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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.
Drew was a big man with an attitude and he let it show as he paced the circular room he was locked in. It was empty except for a single chair in the exact center. Drew was getting more and more furious with each passing minute, but as he heard the door open, the only thing he let show was insolence. He couldn't know that it was wasted on the man who moved to stand before him. "Who are you?" Drew demanded, his eyes flashing a challenge.
Michael simply stared back at him, posture relaxed, hands clasped in front of him. After a long moment of silence he replied, "I'm the man who is going to teach you obedience."
This brought a belly-laugh from Drew. He was still chuckling as he walked around Michael, studying the smaller man from head to toe. "You're going to teach ME obedience?" He repeated, with a shake of his head. More laughter rippled through him. He was twice Michael's size. "Right," Drew drawled, oozing sarcasm. "Pretty....little...thing like you." He waited for a reaction from the other man and received a cool stare, and a twitch of the sensual lips, that could have been a smile. "What do you want from me?" Drew demanded, as anger washed over him once more.
"Sit down," Michael said, gesturing to the chair.
"Make me!" Drew challenged, his tone almost petulant. Like that of a small boy's, daring his parents to force him to apologize to his pain-in-the-ass little sister, just because he broke her stupid doll.
Michael waited a beat. Then he *almost* smiled. "I said sit down," he repeated. His stance didn't change. He simply looked at Drew, unblinking.
Drew grinned, then he made his move. With a bellow of rage he launched himself at Michael. But at the moment he should have connected with a solid body, Drew found himself flailing, then crying out as powerful fingers gripped his wrist and forced his arm up behind his back so that he was brought to his knees. "Let go!" Drew shouted, blinking back tears.
"Does it hurt?" Michael asked, no inflection in his tone.
There was a whimper from Drew, that was all.
Michael sighed, softly. "I can't hear you," he said, meaningfully. Then he twisted the other man's wrist.
"YES..YES! IT HURTS!" Drew shouted, trying not to sob. He was certain that his wrist was broken, and agony burned up his arm.
"This is only the beginning," Michael whispered, easing up on the pressure, just a little. Enough so that Drew could concentrate on what he was saying. "You have no idea what pain is...yet. I will teach you." With that, Michael released him and stepped back.
Drew was slow in rising to his feet. As he rubbed his wrist, he realized that it wasn't broken, but that didn't matter. He was burning now with hatred, and a need for revenge. He glared at Michael, then he attacked, again. Only to find himself on his back this time, the end of a gun barrell pressed to his forehead. Drew's mouth went dry and his heart pounded in his chest. He felt himself break out into a sweat as he stared into cool, green eyes. Drew had never been more terrified in all his life. And the man above him scared him as no other had.
Michael did smile now...just a small curve of his lips. "I can kill you slowly," he whispered. "One bullet at a time. You will feel your blood dripping out of you. You will know that you are dying, and it will be agony. You will beg me to spare you. And when you take your last breath...maybe then you will begin to understand what pain is. Maybe." Michael's eyes were locked with Drew's and he knew that the other man was absorbing every word he said. Michael held the gaze, unblinking, for a long moment in time, then he spoke once more. "I won't feel a thing. No sympathy, or remorse. I will simply watch you suffer. And I will know your pain. It is a part of me." Michael's head tiltled slightly. "Do you understand?"
"Yes.." Drew replied, unable to stop himself from whimpering the word.
"Good." Michael released him then stepped back, slipping his gun into his shoulder holster. He watched as Drew slowy rose to his feet, then he said, "Let's try this again. Sit down."
Unable to meet Michael's eyes, Drew did as he was told, wiping tears off his face with his shirt-sleeve.
************
Nikita stood behind Madeline's desk, watching what had occurred on a vidscreen. She shook her head. "I could never do that," Nikita commented, referring to Michael's treatment of Drew. She would never have been able to keep the cold, emotionless mask in place the way Michael did.
Madeline smiled at her. "No, you couldn't," she agreed, amiably.
"Then why am I watching this?" Nikita questioned, curiosity flaring in her crystal-blue eyes.
"You tell me," Madeline countered, her own eyes watchful.
Nikita shrugged. It was hard to figure. "Yet another test," she guessed.
Madeline smiled again. "Perhaps. But of who?" she queried, as she rose from her chair and moved towards the door.
"I hate riddles," Nikita muttered, as she glared at Madeline's retreating back. When the other woman was gone, Nikita returned her gaze to the vid screen, only to discover that Michael was gone and Drew was sitting in the chair, weeping. Nikita sighed. It hadn't taken much to break him. "Big, macho wimp," she hissed in disgust. Then she left the room to seek out Michael.
Nikita found him in his office, and stood in the doorway, unnoticed. She was surprised to see him sitting with his elbows on his desk and his face buried in his hands. "Michael?" Nikita whispered his name.
His head shot up at the sound of her voice, but it took a moment for his eyes to find her. Michael had been lost in thought. "What is it, Nikita?" he queried, wishing that she would go away. She looked too deep at times and saw too much. And keeping an emotional distance from her was tiresome at best.
"I need to talk to you," she said, moving to drop into the chair across from him. Nikita looked Michael in the eye, then told him how she had watched his confrontation with Drew, then her conversation with Madeline.
"Why are you telling me this?" Michael inquired, when she had finished.
Nikita wanted to smack him. She thought her reasons were rather obvious. But she held her irritation in check and explained. "Because I want to know who's being tested here. You...or me?"
Michael resisted the urge to sigh with frustration. He looked away from Nikita and said, "You've been here for over three years now. When will you learn that everything Section says....everything WE do....is a test."
"Do you really believe that, Michael?" Nikita countered. The thought that he might disturbed her, although she wasn't sure why.
"Is there anything else, Nikita?" Michael shot back, bluntly ignoring her question. "I have work to do."
Nikita stood up, but didn't leave. Not yet. Her eyes studied him, carefully, and saw shadows beneath his green gaze. His entire posture was indicative of extreme weariness. And Nikita was surprised. At times, she could almost believe that Michael was superman...man of steel. "You look tired," she told him, offering sympathetic smile. "Why don't you go home, Michael? The reports will still be here tomorrow."
Michael glared at her for a moment, then he reached out and, pointedly, turned on his computer. "Goodnight, Nikita," he whispered, dismissing her.
"Goodnight, Michael," she replied, taking the hint without being offended. But as Nikita left the office, she was already making plans.
************
The next day Nikita went in search of Michael. He wasn't in his office, but as she turned to leave she spotted him. Michael was across the hall, in the exercise area. Nikita strolled across the way and leaned against the doorframe, watching as Michael gave hell to a heavy bag. He was dressed in his usual black pants and black t-shirt, but had tossed his jacket aside and was wearing bag gloves. So his session with the punching bag was, obviously, spur-of-the-moment. Nikita could almost feel the anger, and energy that seemed to emanate from Michael. Except for when Nikita had seen him have to leave Simone behind to die, she had never seen Michael so out of control. Only this time he was controlling it...barely. She let a long moment pass then she spoke his name. "Michael?"
He stopped in mid-punch, but didn't turn to look at her. He simply waited.
"What's wrong?" Nikita asked, deciding to be blunt. She figured he would appreciate it.
"Nothing's wrong," Michael replied, as he concentrated on evening out his breathing.
Nikita's lips twitched then she whispered, "Liar." Then she almost laughed as the silence between them grew defeaning. But her amusement faded when she saw Michael flinch.
He pulled off the gloves and scooped up a towel to wipe the sheen of sweat off his face. Irritably, Michael tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. His workout had caused it to curl, and now it haloed his face instead of being smoothly brushed away from his face. But his eyes were frosty as he glared at the beautiful blond. "Leave me alone, Nikita," Michael hissed.
"Come to dinner tonight," Nikita countered, moving to block his way when Michael tried to step around her, and pleased to see that she had startled him. "My place, seven o'clock."
"Why?" Michael blurted out, then he silently cursed himself for asking. Why didn't matter. He wasn't going to go.
Nikita grinned. "To find out the answer, you have to come," she teased him.
Michael locked eyes with Nikita, searching for the reason in her crystal-blue gaze. But all he saw was sincerity, and a bit of hope. "All right," he whispered, surprising himself as much as Nikita.
"Great!" she enthused, recovering more quickly than he did. "Don't be late. Oh...and dress casual. No black." As Nikita spoke she let her eyes rove slowly over Michael, from head to toe. "Not that it doesn't look good on you," she told him, a flirtatious smile curving her lips. "But...I'm dying to see you in color." With that, Nikita turned and walked away. For once, she would have the last word.
"Fool," Michael muttered to himself, then he glanced at his watch and grimaced. He was late for a meeting with Operations.
***********
At precisely seven o'clock, there was a knock on Nikita's door. She had a smile on her face as she ran across the room to answer it. "Perfect timing as always, Michael," she commented, as she gestured for him to come inside. "What's in the bag?" she asked, tapping the brown parcel he held. It was rather large.
"I brought the drinks," Michael replied, moving over to the kitchen to set the bag down on the nearest counter top. He removed his gloves, stuffing them in the pockets of his overcoat, before reaching into the bag. From it he withdrew a six-pack of beer, a big bottle of spring water, an assortment of flavors of Snapple and a bottle of red wine.
"Are you thirsty?" Nikita questioned, laughing.
Michael turned to smile at her. "I didn't know what you would prefer. So...."
Nikita was touched, and intrigued. "Good to know that you DO possess a sense of humor, Michael," she teased him, even as she reached for two bottles of beer. "I think these would go best with pizza and wings. You?"
"What kind of pizza?" Michael asked, accepting one of the bottles and twisting off the top.
"Sausage and mushroom," Nikita replied, her eyes locked on Michael's beautiful face as she watched him lift the beer bottle to his lips and take a swallow. Something about the way he did it was inately sensual and sent a ripple of heat through Nikita. She swallowed hard and looked away. "Um...is that okay?" she asked, meaning her choice of pizza.
Michael nodded, only to realize she wasn't looking at him. "That's my favorite," he told her, and smiled when she jumped.
Nikita was stunned. "Are you serious?" she challenged, staring intently into his green gaze. "Sausage and mushroom is your favorite?"
"Seriously," Michael confirmed. "I guess we have at least one thing in common."
"Imagine that," Nikita whispered. Then she frowned as she studied him from head to toe. A smile lit up her eyes when she realized he was wearing blue jeans, but his coat was buttoned so she couldn't see his shirt. "Take you coat off and stay awhile, Michael," Nikita invited, meaningfully.
Michael knew what she was wondering, so he obediently unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off. "Casual enough?" he inquired, as he saw her eyes widen.
Nikita was speechless. Michael was wearing a long-sleeved, PURPLE, shirt, that hugged his body like a glove. And a beautiful body it was. "Very nice," she said, although it was an understatement. "I like purple."
"So do I," Michael admitted, then he took another swallow of beer. Nikita's gaze seemed to burn into him and his mouth went suddenly dry.
"Hungry?" Nikita asked, gliding by Michael to the livingroom area where she had candles lit and pillows on the floor. The pizza and wings boxes were on the coffee table.
Michael followed her, draping his coat over the back of one chair. "Starved," he whispered, in response to Nikita's question. He didn't know that his eyes gave his word double meaning.
Nikita took Michael's hand and drew him down to the floor. "Dig in," she told him. "There's enough for a small army. Oh...and I bought cheese cake for dessert."
"Dessert?" Michael repeated, his eyes sparkling. Somehow he doubted they would have room for it. But he sat down beside her then reached for a slice of pizza. Instead of biting into it, Michael held it out for Nikita to sample. Once she had taken a bite, Michael reached out to wipe sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Then he brought his thumb to his own lips and suckled it clean.
"Um..." Nikita had been about to speak, but the intimate sensuality of Michael's touch, and the way he licked his thumb turned her insides to jello. So she reached for her beer, twisted off the cap and chuggalugged. It was going to be a long night.
Michael enjoyed dinner. The pizza and wings were delicious, but it was the company that he found gratifying and fullfilling. Nikta was wonderful company, especially since she refrained from asking questions. At least from asking personal ones. She didn't pressure him to talk about himself. Rather she regaled him with *peril's of Carla and Nikita* adventures. From shopping, movies to watching soap operas, and Michael found himself laughing at Nikita's joy of life as much as at her stories. So he found himself willing to answer some of her more general inquiries. Such as his favorite movie, and the reason why he always wore black.
"Let's dance," Nikita said suddenly, jumping to her feet and running over to the stereo. As she slipped in a Selena CD. She picked her favorite song, I COULD FALL IN LOVE, then turned back to face Michael. She watched him stand up and was thinking about his answer to her, *why he always wore black*, question. Michael said that it was his armor. His protection. But he would specify what he meant. Still, Nikita could guess, and it made her sad. But she put a smile on her face as she stepped into the circle of Michael's strong arms. Then she whispered the words of the song.
...I could lose my heart tonight, if you don't turn and walk away. 'Cause the way I feel I might, lose control and let you stay. "cause I could take you in my arms, and never let go. I could fall in love, with you. I could fall in love with you. I can only wonder how touching you would make me feel. But if I take that chancce right now, tommorow will you want me still. So I should keep this to myself, and never let you know. I could fall in love.....
The words could have come from her heart, but Nikita didn't tell Michael that. She was too caught up in the moment. To aware of the heat of his body as he brushed lightly against her with each swaying step. Of Michael's hand caressing the length of her back, or the brush of his lips...soft as a whisper...against her temple. She lifted her hands to let her fingers tangle in his thick hair and discovered that it was as soft as silk. A smile curved her lips as she combed through it, till it haloed Michael's gorgeous face. He looked like an angel and Nikita's heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his luminous green eyes and saw passion burning there. And desire. The reflection of her own heat. Just as Nikita was about to kiss Michael, the phone rang. Michael's cellular phone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, remembering the last time they had danced. His betrayal, and another phone call that had interrupted them. Michael pulled away from Nikita and went to his coat. He removed the phone, said *hello*, then listened. When he returned to her, his eyes were shadowed. "We have to go in," he said.
"I know," Nikita replied, a sad smile curving her lips. "Michael..." she hesitated, studying his face and seeing regret in his eyes.
He blinked, looked away, then looked back again. "What?" he asked, in a hushed whisper. It was a difficult question to ask.
Nikita reached out to smooth Michael's hair back behind his ears. "I just want you to know that...I'm glad you came tonight."
"So am I," Michael replied, even as he captured one of Nikita's hands and pressed a kiss into her palm. Locking eyes with her he whispered, "Thank you." Then he released her hand and went to fetch his coat. "Are you ready?" he asked, as he turned back to Nikita.
"Ready," she replied, scooping her own coat off the hook behind the door. Nikita almost sighed as she watched Michael shift back into *machine mode*. She was going to miss the *new* Michael. The man she believed he wished he could be. But she didn't share any of these thoughts with him as she proceded him out the door.
************
Operations briefed Michael and Nikita on their way to the van. They were heading out to Alabama, to stop the assassination of Senator Langdon. They didn't have a description of the assassin, but his name was Jade. The man Section was holding told them that the attempt would be made at the hotel Renassaince. Michael and Nikita were to take out the assassin then come home. Simple.
Once they reached the hotel, Nikita was stationed behind the front desk, while Michael patrolled the lobby, acting as a guest. Both wore glasses that contained a small video unit, and transmitters tucked behind their ears. They had been in place for less than an hour when the senator made his appearance.
Michael saw that the Senator had two aides and three body guards, but that he was still open and vulnerable to an assassin's bullet. "Keep an eye out, Nikita," he whispered, even as he turned a slow circle. Just then Michael spotted a flash of silver to his left. A gun was in the hands of a kid. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, and he was pointing the weapon at Senator Langdon. Michael reached for his gun, but didn't pull it.
From Section, Ops was able to see what was happening, thanks to a satellite uplink that Birkhoff had devised. He saw the kid. "That must be Jade," Ops hissed. "Take him out, Michael."
Just then, Nikita came around from the desk and spotted the boy as well. She was horrified. "That can't be Jade," she whispered. "He's just a kid. Probably hired by Jade to divert attention away from him."
Michael didn't respond, he simply watched the kid.
Operation's grimaced. "Shoot him, Michael," he ordered. "Do it now!"
"NO Michael!" Nikita hissed, as loudly as she dared.
"Don't even blink!" Operations spat, using the same words that he had spoken when Nikita had infomed Michael that Simone was still alive. Ops did so purposely. Last time, Michael had done as he was told.
Michael pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, raised his arm and pulled the trigger. The kid fell, without making a sound.
Nikita closed her eyes.
**************
Ops and Madeline were on the second level, and both watched Michael approach them. Madeline noticed that he seemed weary and she guessed that he hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days. Not that Michael slept much anyway. He averaged three to four hours a night...if he was lucky. This she knew because of the video cameras in his apartment.
Michael moved to stand before Operations, his stance somewhat rigid, his eyes cool. "You wanted to see me?" he offered in greeting.
"I gave you a direct order to shoot that kid!" Ops snapped, his own eyes flashing silver sparks. "Why didn't you obey me, Michael?"
"Nikita was right," Michael countered, his eyes glancing over to Madeline, then back to Ops. "He wasn't Jade."
Operations nodded. "No, he wasn't," he allowed. "But you didn't know that at the time. What happened?"
Michael shrugged. "I blinked."
"Excuse me?" Operations countered, his eyes narrowing to slits as he glared at Michael.
"I blinked," Michael, obligingly, repeated. His eyes shimmered for a moment as he watched Operation's slow burn. Then he explained. "I was aiming for the kid's heart..."
Operation's cut him off to interject, "But you hit his shoulder instead."
Michael nodded. "That's right." He locked eyes with Operations, feeling the intensity of the other man's gaze, and he didn't blink now. "It was a fortuitous....error."
"Perhaps it was intuition?" Madeline suggested, deciding it was time to ease the tension between the two men. She sensed that Michael wouldn't back down this time, so better to head things off.
"Intuition?" Michael repeated, his eyes flicking over to Madeline. "I don't believe in intuition," he reminded her.
Madeline shrugged. "But Nikita does. Maybe she's rubbing off on you." It was more a statement than a question.
Michael allowed his lips to curve into a smile for a moment, then he asked, "Is that all?"
Operation's waved one hand, dismissing him. "That's all," he snarled. He watched Michael turn and walk away, then he looked over at Madeline. She was smiling. Ops growled at her too, then he stalked off.
************
It felt like DejaVu to Nikita as she stood behind Madeline watching Michael and Drew on the vidscreen. Only this time they were in a different room and Michael was putting Drew through his paces regarding taking out an opponent. She watched Drew move up behind Michael, grab him in a head lock and press a gun into his neck. A moment later she winced as Drew hit the ground on his back, and the gun was now pressed to his forehead. "Ouch," she whispered, even as she admired Michael's catlike grace, and astonishing strength.
Michael looked down at Drew, his eyes cold. "Shall we try again?" he asked. When the other man nodded, Michael stepped back and waited for him to rise. He didn't offer to help. When Drew was standing, Michael handed the gun back. "Focus," he whispered. "Watch my body language. React to what I do, not to what you think I'll do. You have to anticipate your own actions."
Drew heaved a sigh. He understood, vaguely, what Michael was trying to tell him, but he just couldn't seem to get the hang of it. He doubted that he ever would. And he knew that Michael wouldn't let him give up...or give in.
Nikita looked over at Madeline. "Drew has come a long way in two weeks," she commented.
Madeline nodded. "He has," she allowed. "But he still has a long way to go." Smiling, Madeline reached out to tuck a stray lock of pale hair behind Nikita's ear. "So....have you learned anything?" she queried.
"You could say that," Nikita countered, laughing.
"And what have you learned?" Madeline prompted, sincerely curious as to what it might be. Nikita was always intriguing, and somewhat of a challenge, when it came to following her line of reasoning in regards to her actions.
Nikita stopped laughing and locked eyes with Madeline. "I learned not to blink," she deadpanned, then she turned on her heel and left the room.
Madeline waited till she was gone to murmur, "Touche."
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