(LFN) Some Things You Lose (and Some Things You Just Give Away) (4/20)
Please see the Some Things You Lose (and Some Things You Just Give Away) Chapter Guide for story details including summary, warnings, disclaimers, etc.
Part Three: 'Cause the Chase is All You Know
Some Things You Lose
(and Some Things You Just Give Away)
Part Four: I Was Heading Into Danger, I Was Climbing Up the Walls
"Even in a new body, she can still do that thing."
Walter looks up from whatever contraption he's busily taking apart, takes one glance at her expression, and grins. "What thing?"
"That thing where she smiles at you like she's your best friend while simultaneously looking like she wants to tear your throat open with her bare hands," Nikita replies, leaning on the counter. She watches him work for a moment, then frowns. "Walter, is that a landmine?"
He hesitates, but finally nods.
"Should you be taking that apart in here?" she asks, fighting the urge to take a wary step back.
He shrugs.
Sighing, she mutters, "Just try not to kill us all, okay?"
"I haven't yet, have I?" Waving his screwdriver in her general direction, he goes on, "Besides, this baby wouldn't take out the building or anything; just me."
Nikita shakes her head. "That's… comforting."
"Well, you know, I try." A look of frustration crosses his face, then he wedges the screwdriver under a plate on the back of the mine and tilts it back, popping the plate away from its casing and sending it flying. "I guess that's one way to do that, then," he murmurs, leaving it where it fell and turning his attention back to the explosive in his hand. "So other than being her usual terrifying self, is she planning your demise already or what?"
"Basically." She shrugs half-heartedly. "But I think she'll cooperate, if only for now."
"Just be careful, Sugar," Walter cautions, setting the mind down long enough to regard her seriously. "She may look like a kid, but if that's really still her in there… just don't underestimate her. Even when she was actually nineteen, she was dangerous as hell."
Nikita smirks. "Trust me, underestimating Madeline is the last thing I'm going to do."
"Good, 'cause it probably would be the last thing you'd ever do," he points out, turning back to the mine. "So when is part two of this fun little escapade supposed to begin?"
"Next week." The very thought of it makes her tired.
Walter, if anything, just looks more cheerful. "At least we can finally say goodbye to the good doctor, once this is over."
"Thank God," Nikita mumbles in agreement. "I think I'd rather keep him around than continue this, though, all things considered. Madeline may be willing to play along for however long she feels it benefits her, but…."
Walter nods. "But Paul will just be pissed off," he finishes for her. "Can't say I envy you that conversation, kid."
With a weak smile, Nikita pushes away from the counter, leaning down to pick up the plate from the mine and place it on the table before starting to walk away. "I've got work to do. Talk to you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Hey, try to go home before midnight tonight, okay?" he calls after her. She turns, walking backwards as she gives him a weak smile.
"Home to what?"
*
There's almost nothing worse than being entirely, unceasingly bored, Madeline thinks. Almost because she knows there are worse things, obviously-she's lived through, seen, or personally orchestrated quite a few of them. But still, pure boredom ranks somewhere between having to make small talk with George and being tortured, as far as she's concerned, and it's starting to try her already limited patience.
She finds things to keep her busy for the first few days, at least-ridiculous things, perhaps, but she hardly cares what the guards think, and she couldn't care less about impressing Nikita.
Madeline paces. Not like Paul, who would stalk back and forth across the room as a way to release pent-up frustration or excitement or anger, but slowly and methodically, learning the ins and outs of her new body as much as she can in such a limited space. She bends and stretches, runs in place, talks out loud until she's certain her tone betrays no emotion and she's once again mastered what Paul always referred to as her 'I'm going to torture you now, and yes, you should be terrified' voice, if at a slightly different pitch. The idea of getting out of this room one day only to end up tripping over her own feet is less than appealing, and the thought of not being able to control her tone of voice is simply not acceptable, so the effort is well worth the time, she reasons. And besides, it's not like she has anything else to do.
Profiles appear occasionally, announced by a ding from the monitor across the room. She should be annoyed with that-if Paul were here, she'd expect comments along the lines of, "I'm not a bellhop or a trained dog, for fuck's sake; do your own profiles," and she'd certainly agree in sentiment if not aloud-but it's something to keep her mind busy, and if nothing else, it gives her hints about what's happening in the world outside the walls of her cell. She reads through the profiles, making notes and changing things here and there. Sometimes she picks one apart and then rewrites the entire thing. When she's done-and then done checking it all over, and then doing it again because she's so incredibly bored-she notifies the guards that she's done, and the few minutes later, the profile disappears. On a whim she tries to hack her way into Section's databases to get some answers, but her computer seems to be on a closed system without any connection to the rest of Section One. It's exactly what she'd have done if she were in Nikita's position, but it infuriates her nonetheless.
Finally, after three weeks of this maddening nonsense, she decides she's had enough.
It only takes ignoring three profiles in a row to bring Nikita to her cell; she'd expected it to take at least five, and she wonders about that briefly, but ultimately decides it doesn't really matter at just this moment, as long as the same end result is achieved.
"I want to be let out of this room," she says the minute Nikita steps through the doorway, not bothering to get off the bed. Nikita, to her credit, doesn't even blink at the demand.
"I'm assuming that's why you've taken this nineteen-years-old thing to heart and stopped working?" she asks bluntly. Then she glances at the untouched plate of food on the desk and adds, "And eating?"
Madeline shrugs, ignoring the insult entirely. "Either I do my work from Comm, or I'm not going to do it at all."
"You do realize that you'll be canceled if you're not of any-"
"Obviously," Madeline interrupts dryly. "You can't imagine that I care?" At Nikita's silent stare, she continues, "If my choice is either staying in this room or cancellation, then let's stop wasting my time and yours and just end this now."
Squaring her shoulders as if preparing for an argument, Nikita leans against the edge of the table, regarding her curiously. After a long moment, she asks, "What exactly is it that you want?"
The ensuing conversation is irritating and, as far as Madeline is concerned, pointless, but in the end, she gets what she wants-a compromise. And not just a compromise, but one that leans entirely in her favor, whether Nikita realizes it or not.
At least, in the long run.
Part Five: My Dear, There's Been a Change of Plans
Author's Note: I know, this chapter isn't nearly as exciting as it should be. Lol. The next chapter will, hopefully, rectify that; things just got far too long and had to be cut in half. ;) Upside? Next chapter should be up in the next day or so, since it's very nearly finished.
Part Three: 'Cause the Chase is All You Know
Some Things You Lose
(and Some Things You Just Give Away)
Part Four: I Was Heading Into Danger, I Was Climbing Up the Walls
"Even in a new body, she can still do that thing."
Walter looks up from whatever contraption he's busily taking apart, takes one glance at her expression, and grins. "What thing?"
"That thing where she smiles at you like she's your best friend while simultaneously looking like she wants to tear your throat open with her bare hands," Nikita replies, leaning on the counter. She watches him work for a moment, then frowns. "Walter, is that a landmine?"
He hesitates, but finally nods.
"Should you be taking that apart in here?" she asks, fighting the urge to take a wary step back.
He shrugs.
Sighing, she mutters, "Just try not to kill us all, okay?"
"I haven't yet, have I?" Waving his screwdriver in her general direction, he goes on, "Besides, this baby wouldn't take out the building or anything; just me."
Nikita shakes her head. "That's… comforting."
"Well, you know, I try." A look of frustration crosses his face, then he wedges the screwdriver under a plate on the back of the mine and tilts it back, popping the plate away from its casing and sending it flying. "I guess that's one way to do that, then," he murmurs, leaving it where it fell and turning his attention back to the explosive in his hand. "So other than being her usual terrifying self, is she planning your demise already or what?"
"Basically." She shrugs half-heartedly. "But I think she'll cooperate, if only for now."
"Just be careful, Sugar," Walter cautions, setting the mind down long enough to regard her seriously. "She may look like a kid, but if that's really still her in there… just don't underestimate her. Even when she was actually nineteen, she was dangerous as hell."
Nikita smirks. "Trust me, underestimating Madeline is the last thing I'm going to do."
"Good, 'cause it probably would be the last thing you'd ever do," he points out, turning back to the mine. "So when is part two of this fun little escapade supposed to begin?"
"Next week." The very thought of it makes her tired.
Walter, if anything, just looks more cheerful. "At least we can finally say goodbye to the good doctor, once this is over."
"Thank God," Nikita mumbles in agreement. "I think I'd rather keep him around than continue this, though, all things considered. Madeline may be willing to play along for however long she feels it benefits her, but…."
Walter nods. "But Paul will just be pissed off," he finishes for her. "Can't say I envy you that conversation, kid."
With a weak smile, Nikita pushes away from the counter, leaning down to pick up the plate from the mine and place it on the table before starting to walk away. "I've got work to do. Talk to you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Hey, try to go home before midnight tonight, okay?" he calls after her. She turns, walking backwards as she gives him a weak smile.
"Home to what?"
*
There's almost nothing worse than being entirely, unceasingly bored, Madeline thinks. Almost because she knows there are worse things, obviously-she's lived through, seen, or personally orchestrated quite a few of them. But still, pure boredom ranks somewhere between having to make small talk with George and being tortured, as far as she's concerned, and it's starting to try her already limited patience.
She finds things to keep her busy for the first few days, at least-ridiculous things, perhaps, but she hardly cares what the guards think, and she couldn't care less about impressing Nikita.
Madeline paces. Not like Paul, who would stalk back and forth across the room as a way to release pent-up frustration or excitement or anger, but slowly and methodically, learning the ins and outs of her new body as much as she can in such a limited space. She bends and stretches, runs in place, talks out loud until she's certain her tone betrays no emotion and she's once again mastered what Paul always referred to as her 'I'm going to torture you now, and yes, you should be terrified' voice, if at a slightly different pitch. The idea of getting out of this room one day only to end up tripping over her own feet is less than appealing, and the thought of not being able to control her tone of voice is simply not acceptable, so the effort is well worth the time, she reasons. And besides, it's not like she has anything else to do.
Profiles appear occasionally, announced by a ding from the monitor across the room. She should be annoyed with that-if Paul were here, she'd expect comments along the lines of, "I'm not a bellhop or a trained dog, for fuck's sake; do your own profiles," and she'd certainly agree in sentiment if not aloud-but it's something to keep her mind busy, and if nothing else, it gives her hints about what's happening in the world outside the walls of her cell. She reads through the profiles, making notes and changing things here and there. Sometimes she picks one apart and then rewrites the entire thing. When she's done-and then done checking it all over, and then doing it again because she's so incredibly bored-she notifies the guards that she's done, and the few minutes later, the profile disappears. On a whim she tries to hack her way into Section's databases to get some answers, but her computer seems to be on a closed system without any connection to the rest of Section One. It's exactly what she'd have done if she were in Nikita's position, but it infuriates her nonetheless.
Finally, after three weeks of this maddening nonsense, she decides she's had enough.
It only takes ignoring three profiles in a row to bring Nikita to her cell; she'd expected it to take at least five, and she wonders about that briefly, but ultimately decides it doesn't really matter at just this moment, as long as the same end result is achieved.
"I want to be let out of this room," she says the minute Nikita steps through the doorway, not bothering to get off the bed. Nikita, to her credit, doesn't even blink at the demand.
"I'm assuming that's why you've taken this nineteen-years-old thing to heart and stopped working?" she asks bluntly. Then she glances at the untouched plate of food on the desk and adds, "And eating?"
Madeline shrugs, ignoring the insult entirely. "Either I do my work from Comm, or I'm not going to do it at all."
"You do realize that you'll be canceled if you're not of any-"
"Obviously," Madeline interrupts dryly. "You can't imagine that I care?" At Nikita's silent stare, she continues, "If my choice is either staying in this room or cancellation, then let's stop wasting my time and yours and just end this now."
Squaring her shoulders as if preparing for an argument, Nikita leans against the edge of the table, regarding her curiously. After a long moment, she asks, "What exactly is it that you want?"
The ensuing conversation is irritating and, as far as Madeline is concerned, pointless, but in the end, she gets what she wants-a compromise. And not just a compromise, but one that leans entirely in her favor, whether Nikita realizes it or not.
At least, in the long run.
Part Five: My Dear, There's Been a Change of Plans
Author's Note: I know, this chapter isn't nearly as exciting as it should be. Lol. The next chapter will, hopefully, rectify that; things just got far too long and had to be cut in half. ;) Upside? Next chapter should be up in the next day or so, since it's very nearly finished.