Living the Normal Life 5 (end)
Title: Living the Normal Life
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Pairing: Michael Samuelle/Nikita Wirth
Characters: Michael Samuelle, Adam Samuelle, OCs
Rating: A very mild R, I think
Genre: Post Series Fic
Length: Longish
Summary: What is life like for a widowed parent on the run?
************
As he turned the van into the narrow alley that ran behind his shop, Michael caught sight of Adam and Geoff outside the rear door. The late afternoon sun a was casting a warm yellow glare against the west facing wall and Geoff, one of his two new employees, was up on a ladder installing a basketball hoop above the garage entrance and Adam appeared to be assisting him.
In the week and a half since their early morning trip to the dojo, Adam had been dutifully reporting to the shop each afternoon once he was finished with school and his scheduled activities. There he had struck up a somewhat unequal friendship with Geoff, heavily laced as it was with admiration on Adam's part and tolerant kindness on Geoff's.
Michael pulled the van over as close to the wall as he could so that other vehicles could get by, and got out and headed towards Adam and Geoff, who were so involved in their task they had barely looked up at the sound of an engine in the alley.
Once he was close enough, Michael stopped and said, "A basketball hoop?"
"Yeah Dad, isn't it great!" Adam turned and shot Michael a beaming grin, then looked back up at Geoff.
Geoff looked down at Michael, his slow smile lighting his face. "Yeah man, a little hoops at the end of the day, you know?"
Michael shrugged. "Okay."
“You’re wet.”
“Power washing.”
"Oh.” Geoff smiled in understanding. Nodding at the hoop, he asked, “You play?"
"Not much."
Geoff laughed. "You frenchies got no game, huh?"
Adam cried, "my dad can play hoops - I've seen him."
"Okay. Let's see if he can take me. The net is ready."
Geoff climbed down and moved the ladder while Adam rushed around picking up tools and kicking the empty box out of the way. Geoff produced a ball and started dribbling slowly as he strolled out under the net. Grinning, he said, "So Mike, what's it going to be? You and me? Or me and Adam?"
Michael looked back and forth between the two of them, an answering grin tugging at his own lips. "Well, since I have no game, how about two on one, me and Adam against you?"
"Make me eat my words, dude?"
"We'll see."
Geoff dribbled slowly out and around, then drove for the basket, rising high to shoot. Michael relaxed his knees and rolled his shoulders, waiting until the last minute, then he jumped to block the shot, batting the ball toward Adam who cackled gleefully as he caught the rebound.
Geoff stepped back and looked Michael over appraisingly. "Nice vertical jump, man. Remind me not to play poker with you."
After that the game began in earnest and the three of them played until the sun dipped behind a tall building and the alley grew cool, accompanied by the scuffle of their shoes on the gritty surface of the old asphalt, the peculiar sharp echo of the basketball bouncing off the hard surface and the chatter of the game.
Geoff obviously played a lot, but together Michael and Adam had been able to hold him off and the score stood at six to five when they called the match. A round of palm slapping and knuckle tapping later, Geoff picked up the ball and went to open the garage door while Adam bustled around stowing away the trash, and Michael went to move the van inside for the night.
After a brief consultation in the front office about the schedule for the next day's work, Geoff said, "So, can I tell Allison that you guys are coming on Saturday?"
"Yes."
"Marie too?"
"Yes."
"Good. She's a nice lady. Allison likes her."
Michael smiled briefly in acknowledgement, but made no answer.
With a wave, Geoff slipped out the door. Michael turned to Adam. "So - where do you want to go for supper before we go to the dojo?"
Adam named a local pub that served good hamburgers and the two of them headed out the front to their SUV after Michael locked the doors. Once they were in the car and headed for the restaurant, Adam, who had been providing non-committal answers to Michael's general questions about his day, changed the conversation. "Dad? Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“I've been thinking. I think I'd like to stop doing Aikido for a while."
"Why?"
"Well - after I pass the Sho Dan tests next month, I'll be the most advanced kid my size. There is no one else to spar with that is fun anymore, and I'm still to small to spar with you guys, and sensei said I'll have to practically re-learn everything once I finish growing anyhow, so..." He shrugged. "It's getting kind of, I don't know, old."
Michael remained silent as he thought through his first reaction, which was an unconditional ‘no.’ Aikido was one of the central elements of his profile for Adam. The martial art was both a discipline of the mind and spirit and an essential tool, though a bare beginning, to self-defense. He wanted Adam to have both so that when the time came for him to leave, Adam would have the strength and the skills to take care of himself. The regular Aikido was also the most basic way that Michael was attempting to preserve at least the framework of his own physical skills, skills that he would need to return to his old life and to Nikita. Michael was also suspicious about Adam's connection of Aikido to the results of his prank phone call, and wondered if Adam was unconsciously, or consciously, hoping that if he quit Aikido, Michael wouldn't be able to make him work out in the middle of the night again.
But Adam was also right. He was at a transition point in Aikido where there wasn't much new for him to learn because of where he was in his own growth and physical development. And Michael didn't want Adam to have to do something that he resented, because then he wouldn't do it well and much of the purpose for it would be lost. On the other hand, if Adam stopped going, what would Michael do? And how?
Stumped by the problem, Michael stalled. "I don't know Adam. What would you do with the time you give to Aikido now?"
"Well, spring's here and soccer is really taking up a lot more time this year, and I was going to have to change the Saturday workout anyway because of that...." Adam trailed off hopefully.
"I see.” Michael paused for moment, carefully choosing his words. “The Aikido is important to me, and I hope to you. But I won't make you do it, because that defeats the purpose. Can we talk about this again once you've passed the tests?"
"Sure."
After a moment of silence, Adam laughed a little. "Whew. Geoff said you'd be cool about it if I'd just ask!"
To his dismay, Michael immediately recognized the sudden sharp pang in his heart as jealousy, jealousy and regret that he was no longer his son's only confidant, and knew again the all too familiar sensation of loss when long hoped for events come to pass. Michael forced a smile. "Geoff gives good advice.”
************
By early June the trees were beginning to fully leaf out and banks of yellow daffodils blazed in the sun. Michael and Marie were walking across her campus on their way to lunch when they passed a group of young mothers playing with their babies and small children in the sun dappled grass.
Marie exclaimed, “Oh how adorable!”
Turning to Michael, she took his arm and said, “Oh, do you think you would ever….” And trailed off in a rosy blush. Then she smiled a beautiful smile of hope and longing.
Michael, whose thoughts had drifted once again to Adam’s desire to abandon the martial arts, was a beat behind. “Ever - what?”
As he saw her face fall, Michael realized “what.”
“Have more children, someday.” Her voice already held a tentative note of hurt, anticipating what was to come.
Michael felt his face freeze into the blank mask he had cultivated long ago to hide his feelings. After a moment he said, very gently, “Adam is the only child I’ll ever have.”
She tried a small smile and a small laugh. “You sound so certain.”
“I am.”
They walked on.
Ten or twenty paces further, Marie asked in a quiet voice, “What kind of future do you imagine for us then?”
He could not bring himself to say the words, but his silence was enough.
“I see. You don’t imagine a future for us, do you.”
Marie stopped walking, forcing Michael to do the same. Facing her at last, he said, “Marie you are an intelligent and ambitious scholar. I’m a house painter with a teenage son.”
“But you don’t have to be -“
Michael cut her off. “Yes, I do.”
“No you don’t! You have the skills and experience-“
Michael interrupted again, surprising himself with his harshness. “No!”
He paused to take a deep breath. Then, looking directly into her eyes, he said, “I left that life behind in Europe a long time ago. I chose house painting because it met my criteria, and it’s been the best career, best life choice I ever made.”
Looking at the children playing on the grass behind her, he surprised himself with the truth. “I’ve been happier as a house painter than at any other time in my adult life.”
“Oh.”
He looked back at Marie. “It bothers you that I work with my hands; that I’m a blue collar tradesman.”
Even now he knew the backs of his hands and the ends of his hair and his beard were speckled with flecks of paint from the power sprayer he had been using all morning, as were his white painter’s pants and worn brown work boots, and he held his arms wide so she couldn’t miss these obvious signs of his trade.
“No! It certainly does not!”
“Yes, it does. Or you would never have said, ‘you don’t have to be’ a house painter.”
“I…”
Michael touched her cheek. “Maybe you could learn to adjust for a while. But your career can and will take you far away from here, and I can’t leave.”
“You mean, won’t.”
Michael looked her directly in the eyes again. “I won’t leave.”
Marie closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head. After a moment, without looking up, she said, “I think we should stop seeing each other for a while.”
“If you think that’s best.”
“I do.”
“You have my numbers. Call me if want to see me, or just to talk, anytime.”
“Thank you.” She looked up at him then; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I have to go now.”
Then Marie spun on her heel and strode briskly away in the direction of her office.
Michael watched her leave without a word. As he had anticipated, it was nothing more or less painful than the truth that ended his relationship with Marie.
***********
Adam took the news of the end of Michael and Marie's relationship with dampening equanimity, but he enthusiastically accepted Michael's invitation to go camping that weekend; declining the offer to invite along a friend and declaring a preference for backpacking into a campsite rather than driving in with the SUV.
They left early Saturday morning, heading north under a clear blue sky, the light greens of newly leafed out trees along the highway contrasting sharply with the darker hues of the pines.
By late morning they had parked the car and started out on the seven-mile hike into the campsite they'd reserved. It was still early in the summer camping season, the public school year wouldn't be finished for another week, so they had had their pick among the nearer state parks.
The day stayed clear and warm until late afternoon, when sky began to haze over. By early evening the western sky was low and ominously dark and it was all too obvious that the “slight chance of rain” was turning into a near certainty. The campsite was situated along the western edge of a ridge, so Michael and Adam had a breathtaking view of the coming storm. They watched in companionable silence as the western horizon turned a sooty black and tiny lightening began to dance above the distant trees. The stray clouds in eastern sky behind them reflected the last red glow of the setting sun before it was swallowed by the storm, and distant rumbles of thunder provided a bass counterpoint to the evening bird song.
When the breeze dropped off, the final sign that the rain was nearly upon them, they could hear the last cries of the frantically busy birds, and then like the first notes of a new symphony, the patter of rain on leaves. The wind rushed back in and they retreated to their tent, checking the lines one last time.
The furious heart of the storm rolled over them soon after. Thunder boomed over head so loudly they found themselves flinching despite anticipating the noise, the cracks of lightening so sharp and bright that even inside the tent they could see each other clearly, as though they were camping under a street lamp or the light of a full moon.
The rain and wind lashed the tent, making the sides shiver and shake, but the lines held, and in about thirty minutes the storm had perceptibly moved on. Once the thunder diminished and the intensity of the rain eased up enough to make speech a reasonable proposition, Adam turned to Michael and said, "Wow."
"Wow." Michael agreed.
"That was really something."
"Yes."
"Ever been in a tent during a storm like that before?"
"In heavy rain yes. A storm like that, no."
"You and your dad went camping a lot, didn't you."
It wasn't a question. Michael had shared stories of his own childhood with Adam over the years, some embellished to serve his purposes, others as close to the truth as he could recall it. Occasionally Adam tested the stories, making sure that they remained the same telling to telling. The camping stories were true.
"Not as often as you and I have gone camping, but yes, two or three times a year we went camping."
"Short trips, mostly, right?"
"Yes. Three or four days at the most."
"Ever camp for longer?"
"Yes."
"What is the longest you ever camped in a tent?"
This wasn't a new question either, and it was one Michael always knew the answer to immediately because the memories were so close to his heart. He answered, as he always did. "Eleven days."
"That would be so cool."
Michael said nothing, feeling no response was required.
"Could we go on a long camping trip like that sometime?"
"When you're older. When you're strong enough to carry all we would need."
"Geeze dad. I'm a teenager now! How old do I have to be?"
"Sixteen."
"You just made that up, didn't you."
Michael grinned in the dark, amused by Adam's wisely accusing, mildly outraged and already resigned tone. "Yes."
"Speaking of being older..." Adam paused, clearly waiting for Michael to rise to the bait.
Michael said, "were we?"
"Yes. Dad! I'm an eighth grader now! Well," he quickly temporized, "I will be next year! Anyway, I don't want to go to day camp this summer. That's for little kids."
"Your old camp is limited to twelve year olds. You can't go back."
"Exactly!"
"Which is why I asked you to look at those brochures for other summer programs."
Adam sighed. "They're all lame, dad, all except the soccer one."
"Even the music camp?"
Michael could swear he heard Adam's eyes roll. "Yeah!"
Michael was mildly disappointed, but not especially surprised that nothing had caught Adam's attention. Adam had greeted the brochures with an exaggerated sigh and a limp sagging of the shoulders. Michael was curious though, since he thought he knew his son well enough to know that Adam wouldn't have opened the subject if he didn't have a plan. "What do you propose to do instead?"
"Skateboard."
"For two and a half months? Everyday?"
Now Michael was surprised. Adam had a skateboard, of course, and was pretty good with it, but he hadn't until this moment struck Michael as particularly interested - or at least, more interested in that than the rest of his activities.
"Yeah. Down at the skate park, working up my moves for competition."
Michael blinked. He knew Marie had taken up a fair amount of his attention and time over the last few months, but he was certain he had never once heard Adam mention a desire to enter a skateboard competition. "No."
"Dad!"
"No."
"Why not?"
Michael paused, unsure of how exactly to answer without losing Adam's participation in the conversation. Finally he settled on, "The skate park is unsupervised."
"So?"
"So - what if you have a bad fall?"
"Well, I ..." Adam trailed off. "I don't know, exactly. Call you, I guess."
“Hmm.”
"Not good enough?"
"No."
Michael was quiet for a moment, then deciding the time was right, proposed his own plan. "Why don't you work for me?"
"What?"
"I'd start you at the same wage as my other new painters on the summer crew. The day begins early and ends early, so you would have long evenings to skateboard, if that's what you want to do."
"But," Adam objected, "That's when we usually go sailing."
Michael almost laughed with relief. He had purchased a used eighteen-foot sailboat two summers previously because he missed being the water, and he wanted to share his love of sailing with Adam. They kept the boat at a small marina on one of the myriad small lakes within an hour of their house and went out on the boat two or three time a week. The first year they had mostly spent time on the boat, getting used to it, and Adam took the sailing lessons for kids. Last summer they had joined in on many of the twice a week races run by the lake’s sailing club. Carefully keeping his voice neutral, he said, "We don't go to the lake every day."
After a few moments, Adam said, "work with you? Really? You would hire me? I'm old enough? You’d really pay me just like the other guys?”
"Yes."
“And the money I earn would be mine? To spend however I want?”
“Yes.”
Adam was quiet for what seemed like a long time, the only sound the rain of the increasingly distant storm as the gaps between the rumbling thunder and bursts of fading light lengthened. At last, to Michael's pleasure and relief, Adam said, "I'd like that. Thanks dad."
"You're welcome."
Not long afterward Adam turned over and drifted off to sleep, but Michael lay awake a long time, listening to the end of the storm and thinking about camping, and the passing of time.
***********
The school year ended the following Thursday. Because the final day of school would end before noon, Michael had stayed home that morning catching up on various chores. He was in their unfinished and nearly empty basement, pulling towels out of the dryer and holding them up for inspection in the bright yellow sunlight falling through the small, ground-level windows when he heard Adam bang open the kitchen door. He tracked Adam’s progress through their house by the thudding of his quick footsteps overhead. Adam circled through the first floor, then back to the kitchen where he yelled out, “Dad? Where are you?”
Michael raised his voice to call, “in the basement.”
Adam pounded down the open wooden stairs. First his sneaker clad feet appeared, then an expanse of rapidly tanning calf, then baggy faded blue shorts, quickly followed by an equally faded green tee-shirt with a barely legible soccer logo, and at last Michael could see his son’s eager, excited face turned toward him as he searched for his father.
“Got my schedule for next year!” Adam cried as he hit the floor and crossed rapidly over to Michael, flimsy pastel papers fluttering in his hands as he moved through their unfinished and mostly empty basement.
Michael held out his hand for the schedule. “Is it what you requested?”
Adam handed over the pink sheet. “Yep! I even got Mrs. Phan for biology!”
Michael smiled briefly. “Good.”
Michael kept reading, even as he nodded at the yellow sheet Adam was still holding. “Those your grades?”
“Yeah.”
Michael held out his hand.
Adam grinned triumphantly as he passed his father the last paper. “I got As in math, English, French, and science!”
Michael grinned back and cuffed Adam lightly on the shoulder. “Good job.” He looked down at the paper in his hand. “I knew you could bring your science grade back up.” He looked back up at Adam. “But, how did you go from an A to a B in orchestra?”
Adam flushed and slid his eyes over to the clothes spilling out of the open dryer. “Oh. Well. You know. That whole snake incident.”
“Ah.” Michael recalled the recent “snake incident” all too clearly. A very small, very hapless garter snake had slithered out of a flute just as a group of flautists, all girls, had risen for their sectionals. Adam’s friend Erin, owner of the flute, had shrieked and flung her instrument, and the snake, into the air. The snake landed on one student’s lap, the flute careened off the head of another, both causing yet more leaping, shrieking and flinging of the poor terrified snake. Once the snake was captured and released humanely onto school grounds, the harassed and un-amused teacher launched an immediate investigation, and the culprits - Adam and Jon Yang - were quickly identified.
It was one of those incidents that absolutely had to be punished, even if by the time the teacher was telling Michael the story later in the day she was laughing so hard about the sight of the ensuing chaos tears were leaking out of the corner of her eyes.
Michael frowned, so that he wouldn’t laugh, and said, “and Social Studies?”
“I didn’t do so hot on that last test.”
“How not hot?”
“A “D”.”
Now Michael’s frown was for real. “Adam!”
“I know!” Adam raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I just, I don’t know, phased out or something. I couldn’t remember anything so I just guessed.”
“Incorrectly.”
“Yeah.” Adam’s gaze roamed around the basement, searching for a distraction. He found it in the laundry. “What are you doing down here anyway?”
Repressing a sigh, Michel wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to these sorts of stupid questions. “Laundry.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“You had a half day of school.”
“Why is the laundry all spread out like that?”
Michael put Adam’s schedule and report card on the top of the dryer, then lifted the towel he had been examining before Adam arrived and held it up for Adam to see. “I was sorting towels.”
A look of utter confusion crossed Adam’s face. “What?”
Michael held out the towel so Adam could see the edge. “Some of the towels we’ve had since we moved here have started fraying. I was trying to decide which ones were ready for the rag bin.”
Adam gave his father a long, measuring look, his dark eyes filling with pitying dismay. At last he snorted in disgust and shook his head. “Dad. You need to get a life.”
“What!”
Adam laughed and repeated himself. “You need a life.”
Stung by this unexpected admonition, Michael said, “I have a life!”
Adam opened his eyes wide in exaggerated disbelief. “Sorting towels?”
Michael opened his mouth to protest, recognized the futility of such an attempt, and closed it again, shaking his head in amused denial at Adam. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”
“Can you drive me to the skate park? I said I’d meet up with a bunch of the guys there.”
Michael agreed to this and soon after lunch dropped off Adam and headed out to paint for the rest of the afternoon. All the way across town he explained to himself, at some length, that he already had a life, thank you very much and, furthermore, it was one he really liked.
************
After mass on Sunday morning Michael wandered with the rest of the regular crowd toward to the parish hall for coffee and donuts, chatting idly about the weather with a fellow parishioner on his way down the stairs, exchanging nods with a half-dozen or so other members of the congregation he was friendly with.
Once in the parish hall little milling groups formed, broke apart and reformed as people came and left, the priests and deacons appeared one by one, and at last, Adam appeared in a knot of other teens. He made his way quickly through the thinning crowd, calling out as soon as he was within speaking distance, “Dad! Hey dad! Guess what?”
Michael couldn’t help smiling, despite the question. Adam’s checks were flushed a dusky pink with excitement and his eyes were positively sparkling, his wide grin barely holding steady against the urge to break into pleased laughter. Michael dutifully asked, “what?”
“The youth group is going to go to Cedar Point!”
“When?’
“We’ll do fundraising all summer - you know - car washes and stuff - and go right before school starts next fall!”
“Sounds like fun. We can do that.”
Adam’s glowing expression noticeably dimmed; though he kept his smile firmly in place. “Great.” He nodded once or twice. “Great.”
Michael frowned, but before he could ask what was wrong another friend ran over to exclaim about the upcoming trip and the boys rushed off to consult with a larger group. Then another parent accosted Michael to talk about what their responsibilities would be, and the moment was lost.
Several times over the course of the afternoon Michael started to ask Adam what was wrong, but Adam buried himself in yet another science fiction novel until a friend arrived and they went out to irritate the neighbors by jumping their skateboards off the curbs.
Michael took advantage of Adam’s relative confinement to the table during supper to re-introduce the subject of the projected youth-group trip.
“Yeah?” Adam shrugged, then started using his fork to rearrange the food on his plate. “What about it?”
“Seemed like you really wanted to go.”
Adam’s whole body tensed, and Michael knew that he’d found the source of the problem.
“I do!” Adam retreated into a tight ball in his chair and poked viciously at a loose carrot. “I really do!”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Adam pursed his lips, sighed, fidgeted, scowled, sighed again, put down his fork, picked it up again and then sighed for the third time.
“Adam?”
Adam finally looked up at him, his skin pulled tight over fine features and his eyes muddy with suppressed emotion. “I don’t want you to come too.”
“What?”
It was as if the floodgates had opened. “I want to go! I want to go by myself. I don’t want you to come too. I just want to go and be one of the regular kids. Without my dad along. Just once, without you!”
Michael blinked. “Just once?”
“You have been on every single field trip since I started kindergarten! Every single freaking one!” Adam was very nearly shrieking by the time he finished this outburst.
Shocked by Adam’s intensity as much as the subject, Michael couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
When he didn’t get a response, Adam continued, waving his hands in the air for emphasis and obviously making a concerted effort to modulate his tone. “Do you know how weird that is? No one else’s parents go on every single trip! And everybody expects it now! They always laugh and say,” Adam dropped his voice to mimic adult tones and sing-songed, “well, we know we can count on your dad, Adam!”
Michael found himself wanting to laugh at Adam’s performance, despite the seriousness of the issue. Looking into Adam’s accusing stare he tapped his lips while he thought for a moment. Then he asked, “And the other kids?”
“What?”
“How do they respond?”
Adam shrugged and looked away.
“Adam?”
Adam thrust out his chin and squared his shoulders. “They say it’s like having a cop along!”
Michael raised his brows. “Excuse me?”
Adam’s gaze broke and he waved his hand dismissively. “Well, okay, only one said that - the rest all like you.”
From the way Adam’s face scrunched up when he made this pronouncement, Michael wasn’t sure which Adam thought was worse - that some kid resented Michael’s authority or that the rest did not.
“You want to go to Cedar Point, and you don’t want me to come to.”
“Yeah.” Adam worried the inside of his cheek and looked up at Michael, his eyes shiny with unhappiness.
“Then ask.”
Adam raised beseeching eyes to his father’s face. “Can I go to Cedar Point with the youth group, without you along? Please?”
“If you can show me that you will respect and follow our rules about safety between now and then, yes.”
Adam grinned and sagged in relief. “Okay. Cool. I can do that! Definitely. I can do that!”
Michael wasn’t convinced this was so, but he smiled anyway before changing the subject. “Ready to start painting tomorrow?”
************
Several hours into his third night of restless sleep later, Michael flung himself out of bed and padded down to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. Carrying his glass out onto the back deck, he dropped into a chair, sinking down low onto his spine and swinging his heels up on the rail.
Staring into the deep purple black of the clear night sky, he asked himself why he was feeling so restless when he knew he was content, why Adam’s innocent, wise-ass crack about not having a life was driving him crazy, why Adam’s perfectly normal, totally expected desire for more independence was stirring up resentment instead of relief.
He deliberately cleared his mind of all conscious thought, using the few scattered stars high above as his focus point, and as best he could in his somewhat awkward, if comfortable position, deepened and slowed his breathing into the pattern of a simple meditation he had learned long ago.
After what felt a long time, but later when he checked the clock was probably less than half an hour, he knew. Section. And Nikita.
Section was the beginning and the end of his restlessness. Something was changing, something had changed, in him, and it was about Section, and about his implied promise to return, to return to Nikita.
He acknowledged consciously, finally what he had known unconsciously at least as far back as last autumn.
He did not want to go back to Section.
He had lived too long outside, on his own. Going back, going underground again, literally and figuratively, putting his life back in the hands of an organization that served its own needs first, and the needs of the everyone and everything else last, was impossible.
That path was closed and no protests about how much Nikita might still need him, how much he loved her still, about his promise to her, would reopen it.
He was truly outside now. He was not going back.
****************
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Pairing: Michael Samuelle/Nikita Wirth
Characters: Michael Samuelle, Adam Samuelle, OCs
Rating: A very mild R, I think
Genre: Post Series Fic
Length: Longish
Summary: What is life like for a widowed parent on the run?
************
As he turned the van into the narrow alley that ran behind his shop, Michael caught sight of Adam and Geoff outside the rear door. The late afternoon sun a was casting a warm yellow glare against the west facing wall and Geoff, one of his two new employees, was up on a ladder installing a basketball hoop above the garage entrance and Adam appeared to be assisting him.
In the week and a half since their early morning trip to the dojo, Adam had been dutifully reporting to the shop each afternoon once he was finished with school and his scheduled activities. There he had struck up a somewhat unequal friendship with Geoff, heavily laced as it was with admiration on Adam's part and tolerant kindness on Geoff's.
Michael pulled the van over as close to the wall as he could so that other vehicles could get by, and got out and headed towards Adam and Geoff, who were so involved in their task they had barely looked up at the sound of an engine in the alley.
Once he was close enough, Michael stopped and said, "A basketball hoop?"
"Yeah Dad, isn't it great!" Adam turned and shot Michael a beaming grin, then looked back up at Geoff.
Geoff looked down at Michael, his slow smile lighting his face. "Yeah man, a little hoops at the end of the day, you know?"
Michael shrugged. "Okay."
“You’re wet.”
“Power washing.”
"Oh.” Geoff smiled in understanding. Nodding at the hoop, he asked, “You play?"
"Not much."
Geoff laughed. "You frenchies got no game, huh?"
Adam cried, "my dad can play hoops - I've seen him."
"Okay. Let's see if he can take me. The net is ready."
Geoff climbed down and moved the ladder while Adam rushed around picking up tools and kicking the empty box out of the way. Geoff produced a ball and started dribbling slowly as he strolled out under the net. Grinning, he said, "So Mike, what's it going to be? You and me? Or me and Adam?"
Michael looked back and forth between the two of them, an answering grin tugging at his own lips. "Well, since I have no game, how about two on one, me and Adam against you?"
"Make me eat my words, dude?"
"We'll see."
Geoff dribbled slowly out and around, then drove for the basket, rising high to shoot. Michael relaxed his knees and rolled his shoulders, waiting until the last minute, then he jumped to block the shot, batting the ball toward Adam who cackled gleefully as he caught the rebound.
Geoff stepped back and looked Michael over appraisingly. "Nice vertical jump, man. Remind me not to play poker with you."
After that the game began in earnest and the three of them played until the sun dipped behind a tall building and the alley grew cool, accompanied by the scuffle of their shoes on the gritty surface of the old asphalt, the peculiar sharp echo of the basketball bouncing off the hard surface and the chatter of the game.
Geoff obviously played a lot, but together Michael and Adam had been able to hold him off and the score stood at six to five when they called the match. A round of palm slapping and knuckle tapping later, Geoff picked up the ball and went to open the garage door while Adam bustled around stowing away the trash, and Michael went to move the van inside for the night.
After a brief consultation in the front office about the schedule for the next day's work, Geoff said, "So, can I tell Allison that you guys are coming on Saturday?"
"Yes."
"Marie too?"
"Yes."
"Good. She's a nice lady. Allison likes her."
Michael smiled briefly in acknowledgement, but made no answer.
With a wave, Geoff slipped out the door. Michael turned to Adam. "So - where do you want to go for supper before we go to the dojo?"
Adam named a local pub that served good hamburgers and the two of them headed out the front to their SUV after Michael locked the doors. Once they were in the car and headed for the restaurant, Adam, who had been providing non-committal answers to Michael's general questions about his day, changed the conversation. "Dad? Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“I've been thinking. I think I'd like to stop doing Aikido for a while."
"Why?"
"Well - after I pass the Sho Dan tests next month, I'll be the most advanced kid my size. There is no one else to spar with that is fun anymore, and I'm still to small to spar with you guys, and sensei said I'll have to practically re-learn everything once I finish growing anyhow, so..." He shrugged. "It's getting kind of, I don't know, old."
Michael remained silent as he thought through his first reaction, which was an unconditional ‘no.’ Aikido was one of the central elements of his profile for Adam. The martial art was both a discipline of the mind and spirit and an essential tool, though a bare beginning, to self-defense. He wanted Adam to have both so that when the time came for him to leave, Adam would have the strength and the skills to take care of himself. The regular Aikido was also the most basic way that Michael was attempting to preserve at least the framework of his own physical skills, skills that he would need to return to his old life and to Nikita. Michael was also suspicious about Adam's connection of Aikido to the results of his prank phone call, and wondered if Adam was unconsciously, or consciously, hoping that if he quit Aikido, Michael wouldn't be able to make him work out in the middle of the night again.
But Adam was also right. He was at a transition point in Aikido where there wasn't much new for him to learn because of where he was in his own growth and physical development. And Michael didn't want Adam to have to do something that he resented, because then he wouldn't do it well and much of the purpose for it would be lost. On the other hand, if Adam stopped going, what would Michael do? And how?
Stumped by the problem, Michael stalled. "I don't know Adam. What would you do with the time you give to Aikido now?"
"Well, spring's here and soccer is really taking up a lot more time this year, and I was going to have to change the Saturday workout anyway because of that...." Adam trailed off hopefully.
"I see.” Michael paused for moment, carefully choosing his words. “The Aikido is important to me, and I hope to you. But I won't make you do it, because that defeats the purpose. Can we talk about this again once you've passed the tests?"
"Sure."
After a moment of silence, Adam laughed a little. "Whew. Geoff said you'd be cool about it if I'd just ask!"
To his dismay, Michael immediately recognized the sudden sharp pang in his heart as jealousy, jealousy and regret that he was no longer his son's only confidant, and knew again the all too familiar sensation of loss when long hoped for events come to pass. Michael forced a smile. "Geoff gives good advice.”
************
By early June the trees were beginning to fully leaf out and banks of yellow daffodils blazed in the sun. Michael and Marie were walking across her campus on their way to lunch when they passed a group of young mothers playing with their babies and small children in the sun dappled grass.
Marie exclaimed, “Oh how adorable!”
Turning to Michael, she took his arm and said, “Oh, do you think you would ever….” And trailed off in a rosy blush. Then she smiled a beautiful smile of hope and longing.
Michael, whose thoughts had drifted once again to Adam’s desire to abandon the martial arts, was a beat behind. “Ever - what?”
As he saw her face fall, Michael realized “what.”
“Have more children, someday.” Her voice already held a tentative note of hurt, anticipating what was to come.
Michael felt his face freeze into the blank mask he had cultivated long ago to hide his feelings. After a moment he said, very gently, “Adam is the only child I’ll ever have.”
She tried a small smile and a small laugh. “You sound so certain.”
“I am.”
They walked on.
Ten or twenty paces further, Marie asked in a quiet voice, “What kind of future do you imagine for us then?”
He could not bring himself to say the words, but his silence was enough.
“I see. You don’t imagine a future for us, do you.”
Marie stopped walking, forcing Michael to do the same. Facing her at last, he said, “Marie you are an intelligent and ambitious scholar. I’m a house painter with a teenage son.”
“But you don’t have to be -“
Michael cut her off. “Yes, I do.”
“No you don’t! You have the skills and experience-“
Michael interrupted again, surprising himself with his harshness. “No!”
He paused to take a deep breath. Then, looking directly into her eyes, he said, “I left that life behind in Europe a long time ago. I chose house painting because it met my criteria, and it’s been the best career, best life choice I ever made.”
Looking at the children playing on the grass behind her, he surprised himself with the truth. “I’ve been happier as a house painter than at any other time in my adult life.”
“Oh.”
He looked back at Marie. “It bothers you that I work with my hands; that I’m a blue collar tradesman.”
Even now he knew the backs of his hands and the ends of his hair and his beard were speckled with flecks of paint from the power sprayer he had been using all morning, as were his white painter’s pants and worn brown work boots, and he held his arms wide so she couldn’t miss these obvious signs of his trade.
“No! It certainly does not!”
“Yes, it does. Or you would never have said, ‘you don’t have to be’ a house painter.”
“I…”
Michael touched her cheek. “Maybe you could learn to adjust for a while. But your career can and will take you far away from here, and I can’t leave.”
“You mean, won’t.”
Michael looked her directly in the eyes again. “I won’t leave.”
Marie closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head. After a moment, without looking up, she said, “I think we should stop seeing each other for a while.”
“If you think that’s best.”
“I do.”
“You have my numbers. Call me if want to see me, or just to talk, anytime.”
“Thank you.” She looked up at him then; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I have to go now.”
Then Marie spun on her heel and strode briskly away in the direction of her office.
Michael watched her leave without a word. As he had anticipated, it was nothing more or less painful than the truth that ended his relationship with Marie.
***********
Adam took the news of the end of Michael and Marie's relationship with dampening equanimity, but he enthusiastically accepted Michael's invitation to go camping that weekend; declining the offer to invite along a friend and declaring a preference for backpacking into a campsite rather than driving in with the SUV.
They left early Saturday morning, heading north under a clear blue sky, the light greens of newly leafed out trees along the highway contrasting sharply with the darker hues of the pines.
By late morning they had parked the car and started out on the seven-mile hike into the campsite they'd reserved. It was still early in the summer camping season, the public school year wouldn't be finished for another week, so they had had their pick among the nearer state parks.
The day stayed clear and warm until late afternoon, when sky began to haze over. By early evening the western sky was low and ominously dark and it was all too obvious that the “slight chance of rain” was turning into a near certainty. The campsite was situated along the western edge of a ridge, so Michael and Adam had a breathtaking view of the coming storm. They watched in companionable silence as the western horizon turned a sooty black and tiny lightening began to dance above the distant trees. The stray clouds in eastern sky behind them reflected the last red glow of the setting sun before it was swallowed by the storm, and distant rumbles of thunder provided a bass counterpoint to the evening bird song.
When the breeze dropped off, the final sign that the rain was nearly upon them, they could hear the last cries of the frantically busy birds, and then like the first notes of a new symphony, the patter of rain on leaves. The wind rushed back in and they retreated to their tent, checking the lines one last time.
The furious heart of the storm rolled over them soon after. Thunder boomed over head so loudly they found themselves flinching despite anticipating the noise, the cracks of lightening so sharp and bright that even inside the tent they could see each other clearly, as though they were camping under a street lamp or the light of a full moon.
The rain and wind lashed the tent, making the sides shiver and shake, but the lines held, and in about thirty minutes the storm had perceptibly moved on. Once the thunder diminished and the intensity of the rain eased up enough to make speech a reasonable proposition, Adam turned to Michael and said, "Wow."
"Wow." Michael agreed.
"That was really something."
"Yes."
"Ever been in a tent during a storm like that before?"
"In heavy rain yes. A storm like that, no."
"You and your dad went camping a lot, didn't you."
It wasn't a question. Michael had shared stories of his own childhood with Adam over the years, some embellished to serve his purposes, others as close to the truth as he could recall it. Occasionally Adam tested the stories, making sure that they remained the same telling to telling. The camping stories were true.
"Not as often as you and I have gone camping, but yes, two or three times a year we went camping."
"Short trips, mostly, right?"
"Yes. Three or four days at the most."
"Ever camp for longer?"
"Yes."
"What is the longest you ever camped in a tent?"
This wasn't a new question either, and it was one Michael always knew the answer to immediately because the memories were so close to his heart. He answered, as he always did. "Eleven days."
"That would be so cool."
Michael said nothing, feeling no response was required.
"Could we go on a long camping trip like that sometime?"
"When you're older. When you're strong enough to carry all we would need."
"Geeze dad. I'm a teenager now! How old do I have to be?"
"Sixteen."
"You just made that up, didn't you."
Michael grinned in the dark, amused by Adam's wisely accusing, mildly outraged and already resigned tone. "Yes."
"Speaking of being older..." Adam paused, clearly waiting for Michael to rise to the bait.
Michael said, "were we?"
"Yes. Dad! I'm an eighth grader now! Well," he quickly temporized, "I will be next year! Anyway, I don't want to go to day camp this summer. That's for little kids."
"Your old camp is limited to twelve year olds. You can't go back."
"Exactly!"
"Which is why I asked you to look at those brochures for other summer programs."
Adam sighed. "They're all lame, dad, all except the soccer one."
"Even the music camp?"
Michael could swear he heard Adam's eyes roll. "Yeah!"
Michael was mildly disappointed, but not especially surprised that nothing had caught Adam's attention. Adam had greeted the brochures with an exaggerated sigh and a limp sagging of the shoulders. Michael was curious though, since he thought he knew his son well enough to know that Adam wouldn't have opened the subject if he didn't have a plan. "What do you propose to do instead?"
"Skateboard."
"For two and a half months? Everyday?"
Now Michael was surprised. Adam had a skateboard, of course, and was pretty good with it, but he hadn't until this moment struck Michael as particularly interested - or at least, more interested in that than the rest of his activities.
"Yeah. Down at the skate park, working up my moves for competition."
Michael blinked. He knew Marie had taken up a fair amount of his attention and time over the last few months, but he was certain he had never once heard Adam mention a desire to enter a skateboard competition. "No."
"Dad!"
"No."
"Why not?"
Michael paused, unsure of how exactly to answer without losing Adam's participation in the conversation. Finally he settled on, "The skate park is unsupervised."
"So?"
"So - what if you have a bad fall?"
"Well, I ..." Adam trailed off. "I don't know, exactly. Call you, I guess."
“Hmm.”
"Not good enough?"
"No."
Michael was quiet for a moment, then deciding the time was right, proposed his own plan. "Why don't you work for me?"
"What?"
"I'd start you at the same wage as my other new painters on the summer crew. The day begins early and ends early, so you would have long evenings to skateboard, if that's what you want to do."
"But," Adam objected, "That's when we usually go sailing."
Michael almost laughed with relief. He had purchased a used eighteen-foot sailboat two summers previously because he missed being the water, and he wanted to share his love of sailing with Adam. They kept the boat at a small marina on one of the myriad small lakes within an hour of their house and went out on the boat two or three time a week. The first year they had mostly spent time on the boat, getting used to it, and Adam took the sailing lessons for kids. Last summer they had joined in on many of the twice a week races run by the lake’s sailing club. Carefully keeping his voice neutral, he said, "We don't go to the lake every day."
After a few moments, Adam said, "work with you? Really? You would hire me? I'm old enough? You’d really pay me just like the other guys?”
"Yes."
“And the money I earn would be mine? To spend however I want?”
“Yes.”
Adam was quiet for what seemed like a long time, the only sound the rain of the increasingly distant storm as the gaps between the rumbling thunder and bursts of fading light lengthened. At last, to Michael's pleasure and relief, Adam said, "I'd like that. Thanks dad."
"You're welcome."
Not long afterward Adam turned over and drifted off to sleep, but Michael lay awake a long time, listening to the end of the storm and thinking about camping, and the passing of time.
***********
The school year ended the following Thursday. Because the final day of school would end before noon, Michael had stayed home that morning catching up on various chores. He was in their unfinished and nearly empty basement, pulling towels out of the dryer and holding them up for inspection in the bright yellow sunlight falling through the small, ground-level windows when he heard Adam bang open the kitchen door. He tracked Adam’s progress through their house by the thudding of his quick footsteps overhead. Adam circled through the first floor, then back to the kitchen where he yelled out, “Dad? Where are you?”
Michael raised his voice to call, “in the basement.”
Adam pounded down the open wooden stairs. First his sneaker clad feet appeared, then an expanse of rapidly tanning calf, then baggy faded blue shorts, quickly followed by an equally faded green tee-shirt with a barely legible soccer logo, and at last Michael could see his son’s eager, excited face turned toward him as he searched for his father.
“Got my schedule for next year!” Adam cried as he hit the floor and crossed rapidly over to Michael, flimsy pastel papers fluttering in his hands as he moved through their unfinished and mostly empty basement.
Michael held out his hand for the schedule. “Is it what you requested?”
Adam handed over the pink sheet. “Yep! I even got Mrs. Phan for biology!”
Michael smiled briefly. “Good.”
Michael kept reading, even as he nodded at the yellow sheet Adam was still holding. “Those your grades?”
“Yeah.”
Michael held out his hand.
Adam grinned triumphantly as he passed his father the last paper. “I got As in math, English, French, and science!”
Michael grinned back and cuffed Adam lightly on the shoulder. “Good job.” He looked down at the paper in his hand. “I knew you could bring your science grade back up.” He looked back up at Adam. “But, how did you go from an A to a B in orchestra?”
Adam flushed and slid his eyes over to the clothes spilling out of the open dryer. “Oh. Well. You know. That whole snake incident.”
“Ah.” Michael recalled the recent “snake incident” all too clearly. A very small, very hapless garter snake had slithered out of a flute just as a group of flautists, all girls, had risen for their sectionals. Adam’s friend Erin, owner of the flute, had shrieked and flung her instrument, and the snake, into the air. The snake landed on one student’s lap, the flute careened off the head of another, both causing yet more leaping, shrieking and flinging of the poor terrified snake. Once the snake was captured and released humanely onto school grounds, the harassed and un-amused teacher launched an immediate investigation, and the culprits - Adam and Jon Yang - were quickly identified.
It was one of those incidents that absolutely had to be punished, even if by the time the teacher was telling Michael the story later in the day she was laughing so hard about the sight of the ensuing chaos tears were leaking out of the corner of her eyes.
Michael frowned, so that he wouldn’t laugh, and said, “and Social Studies?”
“I didn’t do so hot on that last test.”
“How not hot?”
“A “D”.”
Now Michael’s frown was for real. “Adam!”
“I know!” Adam raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I just, I don’t know, phased out or something. I couldn’t remember anything so I just guessed.”
“Incorrectly.”
“Yeah.” Adam’s gaze roamed around the basement, searching for a distraction. He found it in the laundry. “What are you doing down here anyway?”
Repressing a sigh, Michel wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to these sorts of stupid questions. “Laundry.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“You had a half day of school.”
“Why is the laundry all spread out like that?”
Michael put Adam’s schedule and report card on the top of the dryer, then lifted the towel he had been examining before Adam arrived and held it up for Adam to see. “I was sorting towels.”
A look of utter confusion crossed Adam’s face. “What?”
Michael held out the towel so Adam could see the edge. “Some of the towels we’ve had since we moved here have started fraying. I was trying to decide which ones were ready for the rag bin.”
Adam gave his father a long, measuring look, his dark eyes filling with pitying dismay. At last he snorted in disgust and shook his head. “Dad. You need to get a life.”
“What!”
Adam laughed and repeated himself. “You need a life.”
Stung by this unexpected admonition, Michael said, “I have a life!”
Adam opened his eyes wide in exaggerated disbelief. “Sorting towels?”
Michael opened his mouth to protest, recognized the futility of such an attempt, and closed it again, shaking his head in amused denial at Adam. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”
“Can you drive me to the skate park? I said I’d meet up with a bunch of the guys there.”
Michael agreed to this and soon after lunch dropped off Adam and headed out to paint for the rest of the afternoon. All the way across town he explained to himself, at some length, that he already had a life, thank you very much and, furthermore, it was one he really liked.
************
After mass on Sunday morning Michael wandered with the rest of the regular crowd toward to the parish hall for coffee and donuts, chatting idly about the weather with a fellow parishioner on his way down the stairs, exchanging nods with a half-dozen or so other members of the congregation he was friendly with.
Once in the parish hall little milling groups formed, broke apart and reformed as people came and left, the priests and deacons appeared one by one, and at last, Adam appeared in a knot of other teens. He made his way quickly through the thinning crowd, calling out as soon as he was within speaking distance, “Dad! Hey dad! Guess what?”
Michael couldn’t help smiling, despite the question. Adam’s checks were flushed a dusky pink with excitement and his eyes were positively sparkling, his wide grin barely holding steady against the urge to break into pleased laughter. Michael dutifully asked, “what?”
“The youth group is going to go to Cedar Point!”
“When?’
“We’ll do fundraising all summer - you know - car washes and stuff - and go right before school starts next fall!”
“Sounds like fun. We can do that.”
Adam’s glowing expression noticeably dimmed; though he kept his smile firmly in place. “Great.” He nodded once or twice. “Great.”
Michael frowned, but before he could ask what was wrong another friend ran over to exclaim about the upcoming trip and the boys rushed off to consult with a larger group. Then another parent accosted Michael to talk about what their responsibilities would be, and the moment was lost.
Several times over the course of the afternoon Michael started to ask Adam what was wrong, but Adam buried himself in yet another science fiction novel until a friend arrived and they went out to irritate the neighbors by jumping their skateboards off the curbs.
Michael took advantage of Adam’s relative confinement to the table during supper to re-introduce the subject of the projected youth-group trip.
“Yeah?” Adam shrugged, then started using his fork to rearrange the food on his plate. “What about it?”
“Seemed like you really wanted to go.”
Adam’s whole body tensed, and Michael knew that he’d found the source of the problem.
“I do!” Adam retreated into a tight ball in his chair and poked viciously at a loose carrot. “I really do!”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Adam pursed his lips, sighed, fidgeted, scowled, sighed again, put down his fork, picked it up again and then sighed for the third time.
“Adam?”
Adam finally looked up at him, his skin pulled tight over fine features and his eyes muddy with suppressed emotion. “I don’t want you to come too.”
“What?”
It was as if the floodgates had opened. “I want to go! I want to go by myself. I don’t want you to come too. I just want to go and be one of the regular kids. Without my dad along. Just once, without you!”
Michael blinked. “Just once?”
“You have been on every single field trip since I started kindergarten! Every single freaking one!” Adam was very nearly shrieking by the time he finished this outburst.
Shocked by Adam’s intensity as much as the subject, Michael couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
When he didn’t get a response, Adam continued, waving his hands in the air for emphasis and obviously making a concerted effort to modulate his tone. “Do you know how weird that is? No one else’s parents go on every single trip! And everybody expects it now! They always laugh and say,” Adam dropped his voice to mimic adult tones and sing-songed, “well, we know we can count on your dad, Adam!”
Michael found himself wanting to laugh at Adam’s performance, despite the seriousness of the issue. Looking into Adam’s accusing stare he tapped his lips while he thought for a moment. Then he asked, “And the other kids?”
“What?”
“How do they respond?”
Adam shrugged and looked away.
“Adam?”
Adam thrust out his chin and squared his shoulders. “They say it’s like having a cop along!”
Michael raised his brows. “Excuse me?”
Adam’s gaze broke and he waved his hand dismissively. “Well, okay, only one said that - the rest all like you.”
From the way Adam’s face scrunched up when he made this pronouncement, Michael wasn’t sure which Adam thought was worse - that some kid resented Michael’s authority or that the rest did not.
“You want to go to Cedar Point, and you don’t want me to come to.”
“Yeah.” Adam worried the inside of his cheek and looked up at Michael, his eyes shiny with unhappiness.
“Then ask.”
Adam raised beseeching eyes to his father’s face. “Can I go to Cedar Point with the youth group, without you along? Please?”
“If you can show me that you will respect and follow our rules about safety between now and then, yes.”
Adam grinned and sagged in relief. “Okay. Cool. I can do that! Definitely. I can do that!”
Michael wasn’t convinced this was so, but he smiled anyway before changing the subject. “Ready to start painting tomorrow?”
************
Several hours into his third night of restless sleep later, Michael flung himself out of bed and padded down to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. Carrying his glass out onto the back deck, he dropped into a chair, sinking down low onto his spine and swinging his heels up on the rail.
Staring into the deep purple black of the clear night sky, he asked himself why he was feeling so restless when he knew he was content, why Adam’s innocent, wise-ass crack about not having a life was driving him crazy, why Adam’s perfectly normal, totally expected desire for more independence was stirring up resentment instead of relief.
He deliberately cleared his mind of all conscious thought, using the few scattered stars high above as his focus point, and as best he could in his somewhat awkward, if comfortable position, deepened and slowed his breathing into the pattern of a simple meditation he had learned long ago.
After what felt a long time, but later when he checked the clock was probably less than half an hour, he knew. Section. And Nikita.
Section was the beginning and the end of his restlessness. Something was changing, something had changed, in him, and it was about Section, and about his implied promise to return, to return to Nikita.
He acknowledged consciously, finally what he had known unconsciously at least as far back as last autumn.
He did not want to go back to Section.
He had lived too long outside, on his own. Going back, going underground again, literally and figuratively, putting his life back in the hands of an organization that served its own needs first, and the needs of the everyone and everything else last, was impossible.
That path was closed and no protests about how much Nikita might still need him, how much he loved her still, about his promise to her, would reopen it.
He was truly outside now. He was not going back.
****************