La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 008. Weeks.
Title: The Waiting Game
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Operations, Madeline; Elena and Adam mentioned
Prompt: 008. Weeks.
Word count: 658
Rating: PG
Summary: Time is relative when the prize is worth it
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read directly following: Bluer Than Blue.*
The Waiting Game
The three of them sat in Madeline’s office doing the preliminary prep for the mission in Algiers. Michael was impassive. Madeline was inscrutable. Operations was pissed.
The object of his direct ire was Michael’s beeper. His ‘Papa Pager’. The fact was, he needed Michael in Algiers in the next 48 hours, not glued to his office waiting for the damn thing to go off. Yet it remained silent, even though Elena was late. Two weeks late. Her quack doctor didn’t seem to think that was a problem, but then she didn’t need Michael to be in Algiers.
The closer Elena’s due date came, the more Operations pushed to have Dr. Laval ‘eliminated’; replaced with one of their own. But Elena’s doctor was Canadian, and her English was fluent. Elena understood and trusted her doctor implicitly. Madeline convinced Operations that canceling Dr. Laval could put undo stress on Elena and the baby, and that baby was their trump card.
Salla Vacek’s grandson. The terrorist’s male heir to the Vacek criminal empire. As Elena’s pregnancy progressed, sims projected an increasingly higher possibility that Vacek would come forward when the child was born. Adam Samuelle. Operations had chosen the name himself. Adam would entice the man in a way that nothing else they manufactured would. So where the hell was Vacek? And where was the damn baby? He should have been here by now. Weeks ago.
The beeper sat on the table, mocking them all with its silence. Michael could have kept the thing is his pocket; that’s where it usually was. But whenever he met with Operations or Madeline, or both, he placed the pager on the desk in front of them. A tangible reminder of *why* he was here in Section, day-after-day, for four weeks now, instead of in the field leading a team as he was trained. But Michael couldn’t be in Rajasthan, or Mozambique, or Timbuktu if and when the damn thing ever went off. Maybe it was broken.
“Have you checked the batteries?”
Michael and Madeline both looked startled; disoriented by Operations’ interruption. They’d been discussing a list of marginal performers to use rather than the initial list of bona fide Abeyance Ops. Neither group of personnel required batteries as far as they knew.
“In the beeper,” Operations clarified impatiently. “Maybe the batteries are dead. Or they’re in backwards.”
Obligingly, Michael opened the battery casing, poured the two triple As into his hand, then replaced them. He depressed the “test” button, and the small unit beeped and vibrated simultaneously. Michael waited, his expression blank, until Operations waved at him to turn the pager off.
Michael did, but the pager sounded again before he placed it back on the table.
“I said turn it off,” Operations snapped. It wasn’t a toy, for Christ’s sake. It was Section’s link to Vacek’s daughter and, ultimately, to Vacek.
“It’s Elena,” Michael responded, his voice flat. “She’s at the hospital.”
It must be the real thing this time. Michael had already driven Elena to the hospital twice in the past month, only to learn more than he ever wanted to know about Braxton-Hicks contractions. Naturally they had started in the middle of the night, and Elena was more than apologetic to have disturbed Michael’s sleep over ‘nothing’. She had seemed a bit uncomfortable at breakfast this morning, but told him to go to work.
“If I want you, I’ll whistle,” she joked. Instead, she paged him. Two weeks later than expected, but apparently it was show time. Michael stood to leave.
“She could be in labor for hours,” Operations said dismissively. “I need you here.”
“Elena has been in labor for hours, or she wouldn’t have paged me,” Michael countered. “She needs me there.” Without further fanfare, or permission, Michael picked up his pager and left the room.
“She waited two full weeks. She couldn’t have waited another hour?” Operations groused.
Typical, thought Madeline, and she smiled. “So where were we?”
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Operations, Madeline; Elena and Adam mentioned
Prompt: 008. Weeks.
Word count: 658
Rating: PG
Summary: Time is relative when the prize is worth it
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read directly following: Bluer Than Blue.*
The Waiting Game
The three of them sat in Madeline’s office doing the preliminary prep for the mission in Algiers. Michael was impassive. Madeline was inscrutable. Operations was pissed.
The object of his direct ire was Michael’s beeper. His ‘Papa Pager’. The fact was, he needed Michael in Algiers in the next 48 hours, not glued to his office waiting for the damn thing to go off. Yet it remained silent, even though Elena was late. Two weeks late. Her quack doctor didn’t seem to think that was a problem, but then she didn’t need Michael to be in Algiers.
The closer Elena’s due date came, the more Operations pushed to have Dr. Laval ‘eliminated’; replaced with one of their own. But Elena’s doctor was Canadian, and her English was fluent. Elena understood and trusted her doctor implicitly. Madeline convinced Operations that canceling Dr. Laval could put undo stress on Elena and the baby, and that baby was their trump card.
Salla Vacek’s grandson. The terrorist’s male heir to the Vacek criminal empire. As Elena’s pregnancy progressed, sims projected an increasingly higher possibility that Vacek would come forward when the child was born. Adam Samuelle. Operations had chosen the name himself. Adam would entice the man in a way that nothing else they manufactured would. So where the hell was Vacek? And where was the damn baby? He should have been here by now. Weeks ago.
The beeper sat on the table, mocking them all with its silence. Michael could have kept the thing is his pocket; that’s where it usually was. But whenever he met with Operations or Madeline, or both, he placed the pager on the desk in front of them. A tangible reminder of *why* he was here in Section, day-after-day, for four weeks now, instead of in the field leading a team as he was trained. But Michael couldn’t be in Rajasthan, or Mozambique, or Timbuktu if and when the damn thing ever went off. Maybe it was broken.
“Have you checked the batteries?”
Michael and Madeline both looked startled; disoriented by Operations’ interruption. They’d been discussing a list of marginal performers to use rather than the initial list of bona fide Abeyance Ops. Neither group of personnel required batteries as far as they knew.
“In the beeper,” Operations clarified impatiently. “Maybe the batteries are dead. Or they’re in backwards.”
Obligingly, Michael opened the battery casing, poured the two triple As into his hand, then replaced them. He depressed the “test” button, and the small unit beeped and vibrated simultaneously. Michael waited, his expression blank, until Operations waved at him to turn the pager off.
Michael did, but the pager sounded again before he placed it back on the table.
“I said turn it off,” Operations snapped. It wasn’t a toy, for Christ’s sake. It was Section’s link to Vacek’s daughter and, ultimately, to Vacek.
“It’s Elena,” Michael responded, his voice flat. “She’s at the hospital.”
It must be the real thing this time. Michael had already driven Elena to the hospital twice in the past month, only to learn more than he ever wanted to know about Braxton-Hicks contractions. Naturally they had started in the middle of the night, and Elena was more than apologetic to have disturbed Michael’s sleep over ‘nothing’. She had seemed a bit uncomfortable at breakfast this morning, but told him to go to work.
“If I want you, I’ll whistle,” she joked. Instead, she paged him. Two weeks later than expected, but apparently it was show time. Michael stood to leave.
“She could be in labor for hours,” Operations said dismissively. “I need you here.”
“Elena has been in labor for hours, or she wouldn’t have paged me,” Michael countered. “She needs me there.” Without further fanfare, or permission, Michael picked up his pager and left the room.
“She waited two full weeks. She couldn’t have waited another hour?” Operations groused.
Typical, thought Madeline, and she smiled. “So where were we?”
My prompt table is here.