cool fingers traced circles over the smooth, hard muscles of his chest, centering themselves over his nipples. The thought of doing the same to her made them rigid, along with the rest of Michael’s anatomy.
As if she had read his mind, Nikita quickly pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Next, she shimmied out of her skirt and kicked off her shoes. It left her completely nude. Taking Michael’s hands, Nikita pressed them over the centers of her bared breasts, then rubbed the hardening, velvety tips against his palms, letting him feel how much she wanted him.
The experience enthralled him for a moment. But only for a moment, only until she gave him a new one to take its place. She whispered his name, then standing on tiptoe leaned into him, angling her body intimately against his. Her hands slipped around his waist then glided downward, pressing and holding him against herself.
Slowly, Nikita slid her body down, until her feet were flat on the floor, then slowly pushed up again, like a ballerina on point. The intimate friction of her body sliding against his was maddening; Michael could feel her moist heat through his clothes. It was the most erotic, intoxicating sensation…
It had been a long time since Michael felt anything beyond the physical when it came to sex; Section had trained him to use it as a weapon -- like a sensual martial art. He knew how to woo and manipulate women, when and what to say to them to gain their confidence. Sex was just a means to an end, a dirty part of a difficult job.
With Simone, sex had been all consuming -- not surprising, since it had been Simone that Section had selected to instruct Michael in the finer points of seduction. It had been a surprise to everyone, Simone included, when they fell in love with each other. But after he lost Simone, Michael returned to using sex as a weapon. He was honest enough with himself to accept the physical release it gave him as a fringe benefit of the job, but it gave him no emotional comfort. He wouldn’t allow himself to get emotionally vested. Not after Simone. Not until Nikita.
Section One, Three Years Ago
Michael sat at his desk staring at the computer file on his laptop. He wasn’t happy about this training assignment, although Madeline had been subtle when she pulled him off of active status to make him a trainer. She hadn’t mentioned the obvious – that Michael’s most recent assignment had taken an almost suicidal turn.
Simone had been dead eight months -- too long a time to grieve according to Operations -- but for Michael, losing Simone had nearly ripped the life out of him. Madeline had understood this and had placed him on inactive status for an entire month, but even she couldn’t shield him forever from returning to work.
When he had returned, Michael went through his assignments on autopilot. His complete unconcern for his own safety made him foolishly brave and, ironically, extremely successful in completing Section assignments. Operations had been delighted, but Madeline had grown concerned, and when Michael nearly drowned in the Oslo assignment, she told Operations if he didn’t want to lose Michael, he’d have to allow him time to recuperate. Operations had grudgingly agreed.
The photo on his computer screen was of a young woman of 17. Tall, blond with vivid blue eyes, she was dressed like a street urchin, unkempt and ragged. A cop-killer -- caught at the scene. His material to mold for the next two years. He sighed and looked at his watch. Time to go visit her.
The girl was asleep when Michael arrived. A medic entered the room and gave her an injection. “She’ll be coming out of it in a minute or two. Expect a little confusion at first,” the medic added before leaving the room.
Michael mentally sneered at the man’s statement, as if Michael hadn’t been through this routine himself.
“A little confusion” had been absolute terror. Michael had been “executed” by lethal injection. Waking up in a white room, not knowing if you were in heaven or hell -- well, a little confusion was an understatement!
Nikita. Michael looked down at the peaceful face of the girl and was struck by the beauty of it. Her photographs hadn’t done her justice; she had the face of an angel. He frowned, wondering how this “angel” had gotten so hard at 17 that she could stab a man to death. He didn’t judge her for it; he’d been in Section long enough to know people got there in many terrible ways, and his hands were the least clean of anyone he knew.
He brushed her hair off her forehead. It was soft as a child’s. There was an innocence about her, a vulnerability. Madeline could sure pick them, Michael thought. A killer angel. Another lost soul.
In the moments that followed, Michael’s opinion of the Nikita changed several times in succession. The “sweet innocent” exploded off the gurney only a second after Michael unlocked her restraints, leaving him to wonder if had she been faking the entire time, just waiting a chance to escape. And yet when she asked, “What is this place?” there was true fear in her voice.
“You’re not in prison anymore. The world thinks you’re dead -- suicide,” Michael told her, pulling out a photograph. “This is your funeral.”
The girl took it, fingering it with absent confusion.
“Mama?”
Michael wasn’t sure he heard correctly and continued. “Row 8, plot 30.”
“My mama didn’t come?” She asked in a tearful, childish voice.
Michael watched her slide down the tiled wall, clutching the photograph to her breast, and felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
“We’ve decided to give you another chance,” he told her. “This is where you’ll train. This is where you’ll learn.” He saw more tears and felt oddly uncomfortable over them. “After two years, if everything goes well, you’ll work for us.”
“Why me?” she asked, and Michael remembered why she was chosen. His tone was a little sarcastic when he answered.
“A woman with your looks, who can kill in cold blood…”
“I didn’t! I didn’t… kill anyone!” She protested tearfully.
For a moment Michael could almost believe her, but he shook off the thought. Of course she would protest her innocence, most everybody did. She was a good actress at least. He turned and walked to the door.
Michael sensed Nikita’s attack before she actually touched him. He was fully prepared to deal with it, blocking her blows and flipping her across his hip to the floor in one practiced, fluid motion.
So! The kitten has claws, he thought as he held her down. Good. She did have the killer instinct after all. He looked down at her tear-stained face, and for a moment, his anger flared.
“When you attack someone from behind, go for the kidneys. It disables, and they can’t fight back. Consider that your first lesson.” He released her, feeling vaguely disappointed, and got to his feet.
“I don’t want… I don’t want lessons!” she shouted back at him angrily.
Her true personality was finally showing itself, Michael thought, as he opened the door.
“We start tomorrow morning, 5 a.m.”
“And if I don’t want to?” She returned viciously.
“Row 8,” he answered her derisively, “plot 30!”
Things continued in the same mode of operation for the next several months. One moment Nikita was meek and childlike, almost gentle, then another she was a tigress, fighting to get her way and scoffing at authority. But through it all, she learned and learned quickly.
Despite her continued antagonism towards her fate, Nikita showed signs of being one of the best of the new crop of operatives. She certainly was one of the favorites. Birkoff had a crush on her that he hid behind playful sarcasm; Walter doted on her and flirted with her shamelessly; even Madeline seemed to have a fondness for Nikita. Only Operations seemed immune to Nikita’s charm.
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