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Date Posted: 22:22:44 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Gypsies and Criminals - Part 2b
In reply to: KT 's message, "Gypsies and Criminals" on 22:11:54 05/03/02 Fri

Gypsies and Criminals - Part 2b
By KT
Copyright April, 2002

Nikita stored the helmet in one of the bike's saddlebags, and took off. She walked a good four or five kilometers before she slowed down. She window shopped for awhile, then stopped in the little bookstore coffee shop near her old apartment that she and Michael had frequented in the old days. Not much had changed there. She ordered a cup of cappucino and mused, remembering. Walter had always helped them escape the Section when they wanted time alone. A smile crossed her lips, her eyes turning downward, as she thought of the many "dark" missions she and Michael had shared.

The cashier at the bookstore acknowledged her with some friendly banter as she paid the cheque. Stepping into the street, she found that her sunny day was evaporating as storm clouds gathered and the wind picked up. The air was cooling off, but still had that hot July edge. She roamed down familiar streets. As she passed the park she and Michael had loved to visit, old memories welled up, unstoppable, bittersweet...

Nikita sat on one of the benches, surrounded by children giggling, mothers chatting, old men playing chess. A lone saxophone player blew soft melodies to his hatful of money tossed in by passers-by. Life was teeming, but she heard nothing, saw nothing, felt only the sting of loneliness, and the quickening of the empty place in her heart, that precious place she was saving for the time when Michael would return, as he had promised that fateful day.

There'll be a time when Adam won't need me any more... his parting words in the train station echoed in her head as if it were yesterday.

But she had also given her word. She had said "yes" when she wanted to say "no" and become Operations. She had sacrificed a life with Michael, a life outside the Section, all for a little dark-eyed boy whose mother had died and who needed his father more than ever. And his father needed him as well. She had done it as much for Michael as for Adam. Just seeing the look on Michael's face as he clasped Adam in his arms on the bridge had made it all worthwhile.

But had it?? These two years of being on her own, of pushing and haggling for the betterment of the Sections, of being the best of the best, had taken their toll. She was exhausted most of the time, and had never had a second in command that could do what she and Michael had been able to do together. Oh, Jason and Quinn were certainly the best at their jobs, and Walter was invaluable in R&D. The farm team, as she called them, were the young operatives from hell. The missions went on... and on...

Oversight had always provided personnel to help, but there had been no one to be that intimate confidant, the other half of a heart and mind that carried the serious responsibility of running the Sections, no one to provide the kind of in-depth criticism and support needed on a day-to-day basis. Adrian had George, Operations had Madeline, Nikita had...

Yes, life had turned out very differently from what she had dared to envision with Michael. No white picket fence, no minivan, no cocker spaniel... But more than that, no tender touches in the middle of the night, no sweet kisses in the morning, no hot embraces filled with hunger... her eyes closed... she could almost feel the scorch of Michael's skin against hers as they...

A strange feeling washed over her. Nikita reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. It was prickling, from the heat, she had thought at first, but now she felt as though someone was watching her. She turned slowly on the bench and looked across the playground.

A black-clad figure sat at a tiny table under a striped canopy, sheltered from the wind. Compelled by her intense dislike of scrutiny, Nikita rose and skirted the perimeter of the playground, her hand on the gun in her shoulder bag. As she neared the tent-like structure, she pretended not to observe the person within. A sign sat on the ground next to the table.

FORTUNES READ

Nikita released her hand from her gun and strolled by the little booth. As she passed, she heard a scratchy voice emanate from the table, a woman's voice, soft and breathy.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle."

Nikita stopped and turned, observing eyes peering up at her... huge dark eyes, deep as wells. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared down into those eyes, drawn slowly forward by an unseen force until she sat at the table.

"Uh, bon jour, Madame." There was something familiar about her. "Uh, have we met before?"

The woman's tanned skin was smooth and clear, her hair black as coal, her black dress old-fashioned. Her hands were the hands of someone who worked with her hands: supple, strong, youthful. The long fingers were clasped together on the table in front of her.

Nikita roused herself, shaking off the trance-like effect of the woman's stare, her mind turning once again to practical things. She looked for a crystal ball, a deck of cards, a bag of runes, a parcel of sticks, but there was nothing else on the table.

The woman's expression was serene, her eyes gentle. "Perhaps. What is your name?"

Nikita countered with a Michael maneuver. "Do you... need to know?"

The woman smiled. "Not really." She studied Nikita's face. "Why are you here?"

Nikita didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't answer that question, for so many reasons. Her reply was the same as before, but held a lighter note.

"Do you... need to know?"

This time the woman laughed. "No. But it doesn't take a fortune teller to see that you have been here many times and have many memories of this place."

Nikita realized that she had been holding her breath. She let out a sigh and felt her tension easing.

The woman continued. "Is this not so?"

"Yes, it's so." Nikita returned the woman's scrutiny. "Do you really tell fortunes?"

The woman quickly became serious. "I do."

"What's your name?" Curiosity was beginning to get the upper hand.

"Mira." She looked sharply into Nikita's eyes. "I'm a gypsy."

"Really?"

Nikita had a sudden vision of a circle of wagons, people dancing, fires burning, music playing, laughter, food, wine... She blinked her eyes, dispelling the vision, and scolded herself. This is ridiculous! She made as if to stand and leave, but the woman stretched her hand and settled it on Nikita's forearm. The touch was like a little jolt of electricity.

"Look, I... I really have to go."

Mira spoke slowly. "Go? To nowhere? And no one?"

How could she know?? Nikita felt a sudden finger of fear in her gut, but shook it off. This was ridiculous! Section operatives were not afraid of gypsy fortune tellers. She calmed herself, but could make no reply.

"Truth, is it not?"

Nikita nodded slowly. She didn't want to trust this woman, even though she sensed no danger from her. Pulling back seemed the best way out. She stared at Mira, imparting nothing, taking nothing, Section mask firmly in place. Each held the other with her eyes, refusing to yield.

"This... is not your face. It is the face of... another... one... very dear to you." Mira's tone at the end of her remark seemed to indicate surprise. She paused, searching. "Ah... I see it now. It was his face, but is not any longer. He gave it to you."

Unconvinced up until now, Nikita was stunned into responding. "You can see him??"

Mira remained noncommittal. "Perhaps. You have been... looking for him. He does not wish to be found." She spoke the words as a simple statement of fact, her eyes bestowing pity. "Your heart is broken. You fear it cannot be mended."

Nikita was deeply affected. She found herself believing Mira. "Please, can you tell me where he is?"

Mira sat quietly. It was a long moment before she replied. "The time is not yet right for you to know. But I promise you, when it is time, you will know."

Tears welled in Nikita's eyes. "He... he hasn't forgotten me, then? Hasn't... found someone else?"

Mira bowed her head, marvelling at the woman's unfounded insecurity. "How could he? He loves you. He told you, did he not?"

Nikita could only nod, completely choked up by emotions she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. Her stomach churned, her blood raced. She felt as if she had been in a coma for two years, and was awakening, her body wasted but alive. She breathed hard, eyes closed, deeply moved by the affirmation just given her.

After a minute, she looked into Mira's eyes, wanting to thank her, but no words would come. Mira clasped Nikita's hands in hers and pressed them warmly.

"It's all right. I know."

Nikita looked around, as if suddenly becoming aware of the world. The sounds and smells seemed to intensify, as if to say, "See! Hear! Feel!" Raindrops began to pelt her face as the storm opened up, and she found her voice at last.

"Thank you." Nikita gathered her jacket about her and stood up. There was an awkward moment. "Is there, um, shall I... uh, is there a fee?"

Mira smiled. "I can always use a little something."

Nikita rummaged in her bag and put some money on the table. As she turned to leave, she heard Mira's soft reply.

"Merci. Au revoir, Nikita."

Nikita spun around, staring, but saw only a park bench. She looked up and caught a glimpse of the retreating black of Mira's back. The canopy was gone, and the figure of the woman seemed to fade as it wended its way across the playground. She raised her hand in farewell.

* * * * * * * *

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Replies:

  • Gypsies and Criminals - Part 3a -- Repost Fairy, 22:44:35 05/03/02 Fri
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