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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.
Nikita sat in control, next to Birkhoff, watching the vid screen above her head. Michael was on assignment. He was inside the office of the owner of a large corportation whom they knew was smuggling topsecret, american, laser-prototype weapons to foreign governments. The names of buyers and other pertinent data was in a data file. Michael was tapping into the computer now, and attempting to bypass the security lock so he could download the information to Birkhoff. The corporation created the technology that built the lasers, so it was vital that Section get this information.
Being an observer was driving Nikita insane. But she had no choice, having broken her leg on an assignment three weeks ago. She had two more weeks till the cast came off, then two more weeks of therapy before she could resume active status. Watching Michael, and knowing the risk he was taking, made Nikita want to jump out of her skin. She wondered if he felt the same way when the shoe was on the other foot, and he was watching her. She wanted to think so, but had her doubts.
Operations came strolling in with Madeline. "How's it going?" he asked, Birkhoff.
The computer whiz rubbed a hand over his head and frowned. "Slowly. Michael can't get past the security code. Nothing I'm giving him is working."
"Try harder!" Ops hissed. "We need that information." But even as he spoke, they heard from Michael.
"I'm in," he said, his voice coming to them via com-link. "Typing in the sequence....now."
Birkoff straightened in his chair as his monitor screen flashed. "He's got it!"
Nikita found herself smiling. She watched Birkhoff's fingers fly over his keyboard for a moment, then her attention returned to Michael on the screen. She saw how calm he was, even as he glanced at his watch. She glanced at her own and felt herself grow pale. They had been surveilling Hart Becker's office for two weeks. They knew his routine and he never strayed from it. He had gone out to lunch, but was due back in less than a minute. "Get out of there, Michael," Nikita whispered beneath her breath. Becker was never late..for anything.
Sure enough, even as Nikita was thinking it, the door to the office swung open and Hart Becker entered the room. Everyone in section stared at the screen. Nikita's eyes were glued to Michael. His fingers were flying over the keyboard, and he acted as if he were unaware of Becker's presence, until the door slammed closed. Then Michael glanced up. He didn't lose his cool. In fact, he smiled.
"Mr. Becker," he said, calmly. "I must have lost track of the time."
"What are you doing here in my office, Michael?" Becker challenged as he moved towards the desk. "And on my computer. The door was locked."
Michael nodded. "I picked it." He offered a sheepish grin. "Useful little talent I acquired during the rebellious period ofy youth." He saw that Becker was not amused, so his own smile faded. "I was hoping to surprise you," he said, his fingers once again flying over the keyboard.
Becker withdrew a gun from a shoulder holster, and the man knew how to use it. He drew a bead on Michael and said, "You've got thirty seconds to convince me I shouldn't kill you."
"Okay." Michael didn't flinch. He gestured to the computer screen. "Take a look."
"What is it?" Becker countered, signalling for Michael to step away from the desk. When he glanced at the screen, he frowned. The gun almost lowered. "This looks like that program I outlined to you yesterday," he said, his tone conveying disbelief.
Michael nodded. "It is. I worked on it last night, I was hoping to surprise you with it."
*************
Back at Section, Operations glared at Birkhoff. "What program is Michael talking about?" he demanded.
Birkhoff shrugged. "I have no idea. He must have created it himself."
Nikita was surprised. "Michael can do that?"
It was Madeline who answered her. "You would be surprised at what Michael can do."
*************
Becker was surprised as well. "I can't believe you created this program over night, Michael. It's very complicated, what I want it to do."
"Yes, it is," Michael allowed, a smile curving his lips. "This is just a working draft. I figure we can work the kinks out together. So it does exactly what you want."
"I'm impressed," Becker allowed, as he replaced his gun in his holster. His eyes locked with Michael's. "Next time, though, don't break into my office. I may not be in so...generous....a mood."
Michael nodded as he headed for the door. "I hear you." He was reaching for the door knob when Becker called him back.
The other man was smiling, as he seated himself behind his desk. "Tell me something, Michael. Any other...talents...that I should about?"
"None I can think of at the moment," Michael replied. Then he smirked. "I'll let you know." With that, he left the room.
Nikita heaved a sigh of relief. Michael was safe, and they had the information they needed. By nightfall, Becker would be picked up, and never seen again. Another mission successfully completed. She looked over at Operations and would have expected him to be smiling. But his face was stone cold.
"Tell Michael I want to see him the minute he gets back," Ops said to Madeline. Then he stalked off. Madeline soon followed.
"What's that all about?" Nikita asked Birkhoff.
He shrugged. "You've got me. But I wouldn't want to be in Michael's shoes."
**************
Nikita sat at a corner table in a night club and stared at her half empty glass. She was happy to be out, yet still depressed that her role was still as observer. Course, she wouldn't be much good in a fire fight, since her leg was still in a cast. At least now it was a walking cast.
She smiled at the waitress who brought her another drink, then paid attention to the owner of the club, a woman by the name of Bethany Random. She was introducing the band. There was a round of applause then Nikita's eyes focused on the lead singer. It was Michael. He was dressed in blue jeans, and a white tank top with a blue jean shirt over it. His hair was wild about his face, and Nikita was stunned at his untamed beauty. Michael was always so...elegant and refined looking. Now he was animalistic and sensual beyond belief. If his appearance wasn't enough of a shock, hearing him greet the crowd, without an accent, made Nikita shake her head. But that was still nothing compared to her reaction, when Michael started to sing. The band behind him was made up of section operatives. They were good, but Michael was astounding. His sensual, whiskey smooth, speaking voice, translated into pure power and pure magic when he sang. He was all emotion, making every word he sang a truth. Nikita felt her heart pounding in her chest as she listened.
The next forty-five minutes seemed to pass in a blur for Nikita. When the first set was over, and the band took a break, she watched as Bethany went to Michael and kissed him. Nikita felt herself flinch, then chided herself for her reaction. Michael was here to seduce Bethany. To get information she had dealing with an upcoming assassination attempt on a government official. And Michael was a master of seduction. Soon...Bethany would be whispering all her secrets in his ear, of that Nikita had little doubt.
From across the room, Michael was aware of Nikita's gaze upon him, and he glanced over at her. Only for a moment. It was long enough to see a glimmer of pain in her eyes...and sadness. Michael wondered why. But the thought was put on hold as Bethany demanded his attention. And Michael refocused his attention to the *job*.
*************
Three days later they had the information they needed. Then the three days stretched out to another week and two more assignments for Michael, with Nikita observing. Her only consolation was that her cast was finally removed. Now she had two weeks of therapy, then she would be able to return to active status. The thought put a smile on Nikita's face as she entered the conference room. Madeline and Operations were chatting together in one corner. Birkoff was reclining in his chair, of Michael, there was no sign. Nikita was just about to ask Birkhoff if he were coming, when Michael entered the room. Nikita hadn't seen him for two days, and she wasn't prepared for the sight of him.
At one glance it was obvious that Michael was ill. His skin was pale and sheened with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. Nikita gasped as he neared her, for he swayed on his feet. She grabbed his arm and could feel the heat of his skin through the sleeves of his turtleneck and blazer. "What's wrong with you, Michael?" Nikita hissed at him, even as she guided him into a chair. It scared her all the more that he allowed her help.
"I'm fine," Michael replied, but he knew that Nikita didn't believe him, by the look in her crytsal-blue gaze. He locked eyes with her. "Leave it alone, Nikita," he begged.
"You need to see a doctor," she countered. Then she turned to Ops and Madeline, both of whom had moved over to the table. "MIchael is ill," she stated flatly.
Madeline nodded. She was well aware of that fact. "It can't be helped, Nikita," she replied. "We need Michael on this mission."
Nikita didn't find that acceptable. "Whatever it is...I'll do it," she volunteered.
"You can't," Operations interjected. "Michael has to take a meet with someone. Someone very important. And they only speak french."
"Surely you have other operatives who speak french?" Nikita challenged, her eyes on MIchael's pale face. It appeared to her that he had difficulty breathing. He needed medical attention, and fast.
Madeline reached out and placed a comforting hand on Nikita's shoulder. "The man that Michael is to meet has asked, specifically, to meet with Michael or the deal we've made is off."
Michael was surprised by the vehemence with which Nikita defended him. And he was...touched by it. But it confused him as well. Still, she needed to understand. "I'll be fine, Nikita," Michael told her. Then he looked at Operations. "When do I leave?"
"One hour," Ops replied. Then he and Madeline left the room.
Nikita watched Michael as he pushed himself out of the chair, with obvious effort. She grabbed his arm to help. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?" she chided him.
Michael felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, but did his best not to let it show. He pushed Nikita's hand off his arm and forced a smile. "It's part of the training," he whispered, then he left the room.
************
The mission was a success. Michael returned to Section and Nikita was waiting for him. In fact, she was the one who caught him when he collapsed.
When MIchael opened his eyes, Nikita's face was the first thing he saw. She looked like an angel. But it was Madeline's voice that he heard.
"How do you feel, MIchael?" she asked.
"I'm...fine," he said, but he knew that it was a lie. Still, he made the effort to get up. Michael hated spending time in Medlab.
Nikita put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "You need to rest Michael," she said softly. She knew he was unaware of the fact that he had been in and out of delirium for three days. Now his body needed to heal.
Michael pushed Nikita's hand away, his eyes glancing over at Madeline, who was smiling at him. "How long have I been here?" he asked.
"Three days," Madeline replied. She pulled the covers aside for him. Michael was wearing loose trousers that looked like pajama bottoms and no shirt. She noticed that Nikita couldn't keep her eyes off him. Madeline couldn't blame her. Michael had a beautiful body.
"I want to go home," Michael declared, as firmly as he was able. He knew that he wouldn't be allowed on active status, but he had no intention of remaining in Medlab.
Madeline supported Michael's weight as he gained his feet. "That's an excellent idea," she replied. Then she looked over at Nikita. "You can take Michael home and stay with him for the next few days. Take care of him. Consider it your next assignment."
Nikita was surprised, but rather pleased. She liked the idea of seeing where Michael lived...outside of Section. Glancing over at him, she saw that he was not so thrilled.
Michael glared at Madeline. "I don't need taking care of!" he hissed, but belied his words when his knees buckled and he nearly fell.
"Yes....you do," Madeline replied. She made Michael sit on the bed, then she smiled at Nikita. "I'll bring his clothes." Madeline reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys, and a card. She held them out to Nikita. "These are the keys to Michael's car and his house. Here's the address, on the card. When I get back, you can help him dress, then head out." With those parting words, Madeline left them.
"You have a house, Michael?" Nikita asked, moving around the bed to face him. She was surprised.
Michael had buried his face in his hands, but now he looked up at Nikita. She was so open in her intentions. She cared for his well being, and she was curious about him because she was interested. Not because something he might say...or admit to...might prove to be useful in the future as a way to manipulate him. Which was what Madeline was doing right now. Manipulating them. She knew that Michael had...feelings....for Nikita. And it was obvious that Nikita had feelings for him. So, Michael could only wonder at what game Madeline was playing. What lesson was meant to be learned? Only was too tired and weary to figure it out, so he sighed and answered Nikita's question. "Yes. I have a house."
Nikita couldn't wait to see it. "Cool."
Just then Madeline returned with Michael's clothing, only to leave as soon as she had handed it to Nikita. Michael reached for them, but Nikita set them aside. He didn't have the strength to protest when she shook out the black sweater then moved to him. With gentle care, she pulled it over his head then guided his arms into the sleeves. Dressing him as she would a young child. The intimacy of it shook MIchael.
It had the same effect on Nikita. She had to concentrate on keeping her hands from trembling as they smooth the sweater down over Michael's broad chest. She could feel his hard muscles, felt him contract at her touch. Nikita smiled a little as she pulled away to reach for his black jeans.
Michael shook his head. "I can do the rest, Nikita," he told her. His eyes shimmered as he pleaded with her to pull back.
"All right," Nikita agreed. Michael wasn't ready to give up control, not by a long shot. She handed him the jeans and turned away. But that was all. Nikita heard him stand, then the sound of him pulling on the jean, and the zipper scraping closed. Then she turned around and saw him sitting again. He was very pale and Nikita guessed that he was feeling dizzy. "I'll put your shoes on," she offered, reaching for the half boots. When Michael nodded, Nikita knelt down before him. First thing she did was slip on a heavy pair of black socks. Then she laced on the heavy, black boots. She smiled as she worked. The moment she had Michael home, settled in bed and asleep, she was going to rumage through his closet and dressers and see if everything he owned was black. "Ready?" she asked, rising slowly to her feet and holding out one hand.
"Ready," Mihael replied, although he was anything but. Still, he took Nikita's hand and they made their way out of Medlab.
************
Michael's house was beautiful. It was two-story and inside reminded Nikita of a loft, with split levels and a circular staircase. She helped Michael upstairs and into a huge bedroom. What surprised her was that there was very little black in the furnishings. The sunken livingroom had sliding glass door running nearly the entire length of one wall. There was a grey stone, arched fireplace. A deep burgundy-colored, leather, sectional sofa. A hardwood floor with an oriental rug in shades of burgundy, gray, cream, blue and black. Over the fireplace was a landscape of a desert at sunset and two, gray wolves. In one corner was a floor to ceiling book shelf.
Upstairs a hallway led to an archway, beyond which the bedroom lay. It was beautiful. Heavy gauze curtains, in layers of cream, copper and moss green hung at the windows, trailing onto the bronze-colored carpet. The walls were a deep sand color and rough textured. The bed was king-sized, four poster, canopied and draped with the same tri-color gauze layers as the curtains. The bedspread was moss green and covered with green and cream pillows. Nikita was stunned. "Who's your decorator, Michael?" she inquired as she helped him to the bed.
"I am," he replied, as he bent to unlace his boots. Only to find his hand pushed away as Nikita knelt to do it for him.
"It's beautiful," she said, with complete sincerity. "All of it."
Michael sighed as the boots came off and he slid back so that he could lay against the pillows. He was too weary to worry about undressing. He simply snuggled up into the pillows and closed his eyes. "Thank you," Michael whispered. Then he was asleep.
Over in the corner of the room, near the balcony, was a chaise lounge and a deep-cushioned chair with a small table between them. On the back of the chair was a cream colored blanket. Nikita fetched it and opened it, spreading it over Michael's slumbering form. He looked so small, and vulnerable in the the huge bed. Nikita smooth a lock of hair back, then bent to press a kiss against his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Michael," she whispered.
Then she moved back over to stretch out on the chaise lounge. Her leg was beginning to ache a little. There was a book on the table and Nikita reached for it. A smile crossed her lips as she read the title. It was the LOST WORLD. The sequel to Jurassic Park. "So you like dinosaurs, Michael," she whispered, filing that small fact away for future reference. Since Michael was likely to sleep for several hours, Nikita opened the book to page one and began to read.
***********
"SIMONE!" The cry shook Nikita out of a sound sleep and she was instantly awake and moving towards the bed, where Michael was thrashing about. Nikita reached out to touch his face and heard him gasp. "It's all right, Michael," she whispered. "It's me...it's Nikita."
At the sound of her voice, Michael opened his eyes. Nikita was looking down upon him, her eyes glimmering with concern. It was then that he realized he had been caught up in a nightmare. Michael swallowed hard and his mouth felt dry. "Could I have some water?" he whispered.
Nikita nodded, then ran into the adjoining bathroom. She returned a moment later with a glass of cool water, which she held to Michael's lips. He lifted on hand to cover hers as he drank, and Nikita felt him tremble. When the glass was empty she put it on the nightstand and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't think so," Michael replied. In that moment he was uncertain as to what he wanted. He didn't realize how lost he looked, as his eyes lifted to Nikita's face.
"Feel up to listening to me talk?" Nikita asked, as she climbed onto the bed and moved to curl up beside Michael. She shifted a couple of pillows behind her so that she was half sitting, then she reached out and pulled Michael into her arms. She felt him resist for a moment, but then he sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist as he rested his head on the cushion of her breasts. Nikita let her chin rest on the tip of his head as her fingers combed through Michael's soft curls. She loved his hair when it was wild and silky, as opposed to when he wore it smoothed out and tucked behind his ears. As if it symbolized the restraint he placed upon himself.
Michael closed his eyes and willed the shadows that had haunted his dreams to fade. Nikita's nearness, her warm embrace, helped...but he needed more of a distraction. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.
Nikita decided to be honest. "About you. About what I think about you, Michael. I want it out in the open...between us."
"Go on," he invited. He was willing to listen.
"All right." Nikita took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. "First off, I want to say that I think of you as a chameleon. Always changing to blend in to your surroundings. You become whatever you need to be, so effortlessly. I admire that about you, even though it scares me."
Michael was surprised by her confession. "Why does it scare you?" he questioned.
Nikita was thoughtful for a moment, wanting to explain it clearly. "Sometimes I wonder if you remember who you really are anymore, Michael," she replied. And within her embrace, Nikita felt him tense up. She must have struck a nerve.
"Who I really am...." Michael repeated.
"That's right," Nikita confirmed. "Are you the man who betrayed me to keep me...alive...as you put it? Or are you the carefree lover who Lisa desired? Or the computer genius, second only to Birkhoff? Or the singer who seduces beautiful club owners? Maybe you're the man who likes to listen to me talk about soap opera's over a cup of coffee. Or the man who wears black, and never lets his feelings show, yet has a home filled with colors and light?" This latter remark was said with gentle teasing. "Or are you the *friend* who rescues damsels in distress? Namely me...by taking the heat when I, willfully, break Section code?"
Nikita sighed. "Or are you the man who's heart I watched break when you had to leave Simone behind...again?" That remark made Michael tremble, but Nikita moved on. "Or are you the man who was jealous of Gray, yet did what you could to save his life, because you knew I cared about him?" There were so many other examples that Nikita could have given, but she wanted a response...some kind of answer, so she asked him, point blank, "Who are you, Michael?"
He didn't respond. Couldn't...not for a long moment. Michael's thoughts were chaos, for Nikita's words had stirred up feelings he tried so hard to keep buried. Emotions that he did his damndest to convince himself didn't exist. But they were there, hovering in the air between them. Michael didn't want to set them free. To do so would only cause Nikita more pain. So Michael shifted in her arms so that he could look upon Nikita's beautiful face. The face of innocence. "Who do you think I am?" he countered, his voice barely a whisper.
Tears filled Nikita's eyes. She heard pain coloring Michael's voice, for she knew that he didn't have the answer. Yet it was such a simple question. So she gave him a simple answer...the truth. "You're the man I could fall in love with, Michael."
"I'm sorry," he replied, after a long moment of silence had echoed between them. There was nothing else he could say.
Nikita nodded. Her arms tightened about him, and a smile curved her lips as she whispered, "I know."
THE END
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