La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 014. Green.
Title: Face in the Mirror
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Elena; Michael mentioned
Prompt: 014. Green.
Word count: 531
Rating: PGish for implied violence
Summary: Searching for family ties
Author's Notes: Spoilers through Season 3
Face in the Mirror
Adam analyzed his reflection in the antique mirror in the hallway.
“Mommy, who do I look like?”
Elena sighed. Adam had been asking the same question every day for nearly a month. The answer was always the same. She knew what he wanted to hear, but she wouldn’t lie to her young son.
“You look like Adam, sweetheart.” She stood behind him, brushing the silky black locks out of his dark eyes. Hair that didn’t curl. Eyes that weren’t green.
Actually, Adam looked a lot like her brother Leonardo, who died when he was a year older than Adam. Elena had been an infant at the time, but she had often wondered if her father’s precipitous departure from his family had anything to do with Leo’s accident. She had very few photos that her mother had kept of Leo, but they could easily be mistaken for snapshots of Adam.
Leo had looked like their mother; more Portuguese than Pakistani. Elena didn’t know whom she resembled among her ancestors, and she hadn’t really cared. But Adam was obsessed with his father’s image.
“Do I look like my Daddy?” Adam questioned anxiously. Michael had died less than two months ago, and despite the shrine of framed photos around the house, including those in Adam’s bedroom, he was afraid of forgetting what Daddy looked like. He searched for a resemblance to his own countenance, but there was none.
“You are very handsome, like Daddy. You have his stubborn jaw when you don’t get your way,” his mother teased gently, knowing Adam’s sometimes willful temperament most likely came from her. There hadn’t been a stubborn bone in Michael’s body. He was so easy-going; acquiescing to her every wish. In their six years of marriage they had only really disagreed about one thing: Elena contacting her father. And look how well that had turned out. She’d known her father less than five minutes before losing him, and Michael, to a crazed gunman who’d chosen her hospital room to vent his frustrations with the world.
“What color are my eyes?”
Adam knew his colors. Had known them before he could speak, pointing to “red” or “blue” upon request. She knew Adam was looking for green in his eyes, yet they remained black like her own.
“I think maybe a bit brown,” Elena hedged, ceding to his need. Brown was lighter than black.
Adam sighed. He’d not been pacified. “Will they be green tomorrow?” He knew the answer. Adam was very bright; “Highly Gifted” according to his pre-school records. How proud Elena and Michael had been when Adam slowly and painstakingly read aloud his own report to his parents. He got almost all the words right.
But now, Adam’s need to connect with his father in some visual way was palpable.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Elena responded gently, adding at Adam’s crestfallen expression, “but we’ll see. We’ll look again tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed, climbing down from the little stool he’d been standing on to get a closer look at his face. He was willing to wait, as long as his wish came true. Elena smiled sorrowfully as Adam pronounced with confidence, “Tomorrow my eyes might be green.”
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam, Elena; Michael mentioned
Prompt: 014. Green.
Word count: 531
Rating: PGish for implied violence
Summary: Searching for family ties
Author's Notes: Spoilers through Season 3
Face in the Mirror
Adam analyzed his reflection in the antique mirror in the hallway.
“Mommy, who do I look like?”
Elena sighed. Adam had been asking the same question every day for nearly a month. The answer was always the same. She knew what he wanted to hear, but she wouldn’t lie to her young son.
“You look like Adam, sweetheart.” She stood behind him, brushing the silky black locks out of his dark eyes. Hair that didn’t curl. Eyes that weren’t green.
Actually, Adam looked a lot like her brother Leonardo, who died when he was a year older than Adam. Elena had been an infant at the time, but she had often wondered if her father’s precipitous departure from his family had anything to do with Leo’s accident. She had very few photos that her mother had kept of Leo, but they could easily be mistaken for snapshots of Adam.
Leo had looked like their mother; more Portuguese than Pakistani. Elena didn’t know whom she resembled among her ancestors, and she hadn’t really cared. But Adam was obsessed with his father’s image.
“Do I look like my Daddy?” Adam questioned anxiously. Michael had died less than two months ago, and despite the shrine of framed photos around the house, including those in Adam’s bedroom, he was afraid of forgetting what Daddy looked like. He searched for a resemblance to his own countenance, but there was none.
“You are very handsome, like Daddy. You have his stubborn jaw when you don’t get your way,” his mother teased gently, knowing Adam’s sometimes willful temperament most likely came from her. There hadn’t been a stubborn bone in Michael’s body. He was so easy-going; acquiescing to her every wish. In their six years of marriage they had only really disagreed about one thing: Elena contacting her father. And look how well that had turned out. She’d known her father less than five minutes before losing him, and Michael, to a crazed gunman who’d chosen her hospital room to vent his frustrations with the world.
“What color are my eyes?”
Adam knew his colors. Had known them before he could speak, pointing to “red” or “blue” upon request. She knew Adam was looking for green in his eyes, yet they remained black like her own.
“I think maybe a bit brown,” Elena hedged, ceding to his need. Brown was lighter than black.
Adam sighed. He’d not been pacified. “Will they be green tomorrow?” He knew the answer. Adam was very bright; “Highly Gifted” according to his pre-school records. How proud Elena and Michael had been when Adam slowly and painstakingly read aloud his own report to his parents. He got almost all the words right.
But now, Adam’s need to connect with his father in some visual way was palpable.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Elena responded gently, adding at Adam’s crestfallen expression, “but we’ll see. We’ll look again tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed, climbing down from the little stool he’d been standing on to get a closer look at his face. He was willing to wait, as long as his wish came true. Elena smiled sorrowfully as Adam pronounced with confidence, “Tomorrow my eyes might be green.”
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.