This my first fan fiction. Tell me how it is. Love it. Hate it. Improvements. Constructive criticism is welcome.
I feel like something is missing from this piece of writing! It's just so frustrating. Not one of my best pieces, but anyway. So please help if you felt it too! I'm about to break my head on the wall from trying to pick what's wrong with it. It's just disappointing. Am I being paranoid? Or stupid? I am going insane here people! So help!
"OK. I'm in. Which way?" Nikita whispered, pressing the comm. device closer to her ear. She slowed down near the end of the hallway and carefully assessed the perimeter. The dark corridor stretched on for what looked like a mile or two, leading off into a seemingly dark abyss.
"Left," came Alex's voice. "I'm sorry, but why are we doing this again?"
Nikita moved along silently in ease. "Because, Division wants its. Ergo, Percy wants it. So we want it too." She continued down the corridor until, before long, she found herself face to face with a blank steel door.
"This it?" Nikita asked as she glanced back.
"Yep. That's what Michael said anyway."
Nikita slipped the silencer onto my gun and shot at the door handle. Snick. Snick. Snick.
The shattered silver handle singed a little and loosened. Cautiously, and almost warily, Nikita nudged the door open to reveal a room lined in wooden crates. In the middle of the eerie room stood a plain metal table, illuminated by a dull, flickering light bulb.
"OK. I'm in. Container A876 right?" Nikita shined the flashlight along the room, scanning the boxes lining the right wall. A870. A874. A876. Bingo. Nikita brushed the light layering of dust off the rotten wood.
The wooden box was stamped in various smatterings of red ink, but Nikita discerned the number under it all. She gingerly carried the box over to the table and clicked the locks open.
With a feeling of dread, she swung the lid open. Whoosh. A gust of dust ejaculated into Nikita's face and she pulled back automatically. She coughed and waved her hand to disperse the dust; peering into the foggy container.
Nestled in the middle of a thick layering of bubble wrap and tissue sat a small, potted flower. The flower itself was delicate and almost beautiful, shimmering and glinting in its potted glory. Its intricate middle was painted a striking canary yellow, edged in thin petals of fuchsia and rose.
"What is it?" Alex asked anxiously as she clicked her pen.
"Hello? Nikita?"
Nikita cleared her throat. "A flower."
"A flower? A flower? Are you freaking kidding me! We came all the way down here for a bloody flower? I am going to personally shoot Michael's ass off. Didn't he tell you what the package was?"
"No," Nikita murmured. "Percy never told him." She took the plant out of the box with two hands and looked it over. "Why did you want this Percy?" Nikita whispered. Why did Percy care so much about some flower?
Alex's next words were panicked. "Who cares? Just get out there. Guards are on your ass. Move."
Nikita kicked into action. She placed the flower back into the container, popped the locks back and slid it back onto the wall.
She moved to the door and pressed her ear up to it, holding her breath as she listened for footsteps.
"All clear?"
"All clear. Get out. You've got two minutes."
Nikita slipped out of the room. She wordlessly moved down the corridor, cleverly manipulating and using the shadows to hide herself.
"Okay. I'm out," Nikita breathed in relief as she walked out of the building. She pulled her gloves and jacket back on, carefully weaving her way through the crowded business company's parking lot.
"Well that was pointless," Alex commented.
"Not really. We found out a few things. A. Percy's importing foreign, probably illegal, material into the country. B. Percy's up to something he doesn't want anyone else to know and C. I'm willing to bet there's something in that flower Percy needs. We need to find out what type of flower that was. I'll go home and try and find out what it is."
"Okay." Alex sighed. "You gonna be okay from here? I've gotta go home." Nikita smiled. Home meaning Nathan.
"I'm fine. You go. I'll call you later." The line cut off. Nikita tugged her jacket tighter against the cold and with her head bowed, held out a hand to hail a passing cab.
Next morning
Something was wrong with Nikita. Alex could tell. She seemed a bit odd at first, but it became clearer to Alex as she watched Nikita's pallor grow pastier and pastier.
"Nikita. For the last time, you need help." Nikita ran a hand over her sweat coated face and shook her head. Her grip on the chair grew tighter and her knuckles turned white from the exertion.
"And for the last time, I'm fine. Just go, ok?" She waved her hand weakly in a sort of shooing gesture. "I'll be alright. And anyway, I think I ate something off last night. It's probably just food poisoning or something. I'll take something."
Alex walked around the table. "No, you're going to take something now. Nikita you're not alright. Have you seen you? You look like a walking train wreck. Or a really hung-over sex-deprived Birkoff." Nikita smiled. "You're going to take something in front of me so I know you took something." Nikita shivered involuntarily and leaned onto the chair as Alex rifled through her drawers.
Her brunette head popped back up a few minutes later, a white bottle clutched in her hands. She grabbed Nikita's hand and took her over to the bed. "Take two now," Alex told her. Nikita grabbed the pills, downed it dry, and then leaned back against the bed frame. She was in a cold sweat now, her chest heaving, her breathing coming out in uneven huffs and breaths. To be quite honest, Alex was scared to leave her. But she also knew Division would track her down if she didn't turn up. And then their whole charade would be up.
"Listen. I've got to go." Nikita glanced over through bloodshot eyes, blinking a wave of nausea back. "But promise me. Promise me, you're going to rest. No working. No laptop. No research. You're not feeling well no matter what you say. You've got to take care of yourself."
"I promise," Nikita croaked, managing a faint smile. She took a long swig from a glass of water and sighed in relief. Alex didn't believe her, but she had to go.
"Call me if you need anything," Alex told Nikita as she swung her hand bag onto her shoulder. She knew she wouldn't, but Alex felt obligated to say it. Nikita sank into the covers and closed her eyes, nodding slightly.
After tucking Nikita into bed and refilling her water jug, Alex left the little apartment. Once she was outside, she flipped her cell phone open and pressed speed dial.
"Michael," came the familiar, gruff voice.
"...Whoa Michael, did you see that? I just broke that bitch in half!" Birkoff howled in the background. Alex rolled her eyes.
"Hey, it's Alex. Listen, I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important, but...there's something wrong with Nikita." She paused. "I don't what it is, but she's coming down with a fever and her temperature has just gone off the charts!"
"What?" Michael cut in, worry lacing his words. Alex could hear the frown in his voice.
"I didn't want to leave her, but I have to go in for a de-briefing. I wish I could have stayed with her, but I just couldn't. Can you do me a favour and check on her on your way home? I made her take something before I left, but even then... I don't know if she's going to get worse."
"I'll try get off in an hour and check on her," Michael replied distractedly.
Alex smiled at his concern. "Thanks. She's sleeping right now and I stole a few of her computer wires so she can't work, but I doubt that'll stop her." Alex climbed into her car and shifted the phone to her left ear.
"Oh! And if she gets worse, take her to the doctor."
"Doctor?"
"A private kind of doctor. She's...she knows Nikita. Just take her there if she gets worse. Her number is in the third drawer in the cabinet near the bookshelf. And if she asks about what sort of jam Nikita likes say strawberry," Alex added.
"Strawberry?"
"Jam," Alex nodded. "Protocol. Sounds stupid, I know, but just say it. She won't let up if you don't mention it. Trust me. She'll know what you mean."
"Uh huh. Okay. Um, I'll be there as soon as I can."
Nikita woke around noon. She shot out of bed, dripping with sweat, her head throbbing and her throat aching. Her vision came out slightly bleary and she blinked several times, trying to fight against the fogginess. When her vision cleared enough for her to make out the edge of her bed, she put a hand to her forehead and stumbled out of bed. Her head felt like it weighed a tonne and pounded as she took a step forward. Her skin burned like it was fire. Her legs felt wobbly and numb, like they were detached from her body. The rest of her weak body ached painfully in unison. Nikita felt horrible. She felt worse than she had felt before, even after taking the medicine Alex had given her. It hadn't made the slightest difference. She didn't want to admit something was wrong before, but she had no choice but to admit it now.
Nikita paused and turned to search for her phone. She needed someone. Alex. Michael. Someone. It wasn't the time to act strong, or be superhuman. She needed help. When she finally spotted the little device on top of the cupboard, she slowly made her way over to it. As she grew closer to her destination, it became clear she wasn't even going to make it that far. Her vision became bleary and unfocused. Her legs grew weaker and her mind became spotted in black. She collapsed in a heap on the floor and drifted into unconsciousness.
Michael parked a few blocks away from Nikita's apartment. He had been worried sick ever since Alex's call and couldn't wait to get away. It was extremely rare for Nikita to get sick. She rarely ever even got a cold.
Michael knew something was wrong as soon as entered the apartment. Nikita's bed was rumpled and messy and she was nowhere in sight. Michael rushed into the room in a panic, his heart thumping erratically in his throat. His heart nearly failed when he spotted Nikita sprawled helplessly in a broken heap on the cold floor, sweat coated and shivering feverishly. Michael rushed to her side. He gathered her into his arms and swept her lank hair back from her face.
"Nikita. Nikita," Michael called. He held her limp head in his hands and tried prompting her awake. "Oh, Nikita." When she didn't respond after another minute of his coaxing, he finally found the slip of paper in the cabinet and called the doctor Alex had mentioned.
"Uh huh. See I don't know any Nikita. I'm sorry dude, but again, I think you have the wrong number. Better luck next time buddy." The woman answered when he told her about Nikita.
Michael stroked Nikita's cold cheek and felt her blazing head. "Strawberry."
"What?"
"Nikita likes strawberry jam."
"21 Maple Avenue." The line disconnected.
He pulled Nikita into his arms and jogged downstairs in fluttering waves of leather.
So that's the first chapter. Review? You know, I noticed I write better under pressure. Just a little thing I picked up. My narratives turn out mind blowingly fantastic during exam periods but really bad at home. Anyone else have the same problem?
So anyway, did we: Hate it? Love it?
.Therisa.