La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 042. Triangle.
Title: He, She, and Thee
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael/Nikita; Elena, Adam
Prompt: 042. Triangle.
Word count: 955
Rating: PGish
Summary: Triangles can come in more than one shape
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3.
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between I Hear Dead People and A Matter of Good Taste.*
He, She, and Thee
“Are you sure you can’t go with me to the doctor today?” Elena wasn’t whining, exactly. But she’d had to endure almost every moment of her pregnancy with Adam on her own. She’d even had to ask a neighbor to act her Lamaze coach because Michael never knew when he’d be called out of town. Apparently ‘wife-in-labor’ was not considered a viable excuse to miss out on training or a sales meeting or a presentation or whatever it was that kept Michael away from home; sometimes weeks at a time.
Michael glanced up, his weary mind searching for an excuse. He’d come home very late last night after six days away. He should have been able to stay with Elena, but he still had to debrief his last mission. That had been his bargain with Madeline.
“I’m sorry,” Elena apologized, cutting him off. Michael looked exhausted. It wasn’t his fault his job was so demanding. He was only trying to provide for their family; their little threesome, which just might become a foursome. Michael had been so preoccupied lately; only when she revealed last night that she might be pregnant again did she garner his full attention. His reaction hadn’t been quite what Elena had anticipated. She expected surprise, but Michael was so far beyond surprised; practically in shock. He wasn’t pleased, she could tell, though he tried to be, for her.
“I know Adam’s birth was difficult, and the doctor said another baby probably wouldn’t be a good idea, but I have a good feeling about this, Michael. I really do.” Her words of assurance fell on deaf ears even as Michael held her close.
He was living a nightmare.
Salla Vacek hadn’t shown himself at Adam’s birth, even though sims had shown a high probability. Profilers were already working on an alternate plan; something to be put into play within the next few months. Then it would happen. Section would cancel Vacek, and Michael would lose his son. Now, to lose two children-he couldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t. Michael kissed his wife on the cheek as she drove off, alone, to the doctor’s office. She was beaming; the pregnant woman’s “glow.”
Michael felt nauseated. His debrief with Madeline and her mind games was even more difficult than usual as he mentally juggled the complexities of husband/father Michael with Cold Op Michael. His responses had seemed mechanical; even for him. The profile had been flawless. There were no anomalies. Nikita had performed well. They had, as Michael had assured Madeline, been convincing as two people in love. He rested his head in his hands; lights off; blinds closed.
Was he in love in Nikita? He could no longer deny their connection. Making love to Nikita again had only fanned the flames of the desire he’d felt for her when they met on the barge after that fateful night in Lyons. But was it love? He cared for her, far more than he wanted to admit. He had come to care deeply for Elena, his mission wife. Two women so very different. A soap opera love triangle: the man, the woman, and the lover. Michael, his home, and his heart.
The nausea was worse. Michael bypassed his coffee maker for a trip to the cafeteria. Maybe a soft drink or some soda water would settle his jangled nerves as well as his stomach.
Naturally, he crossed paths with Nikita. The woman he’d called ‘a mistake.’ What must she think of him?
“Did you finish your debrief?” He remained cool; detatched.
“Yes. It’s done.”
“Good.” Brilliant come-back, Michael. “Was it difficult for you?”
Nikita seemed confused. “The debrief?”
“No. The mission.”
“At the time, no.”
“What about now?” Shut up, Michael! You have a wife. You have a child. Maybe children. This can’t continue.
“That sort of depends on you. How do you feel about it?”
“Conflicted.” The bare bones honest-to-God truth. Not satisfying in the least, but it was all he had to give. To Nikita.
Michael the husband and father pulled his Volvo into the driveway of his suburban home, cut the engine and just sat; very, very conflicted. Elena. Nikita. Elena and Nikita. The old cliché popped into his mind again. The irony of the situation-situations, was not lost on Michael. Whoever coined the term “love triangle” should be cancelled. He exited the car, picked up his briefcase and donned his best “supportive husband” smile. He wanted to throw up.
“Michael! You’re home early!” Elena couldn’t say more before a three-year old bundle of energy launched itself into his arms.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Michael held his child close, his eyes closed, breathing deeply the scent of little boy. His little boy.
“I love you, Adam. I love you very much.” The absolute truth; two times in under two hours. A personal record. He looked up at Elena, who shook her head subtly. Michael carried Adam into the kitchen after two abortive attempts to set him back down in front of Sesame Street.
“It’s a benign cyst,” Elena informed Michael, eyes suspiciously bright but voice calm. “There won’t be any more.” There was no need to ask ‘more what?’ Michael offered his arm, pulling his wife and son into a three-way hug. Michael had no words to express his feelings at that moment. None he could say ever say. To Elena.
Adam’s husky little voice piped up as he counted the members of his family, pointing his chubby finger at each in turn.
“One. Two. Three. Triangle!” he shouted gleefully, sharing his new word of the day with his parents.
Michael ignored Elena’s startled face as he practically shoved Adam into her arms, rushed into the bathroom, and was violently ill.
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael/Nikita; Elena, Adam
Prompt: 042. Triangle.
Word count: 955
Rating: PGish
Summary: Triangles can come in more than one shape
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3.
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between I Hear Dead People and A Matter of Good Taste.*
He, She, and Thee
“Are you sure you can’t go with me to the doctor today?” Elena wasn’t whining, exactly. But she’d had to endure almost every moment of her pregnancy with Adam on her own. She’d even had to ask a neighbor to act her Lamaze coach because Michael never knew when he’d be called out of town. Apparently ‘wife-in-labor’ was not considered a viable excuse to miss out on training or a sales meeting or a presentation or whatever it was that kept Michael away from home; sometimes weeks at a time.
Michael glanced up, his weary mind searching for an excuse. He’d come home very late last night after six days away. He should have been able to stay with Elena, but he still had to debrief his last mission. That had been his bargain with Madeline.
“I’m sorry,” Elena apologized, cutting him off. Michael looked exhausted. It wasn’t his fault his job was so demanding. He was only trying to provide for their family; their little threesome, which just might become a foursome. Michael had been so preoccupied lately; only when she revealed last night that she might be pregnant again did she garner his full attention. His reaction hadn’t been quite what Elena had anticipated. She expected surprise, but Michael was so far beyond surprised; practically in shock. He wasn’t pleased, she could tell, though he tried to be, for her.
“I know Adam’s birth was difficult, and the doctor said another baby probably wouldn’t be a good idea, but I have a good feeling about this, Michael. I really do.” Her words of assurance fell on deaf ears even as Michael held her close.
He was living a nightmare.
Salla Vacek hadn’t shown himself at Adam’s birth, even though sims had shown a high probability. Profilers were already working on an alternate plan; something to be put into play within the next few months. Then it would happen. Section would cancel Vacek, and Michael would lose his son. Now, to lose two children-he couldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t. Michael kissed his wife on the cheek as she drove off, alone, to the doctor’s office. She was beaming; the pregnant woman’s “glow.”
Michael felt nauseated. His debrief with Madeline and her mind games was even more difficult than usual as he mentally juggled the complexities of husband/father Michael with Cold Op Michael. His responses had seemed mechanical; even for him. The profile had been flawless. There were no anomalies. Nikita had performed well. They had, as Michael had assured Madeline, been convincing as two people in love. He rested his head in his hands; lights off; blinds closed.
Was he in love in Nikita? He could no longer deny their connection. Making love to Nikita again had only fanned the flames of the desire he’d felt for her when they met on the barge after that fateful night in Lyons. But was it love? He cared for her, far more than he wanted to admit. He had come to care deeply for Elena, his mission wife. Two women so very different. A soap opera love triangle: the man, the woman, and the lover. Michael, his home, and his heart.
The nausea was worse. Michael bypassed his coffee maker for a trip to the cafeteria. Maybe a soft drink or some soda water would settle his jangled nerves as well as his stomach.
Naturally, he crossed paths with Nikita. The woman he’d called ‘a mistake.’ What must she think of him?
“Did you finish your debrief?” He remained cool; detatched.
“Yes. It’s done.”
“Good.” Brilliant come-back, Michael. “Was it difficult for you?”
Nikita seemed confused. “The debrief?”
“No. The mission.”
“At the time, no.”
“What about now?” Shut up, Michael! You have a wife. You have a child. Maybe children. This can’t continue.
“That sort of depends on you. How do you feel about it?”
“Conflicted.” The bare bones honest-to-God truth. Not satisfying in the least, but it was all he had to give. To Nikita.
Michael the husband and father pulled his Volvo into the driveway of his suburban home, cut the engine and just sat; very, very conflicted. Elena. Nikita. Elena and Nikita. The old cliché popped into his mind again. The irony of the situation-situations, was not lost on Michael. Whoever coined the term “love triangle” should be cancelled. He exited the car, picked up his briefcase and donned his best “supportive husband” smile. He wanted to throw up.
“Michael! You’re home early!” Elena couldn’t say more before a three-year old bundle of energy launched itself into his arms.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Michael held his child close, his eyes closed, breathing deeply the scent of little boy. His little boy.
“I love you, Adam. I love you very much.” The absolute truth; two times in under two hours. A personal record. He looked up at Elena, who shook her head subtly. Michael carried Adam into the kitchen after two abortive attempts to set him back down in front of Sesame Street.
“It’s a benign cyst,” Elena informed Michael, eyes suspiciously bright but voice calm. “There won’t be any more.” There was no need to ask ‘more what?’ Michael offered his arm, pulling his wife and son into a three-way hug. Michael had no words to express his feelings at that moment. None he could say ever say. To Elena.
Adam’s husky little voice piped up as he counted the members of his family, pointing his chubby finger at each in turn.
“One. Two. Three. Triangle!” he shouted gleefully, sharing his new word of the day with his parents.
Michael ignored Elena’s startled face as he practically shoved Adam into her arms, rushed into the bathroom, and was violently ill.
My prompt table is here.