Drabble Premise:
Show what *home* means to one or more of the LFN characters. This can be a home in which they live now, a home from their past, a home they would like to have in the future, a home in their imagination. Home doesn't even have to be a building—many things can signify 'home' to someone.

You’re one of us now

The words became an incessant mantra in her mind, mocking her with whispers of a truth she would forever deny to the world.

I DON’T BELONG HERE.

Fight it as she did, the whispers only grew. Who knew that whispers could drown out screams?

With Walter and Birkoff, every smile fuelled the whispers and every joke drowned her protests a little more.

With Michael, a single touch, and realisation dawned.

Truth was, she belonged here more than she had ever belonged anywhere in her life.

In Section, she was loved.

#1

I AM A HUMAN BEING. The mantra was screamed day and night, yet not a sound was heard from the cage hanging in the courtyard. Indignity upon indignity could not compel any utterance.

MUST KEEP THOSE BOYS FOCUSED became the new, silent cry in the luxury of a damp, infested cell. A tapping sound was occasionally heard.

Think of your mom...your sister...your girl, repeated in Morse Code each day before the guards came; before some man-child of 19 was dragged off to hours of unspeakable torture.

Not one man broke; not one of them ever gave a word beyond name, rank, serial number. They all honorably survived because of him; all survived to go home. All but him.

#2

FOR SALE - newer traditional two story on quiet, tree-lined street; large lot in excellent neighborhood; top-rated primary and secondary schools nearby; close to shopping and entertainment. 4 bedrooms, 3 1/2 baths; formal dining room; gourmet kitchen with newer appliances (all included); fireplace in cozy den; secluded master suite; detached garage. Built in 1994; central heating; slate roof.

House set back from street on circular driveway. Fully landscaped grounds, including several conifers; child's play area with swing set included; room to add pool.

Motivated seller, due to recent family tragedy. Contact Madeline Wolfe (555-2121) for appointment to view this beautiful family home.

#1

Fiery leaves whirled in the brisk autumn breeze. Eyes closed for a moment, she inhaled the fragrances of rain, burning maple, applejack. A sigh escaped her as she slowly continued down the street, unmindful of the puddles. She remembered the last time she had seen her mother, mute and skeletal, dressed in white. She remembered the words she had articulated, about forgiveness and memory. She remembered the blank stare, the name spoken that was not hers.

* * *

She keyed her code into the security panel; stepped into her office as the door slid shut. Her prison. Her home.

#2

Five hostiles, subjected to Madeline's extraordinary conversational skills. All had broken within minutes.

Because of us.

Unlike other operatives, she wasn’t required to hand back her weapons at the end of the day. She'd carried the yellow metal briefcase like a clutch-purse as she'd boarded the bus, thinking, Their blood was so red – tulip-red. She'd smiled a secret smile. No one had dared approach her, and she was glad. Five hostiles, now dead, had surrendered everything they’d known. The world was better off without them.

She padded to her kitchen in bunny-slippered feet to get more warm milk.

#3

I thought I’d lost you. He scanned his surroundings, wary and slightly astonished at the unreality of the situation; doubting his own vision.

She smiled. Good. We've succeeded.

Realization dawned on him as they floated together, weightless. Where are we?

We're home, Paul.

He saw through her; knew she was right. He studied her ethereal hand, listened to her unspoken voice. It was impossible, but the impossible had a way of happening despite all contingencies.

Odd, isn't it, that we both resorted to this to be together? He smirked.

That’s not why I'm here.

He shuddered. Death. Section. No difference.

"This far, and no further."

He scratches a small line on the whiskey bottle, marking his self-declared limit. Soon, the spreading warmth of 12-year-old Jamison consumes his worries, creating virtual comfort and peace.

In the small nondescript bar, at his usual unobtrusive table, he is recognized but not known. He relaxes, as the soft sound of anonymous voices provides a backdrop for thoughts no more serious than the shape of Sugar's ass.

Before he knows it, the whiskey level is down to his etched mark. Time to go home. Sighing, he reaches for the bottle.

"This far, and no further."

#1

Opening the door, Nikita wrinkled her nose, the air in her apartment heavy with the memory of the last meal she’d cooked.

Two open windows and a few strategically placed incense sticks took care of the smell, but not the dust. Frowning, she ran one fingertip along the top of her CD player. I’ve been gone six days and the apartment looks abandoned.

Tomorrow she would clean, dust and polish like a normal person, as though there was no doubt she’d be around the day after tomorrow to enjoy it.

It wasn’t much, but sometimes it was all she had.

#2

Bump.

Thud.

Bump.

Swearing under his breath, he fumbled for the glasses beside his bed and threw back the covers. Three nights in a row was too much. He knew they'd had a heavy turnover, but why did Housekeeping always have to transport at three o'clock in the morning?

Ripping his door open, he stared at the back of an operative haphazardly negotiating a cadaver-laden trolley down the narrow corridor. "Hey!"

The operative whirled around, startled. "What?"

"Some people are trying to sleep."

The man smirked. "So?"

"Jerk." Scowling, Birkoff slammed the door shut. Sometimes he really hated this neighbourhood.

He despised being kept out late. Especially on business. He had sulked through the entire evening, glancing pointedly at his watch until his colleague finally got the hint.

Only a few blocks to his apartment. In the summer humidity, his shirt clung to his back; sweat itched at his temples. Still, he walked briskly, the anticipation tingling like a cool mist against his skin.

He would have bounded up the stairs, except that the neighbors had been complaining about noise lately. Inside, he took a long breath of contentment: she was waiting, trussed and gagged.

He reached for his scalpel.

#1

“Madeline, where do you go when you leave here?”

With a coy smile she said, “That’s very good. It usually takes the new ones several years to ask me that question.”

“So how many years does it take for you to answer that question?”

“ I don’t know. I haven’t yet.”

No one could ever really leave the Section. The Section had a way of taking over, seeping into a person’s very make up. Some chose to believe they could leave, go “home” but Madeline had learned. There was no such thing as home. The Section was all she had.

#2

Strange things happen to a person when they lose their home.

He hadn’t meant to end up in prison, it just happened. He hated himself for it.

When the Section took him in, he made it his new home, or so he thought. He lived it, breathed it, gave himself to it entirely. It was his second chance, his penance.

Perhaps he could have lived out the rest of his life there, believing it was his home.

Then he met her. She made him realize no one belonged there.

In her, he found home. In her arms, he was home.

No sunglasses... no empty aquarium... no French doors...

Nikita listened as the water lapped against the sides of the barge. It had been the only place she'd lived since she left Section, that held no memories, that boasted no future.

Until last night...

She breathed. The rough-shod bed surrounded her with the scents of love-making, of sex and silence, of depth of feeling unequalled in her short tumultuous lifetime.

Why now? Why here? Had Center set Michael up?

She sighed deeply. There were decisions to be made.

Tomorrow...

Tonight was for remembering, savoring, for mourning the pain yet to come.

The trees swayed and bent, nature toying with them like a cat with a ball of string. Vision distorted, he stopped against a large fallen tree, its roots caked with mud. As he steadied his breathing, the scene calmed, the trees stilled. What had happened to the violent wind? The ferocious rain? He reached his hand to his face to wipe away the rain. It wasn’t rain, rain didn’t come from the eyes, it came from the sky. There was no storm, at least not outside.

I don’t love you. I never did.

All was lost. He had no home.

She walked into The Tower after another draining day. She’d renovated immediately upon ceding to her father’s wishes. The style was all hers, soothing after long hours commanding the most clandestine organization on the planet.

It was comfortable, but it wasn’t home.

He walked into the house after dropping Adam off at a schoolmate’s house for a sleep-over. Wary at first of letting him go, old habits dictating caution and distrust, he’d finally relented after a thorough background check. Now, the loneliness of their existence weighed heavily as he prowled the empty house.

It was comfortable, but it wasn’t home.