There was a knock at the door. Nikita turned the stove off, leaving the popcorn to fend for itself. "Coming!" she yelled over the loud music pulsing from her sound system. She ran to turn the volume off, then jogged to the door and looked through the spy hole. Michael. [Dammit] She opened the door halfway and looked out, straight faced. "Yes?"
"Can I come in?"
Her heart sank. She wished she could refuse him. Jurgen had been right, when he was alive: She was a slave to the gaze of his ever shifting green-gray eyes.
"Of course." she answered in the flattest voice she could muster, opening the door further. She walked to the stereo and pretended to busy herself while he entered and took in the surroundings.
"You redecorated."
"I know."
"It looks nice."
Nikita stopped what she was doing and glanced at him briefly. [What’s he up to?] He walked into the kitchen and stood over the stove.
"Popcorn?"
Nikita stood up and turned to him. She locked her arms defensively around her chest, trying to box in some strength. She needed it in order to force herself to spit out the thoughts in her head. "Look Michael, I know you didn’t come here to see my apartment. He looked up at her, but gave no response. "If you have something to say to me, then say it or leave."
She headed to the door, opened it, and held it open for him. He walked over to her slowly, stopping only a few inches from her body. His eyes surveyed her warming face. He put his hand over hers and loosened her grip on her door handle. Her hand dropped involuntarily and he pushed the door so it eased shut and clicked into place. Her hand was now soft and manipulatable in his. He drew in her other hand, and held them both close to him. She tried her best to keep her gaze stoic and locked on his face, ignoring her insubordinate body; she found this incredibly hard. He placed both her hands on his sides. His hands grazed over her forearms, his eyes never leaving hers.
Nikita could now feel the slightest touch of his body to hers, and wasn’t sure which one of them had moved closer. She fought viciously inside herself not to succumb to him. His hands, now on her upper arms, made her body shiver and she knew she was losing this battle for her soul. He had seized her heart once before and she knew from experience that it wasn’t safe with him.
"We’re going on a new mission tomorrow." he said in a whisper soft voice. Everything about him was seductively intoxicating except the words spoken. They shook her awake like a blast of cold water. She cocked her head in curiosity.
"I know. I was at the briefing."
He stared into her eyes intently. She tried to read his face for some kind of hint, some clue as to what he wanted from her, but even without the chilling ice-covered stare that locked away any emotion, he could still block her.
"Michael, what are you really doing here? I think I deserve to know that much."
"Nothing, I just wanted to see you again before we left" he said. His eyes were so gently focused on her. The feeling of his eyes in hers was as soft and alluring as the gentle caress of his fingers on her back. All of this made it that much harder to believe the cruel accusations spinning in her mind, the certainty of her brain that his purposes were part of a darker plan. She wanted so badly to love him and yet . . . Her thoughts of doubt culminated finally into words.
"Why?" she said, calling upon every fiber of willpower she possessed. "Why now Michael? You had so many opportunities before to win me over. You think I’m going to trust you now after everything you’ve....." God, she still couldn’t say it to his face [Everything you’ve done to me?]. She took the door handle in her hand again and pulled it open.
"I think you should go."
He paused. He scanned her eyes to measure the sincerity of the order, and found it. He dropped his arms from around her and stepped away. He couldn’t help but feel a touch of guilty pride in knowing that it was he who had made her this strong. The thought made him smile as he backed away to the door. Nonetheless, he was disappointed he would never have a chance to tell her . . . He took her free hand in his and kissed it.
"Goodbye Nikita" he said. He crossed back over the threshold.
She closed the door, sunk to the ground, and buried her head in her knees, trying to make some sense out of what she had just done.
******
Chapter 2
Twenty four hours later Nikita found herself sitting outside a dark building, clad in black from head to toe, with several other acquaintances from Section One. The purpose of their meeting had been explained the previous morning at a briefing: Red Cell had renovated the crumbling building before her into a chemical weapons laboratory. This run-down factory-type building was serendipidously located only blocks from her neighborhood, and hence, just a little too close to Section headquarters for comfort.
She had been designated a post on the periphery team to protect Michael as he snuck in to plant a bomb. An almost routine job. Her mind, aware of the simplicity of the task at hand, found time to wonder as she crouched on the corner of the building checking for stray Red Cell guards. Thoughts of Michael and his recent strange behavior floated aimlessly through Nikita’sbrain, like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.
"See anything yet, Nikita?"
Sudden words broke her thought pattern suddenly. "No Birkoff. Nobody’s out here but us."
"Good." he said. Listening, she could hear the sound of his fingers sweeping across his keyboard.
"Michael, how much more time do you need?"
"Twenty seconds."
"Good. Do you think you’ll need help getting out of there?"
"No. Send everyone back. I’m putting it in now."
"Alright you heard him, all teams back in the van now." Birkoff said. Under the cover of night, seven armed shadows ran until they merged into one and then crept back into the black vehicle in which they had arrived. Nikita shut the door.
"All are in Michael," Birkoff reported. "Waiting on you." Through the ear piece still in her ear, Nikita heard two silenced shots fired.
"I’ve been detected." Michael came back. "I’m going to arm the charge from here."
Birkoff sat up. "What? Michael are you crazy?"
Nikita’s ears pricked up. "Bomb is armed." she heard Michael’s voice say.
"Oh no . . ." Birkoff murmured, typing quickly. "He can’t be serious."
" How long is the timer?" Nikita said, looking over Birkoff’s shoulder.
"Not long enough. He’s got about . . . ten seconds."
Her eyes widened. Ten seconds? "Michael?" she whispered into the comm unit on her head. "Michael are you there? Its Nikita." Eight seconds. "Michael, can you hear me?" Her voice said, a little louder. Six seconds.
"Get out of there Michael. Now." [Please] Her voice was louder. She could hear traces of fear in her own demand. Her pulse intensified. She heard nothing. No sound came from the other end of the com link. Four seconds.
She yanked the door to the van open, despite belated attempts by fellow operatives to restrain her. She burst from the inside and stumbled into the darkness a few steps. She listened. Crickets. Benign, innocent crickets chirped cheerfully in the darkness, in sharp contrast to the panicked chaos that was pricking her stomach, choking her mind. Two seconds.
"Michael . . ." she whispered into the night.
Listening hard, she heard breathing on the other end of her comm link. Her eyes widened as she heard his voice again.
"Nikita get away . . ."
A moment later, a burst of light and heat enveloped the sky. Night became day for one fraction of a second before a giant cloud of red-orange flame rose from the ground and swallowed the building. The sounds of an explosion deafened the seven people sitting in the van to the sound of Nikita’s scream.
A fellow operative grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and hoisted her inside the van. The door shut and immediately they were set into motion, back to Section.
******
Chapter 3
The drive back was silent. Everyone’s eyes were intensely focused on anything but the shaking woman on the floor of the van, not that Nikita would have noticed any of them staring at her anyway. She shivered throughout the entire ride, not feeling cold in the least. By the time the van stopped, she had wasted all her energy and she sat limp on the ground, feeling nothing.
The door re-opened, and each body exited one by one. Nikita stayed planted on the floor, still stunned. Her peripheral senses did catch fragments of a conversation between Operations and Birkoff as Birkoff exited the van and headed back to the main building of Section One.
"Did everything go as planned?"
"Yeah, just about. Minimal losses. The media will probably get a hold of this one because the building was in the middle of town, not something you can easily hide. We have a cover alrea.."
"Wait a minute." he older man said. "Minimal losses? We weren’t expecting any on this mission. Who was lost?"
Birkoff sighed uncomfortably. Nikita didn’t see it, but he shot a glance at her without even thinking about it. Operations turned too, and saw the back of Nikita’s leg though the opening of the van.
"Michael." Birkoff said quietly.
All noise stopped. She could feel his stare on her. She didn’t care. Michael was dead. She sat there, feeling dead herself, uncaring, as she was scrutinized by the calculating mind of that government bureaucrat. She didn’t care if the god-awful man saw everything that Michael had ever meant to her. What did it matter now? He could have stared at her forever and she wouldn’t have felt the least flicker of discomfort.
"I see" he said, and he walked on. Both men disappeared around a corner.
Nikita sat numb and lifeless, sprawled across the inside of the van for some time. She didn’t feel anything. She tried to come to some conclusion about what she felt, and found nothing. Her mind kept turning the facts over and over, picking them apart and analyzing, like a scientist examining a specimen.
[Michael’s dead. I am alive. He spoke to me. What did he say? Why did he do that?] The words came to mind in such a dry, sterile, objective tone that almost made her feel guilty about her numbness. After quite some time, the sound of clicking heals in her direction broke her thoughts and made her lookup.
A soft woman’s voice permeated the room. "Nikita?" The sound of the heels came closer and the woman’s head leaned her head into the van, and smiled at Nikita gently.
"Hello Madeline." Nikita answered tonelessly. Her thoughts just
hovering above indifference, but she did notice that Madeline looked nice, as usual. Her suit was beige, with a low cut but still professional neckline, and a matching jacket. She had the same elegant beauty that Nikita had always admired since her first day in Section One. At a time of emotional crisis like this, her radiance was almost a comfort.
"Let take a walk" she said.
"Where are we going?"
"How about back to your apartment?" she said, still smiling warmly."You could use some rest."
Chapter 4
They didn’t talk until they reached the street, which gave Nikita some time just to walk silently, to make sure she was still in control of her own body. Her legs worked, despite her own doubts, which was all she needed for the journey. Everything within the last few hours seemed like a surreal, warped version of her already warped life. She was surprised to discover daylight when she reached the street. Had she really been sitting in that van so long? She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t noticed, until she started walking, how tired she actually was. Madeline spoke first. Indeed, Nikita was too tired to say much.
"It would appear that Michael’s really gone this time. Its hard to believe. I didn’t think I would live to see this day."
Nikita said nothing.
Madeline nodded. "Red Cell’s had that building for a long time. Simone was shot in there. Michael was overseeing the mission and heard the gunshot on his com link. He had to be restrained by four men to keep from running in the building and killing himself trying to get to her. He went in after the mission, but she was gone along with every trace of Red Cell."
Nikita hung on every word. "And what else? What happened to Michael after that?"
Madeline sighed. "After that, nothing. Michael shut down. For a long time, he associated himself only with death. He didn’t talk to anyone; he lost contact with everyone and everything, speaking only when spoken to. He was a walking corpse."
Nikita shivered. It hurt having Madeline talk this way. It was actually
painful to her senses. The sunlight on the streets seemed too bright, the sounds of bird chirping too loud, the sidewalk too hard. Still, she had to hear more. She kept walking.
"He felt guilty for staying alive. All he thought about was her. I’ve wondered even up till this day if he still carried that guilt with him. I guess I have my answer now."
Nikita disassociated herself with the words escaping her lips. The mouth was driven by a perverse, obsessive need to know the truth, despite the horror it might inflict on her already strained psyche.
"So this really was asuicide? I thought Michael cared about his own honor more than that."
"I don’t think he saw it that way," Madeline reflected. "In his mind, part of him died a long time ago. He must have been looking for a way out for a long time. When this mission came, he most likely viewed it as a poetic and fitting end to his physical life: he had chance to fix what went wrong the first time."
[Doesn’t seem all that poetic to me] Nikita thought sourly. [He’s still dead]
The two women reached the front steps of Nikita’s building and stopped. Nikita felt a wave of relief in seeing the familiar, cheerful setting again. She began walking up the steps, driven by a magnetic force that made her almost forget Madeline, still standing on the sidewalk.
"Nikita," Madeline said, recalling her attention. Nikita turned and Madeline walked up the steps closer. "There is a reason I am telling you this, and it’s important that you understand it." She checked to make sure she had the full attention of her charge. "I tell you because I want to be sure we don’t a have repeat of what happened last night. Michael was one of our best. It would be more than unfortunate if this sort of behavior became a trend in our operatives."
She looked down a moment, and that back into Nikita’s face. "Also, I want to make sure that you know that death is not a way of life." She paused."I don’t know what you think of us, Nikita, but we really don’t like when this happens either. Michael was a good person."
With that, Madeline turned around and walked back the way she came. Nikita stood on the step a second, feeling very tired indeed. She turned back to the building and opened the door. Almost mindlessly, she walked in, trudged up the stairs to her floor, found her room, and turned the key in the lock. She shut the door behind her and turned on the television where she saw an aerial view of some rubble which was the remains of a building. She looked at the screen for a few seconds, emotionlessly, and then walked to the bathroom where she promptly threw up.