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Date Posted: 15:26:53 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 37 - Language
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning - Part 33 and Up" on 15:11:24 05/03/02 Fri

Part 37

“Is the bastard dead?” Adrian asked.

“Michael just confirmed,” Walter answered. “He’s on his way with Nikita. I don’t know what kind of condition she’s in,” he added, hoping Adrian would have a heart

Adrian heard the request in his voice. “You have two days, then it’s time,” she said.

“I understand,” Walter said, disconnecting the phone.

He waited in the jeep, Michael having radioed they were on their way. Michael hadn’t said much. Walter had asked how Nikita was and the response he got was “not good.” Walter dreaded what that could mean, given Michael’s proclivity for understatement.

Walter looked at his watch; it had been twenty minutes since he’d spoken to Michael. They were only three clicks away; it shouldn’t take them that long. His nerves were growing by the minute. He reached into the bag in the passenger seat and removed a flashlight. “Fuck it,” he said to the car. He opened the door, and got out.

“Go,” Michael said, appearing from nowhere with Nikita.

Walter spun towards the voice. His eyes bulged at he took in Nikita. She was covered in blood, wearing some silly looking slip thing, and was barefoot. “Sunflower!” he yelled arms opening to embrace her. He squeezed Nikita, she felt like jello in his arms. He looked into her glazed eyes. “Nikita,” he said, “It’s me, Walter.” She said nothing.

“Let’s go,” Michael said, intruding. He took Nikita’s arm and guided her to the back seat of the jeep. He climbed in with her, cradling her in his arms. Walter got back into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. They drove all night, in silence.

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

“Did they escape?” Operations asked.

Madeline read the report on her screen. “Yes,” she said, eyes looking over the screen at Paul. “You’re smirking,” she said.

“I am,” he said, lighting a cigarette. One of life’s few deadly pleasures.

“Are you going to tell me?” she asked, blinking her eyelids dramatically.

Operations exhaled a large plume of smoke. “I think I’d rather you figured it out,” he said, leaving her office.

She read the report again. So O’Brien was dead. She wasn’t that interested in the escape, but poured over every word regarding Nikita’s session in the gym with him. Interesting. Her instincts correct, as always, Nikita would be ready. Madeline read the report one more time, and as she finished, she broke into a wide smile.

Madeline left her office and found Operations in his Tower apartment. She knocked on the door and he opened it wide, holding a drink. “Well?” he asked.

“You let them escape,” she said.

He handed her the drink and invited her in.

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

Walter, Michael and Nikita arrived at the villa shortly after sunrise. Nikita spent the entire drive, awake in Michael’s arms, staring. She said nothing, responded to no one. Walter couldn’t stand it.

“We’ll be safe here,” Walter said as they drove up the long drive to the fourteenth century Tuscan villa. Up on a hill, surrounded by vineyards, the home appeared as a medieval castle overlooking its kingdom.

“How long?” Michael asked.

Walter groaned, hating that Michael was often one step ahead. “Two days.”

The car came to a stop on a large, dirt circular driveway. Walter opened his door, got out, and opened the back door for Michael and Nikita.

Nikita didn’t move. “Ni-ki-ta,” Michael said, arms still around her, “we’re here.”

“Huh?” she asked, her mind a thousand miles away. Kissing O’Brien, fighting him, desiring him. What happened to her? She felt someone pulling her from the car. “What?” she said. She focused her eyes and saw Walter trying to gently yank, if that was possible, her from the car. She sat up from Michael and got out. Michael quickly followed.

Walter and Nikita stood eye to eye. Walter wore a sheepish grin. Nikita stared at him, eyes ablaze with anger. Walter shrugged. Nikita pursed her lips. Walter put his hands together in prayer. Nikita’s face lightened and she smiled. She threw her arms around him, “I want to hate you,” she said, “but I love you.”

Walter squeezed her in the tightest bear hug he could muster. “I don’t know what to say, Sugar,” he said. “None of this was ever supposed to happen.”

He let her go, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s not all right,” she said, “but then, nothing is.” Walter didn’t want to let her go. Ever. He held her again.

Michael walked up behind Nikita and held out his hand. Walter dropped the keys to the villa into it, mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ Michael nodded, walked to the front door, unlocked and opened it. He motioned for Nikita and Walter to remain outside while he determined the safety and security status of the house. The villa was four floors, and Michael methodically entered each room, searching for signs of interlopers. He returned to the entrance, signaling all clear.

Walter and Nikita entered. Michael saw the exhaustion around Nikita’s eyes, the dried blood on her body, her frame showing defeat. “Ni-ki-ta,” he said, “Please sleep.” She nodded, and followed him to one of the many bedrooms. He had selected the largest for her, for them maybe. It overlooked a wide expanse of the vineyards, blue sky and bright sunlight pouring in through the large window.

Nikita collapsed in a chair and instantly went to sleep. Michael wanted to move her to the bed, but she seemed tranquil at last, and he didn’t want to disturb her. He removed a light blanket from the bed and draped it over her. He closed the door and left the room, wishing her at least a few hours of peace.

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

“I was wondering when the fuck I would hear from you,” Walter said to his cell phone. He was sitting on the roof of the villa. It was a terra cotta patio which afforded views in all directions of the grape covered hills. Walter was sitting at a small café table, looking out towards Siena.

“Glad to hear from you too,” Philippe replied.

“Why aren’t you dead?” Walter rejoined. He heard laughter in his ear. “I’m serious amigo,” he said, “why didn’t Paul kill you?”

“I’ve been trying to answer that question for a very long time,” he said.

Walter waited for more. “And?” he finally asked.

“I understand you have the girl,” Philippe said.

Walter had wasted no time, and upon arrival at the villa, had opened a fine bottle of 1997 Chianti. He took a large sip from his glass. “So,” he answered. Walter heard a long sigh.

“Is she like her?” Philippe asked.

“Kind of,” Walter said.

“Tell me,” Philippe said. “Please.”

Walter refilled his glass. “Why the interest all of the sudden?” he asked.

“Memories, dreams… just tell me,” Philippe replied.

“She’s the most wonderful girl,” Walter began. “I don’t know how, after everything.” Walter heard another sigh. He continued. “She has Bobby’s heart, only bigger. And she’s smart, and she’s kind, and she’s…Fuck,” Walter said, feeling the tears in his eyes.

“Paul thinks she mine,” Philippe said.

“I know,” Walter answered.

“You?” he asked.

Walter was so sick and tired of this shit. “Colonel,” he said, addressing him as if it were twenty-five years ago, “Let me give you a piece of advice. Destroy the fucking plants, sell your dirty business, and disappear before it all goes bad.”

“Can’t do that,” he answered, “it already has. So…I guess I’ll see you in a couple.”

“It’s going to be a hell of a reunion,” Walter answered and disconnected the phone. He lifted the bottle of Chianti, examining the label, something local, very nice.

“Any left?” Michael asked.

Walter turned his head to him. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Michael said. Walter poured Michael some wine, and handed him the glass. Michael brought a chair over to the table and sat.

“You like wine, don’t you?” Walter asked.

Michael sampled the liquid in this glass, and nodded.

“1997 was a great fucking year for Chianti. Did you know that?” he asked Michael. Silence. “Did you know I owned a vineyard once?” Michael shook his head. “After the war, I lived here for a while,” Walter said, arm stretching, hand waving. “Hard work,” he said, “but great.”

“How long?” Michael asked.

“Moved here near the end of the seventies, left about ten years later,” Walter said.

“Why?” Michael asked.

“A favor,” he said.

“Ni-ki-ta?” Michael asked.

Walter shrugged, and said, “I didn’t know that’s what the favor was gonna be.” He drank from his glass.

Michael sipped some wine. “Is it a favor now?” he asked.

Walter drummed his fingers on the table. “Why don’t you see if Nikita is ok,” he said.

Michael stood from his chair, and placed the glass on the table. “You’re very lucky,” Michael said.

Walter nodded as Michael’s footsteps retreated. “Use to be,” Walter said to his glass as he finished it.

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  • Part 38 -- Repost Fairy, 15:28:09 05/03/02 Fri
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