La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 055. Spirit.
Title: I Hear Dead People
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael/Nikita, Madeline; Elena, Walter, Adam, Birkoff, Operations and two canon characters mentioned
Prompt: 055. Spirit.
Word count: 1296
Rating: PG
Summary: Living life among the dead
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3. Part Two of Two based on “Psychic Pilgrim.”
*To preserve continuity, the next story in the series is here: He, She, and Thee.*
I Hear Dead People
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He said it. Okay, she’d coerced him. Michael could hardly have said “Get over it” on camera; Armel’s or Section’s. He didn’t have to mean it. He’d never said he did. Even on that night after Lyons. He’d never said the words, though he’d written volumes with his body. The same body she’d shared a bed with for the last four nights. The body she’d awakened to find herself enmeshed with; limbs and bed linens tangled. Nikita had believed he meant what he didn’t say at the time. Actions speak louder than words. Don’t they?
She’d been nervous. Not about the mission. Joaquin Armel was every bit as bad as the man he served. Pretending to be a psychic who could communicate with the spirit of his dead son wasn’t a problem. She’d been a computer geek, a mercenary, and a long-lost daughter within months after her training was complete. Two weeks ago she’d been incarcerated in the prison from hell, making lesbian overtures to get their target to “escape” with her. A psychic was a walk in the park.
No, the part that made her nervous was sleeping with Michael. Just sleeping. Sharing his bed. The last time they shared a bed they hadn’t slept. They both thought it would be their once and only; they didn’t have the luxury of time. Now they had a week. Surely Armel expected a young, healthy couple to have sex. Unless Michael was impotent. Nikita snorted at the thought, covering with a small half-snore before rolling toward Michael, her face out of camera range in case she gave herself a case of the giggles. She could continue to be immune to Michael’s charms, fake ‘bad’ back notwithstanding, but that wasn’t feasible. Nikita talked to dead people; she wasn’t one of them.
Not that it mattered tonight. Michael was asleep; dead to the world. At least, he didn’t move when she wrapped her arms around him, snuggling against his side for warmth. They’d had a realistic husband and wife ‘difference of opinion’ over the thermostat earlier in the evening; Nikita lost. Michael would just have to deal with the consequences. Soon, warm and drowsy, Nikita slept.
Michael lay awake. As he had for most of the previous four nights. Sharing a bed with Nikita was proving to be hazardous to his sanity. Unlike Elena, Nikita was a ‘cuddler’. If Michael dropped his guard, nodding off for a few moments, he would invariably awaken to find Nikita’s arms and legs threaded through his, leaving more than his mind in a quandary. So why had he thought this was such a good idea?
In his profile, he stated that Nikita needed work on her field mechanics, and he should train her. Michael was her mentor; she had spent more time with him than with any other person in Section. She was comfortable with him. Nikita knew Michael. Biblically. And therein lay the root of his current dilemma. He told Madeline that he and Nikita were convincing as two people in love. Michael wasn’t conceited enough to believe it was the mind-blowing sex they shared which brought Nikita back to Section, but she did come back for him. For a life he couldn’t give her.
Did he love Nikita? He needed her; more than he’d needed anyone before, and that scared him. Michael didn’t frighten easily, and he wasn’t frightened for himself so much as for Nikita. She was impulsive; acting first and thinking later. That continued behavior would likely get her killed. Get them killed, as Michael would no doubt be by Nikita’s side whenever she needed him; whether she liked it or not. Unless he was with his wife and child. Michael sighed deeply, as a man fast asleep, ironically holding Nikita close as he thought of his son.
Adam. The child he had sired upon demand. Collateral. An object from whom he’d intended to remain disengaged. The love of his life. In some perverse way Michael felt sorry for Armel. Louis had been taken from him after eleven years; a child in the prime of his young life. Adam was two. Bright, articulate; an endless source of joy. Not endless. Until endgame. Michael refused to think what lay beyond that. Armel had lost his son, and because of that he was vulnerable. How would Nikita feel if she knew that Louis wasn’t dead, but taken from Armel. Being held as leverage?
She was good. Watching the mission tapes, Michael could have believed that Nikita was in a trance, communing with the spirit world. Her breath was shaky; words slow and measured; her voice disembodied. Michael had played his own part well, expressing deep concern for his wife even though unable to protect her physically from their being kidnapped.
“She’s showing definite improvement. You must have spent some time working with her.” This from Madeline, in whose office they were reviewing the tapes.
“No,” Michael answered honestly. “We discussed what needed to be done. How Birkoff would be feeding her intel. The psychic persona is her own idea. Improvised. Too much preparation would have felt rehearsed.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Wait for it. Three, two, one… “You’ve not had sex.”
“No.”
“Your original profile included marital sex.”
“I made some alterations. This is Nikita’s first time working deep-cover for more than a few days. Her first time with a partner. She’s doing well in all other areas. I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Operations disagrees.” Of course. “If Nikita is to continue to increase her value to Section, mission sex is something with which she needs to be comfortable. I’ll leave it up to your discretion, though.”
“Of course.”
“I believe Nikita is with Walter now. Please send her to me.”
Michael nodded. As if his “discretion” had actually been an option.
Oddly, Nikita wasn’t nervous. If she had to make her own mini-porn film for Section’s data-logs, at least it was with Michael. They’d made love before, though Madeline had no way of knowing that when she and Nikita had ‘talked’ this afternoon. It was Michael who seemed reticent, though surely Madeline had given him the same ‘advice’. At times like these, Nikita wished she really did have psychic powers. What was Michael thinking?
‘A mistake’. Well, that was pretty clear. No interpretation from the spirits needed. The ‘what you’re doing for Armel’ addition was bull, and they both knew it.
“I never expected your support. I do expect your love.” Mistake *that*, Michael.
“Walter, do you know where they keep the buffered hostiles?” It was just a hunch. Intuition. Or maybe an actual communiqué from the spirits. But when she’d held Armel in her arms as he cried for his son…
An innocent boy. Taken and held prisoner for months for the simple crime of being Joaquin Armel’s son. Did Michael know? Of course he did. That’s why he’d been deliberately vague about the intel she received from Birkoff. It *had* been in real time; from Louis. Nikita still felt no sorrow for bringing down Armel. He deserved it. But to have thought all these months that his beloved son was dead. Michael didn’t care. Obviously he’d never had a son of his own; would never feel the loss Armel did.
“I know I’ve been gone a day longer than I thought, but I will home tomorrow night, Elena. I promise. Is Adam still awake?” Please say yes. Michael needed to hear his son’s voice; his reminder that his actions were for the greater good. There was no greater good than his son. “Well, then give him a kiss for me. Maybe he’ll see me in his dreams. You know I’m with you both in spirit.” A pause. “I love you, too.”
My prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael/Nikita, Madeline; Elena, Walter, Adam, Birkoff, Operations and two canon characters mentioned
Prompt: 055. Spirit.
Word count: 1296
Rating: PG
Summary: Living life among the dead
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3. Part Two of Two based on “Psychic Pilgrim.”
*To preserve continuity, the next story in the series is here: He, She, and Thee.*
I Hear Dead People
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He said it. Okay, she’d coerced him. Michael could hardly have said “Get over it” on camera; Armel’s or Section’s. He didn’t have to mean it. He’d never said he did. Even on that night after Lyons. He’d never said the words, though he’d written volumes with his body. The same body she’d shared a bed with for the last four nights. The body she’d awakened to find herself enmeshed with; limbs and bed linens tangled. Nikita had believed he meant what he didn’t say at the time. Actions speak louder than words. Don’t they?
She’d been nervous. Not about the mission. Joaquin Armel was every bit as bad as the man he served. Pretending to be a psychic who could communicate with the spirit of his dead son wasn’t a problem. She’d been a computer geek, a mercenary, and a long-lost daughter within months after her training was complete. Two weeks ago she’d been incarcerated in the prison from hell, making lesbian overtures to get their target to “escape” with her. A psychic was a walk in the park.
No, the part that made her nervous was sleeping with Michael. Just sleeping. Sharing his bed. The last time they shared a bed they hadn’t slept. They both thought it would be their once and only; they didn’t have the luxury of time. Now they had a week. Surely Armel expected a young, healthy couple to have sex. Unless Michael was impotent. Nikita snorted at the thought, covering with a small half-snore before rolling toward Michael, her face out of camera range in case she gave herself a case of the giggles. She could continue to be immune to Michael’s charms, fake ‘bad’ back notwithstanding, but that wasn’t feasible. Nikita talked to dead people; she wasn’t one of them.
Not that it mattered tonight. Michael was asleep; dead to the world. At least, he didn’t move when she wrapped her arms around him, snuggling against his side for warmth. They’d had a realistic husband and wife ‘difference of opinion’ over the thermostat earlier in the evening; Nikita lost. Michael would just have to deal with the consequences. Soon, warm and drowsy, Nikita slept.
Michael lay awake. As he had for most of the previous four nights. Sharing a bed with Nikita was proving to be hazardous to his sanity. Unlike Elena, Nikita was a ‘cuddler’. If Michael dropped his guard, nodding off for a few moments, he would invariably awaken to find Nikita’s arms and legs threaded through his, leaving more than his mind in a quandary. So why had he thought this was such a good idea?
In his profile, he stated that Nikita needed work on her field mechanics, and he should train her. Michael was her mentor; she had spent more time with him than with any other person in Section. She was comfortable with him. Nikita knew Michael. Biblically. And therein lay the root of his current dilemma. He told Madeline that he and Nikita were convincing as two people in love. Michael wasn’t conceited enough to believe it was the mind-blowing sex they shared which brought Nikita back to Section, but she did come back for him. For a life he couldn’t give her.
Did he love Nikita? He needed her; more than he’d needed anyone before, and that scared him. Michael didn’t frighten easily, and he wasn’t frightened for himself so much as for Nikita. She was impulsive; acting first and thinking later. That continued behavior would likely get her killed. Get them killed, as Michael would no doubt be by Nikita’s side whenever she needed him; whether she liked it or not. Unless he was with his wife and child. Michael sighed deeply, as a man fast asleep, ironically holding Nikita close as he thought of his son.
Adam. The child he had sired upon demand. Collateral. An object from whom he’d intended to remain disengaged. The love of his life. In some perverse way Michael felt sorry for Armel. Louis had been taken from him after eleven years; a child in the prime of his young life. Adam was two. Bright, articulate; an endless source of joy. Not endless. Until endgame. Michael refused to think what lay beyond that. Armel had lost his son, and because of that he was vulnerable. How would Nikita feel if she knew that Louis wasn’t dead, but taken from Armel. Being held as leverage?
She was good. Watching the mission tapes, Michael could have believed that Nikita was in a trance, communing with the spirit world. Her breath was shaky; words slow and measured; her voice disembodied. Michael had played his own part well, expressing deep concern for his wife even though unable to protect her physically from their being kidnapped.
“She’s showing definite improvement. You must have spent some time working with her.” This from Madeline, in whose office they were reviewing the tapes.
“No,” Michael answered honestly. “We discussed what needed to be done. How Birkoff would be feeding her intel. The psychic persona is her own idea. Improvised. Too much preparation would have felt rehearsed.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Wait for it. Three, two, one… “You’ve not had sex.”
“No.”
“Your original profile included marital sex.”
“I made some alterations. This is Nikita’s first time working deep-cover for more than a few days. Her first time with a partner. She’s doing well in all other areas. I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Operations disagrees.” Of course. “If Nikita is to continue to increase her value to Section, mission sex is something with which she needs to be comfortable. I’ll leave it up to your discretion, though.”
“Of course.”
“I believe Nikita is with Walter now. Please send her to me.”
Michael nodded. As if his “discretion” had actually been an option.
Oddly, Nikita wasn’t nervous. If she had to make her own mini-porn film for Section’s data-logs, at least it was with Michael. They’d made love before, though Madeline had no way of knowing that when she and Nikita had ‘talked’ this afternoon. It was Michael who seemed reticent, though surely Madeline had given him the same ‘advice’. At times like these, Nikita wished she really did have psychic powers. What was Michael thinking?
‘A mistake’. Well, that was pretty clear. No interpretation from the spirits needed. The ‘what you’re doing for Armel’ addition was bull, and they both knew it.
“I never expected your support. I do expect your love.” Mistake *that*, Michael.
“Walter, do you know where they keep the buffered hostiles?” It was just a hunch. Intuition. Or maybe an actual communiqué from the spirits. But when she’d held Armel in her arms as he cried for his son…
An innocent boy. Taken and held prisoner for months for the simple crime of being Joaquin Armel’s son. Did Michael know? Of course he did. That’s why he’d been deliberately vague about the intel she received from Birkoff. It *had* been in real time; from Louis. Nikita still felt no sorrow for bringing down Armel. He deserved it. But to have thought all these months that his beloved son was dead. Michael didn’t care. Obviously he’d never had a son of his own; would never feel the loss Armel did.
“I know I’ve been gone a day longer than I thought, but I will home tomorrow night, Elena. I promise. Is Adam still awake?” Please say yes. Michael needed to hear his son’s voice; his reminder that his actions were for the greater good. There was no greater good than his son. “Well, then give him a kiss for me. Maybe he’ll see me in his dreams. You know I’m with you both in spirit.” A pause. “I love you, too.”
My prompt table is here.