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NOT TOO LATE TO LIVE AGAIN
" Not Too Late To live Again " is dedicated To My grandfather, Francesco, deceased few days ago, the 25th may 2001, after a 14 years long illness that pained and proved his body and his soul. He taught me the how much great can the love be and the real meaning of the words
" courage", " dignity"," strength", and "sacrifice". I will cherish his memory forever.
THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM SEASON 3 AND 5. IT TAKE PLACE AFTER "A TIME FOR EVERY PURPOSE".
COMMENTS ARE REQUIRED.
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Night can hide a flower, not its scent.
- E. Oliviero -
Prequel
Guest star: Andrea Parker AS Anya
Eliza Daishu AS Dana
Julian Mc Mahon AS Abraham
Operations advanced fiercely toward Comm.--with frantic yet organized
movement-- eyed by every operative.
It was very late, almost morning, but Section was immersed, as usual, in intricate and fast-paced activity. Section never rested. Terrorists didn't observe holidays and innocent lives were always in danger. So Operations never rested. It was a pleasurable aspect of her work that she could walk in any location within Section, at any time, day or night, and not ever be alone. Physically, at least. Of course, in the last six years, One seemed to be a different place, in a sense. It was more alive, less...dark. It is said that every organization reflects its leader and so the difference.
Walter was again in munitions and smiled at her bitterly. He wanted tell her to rest, but didn't want to compromise her or himself in front of her operatives. Later.
Operations looked her men sympathetically : some worked, some finished their tasks waiting for instructions, or paused, not wanting to return home without news from the Rome mission. This mission was crucial, but then again, weren't they all?
Dana and Abrahm were chatting softly, expressions showing on their faces. They were different as day and night, but made a good team, almost as she and Michael did once. It wasn't so difficult for them, but it was difficult. Nikita stiffened: no sense in thinking about this now. It was hard to belive that he was lost to her for six years. It felt like so much longer. Maybe because her life felt much more continuous in a way now -- a long succession of missions, revisions, programming, profiles, and meetings. And a dinner or two with Walter--a precious, relaxing time where she could be herself again. Where she could be called Sugar again.
Regrets were only natural, but Operations shouldn't indulge in them. Section was her life now. She had made the right choice -- she knew it. Her father was right. She had changed things. She was making the world a better place, and protecting Adam and Michael. But it hurt. It hurt like hell.
Operations walked over to Quinn." Contact ?"- she questioned
"Not yet"
A brunette with large blue eyes approaches her confidently. She was Anya, her second in command. Hightly qualified, she was sent by Oversight to assist. She had been initially hostile, but professional and cooperative. Respect and companionship had come with time and working together toward one purpose. Now between them was a certain trust and... friendship.
Section One had been in pieces when Anya first came, its enemies at the height of their strength. Compassion had to be balanced with necessary ruthlessness. Terrorists took the place of retired operatives as guinea pigs, used for surveillance and to gather information. Little boys and girls were found in sublevels where they were trained. Where they are still trained. Some things even this Operations couldn't change.
"Mission Odessa accomplished. I just received the call.", Anya advised, with a tone that in a way managed to be respectful and confident.
"Casualties?"
" Everything within the perimeter."
" Karhoff broke ?"
"He won't resist for long. We are close." The Second- in- Command ' s reply was accompanied by the stern look that made her the very heir to Madeline, the past White Room' s Queen. The effect of it was lost on Operations.
"We need the information before tomorrow."
"Be patient, we have almost finished. We could have it in the next hour."
Operations smiled secretly, remembering her love a second time. They were very similar, and she knew that this wasn't a coincidence. Her superiors could be so damned predictable in their wicked mind games. A look of understanding passed between the two women, headed side by side toward the perch. Reaching their destination, they began to discuss a persistent troubling matter.
"You are aware of what it would mean to have him confirming our suspicions"
"We would again have allies in Oversight. We can turn the situation to our benefit, use the occasion to discredit them."
" And begin a war, like Madeline and Paul against George. It ruined Section once, it will destroy it today."
" They are attacking us. We can't just return self-defense. It's us or them, Operations."
"I know it, but Center isn't happy with the bickering that goes on all the time."
Operations smiled bitterly, and continued.
" They don't tolerate our estrangement from Oversight. The Red Files are only a pretext."
" We can't react because Center won't let it pass, and we can't let them weaken us, because then we lose control of our organization."
" And we will be again their little laboratory."
" We are damned either way.", Anya admitted finally.
"Set second profile in motion, despite Kharoff's declarations."
" I disagree...
Operations glared at her, knowing that the orders will be executed, but annoyed at her colleague's little outburst.
...but it will be done."
After dismissing her second, Operations observed her leaving tense, judging by the set of her shoulders. Again a strong antagonism materialized between them, as from the start.
Surprisingly, this wasn't a negative factor at all. It permitted both to work at their best, formulating a constant stimulation for them to do better and better. Often, Anya was the one that Operations felt could truly understand her decisions. And they are joined by a certain impulsivity and aggressiveness of action, and a total dedication to their mission. But Anya was, if loyal, clearly power-addicted and proud. She couldn't accept Oversight's interference. She wanted blood. But Anya wouldn't go against specific orders, would do what had been said to her. For her it didn't matter who was in command; she wanted what was with the power-- independence and control. She didn't tolerate the taking from her what was hers. Yes, they were similar. This was why Operations could count on her support: they were companions in fighting, linked by reciprocal need. Two shadows joined in loneliness, a machine well oiled that was too risky to break.
Operations sighed, touching the glass. She was feeling guilty, and welcomed the sensation as an old friend. She was causing this situation by feeling guilty about people that were dead because of it. Power. She wasn't feeling guilty for what she had done. If she wanted to make changes, it was imperative that Oversight stayed out of the picture. But Oversight wanted to recuperate the power lost with Paul Wolfe. And Donnely, its head, did not want rivals. She only did what had to be done. She couldn't afford to have anyone tell her how to accomplish her objectives. She couldn't let Oversight use Section for "the dirty laundry." She couldn't.
Section was her family.
The one family she had ever had, for good or bad.
The one thing that was left to her.
The one place where she had learned what love and loyalty meant.
And she would fight for it.
Because she was Operations.
Chapter 1 - NIKITA 'S P.O.V.
Operations sighed, hearing the person she had called enter her office. Nevertheless, she didn't give any sign of acknowledging his presence. She just continued to look at her laptop, typing.
"Have a seat, Walter"
This was the most difficult thing for her to do since she started running One. She hoped he knew it.
"Spit it out Operations. I think to know what this is about."
For the first time, she let her eyes leave the laptop and concentrate on her old friend, frowning a moment at the harsh tone with which he pronounced her title. He looked back at her, apparently calm, trying to prepare himself for whatever was coming. She could sense his agitation. She had wondered if he knew that she ever hurt him or if she had lost another friend. He seemed to want to make this easy for her, containing his outrage, his fear. He had to think she would follow the common procedure.
" I have received your medical report. . Your arthritis has worsened."
" I'm an old man. My physical urges haven't ever been what permitted me to survive that long..."
He talked with an ironic, large Walter-like grin, the grin she had been sorely missing. Operations's vision blurred and for an instant the world stopped while she found herself incapable of focusing or moving a muscle. Then, she became aware of Walter's hand on her arm and heard his voice again.
"Operations, you all right?"
Operations nodded, still shaken, trying to concentrate on anything around her, to mantain a grip on reality.
" Maybe you should go to medical, you look pale ... I thought you were swooning on me..."
" You were mistaken."
She forced herself to answer with her usual neutral voice, repositioning the mask in place.
" Your services aren't necessary anymore Walter."
"So, I'm returning to the Farm?"
"No. There is nothing more you can do for us without becoming a liability."
" What are you trying to say ?"
"You are retiring, Walter."
She paused, giving him time to digest the concept.
" There's no reason you can't enjoy life on the outside for your remaining years. Just remember, there are three rules: First, don't say to anyone where you have been or what you have done for living. Second, don't contact anyone who knew you before Section. Third, don't expose yourself or us. Here is a deed to a home in California and there... there is a private account. For Section, you don't exist any longer."
Operations tended the older operative the papers, pleased at the shocked expression on the man's face. When Walter took them, his hands were shaking, as he couldn't believe this was really happening. At the end, he smiled uncertainly.
" I'm free"
It was a question more than an affirmation.
"Yes, you are. But I would prefer you stay in the neighborhood for another week. Don't let yourself be seen by anyone meanwhile and don't say anything of this to anybody. "
"Of course... of course."
He would have embraced her, but he didn't know if it would be proper because of her business-like manner. Like if this was' nt noone great deal.
" You are dismissed. "
Walter advances to the door, experiencing an emotion that he believed lost for a long time: hope. It was like a dream, one that he didn't want to be awakened from. He, anyway, couldn't believe that it was true.
Before closing the door behind his shoulder, he turned and whispered: Thank you, Sugar.
Operations only stood there, staring at the closed door. It was just ironic that she was presenting every one she once loved dearly what she had wanted all her life. She was supposed to be free and Michael was supposed to be running Section. When, she wondered, did she become him? This destiny was their one link now. From tomorrow Walter would not be behind the Munitions' desk and she would be alone all over again.
Seymour.
Michael.
Her father.
Michael again.
And now Walter.
A few days and Walter would have the analysis done. Then, she would never see him again. She had lost everyone. No, not everyone. She had her protégée, her "daughter." Just as she would, Josephine would stay in section until her death. Another violation of her humanity, and the ultimate proof that Nikita Wirth couldn't ever be free. Not even death could break her chains now.
So, she lives, to assure herself that her little girl will survive, like her and better. Josephine called her secretly "mother," explaining their likeness, their connection. Hopefully, she would never find, or perceive the truth. But Operations knew, and couldn't help the pain. She tried to give Josephine the tenderness, the kisses, that she always desired from own mother, held her while she cried. And she tried to train her without destroying the little girl or her affection.
It wasn't easy, it hadn't ever been. Particularly understanding every expression, every emotion that played on Josephine's face. There were days when Josephine hated her with every fiber of her being, others when she looked to her for comfort or smiled at a new book or CD presented her. It was painful to see another "her" retrace the same ways, without anything she could do about it. Operations could not, however, bring herself to refer to the girl with THAT name. She just couldn't think of Josephine in those terms. They were so different from each other, in every aspect but the physical. Josephine was sweet, where Nikita had been defiant and bitter; understanding, obedient and quiet, where Nikita had been rebellious; cunning and calculating, where Nikita had been ingenuous; self- centered, where Nikita had been generous. They hadn't the same soul, but their needs, their bodies, their minds stayed the same. At least, Josephine never knew freedom. She couldn't miss what she had never experienced. Operations could teach her what remained.
Operations interrupted her fantasies, and returned to her computer, ignoring her headache. Everything at its time. Her suspicions waited for confirmation, and she had to be prepared. At the end, this was just another, ordinary day.
Chapter 2- WALTER AND JOSEPHINE 'S P.O.V.
He was an old, free man. Free. He believed this word didn't make sense any more for him. Sugar had changed it. During the 13 years that Walter knew her, she returned hope to him, in more ways than one. He doubted he could ever repay her for this. Walter could only say to her, I'm sorry. Sorry for the days when he didn't have patience and faith to look behind her mask, and believed she had become another power-hungry monster created by Section. Why was it more simple to do this, than to accept that there wasn't any one bad guy, that everything at Section had be in this sick way in this place where there weren't ever any happy endings. Once, before she was his superior, they had a talk about a dream, a dream that everyone there needed to have for surviving. She make it real for him. For his friendship, or just for doing the right thing. He should have been a better friend to her in these years. One that wouldn't have left her alone to deal with the pain of her position.
When Walter stormed out of her office, he couldn't really believe her. When, on the deed to the house, he found the message, he thought it was just another charade for Center, or Oversight or whatever.
"Bring the results to the Park, tonight at midnight, under the tree three degrees north of the fountain," it said. He found a little blood sample hidden under a paper, hardly noticeable.
He executed instructions. Sugar, he was calling her again so now, said this was his last mission. The bastards are poisoning her . Walter could see desolation, and fear in her beautiful angel face, in her shaky voice.
"I don't know what do, Walter, I cant fight everyone all the time. They aren't doing this for One, they are going after me personally. Because of the plans my father had made for me. My presence is uncomfortable for everyone aiming at the top. PEOPLE ARE DYING FOR A POSITION I NEVER WANTED FROM THE BEGINNING."
Apparently, Sugar was in perfect Operations-mode, in total control. Under the surface, you could believe she was shaking with anger and frustration, talking through clenched teeth. He could understand her. All that she ever wanted was a normal life and they had robbed her of it because she accomplished a purpose. Now she was trying to do her best, they declared, Nikita is of more use dead. She is a wild card and can't be controlled.
"It feels as if my life is meaningless, Walter."
His hearth was breaking to watch her so empty, so hopeless. He wanted to take all the suffering away from this girl who is like a daughter to him, whom he watched grow and pass through every hell possible. He wanted to say something, anything to take away her desolation, to see her smile as before. But all he could do was take her hand and clasp it.
"If anyone can stop this, Sugar, it's you. You have the files he left you, you can use them. There has to be some thing--"
"You can't imagine the great deal of information there, Walter. There is everything on every man in the Organization and more. If I use them, there will be repercussions. They don't know what the files contain specifically, but are pissed enough so that no one would intervene in our favor. It could just worsen the situation."
"You will find a solution; we have passed through worse, haven't we?"
"Yeah. I'm just not sure anymore that this is worth it."
He feared for her. They have finally succeeded. They have broken her spirit. She didn't understand where her place was. And she didn't know if continuing this barely-existing type of life was worth it.
Two days ago, she came to him for the antidote. Sugar wasn't alone. She was together with a young girl much resembling her who looked to be between 8 and 11 years old... The child that Madeline created for her. A clone. At times like this, he seemed to be living in a horror film. But he soon would go out of Section. A part of him wanted to go in the middle of the night, before anything could go wrong and Walter Oreson could be returned to be a prisoner.
But for his Sugar, he was staying. For Sugar, he was here playing cards with her younger version, without knowing what was happening inside that little diabolical brain of hers. When he questioned Nikita, she just answered he needed to keep Josephine for some days, until a lot of matters were resolved. She seemed serene, as if she had decided about a life and death question. Walter considered doing a thing he had neglected to do for six years, from the time of Birkoff's death. Pray.
No swear nor grumble.
Just... pray. Pray for not losing her. He didn't think he could bear this again. She really was special, wasn't she? He could condone anything she wanted. She deserved it, her victory. And he needed to know that some times the good ones win too. Damn, he could do nothing anyway. He could just stand and wait- wait for it to happen, anything that was meant to happen, and hope that it was good.
Walter snapped out of his preoccupation-induced trance, only to curse his bad fortune: Josephine had won again-- ten dollars. The girl smiled mischievously, with a smile different than others he had seen, one that touched her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, there was a little sugar under that too familiar scorning or condescending expression. If he could find it, this waiting would not be so horrible after all. Why, he had the feeling they had a lot in common.
Walter smiled back, he was always up for challenges.
********************************************************
Walter was grinning at her like an idiot. Josephine didn't like this, didn't like him. She didn't like anyone, especially any adult in Section. Of course, there were cool kids in Sublevel 8, like Adrian, or Sarah. And Paul, who tried to kiss her the other day, and wanted always to better everyone else in simulations. Stupid boy. They were cool, but Josephine didn't trust people. She only trusted Mother, a bit. Mother was a nice person, even if she had to call her Operations all the time. She gave her the first toy, a teddy bear, at their first meeting. No, not the first really. She remembered another, when they had formed their connection, and she knew the other woman was family. It had been like seeing in a mirror.
Mother often gave her music and great books, and films that they used to watch together if she did well. She had the most beautiful laughter ever, and even spent time with the other kids to mentor and play with them. But mother gave that special smile only to her, and came into her room at night to talk. (Josephine had her own room now that she was excelling and doing special training) She was proud that she looked like Mother; why Josephine wanted to become just like her.
Mother could seem thoughtless, but under the surface, the woman was warm and soft. Once, after seeing bruises that her trainer had given Josephine, she chided her, in a cold severe tone, to obey and be good so that nobody would have cause to punish her. The day after, she had a new trainer. Josephine decided that actions talked louder than words.
And when Mother hugged her, she could smell flowers, a scent familiar, exotic and comforting. Josephine wanted to smell that scent again.
Mother came to get her and brought her here, ordering her to stay with an unusual, unsectionlike old man--Walter, who acted and talked like a comedy character. Mother didn't tell her what she had do. They always told her what she had to do.
She feared this couldn't be good. This situation was... strange, irregular. Then too, there were a lot of unusual things that mother said to her , while they were driving here.
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE:
Operations: You will be staying with a friend of mine for a little while.
Josephine: Why?
Operations: This isn't... a mission, Josie.
(Since her adult companion rarely shortens her name, the little girl pays closer attention, curiosity marking her features. The car stops.)
Operations: Just... trust your mother, okay?
(She smooths her hair and kisses the top of her head.)
Operations (staring straight into the eyes of the girl) : I will return for you and everything will be all right, I promise you.
(Operations exits the car and waits at the side.)
Operations: Come on...
(Josephine comes out of the car and places her little hand in the callused larger one of her mother's.)
END FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
This was the first time Operations ever overtly said they were related.
Josephine was alert, calculating every move made by this Walter who pissed her off with his ridiculous ways . Although he was, at least, entertaining . . . Not that she ever admitted that to him.
She wished to know what was coming. She had the feeling something big was in the air. But Josephine didn't have a clue. Nada, zip, zero. She would just wait and see.
Oh, shit.
CHAPTER 3- ANYA ' S P.O.V.
Anya stared attentively at her reflection in the window glass, looking for the evidence of what was changed in her. In her appearance, nothing was new. Maybe a few wrinkles showed, but nothing of any account. She looked to be the same uncaring, professional, self-involved, calculating woman who came into Section six years ago. If only she wasn't feeling so different. Anya could fool herself exactly like she fooled every other person but her direct superior.
Everything was different now; she was different. Because without wanting it, somewhere long the line she had learned to care. Anya never loved anybody, before or after Section. Nobody seemed worth the effort. Not her mother, her brother, and of course not her father. She just felt indifference for them, for everybody. She could'nt pinpoint the cause, how it had happened, when she had stopped caring..
Her father having been an inconsistent, cold, never- present bastard probably played a certain part in the scheme. Having a brother spoiled just because he was male, even though he was an idiot, could have contributed too. Having her mother call her "sweetheart," then park her in the side room when she had sex with her lover-of-the-month, just confirmed that affection was a mere mask, an excuse to do whatever one wanted.
Anya didn't need that: if she wanted, she took, without justifying herself. This concept had a unique failing: it did not satisfy her. Never. She remained passive. No place was her place.
She missed emotions--looked for them in danger, in pain, in delusion -- hurting herself , despising others. She looked for them in drugs.
With her companions in loneliness she didn't feign anything: they didn't love her, she didn't love them. She could care for some, but in a slightly disinterested manner. Companionship was a nice feeling; however, she considered it totally inconsequential. She again blamed emotions for destroying her person. Death was alluring to her. Death was extreme,
was ...palpable.
But she never intended to bring death to another. Life often doesn't proceed as you want.
At least, the Organization gave her a purpose, a direction that she missed. And there, she was wanted, required. She could save the world.
Anya soon was known as a "chameleon," a person capable of absorbing qualities, ways of thinking from others. She studied them and then absorbed what she liked as her own. So it wasn't strange that she was so impressed by her new companion and superior, Nikita. She savored the name's taste on her lips: a Russian male name for a woman warrior.
At first, she was irritated with her stubbornness, her directness, her inclination to change the system. At second look though, Anya perceived that her ways had a certain functionality. Well, until Section was successful, Anya could adapt. Experience would teach Operations to be wise. However, Nikita, as Anya called her only in her mind, always seemed find another way around, with quite exceptional results. She was, Anya decided, an intriguing character worth studying.
Anya began to observe her with interest. Certainly the woman had passion-- it was in every thing she did. She was surrounded with this halo of ... energy. Like an angel of death and life. Anya's work complemented and sustained Nikita's, making Anya a perfect counterpart. She adapted herself to Operations until she couldn't understand where one began and other ended. Nikita's objectives were Anya's objectives.
But somewhere along the line, Anya had begun to feel. Damn. Before falling asleep, she would remember an intriguing half-smile, or the angelic brightness of her hair, the curve of her neck. She began to understand what it meant to have butterflies in your stomach at a simple, casual touch of hands. She let Nikita, her Operations, see a bit of her soul. She was relieved to find a friend.
Anya knew then that she wouldn't absorb Nikita. She couldn't. She was totally absorbed in her. She learned jealousy at hearing these stupid tales of Michael and Nikita, Nikita and Michael. Anya disliked the man intensely. But she was happy, because the sight of her love was enough. She was alone so long, and now Nikita cared. In some way she didn't feel as lonely any more. She could settle for friendship. Anya never hoped that anyone would love her at all. At the end she was ...Anya. the shadow.
Now she found that maybe there was good in her too, or there could be. She clung to the love inside her heart, rediscovered what would finally fill her void in following this horrible project. Love was why she was doing this: poisoning the one person she had ever loved for Oversight.
If Anya dosed the poison heavily, Nikita had, HAD to notice. If she refused to notice, there was no hope.... If she noticed, Anya could save her and win. That Anya lived or died was in the hands of Fate. But if Nikita died... Anya shut her eyes in denial. IF Nikita died, her work wouldn't die with her. I swear, my love, Anya murmured. But, please, live!- she added.
1 Chapter 4 - DANA AND ABRAHAM ' S P.O.V.
Dana's big black eyes explored the traits of the man next to her. In sleep, his expression appeared relaxed, almost unguarded,.as if his soul, not only his body was resting. Instinctively, she steeled herself, feeling abandoned. How she wanted to be sleeping like he was. Instead, she left the bed, poured herself another glass of wine from the bottle on the night table, and moved quietly to stand in front of the window. . . These last days had been exhausting for both Dana and her companion.
Their first night together was marred with fear and uncertainty. . . certainly not the circumstances she had imagined or hoped for. Today Operations had died. Section One was left confused, indignant, astonished. Many, Dana included, wondered how Anya could relay the news with such lack of emotion during the briefing. Anya and Nikita had seemed so in synch, so at ease with one another. The silent pause to honor the late mother of Section was solemn.
Dana was trained in a substation when the old regime was in force, but she had heard discouraging rumors, and she had learned to despise Madeline and Paul without ever seeing them. Their ruthless tendencies--their constantly reoccurring destruction of a legendary couple, how the male member of this legendary couple died to save his son--were the favorite topics of recruits' gossip. The just deceased Operations had appeared to be the ice angel of vengeance, the focus in each operative's mind. Now this focus, this vigorous creature who always exacted the best from everyone, this character full of strength who wasn't stopped by anything, didn't exist anymore. Nobody would see her scrutinizing Section from the Perch or drinking tea in Comm, or walking through or bossing around the Section. Abraham, level 5 and third in the power chain, "the prodigy boy" (as he was called), hadn't any idea of what section had been like before Nikita became Operations.
Anya assumed control and One was on close quarters. Everything happened so fast. Notwithstanding all her experience as a level four operative, Dana had difficulty in focusing. She didn't know if she would be left to continue working in Abraham's team as profiler.
It was the usual policy under Nikita Wirth (how ironic to learn her last name by reading her death certificate!) to train operatives of opposite good and bad qualities in teams of two. This was the case with Dana and Abraham, Jasmine and Tyler, Tara and Joanna. It gave Them more control and easier interaction .
Personal relationships were tolerated if they were not made obvious and the operatives remained productive. What would change? She envied Jasmine and her liaison, who had both already proven themselves. To think that at one time, Dana considered the team leader weak for not hiding her feelings for her partner.
There was the possibility that Abraham would take over Anya's position. Would she then lose him? This night could well being their last hurrah.
Trying to get a grip on herself, Dana replayed in her mind the recent unthinkable events.
Colin Ankev, working for Black Storm, took a private plane hostage, inside of which were eminent politicians negotiating a peace treaty for the Middle East . If Black Storm were to succeed, it would be their biggest achievement to date. As a direct consequence, their recruitment would enormously increase.
Luckily, or unluckily depending on where you stood, Ankev had a weakness-- he was obsessively searching for Nikita-- the operative who had caused the death of his father, a Red Cell operative named Dominic Ankev. Somehow, Colin discovered that Nikita was Section One's Operations. Section One, following the lead of its head who was ignorant of the father/son connection, offered Nikita in exchange for Colin's betrayal of Black Storm.
The mission was a success, but to Section's surprise, Nikita was brought into Black Storm Headquarters. A mysterious source had revealed her identity to the terrorist group. Having tracked her, Section organized her retrieval and the headquarter's destruction. Operations was returned, but she had been tortured and severly beaten, was in delirious and damaged condition. A shell. She died in medlab a few hours later of serious internal injuries. Life was fragile.
Dana wasn't entirely convinced of the accuracy of this story. Maybe Anya wasn't so trustworthy. Maybe Oversight had finally won.
My God. This was big.
Nobody ever asked to be in Section. Dana hated the compromises, humiliations, degradations typical of its environment, but in another way she felt grateful for it. If she didn't kill every day , maybe she would never be aware of what a life meant. If she didn't feel violated, she would never understand how clichéd it sounded to say, " I killed because it was the only choice" or "life is an endless fight where only the strong survive." Without her recruitment, she would have been a vicious, dislikable murderer .
To Dana, Section was a blessing that she wasn't sure she deserved. For all its twisted nature, it provided her with a set of moral standards. In Section, she swore to be different from the sick and delirious terrorists and some coworkers that inhabited her world, to gain a second chance for the person whom she wanted to become. Her current train of thought was cut off by Abraham's slow stirring .Dana could pinpoint the instant he remembered what had occurred. For a moment the man, usually stoic and optimistic, looked around as if bewildered. After all , he didn't only lose a leader, he lost a dear friend.
"Abraham, are you all right ?"
Seated on the bed, Dana smoothed his hair affectionately. He grabbed her hand and held it.
"She really is dead, isn't she?" It was a rhetorical question, that didn't require any comment.
"It seems inconceivable, She was one of the most alive people I met in this place, even though she was rarely demonstrative." Abraham was at loss for words, but there were things that he wanted , needed to say.
"On a mission four years ago, Gold Star kidnapped me. They subjected me to advanced hypnosis treatments and when I was rescued, I was ... broken. Operations could have had me cancelled, but she didn't give up on me. She believed in me, and made me believe in myself . She mentored me from then on. I will miss her."
Dana gave him a peck on the lips and coaxed him to lie down , leaning her head onto his chest and comforting him with caresses. The subtle line between friend and lover was crossed and nothing could change that any more. They were together, now and forever.
The newly formed couple enjoyed their intimacy, surrender, rest-their preoccupation with each other making sadness slip away. .The future was gathering outside that little, peaceful bedroom. It didn't matter. They had each other.
"I love you" he admitted, not wanting miss another occasion to tell her how he felt..
"I guessed so. I love you , too" she said back.
No promise.
No commitment.
Simply sincerity and the light of truth.
No turning back.
It was enough. Section, their destiny and their course, were far away.
2 Chapter 5- FULL CIRCLE
From his window, Walter spied a middle-aged woman moving cautiously toward his door. When she reached it, she knocked. Repressing a shudder, and wondering why on earth a man could grow old enough to see his world became a hell, he opened the door. The figure entered without saying a word. She took off her latex mask and revealed an unpleasantly familiar face: Anya.
"Where is she?"
Walter accompanied Anya to a little room where his painfully suffering Sugar lay uncomfortably on a divan, watched over by a lost and frightened Josephine. The child, pressed tightly against the divan, suspiciously eyed Section's second-in-command.
Nikita moaned in her sleep, her laments increasing in volume when even minimal movement caused touching of her wounds. Black Storm had exceeded itself in torture; they used techniques refined enough to not cause death, but painful enough to make her desire it.
Her mind was plagued by ghosts, memories, and fears.. One was of her mother and her weaknesses. The most powerful was of Michael and his lies. Their dreams, and the fantasies of what could been, haunted her. She heard his voice whisper in her ear, saying how disappointed he was at what she had become. But his disapproval wasn't true, it was only a simple illusion.
At least in dreams he was hers, and Nikita could see him and love him. When they gave her drugs, when she needed to escape the constant interrogations, in order to nullify the pain, she thought of him. He protected her from afar. She didn't need to seek refuge in dreams anymore, but did it all the same. And she remembered....
***
A voice on the phone, caressing her hearing:
" Josephine"
****
A train station, a strong embrace that hadn't ever ended in her mind, a last confession, tears ..
" I love you "
****
Kisses and promises, suppressed desires:
"It's beautiful here"
"You are beautiful."
"I used to dream that there were places like this somewhere. Safe, warm. Do you ever think of anything like that?"
"Yes."
" You never talk about it."
" Inside. Nobody can change it. It will always be what I need it to be."
"Is it anything like this?"
"A little maybe. . .you're there. "
*****
Hope.
"I just came by to tell you something. It's not over. We will be together. "
****
Longing, tenderness.
"I don't want you to change again. "
****
Warmth.
"I missed you. "
***
But the dream finished and Nikita was alone again, in an ocean of physical and mental pain. Josephine was at her side and tried to show her a reassuring smile. She heard Anya and Walter talking on the threshold. Anya was delivering instructions, and Walter nodded. Nikita returned to consciousness in full force, coughing in order to be noticed.
Dismissing both Walter and Josephine with a gesture, Anya turned toward Nikita and knelt before her . "How do you feel?" she asked, when they were alone.
" I have been better. Why are you doing this?" Nikita was genuinely curious. Why did Anya save her, when Oversight had condemned to die ?
" I owed you one." Anya's voice was strained and yet calm. "You know you can't return."
"Of course. But we can find a way.."
" No, your cancellation was final. You have go... and not return," Anya said precisely.
Nikita licked her lips and painfully voiced her answer. "I've wanted this for ages. But now... it is too late. I don't believe in it anymore. I can't run and wonder every day whether they are close, when they will take me. I tried to do that and look at the result.... No. I prefer death."
"I will watch your back." Anya took Nikita's face between her hands imploring, "Once you said to me that you are the one who chooses between surviving or living. You used to say that it isn't ever too late for that choice. Prove it. Prove it and live--for Josephine, at least. Because I will not let her leave with Walter if you don't go with them."
The two opponents and friends stared long at each other before Anya, seeing Nikita nod in surrender, let go. With pale face and voice void of emotion, Nikita finally intoned, "You have control."
" I have control," Anya repeated, finally at peace with herself. Now, to be called Operations wouldn't sound like a betrayal. Then she assumed her new role.
"Walter will take care of you. You leave in the morning."
"Good."
The remainder of their last conversation was about Section One 's future: taking over Jasmine's training, Nikita's opinions regarding important data, and incoming difficulties with the Revelation group. Lastly, with a kiss on Nikita's cheek, Anya reluctantly took her leave whispering, "Then, goodbye and good luck."
"Good luck to you, Operations. You will need it."
Just before Anya left her side, Nikita grasped her arm and, looking deeply into her eyes, solemnly said, "Thank you."
Now alone, the woman who had just abdicated her position as formidable head of the most clandestine anti-terrorist organization on the planet, closed her eyes, suppressing a brief feeling of guilt at her last lie and betrayal.
It was ended.
Relief surrounded and tempered her profound exhaustion.
Hate had made her chains; love was setting her free.
Full circle.
Chapter 6 : Departure
2 weeks later
Nikita got out of the taxi with the powerful sensation that she possessed her own life. Her physical bruises, at least, were healing, and she was moving upward toward a new existence. As she walked, Josephine shadowed her and Walter preceded them carrying two suitcases , His eyes were dreamily centered on the vision of their destination: the airport . In just a few hours, they would walk upon American soil.. The three joined the crowd of travelers merging toward the plane.
When she occupied her seat, Nikita finally felt closure for this part of her life. She would have lied if she had said she was happy and relaxed, but for once, Nikita had the impression that she was taking what was offered her without fear of any strings attached or any deception.
Section One wasn't her responsibility anymore. It's fate lay in the capable hands of Anya--a good friend and her second in command--whom Nikita had reluctantly, but repeatedly abused. Under Anya's icy exterior and bitchy heartlessness with enemies, was a caring human being. Not having often experienced affection and kindness, Anya was emotionally fragile. Conscious of her love, Nikita had used it, when needed, for her own benefit. Anya had a sense of honor, justice and respect that was sufficient in order to teach her how to use and optimize these qualities in dealing with her subordinates. She was moderate, ( which distinguished her from Madeline) choosing solutions that might be more complex and daring for her operatives, but provided a lower risk for civilians--a well hidden member of the 5 % club . Yes, her second would be a fine Operations.
Nikita's feelings of guilt started to surface as she thought about the way she had deceived Anya in order to complete a different plan of escape than she had originally planned, and one in which she harbored some doubt. The greatest risk of this plan (profiled by someone else) was the unknown factor of Anya's actions. In the end, it had gone exactly according to plan. Believing that she was saving Nikita's life, Anya had set the object of her affection free.
Nikita wondered if her father ever felt guilty because his every agenda was successful. If he did, he was very good at hiding it-a practice that she, herself, no longer cared for. By then, freedom was a dream that Nikita considered lost, a dream to forget under the push of "getting the work done." However now, in spite of every hopeless barrier and bleak prospective, Nikita was free.
F-R-E-E . Just the word was relieving ... and at the same time, terrifying.
After 13 years of performing for "the greatest good," the innocent claimed by Section was absolved and let go. Like Michael, Nikita had broken through the unbreakable circle. It was unexpected-wonderfully, truly, totally unexpected . Her original profile, on which she collaborated with Abraham, was very different. . Simply: a quick ( fake) death by poison, an easy exit from Section, and uncontrolled time to investigate and fix things with Oversight. In the general chaos, Walter would help her and take Josie out . But... unknown and unexpected surveillance had made her project known to Center,. necessitating a surprise visitor who waited in the darkness of her apartment for her return.
****************FLASHBACK****************
(Nikita enters the apartment, closes the door and turns. We see a stylishly furnished apartment, yet not too reflective of Nikita's personality. She seems to see someone in the shadows and turns the light on. Philip Jones stands before her, hands clasped behind his back, looking amazingly alive and well. Her gaze locks together with her father's.
Nikita always suspected her father's death was a staged deception. First, her unquestioned permanence in One was entirely too comfortable. Second, the Red Files on the incident contained discrepancies that made the entire episode uncomfortably uncertain. No coincidences or "accidents" existed in their line of work. But even with this knowledge, Nikita couldn't help being shocked at the sight of him).
Nikita: Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Jones: I did what was necessary. Sections aren't allowed to know the identity of Mr. Jones.
Nikita: Then tell me, was there anything true in what you said to me, or was it all a machination?
(Her voice is calm, her expression composed. Only her eyes hold accusation and anger. Jones look sad, almost guilty. Almost.)
Jones: I never lied to you. Not about the important things.
( he comes closer to his daughter)
You were the only one who could restore Section One to function according its true ends You had to stay, by every means necessary, we couldn't let you go.
(He pauses)
We can now.
Nikita: ( in a shaking, yet accusatory voice)
What are you saying?
Jones: I'm sure you remember the Christ story. His destiny was to save the world from sin, yet his methods earned him the hate of the Pharisees. The savior was betrayed by his followers and yet, with his sacrifice, redeemed humanity .
Nikita: ( Sarcastic, and then deadly serious)
What it is? Do you want me dead now that I don't serve your purpose anymore?
Jones: ( irritatingly composed)
Oversight is discussing your cancellation. They will approve it ; it is just a question of time. Because of your many allies, neither Oversight nor Center wants to let you go.
( He pauses)
I'm here because I want to offer you a way out.
Nikita ( it is her turn to come closer, until they are face to face):
I'm listening.
Jones: There is a profile in motion, that will take the current head of Oversight out of the picture. If you accept collaboration in this profile, you will have exposure. If you survive, Center is willing set you free.
Nikita: IF?
Jones: Thorough preparation and accurate timing is necessary. . It will not be easy, but you have my word....
Nikita: Why would I believe you ?
Jones: ( taking her chin under his thumb)
When I said to trust me, I meant it. I'm your father, and there is no way I could live with myself if what I'm telling you is not the absolute truth.
Nikita: (sliding out of his grasp and seeking refuge in the opposite side of the room)
You compelled me to live--to protect the innocents, to make Section a better place. I did it until it left me nothing else.. How can I possibly take back my life?
( turning to confronting him).
I would not succeed in living this way, and even if I did, sooner or later anyone (friend or enemy) would find me!
Jones: (approaching her)
Ivan will assume the leadership of Oversight, so no one will look too hard for you. Moles will confirm your death, and Center will cover your tracks.
( he places a comforting hand on her shoulder)
Michael Dupreè is living in Boston with his son Adam. Here is the address
(he offers her a paper , she take it, dumfounded)
He has never seen any woman seriously, just tortures himself occasionally with tall blondes.. It sound like he is waiting for you.
( he move a blonde lock behind her ear, )
You have obtempered all your duties, Nikita. Go now, and live the life that you deserve.
(Nikita studies his demeanor and looks long into his eyes, searching for the truth in what he has said. . She find it, and shyly, tentatetively hugs him. On the old man's cheek, a tear slips unnoticed while he bring his arms around her.)
*************END FLASHBACK****************
As Nikita, Josephine and Walter moved with the other travelers into the airline terminal, Nikita felt a small hand graze and then firmly grasp hers. At Josephine's comforting handclasp, she exhaled what she hoped was the last of the tension surrounding her departure from Section. Ivan was an old friend of hers. She greatly respected him, and had learned much about Section and life in general as his apt pupil. Now she knew that everything would be all right, for Section and for her new family.
Her thoughts immediately turned to Michael. She had stopped surveillance on Michael, as the years passed, for security reasons. But she wanted to protect them by destroying their enemies.
Certainly he would have changed, as she also had. Physically, her hair was shorter, her face thinner, her body showed new scars. She would let her hair grow back, gain weight, and by that time the bruises would be gone. Nikita wanted Michael to recognize her at first sight as the woman to whom he promised to return. As for her soul, that was battered and hurt. Her sleep was plagued by nightmares--sessions of torture had not missed their point. When Michael was close, she used to feel safe. Perhaps he could be her medicine , just as she had been his, so many times before.
Or perhaps they would discover that pain and need was what linked them, that the past couldn't be reclaimed-that, after all, reality and fantasy could never match.
No. Her heart was saying otherwise.
And Nikita Wirth trusted her heart.
3
4 EPILOGUE
He walked quickly on a crowed street in Boston. In the distance, a woman came slowly toward him. He could barely distinguish her form, but he knew it was her, his angel. His Nikita. Her hair shone in the sun. She was so beautiful .He walked faster, wanting reach her, to touch her.
When they were close, she reached out, put her hands at the base of his neck, and kissed him. He found himself carried away to the hot, heavy atmosphere of Lyons, and they were suddenly on a warm bed, making love. They breathed as one as he passed his palms along her nude back....
***
Michael Samuelle, now Dupreè, woke up bathed in sweat and in an obviously excited state due to his usual dreams. It was 3:00 a.m. Once, he thought that a certain amount of sexual contact would eliminate this sort of erotic torture. Now, he knew better.
Adam couldn't provide a constant distraction for him. He needed something else. So at first Michael tried to ease his physical needs with a few, occasional nights of sex. He would rarely see the woman afterward. They all had in common features that attracted him instantly: long legs, creamy skin or blond hair; one had even captivated him with a particular and familiar laugh. But at some level, Michael understood that these were just imitations, simulations of the real thing.
Michael had stopped even these infrequent sexual connections two years ago, when he woke, after a wonderful dream, to find himself lying next to a blonde head. He kissed her neck, and a stranger's face turned happily around. Pain had burned deeply in his chest.
He had been so sure that it was Nikita. That delusion, together with an increasing sense of dread and disgust each time he would remembered it, were enough to make Michael relinquish any further quest for female companionship. He knew then, that didnt matter how much he loved his son, he could help but mantain his vow.
Nikita was his soulmate, he couldn't deny it any longer. Better together in the worse hell, than alone in the best heaven. Every day he wondered if she was still alive, and if she had found another man with whom to share her dreams and her nights.
But if Michael was certain about anything, it was that Nikita belonged to him, like he had and always would belong to her. Therefore if she was dead, surely he would have felt it--a change in the cosmic balance of the universe. One day he would kiss her again, and be at her side forever.
Adam was growing and their relationship in some ways was troubled, difficult. He supposed it was normal with a teenager. Of course if Nikita were there, she would know how to handle these situations. When Adam had bad dreams, or remembered his kidnapping, or the farewell day in the station, he required explanations. Michael gave them to him, even if they weren't always the truth. It pained him to lie to his only child, but it wasn't the first time, probably wouldn't be the last.
To explain his "non-death and coming back to life," Michael told him that he had collaborated secretly with the Government, testifying against terrorist Salla Vachek, Elena's father, in order to protect the family. Doctors had been able to save Michael from death after the shooting, but he was compelled to let it seem as if he had died, to not endanger Adam and his mother from any retaliation. Nikita was the government agent who had protected them.
Adam believed and been sorry for him, which made Michael feel worse, and made him seek refuge in dreams and fantasies more than usual. Once he accompanied Adam to a music shop, where he found an old album containing a theme that had played the first time he and Nikita had danced together. He bought it, and listened to it during his moments of discomfort. It had a calming effect. A Nikita-effect.
One day....
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan M. Thomas
NOT TOO LATE TO LIVE AGAIN
" Not Too Late To live Again " is dedicated To My grandfather, Francesco, deceased few days ago, the 25th may 2001, after a 14 years long illness that pained and proved his body and his soul. He taught me the how much great can the love be and the real meaning of the words
" courage", " dignity"," strength", and "sacrifice". I will cherish his memory forever.
THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM SEASON 3 AND 5. IT TAKE PLACE AFTER "A TIME FOR EVERY PURPOSE".
COMMENTS ARE REQUIRED.
S
P
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Night can hide a flower, not its scent.
- E. Oliviero -
Prequel
Guest star: Andrea Parker AS Anya
Eliza Daishu AS Dana
Julian Mc Mahon AS Abraham
Operations advanced fiercely toward Comm.--with frantic yet organized
movement-- eyed by every operative.
It was very late, almost morning, but Section was immersed, as usual, in intricate and fast-paced activity. Section never rested. Terrorists didn't observe holidays and innocent lives were always in danger. So Operations never rested. It was a pleasurable aspect of her work that she could walk in any location within Section, at any time, day or night, and not ever be alone. Physically, at least. Of course, in the last six years, One seemed to be a different place, in a sense. It was more alive, less...dark. It is said that every organization reflects its leader and so the difference.
Walter was again in munitions and smiled at her bitterly. He wanted tell her to rest, but didn't want to compromise her or himself in front of her operatives. Later.
Operations looked her men sympathetically : some worked, some finished their tasks waiting for instructions, or paused, not wanting to return home without news from the Rome mission. This mission was crucial, but then again, weren't they all?
Dana and Abrahm were chatting softly, expressions showing on their faces. They were different as day and night, but made a good team, almost as she and Michael did once. It wasn't so difficult for them, but it was difficult. Nikita stiffened: no sense in thinking about this now. It was hard to belive that he was lost to her for six years. It felt like so much longer. Maybe because her life felt much more continuous in a way now -- a long succession of missions, revisions, programming, profiles, and meetings. And a dinner or two with Walter--a precious, relaxing time where she could be herself again. Where she could be called Sugar again.
Regrets were only natural, but Operations shouldn't indulge in them. Section was her life now. She had made the right choice -- she knew it. Her father was right. She had changed things. She was making the world a better place, and protecting Adam and Michael. But it hurt. It hurt like hell.
Operations walked over to Quinn." Contact ?"- she questioned
"Not yet"
A brunette with large blue eyes approaches her confidently. She was Anya, her second in command. Hightly qualified, she was sent by Oversight to assist. She had been initially hostile, but professional and cooperative. Respect and companionship had come with time and working together toward one purpose. Now between them was a certain trust and... friendship.
Section One had been in pieces when Anya first came, its enemies at the height of their strength. Compassion had to be balanced with necessary ruthlessness. Terrorists took the place of retired operatives as guinea pigs, used for surveillance and to gather information. Little boys and girls were found in sublevels where they were trained. Where they are still trained. Some things even this Operations couldn't change.
"Mission Odessa accomplished. I just received the call.", Anya advised, with a tone that in a way managed to be respectful and confident.
"Casualties?"
" Everything within the perimeter."
" Karhoff broke ?"
"He won't resist for long. We are close." The Second- in- Command ' s reply was accompanied by the stern look that made her the very heir to Madeline, the past White Room' s Queen. The effect of it was lost on Operations.
"We need the information before tomorrow."
"Be patient, we have almost finished. We could have it in the next hour."
Operations smiled secretly, remembering her love a second time. They were very similar, and she knew that this wasn't a coincidence. Her superiors could be so damned predictable in their wicked mind games. A look of understanding passed between the two women, headed side by side toward the perch. Reaching their destination, they began to discuss a persistent troubling matter.
"You are aware of what it would mean to have him confirming our suspicions"
"We would again have allies in Oversight. We can turn the situation to our benefit, use the occasion to discredit them."
" And begin a war, like Madeline and Paul against George. It ruined Section once, it will destroy it today."
" They are attacking us. We can't just return self-defense. It's us or them, Operations."
"I know it, but Center isn't happy with the bickering that goes on all the time."
Operations smiled bitterly, and continued.
" They don't tolerate our estrangement from Oversight. The Red Files are only a pretext."
" We can't react because Center won't let it pass, and we can't let them weaken us, because then we lose control of our organization."
" And we will be again their little laboratory."
" We are damned either way.", Anya admitted finally.
"Set second profile in motion, despite Kharoff's declarations."
" I disagree...
Operations glared at her, knowing that the orders will be executed, but annoyed at her colleague's little outburst.
...but it will be done."
After dismissing her second, Operations observed her leaving tense, judging by the set of her shoulders. Again a strong antagonism materialized between them, as from the start.
Surprisingly, this wasn't a negative factor at all. It permitted both to work at their best, formulating a constant stimulation for them to do better and better. Often, Anya was the one that Operations felt could truly understand her decisions. And they are joined by a certain impulsivity and aggressiveness of action, and a total dedication to their mission. But Anya was, if loyal, clearly power-addicted and proud. She couldn't accept Oversight's interference. She wanted blood. But Anya wouldn't go against specific orders, would do what had been said to her. For her it didn't matter who was in command; she wanted what was with the power-- independence and control. She didn't tolerate the taking from her what was hers. Yes, they were similar. This was why Operations could count on her support: they were companions in fighting, linked by reciprocal need. Two shadows joined in loneliness, a machine well oiled that was too risky to break.
Operations sighed, touching the glass. She was feeling guilty, and welcomed the sensation as an old friend. She was causing this situation by feeling guilty about people that were dead because of it. Power. She wasn't feeling guilty for what she had done. If she wanted to make changes, it was imperative that Oversight stayed out of the picture. But Oversight wanted to recuperate the power lost with Paul Wolfe. And Donnely, its head, did not want rivals. She only did what had to be done. She couldn't afford to have anyone tell her how to accomplish her objectives. She couldn't let Oversight use Section for "the dirty laundry." She couldn't.
Section was her family.
The one family she had ever had, for good or bad.
The one thing that was left to her.
The one place where she had learned what love and loyalty meant.
And she would fight for it.
Because she was Operations.
Chapter 1 - NIKITA 'S P.O.V.
Operations sighed, hearing the person she had called enter her office. Nevertheless, she didn't give any sign of acknowledging his presence. She just continued to look at her laptop, typing.
"Have a seat, Walter"
This was the most difficult thing for her to do since she started running One. She hoped he knew it.
"Spit it out Operations. I think to know what this is about."
For the first time, she let her eyes leave the laptop and concentrate on her old friend, frowning a moment at the harsh tone with which he pronounced her title. He looked back at her, apparently calm, trying to prepare himself for whatever was coming. She could sense his agitation. She had wondered if he knew that she ever hurt him or if she had lost another friend. He seemed to want to make this easy for her, containing his outrage, his fear. He had to think she would follow the common procedure.
" I have received your medical report. . Your arthritis has worsened."
" I'm an old man. My physical urges haven't ever been what permitted me to survive that long..."
He talked with an ironic, large Walter-like grin, the grin she had been sorely missing. Operations's vision blurred and for an instant the world stopped while she found herself incapable of focusing or moving a muscle. Then, she became aware of Walter's hand on her arm and heard his voice again.
"Operations, you all right?"
Operations nodded, still shaken, trying to concentrate on anything around her, to mantain a grip on reality.
" Maybe you should go to medical, you look pale ... I thought you were swooning on me..."
" You were mistaken."
She forced herself to answer with her usual neutral voice, repositioning the mask in place.
" Your services aren't necessary anymore Walter."
"So, I'm returning to the Farm?"
"No. There is nothing more you can do for us without becoming a liability."
" What are you trying to say ?"
"You are retiring, Walter."
She paused, giving him time to digest the concept.
" There's no reason you can't enjoy life on the outside for your remaining years. Just remember, there are three rules: First, don't say to anyone where you have been or what you have done for living. Second, don't contact anyone who knew you before Section. Third, don't expose yourself or us. Here is a deed to a home in California and there... there is a private account. For Section, you don't exist any longer."
Operations tended the older operative the papers, pleased at the shocked expression on the man's face. When Walter took them, his hands were shaking, as he couldn't believe this was really happening. At the end, he smiled uncertainly.
" I'm free"
It was a question more than an affirmation.
"Yes, you are. But I would prefer you stay in the neighborhood for another week. Don't let yourself be seen by anyone meanwhile and don't say anything of this to anybody. "
"Of course... of course."
He would have embraced her, but he didn't know if it would be proper because of her business-like manner. Like if this was' nt noone great deal.
" You are dismissed. "
Walter advances to the door, experiencing an emotion that he believed lost for a long time: hope. It was like a dream, one that he didn't want to be awakened from. He, anyway, couldn't believe that it was true.
Before closing the door behind his shoulder, he turned and whispered: Thank you, Sugar.
Operations only stood there, staring at the closed door. It was just ironic that she was presenting every one she once loved dearly what she had wanted all her life. She was supposed to be free and Michael was supposed to be running Section. When, she wondered, did she become him? This destiny was their one link now. From tomorrow Walter would not be behind the Munitions' desk and she would be alone all over again.
Seymour.
Michael.
Her father.
Michael again.
And now Walter.
A few days and Walter would have the analysis done. Then, she would never see him again. She had lost everyone. No, not everyone. She had her protégée, her "daughter." Just as she would, Josephine would stay in section until her death. Another violation of her humanity, and the ultimate proof that Nikita Wirth couldn't ever be free. Not even death could break her chains now.
So, she lives, to assure herself that her little girl will survive, like her and better. Josephine called her secretly "mother," explaining their likeness, their connection. Hopefully, she would never find, or perceive the truth. But Operations knew, and couldn't help the pain. She tried to give Josephine the tenderness, the kisses, that she always desired from own mother, held her while she cried. And she tried to train her without destroying the little girl or her affection.
It wasn't easy, it hadn't ever been. Particularly understanding every expression, every emotion that played on Josephine's face. There were days when Josephine hated her with every fiber of her being, others when she looked to her for comfort or smiled at a new book or CD presented her. It was painful to see another "her" retrace the same ways, without anything she could do about it. Operations could not, however, bring herself to refer to the girl with THAT name. She just couldn't think of Josephine in those terms. They were so different from each other, in every aspect but the physical. Josephine was sweet, where Nikita had been defiant and bitter; understanding, obedient and quiet, where Nikita had been rebellious; cunning and calculating, where Nikita had been ingenuous; self- centered, where Nikita had been generous. They hadn't the same soul, but their needs, their bodies, their minds stayed the same. At least, Josephine never knew freedom. She couldn't miss what she had never experienced. Operations could teach her what remained.
Operations interrupted her fantasies, and returned to her computer, ignoring her headache. Everything at its time. Her suspicions waited for confirmation, and she had to be prepared. At the end, this was just another, ordinary day.
Chapter 2- WALTER AND JOSEPHINE 'S P.O.V.
He was an old, free man. Free. He believed this word didn't make sense any more for him. Sugar had changed it. During the 13 years that Walter knew her, she returned hope to him, in more ways than one. He doubted he could ever repay her for this. Walter could only say to her, I'm sorry. Sorry for the days when he didn't have patience and faith to look behind her mask, and believed she had become another power-hungry monster created by Section. Why was it more simple to do this, than to accept that there wasn't any one bad guy, that everything at Section had be in this sick way in this place where there weren't ever any happy endings. Once, before she was his superior, they had a talk about a dream, a dream that everyone there needed to have for surviving. She make it real for him. For his friendship, or just for doing the right thing. He should have been a better friend to her in these years. One that wouldn't have left her alone to deal with the pain of her position.
When Walter stormed out of her office, he couldn't really believe her. When, on the deed to the house, he found the message, he thought it was just another charade for Center, or Oversight or whatever.
"Bring the results to the Park, tonight at midnight, under the tree three degrees north of the fountain," it said. He found a little blood sample hidden under a paper, hardly noticeable.
He executed instructions. Sugar, he was calling her again so now, said this was his last mission. The bastards are poisoning her . Walter could see desolation, and fear in her beautiful angel face, in her shaky voice.
"I don't know what do, Walter, I cant fight everyone all the time. They aren't doing this for One, they are going after me personally. Because of the plans my father had made for me. My presence is uncomfortable for everyone aiming at the top. PEOPLE ARE DYING FOR A POSITION I NEVER WANTED FROM THE BEGINNING."
Apparently, Sugar was in perfect Operations-mode, in total control. Under the surface, you could believe she was shaking with anger and frustration, talking through clenched teeth. He could understand her. All that she ever wanted was a normal life and they had robbed her of it because she accomplished a purpose. Now she was trying to do her best, they declared, Nikita is of more use dead. She is a wild card and can't be controlled.
"It feels as if my life is meaningless, Walter."
His hearth was breaking to watch her so empty, so hopeless. He wanted to take all the suffering away from this girl who is like a daughter to him, whom he watched grow and pass through every hell possible. He wanted to say something, anything to take away her desolation, to see her smile as before. But all he could do was take her hand and clasp it.
"If anyone can stop this, Sugar, it's you. You have the files he left you, you can use them. There has to be some thing--"
"You can't imagine the great deal of information there, Walter. There is everything on every man in the Organization and more. If I use them, there will be repercussions. They don't know what the files contain specifically, but are pissed enough so that no one would intervene in our favor. It could just worsen the situation."
"You will find a solution; we have passed through worse, haven't we?"
"Yeah. I'm just not sure anymore that this is worth it."
He feared for her. They have finally succeeded. They have broken her spirit. She didn't understand where her place was. And she didn't know if continuing this barely-existing type of life was worth it.
Two days ago, she came to him for the antidote. Sugar wasn't alone. She was together with a young girl much resembling her who looked to be between 8 and 11 years old... The child that Madeline created for her. A clone. At times like this, he seemed to be living in a horror film. But he soon would go out of Section. A part of him wanted to go in the middle of the night, before anything could go wrong and Walter Oreson could be returned to be a prisoner.
But for his Sugar, he was staying. For Sugar, he was here playing cards with her younger version, without knowing what was happening inside that little diabolical brain of hers. When he questioned Nikita, she just answered he needed to keep Josephine for some days, until a lot of matters were resolved. She seemed serene, as if she had decided about a life and death question. Walter considered doing a thing he had neglected to do for six years, from the time of Birkoff's death. Pray.
No swear nor grumble.
Just... pray. Pray for not losing her. He didn't think he could bear this again. She really was special, wasn't she? He could condone anything she wanted. She deserved it, her victory. And he needed to know that some times the good ones win too. Damn, he could do nothing anyway. He could just stand and wait- wait for it to happen, anything that was meant to happen, and hope that it was good.
Walter snapped out of his preoccupation-induced trance, only to curse his bad fortune: Josephine had won again-- ten dollars. The girl smiled mischievously, with a smile different than others he had seen, one that touched her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, there was a little sugar under that too familiar scorning or condescending expression. If he could find it, this waiting would not be so horrible after all. Why, he had the feeling they had a lot in common.
Walter smiled back, he was always up for challenges.
********************************************************
Walter was grinning at her like an idiot. Josephine didn't like this, didn't like him. She didn't like anyone, especially any adult in Section. Of course, there were cool kids in Sublevel 8, like Adrian, or Sarah. And Paul, who tried to kiss her the other day, and wanted always to better everyone else in simulations. Stupid boy. They were cool, but Josephine didn't trust people. She only trusted Mother, a bit. Mother was a nice person, even if she had to call her Operations all the time. She gave her the first toy, a teddy bear, at their first meeting. No, not the first really. She remembered another, when they had formed their connection, and she knew the other woman was family. It had been like seeing in a mirror.
Mother often gave her music and great books, and films that they used to watch together if she did well. She had the most beautiful laughter ever, and even spent time with the other kids to mentor and play with them. But mother gave that special smile only to her, and came into her room at night to talk. (Josephine had her own room now that she was excelling and doing special training) She was proud that she looked like Mother; why Josephine wanted to become just like her.
Mother could seem thoughtless, but under the surface, the woman was warm and soft. Once, after seeing bruises that her trainer had given Josephine, she chided her, in a cold severe tone, to obey and be good so that nobody would have cause to punish her. The day after, she had a new trainer. Josephine decided that actions talked louder than words.
And when Mother hugged her, she could smell flowers, a scent familiar, exotic and comforting. Josephine wanted to smell that scent again.
Mother came to get her and brought her here, ordering her to stay with an unusual, unsectionlike old man--Walter, who acted and talked like a comedy character. Mother didn't tell her what she had do. They always told her what she had to do.
She feared this couldn't be good. This situation was... strange, irregular. Then too, there were a lot of unusual things that mother said to her , while they were driving here.
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE:
Operations: You will be staying with a friend of mine for a little while.
Josephine: Why?
Operations: This isn't... a mission, Josie.
(Since her adult companion rarely shortens her name, the little girl pays closer attention, curiosity marking her features. The car stops.)
Operations: Just... trust your mother, okay?
(She smooths her hair and kisses the top of her head.)
Operations (staring straight into the eyes of the girl) : I will return for you and everything will be all right, I promise you.
(Operations exits the car and waits at the side.)
Operations: Come on...
(Josephine comes out of the car and places her little hand in the callused larger one of her mother's.)
END FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
This was the first time Operations ever overtly said they were related.
Josephine was alert, calculating every move made by this Walter who pissed her off with his ridiculous ways . Although he was, at least, entertaining . . . Not that she ever admitted that to him.
She wished to know what was coming. She had the feeling something big was in the air. But Josephine didn't have a clue. Nada, zip, zero. She would just wait and see.
Oh, shit.
CHAPTER 3- ANYA ' S P.O.V.
Anya stared attentively at her reflection in the window glass, looking for the evidence of what was changed in her. In her appearance, nothing was new. Maybe a few wrinkles showed, but nothing of any account. She looked to be the same uncaring, professional, self-involved, calculating woman who came into Section six years ago. If only she wasn't feeling so different. Anya could fool herself exactly like she fooled every other person but her direct superior.
Everything was different now; she was different. Because without wanting it, somewhere long the line she had learned to care. Anya never loved anybody, before or after Section. Nobody seemed worth the effort. Not her mother, her brother, and of course not her father. She just felt indifference for them, for everybody. She could'nt pinpoint the cause, how it had happened, when she had stopped caring..
Her father having been an inconsistent, cold, never- present bastard probably played a certain part in the scheme. Having a brother spoiled just because he was male, even though he was an idiot, could have contributed too. Having her mother call her "sweetheart," then park her in the side room when she had sex with her lover-of-the-month, just confirmed that affection was a mere mask, an excuse to do whatever one wanted.
Anya didn't need that: if she wanted, she took, without justifying herself. This concept had a unique failing: it did not satisfy her. Never. She remained passive. No place was her place.
She missed emotions--looked for them in danger, in pain, in delusion -- hurting herself , despising others. She looked for them in drugs.
With her companions in loneliness she didn't feign anything: they didn't love her, she didn't love them. She could care for some, but in a slightly disinterested manner. Companionship was a nice feeling; however, she considered it totally inconsequential. She again blamed emotions for destroying her person. Death was alluring to her. Death was extreme,
was ...palpable.
But she never intended to bring death to another. Life often doesn't proceed as you want.
At least, the Organization gave her a purpose, a direction that she missed. And there, she was wanted, required. She could save the world.
Anya soon was known as a "chameleon," a person capable of absorbing qualities, ways of thinking from others. She studied them and then absorbed what she liked as her own. So it wasn't strange that she was so impressed by her new companion and superior, Nikita. She savored the name's taste on her lips: a Russian male name for a woman warrior.
At first, she was irritated with her stubbornness, her directness, her inclination to change the system. At second look though, Anya perceived that her ways had a certain functionality. Well, until Section was successful, Anya could adapt. Experience would teach Operations to be wise. However, Nikita, as Anya called her only in her mind, always seemed find another way around, with quite exceptional results. She was, Anya decided, an intriguing character worth studying.
Anya began to observe her with interest. Certainly the woman had passion-- it was in every thing she did. She was surrounded with this halo of ... energy. Like an angel of death and life. Anya's work complemented and sustained Nikita's, making Anya a perfect counterpart. She adapted herself to Operations until she couldn't understand where one began and other ended. Nikita's objectives were Anya's objectives.
But somewhere along the line, Anya had begun to feel. Damn. Before falling asleep, she would remember an intriguing half-smile, or the angelic brightness of her hair, the curve of her neck. She began to understand what it meant to have butterflies in your stomach at a simple, casual touch of hands. She let Nikita, her Operations, see a bit of her soul. She was relieved to find a friend.
Anya knew then that she wouldn't absorb Nikita. She couldn't. She was totally absorbed in her. She learned jealousy at hearing these stupid tales of Michael and Nikita, Nikita and Michael. Anya disliked the man intensely. But she was happy, because the sight of her love was enough. She was alone so long, and now Nikita cared. In some way she didn't feel as lonely any more. She could settle for friendship. Anya never hoped that anyone would love her at all. At the end she was ...Anya. the shadow.
Now she found that maybe there was good in her too, or there could be. She clung to the love inside her heart, rediscovered what would finally fill her void in following this horrible project. Love was why she was doing this: poisoning the one person she had ever loved for Oversight.
If Anya dosed the poison heavily, Nikita had, HAD to notice. If she refused to notice, there was no hope.... If she noticed, Anya could save her and win. That Anya lived or died was in the hands of Fate. But if Nikita died... Anya shut her eyes in denial. IF Nikita died, her work wouldn't die with her. I swear, my love, Anya murmured. But, please, live!- she added.
1 Chapter 4 - DANA AND ABRAHAM ' S P.O.V.
Dana's big black eyes explored the traits of the man next to her. In sleep, his expression appeared relaxed, almost unguarded,.as if his soul, not only his body was resting. Instinctively, she steeled herself, feeling abandoned. How she wanted to be sleeping like he was. Instead, she left the bed, poured herself another glass of wine from the bottle on the night table, and moved quietly to stand in front of the window. . . These last days had been exhausting for both Dana and her companion.
Their first night together was marred with fear and uncertainty. . . certainly not the circumstances she had imagined or hoped for. Today Operations had died. Section One was left confused, indignant, astonished. Many, Dana included, wondered how Anya could relay the news with such lack of emotion during the briefing. Anya and Nikita had seemed so in synch, so at ease with one another. The silent pause to honor the late mother of Section was solemn.
Dana was trained in a substation when the old regime was in force, but she had heard discouraging rumors, and she had learned to despise Madeline and Paul without ever seeing them. Their ruthless tendencies--their constantly reoccurring destruction of a legendary couple, how the male member of this legendary couple died to save his son--were the favorite topics of recruits' gossip. The just deceased Operations had appeared to be the ice angel of vengeance, the focus in each operative's mind. Now this focus, this vigorous creature who always exacted the best from everyone, this character full of strength who wasn't stopped by anything, didn't exist anymore. Nobody would see her scrutinizing Section from the Perch or drinking tea in Comm, or walking through or bossing around the Section. Abraham, level 5 and third in the power chain, "the prodigy boy" (as he was called), hadn't any idea of what section had been like before Nikita became Operations.
Anya assumed control and One was on close quarters. Everything happened so fast. Notwithstanding all her experience as a level four operative, Dana had difficulty in focusing. She didn't know if she would be left to continue working in Abraham's team as profiler.
It was the usual policy under Nikita Wirth (how ironic to learn her last name by reading her death certificate!) to train operatives of opposite good and bad qualities in teams of two. This was the case with Dana and Abraham, Jasmine and Tyler, Tara and Joanna. It gave Them more control and easier interaction .
Personal relationships were tolerated if they were not made obvious and the operatives remained productive. What would change? She envied Jasmine and her liaison, who had both already proven themselves. To think that at one time, Dana considered the team leader weak for not hiding her feelings for her partner.
There was the possibility that Abraham would take over Anya's position. Would she then lose him? This night could well being their last hurrah.
Trying to get a grip on herself, Dana replayed in her mind the recent unthinkable events.
Colin Ankev, working for Black Storm, took a private plane hostage, inside of which were eminent politicians negotiating a peace treaty for the Middle East . If Black Storm were to succeed, it would be their biggest achievement to date. As a direct consequence, their recruitment would enormously increase.
Luckily, or unluckily depending on where you stood, Ankev had a weakness-- he was obsessively searching for Nikita-- the operative who had caused the death of his father, a Red Cell operative named Dominic Ankev. Somehow, Colin discovered that Nikita was Section One's Operations. Section One, following the lead of its head who was ignorant of the father/son connection, offered Nikita in exchange for Colin's betrayal of Black Storm.
The mission was a success, but to Section's surprise, Nikita was brought into Black Storm Headquarters. A mysterious source had revealed her identity to the terrorist group. Having tracked her, Section organized her retrieval and the headquarter's destruction. Operations was returned, but she had been tortured and severly beaten, was in delirious and damaged condition. A shell. She died in medlab a few hours later of serious internal injuries. Life was fragile.
Dana wasn't entirely convinced of the accuracy of this story. Maybe Anya wasn't so trustworthy. Maybe Oversight had finally won.
My God. This was big.
Nobody ever asked to be in Section. Dana hated the compromises, humiliations, degradations typical of its environment, but in another way she felt grateful for it. If she didn't kill every day , maybe she would never be aware of what a life meant. If she didn't feel violated, she would never understand how clichéd it sounded to say, " I killed because it was the only choice" or "life is an endless fight where only the strong survive." Without her recruitment, she would have been a vicious, dislikable murderer .
To Dana, Section was a blessing that she wasn't sure she deserved. For all its twisted nature, it provided her with a set of moral standards. In Section, she swore to be different from the sick and delirious terrorists and some coworkers that inhabited her world, to gain a second chance for the person whom she wanted to become. Her current train of thought was cut off by Abraham's slow stirring .Dana could pinpoint the instant he remembered what had occurred. For a moment the man, usually stoic and optimistic, looked around as if bewildered. After all , he didn't only lose a leader, he lost a dear friend.
"Abraham, are you all right ?"
Seated on the bed, Dana smoothed his hair affectionately. He grabbed her hand and held it.
"She really is dead, isn't she?" It was a rhetorical question, that didn't require any comment.
"It seems inconceivable, She was one of the most alive people I met in this place, even though she was rarely demonstrative." Abraham was at loss for words, but there were things that he wanted , needed to say.
"On a mission four years ago, Gold Star kidnapped me. They subjected me to advanced hypnosis treatments and when I was rescued, I was ... broken. Operations could have had me cancelled, but she didn't give up on me. She believed in me, and made me believe in myself . She mentored me from then on. I will miss her."
Dana gave him a peck on the lips and coaxed him to lie down , leaning her head onto his chest and comforting him with caresses. The subtle line between friend and lover was crossed and nothing could change that any more. They were together, now and forever.
The newly formed couple enjoyed their intimacy, surrender, rest-their preoccupation with each other making sadness slip away. .The future was gathering outside that little, peaceful bedroom. It didn't matter. They had each other.
"I love you" he admitted, not wanting miss another occasion to tell her how he felt..
"I guessed so. I love you , too" she said back.
No promise.
No commitment.
Simply sincerity and the light of truth.
No turning back.
It was enough. Section, their destiny and their course, were far away.
2 Chapter 5- FULL CIRCLE
From his window, Walter spied a middle-aged woman moving cautiously toward his door. When she reached it, she knocked. Repressing a shudder, and wondering why on earth a man could grow old enough to see his world became a hell, he opened the door. The figure entered without saying a word. She took off her latex mask and revealed an unpleasantly familiar face: Anya.
"Where is she?"
Walter accompanied Anya to a little room where his painfully suffering Sugar lay uncomfortably on a divan, watched over by a lost and frightened Josephine. The child, pressed tightly against the divan, suspiciously eyed Section's second-in-command.
Nikita moaned in her sleep, her laments increasing in volume when even minimal movement caused touching of her wounds. Black Storm had exceeded itself in torture; they used techniques refined enough to not cause death, but painful enough to make her desire it.
Her mind was plagued by ghosts, memories, and fears.. One was of her mother and her weaknesses. The most powerful was of Michael and his lies. Their dreams, and the fantasies of what could been, haunted her. She heard his voice whisper in her ear, saying how disappointed he was at what she had become. But his disapproval wasn't true, it was only a simple illusion.
At least in dreams he was hers, and Nikita could see him and love him. When they gave her drugs, when she needed to escape the constant interrogations, in order to nullify the pain, she thought of him. He protected her from afar. She didn't need to seek refuge in dreams anymore, but did it all the same. And she remembered....
***
A voice on the phone, caressing her hearing:
" Josephine"
****
A train station, a strong embrace that hadn't ever ended in her mind, a last confession, tears ..
" I love you "
****
Kisses and promises, suppressed desires:
"It's beautiful here"
"You are beautiful."
"I used to dream that there were places like this somewhere. Safe, warm. Do you ever think of anything like that?"
"Yes."
" You never talk about it."
" Inside. Nobody can change it. It will always be what I need it to be."
"Is it anything like this?"
"A little maybe. . .you're there. "
*****
Hope.
"I just came by to tell you something. It's not over. We will be together. "
****
Longing, tenderness.
"I don't want you to change again. "
****
Warmth.
"I missed you. "
***
But the dream finished and Nikita was alone again, in an ocean of physical and mental pain. Josephine was at her side and tried to show her a reassuring smile. She heard Anya and Walter talking on the threshold. Anya was delivering instructions, and Walter nodded. Nikita returned to consciousness in full force, coughing in order to be noticed.
Dismissing both Walter and Josephine with a gesture, Anya turned toward Nikita and knelt before her . "How do you feel?" she asked, when they were alone.
" I have been better. Why are you doing this?" Nikita was genuinely curious. Why did Anya save her, when Oversight had condemned to die ?
" I owed you one." Anya's voice was strained and yet calm. "You know you can't return."
"Of course. But we can find a way.."
" No, your cancellation was final. You have go... and not return," Anya said precisely.
Nikita licked her lips and painfully voiced her answer. "I've wanted this for ages. But now... it is too late. I don't believe in it anymore. I can't run and wonder every day whether they are close, when they will take me. I tried to do that and look at the result.... No. I prefer death."
"I will watch your back." Anya took Nikita's face between her hands imploring, "Once you said to me that you are the one who chooses between surviving or living. You used to say that it isn't ever too late for that choice. Prove it. Prove it and live--for Josephine, at least. Because I will not let her leave with Walter if you don't go with them."
The two opponents and friends stared long at each other before Anya, seeing Nikita nod in surrender, let go. With pale face and voice void of emotion, Nikita finally intoned, "You have control."
" I have control," Anya repeated, finally at peace with herself. Now, to be called Operations wouldn't sound like a betrayal. Then she assumed her new role.
"Walter will take care of you. You leave in the morning."
"Good."
The remainder of their last conversation was about Section One 's future: taking over Jasmine's training, Nikita's opinions regarding important data, and incoming difficulties with the Revelation group. Lastly, with a kiss on Nikita's cheek, Anya reluctantly took her leave whispering, "Then, goodbye and good luck."
"Good luck to you, Operations. You will need it."
Just before Anya left her side, Nikita grasped her arm and, looking deeply into her eyes, solemnly said, "Thank you."
Now alone, the woman who had just abdicated her position as formidable head of the most clandestine anti-terrorist organization on the planet, closed her eyes, suppressing a brief feeling of guilt at her last lie and betrayal.
It was ended.
Relief surrounded and tempered her profound exhaustion.
Hate had made her chains; love was setting her free.
Full circle.
Chapter 6 : Departure
2 weeks later
Nikita got out of the taxi with the powerful sensation that she possessed her own life. Her physical bruises, at least, were healing, and she was moving upward toward a new existence. As she walked, Josephine shadowed her and Walter preceded them carrying two suitcases , His eyes were dreamily centered on the vision of their destination: the airport . In just a few hours, they would walk upon American soil.. The three joined the crowd of travelers merging toward the plane.
When she occupied her seat, Nikita finally felt closure for this part of her life. She would have lied if she had said she was happy and relaxed, but for once, Nikita had the impression that she was taking what was offered her without fear of any strings attached or any deception.
Section One wasn't her responsibility anymore. It's fate lay in the capable hands of Anya--a good friend and her second in command--whom Nikita had reluctantly, but repeatedly abused. Under Anya's icy exterior and bitchy heartlessness with enemies, was a caring human being. Not having often experienced affection and kindness, Anya was emotionally fragile. Conscious of her love, Nikita had used it, when needed, for her own benefit. Anya had a sense of honor, justice and respect that was sufficient in order to teach her how to use and optimize these qualities in dealing with her subordinates. She was moderate, ( which distinguished her from Madeline) choosing solutions that might be more complex and daring for her operatives, but provided a lower risk for civilians--a well hidden member of the 5 % club . Yes, her second would be a fine Operations.
Nikita's feelings of guilt started to surface as she thought about the way she had deceived Anya in order to complete a different plan of escape than she had originally planned, and one in which she harbored some doubt. The greatest risk of this plan (profiled by someone else) was the unknown factor of Anya's actions. In the end, it had gone exactly according to plan. Believing that she was saving Nikita's life, Anya had set the object of her affection free.
Nikita wondered if her father ever felt guilty because his every agenda was successful. If he did, he was very good at hiding it-a practice that she, herself, no longer cared for. By then, freedom was a dream that Nikita considered lost, a dream to forget under the push of "getting the work done." However now, in spite of every hopeless barrier and bleak prospective, Nikita was free.
F-R-E-E . Just the word was relieving ... and at the same time, terrifying.
After 13 years of performing for "the greatest good," the innocent claimed by Section was absolved and let go. Like Michael, Nikita had broken through the unbreakable circle. It was unexpected-wonderfully, truly, totally unexpected . Her original profile, on which she collaborated with Abraham, was very different. . Simply: a quick ( fake) death by poison, an easy exit from Section, and uncontrolled time to investigate and fix things with Oversight. In the general chaos, Walter would help her and take Josie out . But... unknown and unexpected surveillance had made her project known to Center,. necessitating a surprise visitor who waited in the darkness of her apartment for her return.
****************FLASHBACK****************
(Nikita enters the apartment, closes the door and turns. We see a stylishly furnished apartment, yet not too reflective of Nikita's personality. She seems to see someone in the shadows and turns the light on. Philip Jones stands before her, hands clasped behind his back, looking amazingly alive and well. Her gaze locks together with her father's.
Nikita always suspected her father's death was a staged deception. First, her unquestioned permanence in One was entirely too comfortable. Second, the Red Files on the incident contained discrepancies that made the entire episode uncomfortably uncertain. No coincidences or "accidents" existed in their line of work. But even with this knowledge, Nikita couldn't help being shocked at the sight of him).
Nikita: Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Jones: I did what was necessary. Sections aren't allowed to know the identity of Mr. Jones.
Nikita: Then tell me, was there anything true in what you said to me, or was it all a machination?
(Her voice is calm, her expression composed. Only her eyes hold accusation and anger. Jones look sad, almost guilty. Almost.)
Jones: I never lied to you. Not about the important things.
( he comes closer to his daughter)
You were the only one who could restore Section One to function according its true ends You had to stay, by every means necessary, we couldn't let you go.
(He pauses)
We can now.
Nikita: ( in a shaking, yet accusatory voice)
What are you saying?
Jones: I'm sure you remember the Christ story. His destiny was to save the world from sin, yet his methods earned him the hate of the Pharisees. The savior was betrayed by his followers and yet, with his sacrifice, redeemed humanity .
Nikita: ( Sarcastic, and then deadly serious)
What it is? Do you want me dead now that I don't serve your purpose anymore?
Jones: ( irritatingly composed)
Oversight is discussing your cancellation. They will approve it ; it is just a question of time. Because of your many allies, neither Oversight nor Center wants to let you go.
( He pauses)
I'm here because I want to offer you a way out.
Nikita ( it is her turn to come closer, until they are face to face):
I'm listening.
Jones: There is a profile in motion, that will take the current head of Oversight out of the picture. If you accept collaboration in this profile, you will have exposure. If you survive, Center is willing set you free.
Nikita: IF?
Jones: Thorough preparation and accurate timing is necessary. . It will not be easy, but you have my word....
Nikita: Why would I believe you ?
Jones: ( taking her chin under his thumb)
When I said to trust me, I meant it. I'm your father, and there is no way I could live with myself if what I'm telling you is not the absolute truth.
Nikita: (sliding out of his grasp and seeking refuge in the opposite side of the room)
You compelled me to live--to protect the innocents, to make Section a better place. I did it until it left me nothing else.. How can I possibly take back my life?
( turning to confronting him).
I would not succeed in living this way, and even if I did, sooner or later anyone (friend or enemy) would find me!
Jones: (approaching her)
Ivan will assume the leadership of Oversight, so no one will look too hard for you. Moles will confirm your death, and Center will cover your tracks.
( he places a comforting hand on her shoulder)
Michael Dupreè is living in Boston with his son Adam. Here is the address
(he offers her a paper , she take it, dumfounded)
He has never seen any woman seriously, just tortures himself occasionally with tall blondes.. It sound like he is waiting for you.
( he move a blonde lock behind her ear, )
You have obtempered all your duties, Nikita. Go now, and live the life that you deserve.
(Nikita studies his demeanor and looks long into his eyes, searching for the truth in what he has said. . She find it, and shyly, tentatetively hugs him. On the old man's cheek, a tear slips unnoticed while he bring his arms around her.)
*************END FLASHBACK****************
As Nikita, Josephine and Walter moved with the other travelers into the airline terminal, Nikita felt a small hand graze and then firmly grasp hers. At Josephine's comforting handclasp, she exhaled what she hoped was the last of the tension surrounding her departure from Section. Ivan was an old friend of hers. She greatly respected him, and had learned much about Section and life in general as his apt pupil. Now she knew that everything would be all right, for Section and for her new family.
Her thoughts immediately turned to Michael. She had stopped surveillance on Michael, as the years passed, for security reasons. But she wanted to protect them by destroying their enemies.
Certainly he would have changed, as she also had. Physically, her hair was shorter, her face thinner, her body showed new scars. She would let her hair grow back, gain weight, and by that time the bruises would be gone. Nikita wanted Michael to recognize her at first sight as the woman to whom he promised to return. As for her soul, that was battered and hurt. Her sleep was plagued by nightmares--sessions of torture had not missed their point. When Michael was close, she used to feel safe. Perhaps he could be her medicine , just as she had been his, so many times before.
Or perhaps they would discover that pain and need was what linked them, that the past couldn't be reclaimed-that, after all, reality and fantasy could never match.
No. Her heart was saying otherwise.
And Nikita Wirth trusted her heart.
3
4 EPILOGUE
He walked quickly on a crowed street in Boston. In the distance, a woman came slowly toward him. He could barely distinguish her form, but he knew it was her, his angel. His Nikita. Her hair shone in the sun. She was so beautiful .He walked faster, wanting reach her, to touch her.
When they were close, she reached out, put her hands at the base of his neck, and kissed him. He found himself carried away to the hot, heavy atmosphere of Lyons, and they were suddenly on a warm bed, making love. They breathed as one as he passed his palms along her nude back....
***
Michael Samuelle, now Dupreè, woke up bathed in sweat and in an obviously excited state due to his usual dreams. It was 3:00 a.m. Once, he thought that a certain amount of sexual contact would eliminate this sort of erotic torture. Now, he knew better.
Adam couldn't provide a constant distraction for him. He needed something else. So at first Michael tried to ease his physical needs with a few, occasional nights of sex. He would rarely see the woman afterward. They all had in common features that attracted him instantly: long legs, creamy skin or blond hair; one had even captivated him with a particular and familiar laugh. But at some level, Michael understood that these were just imitations, simulations of the real thing.
Michael had stopped even these infrequent sexual connections two years ago, when he woke, after a wonderful dream, to find himself lying next to a blonde head. He kissed her neck, and a stranger's face turned happily around. Pain had burned deeply in his chest.
He had been so sure that it was Nikita. That delusion, together with an increasing sense of dread and disgust each time he would remembered it, were enough to make Michael relinquish any further quest for female companionship. He knew then, that didnt matter how much he loved his son, he could help but mantain his vow.
Nikita was his soulmate, he couldn't deny it any longer. Better together in the worse hell, than alone in the best heaven. Every day he wondered if she was still alive, and if she had found another man with whom to share her dreams and her nights.
But if Michael was certain about anything, it was that Nikita belonged to him, like he had and always would belong to her. Therefore if she was dead, surely he would have felt it--a change in the cosmic balance of the universe. One day he would kiss her again, and be at her side forever.
Adam was growing and their relationship in some ways was troubled, difficult. He supposed it was normal with a teenager. Of course if Nikita were there, she would know how to handle these situations. When Adam had bad dreams, or remembered his kidnapping, or the farewell day in the station, he required explanations. Michael gave them to him, even if they weren't always the truth. It pained him to lie to his only child, but it wasn't the first time, probably wouldn't be the last.
To explain his "non-death and coming back to life," Michael told him that he had collaborated secretly with the Government, testifying against terrorist Salla Vachek, Elena's father, in order to protect the family. Doctors had been able to save Michael from death after the shooting, but he was compelled to let it seem as if he had died, to not endanger Adam and his mother from any retaliation. Nikita was the government agent who had protected them.
Adam believed and been sorry for him, which made Michael feel worse, and made him seek refuge in dreams and fantasies more than usual. Once he accompanied Adam to a music shop, where he found an old album containing a theme that had played the first time he and Nikita had danced together. He bought it, and listened to it during his moments of discomfort. It had a calming effect. A Nikita-effect.
One day....
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan M. Thomas