Fic - Five Days Part 3
Title - Sylum Jan Challenge - Five Days
Author - Kazlynh
Rating - FRM
Disclaimer - I don’t own them, I just play with them
Summary - A Section Operative is given a new recruit to train
Type - Slash
Author’s Notes: This story takes place approximately ten years before the events of the TV series La Femme Nikita
Fandom: The Professionals/LFN
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED HOURS, on the dot, the entry buzzer rang.
Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, Bodie padded, barefoot, into the hall, picking up the handset, “Hello?”
“It’s Michael,” the Frenchman said, simply.
Bodie pressed the door-release button, telling him, “Come on up.”
Hanging the handset back on the wall, Bodie headed to the front door, opening it. The sound of the elevator told him that Michael was on his way.
Bodie stood at the door, waiting, looking out along the corridor. He heard the elevator doors open and Michael stepped into view. Dusty and dishevelled, his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, the young Frenchman looked round, saw Bodie and walked down the corridor towards him
Bodie stepped back as Michael reached him, inviting, “Come in.”
Michael obeyed without a word, stepping into the hallway.
Bodie closed the door, telling the younger man, “Go on through.”
Michael said nothing, but he nodded and moved towards the living room. Bodie turned, following him. “Dinner’s almost ready. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” Michael told him, simply. Then he added, “It smells good.”
Bodie smiled, not bothering to mention that he wasn’t the one who had done the cooking. Instead, he asked, “Did Madeline tell you why you were being sent here?”
“No,” Michael supplied.
Somehow, Bodie had suspected she wouldn’t. “Did Jurgan?” he asked.
“No,” Michael supplied again.
Nothing like dropping the lad in at the deep end. Bodie kept his face neutral, turning towards the simmering pans on the cooker, “Did he tell you anything about me?”
There was a pause, as if Michael was trying to work out what he should and shouldn’t tell Bodie. Then, finally, he admitted, “He said that you were a good soldier… that I should listen… that I could learn a lot from you.”
Bodie smiled. That sounded like Jurgan. Jurgan reminded him of George Cowley in many ways.
Turning back, Bodie told Michael, “Jurgan’s a good man. There’s no one else I’d rather have standing at my back in a fire fight...” He paused then went on, “Jurgan’s been your instructor for a while now. You’re almost at the end of your two year probation, right?”
Emotion flashed across Michael’s face, too swiftly for Bodie to identify. Regret, maybe? Bodie filed it away for later consideration as Michael confirmed, “I have been with Section since February last year…”
Twenty-one months…
A lot could happen in the three months that were left, Bodie considered, especially if Michael failed to impress Ricardo Vasquez: or worse, bottled on the Valentine Op.
Since leaving Madeline’s office Bodie had run through various ways of telling Michael why he had been sent here. Now that the young Frenchman was standing in front of him, Bodie decided that the direct approach was the best.
“You’ve been assigned to a Valentine Op starting eight days from now,” he told Michael. “I have five days to make sure you’re ready for it. After that you’ll be delivered to another operative who’ll decide whether you remain assigned to the op or end up in abeyance...”
He paused, watching the emotion play across Michael’s face. Giving him a few moments to let the information sink in, Bodie finally asked, “You understand what I mean by Valentine Op and abeyance?”
Michael swallowed, nodding, “Yes.”
Bodie turned. Opening the fridge he pulled out a bottle of champagne. “So, sunshine,” he asked more gently, “have you worked out why Madeline sent you here?”
Peeling the foil off the bottle, he turned back, looking at Michael. The Frenchman was frowning.
“No...” he told Bodie.
Bodie eased the cork out of the bottle, smiling as it popped. He poured the champagne into flutes, put the bottle down then lifted the glasses. Walking around the kitchen counter, Bodie moved toward Michael, offering him one of the flutes.
“Merci,” Michael told him. Taking the glass he watched the bubbles for a moment, then took a sip.
Bodie also tasted the champagne, enjoying the fresh, crisp tang and the fizz of the bubbles against his tongue. He waited as Michael took another sip.
Then, carefully, he moved closer to the Frenchman, letting his eyes travel slowly across the younger man’s face, lingering on his lips. Michael looked back at him, not moving, saying nothing.
Bodie lifted his gaze, finally, to Michael’s, meeting the green eyes with his own. He watched a small flicker of confusion wash across the younger man’s face and stayed still: not moving away, but not moving any closer... Not yet.
Vasquez would have had Michael stripped and in the shower already, pawing at him and backing him into a corner.
For a brief moment, memories of the last person he’d shared his own shower with flashed through Bodie’s mind: a red-headed, Belfast lass with long, shapely legs; an ice-skater’s butt; and a tongue that…
Pushing the memories away, bringing his full attention back to the matter at hand, Bodie regarded Michael for another few seconds. Then he took a half-step towards the younger man… then another, his eyes never leaving Michael’s.
Slowly, Bodie leaned in; tilting his head, pausing briefly, his mouth hovering close to Michael’s before brushing his lips across the younger man’s.
Then he pulled away, just a little: before leaning in again, kissing Michael gently on the lips. Turning his head, his cheek almost-but-not-quite touching Michael’s, his mouth only an inch from Michael’s ear, Bodie murmured softly, “Now do you understand why you’ve been sent here?”
It was obvious that the Frenchman did. Bodie had heard the change in Michael’s breathing and could sense the apprehension that now radiated off the younger man. He had asked the question anyway, and now waited for a verbal response.
Michael swallowed then nodded, “Yes…”
No protestation, no denial, just nervous acceptance.
Bodie pulled back, looking at him. Michael’s eyes were as apprehensive as his body language, belying the quiet composure of the acknowledgment. “Have you ever been with a man before?” Bodie asked.
Michael swallowed again and shook his head, “No…”
Bodie moved away, turning and heading for the cooker, giving Michael some space. “You’ve got it easier than I did, Sunshine,” he told him, “I got thrown in at the deep end.” Glancing at Michael, he explained, “The intel we had on the target was wrong… and I was left to get on with it.”
Bodie picked up Clotilde’s notes then glanced at Michael again. “You can shower before dinner, if you want. Bathroom’s through there,” he went on, pointing to a door. “I left out towels and a robe for you.”
“Merci,” Michael replied softly then turned, heading for the bathroom, the glass of champagne still in his hand.
Bodie watched him go. As Michael closed the door behind him, Bodie sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. One-word answers: if that was all the he was going to get out of this lad it was going to be a long few days…
He drained his glass, poured out more wine, and then turned his attention to not burning the dinner.
~*~
The meat had rested and Bodie was carving it when Michael appeared out of the bathroom, wrapped in a silk robe. Bodie glanced at him, telling him, “I left some things out on the bed for you, stuff I’ve not worn yet. There should be something there that fits you. Bedroom’s through there,” he went on, nodding towards another door.
“Thank you,” Michael told him. He turned to go, and then stopped, turning back. “May I… ask a question?”
Bodie put down the knife, giving Michael his full attention. “Course you can, Sunshine…”
“Why?” Michael asked, “Why you? Why not Ricardo?”
Bodie took a deep breath then let it out slowly, quirking an eyebrow, admitting, “That’s a question I can’t answer.”
He shrugged then tried, “Maybe Ricardo’s pissed them off. Maybe he’s getting too smug and they want to throw him off balance, show him that he’s not indispensable. Maybe they need him angry. Maybe they’ve seen him letching after you and don’t want to risk letting him have you…”
He shrugged again, “Maybe it’s all of the above. Or maybe Madeline’s simply sore because I turned her down…”
Bodie grinned at the thought and a flash of the old Bodie, the pre-Section Bodie, sparked into life. “I can understand that. Good looking man like me knocking her back. Must have dented her ego…”
The grin faded as quickly as it had flared. Serious again, he told Michael, “Doesn’t matter what the reason is. You’ve got to learn to live with the order of things… That’s how you’ll survive.”
Bodie watched the younger man as Michael considered what he’d just said. The expression on the face didn’t change, but Bodie saw the depth of thought behind the eyes… and Bodie found himself thinking about Ray Doyle again.
The last time he had seen this depth of thought, he had been watching Ray Doyle. Doyle, however, had never been this quiet. He would usually vent his frustrations, yell and protest before finally, and grudgingly, accepting the situation. Michael appeared to internalise, work his way through it silently.
And that surprised Bodie because he knew Michael’s background. He was a revolutionary student, the sort you’d expected to be full of fire and passion. This quiet submission was not what he anticipated from a man who had been so focussed on his beliefs that he had been willing to kill innocents.
A conversation flashed through Bodie’s mind…
-He’s a killer
-And what makes you so different?
-The difference is, Doyle, I do it but I don’t enjoy it.
Michael thought too long and too hard to enjoy killing.
“Tell me something…” Bodie found himself asking, “What the hell are you doing here? In Section? How did you get here?”
The green gaze slid away towards the floor but Michael answered without hesitation. “This is my hell…” he told Bodie, “It is justified that I am here…”
Finally, Bodie understood. Michael would accept anything that was thrown at him, without question, because he believed it was atonement for everything that had gone before…
“Was your crime so appalling?” Bodie pushed
The expression on Michael’s face didn’t change, but his eyes flickered up to Bodie’s then slid away again as he answered, simply, “Yes…”
Bodie found himself liking this young man… and that set alarm bells ringing. He had been in Section too long and had played Madeline’s games too often. Instinct warned him to be careful. He couldn’t afford to let emotion, even simple friendship, cloud his judgement.
Stay cool. You can’t afford to give a damn, you might hesitate.
Taking a mental step backwards, he told Michael, “Go get dressed before dinner gets cold...”
Author - Kazlynh
Rating - FRM
Disclaimer - I don’t own them, I just play with them
Summary - A Section Operative is given a new recruit to train
Type - Slash
Author’s Notes: This story takes place approximately ten years before the events of the TV series La Femme Nikita
Fandom: The Professionals/LFN
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED HOURS, on the dot, the entry buzzer rang.
Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, Bodie padded, barefoot, into the hall, picking up the handset, “Hello?”
“It’s Michael,” the Frenchman said, simply.
Bodie pressed the door-release button, telling him, “Come on up.”
Hanging the handset back on the wall, Bodie headed to the front door, opening it. The sound of the elevator told him that Michael was on his way.
Bodie stood at the door, waiting, looking out along the corridor. He heard the elevator doors open and Michael stepped into view. Dusty and dishevelled, his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, the young Frenchman looked round, saw Bodie and walked down the corridor towards him
Bodie stepped back as Michael reached him, inviting, “Come in.”
Michael obeyed without a word, stepping into the hallway.
Bodie closed the door, telling the younger man, “Go on through.”
Michael said nothing, but he nodded and moved towards the living room. Bodie turned, following him. “Dinner’s almost ready. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” Michael told him, simply. Then he added, “It smells good.”
Bodie smiled, not bothering to mention that he wasn’t the one who had done the cooking. Instead, he asked, “Did Madeline tell you why you were being sent here?”
“No,” Michael supplied.
Somehow, Bodie had suspected she wouldn’t. “Did Jurgan?” he asked.
“No,” Michael supplied again.
Nothing like dropping the lad in at the deep end. Bodie kept his face neutral, turning towards the simmering pans on the cooker, “Did he tell you anything about me?”
There was a pause, as if Michael was trying to work out what he should and shouldn’t tell Bodie. Then, finally, he admitted, “He said that you were a good soldier… that I should listen… that I could learn a lot from you.”
Bodie smiled. That sounded like Jurgan. Jurgan reminded him of George Cowley in many ways.
Turning back, Bodie told Michael, “Jurgan’s a good man. There’s no one else I’d rather have standing at my back in a fire fight...” He paused then went on, “Jurgan’s been your instructor for a while now. You’re almost at the end of your two year probation, right?”
Emotion flashed across Michael’s face, too swiftly for Bodie to identify. Regret, maybe? Bodie filed it away for later consideration as Michael confirmed, “I have been with Section since February last year…”
Twenty-one months…
A lot could happen in the three months that were left, Bodie considered, especially if Michael failed to impress Ricardo Vasquez: or worse, bottled on the Valentine Op.
Since leaving Madeline’s office Bodie had run through various ways of telling Michael why he had been sent here. Now that the young Frenchman was standing in front of him, Bodie decided that the direct approach was the best.
“You’ve been assigned to a Valentine Op starting eight days from now,” he told Michael. “I have five days to make sure you’re ready for it. After that you’ll be delivered to another operative who’ll decide whether you remain assigned to the op or end up in abeyance...”
He paused, watching the emotion play across Michael’s face. Giving him a few moments to let the information sink in, Bodie finally asked, “You understand what I mean by Valentine Op and abeyance?”
Michael swallowed, nodding, “Yes.”
Bodie turned. Opening the fridge he pulled out a bottle of champagne. “So, sunshine,” he asked more gently, “have you worked out why Madeline sent you here?”
Peeling the foil off the bottle, he turned back, looking at Michael. The Frenchman was frowning.
“No...” he told Bodie.
Bodie eased the cork out of the bottle, smiling as it popped. He poured the champagne into flutes, put the bottle down then lifted the glasses. Walking around the kitchen counter, Bodie moved toward Michael, offering him one of the flutes.
“Merci,” Michael told him. Taking the glass he watched the bubbles for a moment, then took a sip.
Bodie also tasted the champagne, enjoying the fresh, crisp tang and the fizz of the bubbles against his tongue. He waited as Michael took another sip.
Then, carefully, he moved closer to the Frenchman, letting his eyes travel slowly across the younger man’s face, lingering on his lips. Michael looked back at him, not moving, saying nothing.
Bodie lifted his gaze, finally, to Michael’s, meeting the green eyes with his own. He watched a small flicker of confusion wash across the younger man’s face and stayed still: not moving away, but not moving any closer... Not yet.
Vasquez would have had Michael stripped and in the shower already, pawing at him and backing him into a corner.
For a brief moment, memories of the last person he’d shared his own shower with flashed through Bodie’s mind: a red-headed, Belfast lass with long, shapely legs; an ice-skater’s butt; and a tongue that…
Pushing the memories away, bringing his full attention back to the matter at hand, Bodie regarded Michael for another few seconds. Then he took a half-step towards the younger man… then another, his eyes never leaving Michael’s.
Slowly, Bodie leaned in; tilting his head, pausing briefly, his mouth hovering close to Michael’s before brushing his lips across the younger man’s.
Then he pulled away, just a little: before leaning in again, kissing Michael gently on the lips. Turning his head, his cheek almost-but-not-quite touching Michael’s, his mouth only an inch from Michael’s ear, Bodie murmured softly, “Now do you understand why you’ve been sent here?”
It was obvious that the Frenchman did. Bodie had heard the change in Michael’s breathing and could sense the apprehension that now radiated off the younger man. He had asked the question anyway, and now waited for a verbal response.
Michael swallowed then nodded, “Yes…”
No protestation, no denial, just nervous acceptance.
Bodie pulled back, looking at him. Michael’s eyes were as apprehensive as his body language, belying the quiet composure of the acknowledgment. “Have you ever been with a man before?” Bodie asked.
Michael swallowed again and shook his head, “No…”
Bodie moved away, turning and heading for the cooker, giving Michael some space. “You’ve got it easier than I did, Sunshine,” he told him, “I got thrown in at the deep end.” Glancing at Michael, he explained, “The intel we had on the target was wrong… and I was left to get on with it.”
Bodie picked up Clotilde’s notes then glanced at Michael again. “You can shower before dinner, if you want. Bathroom’s through there,” he went on, pointing to a door. “I left out towels and a robe for you.”
“Merci,” Michael replied softly then turned, heading for the bathroom, the glass of champagne still in his hand.
Bodie watched him go. As Michael closed the door behind him, Bodie sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. One-word answers: if that was all the he was going to get out of this lad it was going to be a long few days…
He drained his glass, poured out more wine, and then turned his attention to not burning the dinner.
~*~
The meat had rested and Bodie was carving it when Michael appeared out of the bathroom, wrapped in a silk robe. Bodie glanced at him, telling him, “I left some things out on the bed for you, stuff I’ve not worn yet. There should be something there that fits you. Bedroom’s through there,” he went on, nodding towards another door.
“Thank you,” Michael told him. He turned to go, and then stopped, turning back. “May I… ask a question?”
Bodie put down the knife, giving Michael his full attention. “Course you can, Sunshine…”
“Why?” Michael asked, “Why you? Why not Ricardo?”
Bodie took a deep breath then let it out slowly, quirking an eyebrow, admitting, “That’s a question I can’t answer.”
He shrugged then tried, “Maybe Ricardo’s pissed them off. Maybe he’s getting too smug and they want to throw him off balance, show him that he’s not indispensable. Maybe they need him angry. Maybe they’ve seen him letching after you and don’t want to risk letting him have you…”
He shrugged again, “Maybe it’s all of the above. Or maybe Madeline’s simply sore because I turned her down…”
Bodie grinned at the thought and a flash of the old Bodie, the pre-Section Bodie, sparked into life. “I can understand that. Good looking man like me knocking her back. Must have dented her ego…”
The grin faded as quickly as it had flared. Serious again, he told Michael, “Doesn’t matter what the reason is. You’ve got to learn to live with the order of things… That’s how you’ll survive.”
Bodie watched the younger man as Michael considered what he’d just said. The expression on the face didn’t change, but Bodie saw the depth of thought behind the eyes… and Bodie found himself thinking about Ray Doyle again.
The last time he had seen this depth of thought, he had been watching Ray Doyle. Doyle, however, had never been this quiet. He would usually vent his frustrations, yell and protest before finally, and grudgingly, accepting the situation. Michael appeared to internalise, work his way through it silently.
And that surprised Bodie because he knew Michael’s background. He was a revolutionary student, the sort you’d expected to be full of fire and passion. This quiet submission was not what he anticipated from a man who had been so focussed on his beliefs that he had been willing to kill innocents.
A conversation flashed through Bodie’s mind…
-He’s a killer
-And what makes you so different?
-The difference is, Doyle, I do it but I don’t enjoy it.
Michael thought too long and too hard to enjoy killing.
“Tell me something…” Bodie found himself asking, “What the hell are you doing here? In Section? How did you get here?”
The green gaze slid away towards the floor but Michael answered without hesitation. “This is my hell…” he told Bodie, “It is justified that I am here…”
Finally, Bodie understood. Michael would accept anything that was thrown at him, without question, because he believed it was atonement for everything that had gone before…
“Was your crime so appalling?” Bodie pushed
The expression on Michael’s face didn’t change, but his eyes flickered up to Bodie’s then slid away again as he answered, simply, “Yes…”
Bodie found himself liking this young man… and that set alarm bells ringing. He had been in Section too long and had played Madeline’s games too often. Instinct warned him to be careful. He couldn’t afford to let emotion, even simple friendship, cloud his judgement.
Stay cool. You can’t afford to give a damn, you might hesitate.
Taking a mental step backwards, he told Michael, “Go get dressed before dinner gets cold...”