| Subject: Mea Culpa 7 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 20:07:56 12/12/01 Wed
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Mea Culpa 6" on 17:19:45 12/11/01 Tue
Michael was shocked -- not at Nikita’s actions, but at his body’s enthusiastic response. He was suddenly hard as stone, and what was worse, Nikita knew it and was doing her level best to capitalize on her advantage…
Like now… Michael thought vaguely, still pressed to the door, while Nikita continued to storm his defenses with her body. With a tongue of warm velvet she caressed his mouth, teasing, then pleading for a response. And he gave himself up to her.
Michael cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, drinking her love for him like fine champagne. He kissed her for all the times he’d wanted to and couldn’t, and for all the times he needed to and wouldn’t. For all the pain he’d caused her. For all the children he couldn’t give her. For all the long years ahead that he would spend without her.
He kissed her while he scooped her up, while he carried her to bed, and while he laid her on it.
And again, with her name on his lips… “Nikita… ” Forgive me.
And yet again, with the whispered words… “Je t’aime.”
Nikita held him as he emptied out his passion and filled her with bliss, then wept at the only words in French she truly understood. Michael had finally said he loved her.
“Michael?” Nikita lifted her head in the dim light of the bedroom. She peered at the clock. It was nearly four. In another two hours they would both be back on-call with the Section. Nikita slumped back against the pillow, knowing how Cinderella must have felt at a quarter to twelve. She looked over at the bathroom door and noticed it was open and no one was inside.
She fumbled against the dresser in the dark, then went to the bathroom and turned on the light. A few minutes of searching provided a T-shirt long enough to reach her knees. She pulled it on and went downstairs to find Michael.
‘Are you sure?’ The words spread themselves across the blue screen of Michael’s laptop.
He answered with a quickly keyed, ‘Yes,’ and pressed enter.
After a reluctant pause, came the response, ‘Consider it done.’
Michael heard a sigh and turned. Nikita stood in the doorway of his study, her arms folded, her hair still entangled from his caresses. She had that playful twist to her lips, the kind she’d given him when she’d asked him out for coffee and given him a cup of kindness instead.
She was so beautiful, he thought sadly, both inside and out.
“You’re already dressed,” she said, with a tinge of disappointment. The black was back.
Nikita walked over to Michael, as he clicked off his computer, and put her arm around his shoulder as he sat at his desk. Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, burying his face against her breast one last time.
“I guess I should gather up my clothes and go. I’ll need time to change,” Nikita said, bending to kiss the top of his head. Then she ran her hands through his cinnamon hair and murmured, “God, I miss you already.”
Her words stabbed at him, and he hugged her tighter in response. If he looked at her, he knew that she would guess. With all the strength he had left, he carefully formed the words, “I miss you too.”
“We are still going to have to be careful, aren’t we?” she asked, worriedly.
He stood and quickly kissed her neck. “Yes.” He turned away and tugged his jacket off the back of his chair. He slipped an arm in, then the other, then shrugged it over his shoulders and straightened it by tugging on the cuffs.
“Better get dressed. I’ll follow you home on my bike.”
* * *
Walter smiled knowingly when he saw Nikita on the way to the briefing room. She saw the smile and, despite herself, blushed a deep red. She'd forgotten about Walter knowing where she'd been. For that matter, for the last three days she'd nearly forgotten everything on the planet with the exception of Michael!
"Morning, Sugar."
Nikita gave him an embarrassed half?smile. "Morning, Walter."
Walter wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "Well?" He whispered for her alone.
She couldn't help herself. The happiness welded up and spilt over into a glorious smile.
Walter returned it with a mocking frown. "Damn! I'm jealous!" He accompanied her down the hallway until they reached the briefing room. Before they entered, he took her elbow and stopped her long enough to add, "Just be careful, Sugar. Okay?"
Nikita nodded then added, "Thanks, Walter… for everything."
Madeline led the morning meeting in lieu of Operations, who was still at the Agency. After regular business was discussed, a review of the last mission was begun. Each team member was asked for his or her evaluation of the operation to elevate any problems that were encountered so they could be corrected in future missions.
When it was Walter's turn, he folded his arms and suggested, "Better bio-suits are in order. Those suits I issued to the team were defective in my opinion. From the reports I've read so far, they tore too easily."
Madeline sat with her laced fingers resting atop the black, glazed conference table. After a short pause, she turned, looked Walter right in the eye, and calmly commented, "If they hadn't, they wouldn't have met the mission profile."
Walter was stunned. "You mean… you mean they were supposed to tear?"
Madeline ignored his question. "Do you have anything else to add, Walter?"
Walter's expression went from appalled to hostile, as he shot a look in Michael's direction. Earlier, Madeline had said that Michael had written the mission profile!
Michael returned Walter's expression passively. He looked at each Red Team member in turn and saw shock and betrayal in their collective faces. All but Nikita's. He couldn't look at Nikita.
Madeline shot a covert look in Michael's direction and tried to soften the animosity a little by adding with some emphasis, "We had our instructions from the Agency, and we did the job. Quite successfully, I might add. The Agency and Operations are very pleased." She smoothly changed the subject by asking Birkoff for his evaluation of the mission.
It took Birkoff a second to respond, and when he did, it was in monotone. He couldn't take his eyes off Michael's face. No one could except Nikita.
Walter turned to look at Nikita seated next to him. She sat in silence, staring wide?eyed at a spot on the wall across from her. Walter recognized that she had been completely crushed by the revelation about the suits and was hanging onto her composure by her fingernails. He reached under the table with his hand to offer comfort, but she yanked her hand out from under his attempt and knotted it into a fist. He patted her knee instead, letting her know he understood, and left it at that.
The meeting adjourned, and Michael and Madeline stood and left together; the others lingered, giving each other speaking glances. They kept their comments to themselves, aware that everything spoken in the conference room was monitored and recorded, but the general consensus was anger, confusion and disbelief.
Walter pulled out Nikita's chair. She stood like a zombie, not speaking. He followed her out into the hallway.
"Sugar, we don't know the whole story," Walter began, trying to excuse Michael's actions for Nikita's sake. "You know how Section works. Sometimes, we aren't given a choice."
She nodded stoically before bursting into tears. Covering her mouth with one hand to hold in her sobs, Nikita pushed past him. Then breaking into a run, she headed to her standby quarters in section.
* * *
"Michael." Madeline sighed as she looked at him, then seated herself behind her desk. "I hope I haven't seriously undermined your command and control of Red Team, but the opening was there, and I took it."
Michael had his back to her. "Is it true? Were the suits purposely designed to fail?"
She sighed again, resigned to tell him the truth. "Yes."
He turned to face her, his expression dark and forbidding. "Why wasn't I told?"
"It was Operation's decision not to tell you. We knew it might distract you from the mission, and it wasn't necessary for you to know."
"In the long run, it serves my purpose," Michael said with resignation. He had asked Madeline's help in cooling Nikita's interest earlier that morning, and she had promised to do so. Michael's plan had been to let Nikita think he had torn her suit on purpose, and he had worked out a scenario to fit the facts of what happened on-site in Iraq.
However, Walter's comment about the suits had presented another plausible scenario, and Madeline quickly capitalized on the situation, using a truth that until that moment, only she and Operations knew. In her mind, it was less damaging to Michael than Michael's plan had been. At least part of the blame could be shifted to the Agency, and she banked on the Red Team members realizing that fact once they had time to think about it. At one time or another, Michael had saved the lives of all of Red Team including Nikita's. The team would eventually forgive him. Everyone, of course, except Nikita. Hers was the only heart that had been broken.
"All of this for Nikita," Madeline said, looking at him with sympathy.
"For the Section," Michael returned firmly. "Her feelings for me are interfering with her focus on assignments."
"Of course," Madeline answered, letting his lie go unchallenged. She knew the real reasons well enough. She knew Michael was doing it to protect Nikita, and she agreed with him on several levels. Michael and Nikita had become too close. Sooner or later, Madeline knew it would have proven disastrous, just as Michael did. On the other hand, she worried that Michael might not be strong enough to cope with his decision.
"Would you like some more time off?" She offered.
"No," Michael said, then turned to leave.
Madeline nodded, knowing that would be his answer. She turned her attention to her computer screen.
"Madeline?"
Madeline looked up at Michael as he stood near the door.
"Thanks for your help," he said.
She gave him a sad smile and nodded.
Michael walked to his office, passing team members and staff. He got looks of various types, both hostile and reflective. He ignored them all. He didn't have to see Nikita to know how she felt. He saw her emotions reflected in Walter's eyes at the meeting.
He locked his door, then walked over and closed the blinds over the window. He went to his desk, unbuttoned his coat and seated himself behind his laptop. He hadn't bothered to turn on the office lights so the only light source in the room was the blue screen of his computer.
For two hours, Michael stared at the empty screen, thinking of eyes nearly the same color. He had succeeded. He'd saved his love and lost his reason for living.
For Michael, it had been more than an even exchange.
The End
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