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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 stood beside the fountain in the park, feeding bread crumbs to the pidgeons. Nearby two little boys were kicking a ball around, and Nikita paused to smile at them. But then she lifted her eyes to search the park once more. There was no sign of their mark. So she looked over to where Michael was sitting on a park bench, working on a lap top computer and looking like a young executive on lunch break. When he glanced up, she shook her head. A moment later he whispered, "Abort."
They all knew that the mark wasn't gonna show, so they packed up to head back to Section. Michael closed up the laptop and slid it into it's zipup case. He was unaware of a woman from across the park with a camera and a telephoto lens, snapping away as he rose to his feet then headed off.
Whitney Hughes stood in her darkened bathroom and stared at the pictures that were forming in the trays of solution. The face that appeared took her breath away. The man from the park. "Gotcha..." Whitney breathed as she used tongs to lift the photo and held it up so that she could see it better. "I don't know who you are, mister. But, lordy, you are beautiful. And you can bet I'm gonna find out."
Nikita was was on the east side of the park, jogging along the path, when she spotted their mark. "Got her," she said, knowing that Michael would hear her on his link.
"Team two move in," Michael said softly. He had spotted the woman as well and was about to move towards her when he found his way blocked by a dark-haired woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She had short hair and was wearing a baseball cap turned backwards. "Excuse me," Michael said, trying to side-step around her.
She side-stepped with him and held out a business card. "My name is Whitney Hughes. I'm a freelance photographer." Whitney offered a smile as she stared into his gorgeous green eyes. "And you are?" She questioned.
Michael pinned her with a stony glare as he replied, "Busy."
"I won't keep you," Whitney countered, not caring that his gaze threatened to freeze her to the spot. He was so damn gorgeous that she felt only warmth in his presence. The man was sensuality personified. From his long, silky hair, to the black attire that he wore. Black pants and sweater. Black boots and a long, black coat. Black leather gloves as well. He was exotic and mysterious at the same time. And Whitney detected an accent, even after only one word. "I have an offer to make you," she said.
"I'm not interested," Michael shot back. He attempted to side-step her once more and failed. He then whispered, "Return to base." He heard Nikita ask 'what's wrong?' "Nothing," Michael replied, watching Whitney Hughes frown at him. "Go in. I'll be there soon."
Whitney heard him talking and her eyes narrowed, for it was obvious that he wasn't addressing her. "Who are you talking to?" she asked but knew, by the look in his eyes that he wouldn't answer her, so she shook her head. "Never mind. Back to my offer. I want you to model for me. I have connections in New York and you could make a fortune. Trust me."
Michael didn't respond to her statement. Instead he took Whitney Hughes by the arm and said, "Come with me."
When Michael walked into the conference room he was over an hour late an Ops was furious. He ddin't give Michael a chance to even offer an explanation. Stepping right into Michael's face he ordered, "Madeline's office. NOW!"
Michael nodded, then watched Operations stride away. He then turned to face NIkita, who had been watching the exchange between the two men. He saw compassion in her blue eyes and found it difficult to face. "Nikita, can I come to your apartment later?" he asked.
"What?" Nikita didn't even bother to hide her surprise.
"I need to talk to you," Michael whispered, his eyes darting sideways, feeling eyes upon them. Someone was always watching. "Please," he beseeched. "It's important."
Nikita was still stunned by the request, but she found herself nodding. "All right. What time?"
Michael was already turning away. Operations would not be patient. "Soon," he said. And then he was gone.
Operations was not patient. He turned on Michael the moment the young man entered the office. "Why were you late?" he demanded, his pale eyes, glittering.
"I thought I saw someone I recognized," Michael replied, his voice whisper soft. He stood before Ops, unflinching.
"Who?" Ops did not believe Michael, not for one minute.
Michael shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I was wrong." He offered a half-smile. "I didn't want our mission to be compromised, so I followed procedure." He knew that Operations couldn't fault him for that.
Madeline decided to intervene at this point. "Who did you think you saw, Michael?" she prompted, unwilling to drop that particular question. She watched him carefully, searching for signs that would reveal what he was thinking. But Michael was careful to reveal nothing. Always that cool facade. His face a beautiful mask that betrayed no expression.
"Vossler," he replied. Michael was prepared for this. Had known it would be coming. Madeline was very thorough. And he wasn't telling a lie. Not completely. He had seen Vossler earlier in the week, but had chosen not to mention it to anyone. Almost as if he had known he would need to use him now. But even as the thought occurred, Michael shrugged it off as nonsense. He had simply gotten lucky.
Ops was intrigued. "Vossler is here?" he questioned, sharply.
MIchael shook his head. "I'm not sure. Maybe. I couldn't make a definitive ID on him."
"If he's here, then I want him found," Operations said slowly, in a carefully measured tone of voice that brooked no argument. "Consider that your next assignment, Michael."
"Of course," Michael replied, preparing to leave the room But he found himself halted, by Operation's fingers gripping his forearm.
The older man pulled Michael around to face him, then locked eyes with the young operative. "If you're lying to me, Michael....you will be sorry!" he hissed.
Michael didn't doubt that for a minute. "I know," he replied, and his eyes glittered like green ice. There was no way in hell that he was going to back down. So there was a long moment of silence, then Michael's arm was released. He watched Operations stalk out of the room, then he turned to Madeline. Michael had felt her eyes watching him. "Did you want to say something?" he asked, inviting her to put in her two cents worth.
Madeline smiled as she moved to stand before him. "Be careful," she said, then she lifted on hand to press her palm against Michael's face. Just for a moment.
Then she turned and climbed the stairs to the second level.
"I will," Michael whispered, as he watched her. Then he followed in Operation's wake.
Nikita was making popcorn when the doorbell rang. She expected that it would be Michael and wasn't disappointed to find him standing there. But she was surprised to discover that he wasn't alone. With him was a dark-haired woman, who looked more than a little frightened. "Come in," Nikita invited, reaching out to take the woman by the arm. Since Michael seemed disinclined to do so, Nikita made introductions.
Whitney found herself liking the beautiful blond, as they shook hands. "Sorry to intrude, uninvited," she said, hanging on to her quirky sense of humor. "But Michael insisted." As she spoke, Whitney glanced over at the gorgeous young man.
"Michael can be...pushy," Nikita allowed. She motioned to the kitchen and invited Whitney to help herself to popcorn and a cool drink. "I need to talk to Michael for a minute," Nikita explained, as she took him by the arm and practically dragged him up the stairs and into her bedroom. "What is going on here?" Nikita demanded, the moment they were out of earshot.
Michael didn't respond for a minute. He moved to the window and looked out, oblivious to the darkness and shadows. His mind was filled with chaos for he was already beginning to have doubts about his intentions. He didn't know how to do this. To trust his instincts, and Nikita. "I've been compromised by Whitney," Michael blurted out. And he was a little surprised at himself for doing so.
Nikita was by his side in an instant. "What do you mean?" she countered, lifting one hand to cup Michael's chin so that he would have to look at her.
"She's a photographer and she took of me, yesterday and today...in the park," Michael explained even as he backed away from Nikita's touch.
"Why was she taking pictures of you?" Nikita prompted. She was a little bit hurt that Michael had pulled away from her, but not really surprised. He always seemed to prefer to do the touching.
Michael found the question a difficult one to answer, for he wasn't sure he believed Whitney's explanation of her wanting him to model for her. Regardless of the fact that she had stuck to the same story even after he had called her on it at least a dozen times. "She says that she wanted me to..."
Nikita frowned. "To what?" she challenged, surprised to see Michael fidgeting. "To model for her," MIchael spit out, his eyes lifting to lock with Nikita's. He waited for her to laugh, or something, but she didn't.
"What's wrong with that?" Nikita countered, not finding it in the least bit odd that Whitney would find Michael beautiful. What woman wouldn't? Certainly she wasn't immune to his masculine charms. Inspite of her good intentions.
Mikey glared at Nikita. She knew what was wrong. "You know the rules, Nikita. She's rather...pushy...and wouldn't just walk away. You know how closely we're watched."
Nikita nodded. She knew all too well. "Why bring her here, Michael?"
"Because I need you to convince her to disappear. I'll set her up anywhere she likes." Michael locked eyes with Nikita, silently asking for her help.
"Why not take her in to Section?" Nikita countered, her own eyes cold. That was the proper procedure in this situation and Michael knew it. So why he was asking for her help to break Section code made Nikita suspicious.
Michael could guess what Nikita was thinking. That this was another setup of some sort...or a test. He couldn't blame her. Nor could he think of anyway to convince her that it wasn't. So he simply told the truth, not expecting her to believe him. "I don't want Whitney to be punished for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Nikita. Will you help me?"
Nikita was surprised by Michael's words, and she found herself believing him. He was holding her gaze and his eyes shimmered. So she nodded. "All right. I'll help you, Michael." And so saying, she heading out of the room. Running lightly down the stairs, Nikita discovered Whitney studying her sunglass collection while munching on a handful of popcorn. "Sorry we were gone so long," Nikita apologized.
"That's all right," Whitney told her, as her eyes moved beyond Nikita to Michael, who was gliding down the stairs behind the blond. Whitney was entranced by his sensual grace.
"Can we talk?" Nikita questioned, tapping Whitney's shoulder to refocus the other woman's attention.
Whitney blinked, then nodded, as Nikita's question penetrated the fog that seemed to surround her brain whenever she was in Michael's presence. It was that she was besotted by him it was simply that he fascinated her...in a purely artistic sense. For Whitney, art was physical, emotional and sensory. Michael was a living, breathing, work of art. Flesh, blood, heart and soul and she was entranced. But she controlled herself long enough to ask, "What do you want to talk about, Nikita?"
That was a loaded question, Nikita thought to herself as she glanced over at Michael. But she put a smile on her face and said, "You're future."
Michael felt the need to interject at that moment. "I have an errand to run," he told them. Arrangements that needed to be made for Whitney's disappearance.
"I'll be back in an hour." With that announcement, Michael pratically ran to the door and was gone.
Whitney frowned at Nikita. "What about my future?" she inquired, curiously. A little voice in her head screamed at her that she should be frightened yet, somehow, she was utterly calm.
"I'm afraid that you've become caught in the middle of a difficult situation," Nikita replied. Then she grimaced because it was such a lame explanation.
"Am I in trouble?" Whitney asked, all sense of humor disappearing in that moment. She could see that Nikita was troubled.
Nikita nodded. "You are, if you stay here," she said bluntly. "When you took pictures of Michael and became...interested...in him, it compromised his position."
Whitney was thoughtful for a moment then asked, "Are you two with the government?"
"Kind of," Nikita allowed. "I can't tell you anything more, not about us, or what we do, or the reason why you have to leave. Just trust me that it's best if you go. There are very powerful people who could make your life miserable..if they chose to do so."
"Big brother?" Whitney guessed.
Nikita nodded. "Close enough," she allowed. Actually, it was too close for comfort. A part of Nikita was impressed with the other woman's calm. "You don't seem all that upset," she commented.
Whitney shrugged and her smile resurfaced. "I'm scared as hell," she admitted.
"But the idea of moving doesn't worry me much. I've never stayed in one place for longer than a year. I think it's the gypsy blood in me. I'm happiest moving around."
"I'm talking about leaving the country," Nikita replied, letting her expression show that this was still very serious. Yet feeling relieved that Whitney was taking this so well. Michael could have arranged all of this withoug her help, Nikita realized. Then she wondered if maybe there wasn't a specific reason why he had come to her after all. The thought made her angry.
"You like Michael," Whitney said, out of the blue. She had been watching Nikita closely and had seen the way that the beautiful blond had looked at Michael when she had first answered the door. Before she had realized that Whitney was standing there.
Nikita was surprised by the question. "Michael is...a friend."
Whitney heard the denial and almost laughed, so she changed her tactics. She wanted to know more about him and Nikita. "He's very beautiful. I've photographed alot of men, but Michael is more sensual and erotic than anyone I've ever known."
"He's beautiful," Nikita allowed. "But...cold."
"Cold?" Whitney nearly shouted the word. "Are you serious?" she countered, staring at Nikita in disbelief. "How can you say that?"
Nikita suddenly found herself on the defensive. "Because it's true," she shot back. "He's like a damn machine. No emotions. Empty inside." That she was spilling all of this to a complete stranger was even more of a surprise to Nikita, yet it was a relief as well.
Whitney sighed, then reached out to take Nikita's hand. "I think that you've looked at Michael but haven't yet seen him," she countered, softly. "He's warm and sensual...and tortured." Whitney felt tears shimmer in her eyes as she spoke. In time that she had spent with Michael before coming to Nikita's, she had looked into his soul and seen the darkness that surrounded.him. He couldn't hide it from her, for she saw the world through the eyes of an artist, so she looked deeper than the surface and had learned to see what others tried so hard to hide. Or to ignore, as was the case with Nikita. She saw only what Michael wanted her to see, because it hurt her too much to look deeper. "Nikita, Michael is wounded," she said, seeing a flicker of reaction in the other woman's eyes. "His heart and soul are bleeding."
"That's very...poetic..of you, Whitney," Nikita countered, sarcasm oozing from her tone. Then she felt guilty and tried to make ammends, of a sort. "So...you can see all of this after knowing Michael for...what? All of ten hours or so? Not even."
"I know what I see," Whitney replied, refusing to let Nikita rile her. "You could see it too, if you looked for it. But you have to be willing to look, Nikita, for Michael tries very hard to hide it from you especially."
Nikita laughed softly, doubting what Whitney was telling her. "Now why would he do that?" she challenged.
Whitney realized that Nikita was more emotionally involved with Michael than she was willing to admit. Nikita was tormented as well, but she still knew how to feel and to open herself up to her heart. "Michael loves you," Whitney said softly.
"Not a chance," Nikita hissed, the moment she was able to form words, for Whitney's declaration had hit her like a kick in the gut. It wasn't possible, Nikita reminded herself. Michael couldn't love her.
Michael returned to Nikita's in just under an hour and was relieved when Whitney jumped up to greet him with the news that she was ready, and willing, to leave.
She understood that she wouldn't be able to return to her apartment, and that she would have to take on a new identity. Nikita had explained all of that to her. Michael looked over at the beautiful blond and smiled. He was grateful to her.
"So...when do I go?" Whitney asked. "And where am I going?"
"Soon," Michael replied, refocusing his attention back to Whitney. "I know someone in Athens who will help get you situated. You can stay there if you like, or move somewhere else. It's best if Nikita and I don't know where you are."
Whitney nodded. Nikita had explained that as well. She reached out and took Michael's hand to pull him off to a private corner. "I want to talk to you before I go," she said.
Michael nodded. He owed her that much.
Nikita watched them move off and was almost relieved. She wanted a moment alone with her thoughts. To think about the things that Whitney had told her about Michael. The photographs that Whitney had taken of him were spread out on the coffee table. Michael had confiscated them and the negatives from Whitney's apartment before bringing her here, and the other woman had wanted Nikita to look at them. To *see* them... to *see* Michael through Whitney's eyes.
Michael was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. And in the photographs, Nikita saw a little of what Whitney had spoken of. She saw shadows in his eyes, the reflection of the pain that was deep in his heart and soul. Often Nikita had seen a shimmer of it in Michael's eyes in the past, but then he would always look away from her. Or, worse, walk away. And now, Nikita was beginning to understand why, and a smile curved her lips as she reached out to gather the photographs together. All but one, which she rolled up and stuck in the pocket of Whitney's coat.
"What is it?" Michael asked as he and Whitney moved into the corner of the room. "We have to go soon," he reminded her.
Whitney nodded. "I know." But she was determined to try and give Michael a *push* in Nikita's direction before she left. Her intuition told her that they belonged together. That whatever there world was like, and she sensed that it was a dark place, that Michael and Nikita were what each other needed to survive. "I'm going to be blunt, Michael, and I want you to give me a chance to have my say."
He nodded. "Go on." A part of him was curious.
"I know that you're wounded inside...bleeding. And I also know that you love Nikita." Whitney paused as she saw Michael start at her words. She pressed her fingertips to his sensual lips when she saw him about to protest. "Let me finsish." She felt him nod and pulled her hand back. "You have to believe in yourself, Michael. I know that you think that you're protecting Nikita by pushing her away from you. But you're not. All you're doing is hurting both of you. She loves you too, and she can help you to heal. Love is powerful medicine, Michael."
"I don't know how to love anymore," he whispered, as Whitney paused for breath.
She felt tears fill her eyes at the pain in his voice, and she saw unshed tears shimmer in his green gaze. "Let Nikita teach you," Whitney entreatied. "You remember how to feel, Michael. All you have to do is focus on those feelings. Don't be afraid of them, or of Nikita."
Michael locked eyes with Whitney, his eyes cold now as he drew his protective shield around himself. "I'm not afraid," he told her.
"Yes you are," Whitney shot back, her own eyes flashing with compassion. "You're afraid of living, Michael."
"How could you know that?" he countered, reeling from the force of her words, for they had struck him like a sledgehammer. Whitney had seen the truth that he had tried so hard to deny...even to himself.
She stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss agaist his cheek. "Because I've learned to see beyond the illusion that we all try to present to the world. I focus on what's really there. Beauty isn't only skin-deep, Michael."
He nodded. "I know that. Nikita is beautiful, and she has a beautiful soul."
"So do you," Whitney replied, as she pressed one hand to Michael's chest, over his heart. "You've just gotta look past the pain."
"We have to go," Michael shot back, unwilling to hear anymore. He turned away and strode over to Nikita. "Thank you for your help," he said softly.
She smiled at him, her eyes warm as she looked deep into his green gaze. And she saw the wall that Michael had so carefully built. But Nikita also saw a few cracks, and she suddenly realized that she was the one who had put them there.
All she had to do now was be patient, and someday that wall would come tumbling down. Nikita glanced over Michael's shoulder, to see Whitney smiling at her. And she knew that it would be worth the wait. "Goodbye, Whitney," Nikita said, stepping around Michael now, to hand the other woman her coat, then give her a hug. With her lips pressed to Whitney's ear she whispered, "I put one of the pictures in your pocket."
"Thank you," Whitney whispered back, pleased by Nikita's gesture. Not that she would need the picture to remember Michael by, for his image was imprinted on her heart. She pulled away and turned to Michael to announce, "I'm ready."
He opened the door and ushered her out, then closed it behind him softly. But even as they walked away, Michael could feel the heat of Nikita's gaze burn into him.
The mission had been a success and it was still fairly early. Nikita was happy that the debriefing was over, and she was thrilled when she spotted Michael walking towards her down the corridor. She stopped walking and waited for him to reach her. "Busy tonight?" Nikita offered in greeting.
Michael frowned. "I have a report to type," he replied, wondering what she was up too. He didn't trust the glint in her beautiful eyes.
"How long will it take?" Nikita countered.
"Why?" Michael challenged.
Nikita grinned at him. "I thought we could catch a movie together then grab a bite to eat. You're choice on the movie, my pick for the grub."
Michael studied her for a long moment, then surprised himself. "I'd like that," he conceeded.
"Great." Nikita was careful not to be over enthusiastic. She didn't want to scare Michael off. "So...what movie shall we see?" she inquired, as she looped her arm through his.
"Men In Black," Michael deadpanned, then he waited for Nikita's reaction. She burst into laughter the moment she realized that he was serious. "Men In Black it is," she replied, tugging on his arm. "Come on. I don't want to be late. We'll miss the previews."
Michael hesitated, trying to think of a reason why he shouldn't go. He was certain there were at least a dozen of them, but he found that he didn't care.
He wanted to spend the evening with Nikita so he allowed her to pull him away.
Neither Michael nor Nikita noticed the two figures watching them from the second level. Madeline smiled at Operations. "I win the bet. Michael has fallen in love with Nikita."
Operation's sighed. "I guess there's no accounting for taste." Even though, on occasion, he had reason to admire Nikita, he still didn't like her...and he never would. "I just hope you're right about the rest of the scenario. Michael is valuable to Section."
"And to you," Madeline countered, and she saw her words hit home. "You owe me dinner," she said, letting him...partially...off the hook.
"The usual place?" Operations asked. He was willing to pay up.
Madeline nodded. "The usual," she replied, as his arm slipped around her waist. Together, they headed down the corridor, unmindful of another pair of eyes that was watching them.
From where he lurked in the shadows, Petrosian smiled.
THE END
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