LFN: Watching From the Wall (2/3)
Title: Watching From the Wall (2/3)
Series: One Line (5/26)
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Character(s): Michael Samuelle, OC, Madeline
fanfic100 Prompt: 38-touch
Length: 3,421
Rating: PG-13, edging into R
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: There are options.
Dedication: for halcyondayz who sat on the cold hard LJ floor waiting for the first two parts to be posted and gave me some impetus (read: guilted me) into getting this done.
Notes: This story is pre-S1. Written for fanfic100. My prompt table is here, and the timeline for the series is here.
Part 1
§§§
The warm hand in her scalp woke her. Michael watched as her face came alive, and felt the moment when she noticed him. She stiffened then relaxed. Her eyes opened. They stared at each other for a long moment. Michael’s hand moved in her hair.
“Are you comfortable sitting like that?” she asked softly. Her voice was rough with disuse.
“Did you sleep well?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Have I been asleep for a very long time?”
“A few hours.”
She cleared her throat. “You haven’t been sitting here this whole time?”
“No.” He withdrew his hand from her hair and she relaxed more.
“Do you want to join me?” she asked, scooting backward on the bed.
He shook his head, standing. “No. Do you want to eat?”
Bemused, she studied him for a moment before nodding. “All right. The fridge is stocked, but the kitchen will send something if you call down.”
He gave her a nod that could have been a slight bow, then left.
When a page brought up their dinner he went back into the room and found her studying her active panel. She followed him out into the small kitchen and let him serve since that seemed to be what he wanted to do. He sat down across from her, a glass of wine on his otherwise empty place-setting. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?” she asked him again.
“No. I don’t want food.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Is it me you want then?”
“No.”
He watched the smile blossom. “I think I would have been surprised if it was. So you’re content to just sit there and watch me eat, is that it?”
“I think so.”
“All right then.” And she did eat. Slowly. He wondered what she was thinking, but was afraid to ask. He wondered if she was lying - lying with her body, pretending to be at ease when she was not.
She stood up to take her dirty plate into the kitchen.
“I’ll do that.”
Cerise tried to wave him off. “No it’s fine.” But he found it easy to slide the plate out of her hands. She wandered back toward her seat. “I’m surprised you came back, Michael.”
He was, too.
“So what do you want to do? If you don’t want me.”
He was drying her glass, and was thus facing the wall, but he was sure she was smiling. Just a small one. She found him amusing.
She found the situation amusing. You’re so freaking tight, Michael. Ligh-ten up.
Simone. She had a habit of hitting him and telling him to loosen up, be less intense. Dude, the fast track will get you killed before your time. This isn’t exactly Corporate America.
“Hallo…Michael.”
Cerise was standing next to him. “I’d have accepted a head shake. No need to ignore me completely. They’ll know if you just…sit here,” she murmured.
“How?”
“My report. This is, however less than sophisticated, my job afterall. I have to make a report.”
Michael forced himself to remain relaxed.
“Very utilitarian, if that makes you feel better.” Her voice was soft as she reached around him to retrieve the glass he’d put in the drain. “I’m not required to say where and how often and how, but there is a place for listing the activities we participated in. Dinner’s fine. As a start.”
“Sleeping.” He turned towards her in time to catch a wide grin.
“Yes, and sleeping. Conversation?”
“Is that an option?”
“Some men don’t want to talk. To converse.”
“They would rather sit and stare?”
She blanked on that for a moment. Then she remembered and the grin returned. “That is, surprisingly, the least chosen option. At least when the option is ‘Staring at Each Other.’ Men seem to not mind staring at me.”
Though softly spoken, the invitation was so clear that Michael took a half step to the side so that he could see her better. Straight brown hair that he thought was naturally curly, clear olive skin, wide and intensely dark brown eyes that disappeared when she gave him a true smile, and a long shapely figure…he could see the appeal. She was softer than most women in Section, he thought, but wiser than any woman not in it. She was someone you could tell-
Michael turned away from her, turned toward the area that was the living room. “Do you tell your superiors what you do?”
He could hear her moving around the kitchen. “No. As I said, my reports are very utilitarian. It would be hard for someone to relax if they thought every word he said was going to somehow make its way back to Operations.”
What better reason, then, to lie and say that it wouldn’t?
“Would you like to see the report? I had begun to fill it out before I fell asleep. The panel is out there somewhere.”
He had it in his hand. There was his name, the time they had met, his apparent state of wellbeing at that time along with a place for her to list activities participated in, the time and date of the end of their “session” as it was called on the form, and his state of wellbeing at that time. No more. Pulling the stylus out of the back, he clicked on the little plus symbol next to Activities, dropping down a very long checklist that ended, invariably, with "Other." There was a plus symbol next to Sex when he scrolled past it. He touched it. The ensuing descriptions tended to be emotional in nature: Angry. Affectionate. Perfunctory. Passionate. Further down was the same symbol next to Sleep: Restless. Calm. Contentious. Unwilling.
Sleep was checked off. None of its qualifiers were.
“Do you want more wine?”
Michael looked up. She was looking at him. There were two glasses in her hand. One was empty.
“Sure.”
§§§
Cerise pushed her hair behind her ears then reached blindly for a glass of wine. She looked up when she felt that it was empty. Michael held up the bottle. “Empty. I’ll get more.”
“You trust me to make an honest move while you’re in the kitchen?” She watched him stand.
“I trust you not to make up your mind before I return.”
That earned him a chuckle. They’d started playing chess some hours ago but were only on to their second game due, in no small part, to her inability to decide where to move any given piece. “Part of it is that I haven’t played in so long.”
“You can stop apologizing.” .
She watched him set the glasses down on the kitchen counter top. “You’ve been very patient. It makes me feel obligated to apologize.”
Something about what she said made him pause in his trying to get the cork out of the bottle, but she couldn’t imagine what. She’d bring it up later. After. It wasn’t long before he was returning with fresh glasses and a new bottle of wine.
She took the bottle from him as soon as he was near enough. “I don’t know that I should let you drink any more seeing as you haven’t eaten. At all.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“No, you may not be, but your body doesn’t know that. Either make yourself something from what’s in the kitchen or you are abstaining for the rest of the night.”
His hand came down to cover the top of the bottle, resting near her on the table next to the chess set. “You would stop me?”
She looked up at him with the sure knowledge that she could, that she had ways and means he was completely ignorant of. And that if she couldn’t-then that was a lesson in itself. “Yes.”
“Does this count as conversation?”
Not sure if he was meaning to be funny or not, she decided to take be amused anyway. “Sure. Why not? Who’s to stop us?”
“Except you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Have you made up your mind about where to make your next move?”
Yes. She had.
“No! You made me forget, wretched man. I’d be better at this if I played more than once every three months.”
“None of your clients like to play chess?”
She glanced up at him. “I’m sure they do, they just don’t like playing it with me.” Her knight finally inched across the board. “The only person who plays with me with any sort of regularity is Jurgen.”
“You know Jurgen?”
Sitting back in her chair she focused her attention on him. “Yes I do. I see him in the cafeteria sometimes and we play. Do you know Jurgen?”
There was a moment of hesitation before he answered, “Yes.”
“And do the two of you play?”
“We didn’t used to…” His lips quirked into a strange sort of smile as he moved a bishop. Clearly she was done for. “…but we are starting to.” His eyes met hers. “Your turn.”
“He’s always been very kind to me. He doesn’t mind that it takes me forever to make up my mind and he’s always willing to remind me of the rules when I forget.”
Fingers laced together over his stomach as he slouched in his chair, Michael nodded. “Yes. That sounds like him.”
Jurgen had also always been scrupulously honest with her without being mean. Sometimes a little cold, but not callous. He was one of the few people she interacted with in a non-professional way and she enjoyed their very brief time together. Michael, she felt, could be the same. If what she was doing now didn’t ruin it all.
When she looked up to apologize for woolgathering, she found that she wasn’t the only one who had drifted off. It was hard to blame him, though, considering her playing style. “I’m not very good, am I?”
She could see him bring himself back from whatever thoughts he had been entertaining. His lips almost turned up into a smile. It was all she could do not to grin, but that would be counterproductive. Michael shook his head. “I have seen worse.”
“Not much worse, I imagine.” She finally moved her last pawn, almost sure that she was about to sacrifice it needlessly.
“Not much,” he agreed, capturing the pawn. But, unless she was greatly mistaken, he could have taken her knight instead.
§§§
He captured her hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not very relaxed, Michael.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Just a neck massage. You’re very tense. And your hands are very tight on mine.”
He didn’t release her. He didn’t loosen his grip.
“You’re fully dressed. I’m fully dressed. We both have on several layers of clothing.”
Michael thought of the long nightgown she was wearing, slit up to her knees on both sides. She’d changed into it when he’d gone, but hadn’t changed again after he woke her. “We seem to have different definitions of layers.”
“All right, you’re wearing layers. I am wearing full underwear. And I have a kimono I could put on. I also have a rather shapeless and frumpy robe I like more for its warmth than its beauty. Would they make you feel better?”
He didn’t want her touching him. That would make him feel better. He opened his mouth to tell her.
“Would it make you let go of my hands?”
He released her, but she didn’t retreat.
“Do I really bother you so much?”
Show weakness and your enemy will know what to exploit. It was never easy admitting that Jurgen was good at what he did. “I released your hands. Why are you still standing there?”
“Is it my fault you have such nice hair. I meant it when I said I was just going to give you a massage, but now all I want to do is run my fingers through your hair.”
Michael pushed himself out of the chair, letting the book he had been reading fall to the floor. When he turned he found Cerise smiling at him, her eyes laughing at him.
“I would tell you to cut it, but your neck is rather appealing as well.”
He turned and walked away.
“Michael! Wait. I’m sorry.”
He continued walking toward the bedroom-the only other “room” in the suite. Her bare feet whispered on the plush carpet as she followed him. “Michael!”
Hiding just inside the door, he caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. Something he did with her feet tangled them. Brought them down on the large bed. But Michael controlled the fall so that he landed over her, still holding her shoulders, pushing her into the mattress.
Face flushed, she stared up at him as emotions chased themselves on her face-anger, annoyance, worry-until only calm remained.
He pushed harder. “Is this what you wanted?”
Then he felt the knee against his lower stomach, as if she’d meant to use it to lever him off her.
Not quite defenseless, but not fast enough either. Jurgen, he thought, wouldn’t approve.
“I want it to be what you want, Michael.” She carefully, slowly, drew her leg down, removing the barrier between them. He hadn’t realized how much of his weight she had been holding as he felt himself put more of it on his arms…on her shoulders. “Is this it?”
Michael rolled to his right, off her. “I want to be alone.”
“Can’t do that.” She hadn’t moved.
“I want to sleep.”
She was silent for a long time. And she still hadn’t moved.
“Alone.”
“I’m sorry. Still can’t do that.” Then she levered herself to her feet, got off the bed and left the room.
§§§
If only she could be sure that Michael was going to sleep. She needed help, she needed to talk, as much as she didn’t want to admit defeat. But she was almost positive that he wasn’t going to sleep, and so she couldn’t leave. He might fall asleep, but that wasn’t good enough. There was no way of telling how long he would be out, and it was too late to give him something.
Alternating between rubbing one shoulder then the other, she searched the titles on the bookshelf. If she was going to be up here again, she thought, she was going to have to request a greater diversity of book to read. Of course the room wasn’t meant to be a study. Not really. She should have brought her own. Still, Cerise chose one and went back into the bedroom. She’d chosen something boring-and quite literally heavy. But Michael didn’t stir, not when she entered, not when she sat on the bed. Not even when, later, she carded her fingers through the curls in his hair.
§§§
He was sitting against the headboard, reading, when he felt her stir against his thigh. At some point after he’d woken up she’d shifted closer and closer until she was using him as a pillow. Her grip on him tightened briefly, and then she tried to turn over.
Hair obscured her face. Michael cleared it. The book in his other hand closed with a soft thump. Frowning, Cerise’s eyes rolled up to look at what he had been reading. “That thing, really?”
“It was the only one close to hand.”
She yawned. “For which I must apologize. That is a truly awful book. I know. I’ve had the misfortune of teaching it.”
“You were a teacher?”
“Before I killed my husband and sister, yes.”
“Is that how you came to be in Section?”
She nodded, her head moving against his thigh. “Basically. There are more details, of course.” She sighed sleepily, her eyes drifting closed. “You’re not helping me to wake up.”
Michael realized then that not only had his hand not left her hair, but he was slowly pulling at it. “Perhaps I don’t want you to.”
“As long as you don’t mind me using you as a pillow.” She turned away from him again.
“I don’t mind.”
She chuckled, lightly squeezing his knee then seemed to settle herself.
He made it two pages before the words came up out of him: “I’m…sorry. For before.”
“And that’s why you’re letting me use you as a pillow?”
Michael thought about it. “Perhaps.”
“Alright.”
§§§
“You’re time together is almost done.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had more than a week.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be rather disappointed in you if you should fail. Do you understand?”
“I…think so.”
“We will debrief in a few hours. Let’s say oh-four hundred.”
§§§
Michael braced himself for the embrace he was sure to come. His hair was still wet from his shower and water periodically dripped down his collar.
“Take a towel.”
Turning, he found that Cerise’s hair was also damp, her natural curls hanging limply. “Take this one if you want. It’s not dry, but at the very least it will keep the water from running down your back.”
“That’s all right.”
“You’re taking this stoic thing much too far, Michael. I know you refused to dance with me, but it has been five days-”
“Six,” he reminded her.
“Six days then. I still can’t get a smile out of you?” She cocked her head to one side. “Not even a little one?”
Reaching out, Michael grasped her by the elbows and gently pulled her in. Holding on to his forearms, she offered him first one cheek then the other. “Not even a little one.”
She smiled at him, for him and offered up her cheek. He bypassed it. The grip on his forearms tightened as their kiss deepened.
There was something pleasing about the lack of surety in her eyes when he released her. After a week of watching her ride every obstinate wave he’d thrown at her, including subtly convincing him every day that it was in his best interest to stay, it was satisfying to know that she had drowned-even if for a moment.
“If you wanted to stay until the evening,” she said, quickly regaining her composure, “you could have just said so.”
“I don’t want to stay.”
Her brows furrowed. “Then…why? What’s the point?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “That’s a curious way to thank someone, though not unpleasant.” She released his forearms to pluck at his collar. “I’d have been just as happy knowing that our time together had left you more relaxed.”
“It did.”
“Then you didn’t have to kiss me. I wasn’t looking for you to.”
“I wanted to.”
He watched the emotions play over her face and found that there were a few he couldn’t name. Of the ones he could, not all of them made sense. Filing that away for later, Michael pulled out of Cerise’s light grasp. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to. Not yet.”
“I want to.”
§§§
“Are you proud of yourself? You managed to realize your mission goal. Your first mission.”
“I thought it was a training.”
Madeline inclined her head. “A little more than training and a little less than a mission.”
“Thank you, then.”
“Of course it was only just. You waited to the very last moment. Or should I say he did.”
“Yes. I know. I didn’t think it was going to happen either.”
Madeline thought she was hiding something, despite the honest admission of a less than perfect performance. “Fortunately for you the better part of Valentine missions is luck, chance and perseverance,” she continued. “Certainly you have excelled in matters of perseverance. That you were able to convince Michael to stay for the entire week after giving him a way of escape so early on was a pleasant surprise.”
“The profile you gave me was immensely helpful.”
“Your work was based on more than just a profile. Your instinct has improved immensely.”
Which received another head bob. “Thank you. Might I return to my rooms now?”
“You’ll find that you no longer have access.” Madeline noted the quick play of emotion on her material’s face and wondered what she thought the pronouncement meant for her future. Madeline was almost sure she knew. “You’re being transferred to an apartment outside Section. It’s not very far from here as you aren’t quite ready for outside interaction yet, but you have proved yourself to be further along than I think either of us had expected. There is no need to concern yourself with the things left in the Tower. It will be reset by housekeeping. You’ve come a long way in two years.”
“Thank you, Madeline.”
Next Part
Series: One Line (5/26)
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Character(s): Michael Samuelle, OC, Madeline
fanfic100 Prompt: 38-touch
Length: 3,421
Rating: PG-13, edging into R
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: There are options.
Dedication: for halcyondayz who sat on the cold hard LJ floor waiting for the first two parts to be posted and gave me some impetus (read: guilted me) into getting this done.
Notes: This story is pre-S1. Written for fanfic100. My prompt table is here, and the timeline for the series is here.
Part 1
§§§
The warm hand in her scalp woke her. Michael watched as her face came alive, and felt the moment when she noticed him. She stiffened then relaxed. Her eyes opened. They stared at each other for a long moment. Michael’s hand moved in her hair.
“Are you comfortable sitting like that?” she asked softly. Her voice was rough with disuse.
“Did you sleep well?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Have I been asleep for a very long time?”
“A few hours.”
She cleared her throat. “You haven’t been sitting here this whole time?”
“No.” He withdrew his hand from her hair and she relaxed more.
“Do you want to join me?” she asked, scooting backward on the bed.
He shook his head, standing. “No. Do you want to eat?”
Bemused, she studied him for a moment before nodding. “All right. The fridge is stocked, but the kitchen will send something if you call down.”
He gave her a nod that could have been a slight bow, then left.
When a page brought up their dinner he went back into the room and found her studying her active panel. She followed him out into the small kitchen and let him serve since that seemed to be what he wanted to do. He sat down across from her, a glass of wine on his otherwise empty place-setting. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?” she asked him again.
“No. I don’t want food.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Is it me you want then?”
“No.”
He watched the smile blossom. “I think I would have been surprised if it was. So you’re content to just sit there and watch me eat, is that it?”
“I think so.”
“All right then.” And she did eat. Slowly. He wondered what she was thinking, but was afraid to ask. He wondered if she was lying - lying with her body, pretending to be at ease when she was not.
She stood up to take her dirty plate into the kitchen.
“I’ll do that.”
Cerise tried to wave him off. “No it’s fine.” But he found it easy to slide the plate out of her hands. She wandered back toward her seat. “I’m surprised you came back, Michael.”
He was, too.
“So what do you want to do? If you don’t want me.”
He was drying her glass, and was thus facing the wall, but he was sure she was smiling. Just a small one. She found him amusing.
She found the situation amusing. You’re so freaking tight, Michael. Ligh-ten up.
Simone. She had a habit of hitting him and telling him to loosen up, be less intense. Dude, the fast track will get you killed before your time. This isn’t exactly Corporate America.
“Hallo…Michael.”
Cerise was standing next to him. “I’d have accepted a head shake. No need to ignore me completely. They’ll know if you just…sit here,” she murmured.
“How?”
“My report. This is, however less than sophisticated, my job afterall. I have to make a report.”
Michael forced himself to remain relaxed.
“Very utilitarian, if that makes you feel better.” Her voice was soft as she reached around him to retrieve the glass he’d put in the drain. “I’m not required to say where and how often and how, but there is a place for listing the activities we participated in. Dinner’s fine. As a start.”
“Sleeping.” He turned towards her in time to catch a wide grin.
“Yes, and sleeping. Conversation?”
“Is that an option?”
“Some men don’t want to talk. To converse.”
“They would rather sit and stare?”
She blanked on that for a moment. Then she remembered and the grin returned. “That is, surprisingly, the least chosen option. At least when the option is ‘Staring at Each Other.’ Men seem to not mind staring at me.”
Though softly spoken, the invitation was so clear that Michael took a half step to the side so that he could see her better. Straight brown hair that he thought was naturally curly, clear olive skin, wide and intensely dark brown eyes that disappeared when she gave him a true smile, and a long shapely figure…he could see the appeal. She was softer than most women in Section, he thought, but wiser than any woman not in it. She was someone you could tell-
Michael turned away from her, turned toward the area that was the living room. “Do you tell your superiors what you do?”
He could hear her moving around the kitchen. “No. As I said, my reports are very utilitarian. It would be hard for someone to relax if they thought every word he said was going to somehow make its way back to Operations.”
What better reason, then, to lie and say that it wouldn’t?
“Would you like to see the report? I had begun to fill it out before I fell asleep. The panel is out there somewhere.”
He had it in his hand. There was his name, the time they had met, his apparent state of wellbeing at that time along with a place for her to list activities participated in, the time and date of the end of their “session” as it was called on the form, and his state of wellbeing at that time. No more. Pulling the stylus out of the back, he clicked on the little plus symbol next to Activities, dropping down a very long checklist that ended, invariably, with "Other." There was a plus symbol next to Sex when he scrolled past it. He touched it. The ensuing descriptions tended to be emotional in nature: Angry. Affectionate. Perfunctory. Passionate. Further down was the same symbol next to Sleep: Restless. Calm. Contentious. Unwilling.
Sleep was checked off. None of its qualifiers were.
“Do you want more wine?”
Michael looked up. She was looking at him. There were two glasses in her hand. One was empty.
“Sure.”
§§§
Cerise pushed her hair behind her ears then reached blindly for a glass of wine. She looked up when she felt that it was empty. Michael held up the bottle. “Empty. I’ll get more.”
“You trust me to make an honest move while you’re in the kitchen?” She watched him stand.
“I trust you not to make up your mind before I return.”
That earned him a chuckle. They’d started playing chess some hours ago but were only on to their second game due, in no small part, to her inability to decide where to move any given piece. “Part of it is that I haven’t played in so long.”
“You can stop apologizing.” .
She watched him set the glasses down on the kitchen counter top. “You’ve been very patient. It makes me feel obligated to apologize.”
Something about what she said made him pause in his trying to get the cork out of the bottle, but she couldn’t imagine what. She’d bring it up later. After. It wasn’t long before he was returning with fresh glasses and a new bottle of wine.
She took the bottle from him as soon as he was near enough. “I don’t know that I should let you drink any more seeing as you haven’t eaten. At all.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“No, you may not be, but your body doesn’t know that. Either make yourself something from what’s in the kitchen or you are abstaining for the rest of the night.”
His hand came down to cover the top of the bottle, resting near her on the table next to the chess set. “You would stop me?”
She looked up at him with the sure knowledge that she could, that she had ways and means he was completely ignorant of. And that if she couldn’t-then that was a lesson in itself. “Yes.”
“Does this count as conversation?”
Not sure if he was meaning to be funny or not, she decided to take be amused anyway. “Sure. Why not? Who’s to stop us?”
“Except you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Have you made up your mind about where to make your next move?”
Yes. She had.
“No! You made me forget, wretched man. I’d be better at this if I played more than once every three months.”
“None of your clients like to play chess?”
She glanced up at him. “I’m sure they do, they just don’t like playing it with me.” Her knight finally inched across the board. “The only person who plays with me with any sort of regularity is Jurgen.”
“You know Jurgen?”
Sitting back in her chair she focused her attention on him. “Yes I do. I see him in the cafeteria sometimes and we play. Do you know Jurgen?”
There was a moment of hesitation before he answered, “Yes.”
“And do the two of you play?”
“We didn’t used to…” His lips quirked into a strange sort of smile as he moved a bishop. Clearly she was done for. “…but we are starting to.” His eyes met hers. “Your turn.”
“He’s always been very kind to me. He doesn’t mind that it takes me forever to make up my mind and he’s always willing to remind me of the rules when I forget.”
Fingers laced together over his stomach as he slouched in his chair, Michael nodded. “Yes. That sounds like him.”
Jurgen had also always been scrupulously honest with her without being mean. Sometimes a little cold, but not callous. He was one of the few people she interacted with in a non-professional way and she enjoyed their very brief time together. Michael, she felt, could be the same. If what she was doing now didn’t ruin it all.
When she looked up to apologize for woolgathering, she found that she wasn’t the only one who had drifted off. It was hard to blame him, though, considering her playing style. “I’m not very good, am I?”
She could see him bring himself back from whatever thoughts he had been entertaining. His lips almost turned up into a smile. It was all she could do not to grin, but that would be counterproductive. Michael shook his head. “I have seen worse.”
“Not much worse, I imagine.” She finally moved her last pawn, almost sure that she was about to sacrifice it needlessly.
“Not much,” he agreed, capturing the pawn. But, unless she was greatly mistaken, he could have taken her knight instead.
§§§
He captured her hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not very relaxed, Michael.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Just a neck massage. You’re very tense. And your hands are very tight on mine.”
He didn’t release her. He didn’t loosen his grip.
“You’re fully dressed. I’m fully dressed. We both have on several layers of clothing.”
Michael thought of the long nightgown she was wearing, slit up to her knees on both sides. She’d changed into it when he’d gone, but hadn’t changed again after he woke her. “We seem to have different definitions of layers.”
“All right, you’re wearing layers. I am wearing full underwear. And I have a kimono I could put on. I also have a rather shapeless and frumpy robe I like more for its warmth than its beauty. Would they make you feel better?”
He didn’t want her touching him. That would make him feel better. He opened his mouth to tell her.
“Would it make you let go of my hands?”
He released her, but she didn’t retreat.
“Do I really bother you so much?”
Show weakness and your enemy will know what to exploit. It was never easy admitting that Jurgen was good at what he did. “I released your hands. Why are you still standing there?”
“Is it my fault you have such nice hair. I meant it when I said I was just going to give you a massage, but now all I want to do is run my fingers through your hair.”
Michael pushed himself out of the chair, letting the book he had been reading fall to the floor. When he turned he found Cerise smiling at him, her eyes laughing at him.
“I would tell you to cut it, but your neck is rather appealing as well.”
He turned and walked away.
“Michael! Wait. I’m sorry.”
He continued walking toward the bedroom-the only other “room” in the suite. Her bare feet whispered on the plush carpet as she followed him. “Michael!”
Hiding just inside the door, he caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. Something he did with her feet tangled them. Brought them down on the large bed. But Michael controlled the fall so that he landed over her, still holding her shoulders, pushing her into the mattress.
Face flushed, she stared up at him as emotions chased themselves on her face-anger, annoyance, worry-until only calm remained.
He pushed harder. “Is this what you wanted?”
Then he felt the knee against his lower stomach, as if she’d meant to use it to lever him off her.
Not quite defenseless, but not fast enough either. Jurgen, he thought, wouldn’t approve.
“I want it to be what you want, Michael.” She carefully, slowly, drew her leg down, removing the barrier between them. He hadn’t realized how much of his weight she had been holding as he felt himself put more of it on his arms…on her shoulders. “Is this it?”
Michael rolled to his right, off her. “I want to be alone.”
“Can’t do that.” She hadn’t moved.
“I want to sleep.”
She was silent for a long time. And she still hadn’t moved.
“Alone.”
“I’m sorry. Still can’t do that.” Then she levered herself to her feet, got off the bed and left the room.
§§§
If only she could be sure that Michael was going to sleep. She needed help, she needed to talk, as much as she didn’t want to admit defeat. But she was almost positive that he wasn’t going to sleep, and so she couldn’t leave. He might fall asleep, but that wasn’t good enough. There was no way of telling how long he would be out, and it was too late to give him something.
Alternating between rubbing one shoulder then the other, she searched the titles on the bookshelf. If she was going to be up here again, she thought, she was going to have to request a greater diversity of book to read. Of course the room wasn’t meant to be a study. Not really. She should have brought her own. Still, Cerise chose one and went back into the bedroom. She’d chosen something boring-and quite literally heavy. But Michael didn’t stir, not when she entered, not when she sat on the bed. Not even when, later, she carded her fingers through the curls in his hair.
§§§
He was sitting against the headboard, reading, when he felt her stir against his thigh. At some point after he’d woken up she’d shifted closer and closer until she was using him as a pillow. Her grip on him tightened briefly, and then she tried to turn over.
Hair obscured her face. Michael cleared it. The book in his other hand closed with a soft thump. Frowning, Cerise’s eyes rolled up to look at what he had been reading. “That thing, really?”
“It was the only one close to hand.”
She yawned. “For which I must apologize. That is a truly awful book. I know. I’ve had the misfortune of teaching it.”
“You were a teacher?”
“Before I killed my husband and sister, yes.”
“Is that how you came to be in Section?”
She nodded, her head moving against his thigh. “Basically. There are more details, of course.” She sighed sleepily, her eyes drifting closed. “You’re not helping me to wake up.”
Michael realized then that not only had his hand not left her hair, but he was slowly pulling at it. “Perhaps I don’t want you to.”
“As long as you don’t mind me using you as a pillow.” She turned away from him again.
“I don’t mind.”
She chuckled, lightly squeezing his knee then seemed to settle herself.
He made it two pages before the words came up out of him: “I’m…sorry. For before.”
“And that’s why you’re letting me use you as a pillow?”
Michael thought about it. “Perhaps.”
“Alright.”
§§§
“You’re time together is almost done.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had more than a week.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be rather disappointed in you if you should fail. Do you understand?”
“I…think so.”
“We will debrief in a few hours. Let’s say oh-four hundred.”
§§§
Michael braced himself for the embrace he was sure to come. His hair was still wet from his shower and water periodically dripped down his collar.
“Take a towel.”
Turning, he found that Cerise’s hair was also damp, her natural curls hanging limply. “Take this one if you want. It’s not dry, but at the very least it will keep the water from running down your back.”
“That’s all right.”
“You’re taking this stoic thing much too far, Michael. I know you refused to dance with me, but it has been five days-”
“Six,” he reminded her.
“Six days then. I still can’t get a smile out of you?” She cocked her head to one side. “Not even a little one?”
Reaching out, Michael grasped her by the elbows and gently pulled her in. Holding on to his forearms, she offered him first one cheek then the other. “Not even a little one.”
She smiled at him, for him and offered up her cheek. He bypassed it. The grip on his forearms tightened as their kiss deepened.
There was something pleasing about the lack of surety in her eyes when he released her. After a week of watching her ride every obstinate wave he’d thrown at her, including subtly convincing him every day that it was in his best interest to stay, it was satisfying to know that she had drowned-even if for a moment.
“If you wanted to stay until the evening,” she said, quickly regaining her composure, “you could have just said so.”
“I don’t want to stay.”
Her brows furrowed. “Then…why? What’s the point?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “That’s a curious way to thank someone, though not unpleasant.” She released his forearms to pluck at his collar. “I’d have been just as happy knowing that our time together had left you more relaxed.”
“It did.”
“Then you didn’t have to kiss me. I wasn’t looking for you to.”
“I wanted to.”
He watched the emotions play over her face and found that there were a few he couldn’t name. Of the ones he could, not all of them made sense. Filing that away for later, Michael pulled out of Cerise’s light grasp. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to. Not yet.”
“I want to.”
§§§
“Are you proud of yourself? You managed to realize your mission goal. Your first mission.”
“I thought it was a training.”
Madeline inclined her head. “A little more than training and a little less than a mission.”
“Thank you, then.”
“Of course it was only just. You waited to the very last moment. Or should I say he did.”
“Yes. I know. I didn’t think it was going to happen either.”
Madeline thought she was hiding something, despite the honest admission of a less than perfect performance. “Fortunately for you the better part of Valentine missions is luck, chance and perseverance,” she continued. “Certainly you have excelled in matters of perseverance. That you were able to convince Michael to stay for the entire week after giving him a way of escape so early on was a pleasant surprise.”
“The profile you gave me was immensely helpful.”
“Your work was based on more than just a profile. Your instinct has improved immensely.”
Which received another head bob. “Thank you. Might I return to my rooms now?”
“You’ll find that you no longer have access.” Madeline noted the quick play of emotion on her material’s face and wondered what she thought the pronouncement meant for her future. Madeline was almost sure she knew. “You’re being transferred to an apartment outside Section. It’s not very far from here as you aren’t quite ready for outside interaction yet, but you have proved yourself to be further along than I think either of us had expected. There is no need to concern yourself with the things left in the Tower. It will be reset by housekeeping. You’ve come a long way in two years.”
“Thank you, Madeline.”
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