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"Walter...have you seen Michael?" Nikita asked the question as she breezed into the old man's space. She was on a personal mission now, to help Michael deal with his pain. The pain she had seen glowing in his eyes as he had carried the body of the little boy to the van. The dead body.
Nikita had been stunned when Michael had run back into the day care center when one of the teachers reported that Scotty was missing. Section had gone there to confiscate the girl friend of an IRA terrorist. But they had been too late. Paddy McShea had planted a bomb as a message to Section One. It was their fault Scotty had died. Nikita believed it, and she knew that Michael felt the same way. This time. She had seen the truth etched in his face. The cold mask had shattered, leaving behind pain and guilt.
Michael hadn't spoken on the journey back. He had let Nikita take the boy and return him to the teacher, then she had tried to tend to his wounds, for the explosion had gone off while Michael was still in the building. He hadn't found Scotty in time, but somehow had managed to survive himself. The look on Michael's face as he had carried the boy out of the ruins had frightened Nikita. It was the same look he had been wearing when she had killed his friend Rene. Nikita had done so to save Michael's life, only to realize that he had wanted to die.
But Michael had shut Nikita out on their return to Section, then he had glided off to be debriefed. She had been forced to do the same and had only now finished. First place Nikita had gone was Michael's office, but he wasn't there. So now she came to Walter. He knew everything.
Walter sighed, knowing the story behind the mission. "I think he went home, sugar," he stated. Walter's heart bled for Michael, and for Nikita. He knew the pain she was feeling, but he understood Michael's pain as well, for Walter was the only one who knew Michael's secret, but he sensed that Nikita might have guessed it by now.
"Do you know where he lives?" Nikita prompted, then she sighed when Walter shook his head. "I don't suppose Madeline would tell me."
"Not a chance," Walter drawled. "I wish I could help you, Sugar. And Michael."
Nikita nodded, then she leaned forward to buss Walter's weathered cheek. "You're a good friend," she praised him. Nikita made to turn and leave, but paused to ask, "Did Michael have a son?"
Walter caught his breath and locked eyes with Nikita. "I...uh...I'm not sure what you're asking me, sugar," he countered, his voice shaky.
"During the War, Dominic read Michael's file to me," Nikita explained, even though she was certain Walter already knew the facts. But she kept her tone light and a smile on her face as she continued. "He said that Michael and Simone had a son, but that he died. And Michael blamed Section for his death. But I called Michael on it once, and he said that Simone was never pregnant."
"I guess that answers your question," Walter hedged.
Nikita shook her head, her smile becoming rueful. "It took me a while, but I finally realized that it was just Michael's way of diverting my attention from what might the truth. He said, specifically, that Simone wasn't pregnant. Not that HE didn't have a son." Nikita reached out and took Walter's hands, her gaze searching deep into his soul. "I want to help Michael," she whispered. "I think he needs me."
Walter opened his mouth to deny her words, but he couldn't. It would have been a lie. "Yeah....he had a son." Walter blinked back tears as the truth came out. "And he did die. But that's all I can tell you, sugar. The rest is up to Michael."
"He don't talk much," Nikita drawled, then she heaved another sigh. "Michael wants me to believe he's a machine. Cold and unfeeling. But I've seen him cry, Walter. I've seen him in pain. I saw it all today. I just want to help him."
"I know," Walter acknowledged, one hand raising to pat Nikita's shoulder. "I wish I knew what to tell you, sugar. But Michael is a loner. There was a time when he confided in me, but that was long ago. He's a stranger to me now."
Nikita rubbed her eyes, trying to ease the aching that came from unshed tears. "Do you think.....will he be all right?" Nikita queried, for she was remembering the look on Michael's face and a part of her was afraid that Michael had broken tonight. That he would stop the fight to survive and end it all. And she didn't want to think about a future without him. But Michael's fate was out of her hands. So Nikita did the only thing she could do. She went home.
*****
Cradling a bottle of wine in one arm, Nikita opened her door. She kicked off her shoes before turning on the light, then shrugged off her coat, letting it fall on the floor. Striding towards the terrace, Nikita halted in mid stride. The terrace doors were open and Michael sat propped against the frame. Nikita felt a thrill rush through her. He was there...and alive. "Michael.." she whispered, rushing forward.
He rose to his feet as she approached, moving with with liquid grace. Michael locked his eyes on Nikita's face and could see the traces of tears on her pale cheeks. Reached out to brush his thumb across her satin skin as she reached him. "Come with me," Michael beseeched.
"Where?" Nikita asked, startled by the request. She studied Michael's face and was surprised to see that the mask was gone, replaced by some emotion she could not identify. But shining from his eyes was sadness. And vulnerability. Nikita would deny him nothing in this moment.
"Just come," Michael whispered, leading Nikita through the terrace doors. He was pleased when she followed willingly, and he handed her his helmet when they reached his motorcycle. Michael watched Nikita slip in on, taking the wine bottle from her and setting it on the ground. Then he straddled the bike and waited for Nikita to do the same. When her arms were wrapped around his waist, Michael headed off into the night.
*****
They drove for over an hour, gliding over the wet pavement until they came to a park. Nikita wasn't familiar with the area but could tell that Michael was. That surprised her. He didn't seem to be the park type. But she kept her thoughts to herself as she dismounted and pulled off the helmut. "Why are we here?" Nikita asked, when Michael remained silent. Nor did he answer her now. He simply held out one hand and she took it.
Michael led Nikita into the park. There was a fountain of an angel and he brought her there. They could see well enough for after the heavy rain that had cleansed the night air, the moon had reappeared, full and bright. It lit their way. He turned to Nikita, still holding her hand, and began to speak. "Section offers no future, Nikita. No hope of tomorrow." Michael closed his eyes against a sudden well of pain and turned away. "I accepted that fact a long time ago."
"It doesn't have to be that way!" Nikita protested, and she tightened her grip on Michael's hand, tugging hard to make him face her.
"It does for me," Michael replied, opening his eyes again. He almost smiled as he gazed at Nikita. Her expression was determined and she had never been more beautiful in his eyes. No matter that her hair was tangled and dark shadows circled her eyes. She was perfection.
"I know only one way to survive, Nikita. No regrets."
She didn't believe that and said as much. "I've seen your pain, Michael. I know you care."
He nodded. "Yes...I care," Michael confessed. "About you." He paused when he heard Nikita gasp in surprise. "That's why I brought you here...to this place."
"I don't understand," Nikita countered. "Why here? And for what?"
"Dance with me," Michael beseeched, drawing Nikita into his embrace. He waited until she was pressed against him then began to move across the grass.
Nikita followed Michael's lead for a time, because she wanted to feel him close to her. And it was wonderful to dance with him, to feel his grace and he led them in ever widening circles. But then he stopped and she pulled away, her eyes locked on his face. "What's going on, Michael?" Nikita challenged.
He let her go and walked back to the fountain. "You told me once that we danced on command." Michael heard the sharp intake of Nikita's breath and knew he had surprised her once again. Knew that she hadn't expected him to remember that moment for he had been suffering from drug induced amnesia. Michael didn't clarify what he remembered for that truth didn't matter now. "I wanted to dance with you....just once...because I wanted to."
"Michael....I don't understand what you're trying to say," Nikita confessed, even though she was touched by his words. It meant the world to her that Michael had brought her here, that he was talking to her, opening himself up to her. The problem was...he wasn't making sense. "What do you want from me?" Nikita prompted.
"Nothing," Michael was quick to reply. "I don't expect anything from you, Nikita. I don't have that right." Michael felt tears burn in his eyes and he blinked them away. There were too many lies between them, too much pain.
Nikita shook her head, trying to make rhyme or reason from it all. "Then what, Michael?" she beseeched. "Why? Why am I here?"
He reached out one hand and tangled his fingers in her silky hair, then his fingertips brushed her cheek. "I wanted to dance with an angel in the moonlight," Michael whispered, and as he spoke a tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't care that she saw it. "Just once," he breathed. "Before I die." Michael knew that his soul would burn in hell for his sins. He deserved nothing less. But tonight he needed to believe....just for a moment...in the light. He needed Nikita to touch his soul with hope.
"You're not going to die, Michael!" Nikita hissed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. She felt fear twist in her gut at his words, for they sounded so...final.
"It's just a matter of time," Michael replied, and this time a smile did curve his lips. A genuine smile. And another tear rolled down his face. "We're not immortal."
Nikita found herself smiling back in spite of her fears. "Sometimes I think that you are," she teased. "Nothing stops you, Michael. Not bullets, not pain."
Michael took Nikita's hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. Then he placed it over his heart. "I've been dead inside for a long time, Nikita," Michael whispered. "But then you came...and you made me remember what it's like to be alive. To feel."
"Michael..." Nikita began, only to be silenced by the touch of his fingertip against her lips.
"Shhh..." he whispered softly. "Let me finish." At Nikita's nod, Michael made another confession. "Sometimes I wanted to hate you for that. For making me feel again. But then I realized that I should thank you."
Nikita could not remain silent. "Thank me.." she echoed. "For what?"
Michael leaned forward to brush a kiss to her lips. "I couldn't love you if I didn't feel, Nikita. And I do love you."
"You love me," Nikita repeated and her heart skipped a beat.
"I think I always have," Michael stated, his eyes locked with Nikita's. "I know I always will. But that won't change things, Nikita. Not between us, not in Section."
She nodded, feeling numb with joy and yet confused. Nikita wanted to say the words back to Michael, but she couldn't speak.
Michael understood. "All I have to offer you is this moment in time, Nikita," he breathed. "Nothing more. One dance...that's all."
"Then dance with me, Michael," Nikita begged, flowing into his arms and pressing herself against his hard warmth. "Dance with me till dawn." Nikita still wasn't certain what this night meant. She knew that Michael was hurting over the death of the boy, and she had hoped that he would share that pain with her. But instead he had shared something far more precious. His heart. And she would cherish it, and this moment, for the rest of her life. But as they moved across the grass she had one more question to ask. "Tell me why tonight, Michael? Why is tonight different?"
"I'm not sure," he confessed, for tonight he would not lie to Nikita. Holding her closer in his embrace, Michael whispered in her ear, "I did it...on a whim."
Nikita was surprised by Michael's confession, but then she laughed. Somehow it seemed appropriate for the man, and the moment. If she lived forever, Nikita knew she would never come to understand Michael.
And that wasn't neccessarily a bad thing. "Works for me," she whispered back, then she sealed the moment with a kiss.
THE END
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