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Date Posted: 15:45:36 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 45 - language
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning - Part 33 and Up" on 15:11:24 05/03/02 Fri

Part 45

“Michael,” Walter asked, “You ever see Marcotte naked?”

Michael stared in the distant, considered and responded, shaking his head, “No, why?” Not being the least insulted or intimidated by such an odd question.

“If you had,” Walter said, “You’d have seen a hell of a scar – looked like he had c-section.”

“What happened?” Nikita asked.

“After you were born, things were great, and then little things started to happen. It was kind of tough, I mean,” Walter searched for an explanation. “We had several months of dead ends, leads to the General that went no where, bad information, dead civilians, total Murphy’s Law.” Walter sighed, trying to decide how much to reveal.

“Everyone’s tempers were running high, the rainy season had come. We were stuck in the house for two weeks, roads impassable, supplies running low. We were waiting for a guy, Kane, with a communiqué. He had to bring it in person.

“Things just got a little out of hand… I don’t know… I think that’s when everything went to shit.”

************

“This rain is driving me crazy!!” Roberta yelled, as she relaxed her head on the arm of the sofa, her full body stretched across the cushions.

It was steamy hot, the rain pounding the house, the ground, great pools of water gathering in every dip and depression in the earth. A steady stream of water seeped in through a tiny hole in the roof. A large saucepan requiring emptying every two hours overflowed from neglect.

“Please, mon cher, stop complaining,” Philippe said, walking over to her, passing a joint. “Try this, you will find it does wonderful things to the senses.”

Roberta brought the small cigarette to her lips and inhaled dramatically. The smoke slowly escaped her lips, drifting to the ceiling, streams following the path of the barely circulating air. “This is delicious,” she said, at last.

“So are you,” he replied, pushing her a little making room for himself on the couch. “Come outside with me,” he said, “let me make love to you under the raining sky.”

She kissed him, happily, the marijuana providing a sensuous effect. She felt very agreeable to his request. He was an accomplished lover and no one had been paying attention to her lately. She sat up, removed his shirt, and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go,” she said breathily.

Gerard stood from the table where the rest of them had been ensconced, reading reports. “Leave her alone,” he said.

“Oh Christ, Marcotte,” Philippe said, holding Roberta’s hand, “She’s not yours.”

Walter stood from the table, “Let’s just all calm down and have a drink,” he said, walking to the shelf that held the numerous bottles of Johnnie Walker.

“Good idea,” Roberta said, her mood having been altered drastically by these foolish men. The only one she really wanted hadn’t even lifted his head from the pages he was reading. She went into the kitchen to gather some glasses, and Philippe followed her.

“Why don’t you just sit down and cool off?” Walter said, acknowledging Marcotte’s sneering demeanor.

“Stay out of it, Sarge,” he retorted, taking the bottle from Walter and pouring a serious amount down his throat. Giggles could be heard from the kitchen followed by silence.

“Leave ‘em alone,” Walter warned, as he watched Gerard empty the scotch into his mouth. “It’s not important.”

Gerard squeezed his eyes closed, the scotch burning his throat, his stomach, his toes. “Walter,” he admitted, quietly, “I love her. And Nikita,” he said, eyes darting left and then right, then back to Walter, “She’s…” and he pointed to himself, tapping his chest several times.

Walter was about to speak when cries of pleasure escaped from the kitchen. “Oh shit,” Walter muttered, anticipating what was coming, but not moving fast enough.

Gerard stormed into the kitchen. The others hearing crashing and screaming. Roberta came running out of the kitchen, “Fuck you Paul!” and ran upstairs. Gerard followed, stumbling, blood pouring from a gaping gash in his stomach.

“She stabbed me!” he screamed, stumbling to the couch.

Roberta reappeared with the infant in her arms. “I’m gone,” she said, and exited the house.

Adrian ignored the mess around her and walked over to Gerard, administering her professional skills to his wound. “It’s a nice-sized slice she gave you,” she said. She retrieved the first aid kit and an additional bottle of scotch. She looked over at Paul and said, “Well? Aren’t you…”

He pushed his chair away from the table, strode across the room, and exited, following Roberta. The infant was screaming, the rain soaking her clothes. Roberta marched forward, mud splashing everywhere. She stumbled forward, fell, sitting in a puddle, but managed to maintain her hold on Nikita.

She felt Paul’s strong arm surround her. “Come back to the house, Bobby,” he said, lifting her from the puddle. “There’s no where for you to go.”

Arriving at her feet, she stared at him, “Not good enough.”

Wolfe stared back, now was not the time for this. “Can we talk in the house?”

Roberta finally began to cry. “No! No! I’m tired of this. Everyone wants me but…. but…” she cried, not daring to utter the last word on her lips.

He reached for her and pulled her close, arms covering the infant. “Just come back,” he said, “Please.” She allowed him to lead her back to the house, and he accompanied her to the room she shared with Nikita. They ignored Gerard’s passed out, bleeding body on the way. “Roberta, lie down,” Paul said, “I’ll take Nikita.”

Roberta got into bed, hating this man, loving him more each day. “Send Walter up with a drink, would you?” she asked as she pulled up the damp sheet over her body.

“Sure thing,” Wolfe said, as he closed the door, knowing the path of her self-destruction lay around the corner, “Sure thing.”

************

Nikita sat in stunned silence, memories floating around her conscience, but not quite penetrating. “You call my mother stabbing Michael’s boss ‘a little thing?’” she exclaimed.

“Ex-boss,” Michael mumbled, “he’s dead.”

Nikita whipped her head to him, “I know that! I heard that woman tell you.” Walter was chuckling. “This isn’t funny!” she said. “Not at all!”

“Sugar,” he answered, “I know,” he stopped laughing. “I was just remembering the look on Gerard’s face when he came stumbling from the kitchen, blood everywhere. He deserved it, you know.”

Nikita shook her head. This was insanity. “Why did you tell us that story?” she asked, after a time.

Walter exhaled a long sigh, eyes imploring Michael to help. “You need to understand what it was like for her. For all of us.”

“I understand that she couldn’t have the man she loved, that she loved attention from men, and that you probably aren’t my father,” she explained.

Walter smiled and said, “You’re wrong,” not indicating which part.

Michael hated to intrude on the information about Nikita’s mother, but time was short, and they were nowhere closer to understanding anything. “This isn’t just about her,” Michael intoned.

Walter shook his head and continued.

************

“Nikita, honey,” Roberta commanded, “go inside and fetch mommy that cigarette on the table.”

The small child, not more than three, wandered into the house, over to the table, lifted herself on her tiptoes and just managed to reach the cylindrical object her mother wanted. She carefully placed it in her hands and walked slowly back outside to her mother. “Here momma,” she said.

Roberta was sitting on the porch, enjoying a not too scaldingly hot day. She took the joint from her daughter, lit it, and inhaled.

Nikita sat next to her mother, holding her hand, and asked, “What is that?” pointing to the smoking object.

“It just helps mommy relax, that’s all sugar plum,” she said, reaching around her daughter with her free arm. “So what do you want to do today?” she asked.

Nikita looked up at the sun, “Hm,” she said turning back to her mother, “swim?”

As they stood, the jeep pulled up, disgorging Paul and Walter. They ran past Roberta, and entered the house.

“What’s daddy doing?” Nikita asked.

Roberta didn’t like the way the air felt, something wasn’t right. “I don’t know honey, let’s find out.” They walked into the house, seeing the four men and Adrian crowded around the table, a map open in front of them.

“For the next two weeks, he’s going to be here,” Walter said, pointed to somewhere on the map.

“Walter, Paul,” Roberta interrupted, “what’s going on?”

“Not now!” Paul shouted, his attention drawn immediately back to the map. “Walter, Adrian,” he said, “You two stay here and wait for the dispatch. The rest of us have to recon. We’ll be gone for at least three days, maybe five.” He looked at the Frenchmen, “get your stuff, we’re leaving… now.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on here?” Roberta pleaded.

Wolfe walked over to her, and moved her to the corner of the room, his voice a low whisper. “Take Nikita and leave.”

“Where?” she said, afraid.

“I don’t care, just go somewhere safe,” he said.

“I’m safe here, aren’t I?” she asked.

“I can’t guarantee that,” he said. He glanced around the room as the activity increased. “I’ve gotta go, do whatever you want.”

Nikita was talking animatedly with Philippe. He bent down, gave her a hung, and Roberta heard him say, “Take care of your mom until we get back, OK?”

“Ok,” the little girl answered, her safe world suddenly feeling in danger.

*************

“Oh my God!” Nikita exclaimed. “I remember that day!” Her hand grabbed Michael’s shoulder and she shook him, excitement bubbling over. “Michael! I remember.”

“Tell us,” Michael responded.

“I remember my mother’s eyes,” she said. “She watched that man Paul hurry himself through the house. Her eyes, they were… sad, but so… so…” Nikita shifted her eyes to the ground, “So intense. In love,” she finished, biting her lip. She lifted her head to Walter, and said, “He’s my father, isn’t he?”

*************

“Walter,” Adrian said quickly, as she rushed into the house.

“Yeah?” he said, looking up from his transmitter. He had been decoding the dispatch containing information about their next assault.

“They’ve been ambushed,” she said. “It’s been confirmed.” She handed Walter a map, which he placed on the table. The two of them bending over it, staring, unbelieving. “There,” she pointed. “I don’t have any other information.

“We were so close,” Walter said. “How long have we been holed up here taking out small targets over and over? I’m losing my mind playing this waiting game.”

A small flaxen-haired child wandered into the room. “Where’s my mommy?” she asked.

Adrian smiled down at her, “She’s resting, dear,” she said. “Can I get you something.”

Nikita scooted up into one of the chairs at the table. “Uncle Walter,” she said, “Why is mommy so sad?”

Walter rolled up the map, not wanting to involve Nikita in anything untoward. He walked over to her, bent down, and hugged her, “She misses Paul, Sugar, that’s all. It’s ok,” he said, patting her head. “She’ll be fine.” His eyes pierced Adrian’s; both knowing that was not true. Ever since Paul and the others left, Roberta had been losing her grip. Drinking, angry, abusive.

“Nikita?” Adrian said, “Why don’t you fetch me that drawing you were working on? Hm? I’d like to take a look. It was very impressive.”

Nikita grinned, “OK!” she said, scampering away, running up the stairs to her room, grateful for some adult attention.

“We’ve got to do something about this,” Adrian said, turning her attention to Walter.

“I know,” he answered sadly, “I know.”

************

“He told her he’d be back in a few days, but I remember it longer,” Nikita said, sadly. She remembered her mother’s outbursts, finally pinpointing the beginning of her mother’s descent into hell. She blinked several times, holding back the tears.

Michael felt her body tense. He raised a hand, brushing stray hairs from her eyes, wishing to shield her from more pain. No wonder her memories were buried.

Walter nodded. “Three months, we heard nothing,” he said. “HQ told us to stay, so we did. Me, Adrian, your mom, you.” He looked at Nikita, “We tried to get your mother to leave, but she wouldn’t. She was determined to wait for Paul.” His eyes turned sad, skin crinkling around the edges, “We should have insisted. I’m so sorry, Sunflower. I’m so sorry.”

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  • Part 46 - At long last that 'talk' - NC17! -- Repost Fairy, 15:49:41 05/03/02 Fri
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