(LFN) Some Things You Lose (and Some Things You Just Give Away) (6/20)
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 Five: My Dear, There’s Been a Change of Plans
Some Things You Lose
(and Some Things You Just Give Away)
Part Six: Paint a Heart Repeating, Beating, Don’t Give Up
“We have a problem.”
Nikita glances up from her monitor and arches one eyebrow in Quinn’s direction, waiting for her to elaborate.
“They’ve seen each other.” Not waiting for an invitation, Quinn sinks into the chair before the desk.
With a frown, Nikita asks, “You’re sure?”
“Paul approached me this morning to see if I could arrange for a meeting between them out of view of the cameras. Apparently he’s heard that his original self and I had a bit of…”
“Sex?” Nikita fills in. Quinn frowns.
“A history,” she finishes dryly. “He thought it would make me sympathetic toward him.”
"I suppose he didn't hear how it all ended, then?" Nikita muttered, her eyes drifting down to where she can see Madeline working in Comm. She taps her fingers on the desk for a moment as if considering something, then decides, “Do it. Somewhere we can watch them without them knowing it.”
“I thought Hale said they were to kept apart?” Quinn asks, surprised.
“Hale’s said a lot of things,” Nikita replies, turning back to her computer distractedly. “If we don’t set up the meeting, they’ll only find another way. I’d rather hear what they’re planning than be caught off guard."
Quinn shrugs, still looking skeptical, but not inclined to argue. “I’ll set it up, then. We’ve got the Kaledi mission going live tonight, so… tomorrow?”
“Fine. Send me the profile when it’s finished. And Quinn?” she calls. Quinn slows in her walk toward the door, turning back around. “Tell no one.”
“Of course.”
Nikita watches the other woman leave, contingency plans already forming in her head. This will all require caution, and the possibilities for catastrophe are enormous, but if it works… well, if it works, than it’ll be worth any amount of risk, won’t it?
With a resolute nod to herself, Nikita turns back to the profile on her monitor.
*
The message comes eight minutes before she's to be returned to her cell. It simply appears in the corner of her monitor, barely long enough for her to read before it disappears again: I'm in cell 36. The cameras and doors will be deactivated at one a.m. We'll have twenty minutes.
Madeline forces back an incredulous laugh. Not only is Paul alive and as impatient as ever, but apparently they've been sharing a wall all this time. She can't help but wonder how long they've been living in neighboring cells, mere feet between them and yet worlds apart from each other.
She's not sure how he managed to set all of this up so quickly, but then, he always did have a way of getting what he wanted, with or without her help. Granted, there were often messes left for her to clean up when he acted alone, but at this point, she'll gladly deal with whatever consequences may come.
She finishes with the profile she'd been working on and signs off as the guards rise from their own stations, making her way back to her cell without a word. They lock her in, as always, and she spends a few minutes picking at her dinner before pushing it away and heading for bed, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep while she waits.
Rest doesn't come easily; the anticipation, whether she'll admit it to herself or not, is too great to allow her to sleep. Madeline spends a few hours alternately staring at the ceiling and lying with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, before finally, finally, she hears the telltale click of the door unlocking. She glances up at the camera, waiting a few seconds before going to the monitor in the wall and checking the time. One a.m. exactly.
Moving to the door without further hesitation, she steps out into the hallway and then goes to the next door down.
From the moment she turns the corner and steps through the open doorway, Paul's eyes follow her, only looking away long enough to flick his eyes in the direction of the camera before immediately returning to her. His hand twitches out a repeat of her earlier signal: We're being watched.
He's not the Paul of her memories, obviously. He's younger, though still older than her. Blonde, which is… interesting. Not unattractive, though, on this body. His eyes are green, which throws her off guard more than the hair. The expression on his face, though-amusement and impatience and something else which she won't identify because it would only make things more complicated than they already are-that's entirely Paul.
"You look…" he starts to say, his gaze tracing its way down her body and back again.
"Like an emaciated bird?" she offers with a self-deprecating smirk.
"No," he replies with a chuckle. "Different." He shifts back a few inches from the edge of the bed, waiting. Madeline doesn't look at the camera as she steps further into the room and makes her way toward him, but as she rests her knee on the bit of bed visible between his thighs and then leans forward, pushing him onto his back as she lays across his chest, the camera is the most important thing on her mind. Sliding further up his body, she stops when they're lying face to face, her hair falling around them like a curtain as their lips meet.
"This worked better when you had more hair," she feels more than hears as Paul's mouth moves against hers. She rolls her eyes.
"Any idea who's watching us?" she whispers, the words almost inaudible. Any louder and the sound could be picked up by microphones, but talking like this-not really speaking, so much as reading lips by touch instead of sight-will never register. Especially not if the microphone is in the same part of Paul's cell as it is in her own.
Paul shrugs even as his hands drift to the small of her back and then further down. Must keep up the pretense, after all, she reasons to herself, pointedly ignoring the self-delusion in such an assertion. If she were feeling particularly introspective, she'd force herself to acknowledge her own long-time habit of justifying things she wants by mentally rationalizing them into things that are necessary, but now is hardly the time for such musings, and frankly, the distraction of Paul's roving hands is already enough to deal with. She'll have time enough to disapprove of her own actions later.
"Nikita? Maybe Quinn. Probably both," Paul answers after a moment, drawing her thoughts back to the conversation. "Speaking of Nikita… are any plans about that in the works yet? We are going to try to take Section back from her, aren't we?"
Madeline arches one eyebrow as she asks mockingly, "Try?" She can't help but smirk as she feels Paul's lips curve into a familiar smile against her skin.
*
Blinking in surprise, Nikita leans back in her chair, a look of pure incredulity spreading across her face. Quinn looks as though she can't decide whether to be shocked or amused.
"After all of the hell they gave Michael and I…" Nikita mutters. From behind her, Walter laughs. On the monitor, Madeline's fingers knot into Paul's hair, and Paul's hands slow in their movements, if only for a second. "This is what was so important that he risked setting up a meeting?"
"I think it's kind of… fascinating," Quinn said, leaning her elbow on the desk and her chin on her hand, studying the goings-on in the cell. "I mean, didn't you ever wonder what they were like when they were alone together?"
With a look bordering on disgust, Nikita replies. "I generally tried not to."
"Too much like thinking about your parents having sex?" Walter asks, grinning.
"Something like that…." Nikita rolls her eyes, turning away from the screen just in time to see Walter frown and step closer. She examines his expression, looking back to the monitor and then to him again. "What?"
He takes another step forward, his nose nearly touching the screen before he stands up straight and laughs. "They're not kissing," he says, tapping the glass with one finger, shaking his head. "They're talking."
Nikita's eyes widen and she leans closer, even as Quinn zooms the camera in and increases the computer speakers to full volume. All they can hear is the slight rustling of skin against clothes, and both Madeline and Paul's faces are hidden entirely behind Madeline's hair.
"You're sure?" she asks. Walter shrugs.
"It's been fifteen years or so since the last time I saw them do that, but yeah, pretty sure."
Quinn smirks. "Well, that certainly makes more sense than them acting like horny teenagers, I suppose. I wonder what they're talking about…."
"Maybe something to do with Paul's hand being down her pants," Walter jokes cheerfully. Nikita just rolls her eyes again.
*
Time flies when one is determinedly avoiding having fun, and that holds true even now. Nothing's really been accomplished, other than the reiteration of the need to get themselves out of their current predicament and the bare bones of the first steps-Paul will work on Quinn, despite both of them being quite sure that Quinn can't be trusted, and Madeline will continue watching for potential allies. There's nothing else productive left to say, really, and Madeline begins to pull away, but Paul’s grip tightens around her.
“Stay,” he says softly. “We still have five minutes.”
She should argue the point, she knows. Staying is a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. There’s no reason to stay; no valid reason, anyway.
But then, she’s rarely been able to tell Paul no.
She shoots him a withering look, but relaxes against him again, shifting down just far enough that her head rests against his chest. His fingers dance over her shoulders and comb their way through her hair, and she allows herself a brief moment of not focusing on anything other than the soft touches and Paul’s contented sigh.
There’s something wrong, though, and it nags at her until she realizes what it is-his heartbeat. It’s different, and that’s a given, really-different body, different heart. It makes perfect sense; it’s one of the most logical, straightforward things she’s dealt with all day, and yet…. This new heartbeat is faster, almost louder somehow, and it’s disconcerting. Disconcerting in a way that the new hair and the new eyes and the new voice weren’t, and before she can stop herself, she’s pulling away again. When Paul tries to tighten his grip around her once more, she stops him with a curt, “I have to go.”
He doesn’t argue, perhaps sensing that her disquiet, but he looks put out in that way that Paul always does when he doesn’t get what he wants. Usually she finds it oddly endearing; right now, the achingly familiar expression on the new face only makes her want to leave more quickly.
“Be careful,” he calls after her as she leaves without looking back.
Only once she’s back in her own cell and the door has locked itself behind her does she answer quietly, “You too.”
Part Seven: Getting to the Point That is the Hardest Part
Part Five: My Dear, There’s Been a Change of Plans
Some Things You Lose
(and Some Things You Just Give Away)
Part Six: Paint a Heart Repeating, Beating, Don’t Give Up
“We have a problem.”
Nikita glances up from her monitor and arches one eyebrow in Quinn’s direction, waiting for her to elaborate.
“They’ve seen each other.” Not waiting for an invitation, Quinn sinks into the chair before the desk.
With a frown, Nikita asks, “You’re sure?”
“Paul approached me this morning to see if I could arrange for a meeting between them out of view of the cameras. Apparently he’s heard that his original self and I had a bit of…”
“Sex?” Nikita fills in. Quinn frowns.
“A history,” she finishes dryly. “He thought it would make me sympathetic toward him.”
"I suppose he didn't hear how it all ended, then?" Nikita muttered, her eyes drifting down to where she can see Madeline working in Comm. She taps her fingers on the desk for a moment as if considering something, then decides, “Do it. Somewhere we can watch them without them knowing it.”
“I thought Hale said they were to kept apart?” Quinn asks, surprised.
“Hale’s said a lot of things,” Nikita replies, turning back to her computer distractedly. “If we don’t set up the meeting, they’ll only find another way. I’d rather hear what they’re planning than be caught off guard."
Quinn shrugs, still looking skeptical, but not inclined to argue. “I’ll set it up, then. We’ve got the Kaledi mission going live tonight, so… tomorrow?”
“Fine. Send me the profile when it’s finished. And Quinn?” she calls. Quinn slows in her walk toward the door, turning back around. “Tell no one.”
“Of course.”
Nikita watches the other woman leave, contingency plans already forming in her head. This will all require caution, and the possibilities for catastrophe are enormous, but if it works… well, if it works, than it’ll be worth any amount of risk, won’t it?
With a resolute nod to herself, Nikita turns back to the profile on her monitor.
*
The message comes eight minutes before she's to be returned to her cell. It simply appears in the corner of her monitor, barely long enough for her to read before it disappears again: I'm in cell 36. The cameras and doors will be deactivated at one a.m. We'll have twenty minutes.
Madeline forces back an incredulous laugh. Not only is Paul alive and as impatient as ever, but apparently they've been sharing a wall all this time. She can't help but wonder how long they've been living in neighboring cells, mere feet between them and yet worlds apart from each other.
She's not sure how he managed to set all of this up so quickly, but then, he always did have a way of getting what he wanted, with or without her help. Granted, there were often messes left for her to clean up when he acted alone, but at this point, she'll gladly deal with whatever consequences may come.
She finishes with the profile she'd been working on and signs off as the guards rise from their own stations, making her way back to her cell without a word. They lock her in, as always, and she spends a few minutes picking at her dinner before pushing it away and heading for bed, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep while she waits.
Rest doesn't come easily; the anticipation, whether she'll admit it to herself or not, is too great to allow her to sleep. Madeline spends a few hours alternately staring at the ceiling and lying with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, before finally, finally, she hears the telltale click of the door unlocking. She glances up at the camera, waiting a few seconds before going to the monitor in the wall and checking the time. One a.m. exactly.
Moving to the door without further hesitation, she steps out into the hallway and then goes to the next door down.
From the moment she turns the corner and steps through the open doorway, Paul's eyes follow her, only looking away long enough to flick his eyes in the direction of the camera before immediately returning to her. His hand twitches out a repeat of her earlier signal: We're being watched.
He's not the Paul of her memories, obviously. He's younger, though still older than her. Blonde, which is… interesting. Not unattractive, though, on this body. His eyes are green, which throws her off guard more than the hair. The expression on his face, though-amusement and impatience and something else which she won't identify because it would only make things more complicated than they already are-that's entirely Paul.
"You look…" he starts to say, his gaze tracing its way down her body and back again.
"Like an emaciated bird?" she offers with a self-deprecating smirk.
"No," he replies with a chuckle. "Different." He shifts back a few inches from the edge of the bed, waiting. Madeline doesn't look at the camera as she steps further into the room and makes her way toward him, but as she rests her knee on the bit of bed visible between his thighs and then leans forward, pushing him onto his back as she lays across his chest, the camera is the most important thing on her mind. Sliding further up his body, she stops when they're lying face to face, her hair falling around them like a curtain as their lips meet.
"This worked better when you had more hair," she feels more than hears as Paul's mouth moves against hers. She rolls her eyes.
"Any idea who's watching us?" she whispers, the words almost inaudible. Any louder and the sound could be picked up by microphones, but talking like this-not really speaking, so much as reading lips by touch instead of sight-will never register. Especially not if the microphone is in the same part of Paul's cell as it is in her own.
Paul shrugs even as his hands drift to the small of her back and then further down. Must keep up the pretense, after all, she reasons to herself, pointedly ignoring the self-delusion in such an assertion. If she were feeling particularly introspective, she'd force herself to acknowledge her own long-time habit of justifying things she wants by mentally rationalizing them into things that are necessary, but now is hardly the time for such musings, and frankly, the distraction of Paul's roving hands is already enough to deal with. She'll have time enough to disapprove of her own actions later.
"Nikita? Maybe Quinn. Probably both," Paul answers after a moment, drawing her thoughts back to the conversation. "Speaking of Nikita… are any plans about that in the works yet? We are going to try to take Section back from her, aren't we?"
Madeline arches one eyebrow as she asks mockingly, "Try?" She can't help but smirk as she feels Paul's lips curve into a familiar smile against her skin.
*
Blinking in surprise, Nikita leans back in her chair, a look of pure incredulity spreading across her face. Quinn looks as though she can't decide whether to be shocked or amused.
"After all of the hell they gave Michael and I…" Nikita mutters. From behind her, Walter laughs. On the monitor, Madeline's fingers knot into Paul's hair, and Paul's hands slow in their movements, if only for a second. "This is what was so important that he risked setting up a meeting?"
"I think it's kind of… fascinating," Quinn said, leaning her elbow on the desk and her chin on her hand, studying the goings-on in the cell. "I mean, didn't you ever wonder what they were like when they were alone together?"
With a look bordering on disgust, Nikita replies. "I generally tried not to."
"Too much like thinking about your parents having sex?" Walter asks, grinning.
"Something like that…." Nikita rolls her eyes, turning away from the screen just in time to see Walter frown and step closer. She examines his expression, looking back to the monitor and then to him again. "What?"
He takes another step forward, his nose nearly touching the screen before he stands up straight and laughs. "They're not kissing," he says, tapping the glass with one finger, shaking his head. "They're talking."
Nikita's eyes widen and she leans closer, even as Quinn zooms the camera in and increases the computer speakers to full volume. All they can hear is the slight rustling of skin against clothes, and both Madeline and Paul's faces are hidden entirely behind Madeline's hair.
"You're sure?" she asks. Walter shrugs.
"It's been fifteen years or so since the last time I saw them do that, but yeah, pretty sure."
Quinn smirks. "Well, that certainly makes more sense than them acting like horny teenagers, I suppose. I wonder what they're talking about…."
"Maybe something to do with Paul's hand being down her pants," Walter jokes cheerfully. Nikita just rolls her eyes again.
*
Time flies when one is determinedly avoiding having fun, and that holds true even now. Nothing's really been accomplished, other than the reiteration of the need to get themselves out of their current predicament and the bare bones of the first steps-Paul will work on Quinn, despite both of them being quite sure that Quinn can't be trusted, and Madeline will continue watching for potential allies. There's nothing else productive left to say, really, and Madeline begins to pull away, but Paul’s grip tightens around her.
“Stay,” he says softly. “We still have five minutes.”
She should argue the point, she knows. Staying is a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. There’s no reason to stay; no valid reason, anyway.
But then, she’s rarely been able to tell Paul no.
She shoots him a withering look, but relaxes against him again, shifting down just far enough that her head rests against his chest. His fingers dance over her shoulders and comb their way through her hair, and she allows herself a brief moment of not focusing on anything other than the soft touches and Paul’s contented sigh.
There’s something wrong, though, and it nags at her until she realizes what it is-his heartbeat. It’s different, and that’s a given, really-different body, different heart. It makes perfect sense; it’s one of the most logical, straightforward things she’s dealt with all day, and yet…. This new heartbeat is faster, almost louder somehow, and it’s disconcerting. Disconcerting in a way that the new hair and the new eyes and the new voice weren’t, and before she can stop herself, she’s pulling away again. When Paul tries to tighten his grip around her once more, she stops him with a curt, “I have to go.”
He doesn’t argue, perhaps sensing that her disquiet, but he looks put out in that way that Paul always does when he doesn’t get what he wants. Usually she finds it oddly endearing; right now, the achingly familiar expression on the new face only makes her want to leave more quickly.
“Be careful,” he calls after her as she leaves without looking back.
Only once she’s back in her own cell and the door has locked itself behind her does she answer quietly, “You too.”
Part Seven: Getting to the Point That is the Hardest Part