La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 005. Outsides.
Title: And Adam Makes Three
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Nikita, Elena, Adam, Michael; Birkoff, Operations, Madeline and one canon character referred to
Prompt: 005. Outsides.
Word count: 707
Rating: PGish
Summary: Be careful what you wish for
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3; original dialogue from “Looking For Michael.”
And Adam Makes Three
The quiet suburban street was deserted as Nikita drove her BMW slowly through the neighborhood, checking house numbers against the intel she received from Birkoff. She turned left, pulling into the driveway of a large three story house; stone, with a matching low wall around the perimeter of the yard. Nikita checked the exterior of the house, but nothing she saw said “Michael.” The top floor had dormer windows; that could be an attic. Still, why would Michael be living in a house this large?
There were two cars in sight: an orange Volvo on the left, and a vintage rust and cream Citroën on the right. No sign of Michael’s Mercedes. This couldn’t be the right place. Yet the iris-scan Birkoff had made for her should have worked. Ferreira was a Level Five Op, like Michael. Why would his scan have yielded faulty intel? Regardless, Nikita couldn’t exactly contact Birkoff at Section for verification since neither of them was supposed to know where Michael lived. From outward appearances, they still didn’t.
Her surveillance of the outside of the house garnering no new intel, Nikita had no choice but to use the direct approach. Slowly, she approached the front door, taking in the beauty of the fallen rainbow of leaves on the lawn. Very unusual for this time of year. Then again, nothing about these last six weeks had been "usual" even by Section standards. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t a matter of life and death-hers.
Nikita was now the only living Op, other than Operations and Madeline, to have seen the founder of Section alive. Operations had to have known what would happen when he ordered Nikita to let herself be “recruited” by Adrian. Ironic to think that Nikita’s success in bringing Operations’ enemy to Section would be her own death sentence.
Birkoff had suggested she contact Michael, though what he could do for her Nikita didn’t know. Actually, Michael had witnessed the showdown between Operations and Adrian as well. Nikita hadn’t seen him in well over a month. Had he been cancelled? Had Madeline lied about Michael’s being “at home”; this house merely a trap? A rather elaborate scheme to take out one Level Two Op, but according to Birkoff, Operations and Madeline were desperate.
If the house were a trap, she would never know if she just stood outside and stared at the front door. The wooden door was solid; dark red, with a plain but elegant bronze door knocker. Almost holding her breath, Nikita pulled back on the knocker and rapped once. So far so good, yet she turned halfway away from the doorway, just in case. The door opened.
“Yes?” Nikita turned to face a young woman about her age, with long black hair and dusky skin. Mediterranean, maybe? Or middle-eastern? She was very pretty; wearing a brightly colored silk top. She didn’t *feel* like an Op, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Hi. Ah, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I’m not sure this is the right address…” Nikita’s voice trailed off, uncertain.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” Before Nikita could answer, a small boy of three or four ran up behind the woman and grabbed her leg.
“Mommy, come on. It’s your turn.” Very sweet; coloring like his mother’s, and definitely *not* Section.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart,” the woman answered before turning back to Nikita. “I’m sorry. Who did you want?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Nikita apologized. “I have the wrong house.” She heard the little boy babbling in the other room, presumably to his father. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Later. Let’s finish the game first.”
Michael.
Nikita had started to turn from the door, but froze at his voice. Was it possible that Michael did live here? Who were these people? The child had called him “Daddy.”
“Michael?” She almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was quite short, and he was turned away from her, tossing the child in the air. This was surreal. It couldn’t be happening. But it was.
Nikita babbled. Michael babbled. Nonsensical salutations for the benefit of the woman, who couldn’t possibly be-
“This is my wife, Elena.” And Nikita’s world came tumbling down.
She should have stayed outside.
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Nikita, Elena, Adam, Michael; Birkoff, Operations, Madeline and one canon character referred to
Prompt: 005. Outsides.
Word count: 707
Rating: PGish
Summary: Be careful what you wish for
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3; original dialogue from “Looking For Michael.”
And Adam Makes Three
The quiet suburban street was deserted as Nikita drove her BMW slowly through the neighborhood, checking house numbers against the intel she received from Birkoff. She turned left, pulling into the driveway of a large three story house; stone, with a matching low wall around the perimeter of the yard. Nikita checked the exterior of the house, but nothing she saw said “Michael.” The top floor had dormer windows; that could be an attic. Still, why would Michael be living in a house this large?
There were two cars in sight: an orange Volvo on the left, and a vintage rust and cream Citroën on the right. No sign of Michael’s Mercedes. This couldn’t be the right place. Yet the iris-scan Birkoff had made for her should have worked. Ferreira was a Level Five Op, like Michael. Why would his scan have yielded faulty intel? Regardless, Nikita couldn’t exactly contact Birkoff at Section for verification since neither of them was supposed to know where Michael lived. From outward appearances, they still didn’t.
Her surveillance of the outside of the house garnering no new intel, Nikita had no choice but to use the direct approach. Slowly, she approached the front door, taking in the beauty of the fallen rainbow of leaves on the lawn. Very unusual for this time of year. Then again, nothing about these last six weeks had been "usual" even by Section standards. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t a matter of life and death-hers.
Nikita was now the only living Op, other than Operations and Madeline, to have seen the founder of Section alive. Operations had to have known what would happen when he ordered Nikita to let herself be “recruited” by Adrian. Ironic to think that Nikita’s success in bringing Operations’ enemy to Section would be her own death sentence.
Birkoff had suggested she contact Michael, though what he could do for her Nikita didn’t know. Actually, Michael had witnessed the showdown between Operations and Adrian as well. Nikita hadn’t seen him in well over a month. Had he been cancelled? Had Madeline lied about Michael’s being “at home”; this house merely a trap? A rather elaborate scheme to take out one Level Two Op, but according to Birkoff, Operations and Madeline were desperate.
If the house were a trap, she would never know if she just stood outside and stared at the front door. The wooden door was solid; dark red, with a plain but elegant bronze door knocker. Almost holding her breath, Nikita pulled back on the knocker and rapped once. So far so good, yet she turned halfway away from the doorway, just in case. The door opened.
“Yes?” Nikita turned to face a young woman about her age, with long black hair and dusky skin. Mediterranean, maybe? Or middle-eastern? She was very pretty; wearing a brightly colored silk top. She didn’t *feel* like an Op, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Hi. Ah, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I’m not sure this is the right address…” Nikita’s voice trailed off, uncertain.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” Before Nikita could answer, a small boy of three or four ran up behind the woman and grabbed her leg.
“Mommy, come on. It’s your turn.” Very sweet; coloring like his mother’s, and definitely *not* Section.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart,” the woman answered before turning back to Nikita. “I’m sorry. Who did you want?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Nikita apologized. “I have the wrong house.” She heard the little boy babbling in the other room, presumably to his father. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Later. Let’s finish the game first.”
Michael.
Nikita had started to turn from the door, but froze at his voice. Was it possible that Michael did live here? Who were these people? The child had called him “Daddy.”
“Michael?” She almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was quite short, and he was turned away from her, tossing the child in the air. This was surreal. It couldn’t be happening. But it was.
Nikita babbled. Michael babbled. Nonsensical salutations for the benefit of the woman, who couldn’t possibly be-
“This is my wife, Elena.” And Nikita’s world came tumbling down.
She should have stayed outside.
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.