ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
"Charade"
A Fan Fiction Message Board Writing Challenge
Charade
Another story for the FFMB December Writing Challenge. It was also my response to the LFN Slash LJ Community's December Challenge. It is set just prior to "War" and is rated PG-13 for implied f/f slash.
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Nikita smells like vanilla.
Carla doesn't know why that small fact has stayed with her, embedding itself into her thoughts like a thorn underneath her skin. Even after a recent afternoon spent drinking vodka tonics and sneaking cigarettes like naughty schoolgirls, Nikita's hands still smelled like vanilla. Carla remembers that her own hands smelled like cigarette smoke and the lemon soap Nikita always kept in her bathroom.
Carla remembers a great deal about that particular afternoon.
She remembers her charade of a broken heart - a woman betrayed by an unfaithful lover - and Nikita's tears, genuine tears, unlike her own. She remembers being enveloped in a strong yet gentle embrace, delicately smothered by vanilla sweetness and silky hair and warm skin. Carla's fingers curl into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. Mostly she remembers the obscure yet violent hunger that flared to life deep inside her. The gloriously terrifying realisation that she wanted nothing more than to press her mouth against the curve of Nikita's neck and taste her skin, to run her hands over all that soft, smooth skin, to hear a throaty gasp of shocked desire as those long limbs softened and melted and curled around her.
"I do hope I'm not boring you."
The crisp rebuke jerks her back to the present. She forces an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."
Adrian pushes a PDA across the desk. "The new intel is on your panel. Please study it before you return home."
"Which home would that be?" Carla asks politely.
The older woman raises an elegant eyebrow. "Paris, of course." She tilts her head toward the PDA in Carla's hand. "I want you to keep a close watch over her for the next few days."
"Any particular reason?"
"Red Cell are about to come into possession of a rather important piece of information. " Adrian's clear grey gaze sharpens. "Something that will shock that jaded old fool out of his ivory tower and compromise the safety of every Section operative."
An unpleasant, almost cold sensation flutters through the pit of Carla's belly. She presses her tongue against the back of her teeth, biting down on the urge to ask the questions she knows Adrian will not answer. "Do you wish me to intervene should something happen to her?"
Adrian looks surprised. "Goodness, no. I simply need you to let me know if she becomes a casualty."
Carla curls her fingers tightly around the PDA until the sharp plastic casing cuts into her flesh. "Wouldn't it make more sense to make sure she's safe?"
The older woman's shrewd gaze lingers, and Carla feels her pulse quicken. "It never pays to become too attached to one's mark, my dear."
Carla's face starts to burn. "I'm aware of that."
Adrian smiles warmly. "Good. Now, perhaps on your way out you'd be so kind as to ask Jeffery to put the kettle on for tea? I'm quite parched."
Dismissed, Carla leaves, trying desperately not to think of the smell of vanilla.
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