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Date Posted: 15:24:57 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 36 - some sex, language
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning - Part 33 and Up" on 15:11:24 05/03/02 Fri

Part 36

“There are six men covering the perimeter,” Walter said, pointing to the map spread open on the hood of the car. Michael nodded. “Two inside.” Walter reached into his pack and handed Michael a small electronic contraption. “This should do it,” he said.

Michael examined the device, he recognized it, it would do. “The blackout lasts how long?” he asked.

Walter looked at his watch, “You’ll have fifteen minutes to get in, locate her, and disarm that asshole,” he said.

“I can do it in two,” Michael said to no one in particular.

“I’m sure you can, kid,” Walter said, “But you need to be careful. It’s Nikita in there.”

Michael slowly turned his head, peering at Walter. He said nothing, checked his guns one more time, and slipped into the forest.

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

“I’d like to take a shower, if I may,” Nikita said as they were walking back to her room, hoping she wasn’t overplaying her role, not sure anymore what her role was. O’Brien held her hand as they walked.

“Sure thing, kitty cat,” he said as he opened the door for her.

They walked into her room and she saw a beautiful aqua slip dress lying on the bed. She walked over to it and lifted it to her face, sliding the cool silk along her cheek. “Is this for me?” she asked, wondering what he would want to do once she had it on. She hoped just eat, she fantasized something else. Her head ached, conflict raging in her mind. She wasn’t stoned, drugged, and yet she felt sure her body was betraying her, acting against her wishes. This wasn’t right at all. She kept seeing herself in the gym, gun pointed at him, pulling the trigger. It was horrible, it was true, and it meant she deserved suffering at his hands.

“I like my baby to look nice,” he answered. He walked over to her and slipped his hand under her shirt, reaching for her breast. She relaxed, it didn’t matter, it was just her body, “no underwear,” he whispered into her ear. He let go of her, and left the room.

Nikita watched the door close behind him. She sat on the bed. This was harder than she thought it was going to be. His voice, his touch, everything about him repulsed her and yet she was fighting arousal, again. This was supposed to end! This isn’t right. What had they done to her, finally realizing that it wasn’t just drugs that had plagued her mind, it had to be some kind of programming. She remembered her conversation with Michael on the yacht. He had tried to tell her this had been done to her, but she didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Now as her body fought desire and hate for O’Brien, she knew everything Michael had said was true. She sighed, steeled herself against what was to come and headed towards the bathroom.

“Nikita! Hurry up, I’m getting lonely,” a voice shouted, drifting in from somewhere.

“Okaaaay!” she yelled back. Nikita turned on the shower, took off her clothes, and got in once the water was hot. She quickly rinsed herself, finished in the shower and dried off. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Be tough, she told herself. You can handle this, you can do it. Whatever happens, all that matters is survival.

Nikita had brought the dress into the bathroom with her, and she slipped it on. It fit perfectly, and if she’d been going out to dinner with someone she loved she would have felt like a million dollars. Right now she wasn’t sure if she were dining with a lover or a tormentor, or both. She headed for the door when she heard Marco’s voice in her head, “no underwear.” She walked back to the dresser in the room, opened a drawer and found some underwear. She stared into the drawer, debating. She wanted to defy his order, but in some dark corner of her mind, she wanted to satisfy him. She closed the drawer, leaving the underwear behind.

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

“I’m so glad you agreed to dinner at my place,” Madeline said, handing Operations a large martini.

“So am I,” he said, smiling. He sipped from his drink, eyeing her. “So what’s this all about?” he asked.

Madeline took a seat next to him on her balcony. It was a beautiful early summer evening, and a warm wind blew gently in their direction. She drank for her glass. “Am I always under such suspicion?” she asked haughtily.

Paul laughed, and shook his head. “Only when you’re out of eyesight,” he answered.

Touché. Madeline had to laugh. They were really quite the pair - frantic for each other, suspicious of each other, lonely without the other, irritated when together. “You can be a difficult man, Paul,” she said.

He picked up the knife, cut a small piece of foie gras and put it on the cracker. He slipped the morsel into his mouth, savoring the rich flavors, and smiled at her. She was right. No one would irritate him like she, no one could satisfy him like she. He lifted his drink, nodded at her and took a sip. “You’re just mad because I haven’t told you everything, aren’t you.”

“And you think I’m plotting behind your back with Adrian,” she countered.

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

Madeline refreshed their drinks from the pitcher she had prepared. “Not the way you think,” she answered.

“And how is that, Madeline?” he asked.

The small red and white lights of an airplane flying in the distance caught her eye. She watched as it disappeared from the horizon, thinking how much she and Paul were those lights. Goals the same, just different colors. Madeline smiled and said, “Whatever it is you think I’m doing to hurt you, I’m doing to help the Section.”

Operations laughed, this time, a very unfriendly one. “I am the Section,” he rumbled, “and you don’t do anything unless I say you can.” The threat in his voice was real.

Madeline took a large sip of her drink, held it in her mouth and stood from her chair. She smiled at Paul and approached him, carefully. She moved her mouth towards her lips and kissed him, filling his mouth with the martini. Gin and vermouth spilled from both their mouths. Paul eagerly kissed her and licked the drink from her lips. “You’ve never made love to me on this balcony,” she cooed into his ear. “I think it’s time we fix that.”

Paul stood from his chair and put his arms around her. He nibble along her neck, feeling her hands caress his chest. He whispered back into her ear, “I guess that means you still not taking orders from me.” She replied by unbuckling his belt. Oh well, he thought, it was worth a try.

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

Michael slowly made his way to the remote chalet. It was nestled into the mountainside, not easily accessible by any vehicle except a jeep. He hoped that Nikita would be in some kind of shape to walk, it would be a difficult trip otherwise. Walter was going to move their jeep closer, but it would still be two or three kilometers.

He looked through his binoculars and saw three of the six guards pacing the property. The chalet looked easy enough to penetrate, it was the men and the security system that posed a problem. He put down his binoculars and switched to a pair of infrared glasses, the crisscrosses of the security beams several feet in front of him. Michael hoped Walter’s gizmo would be effective. He removed it from his pocket, entered the code, and placed it on a small rock he was standing next to. He peered through the glasses and saw the beam deactivate. One for Walter.

Michael slipped from his hiding place and circumnavigated the property. He located all six of the perimeter guards. He checked his weapons one last time, and methodically began removing the guards from their stations. Not a sound was made.

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

Nikita opened the door of her room and was surprised to see Marco standing there.

“I was just coming down,” she said, nervously. Marco was wearing a tuxedo, the color of his bowtie matching her dress. She lifted her hand to the tie and touched it, “Why the fancy outfit?” she asked.

“Special occasion,” he said, entering her room.

Nikita stepped back, unsure. “Aren’t we going to eat?” she asked, pulse quickening dangerously.

O’Brien reached up his hand, and held it, inches from her face. “I thought we’d get reacquainted first,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, this moment not fitting into any of her plans. His hand touched her face, fingers tracing her lips. She opened her mouth slightly, allowing one of his fingers to enter. She drew her teeth across it as it explored her mouth.

He withdrew his hand and stepped close to her, kissing her. “Is this what you want?” he asked.

No! her mind cried, yes! She took a step back, holding up her hand, signaling him to stop. “Wait,” she said. “I need a minute.”

Marco waited, his eyes inspecting her body, “You look amazing in that dress,” he said.

It was just sex, it wasn’t love. It didn’t matter. Her body raged against her mind. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore her body. This wasn’t what she had in mind. This wasn’t what she wanted. This was what she wanted. Why? If she made love to him she was betraying herself, her mind, her body, Michael. But what did it matter? She had been programmed to do as she was told, shoot to kill, and she was good at it, whether she liked it or not.

Nikita walked over to the bed and reclined, eyes focused on O’Brien. Her tongue ran over her lower lip. “Come,” she said.

Marco crossed the room to the bed, joining her. She reached up for him, and he lay upon her, kissing her. She kissed him hungrily, urgently wanting to erase the pain of knowing what she had become. Maybe he could do that for her, just for once. They continued to kiss, Marco lifting her to remove her dress, sliding it over her head. “You’re still beautiful,” he said, admiring her naked body, and assaulting her neck with his tongue. Nikita shut off her mind, trying only to respond to her physical sensations. That’s it, she said to herself, that’s how you survive.

She struggled with the buttons of Marco’s shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers. The physical, it’s just the physical. Every second her hands, her legs, her tongue wasn’t moving, her mind protested. She hurried Marco along, trying to shut out her squawking brain. Marco sat up, unbuttoning his shirt, she pulled the sleeves off frantically, the rest of the shirt soon following. She ran her fingernails over his chest, hands arriving at his waist.

“Please,” she said, “hurry.” She wanted this act, this meaningless sex, this momentary distraction to announce to her she was the trashy, easily manipulated girl she thought she had escaped five years ago. She was a fool to think she could walk away. She sat up, pulling at Marco’s pants, stripping them from him.

Seeing him naked, she lay back down on the bed. “Hurry,” she said again, squeezing her eyes closed, knowing if he didn’t enter her now, her mind would convince her this was wrong, that she was making a terrible mistake. She felt him settle upon her, his thighs pressing against hers, his penis nearing her entrance. She was ready for him, for anyone, it didn’t matter, as long as she didn’t have to think.

“Get off her,” a voice said.

Marco turned his head to see the flash of Michael’s gun go off. The bullet struck him in the head, blood spurting over Nikita’s naked body. She screamed, pushing Marco away from her. His dead, naked body slid to the floor. Nikita looked up to see Michael standing at the foot of the bed. Pain emanated from every part of him. “Get dressed,” he said, turning his back to her.

She scampered off the bed, and put on her dress. “Michael,” she said, “please help me.” She stood, sobbing, her body, her dress, covered in Marco’s blood. “I love you,” she said, “this…this” her arm stretching in front of her, “this is madness.” Michael eyed her, saying nothing. Nikita collapsed to the floor, crying, wishing she were dead.

Michael knew she had been drugged, manipulated, tortured, and tormented. He knew how it worked, knew that it worked, but to see her lying beneath O’Brien forced his heart into retreat. He wanted to walk away. Nikita’s sobs permeated his brain. “I’m stupid, and I’m trash,” she said in a meek voice.

Nikita’s words slapped him across his face. The words that others had used to hurt her, trap her, coerce her to be everything she wasn’t. She was light, she was joy, and he needed her. Her bent down on his knees and pulled her curled up body to his. “It’s ok,” he murmured. He brushed her hair from her face, his thumb caressing her temple. “I love you, Ni-ki-ta,” he said, “This doesn’t matter.”

She opened her eyes and looked into his. She saw nothing but his soul wide open to her. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, “I’m just like him.” She pointed to Marco’s dead body.

Michael kissed her head. “You are as different from him as the brightest star from the coldest moon.” He kissed her head again. “You are my brightest star.”

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  • Part 37 - Language -- Repost Fairy, 15:26:53 05/03/02 Fri
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