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Date Posted: 15:19:09 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 33 - little sex, little language
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning - Part 33 and Up" on 15:11:24 05/03/02 Fri

Part 33

Birkoff was nervous. Madeline, Operations, some others were sitting around a conference table waiting for him to report. “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat. “I mapped all the coordinates, ran a few filters, added the parameters that Madeline indicated...”

“Get to the point,” Operations interrupted.

Birkoff pressed a button on the table panel and a three dimensional map appeared as if floating in air. “Cool,” he said, not realizing everyone could hear him. Madeline smirked. Birkoff continued, “Within the next two weeks, I would expect him to be either near Athens, Greece or Siena, Italy.” The three dimensional map showed both locations to those at the table.

“Which is it, Birkoff?” Operations demanded.

Birkoff felt his stomach tighten. “Both are likely, but if I had to choose one, I would say Siena.”

Operations shot Madeline a look of total annoyance, and left the area. Birkoff sat back down in his seat. “Did I do ok?” he asked Madeline, afraid to hear the answer.

She smiled as she stood from her chair. “Next time,” she said, “Give him one answer.”

Birkoff was sitting at the table, everyone else had disappeared. He didn’t know where to go, or how to get there. He rested his head in his hands. He would never get used to this place. She felt a tap on his shoulder. “Huh?” he said.

“Hi,” Gail said. “You want to get something to eat?”

Birkoff stared at her. All the food he had eaten had been brought to him. “Where?” he asked.

She laughed. “Anywhere,” she said.

“You mean I can leave?” he asked.

Gail smiled, but not a happy one. “Birkoff, we can go wherever we want to because they know we’ll come back.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought if you left they’d kill you.”

“They do,” Gail said sadly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t go out to eat. It just means you can’t leave.” Birkoff didn’t understand at all. “Madeline said it was ok,” Gail added.

Birkoff shrugged and said, “OK, I guess. Where do you want to go?”

“What are you in the mood for?” She asked.

He thought for another moment. “Gail?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Where are we?”

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

Philippe Chabon studied the picture of Nikita. She didn’t look at all like him. But she didn’t look at all like Roberta either. A daughter. He hadn’t believed it then, and he didn’t believe it now. The girl was Paul’s, he had no doubt. They had shared her, loved her, and she broke both their hearts. This was some kind of game, and he was curious to see where it was going.

“David,” he said to the man across his desk, “How long has Operations known where she was.”

Fanning chose his words carefully. “Madeline informed me it has been about a month.”

“And how did he come across this information?” Philippe asked.

Fanning smiled. “Do you think The Ice Queen is going to tell me that?” he asked, feigning surprise. “She said the girl had come to his attention, that’s all.” Philippe eyed him suspiciously. David stood from his chair, and walked over to the sliding glass doors that overlooked the garden. He turned to Philippe. “It won’t be long now, boss. Section will capitulate, and you win. The way I see it, if she’s yours great, if she’s not, killing her will really piss off Operations.”

Chabon couldn’t help but laugh. This man earned his living in just the amusement he created. “Good point, David. As always.” He looked down at the report on his desk. “And how is the trial coming?”

“I expect a report in the morning,” he said. “I’ll come right over with it. Satisfactory?”

“Absolutely,” he said. He watched as Fanning left the room. He dialed the phone and waited for the connection. “I need you to find Walter.”

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

Nikita wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She thought she was capable of escaping, but she didn’t know where she was, there was snow outside her window, and she really didn’t have much by way of clothes. She figured as long Marco thought she wanted him, she might be safe. Except from him.

He interrupted her thoughts. “Nikita,” he said, “No wine. Sorry. We’ve got to get training anyway.”

“Training?” she asked, as innocently as possible.

O’Brien walked over to her bedside table and picked up the stack of photos. He flipped through them until he came to the one he was looking for. He brought it over to her. “Recognize this man?” he asked.

Nikita took the picture from him, and looked at it carefully. She recognized him from the pictures she and Michael had seen. He was one of the men with her mother. There was a knock on the door and Marco went to answer it. Nikita heard quiet words exchanged and Marco told her he’d be right back. Nikita turned her attention back to the photo. She was relieved Marco had gone, she could think about this man in the picture.

Nikita closed her eyes. She saw images, heard voices. Her mother. She felt herself transported to another place and time.

“Come on, Phil, you are such a stick in the mud,” Roberta said, luxuriating on the rattan chair on the deck of the house, the vast jungle spread before her.

The Frenchman was sitting in a similar chair, across the deck from her. He laughed. “You have no idea what we do, do you?” he asked, drawing a long hit from a joint.

Her mother was wearing a short, light blue dress. The fabric so sheer, nothing was hidden from anyone. “You fight this stupid war,” she said. “A waste of time. Give me that,” she said, reaching for the joint. He handed it to her. “God,” she said, “this is the best.” She exhaled, and looked at her companion. “Where are the others?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered, reaching for her. He pulled her onto his lap, and began kissing her. Nikita was hiding in one of her hiding places. She didn’t want to disturb her mother. It would make her angry.

“Philippe,” her mother cooed between kisses. “You know you are my favorite.”

Nikita watched them and was sure something was terribly wrong with her mother. She was holding on to the man, gasping. It sounded horrible. Nikita was sure her mother was being hurt.

“Momma,” she yelled.

Roberta opened her eyes and saw her small child standing next to her. “Nikita, get out of here!” she shouted, laughing, not angrily. The man laughed. “I mean it, go!” she yelled. Nikita began to cry and ran from the room.

Philippe laughed again. “Precocious thing, isn’t she,” he said.

“Where were we?” her mother said knowing exactly where she wanted to be, feeling Philippe stiffen beneath her.

Nikita stood inside the house, listening. She hated it when her mother raised her voice to her. She just wanted her to be happy. Maybe this man made her happy. She listened as their voices faded and the moans became louder. She closed her eyes, afraid that something terrible was going to happen. She heard her mother call out. Nikita wanted to run to her, but she didn’t want to get in trouble. She heard her name being called.

“Nikita,” the man named Philippe said, “come out from you hiding place.”

Roberta turned her head and watched as Nikita slunk from the house. “I’m sorry,” Nikita said, in a tiny voice. Her mother moved one leg so she was sitting on Philippe’s lap.

“It’s ok, honey,” Roberta said, “you just shouldn’t barge in on me and your dad.”

Nikita wasn’t sure she heard correctly. The man was kissing Roberta’s breasts. “Bobby, she could be anyone’s. You don’t know she’s mine.”

Roberta picked the joint out of the ashtray on the table, and took another hit. “Yeah,” she said, “but I think I do. She’s yours, look at her.”

The man lifted his head, peaked at Nikita, and returned to her mother’s breasts. “You’ve fucked everyone man who comes through this house,” he said, “how do you know?”

Roberta leaned her head back and smiled, “It doesn‘t matter, she’s everybody’s, even Adrian’s.” Philippe and Roberta laughed together, and ignored Nikita.

Philippe laughed and said, “You’re high, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Roberta licked her lips and said, “That’s true, but I do.”

Nikita stared at the photograph. Could that be right? Could this man be her father? She still could only remember bits and pieces of her time with these people. She shook her head again. None of this made sense. If this was her father, and her mother loved him, why didn’t her mother tell her?

Nikita was overwhelmed with sadness. She didn’t care if her mother slept with every man in the world. Nikita knew how lonely her mother was and how easily it seemed that making love to a man would fix that, being held in his arms, safe, loved. She had even tried it herself a few times, and each time was reminded how empty a proposition it was. But why not tell her about her father? What was so awful that she couldn’t share?

“Do you know who he is?” Marco asked her, having reappeared.

“Huh,” she said, not hearing him come back into the room.

“The man in the picture, do you know him?” Marco asked again.

“Um,” she said, “I think he knew my mother. Why?” she asked, hoping she sounded at all believable.

“He did know your mother,” he said. “He had her killed.”

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

Michael tried to sleep on the train back to Switzerland. He closed his eyes, praying for a few hours of peace from this nightmare. It was useless; memories overtook him. Ones that used to bring some joy, would now only bring anguish.

Elena had prepared an elaborate meal. He arrived at her apartment, flowers in hand, growing accustomed to this complicated assignment. Elena was lovely and adored him. He would have enjoyed himself more had he not been so in love with Simone. But Marcotte had been clear – her brother was a target, this was the only way. He remembered the revulsion he felt when the assignment was first explained to him. But he was their drone, he’d do what he was told, sacrifice his soul if that’s what they asked. What a fool.

The meal was wonderful, but Michael noticed that Elena had not had any wine.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

Elena smiled, “Sort of, I guess.”

Michael got up from the table and walked over to Elena’s chair. He picked up her hand, concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Elena began to cry. “I’m pregnant,” she said between tears.

Michael’s heart stopped. How could this be possible? She had assured him she was taking precautions. He would have been happy to, but she told him she was taking birth control pills and he didn’t need to worry.

“I thought…” he said, not knowing what to say.

She cried harder. “I love you Michael, and I want this baby more than anything,” she said.

Michael pulled her up from her chair and held her. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He didn’t love this woman, and he hadn’t particularly wanted a family at this point in this life, if ever, and certainly not with her. He held her head to his chest, and stroked her hair. “It’s all right,” he said, voices of Adrian and Marcotte in his head. “We’ll get married.”

Elena moved her head from his chest and looked up at him. “Are you sure?” she asked, delight sparkling in her eyes.

“Of course,” he said, knowing his life would never be the same. And Simone. She had every right to leave him, he deserved it. If Sûreté required this of him, what other indignities lay ahead? But Simone didn’t care, she loved him. That’s what she told him every time his demons were too much. When he would beg her to leave him and ask her why she stayed. She would smile, her face luminous, and say, “I love you, that’s why.”

Michael opened his eyes and stared out the train window. Elena. He always thought of her as a gentle, vulnerable, sometimes senseless woman. This woman whom he shared his life, his bed, his child for five years… he didn’t know anything about her. His intestines twisted into knots. How long had he carried the burden of that relationship?

And Adam. A victim of a sick game that Michael didn’t understand. Sacrifices were to be expected, pain incurred, but punish a child? What madness is that? He tried to force the images from his eyes, but could not. Michael saw Adam on the floor, lying, unnaturally. His neck had been broken. Who could have done that to a child? His own people? Michael squelched his desire to just leap from the train, the agony of the last twelve hours too much.

He looked into the window, and saw Simone’s reflection. He raised his hand to her face, pressing his fingers to the cool glass. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. The vision faded, Michael’s sadness growing. Simone was the only one who had truly understood who he was. Until Nikita. The woman whose smile lit up the universe, his universe. He saw her sitting in the rain forest of Antigua, demanding to know what was going on, refusing to take another step. He smiled faintly at the memory, his heart completely gone at that moment.

He could try to shut her out, but this was the woman he loved, surely like no other. Nikita had a limitless capacity to absorb his love and his pain. She seemed to grow stronger as she grew closer to him. And now she was at the mercy of that monster O’Brien. Adrian’s bombshells had crushed him, squeezed every last feeling out of his heart. Did he have the ability to open his heart again? Could he allow Nikita back in after all of this?

With simple words, Adrian had destroyed him, and then expected him to act, to be the operative she had trained. Did she actually want him to help Nikita? He didn’t trust Adrian, and he wasn’t sure he trusted Walter any longer. Walter had allowed O’Brien to take Nikita. And if he understood this whole bizarre conundrum, Nikita was going to be trained to kill, but she already knew how.

Michael would be haunted forever, the vision of the pain in Nikita’s eyes as she had told him about O’Brien. More time with him, drugged or otherwise, was more than this woman could take. He willed the train to move faster, hoping he would reach her in time.

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  • Part 34 - language -- Repost Fairy, 15:21:24 05/03/02 Fri
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