La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 071. Broken.
Title: Eyes of a Child
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Michael, Elena; Madeline mentioned
Prompt: 071. Broken.
Word count: 1340
Rating: G
Summary: Beware of things that go “oops” in the night
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
Eyes of a Child
“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy’s home!”
Elena’s little sentry, having performed his duty, threw open the door to run and greet his father.
“Adam, no! Don’t!”
Concerned, Elena came to the open doorway. Michael had exited his car and was trying to balance his briefcase, his son, and an awkward looking pair of crutches.
“Oh, my God, Michael! What happened?”
Elena grabbed the briefcase and the child; Michael’s relief almost palpable. The air-cast on his left ankle and the crutches were much easier to manage without the other encumbrances.
“Adam, run and take your toys out of the living room. Michael, come in and lie down. Is it broken?” Elena continued, gesturing to the cast. “What happened?”
Michael didn’t answer, concentrating instead on making his way to the porch, up the stair, inside the house and into the living room where he collapsed, panting, on the sofa. Elena followed behind, leaving his suitcase in foyer.
For the third time, she asked, “What happened?”
“I slipped,” Michael explained. “In the Metro.”
“Did you fall down the stairs?”
“Eventually,” Michael said wryly. “I actually tripped going up the escalator, then fell halfway back down. It could have been worse. The doctor said it’s a clean break, but I’ll be immobile for a few weeks.”
That was the profile. The stab wound, while not life-threatening, had just missed his liver; and two day-old bullet wounds were in places too readily visible to an inquisitive spouse. The cast and crutches had been Madeline’s idea. If Michael couldn’t climb the stairs, he couldn’t share Elena’s bed until his wounds had healed and the plastic surgeon had minimized the scars. Rather than extending his ‘meeting,’ Madeline thought it prudent that he spend some quality time with his family. Michael had no objections.
“Did they give you anything for the pain?” Elena asked solicitously. Michael gestured to his briefcase and Elena brought it to him. She knew Michael didn’t like when she “messed up” his files.
“Here.” He handed her a small amber vial of garishly green ‘pain pills’. “Do you think you could get me a glass of water? I didn’t want to take anything before I drove home.”
Elena flew into the kitchen and fetched a tall glass of cold water. “I bet you’re glad you had the Volvo,” she teased. “You couldn’t have managed a clutch with that ankle.”
Michael smiled wryly and popped back two aspirin. He handed the bottle back to Elena, pleased to note that Walter had remembered to provide a child-proof cap.
While they’d had a nice “picnic” dinner in the living room, Michael drew the line at “camping” together on the living room floor. He needed to exercise his shoulder and arm to keep the muscles healthy and limber while his wounds healed. He couldn’t do that with an audience, especially the two-year old member who’d been stuck to Michael like glue ever since he’d understood that Daddy wasn’t upset with him; Daddy just had a very big boo-boo. Adam understood that concept completely, and he cautiously avoided the alien plastic and foam contraption that covered Daddy’s leg from his toes to his knee.
After settling Adam for the night in his bedroom, Elena settled Michael into bed on the sofa; picking up his discarded belt and shoes to take upstairs. He convinced her the lightweight trousers and long-sleeved knit shirt he wore were very comfortable. The subterfuge of the broken ankle would be useless if Elena caught sight of his real injuries, which could not be avoided if Michael wore one of his usual tank shirts to sleep in.
“If there’s anything you need…”
“I’m fine. Really,” Michael added, sensing Elena’s displeasure at his use of her least favorite word. She had left him a bottle of juice, an apple, some golf magazines and the latest PC World, the TV remote, and a Discman. MedLab should be so well equipped.
“I’ll look in on you through the night.” Exactly what Michael didn’t want. He held up his bottle of pills, shaking them gently.
“Elena, there’s no need. Look. I’ll take these pills,” illustrating his statement by popping two more green aspirin, swallowing them with a gulp of juice, “and I’ll be out like a light in five minutes. You go upstairs and have a good night’s sleep.” He watched her waver, and added, “You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow. I promise I’ll be relentlessly needy.”
Elena laughed at that, and with a final kiss, went upstairs to bed herself.
Michael listened patiently to the sounds of the routine he knew so well. Elena was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair. Fifty strokes. She had cut the original number in half after an uncomplaining yet very handsome husband had started sleeping in her bed. Michael tracked her footsteps to their bathroom, were she would wash her face and brush her teeth. She had a beautiful smile. The lights dimmed moments later, but Michael waited another 30 minutes. He didn’t need Elena to hear him moving about and come downstairs.
When he finally deemed it was safe, Michael threw off the light afghan and sat up, fumbling in the dark with the buckles and straps on his cast. Ahh, freedom. The aspirin had kicked in, and his arm and shoulder muscles didn’t feel so tight. Before beginning his stretching regimen, Michael strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. He drank thirstily in the light of the open fridge, rinsing the glass and drying it on his shirttail before putting it back in the cabinet. There. No one would ever know.
He turned back to the living room and froze, the silhouette of his son clearly outlined in the doorway.
“Daddy?” Adam was awe-struck. “Is your leg all better?”
“No, Adam. Daddy’s leg is broken. He can’t walk, remember?”
Clearly puzzled, Adam rubbed his eyes and looked again. He knew what he had seen. What he saw.
“You’re sleeping, Adam. You’re having a dream. You’re dreaming that Daddy is walking, but he can’t because his ankle is broken.”
Adam shot Michael a skeptical look, which was interrupted by a nearly jaw-cracking yawn.
“See?” Michael murmured, prodding his son to the foot of the stairs. He would have carried the sleepy boy back to bed to preserve the illusion, but he couldn’t take the chance of Elena hearing him on the stairs. “Go back and get into your bed so you can finish your dream. You can tell me all about it in the morning.” Adam was waffling, but with a kiss to his forehead and a pat to his tiny behind, he nodded and began to climb the stairs.
Michael flew back to the sofa and began the distasteful task of fastening the cast, ruing his decision to use straps and buckles instead of the noisier Velcro. He waited a few more minutes to begin his work-out, flexing his left arm and shoulder, an ear toward the staircase and sweat pooling in the spongy foam of his cast.
He was awakened early in the morning by the chatter of his child, enthusiastically replaying his ‘dream’ for Elena. She made sure Adam was settled in his booster chair before coming into check on Michael.
“Adam said you were up walking around last night.”
“Really?” Michael struggled to a less prone position. “What else did he say?”
“He said your ‘boo-boo’ was all gone, but that you told him your ankle was still broken and to go back upstairs to bed.”
Michael smiled, grimacing as he sat up, reaching for his ‘pain pills’ and juice. He gestured to his cast with his shoulder while taking his medicine. “Well, as you can see, still broken.”
“It must be awful for you,” she sympathized, stroking Michael’s hair, knowing that if he were well he would be out for a run or playing handball with Tristan this morning. “Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were the same for us as it is through the eyes of a child?”
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Michael, Elena; Madeline mentioned
Prompt: 071. Broken.
Word count: 1340
Rating: G
Summary: Beware of things that go “oops” in the night
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3
Eyes of a Child
“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy’s home!”
Elena’s little sentry, having performed his duty, threw open the door to run and greet his father.
“Adam, no! Don’t!”
Concerned, Elena came to the open doorway. Michael had exited his car and was trying to balance his briefcase, his son, and an awkward looking pair of crutches.
“Oh, my God, Michael! What happened?”
Elena grabbed the briefcase and the child; Michael’s relief almost palpable. The air-cast on his left ankle and the crutches were much easier to manage without the other encumbrances.
“Adam, run and take your toys out of the living room. Michael, come in and lie down. Is it broken?” Elena continued, gesturing to the cast. “What happened?”
Michael didn’t answer, concentrating instead on making his way to the porch, up the stair, inside the house and into the living room where he collapsed, panting, on the sofa. Elena followed behind, leaving his suitcase in foyer.
For the third time, she asked, “What happened?”
“I slipped,” Michael explained. “In the Metro.”
“Did you fall down the stairs?”
“Eventually,” Michael said wryly. “I actually tripped going up the escalator, then fell halfway back down. It could have been worse. The doctor said it’s a clean break, but I’ll be immobile for a few weeks.”
That was the profile. The stab wound, while not life-threatening, had just missed his liver; and two day-old bullet wounds were in places too readily visible to an inquisitive spouse. The cast and crutches had been Madeline’s idea. If Michael couldn’t climb the stairs, he couldn’t share Elena’s bed until his wounds had healed and the plastic surgeon had minimized the scars. Rather than extending his ‘meeting,’ Madeline thought it prudent that he spend some quality time with his family. Michael had no objections.
“Did they give you anything for the pain?” Elena asked solicitously. Michael gestured to his briefcase and Elena brought it to him. She knew Michael didn’t like when she “messed up” his files.
“Here.” He handed her a small amber vial of garishly green ‘pain pills’. “Do you think you could get me a glass of water? I didn’t want to take anything before I drove home.”
Elena flew into the kitchen and fetched a tall glass of cold water. “I bet you’re glad you had the Volvo,” she teased. “You couldn’t have managed a clutch with that ankle.”
Michael smiled wryly and popped back two aspirin. He handed the bottle back to Elena, pleased to note that Walter had remembered to provide a child-proof cap.
While they’d had a nice “picnic” dinner in the living room, Michael drew the line at “camping” together on the living room floor. He needed to exercise his shoulder and arm to keep the muscles healthy and limber while his wounds healed. He couldn’t do that with an audience, especially the two-year old member who’d been stuck to Michael like glue ever since he’d understood that Daddy wasn’t upset with him; Daddy just had a very big boo-boo. Adam understood that concept completely, and he cautiously avoided the alien plastic and foam contraption that covered Daddy’s leg from his toes to his knee.
After settling Adam for the night in his bedroom, Elena settled Michael into bed on the sofa; picking up his discarded belt and shoes to take upstairs. He convinced her the lightweight trousers and long-sleeved knit shirt he wore were very comfortable. The subterfuge of the broken ankle would be useless if Elena caught sight of his real injuries, which could not be avoided if Michael wore one of his usual tank shirts to sleep in.
“If there’s anything you need…”
“I’m fine. Really,” Michael added, sensing Elena’s displeasure at his use of her least favorite word. She had left him a bottle of juice, an apple, some golf magazines and the latest PC World, the TV remote, and a Discman. MedLab should be so well equipped.
“I’ll look in on you through the night.” Exactly what Michael didn’t want. He held up his bottle of pills, shaking them gently.
“Elena, there’s no need. Look. I’ll take these pills,” illustrating his statement by popping two more green aspirin, swallowing them with a gulp of juice, “and I’ll be out like a light in five minutes. You go upstairs and have a good night’s sleep.” He watched her waver, and added, “You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow. I promise I’ll be relentlessly needy.”
Elena laughed at that, and with a final kiss, went upstairs to bed herself.
Michael listened patiently to the sounds of the routine he knew so well. Elena was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair. Fifty strokes. She had cut the original number in half after an uncomplaining yet very handsome husband had started sleeping in her bed. Michael tracked her footsteps to their bathroom, were she would wash her face and brush her teeth. She had a beautiful smile. The lights dimmed moments later, but Michael waited another 30 minutes. He didn’t need Elena to hear him moving about and come downstairs.
When he finally deemed it was safe, Michael threw off the light afghan and sat up, fumbling in the dark with the buckles and straps on his cast. Ahh, freedom. The aspirin had kicked in, and his arm and shoulder muscles didn’t feel so tight. Before beginning his stretching regimen, Michael strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. He drank thirstily in the light of the open fridge, rinsing the glass and drying it on his shirttail before putting it back in the cabinet. There. No one would ever know.
He turned back to the living room and froze, the silhouette of his son clearly outlined in the doorway.
“Daddy?” Adam was awe-struck. “Is your leg all better?”
“No, Adam. Daddy’s leg is broken. He can’t walk, remember?”
Clearly puzzled, Adam rubbed his eyes and looked again. He knew what he had seen. What he saw.
“You’re sleeping, Adam. You’re having a dream. You’re dreaming that Daddy is walking, but he can’t because his ankle is broken.”
Adam shot Michael a skeptical look, which was interrupted by a nearly jaw-cracking yawn.
“See?” Michael murmured, prodding his son to the foot of the stairs. He would have carried the sleepy boy back to bed to preserve the illusion, but he couldn’t take the chance of Elena hearing him on the stairs. “Go back and get into your bed so you can finish your dream. You can tell me all about it in the morning.” Adam was waffling, but with a kiss to his forehead and a pat to his tiny behind, he nodded and began to climb the stairs.
Michael flew back to the sofa and began the distasteful task of fastening the cast, ruing his decision to use straps and buckles instead of the noisier Velcro. He waited a few more minutes to begin his work-out, flexing his left arm and shoulder, an ear toward the staircase and sweat pooling in the spongy foam of his cast.
He was awakened early in the morning by the chatter of his child, enthusiastically replaying his ‘dream’ for Elena. She made sure Adam was settled in his booster chair before coming into check on Michael.
“Adam said you were up walking around last night.”
“Really?” Michael struggled to a less prone position. “What else did he say?”
“He said your ‘boo-boo’ was all gone, but that you told him your ankle was still broken and to go back upstairs to bed.”
Michael smiled, grimacing as he sat up, reaching for his ‘pain pills’ and juice. He gestured to his cast with his shoulder while taking his medicine. “Well, as you can see, still broken.”
“It must be awful for you,” she sympathized, stroking Michael’s hair, knowing that if he were well he would be out for a run or playing handball with Tristan this morning. “Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were the same for us as it is through the eyes of a child?”
My prompt table is here.