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Date Posted: 15:55:26 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 48 – DARK, NC17
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning - Part 33 and Up" on 15:11:24 05/03/02 Fri

Part 48 – DARK, NC17

They dozed for a few hours, Michael waking several times an hour, making sure she was still by his side, slumbering peacefully. He pulled the sheet over them, the night’s cool air blowing over their dampened skin. He sighed, quietly, observing the rise and fall of Nikita’s sleeping shoulders. He feared she was still vulnerable to whatever despicable acts O’Brien had perpetrated, sure more violence, more misplaced desire was to come.

Michael tried to fall back to sleep, but there was a gnawing in the back of his mind. Walter… something… danger. Snippets of conversations with him replayed in Michael’s mind.

“There are things that you will never understand!”

“Michael, I told you a made a deal with the devil. We have to wait one more day.”

“I’m not proud of what’s happening, but if it weren’t for me, my Sugar would be long dead, and you…,”

“Tell me,” Michael said, taking the gun Walter handed him and loading it. Walter shook his head and said, “I can’t.”

Walter turned his head to him. “How much did you hear?” “Enough,” Michael said.

Walter was trying to protect them, or was he? Michael did not doubt Walter’s love for Nikita, nor his attempts at saving her life. But why so cryptic? Why hadn’t he encouraged them to flee? Why had he asked for two days at the villa? Michael thought about the statements again. “There are things that you will never understand!” What couldn’t he explain?

“Ni-ki-ta,” Michael whispered, his hand gently shaking her shoulder. Her warm back pressing against his chest, his body carefully surrounding her from behind.

“I’m tired,” she whined, “Later.” She squirmed slightly, pressing her bottom into his pelvis.

Michael had nearly forgotten how difficult it was to rouse Nikita from sleep. He loathed the idea of using greater force to wake her, but had no choice. He gripped her shoulder tightly, shaking her. “Ni-ki-ta,” he said, voice slightly louder, speaking directly into her ear. “We must go.”

Nikita opened her eyes, rolled lazily to her back, sleepy light violet pools staring up at him. “Now?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, leaning over her.

Nikita saw the clarity in Michael’s eyes, his need to protect her, to protect them. She wanted to drown in those eyes. Eyes like a sea of moss under a canopy of spring leaves. “Why?” she intoned.

“Not safe,” he said, brushing the hair from her face.

Nikita closed her eyes, thinking about Walter. How could she leave him? She knew what she said to Michael before they’d fallen asleep, that having him would be enough, but… but… no Walter? The man who rescued her from a life that probably would have ended just like her mother’s? How could she tear herself away from him?

Nikita opened her eyes, Michael’s not having left hers for an instant. She desperately loved this man. He had killed for her… but hadn’t he been prepared to turn her over to some dark enemy? Hadn’t he proclaimed love, only to abandon her to Marco in the alley? He had saved Walter from her, bringing her back to her senses with a kiss so passionate, that her world centered on his body, his soul. Could she trust him? She didn’t know him.

Michael observed the emotions flickering across her face. “Ni-ki-ta,” he said, “I don’t know how to convince you, except…” he moved forward, his lips pressing gently on hers, then pushing open her lips, warm mouth converging on her own. He implored her with his actions to please, trust him. They kissed, hands roaming over each other’s skins, confirming their truth to each other.

Michael broke their kiss. “N’Ki-ta,” he said, the first syllable of her name caught in his heart, hits throat, “We must leave now.”

Nikita thought she was on fire. Her throat pulsed, desire for him pushing reason from her mind. “Not yet,” she responded, voice husky, soft, sultry. Her hands pressed against him, fluttering over his chest, his stomach, delving to his penis.

Michael grabbed her hands, removing them from him, “Now,” he said, “We must go.”

Nikita looked up at him, slowly moving her gaze from his penis, his thighs, his stomach, to his eyes. “Marco…” she cooed, folding herself forward, moving her head until her mouth engulfed his penis.

Michael froze, the name she uttered stirring his emotions in the ways of violence.

“Ni-ki-ta,” he said, sternly, “Stop it.” He pushed her head from him, her teeth drawing across the length of him as she was forced to relinquish his body.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked. Her perfect, beautiful face was drenched in doubt, fear. “I’m sorry, I’ll fix it,” she said, eyes downcast, hands not knowing where to go. Her eyes were clouded, unfocused, unworthy.

Michael’s heart was collapsing, shrinking, his love, his heart, denigrating herself, for him, because of him, because of another. He wanted to shake her, slap her if he had to, bring her back to real life, but he knew that would only inflame her conditioning more. He had told himself it hadn’t been successful; their lovemaking had been so perfect, so loving, whether gentle or rough, no reflection of previous torment. But not now. He tried again.

He spoke, voice strong, loud, “Ni-ki-ta, it’s Michael. We have to leave this place, now.” His eyes burned into hers, tendrils of calm, of strength reaching.

“Yeah?” she responded. “Michael, he’s a liar,” she said, she smiled, eyes still clouded with vagueness, but shrouded with desire. She reached for Michael, her hands digging into his hips, “Please show me what you want, I’ll make it ok,” she said.

Michael had two options: play along, appease her, or somehow bring her back. He looked into her eyes, the scorching pain of humiliations reflecting back at him. He had had enough. He reached for her, pulled her close, and squeezed until all the oxygen in her lungs had been emptied. “Ni-ki-ta,” he said, “I love you. I’ll never hurt you.”

Nikita managed to move her head, tipping back her head to see his face. The masochistic demeanor of Marco melted into the searing adoration of Michael. “Oh my God!” she cried. She buried her head into Michael’s chest, horror-struck at the memory of her actions, just moments ago. Her tears emptied from her, pouring down Michael’s chest.

“Let it go,” he murmured, encouraging her, “Be rid of him,” he said. He held her tightly to his chest, one hand pressing against her back, the other tucking hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing.” His heart beat rapidly, pulsing, pounding, delivering love to her. He prayed she felt it. Didn’t pray to God, he’d abandoned that thought long ago. Just prayed to those who were good, those who looked out for kindness. That was her, that was part of why he loved her.

Her tears subsided. She held onto him, breathing, ingesting his intoxicating love, repulsed that she ever thought Marco afforded her anything close. Nikita allowed Michael to comfort her, engulf her with his love, ease her fears, warm the frozen regions of her heart. He had lain back, flat against the mattress, pulling her to him, so her head was resting on his chest, her chest, her leg on top of him.

“Shh,” he said, wanting to move them, pack, flee, but understanding she needed this time with him. To heal, to feel loved, to be loved. His body ached to fulfill her needs, but he feared the repercussions of her conditioning. He busied himself with caressing her hair, her back, murmuring words of love, in English, in French, anything to distract of what he was sure was self-loathing.

Michael felt her breathing relax, become regular, and realized she had fallen asleep. He was grateful, but desperate to move them from this place. His eyes gazed down at the sleeping beauty who had trusted him enough to release her fears and rest, and knew he needed to allow her this pleasure. They would be on the run, forever, the rest of their lives. The least he could do was let her rest, at least until sunrise. He closed his eyes, wishing for sleep, knowing there would be none.

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

“What is this, the fucking Manchurian Candidate?” Walter asked. “And who are you, Lieutenant, Frank fucking Sinatra?” he sniped, “Who you gonna have to kill?”

Wolfe ignored the outburst. “There’s a field,” he said. “We continue with our objective, but we need cuttings from those plants.”

Adrian was disgusted. She had forsaken her training to participate in this horror, but to retrieve compounds that corrupted, that destroyed… enough. “I won’t,” she said succinctly.

Wolfe lowered his cigarette, “Oh yes you will, soldier,” he warned. He removed his sidearm and pointed it at her. “I give the orders around here, and you do as I say.”

Adrian thought about pulling out her own weapon and removing him from earth, but her training, her desire for a future got the better of her. Hating her response, she lowered her eyes, nodded, damning herself to an eternity in hell.

“Any other dissenters?” Wolfe asked, knowing each and every one of them had their own plans and wouldn’t destroy them for disobedience to a ranking officer. Wolfe shot a glance at Walter. Walter might be a problem.

Walter didn’t like being pushed around, or misled for that matter. His eyes bored into Wolfe’s. This was the man he had followed into insane scrapes, certain death, ludicrous hunts and always came out alive. He had trusted this man completely. Walter nodded slowly, then more quickly. Today, there would be no dissenters.

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

She dreamed a wonderful dream, full of sunshine, beauty. Flowers, streams, joy. She was walking by a pond, and something shimmering caught her eye. She kneeled down next to the rushing water, reached in her hand, the water cool, icy, and removed a ring. Sapphire.

With a sharp intake of breath, she woke herself.

Michael, preternaturally feeling the change in her body, opened his eyes immediately, scanning the room, searching for danger. “Are you ok?” he asked.

He felt her head nodding against his neck. “A ring, I had a ring,” she sputtered, “I haven’t seen it since Antigua, in a box…” her voice spilling from her throat.

“I have it,” he said. “I thought it might be important.”

As she was about to speak, she felt his index finger cover her lips. His tumultuous eyes gazed down at her beautiful face, her beautiful soul. “I want to make love to you endlessly, prove to you…” he knew if he continued, they’d never leave the bed. “When we’re safe,” he said, “Let me take away your pain. Now, please, we must go.”

The sun had been streaming into their room for at least an hour. Michael was not comfortable setting out during daylight, preferring the cover of darkness, but they had to get going. He kissed her one last time. “We can bring a few things, but the fewer the better.”

She nodded in understanding, and they both rose from the bed. No time for bathing, they quickly dressed, threw a few things in his rucksack, and tiptoed downstairs.

“Morning,” Walter said, as the two entered the kitchen, the kitchen door the only way out. He saw they were dressed, and Michael was carrying a bag, his weapons, the small computer. “That it then?” Walter asked.

Michael nodded. “We can’t stay and see how this plays out.”

Walter nodded in understanding. “I just made espresso,” he said, pouring two additional cups. “Humor an old man, and have one last cup with me.”

Nikita rushed to Walter, hugged him, ran her fingers over the small wound on his head. “Walter,” she said, voice cracking, fighting back the tears, “I’ll never stop thanking you.”

He smiled, his eyes damp, and nodded. Each of them took their cup, hurriedly clanked them together in a toast of farewell and drank.

“Blech!” she yelled, after emptying the liquid down her throat. “That was awful!”

Michael laughed. He thought it tasted wonderful. “I like espresso,” he said.

Nikita laughed too, searching for levity in this moment of sadness. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

Walter admired the couple, walked over to the counter, and picked up a plate. “Pastries,” he said, gesturing with the plate, “take one, eat, I’m sure you’ll have a long journey.”

Michael did not appreciate the delay, but his heart wanted to gift Nikita with these last few precious moments with Walter. He allowed them to sit at the small table, Walter refreshing their cups with coffee this time, passing around the pastries.

Michael took a few bites of the pastry, then put it down on the plate. Something wasn’t right. He looked up at Nikita and Walter who were talking animatedly. Their voices sounded as though they were being sifted through water. Realization broke through his murky brain. He blinked several times, “Drugged… me,” he said as he collapsed to the floor. Walter’s apology - the last sound reaching his consciousness.

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  • Part 49 - EXTREMELY DARK -- Repost Fairy, 15:57:02 05/03/02 Fri
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