La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 036. Smell.
Title: Wash Away Your Tears
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Adam, Elena
Prompt: 036. Smell.
Word count: 990
Rating: G
Summary: Elena copes with a loss in the family
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
Wash Away Your Tears
Michael drove recklessly through rush-hour traffic, ignoring several universally known one-finger salutes as he cut-off one car and nearly side-swiped another.
All he could think of was Adam.
They thought it was just a cough. A summer cold. The heat was oppressive; the humidity unbearable. Dr. Laval told Elena even four-month old infants like Adam caught colds. That had seemed to pacify her. But the cough medicine didn’t work. Was it asthma? Michael didn’t know what that sounded like, and was unable to offer much consolation to Elena after she’d held the phone to Adam’s tiny face so Michael could hear him breathe. And cough. Weakly; as though worn out. He was wheezing, Michael thought, but he didn’t want to alarm Elena. Instead he calmly suggested she drop in at the doctor’s office with Adam. Surely Dr. Laval would see him without an appointment when she heard his cough.
That was two days ago. Adam’s coughing and wheezing couldn’t keep Michael from having to lead a team in Lisbon. Elena had called Michael’s “private” line at Section just minutes after his return. She was crying. He hadn’t understood a word she said other than ‘Adam’. Michael hadn’t stayed to interrogate the captured prisoners, and his eyes dared Madeline to make him remain at Section to debrief.
Michael screeched to a halt in his driveway and raced into the house. The smell hit him first. Something dank; musty. Like wet wool. He took the stairs two at a time to Adam’s room. The nauseating smell dissipated somewhat inside the nursery; the now-familiar vaporizer merrily spritzing the room with moisture so Adam so could breathe easier. And he was. He coughed once, but he wasn’t wheezing at all. His heartbeat was steady and his tiny chest rose and fell beneath Michael’s gentle hand with soothing regularity.
So why was Elena crying when she called?
The trip back down the stairs was more sedate, and the stench hit him again with full force. Michael wrinkled his nose as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. The smell seemed to emanate from in there.
Wet Dog. That’s what he smelled. And from the look on Watson’s face as he sat, covered with suds in the kitchen sink, very unhappy Wet Dog.
“Elena?” She wasn’t crying at the moment, but her eyes were swollen from recent tears. Michael moved closer, only to have his best summer suit coat covered with soapy water and wet dog smell as Watson shook himself vigorously.
“Watson!” he scolded, and was startled when Elena turned on him.
“Don’t yell at him, Michael. It’s not his fault. He can’t help…” her voice trailed off into fresh tears.
Michael quickly shucked out of his coat so he could rinse the thick suds off the dog. Watson shook out his fur again, and Michael quickly scooped him up and deposited him, and a bit of the noxious aroma, outside where he could drip dry in the warm evening air. Michael removed his ruined shirt and found a dish towel to dry off his hair and partially soaked undershirt.
“Elena,” he began gently, not wanting to set her off again. “What did the doctor say? I checked on Adam. He seems much better.”
Elena sniffed. “Oh, Michael. It’s Watson.”
“The dog?” Okay; clarification wasn’t really necessary, but Michael was befuddled by Elena’s behavior.
“I took Adam to the doctor’s office, like you said. That is, I was going to, but his cough cleared up before we ever got there. It seemed silly to bother her, so we came back home. I put Adam in his highchair and started to fix his lunch and he started coughing again. And wheezing. Did you know he was wheezing?” Michael was non-committal. He wasn’t sure where Elena was going, but he got the impression she blamed herself for Adam’s illness.
“I called the doctor’s office. I wanted to tell her what happened, but Watson was barking at something and I put him outside so I could talk. I told Dr. Laval all about Adam’s cough: how it was getting worse; how he had started the wheezing; how the vaporizer and cough medicine weren’t working. After we talked a bit more, she asked me to put the phone to Adam’s face so she could hear him. Like I did for you.” Michael nodded. Adam had sounded horrible.
“No wheezing at all. Not even much of a cough. I told her he’d gotten better in the car as well, and she asked me…she said…” Elena hiccupped, new tears threatening to spill. Michael held open his arms and Elena stepped into a wet but caring hug.
“It’s Watson, Michael. Adam’s allergic. Dr. Laval said we’d have to keep him outside all the time; never let him in the house for anything; never go near the baby after touching the dog without scrubbing like a surgeon. Otherwise, we’ll have to give him up.”
“And you thought if you gave him a good bath…?” Michael understood.
Elena loved Watson. He’d nearly knocked her down in the park two years ago, and after Michael’s profuse apology they ended up going out for dinner. Their first date. Elena had no idea Watson was trained by Section; obeying a subtle gesture from a nearby Op to jump up on her. He was a nice dog; friendly. His repertoire of tricks wasn’t vast, but he’d performed well on cue. Technically, his work here was done. Had been for quite a while.
“You can’t keep washing the dog, Elena. Adam will still be allergic to him. It’s dog he’s reacting to, not dirt. We’ll have to find a new home for Watson. A good one,” Michael added, trying to reassure her.
“I know.” Elena buried her face in Michael’s shoulder. She did. Washing him was a well-intentioned but futile gesture that hadn’t made her or Watson feel any better. And the house still reeked of wet dog.
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Adam, Elena
Prompt: 036. Smell.
Word count: 990
Rating: G
Summary: Elena copes with a loss in the family
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
Wash Away Your Tears
Michael drove recklessly through rush-hour traffic, ignoring several universally known one-finger salutes as he cut-off one car and nearly side-swiped another.
All he could think of was Adam.
They thought it was just a cough. A summer cold. The heat was oppressive; the humidity unbearable. Dr. Laval told Elena even four-month old infants like Adam caught colds. That had seemed to pacify her. But the cough medicine didn’t work. Was it asthma? Michael didn’t know what that sounded like, and was unable to offer much consolation to Elena after she’d held the phone to Adam’s tiny face so Michael could hear him breathe. And cough. Weakly; as though worn out. He was wheezing, Michael thought, but he didn’t want to alarm Elena. Instead he calmly suggested she drop in at the doctor’s office with Adam. Surely Dr. Laval would see him without an appointment when she heard his cough.
That was two days ago. Adam’s coughing and wheezing couldn’t keep Michael from having to lead a team in Lisbon. Elena had called Michael’s “private” line at Section just minutes after his return. She was crying. He hadn’t understood a word she said other than ‘Adam’. Michael hadn’t stayed to interrogate the captured prisoners, and his eyes dared Madeline to make him remain at Section to debrief.
Michael screeched to a halt in his driveway and raced into the house. The smell hit him first. Something dank; musty. Like wet wool. He took the stairs two at a time to Adam’s room. The nauseating smell dissipated somewhat inside the nursery; the now-familiar vaporizer merrily spritzing the room with moisture so Adam so could breathe easier. And he was. He coughed once, but he wasn’t wheezing at all. His heartbeat was steady and his tiny chest rose and fell beneath Michael’s gentle hand with soothing regularity.
So why was Elena crying when she called?
The trip back down the stairs was more sedate, and the stench hit him again with full force. Michael wrinkled his nose as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. The smell seemed to emanate from in there.
Wet Dog. That’s what he smelled. And from the look on Watson’s face as he sat, covered with suds in the kitchen sink, very unhappy Wet Dog.
“Elena?” She wasn’t crying at the moment, but her eyes were swollen from recent tears. Michael moved closer, only to have his best summer suit coat covered with soapy water and wet dog smell as Watson shook himself vigorously.
“Watson!” he scolded, and was startled when Elena turned on him.
“Don’t yell at him, Michael. It’s not his fault. He can’t help…” her voice trailed off into fresh tears.
Michael quickly shucked out of his coat so he could rinse the thick suds off the dog. Watson shook out his fur again, and Michael quickly scooped him up and deposited him, and a bit of the noxious aroma, outside where he could drip dry in the warm evening air. Michael removed his ruined shirt and found a dish towel to dry off his hair and partially soaked undershirt.
“Elena,” he began gently, not wanting to set her off again. “What did the doctor say? I checked on Adam. He seems much better.”
Elena sniffed. “Oh, Michael. It’s Watson.”
“The dog?” Okay; clarification wasn’t really necessary, but Michael was befuddled by Elena’s behavior.
“I took Adam to the doctor’s office, like you said. That is, I was going to, but his cough cleared up before we ever got there. It seemed silly to bother her, so we came back home. I put Adam in his highchair and started to fix his lunch and he started coughing again. And wheezing. Did you know he was wheezing?” Michael was non-committal. He wasn’t sure where Elena was going, but he got the impression she blamed herself for Adam’s illness.
“I called the doctor’s office. I wanted to tell her what happened, but Watson was barking at something and I put him outside so I could talk. I told Dr. Laval all about Adam’s cough: how it was getting worse; how he had started the wheezing; how the vaporizer and cough medicine weren’t working. After we talked a bit more, she asked me to put the phone to Adam’s face so she could hear him. Like I did for you.” Michael nodded. Adam had sounded horrible.
“No wheezing at all. Not even much of a cough. I told her he’d gotten better in the car as well, and she asked me…she said…” Elena hiccupped, new tears threatening to spill. Michael held open his arms and Elena stepped into a wet but caring hug.
“It’s Watson, Michael. Adam’s allergic. Dr. Laval said we’d have to keep him outside all the time; never let him in the house for anything; never go near the baby after touching the dog without scrubbing like a surgeon. Otherwise, we’ll have to give him up.”
“And you thought if you gave him a good bath…?” Michael understood.
Elena loved Watson. He’d nearly knocked her down in the park two years ago, and after Michael’s profuse apology they ended up going out for dinner. Their first date. Elena had no idea Watson was trained by Section; obeying a subtle gesture from a nearby Op to jump up on her. He was a nice dog; friendly. His repertoire of tricks wasn’t vast, but he’d performed well on cue. Technically, his work here was done. Had been for quite a while.
“You can’t keep washing the dog, Elena. Adam will still be allergic to him. It’s dog he’s reacting to, not dirt. We’ll have to find a new home for Watson. A good one,” Michael added, trying to reassure her.
“I know.” Elena buried her face in Michael’s shoulder. She did. Washing him was a well-intentioned but futile gesture that hadn’t made her or Watson feel any better. And the house still reeked of wet dog.
My prompt table is here.