December 15
When she arrived at her office this morning, she had mistakenly believed that nothing she would ever experience would suprise her. Years of life in Section had jaded her in that way – and many more.
Even Birkoff's accepting reaction when she had told him she knew of his deception, that she knew Nikita had survived many months of captivity only to die in Operations' arms and that she needed his help to continue to protect not only Section, but Operations and Michael as well. She'd been proud of his amazing composure, his astute acceptance and his tempered wariness at her information. And she'd been proud of his thoroughness. Many of the files he had destroyed, he had done so literally – physically – thereby eliminating any chance of Michael finding them. At her request, Birkoff reconstructed the files he could from what Madeline had managed to copy. He'd done a remarkable job of tracking down leads, as well. The closer they got to the answers, the more she dreaded them – but that didn't surprise her.
Being summoned to Operation's perch had not surprised her – it was a regular enough occurrence. Finding Walter there had intrigued her, but again – no surprise. Even when Operations shut down the room, blacked the glass and deactivated the surveillance, she had been curious, but not surprised. She had watched him move to his desk, turn on his monitor and smile.
The smile was genuine and easy – amused. It was a smile she hadn't seen in years, and it captivated her. Walter moved around behind him and looked at the monitor, his expression shifting from quizzical to proud and delighted. Then he laughed. Walter laughed.
Paul looked at her, and it was Paul – not Operations. His eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, his mouth twisted into a cheshire grin. He turned the monitor to face her, his eyes never leaving her face.
Madeline had slowly broke her gaze away from him and looked at the screen. Her first thought was how like Nikita the woman was – her second was a flash of anger that Paul would think to manipulate them and Michael with a duplicate. She looked up again to meet his eyes and in that one instant of clarity, she had understood.
The hands. The body language. Walter had laughed.
Nikita. It WAS Nikita. She had survived.
Now, minutes – or what it hours- later, as the scenery whizzed by her unnoticed, Madeline's found herself in a state of shock. She sat there, as the car finally drew to a halt in front of the hospital, gathering her memories of the last few months and locking the behind a mental barrier, as she waited her door to be opened. Stepping out of the car, she noticed immediately the gentlemen with silver-white hair.
"Mrs. Winston?"
"Yes." She replied, her voice strong and cool, belying the emotions that she trapped within herself.
"I am Dr. Helfgolt. Your husband called and told us to expect you. I am sure you are anxious to see your stepdaughter, so if you will follow me, I will fill you in on her condition while we walk?"
"Thank you, Doctor."
As they walked down the sterile white halls of the clinic, Madeline tried to prepare herself for her first encounter with Nikita. Even still, she found herself unprepared for deathly haggard visage of Nikita lying so still in the hospital bed. If her eyes had not picked up instantly on the even inhale and exhale of breath, she would have believed the young operative dead. Slowly, she walked up to stand beside Nikita's bed – gently brushing the wayward strands of hair from her forehead.
Nikita's eyes instantly flicked open and slowly focused on Madeline's features. She watched the emotions roll through Nikita's ever-expressive eyes. At first there had been bewilderment, then fear and finally compassion. Compassion!
Nikita raised a shaking, frail hand to Madeline's face and brushed the tears from her cheek – tears she hadn't realized she was shedding. A weak smile crossed Nikita's features as she lowered her hand. Tentatively, Madeline reached out her own hand to grasp Nikita's.
She felt an overwhelming and unexpected grief tear through her heart and soul – and rage. Rage at violation perpetrated not only against Nikita but of her world – her controlled sanctum. The violence of emotions was cast to the shadows of her mind by the profound relief she had felt at the recognition in Nikita's eyes when she had looked up and Madeline realized that while damaged, Nikita's soul, heart, and strength were still intact.
Madeline remembered how it felt to smile – genuinely smile. They sat there, measuring each other, both trying to find words to open communication that would not damage the frail, renewed connection they had the chance to forge between the them.
Deep down, Madeline wished that they could simply slip back into their pre-Shays relationship, knowing that Nikita needed, more than anything right now, the maternal-type of emotional support. Yet too much had happened for either of them to ever walk that path together again. No, their only hope was to find a mutual ground and build a new relationship from there. Finally, Madeline decided to break the silence. "I am sorry Nikita. We should have come for you sooner. I shouldn't have accepted you were dead, not without hard verification."
Nikita watched her quizzically. Madeline could see the doubt in her eyes, and didn't blame her. Then Nikita's mouth curved into the sad, understanding smile uniquely her's as she cocked her head to the side. In a soft, weak, and slightly raspy voice that still managed to resonate with conviction, Nikita spoke. "From what I understand , Madeline, your actions after I was taken helped Michael, Birkoff, and probably Walter, too. Your first priority was Section and you did what had to be done to protect Section's best interests. I understand that."
Now it was Madeline's turn to wonder. She looked closely into Nikita's eyes, taking her chin in hand to prevent her from turning away. She could see the turbulent emotions swirling under the cool controlled section façade. Madeline could see that Nikita meant her words, but underlying that acceptance and understanding was a deep well of untapped hurt and fear.
Madeline released Nikita's chin, and took her hand again. She gently smiled at her, allowing her own emotions to show through, knowing that she could use her own pain as a catalyst to break the walls the empathetic Nikita had built around her own torment. She watched as Nikita's control gradually crumpled, letting loose the tears and pent up anger that she had buried. Gently, Madeline gathered her into her arms, crooning to her as they rocked back and forth. Her eyes burned as she fought the release of her own buried torments. She had found herself promising Nikita that everything would be okay – and meaning it. She would do what she had to make things right, within Section's constraints. Finally, she allowed her own cathartic tears to fall.
December 22
"Excuse me ma'am. We are beginning final preparations to land."
A soft, whispered voice of one of the Section concord's crew drew Madeline from her jumbled thoughts and memories of the past 2 days.
"How is Nikita?"
"She's still sleeping, ma'am. The med team is securing her for landing now."
"Good. Thank you." Madeline dismissed her and turned her eyes to look out the window of the plane.
Checking her watch, Madeline realized that they would be landing in less than an hour in New York City. Another short flight on a private jet followed by an hour-long drive from the private airfield to the house Michael and Nikita had called home for the summer.
Undoing the seatbelt in a practiced, economic flick of her wrist, Madeline rose from her seat and stepped into the aisle and walked the short distance to the medical bay in the back of Section One's concord. After sending the "duty" nurse to a seat in the body of the plane, Madeline watched Nikita sleep. The reality of the past few days was finally sinking in for her. Seeing Nikita, awake or sleeping, no longer seemed surreal. Keeping her back to the only active camera in the area, Madeline moved to stand at the side of the bed. Madeline marveled at how peaceful she could look in sleep, and how alive – despite the ravages her ordeal had on her appearance. The vitality she that had attracted her to Nikita still shined. Perhaps not as radiantly, but it was there.
Once, long ago, she had told Nikita that Section was her family. It had been a means of redirecting Nikita's loyalty. Madeline had even precipitated a bond between Nikita and herself – one that should have been one-sided – Nikita to her. In the end, Madeline had watched as she strained that bond until, ultimately, it shattered on Nikita's end. But not on her own. She'd risked more than she wanted to think of in her warning Michael of Nikita's intended cancellation during the Shay's mission. She'd even run cover for them when Nikita returned alive.
Madeline had learned during Nikita's first year as a cold op that she had the strength to continue to care for Michael after his continually, if unwilling, betrayals, but not enough to take those betrayals on two fronts– so she let Nikita go. The way she'd let Michael go all those years ago, and the way she'd let Paul go recently. It had been necessary for them all to survive. She more than anyone else was aware of just how much a human soul could take of loss and betrayal before the person was totally destroyed – beyond recovery. Paul, Michael, Nikita – all were far too important to the future success of Section to risk added damage to them emotionally. It was far better for them to always be weary, for them to not care quite so much about her – that way they were never betrayed by her, as opposed to her actions. Never hurt by her loss.
Gently, confident that Nikita was deep in sleep, she reached out to bush at the newly shorn locks. Three days ago, in the early morning hours, she'd working on covering Ops trail over what she had thought had been a failed attempt to save Nikita, providing and implementing the backup contingency plans for when Michael finally found out the truth. She'd worked around the clock to develop a carefully set of 'safety nets' to protect her 'family' from the inevitable fall out when the truth of Nikita's fate came to light.
In those long hours, she hadn't dared to hope that Nikita was alive. But she had been alive and if all went as Madeline and Nikita planned – her family would be well on the way to recovery in a few short hours. She didn't fool herself - the road would be long and rocky. Nikita still had a lot of emotional and physical problems to work through and Michael would have his own issues to deal with, but together, as a team, they would come through this stronger than ever.
Madeline waited until she heard the chiming of the seatbelt signal before taking and buckling herself into one of the seats used for the medical team during transport. Reaching out, she laid her hand on Nikita's shoulder and waited for gravity to increase as the concord slowed and landed.
****************
Madeline looked out the window of the standard black Suburban as it pulled into the driveway of Michael and Nikita's beach house. The lights were on, and the door opened as three operatives, including John Marks exited. Glancing over the seat, she smiled at Nikita, who was stretched out in the back.
"We're here."
"Thank God!" Nikita breathed as she attempted to rise, shooting Madeline a look that said she was clearly determined to leave the car under her own power.
She was about to order Nikita to wait, when the door swung open and she heard John Marks' deep, rich voice.
"Uh- no you don't. We are under strict orders to make sure you take it nice and easy - and I refuse to risk cancellation for one measly blonde!" His tone was light - joking - but it did not lack for respect.
As she stepped out of the Suburban, Madeline caught the glare Nikita threw at her over John's shoulder. She smiled and laughed softly. Even through the "annoyance", Madeline could see the weariness in Nikita's eyes and body.
Mentally, she began to review how she had the evening planned, wondering if perhaps she should cut the evening short to give Nikita time to recoup from the mental and physical drain of travel. Leisurely, Madeline followed the other operatives into the house.
As she crossed the threshold, she was surrounded by the sweet smell of home cooking mixed with a linger, soft, scent of gardenias. Proceeding into the living room area, she was welcomed by the warm flickering of votives and the crackle of a blazing fire. The golden light from the setting sun that cascaded through the closed sheers hanging loosely in front of the windows cast a comforting glow around the room.
Setting her bag down, she allowed the room to seep into her instead of analyzing it. She had seen all the furnishings from the purchase reports, but the actual effect of the room caught her off guard and brought her a new understand. In this house, the two Nikita's she had known had become one. Where each of her apartment decors had been measures in extremes, this place was a functioning blend. The two sofas, while austere in color and based on traditional design, were clearly comfortable and comforting. They were meant to sink into - to be cocooned by the pillows. The tables were traditional and simple down to the plain, block rivets and handles- yet the cherry wood and the brass added warmth to the room. Color was spread through the room through pillows, blankets and various candleholders and a few scattered knick-knacks.
And sitting dead center on the coffee table was a large, green, round, glass, vase that flared at the top. Aside from the vase, the table was empty. It seemed wrong.
Madeline realized she had been staring at the vase only when John Marx stepped into her line of sight and gently set Nikita down on the sofa. Reaching over her, he pulled the green, chenille throw from the back of the sofa and gingerly tucked it around her.
"Madeline, do you know where my bag is?"
At Nikita's question Madeline felt her self smile genuinely - something she had found her self doing a lot in the past few days. Stooping down slightly, she lifted the bag that sat beside her and joined Nikita on the sofa. She watched as Nikita gleeful took the bag and opened it. The first item she pulled out was a framed picture. Madeline watched the play of emotions that crossed Nikita's face - a wistful expression followed by a powerful love tempered by wisdom and understanding beyond Nikita's years - regardless of what she had seen in her years as a section operative. Slowly, Nikita held out the picture to her, her eyes questioning Madeline. Taking the picture, Madeline found herself looking at a picture of Michael and Nikita. Something in the picture caused Madeline's breath to catch in her throat. The love captured forever in the picture had a deep and almost primal quality - it was immeasurable, pure, sacred - and it was timeless. Most importantly - she remembered a similar picture taken long ago in a small café in Vienna. She had believed then that her and Paul's love would see them through hell - would be the strength that would seal the bond they would need to build their dreams. It had been. Until she turned her back on it.
A tear drop hit the picture, startling Madeline from her reverie. Glancing up, she saw the questioning and worried look in Nikita's eyes - and the understanding. It was unnerving. Twisting her position away from Nikita, she placed the picture face down on the coffee table.
"Ahhh, Madeline. Mr. Marks told me you had arrived. I will have dinner ready in 15 minutes, if you would like to freshen up. Would you like to be served out here? " The tall dark haired man asked as he strolled from the kitchen in a relaxed gait.
"Hello, Christopher. I wasn't aware that you would be here."
"Operations sent me ahead to make sure there was appropriate food for both yourself and Nikita - and to see that everything was in order for the 25th."
"That was thoughtful, and yes, I would like us to be served out here. Thank you, Christopher. "
"Uh, Madeline," Nikita asked hesitantly, "could you help me? I want to change. I am sick of these clothes. And I would like to be able to move around a bit."
"Of course." Madeline responded, keeping her tone cool, knowing that Nikita still didn't trust her. Too much of a show of warmth or friendship would increase her suspicion, lead to Nikita raising her mental and emotional barriers.
Standing, Madeline retrieved the bag still sitting in Nikita's lap, then extended her arm to assist her in standing. She felt Nikita's grip tighten on her arm as she steadied herself before she started walking toward the master bedroom As she followed Nikita, Madeline caught the look of admiration in Christopher's face as his eye's trailed Nikita's progress from the room. A half-smile curled her lips, feeling an intense pride in Nikita.
Standing just behind Christopher were three black clad operatives, two males and one female, seemingly awe struck. While she did not recognize immediately the two men, it would be hard for Madeline to ever forget Lauren Haas. Her seeming awe of Nikita intrigued Madeline, and she filed away her suspicions for further consideration at a later date.
Walking into the room behind Nikita, Madeline was struck by the peace the room seemed to invoke. Done primarily in shades of white, with color strewn about through blankets, pillows and pictures. The décor of the room was simple, open and airy. Her attention was immediately drawn to the wall opposite the door. A large oversized, overstuffed chair upholstered in a soft, light-natural colored denim fabric sat off at angle in the corner, a stack of well-read books beside it. The wall itself was dominated by a large, frosted glass window which allowed light to encompass the room in a soft glow. A king-size bed littered with pillows and a fluffy white down comforter sat on the far right wall.
Placing Nikita's bag on the wooded chest at the foot of the bed, Madeline opened it and pulled out a black tee-shirt and sweat pants. Placing them beside Nikita, she watched the blonde as she pulled off the black, wool turtleneck and slacks she had been wearing and replaced them with the large, tee-shirt and sweatpants.
For the first time Madeline took real notice of the shirt when Nikita leaned over to pull a pair of black socks from the bag, and found herself amused. A Pepe Le Pew and Kitty tee-shirt? She knew Nikita often had a quirky taste in clothing, but she could have sworn Nikita had told her that Walter had "borrowed" the tee-shirt from Michael.
Sitting up, Nikita glanced her way and regarded her inquiringly. Then, as if understanding Madeline's bewilderment, she looked down at the tee-shirt and smiled to herself, a "secret" type smile. The hauntingly, unconscious, kind of smile, Madeline knew, Nikita reserved usually for thoughts of Michael. While this only added to her curiosity, she was unwilling to push Nikita – she would wait for the proper opportunity to lean the story behind the tee-shirt to avail itself.
"Are you warm enough?" Madeline asked, slightly concerned at the scant raising of goosebumps she saw on Nikita's exposed arms.
"Actually, no. Can you see if Michael left a sweater or something in the armoire?"
Smiling slightly, Madeline nodded, before turning toward the opposite wall where Michael's armoire stood. Once she had the doors open, her eye was immediately drawn to a heavy, pine green sweatshirt. Pulling it from its space on the self and opening it up, she nearly laughed. There it was again – Pepe Le Pew dipping his Kitty – embroidered in the left corner.
Turning to face Nikita, Madeline held up the sweatshirt, a single eyebrow raised. Nikita only response was to hold out her hands – still smiling.
All in all, it was a good thing, Madeline decided. Whatever was behind that smile had rekindled a bit of the light in Nikita's eyes and she had grown more animated in the past few minutes. Madeline handed the sweatshirt over and watched as Nikita slipped it over her head and adjusted it on her body. Raising her hands to her head, Nikita brushed her fingers through the thin, short hair – and stopped – her fingers resting at the base of her neck.
Seeing the slight hesitation in Nikita's breathing, Madeline walked over and dropped to her knees in front the softly crying woman. Reaching out, she brushed the tears from Nikita's face, gently tilting her face so they could look each other in the eye. Carefully, Madeline brushed at Nikita's hair, arranging it .
"You look beautiful, Nikita, " Madeline said softly, the timber of her voice warm and assuring. Madeline found herself smiling involuntarily in response to Nikita's shy smile. "Would I have shortened my own hair if I didn't like it?" She used a matter-of- fact tone and hoped Nikita would pick up on the teasing.
Nikita's sudden laughter startled her, but not nearly as much as feeling Nikita's arms come around her in a hug. She found herself fighting tears when she heard the whispered word in her ear, "Thank you, Madeline. For everything."
Pulling back, Madeline swallowed hard and forced her face to conform to the 'Section mask' she had long ago perfected. "Dinner should be ready. I have the profile for the next few days ready – perhaps we can discuss the schedule and necessary items over dinner and take a walk after dinner?"
Nikita merely smiled, her own expression molding itself into her own version of the mask, and extended her hand.
Taking the proffered hand, Madeline felt Nikita shaking slightly as she pulled her to her feet and together, they walked from the sanctuary of master bedroom.
When she arrived at her office this morning, she had mistakenly believed that nothing she would ever experience would suprise her. Years of life in Section had jaded her in that way – and many more.
Even Birkoff's accepting reaction when she had told him she knew of his deception, that she knew Nikita had survived many months of captivity only to die in Operations' arms and that she needed his help to continue to protect not only Section, but Operations and Michael as well. She'd been proud of his amazing composure, his astute acceptance and his tempered wariness at her information. And she'd been proud of his thoroughness. Many of the files he had destroyed, he had done so literally – physically – thereby eliminating any chance of Michael finding them. At her request, Birkoff reconstructed the files he could from what Madeline had managed to copy. He'd done a remarkable job of tracking down leads, as well. The closer they got to the answers, the more she dreaded them – but that didn't surprise her.
Being summoned to Operation's perch had not surprised her – it was a regular enough occurrence. Finding Walter there had intrigued her, but again – no surprise. Even when Operations shut down the room, blacked the glass and deactivated the surveillance, she had been curious, but not surprised. She had watched him move to his desk, turn on his monitor and smile.
The smile was genuine and easy – amused. It was a smile she hadn't seen in years, and it captivated her. Walter moved around behind him and looked at the monitor, his expression shifting from quizzical to proud and delighted. Then he laughed. Walter laughed.
Paul looked at her, and it was Paul – not Operations. His eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, his mouth twisted into a cheshire grin. He turned the monitor to face her, his eyes never leaving her face.
Madeline had slowly broke her gaze away from him and looked at the screen. Her first thought was how like Nikita the woman was – her second was a flash of anger that Paul would think to manipulate them and Michael with a duplicate. She looked up again to meet his eyes and in that one instant of clarity, she had understood.
The hands. The body language. Walter had laughed.
Nikita. It WAS Nikita. She had survived.
Now, minutes – or what it hours- later, as the scenery whizzed by her unnoticed, Madeline's found herself in a state of shock. She sat there, as the car finally drew to a halt in front of the hospital, gathering her memories of the last few months and locking the behind a mental barrier, as she waited her door to be opened. Stepping out of the car, she noticed immediately the gentlemen with silver-white hair.
"Mrs. Winston?"
"Yes." She replied, her voice strong and cool, belying the emotions that she trapped within herself.
"I am Dr. Helfgolt. Your husband called and told us to expect you. I am sure you are anxious to see your stepdaughter, so if you will follow me, I will fill you in on her condition while we walk?"
"Thank you, Doctor."
As they walked down the sterile white halls of the clinic, Madeline tried to prepare herself for her first encounter with Nikita. Even still, she found herself unprepared for deathly haggard visage of Nikita lying so still in the hospital bed. If her eyes had not picked up instantly on the even inhale and exhale of breath, she would have believed the young operative dead. Slowly, she walked up to stand beside Nikita's bed – gently brushing the wayward strands of hair from her forehead.
Nikita's eyes instantly flicked open and slowly focused on Madeline's features. She watched the emotions roll through Nikita's ever-expressive eyes. At first there had been bewilderment, then fear and finally compassion. Compassion!
Nikita raised a shaking, frail hand to Madeline's face and brushed the tears from her cheek – tears she hadn't realized she was shedding. A weak smile crossed Nikita's features as she lowered her hand. Tentatively, Madeline reached out her own hand to grasp Nikita's.
She felt an overwhelming and unexpected grief tear through her heart and soul – and rage. Rage at violation perpetrated not only against Nikita but of her world – her controlled sanctum. The violence of emotions was cast to the shadows of her mind by the profound relief she had felt at the recognition in Nikita's eyes when she had looked up and Madeline realized that while damaged, Nikita's soul, heart, and strength were still intact.
Madeline remembered how it felt to smile – genuinely smile. They sat there, measuring each other, both trying to find words to open communication that would not damage the frail, renewed connection they had the chance to forge between the them.
Deep down, Madeline wished that they could simply slip back into their pre-Shays relationship, knowing that Nikita needed, more than anything right now, the maternal-type of emotional support. Yet too much had happened for either of them to ever walk that path together again. No, their only hope was to find a mutual ground and build a new relationship from there. Finally, Madeline decided to break the silence. "I am sorry Nikita. We should have come for you sooner. I shouldn't have accepted you were dead, not without hard verification."
Nikita watched her quizzically. Madeline could see the doubt in her eyes, and didn't blame her. Then Nikita's mouth curved into the sad, understanding smile uniquely her's as she cocked her head to the side. In a soft, weak, and slightly raspy voice that still managed to resonate with conviction, Nikita spoke. "From what I understand , Madeline, your actions after I was taken helped Michael, Birkoff, and probably Walter, too. Your first priority was Section and you did what had to be done to protect Section's best interests. I understand that."
Now it was Madeline's turn to wonder. She looked closely into Nikita's eyes, taking her chin in hand to prevent her from turning away. She could see the turbulent emotions swirling under the cool controlled section façade. Madeline could see that Nikita meant her words, but underlying that acceptance and understanding was a deep well of untapped hurt and fear.
Madeline released Nikita's chin, and took her hand again. She gently smiled at her, allowing her own emotions to show through, knowing that she could use her own pain as a catalyst to break the walls the empathetic Nikita had built around her own torment. She watched as Nikita's control gradually crumpled, letting loose the tears and pent up anger that she had buried. Gently, Madeline gathered her into her arms, crooning to her as they rocked back and forth. Her eyes burned as she fought the release of her own buried torments. She had found herself promising Nikita that everything would be okay – and meaning it. She would do what she had to make things right, within Section's constraints. Finally, she allowed her own cathartic tears to fall.
December 22
"Excuse me ma'am. We are beginning final preparations to land."
A soft, whispered voice of one of the Section concord's crew drew Madeline from her jumbled thoughts and memories of the past 2 days.
"How is Nikita?"
"She's still sleeping, ma'am. The med team is securing her for landing now."
"Good. Thank you." Madeline dismissed her and turned her eyes to look out the window of the plane.
Checking her watch, Madeline realized that they would be landing in less than an hour in New York City. Another short flight on a private jet followed by an hour-long drive from the private airfield to the house Michael and Nikita had called home for the summer.
Undoing the seatbelt in a practiced, economic flick of her wrist, Madeline rose from her seat and stepped into the aisle and walked the short distance to the medical bay in the back of Section One's concord. After sending the "duty" nurse to a seat in the body of the plane, Madeline watched Nikita sleep. The reality of the past few days was finally sinking in for her. Seeing Nikita, awake or sleeping, no longer seemed surreal. Keeping her back to the only active camera in the area, Madeline moved to stand at the side of the bed. Madeline marveled at how peaceful she could look in sleep, and how alive – despite the ravages her ordeal had on her appearance. The vitality she that had attracted her to Nikita still shined. Perhaps not as radiantly, but it was there.
Once, long ago, she had told Nikita that Section was her family. It had been a means of redirecting Nikita's loyalty. Madeline had even precipitated a bond between Nikita and herself – one that should have been one-sided – Nikita to her. In the end, Madeline had watched as she strained that bond until, ultimately, it shattered on Nikita's end. But not on her own. She'd risked more than she wanted to think of in her warning Michael of Nikita's intended cancellation during the Shay's mission. She'd even run cover for them when Nikita returned alive.
Madeline had learned during Nikita's first year as a cold op that she had the strength to continue to care for Michael after his continually, if unwilling, betrayals, but not enough to take those betrayals on two fronts– so she let Nikita go. The way she'd let Michael go all those years ago, and the way she'd let Paul go recently. It had been necessary for them all to survive. She more than anyone else was aware of just how much a human soul could take of loss and betrayal before the person was totally destroyed – beyond recovery. Paul, Michael, Nikita – all were far too important to the future success of Section to risk added damage to them emotionally. It was far better for them to always be weary, for them to not care quite so much about her – that way they were never betrayed by her, as opposed to her actions. Never hurt by her loss.
Gently, confident that Nikita was deep in sleep, she reached out to bush at the newly shorn locks. Three days ago, in the early morning hours, she'd working on covering Ops trail over what she had thought had been a failed attempt to save Nikita, providing and implementing the backup contingency plans for when Michael finally found out the truth. She'd worked around the clock to develop a carefully set of 'safety nets' to protect her 'family' from the inevitable fall out when the truth of Nikita's fate came to light.
In those long hours, she hadn't dared to hope that Nikita was alive. But she had been alive and if all went as Madeline and Nikita planned – her family would be well on the way to recovery in a few short hours. She didn't fool herself - the road would be long and rocky. Nikita still had a lot of emotional and physical problems to work through and Michael would have his own issues to deal with, but together, as a team, they would come through this stronger than ever.
Madeline waited until she heard the chiming of the seatbelt signal before taking and buckling herself into one of the seats used for the medical team during transport. Reaching out, she laid her hand on Nikita's shoulder and waited for gravity to increase as the concord slowed and landed.
****************
Madeline looked out the window of the standard black Suburban as it pulled into the driveway of Michael and Nikita's beach house. The lights were on, and the door opened as three operatives, including John Marks exited. Glancing over the seat, she smiled at Nikita, who was stretched out in the back.
"We're here."
"Thank God!" Nikita breathed as she attempted to rise, shooting Madeline a look that said she was clearly determined to leave the car under her own power.
She was about to order Nikita to wait, when the door swung open and she heard John Marks' deep, rich voice.
"Uh- no you don't. We are under strict orders to make sure you take it nice and easy - and I refuse to risk cancellation for one measly blonde!" His tone was light - joking - but it did not lack for respect.
As she stepped out of the Suburban, Madeline caught the glare Nikita threw at her over John's shoulder. She smiled and laughed softly. Even through the "annoyance", Madeline could see the weariness in Nikita's eyes and body.
Mentally, she began to review how she had the evening planned, wondering if perhaps she should cut the evening short to give Nikita time to recoup from the mental and physical drain of travel. Leisurely, Madeline followed the other operatives into the house.
As she crossed the threshold, she was surrounded by the sweet smell of home cooking mixed with a linger, soft, scent of gardenias. Proceeding into the living room area, she was welcomed by the warm flickering of votives and the crackle of a blazing fire. The golden light from the setting sun that cascaded through the closed sheers hanging loosely in front of the windows cast a comforting glow around the room.
Setting her bag down, she allowed the room to seep into her instead of analyzing it. She had seen all the furnishings from the purchase reports, but the actual effect of the room caught her off guard and brought her a new understand. In this house, the two Nikita's she had known had become one. Where each of her apartment decors had been measures in extremes, this place was a functioning blend. The two sofas, while austere in color and based on traditional design, were clearly comfortable and comforting. They were meant to sink into - to be cocooned by the pillows. The tables were traditional and simple down to the plain, block rivets and handles- yet the cherry wood and the brass added warmth to the room. Color was spread through the room through pillows, blankets and various candleholders and a few scattered knick-knacks.
And sitting dead center on the coffee table was a large, green, round, glass, vase that flared at the top. Aside from the vase, the table was empty. It seemed wrong.
Madeline realized she had been staring at the vase only when John Marx stepped into her line of sight and gently set Nikita down on the sofa. Reaching over her, he pulled the green, chenille throw from the back of the sofa and gingerly tucked it around her.
"Madeline, do you know where my bag is?"
At Nikita's question Madeline felt her self smile genuinely - something she had found her self doing a lot in the past few days. Stooping down slightly, she lifted the bag that sat beside her and joined Nikita on the sofa. She watched as Nikita gleeful took the bag and opened it. The first item she pulled out was a framed picture. Madeline watched the play of emotions that crossed Nikita's face - a wistful expression followed by a powerful love tempered by wisdom and understanding beyond Nikita's years - regardless of what she had seen in her years as a section operative. Slowly, Nikita held out the picture to her, her eyes questioning Madeline. Taking the picture, Madeline found herself looking at a picture of Michael and Nikita. Something in the picture caused Madeline's breath to catch in her throat. The love captured forever in the picture had a deep and almost primal quality - it was immeasurable, pure, sacred - and it was timeless. Most importantly - she remembered a similar picture taken long ago in a small café in Vienna. She had believed then that her and Paul's love would see them through hell - would be the strength that would seal the bond they would need to build their dreams. It had been. Until she turned her back on it.
A tear drop hit the picture, startling Madeline from her reverie. Glancing up, she saw the questioning and worried look in Nikita's eyes - and the understanding. It was unnerving. Twisting her position away from Nikita, she placed the picture face down on the coffee table.
"Ahhh, Madeline. Mr. Marks told me you had arrived. I will have dinner ready in 15 minutes, if you would like to freshen up. Would you like to be served out here? " The tall dark haired man asked as he strolled from the kitchen in a relaxed gait.
"Hello, Christopher. I wasn't aware that you would be here."
"Operations sent me ahead to make sure there was appropriate food for both yourself and Nikita - and to see that everything was in order for the 25th."
"That was thoughtful, and yes, I would like us to be served out here. Thank you, Christopher. "
"Uh, Madeline," Nikita asked hesitantly, "could you help me? I want to change. I am sick of these clothes. And I would like to be able to move around a bit."
"Of course." Madeline responded, keeping her tone cool, knowing that Nikita still didn't trust her. Too much of a show of warmth or friendship would increase her suspicion, lead to Nikita raising her mental and emotional barriers.
Standing, Madeline retrieved the bag still sitting in Nikita's lap, then extended her arm to assist her in standing. She felt Nikita's grip tighten on her arm as she steadied herself before she started walking toward the master bedroom As she followed Nikita, Madeline caught the look of admiration in Christopher's face as his eye's trailed Nikita's progress from the room. A half-smile curled her lips, feeling an intense pride in Nikita.
Standing just behind Christopher were three black clad operatives, two males and one female, seemingly awe struck. While she did not recognize immediately the two men, it would be hard for Madeline to ever forget Lauren Haas. Her seeming awe of Nikita intrigued Madeline, and she filed away her suspicions for further consideration at a later date.
Walking into the room behind Nikita, Madeline was struck by the peace the room seemed to invoke. Done primarily in shades of white, with color strewn about through blankets, pillows and pictures. The décor of the room was simple, open and airy. Her attention was immediately drawn to the wall opposite the door. A large oversized, overstuffed chair upholstered in a soft, light-natural colored denim fabric sat off at angle in the corner, a stack of well-read books beside it. The wall itself was dominated by a large, frosted glass window which allowed light to encompass the room in a soft glow. A king-size bed littered with pillows and a fluffy white down comforter sat on the far right wall.
Placing Nikita's bag on the wooded chest at the foot of the bed, Madeline opened it and pulled out a black tee-shirt and sweat pants. Placing them beside Nikita, she watched the blonde as she pulled off the black, wool turtleneck and slacks she had been wearing and replaced them with the large, tee-shirt and sweatpants.
For the first time Madeline took real notice of the shirt when Nikita leaned over to pull a pair of black socks from the bag, and found herself amused. A Pepe Le Pew and Kitty tee-shirt? She knew Nikita often had a quirky taste in clothing, but she could have sworn Nikita had told her that Walter had "borrowed" the tee-shirt from Michael.
Sitting up, Nikita glanced her way and regarded her inquiringly. Then, as if understanding Madeline's bewilderment, she looked down at the tee-shirt and smiled to herself, a "secret" type smile. The hauntingly, unconscious, kind of smile, Madeline knew, Nikita reserved usually for thoughts of Michael. While this only added to her curiosity, she was unwilling to push Nikita – she would wait for the proper opportunity to lean the story behind the tee-shirt to avail itself.
"Are you warm enough?" Madeline asked, slightly concerned at the scant raising of goosebumps she saw on Nikita's exposed arms.
"Actually, no. Can you see if Michael left a sweater or something in the armoire?"
Smiling slightly, Madeline nodded, before turning toward the opposite wall where Michael's armoire stood. Once she had the doors open, her eye was immediately drawn to a heavy, pine green sweatshirt. Pulling it from its space on the self and opening it up, she nearly laughed. There it was again – Pepe Le Pew dipping his Kitty – embroidered in the left corner.
Turning to face Nikita, Madeline held up the sweatshirt, a single eyebrow raised. Nikita only response was to hold out her hands – still smiling.
All in all, it was a good thing, Madeline decided. Whatever was behind that smile had rekindled a bit of the light in Nikita's eyes and she had grown more animated in the past few minutes. Madeline handed the sweatshirt over and watched as Nikita slipped it over her head and adjusted it on her body. Raising her hands to her head, Nikita brushed her fingers through the thin, short hair – and stopped – her fingers resting at the base of her neck.
Seeing the slight hesitation in Nikita's breathing, Madeline walked over and dropped to her knees in front the softly crying woman. Reaching out, she brushed the tears from Nikita's face, gently tilting her face so they could look each other in the eye. Carefully, Madeline brushed at Nikita's hair, arranging it .
"You look beautiful, Nikita, " Madeline said softly, the timber of her voice warm and assuring. Madeline found herself smiling involuntarily in response to Nikita's shy smile. "Would I have shortened my own hair if I didn't like it?" She used a matter-of- fact tone and hoped Nikita would pick up on the teasing.
Nikita's sudden laughter startled her, but not nearly as much as feeling Nikita's arms come around her in a hug. She found herself fighting tears when she heard the whispered word in her ear, "Thank you, Madeline. For everything."
Pulling back, Madeline swallowed hard and forced her face to conform to the 'Section mask' she had long ago perfected. "Dinner should be ready. I have the profile for the next few days ready – perhaps we can discuss the schedule and necessary items over dinner and take a walk after dinner?"
Nikita merely smiled, her own expression molding itself into her own version of the mask, and extended her hand.
Taking the proffered hand, Madeline felt Nikita shaking slightly as she pulled her to her feet and together, they walked from the sanctuary of master bedroom.