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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.
Michael couldn't remember ever feeling more exhausted. Walking without stumbling required a concentrated effort on his part, and when he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket, they blurred before his bloodshot eyes. The headache that seemed like a vise-grip around his head wasn't helping matters any. It was a result of the concussion Michael had sustained. His ribs were bruised as well but at least he was capable of movement. Michael had been ready to get down on his knees and beg Madeline not to make him stay in Medlab. He knew she had almost refused his request, and he had breathed a, silent, sigh of relief when she had finally relented. But only under the condition that Walter drive him home, and he was *off status* for the next three days He was also confined to his house. Madeline had warned Michael that she would be checking up on him, and he knew that she would.
"Check all you want, Madeline," Michael muttered to himself, as he fitted his key into the lock. He had no intention of getting out of bed for at least 24 hours. But even as he thought it, Michael knew it wasn't true. His thoughts were filled with Nikita, so sleep would be slow in coming. She had been injured in the blast that had bruised and battered him, suffering a broken wrist and a gash on her thigh. She was spending the night in Medlab, and Michael could feel sympathy for her. But he was glad, for he wanted her to rest.
Swinging open the front door, Michael stepped inside, already shrugging out of his coat and wincing as the movement jolted his bruised ribs. There was a bottle of pain pills, which Michael knew also contained a mild sedative, in his coat pocket. He had no intention of touching them, despite Madeline's insistence that he take them. And they both knew it. There was a coat rack in the corner, to the left of the doorway, and Michael dropped his coat on it, but as he went to turn back around he sensed a presence. Too late, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed behind his ear.
"Be a good boy, Michael, and I won't have to hurt you," drawled a feminine voice. "Turn around slowly and head for the bedroom."
"Who are you?" Michael asked, as he did as he was told and turned around. But he still couldn't see the woman's face, for she stayed behind him, close enough to make manuverability difficult for him. Especially with the gun pressed to the base of his skull.
The woman pushed Michael foward, guiding him down the hallway to the last door on the left. She knew the way as if familiar with the place. "Who I am is...unimportant...in the long run. But I'm someone who knows you better than you know yourself, Michael," she said softly. Her free hand shoved him over to the bed.
Michael was surprised to see that she had prepared for him. Attached to the head board was one part of a pair of handcuffs. He could guess what would happen next, so he saved her the trouble. "I suppose I should cuff myself to the bed," he said softly.
"Good guess," she countered, with a husky laugh. But she kept the gun pressed to Michael's head till she was certain he was securely restrained, then she motioned for him to relax. "Rest, Michael. I know that you're hurting."
"You know my name," he pointed out, even as he stretched out with two pillows to support his back. "What do I call you?"
She smiled at him, letting him see her at last. A tall woman, somewhat stocky, with black hair that just brushed her shoulders. "Call me...Watcher," she replied, then she smiled as surprise flickered across Michael's face. But a moment later it was gone as he pulled his mask firmly back into place. "That's right," she said, in answer to his unasked question. "Just like Eric."
Michael shook his head. "I don't know you."
"Of course not," she replied, moving to sit in a chair that faced him. "Section doesn't want you to know about me, Michael. You're different from the other operatives. Special to them."
"Them?" Michael echoed, as he shifted on the bed to find a more comfortable position. Since he was trapped, he saw no reason not to relax his guard. Or, at least, appear to do so.
Watcher smiled, well aware of what Michael must be thinking. She had been serious when she stated she knew him better than he knew himself. She watched his actions day in and day out. She was the only one who saw him as his true self. A man who was filled with pain and vulnerable. The man Michael would never let anyone else see. Not even Nikita. "Them...as in Operations and Madeline," she replied.
Michael was silent for a moment, contemplating what her confession meant. He had thought that Section trusted him, but apparently he was wrong. Locking eyes with Watcher, Michael asked, "Why are you here?"
"To help you," Watcher replied, readily enough. She watched Michael closely, almost able to see his mind awhir behind his silver-green gaze.
"Why?" Michael challenged, suspicion glimmering in his eyes. He trusted no one who offered to help him.
Watcher shook her head. She, better than anyone, understood his reluctance to trust her. She accepted it, and moved on. "I know how to help you, Michael," she said softly, rising from the chair and moving over to the bed. Watcher let her fingers tangle in his silky hair, then she bent her head and kissed him.
Michael allowed it, even kissed her back. He was being tested, even as he tested her, and they both knew it. She was as good at this game as he was. When her hand slid down his chest and brushed his crotch, Michael broke the kiss. "Enough," he said softly, but his tone was tempered with cold steel.
"Why?" It was Watcher's turn to ask the question. "Making love is just an act for you, Michael. Has been ever since Simone died. The first time...I mean." Her words were cruel and Watcher knew it. She saw Michael flinch, but his cool mask of detachment merely wavered, it didn't slip away. "You could seduce a nun if you wanted to," Watcher continued, letting her fingers trace the sensual curve of Michael's lips. But then she pulled away and sighed. "At least...that's what you tell yourself, isn't it?" Watcher returned to the chair and relaxed back into it. "You try so hard to convince yourself that making love to a mark, or a target, or seducing someone for the mission, doesn't matter. You're heart's not involved, just your body. And your body is simply another tool for Section's use. Right?"
"Is there a point to this conversation?" Michael interjected, refusing to let what he was feeling show. That each word Watcher spoke stabbed at him like a knife.
Leaning forward now, elbows resting on her knees, Watcher locked eyes with Michael. Then she addressed his question. "Point being...you've almost convinced yourself that you don't have a soul. And that your heart is cold and dead...and filled with shadows. But that's not true, Michael," Watcher whispered. She was impressed with his inner strength. She knew she was pushing all the right buttons, and bringing his nightmares into the harsh light of day where he was forced to face them, but Michael didn't allow one flicker of emotion to cross his face. Madeline had taught him well. Perhaps too well. Watcher let sadness fill her eyes as she continued. "But your heart didn't die with Simone, Michael," she said soflty. "You still feel. I can see it in your eyes...when I watch you. It's there everytime you think about Nikita."
Michael felt his body jerk in reaction to Watcher's words, but he recovered and forced himself to relax. "This is another test," he said, coolly.
"Perhaps," Watcher allowed, a smile curving her lips. "But Section didn't send me, Michael. They would be very unhappy if they knew I was here. If they knew what I have for you."
"Then why do it?" Michael countered, his eyes searching Watchers, gauging the truth of her words. Seeking hidden meaning, but finding none. He could not fathom why she was there. What she wanted from him.
As if reading his mind, Watcher commented, "I don't want anything from you, Michael." She smiled and shook her head. "You never let your guard down, do you? Never trust anyone. But you can trust me...and Nikita."
Michael didn't react, other than to blink. "I don't even trust myself," he whispered, stating a simple truth. If Section had taught him anything, it was not to believe in anything...or anyone.
"I have something to show you, Michael," Watcher said, as she rose from the chair and walked over to the television on the dresser. She popped a video tape into the VRC below it and hit the play button. "Watch closely," she advised, and she did the same. Only it was Michael she watched, and a smile curved her lips at the look on his face as he saw Nikita appear on the screen.
************
Nikita was in her apartment, sitting at her kitchen table. Her hair was piled on top of her head and Michael could tell that she was coloring it. A smile quirked his lips. Her beautiful, blond, tresses weren't completely natural. But he soon forgot about that as he listened. Nikita was typing at her laptop and talking out loud to herself. It didn't take Michael long to realize that she was keeping a journal.
"Another lie from Michael today," Nikita said slowly, typing the words as she went along. "Course, he could write this one off as mission related, but when doesn't he." She sighed. "I sense that he wants to be honest with me...but then I can't help but get angry that he doesn't. He always hides behind the lie. MEN!" Nikita huffed to herself, then giggled. Then continued typing. "I want to hate him," she said softly. "In my head, sometimes I do. But in my heart....I can't. I know that he watches over me...protects me. And why would he do that, if he didn't care? I know he's capable of love...I saw him with Simone. I would give my right arm to have him look at me the way he did his wife, before she died."
"Enough!" Michael hissed, eyes glaring at Watcher.
She hit the pause button and smiled at him. "I don't think so. Trust me, Michael. You want to here this. You can do so willingly, or I can bind your other wrist and gag you." Watcher's eyes narrowed and grew cold, letting him know that she was serious.
Michael bit back another protest and nodded. A part of him wanted to hear more. "Fine," he said as he made it a point to stare at the TV screen.
"Good boy," Watcher drawled, then she hit the play button.
Nikita was still typing. "I guess what bothers me most about Michael is not knowing what's real. When is he doing the *job* and when is he being himself. Everytime I think I see a glimpse of the *real* Michael, turns out to be another manipulation, or another mission. Who is he?" Nikita stopped typing to smack the table top in frustration. Then she took a deep breath and calmed herself. She resumed her discourse. "I wish I didn't feel this way, but how can I not. Michael is beautiful..and sensual. Dammit...he's the sexiest, most desirable, man I've ever met. Sometimes I wonder if he knows that. If it's just another part of his training. But...somehow...I doubt it. You can't learn to be sensual like that....you either got it...or you don't. I just kinda wish he didn't have it, then I wouldn't be so attracted to him." Nikita paused to sigh again. "Course...it's not just his looks and charm that make me want him. It's his strength...and I don't mean just physical strength...." A smile curved Nikita's lips as she wandered off into a tangent. "Course....he has the most awesome butt. And those arms and legs and shoulders.." She released a happy sigh. "And, someday, I'm going to tangle my finger in that gorgeous hair and see if it's as soft as it looks."
Watcher hid a smile as she glanced over at Michael, but his face was impassive as he listened. She would have given anything to know his thoughts at this moment. But Michael would not betray anything, so Watcher returned her attention to the screen.
Nikita had refocused her thoughts back to her main thread, and a frown line appeared in her forehead. "I wonder if he knows everything about me. Like..what color underwear I'm wearing at any given day. Or....maybe my panty size. Whether or not I use pads or tampons." She hissed a little, angry at the thought. "It wouldn't surprise me. To Michael I'm an open book, yet he reveals nothing to me. I know about Simone...but that's the only thing he offered. Oh..and that he likes coffee. Big deal. Who doesn't. All things considered, I would hazzard a guess that even though he always wears black, that's NOT his favorite color." Nikita left off typing to prop her chin on one hand and whisper, "I wonder what his favorite color is?" But then she dissolved the thought and continued. "I want to know what he thinks about me. Am I just his material? And whose *material* is Michael? Operations? Madeline? Hmmmmm...I've always wondered about Madeline. She taught me how to use my...assets. Wonder if she gave Michael private lessons on how to use his."
Michael gasped at Nikita's words, then swallowed hard and composed himself when he felt Watcher's eyes fall upon him. He stared back with a blank look, then focused on Nikita.
"I wonder if Michael cares about me?" she was saying. "It would help to know. Just once I would like to be on even footing with him. To be certain where the lies ended and the truth began. He knows me inside and out, knows my feelings for him. But...I wonder if he knows how easily I could fall in love with him?"
It was here that Watcher stopped the tape, eyes going to Michael's face and seeing disappointment mingling with shock. "How do you feel about Nikita, Michael?" Watcher queried. She didn't expect and answer, nor did she receive one.
Michael gave her a stony glare then asked, "Are you finished?"
"Not quite," Watcher replied, as she hit the eject button. "One more tape." She put it in then hit play. She laughed out loud at the look on Michael's face as he watched the TV screen.
The images of Operations and Madeline appeared. They weren't talking about a mission. or other Section business. In fact, they weren't in Section at all. Nor were they talking. They were in bed, clasped in each others arms, making love.
Michael watched for a minute, then turned his head away. Until he felt strong fingers in his hair, forcing him to face the screen. Then Watcher's lips were at his ear.
"Look at them, Michael," she whispered. "Taking for themselves what they would deny you...and Nikita."
"Why show me this?" Michael demanded.
Watcher release d him, then stopped the tape. But she left it in the VCR. The Nikita tape she left on the dresser. "The tapes are yours," She said softly, reaching into a vest pocket and removing a syringe. But she palmed it so that Michael wouldn't see it.
Michael's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he watched Watcher near the bed. "What do I do with them?" he challenged.
"That's up to you," she replied, smiling. Then she moved in a blur. One hand curling in Michael's hair to pull his head back and expose his neck, the other stabbing the needle into his skin. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that the drug was slow in taking effect.
"Who...do you...work for?"Michael managed to gasp out, as darkness flooded over him.
Watcher brushed a hand over his cheek and whispered, "Section...of course."
But Michael knew it wasn't as simple as that. If she was watching Operations and Madeline, then she was connected high up. But that was his last thought, for darkness claimed him.
************
When Michael woke up it was to discover that he was no longer cuffed to the bed. All traces of Watcher's presence had been removed, except for the tapes. They were lying on the dresser. As Michael picked them up he replayed in his mind his last conversation with Watcher. That it was up to him what he did with the tapes, and that she worked for Section. Michael still wanted to know who for. Her clearance was high to be *watching* Operations and Madeline.
But that thought vanished for the time being. Michael collected the tapes, plus some blanks and headed out of the house. He had some, personal, business to take care of. But he made certain he had his cell phone with him, in case Madeline called to check up on him . Two hours later, Michael could be spotted driving around seperate ends of town. He dropped off four, padded, envelopes into four, seperate, mailboxes. That done, he returned home and jumped into the shower. He had just slid into bed when the phone rang. It was Madeline. After assuring her that he was fine, Michael closed his eyes and slept. And, for the first time in years, his dreams were silenced.
*************
Twenty-four hours passed before Michael returned to Section. He was still sore but feeling fully functional. Yet, he was preoccupied and unaware that it showed. Unaware, until after the meeting he had with Operations and Madeline, discussing the latest set of recruits set for graduation, as it were. After the meeting, Operations strolled off, but Madeline asked Michael to remain.
"How are you feeling?" she inquired, as she moved to sit behind her desk.
"Fine," Michael replied, a sudden image of her lock in Operation's arm shimmered in his head and he couldn't help but smile. Hot passion lay beneath Madeline's cool facade. Michael had always known it, but it was interesting to have...proof.
Madeline saw the smile and frowned. Michael was different and it worried her. She knew it was unrelated to Nikita, for he hadn't even seen her yet since returning to Section. Although he had inquired after her health. Nikita was staying in Medlab for another day, to rest. Otherwise, she was fine. But off, active, field status till her ankle mended. "Michael....is there anything you want to talk about?" Madeline invited. Not that he ever had in the past, but she figured it was worth a try.
Michael shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about, Madeline," he said softly, locking eyes with her so that she would see that he was telling the truth. At least, the truth he wanted her to see. But then Michael's mind wandered again, thinking of Nikita. Of the things she had said about him for her journal. It was those memories that had kept him from Medlab. He wasn't prepared to face her yet. "Is that all?" Michael inquired, rising from his chair. "I have reports to write.
"I want you to go to Medlab, Michael," Madeline said, rising to her feet as well to cut him off. She reached out with one hand and tucked a soft, cinnamon, curl behind his ear. "You took a good hit the other day, and I want to be sure you're all right."
"I have a hard head," Michael countered, dead pan. "I'm fine, Madeline," he insisted. He didn't realize that he was not focusing on her as he usually would. That she could see the reflection of his chaotic thoughts in his eyes, something that he would normally never allow to happen.
Madeline sighed. "Go to Medlab, Michael," she ordered. She watched him nod then stride from the room. Sinking down into the chair that Michael had vacated, Madeline laid her head back and closed her eyes. Maybe she should go to Medlab too, she mused. For one, humdinger, of a headache was making itself felt. Madeline heaved another sigh. Between Michael and Nikita, she was going to go permanently gray in record time.
*************
Michael headed down the corridor but didn't turn left to head to Medlab. Instead he headed for the exit. A moment later he was in his car and heading for the heart of town. That he was blowing off Madeline's orders was something he would deal with later. Right now, he had something very important to take care of.
Three hours later, Michael entered the bar. It was a jazz club and the band was playing in the corner. Michael stood still, eyes tracking the club till he found who he was looking for. Striding over to a table in the back, Michael sat down without an invitation.
Watcher smiled at him, not really surprised to see him, but curious. "How did you find me, Michael?" she queried, as she motioned to a passing waitress to bring an extra glass. A bottle of wine rested on the table, half empty.
"I have my...resources," Michael drawled. His eyes locked on her face. "I want to know who you work for," he said, his tone of voice making it clear that it was a demand, not a request.
"How much is it worth to you to know?" Watcher countered. She accepted a glass from the waitress then poured it full with wine.
Michael accepted it, took a sip, then said," You'd be surprised."
Watcher laughed softly, then drained her glass. She rose to her feet, reaching for her coat as she watched Michael down half the contents of his glass. He swallowed smoothly and Watcher smiled to herself as she watched the muscles in his strong throat contract. "Ready?" she queried, when he had set the glass down.
"Ready," Michael confirmed, offering a genuine smile. He helped Watcher slip her coat on, then followed her out of the bar.
*************
"I wonder if you know how beautiful you really are, Michael," Watcher commented from the bed, where she lay on her side, naked beneath the cotton sheet. She smiled as she watched him pull a tutleneck over his head and smooth it down over his leanly, muscled chest. Her fingertips tingled as she remembered how hard those muscles were beneath the smooth skin.
Michael turned to face her as he sat down in a nearby chair to lace on his boots. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he quoted, blithely. His physical appearance had never been of interest to Michael. He never fussed over it. A shower and clean clothes daily were all he required. His hair was his only irritation. Michael wanted a buzz cut, but Madeline refused to allow it.
Watcher sighed. "You should look at yourself through the eyes of others sometime, Michael. You might be surprised by what they see."
"I know what they see," Michael shot back, rising to his feet again and searcing for his keys. "I have no illusions about myself."
"Maybe not illusions," Watcher allowed. "But, certainly, delusions." She sat up in bed, drawing the sheet with her as Michael reached for his coat. In a moment he would leave and she knew she would never see him again. Neither in the flesh, nor on tape. Her job was done and she would soon disappear. "Was it worth it?" Watcher questioned, when Michael reached for the door knob. Their passionate encounter had taken place in a cheap motel, but there had been nothing tawdry about it. At least, she didn't think so.
Michael turned to smile at the woman on the bed. "I think so," he whispered.
Watcher sighed as her eyes roamed over him one, last, time. Remember the strength of his hands, yet gentle caresses. The passion in his kisses, even though the passion wasn't for her. "Somehow, I think I got the better end of the deal," she confessed. When he said nothing Watcher remarked. "So...now you know that I work directly under George. Now what?"
"Nothing," Michael replied. He made to go again, but paused. "Will you answer me one more question?"
"Sure," Watcher replied. She had nothing to lose.
Michael locked eyes with her then said," What's your name?"
Watcher was surprised, but answered. "Greer."
"It was nice meeting you, Greer," Michael said politely, and with extreme sincerity. Only then did he turn the doorknob and quietly leave the room.
*************
When Michael returned to Section he was met cornered by Madeline. She followed him into his office and closed the door. "You didn't report to Medlab as ordered, Michael," she said, her eyes shimmering with anger at having been disobeyed.
"I'm sorry," Michael replied, completely at ease. He held her intense gaze as he explained. "I got a call from a contact. Said it was important, so I ran out. Turned out to be a dead end."
"I see," Madeline replied, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Yet she found no reason not to believe him. Michael had many contacts which had often given Section useful information, so he was allowed a certain leeway to that end. "I still want you in Medlab," Madeline declared, even as she was turning towards the door. "After the briefing. It starts in ten minutes."
Michael nodded. "Of course." When Madeline had gone, Michael allowed a smile to curve his lips, then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
*************
When he entered the conference room, Michael was surprised to see Nikita there, crutched propped up next to her chair. But he was also pleased. Gliding over to her and stopping behind her chair, Michael lifted one hand to hold her golden hair to one side so he could whisper in her ear, "My favorite color is....blue." With that he turned and made for the chair at the head of the table.
Nikita nearly choked in surprise at Michael's pronouncement. She remembered back to the day she had written in her journal, wondering...outloud...what his favorite color might be. Also musing that he seemed to know everything about her. Eyes narrowing with suspicion, yet knowing there was no way he could know about the journal, Nikita turned her head to glare at Michael. But he simply offered her a beatific smile. Just as Nikita was about to reach for her crutches, Operations and Madeline entered the room and the briefing began. Nikita studied Michael, seeing that he was totally focused on what Operations was saying. Typical. But then she let a smile curve her own lips as she whispered. "That's okay, Michael. Whatever game it is your playing now...I'm ready for it. And for you."
THE END
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