I'm so beyond thrilled with the feedback this story gets. I just can say, you are awesome! And this is a pleasure to write the chapters, knowing you like them so much:):)
A special thank you to soleilfrance1 whose reviews always make me smile and laugh ;) and I can't do it through PM because she is not registered to the site. Big hug for you girl!
Also I would like to say that I have never seen more heartbreaking moment through those 4 seasons than Ryan's death. It was tragic, heroic, and so much unexpected... This episode made me happy and miserable at the same time. Such a shame there is only one episode left, but I keep my fingers crossed for a proper ending, that would leave us with a good memory of this show.
Merry Christmas guys!
PART IX
"There is no photos." Michael says pensively, finally realizing what is wrong in the picture. His eyes travel around the spacious living room connected with the kitchen.
Beige walls and white sofa, chocolate brown furry carpet and green drapes. It is nice and cozy but completely neutral. The only seemingly personal object in this apartment is a figurine of an angel standing on one of the bookshelves.
"How can you have no photographs at your place?" His eyes shift to Nikita.
Her eyebrow flickers up at this weird question. She glances at him from above the pepper she is chopping, lingering before answering.
" I moved here recently." She shrugs her shoulders. " Besides, I'm not that sentimental."
Michael steals the piece of cheese from her cutting board, biting into it as he digests her words.
"It has never really bothered you before." She notices, lowering her eyes as she turns her focus back to the vegetables.
"Well I guess you have never invited me to the living room before." Michael smirks.
Her head snaps up at him, a soft smile playing around her lips as she realizes that Michael is right. She never got a chance to show him the apartment, they usually were going straight to the bedroom.
"I can bring you some stuff if you want. I have a lot of paintings in my storage room, I'm sure there is something you'd like. My mother is a big fan of modern art and every now and then she comes with a gift. Those walls beg for help, Nikita."
"Walls are fine. " She smiles. " The sauce on the other hand…."
" Oh..Auch… Shit." She can't help but laugh seeing Michael jerk forward and grab the hot pan with the sauce he was about to stir and keep from burning. He turns the gas off but the damage is done and he coughs waving his hand frantically above the pan, dissipating the think black smoke.
Michael takes a last attempt in rescuing their meal by taking it into the sink, pouring a generous amount of water into it, making it hiss at it touches the red hot metal.
Her eyes linger on him for a moment. On the line of his neck, his broad shoulders which makes her feel safe, hands which can be so gentle and so fiery in the same time. She watches his shoulders sag down as he realizes there is nothing left that he could do.
" I'm so sorry..."
She watches him turn around, baffled as he notices she is looking at him and she knows she looks stupid, she knows she should stop staring but she can't. Because now he smiles with his most breathtaking smile that expands to his eyes, which flicker, deep and tantalizing.
"Why are you looking at me so weird?"
"I am just wondering how could you not have burnt your place down yet. "
"I usually don't have distractions of that kind."
"What distractions?"
He takes the knife out of her hand, putting it aside as his fingers curl over her hip, then move up, slide under her shirt, caressing the curve of her waist. He brushes his lips against her neck. "You."
She tastes sweet and orange. Like a promise.
"You said you was hungry. " She murmurs feeling the heated sensation in her abdomen as his hands trail up, exploring her skin.
"I changed my mind."
He lifts her up, pushing her against the counter. She wraps her legs around him, tightening the hold. Cold tiles bring chills on her body. Or is it his touch that makes her shiver? She moans as he kisses her, deep and hot.
It feels right.
Beeing with him.
They way Michael affects her, the way she shivers under his touch every single time. She comes alive beneath his hands.
Nikita lifts her hands, allowing him to take off her grey t-shirt. It lands on the floor somewhere close to Michael's pants. She presses her body against his, reducing the distance to minimum.
"Nikita?" He hums into her skin. Her name on his lips sounds like velvet and fire.
She gasps, breath caught in her lungs as she feels him nudge the lobe of her ear. "Yes?"
"I still want to go on that date with you."
"I will think about it." She breathes out taking him in, her body heavy with desire.
888
Her pass doesn't work.
Nikita swipes it again, this time slower, but the red light declines to turn green, the guard rail still on her way.
She wipes the card with her sleeve, and repeats the action.
" Excuse me, is there something wrong with the reader?" She addresses Lionel, guard in the lobby.
"Here." She sees another card being swiped. Machine clicks and the guard rail moves aside. She turns around only to find herself inches away from Michael's face.
"Thank you detective." she breathes out taking a step back.
They never drive to work together. They share a breakfast and a goodbye kiss but when they enter the office it feels like a dream, an alternative reality. They go back to cutting jokes and tartness, a safe distance that wouldn't raise any suspition.
Hiding something from the people whose sole job is to discover other's people secret is not easy thing to do.
"Not a problem agent Mears."
A soft smile plays on his lips as they walk towards the elevators. Arm to arm, no touching.
888
She freezes to the spot staring at the white board that was always covered with evidence, theories and suspects.
"Nikita?" Michael calls her name, unaware what caught her attention. He looks around and gasps seeing what she sees.
Empty. It's empty.
No photos, no notes, no nothing.
"What happened here? Where is everything?" Her eyes rest on Lucas, sitting at his desk, with gloomy face.
"We no longer handle this case. It has been handed over to narcotics."
It feels like a bucket of a cold water, like a dumbfounding hammer
"You've got to be kidding me..." Her eyes travel to Foldman's office.
"Nikita? What are you doing? Don't!" Michael grabs her wrist but she slips away. She is already knocking on Captain's door and enters, not waiting for an answer.
"Can I take a minute, sir?"
"Good Morning agent Mears." He raises a single eyebrow, dazed with her boldness.
"Morning. Why the case was handed over to the other department? Why are we no longer searching for miss Hall's killer?"
"It's beyond our jurisdiction miss Mears." He leans back in his chair, taking off the glasses. "With everything we've learnt, this case can have nothing to do with politics."
"She was murdered. Doesn't your department solve cases like that?"
"Of course it does. But we mind the best interest of the victim, and guys in narcotics know how to do this job. They have their people, the contacts in certain areas. If some dealer, or unhappy client killed her, they will find out the truth. Our job is done. They will handle it better than us and you as a FBI agent should be aware of that."
Best interest of the victim or your buddy- senator Kerrigan?
"What if it wasn't a dealer or a client?" Nikita holds his gaze, piercing and cold.
"Who else could it be?"
She nods her head slowly and turns around to leave. Blood boils inside of her. Maybe there is no single person here that is interested in exposing the truth but she won't stop.
After everything she's been through, she knows that certain things require patience and devotion, she won't give up just because it's easier thing to do.
"Oh, and one more thing, agent Mears…." She stops with her hand on the door knob. "Leave your pass on my desk before you leave today. We appreciate your help but it's no longer needed. "
She leaves without a word.
888
Nikita is unusually silent that night. Sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to her chin, staring blankly at the view behind the window.
This is one of her days when she completely shuts down to the outside world. Pensive, withdrawn and silent.
" As much as I hate it that we are no longer working together..." she feels his arms being wrapped around her shoulders. " We can at least stop hiding."
He places a tender kiss on the nape of her neck, but she doesn't react. "Everything ok?" he asks, concern in his voice as he gently turns Nikita's face too look at her. " You've been quiet since we got back from the precinct."
"It's so wrong to give up right now."
He sighs. "It's not like we are dropping this investigation Nikita. We are just handing it over to people that have more chance to solving this case, why can't you understand that?"
She doesn't answer, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You know , there is always a reason why. Why was she into drugs, why she ended up on the street. This life was not what her choice."
"I think everyone has a choice."
"It's not that simple Michael. Life is not black or white. Sometimes we do bad things from good reasons."
Michael has a feeling that she is no longer talking about the case. "Why do I have an impression that you are not telling me everything? What is going on?"
"Nothing." She moves back and cradles his face, her fingers brushing his soft stubble. "It's nothing. "
Her kiss is rough and passionate. Expressing all the emotion she can't speak out loud.
She wraps her hands around his neck, buries her fingers in his hair pulling him closer.
She needs this. She needs him. In order to forget, to forgive herself.
The bed creaks as she pushes him onto it and settles over his hips, her fingers slide low, linger on the buckle of his belt.
This night is not about long and tender love. This time she wants to feel alive, let out all the emotion that was building in for the past month. The guilt over Mary's death, the hatred for the Son of a bitch responsible, the despair that she can't confide to Michael, because the most important part of her life, the part she wants to share is off limits.
Now she says it all to him in the touch, in the kiss, between quickened breaths.
She makes love to him like it would be their last night on Earth.
888
It's a dark night and she is still awake.
Listening to his deep breaths, watching his chest moving rhythmically up and down, indicating he is sound asleep.
And before she thinks it through she curls up to his side, delicately, not wanting to wake him up, places her palm on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, feeling it under her fingers.
In moments like this she is forgetting. Forgetting about the pain, locking up her broken soul deep inside, in a place where it almost doesn't hurt. In those moments of pure perfection she feels she can move forward and be something more than her past.
She could close her eyes right now and pretend she doesn't know. She would apologize to the dead and try to live her life. Maybe that is even something they'd want. But just because she would choose to look away, wouldn't stop him from killing. He is still out there free and unpunished.
And she is the only one that can put an end to this.
She leans in to brush her lips against his shoulder. They will have their fairy tale.
But not just yet.
She slips out of the bed, grabbing pieces of clothing from the floor, shutting door shut quietly, almost noiselessly, when she leaves.
888
She stops the car under a big oak tree, which protects her from the street lights, hiding her in the shadow of the night.
She dials the number automatically. No need tapping it in the contacts list, she memorized it a long time ago.
Will picks up after only 2 signals, his voice sleepy and raspy.
"Niks? I get it all, the butterflies and fiery romance, but do you have any idea what time is it?"
"Will…You know I love you, right?" She clenches her fingers on the phone. "And that I will never be able to thank you enough for what you've done for me."
A moment of silence on the other side makes her heart beat faster, almost jamming her thoughts. Her confidence deserts her, now when she is here.
"Niks, where is this conversation going? Where the hell are you?"
Her gaze travels to the dark and still figure of a house, one curtain ajar in the west wing.
A thin swath of light betrays he is still awake.
They say that guilty conscience keeps you up at night, something they both have in common.
"It's over Will. Kerrigan beat us, he will walk away without a scratch. Mary will be publically executed as a plotter and outlaw….. No one is interested in finding her killer anymore, they are just swiping scandal under the rug."
"What about those files that proves he was stealing money?"
"It doesn't matter anymore. We won't be able to connect him with the murders, he will destroy Mary's credibility in seconds."
"I'm sorry kid. But we will figure something out. We always do."
"No. There is no time… "
"Niks?" A tremble in her voice alerts him. "What are you going to do?".
Nikita was the one who once told him that the most dangerous situation you can put yourself into is the one with your judgment clouded by emotions. The one which leaves no room for rational thinking, when every decision leads to a disaster. Because when emotion cloud your judgement you lose the ability to recognize the moment when there is nothing left but to leave, to run, to hide.
Before it destroys you.
"Something I was trying to avoid." Her voice is barely audible, a strangled whisper.
And before he manages to take in a breath and talk her out of it, she disconnects and he is left frozen with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the beeping of the machine.
Nikita leaves the phone under the front seat and takes the Glock from the glove compartment. She opens it and counts the bullets before leaving the car. She ignores the buzzing phone and closes the door shut.
888
Thomas Kerrigan sinks into the chair in the study, puts his glasses on and takes the first letter out of the ridiculously high pile on his desk.
Letting out an irritated sigh every time he glances at his watch.
It was a long and exhausting day which is far from ending.
He takes a sip of a mint tea, letting a warm, soothing feeling settle on his stomach bring just a bit of relief to his ulcers.
Occupied with the ripping of the envelope, he doesn't notice the shadow passing across the wall.
He is tired, very tired and not only with this day. It's the life that costs him nerves, makes him sleepless at night.
The thought about resigning doesn't seem so senseless anymore.
When he joined the political carrer as a young man, he would have never thought that there is nothing more but a disappointment waiting for him. He had true friends by his side, head full of big ideas and an honest smile that made people trust him. All of it now is a mere fantasy because there is no place for truth and honesty in this business.
He thinks how possibly he could bring this idea up to his chief of campaign when he is snapped back into reality by a click of unsafed gun
"Don't move. " He freezes, blinking nervously, trying to differ whether it is some kind of a twisted dream. Maybe he fell asleep and in fact there isn't any woman standing in front of him, with gun raised? Her face seems familiar but he can't really...
"Agent Mears?" His eyes travel down from her glistening, furious eyes to the gun, firmly clutched in her hand and back to her face. "What the hell?"
There is a moment in every act when there is no turning back. After stepping over the cliff, pulling the trigger or dropping the hammer, nothing can be stopped.
"You and I have unfinished business."
Please, leave a review ;)
