Pearls and Black Velvet
"You're sure Michael doesn't mind?" Birkoff darted glances over Nikita's left shoulder, then over her right as they danced at the embassy ball.
"Why would he? We're all professionals here," she replied.
In Section, they were rumored to be lovers, but Birkoff couldn't be sure. Rumors were a dime a dozen in a place like that. Sometimes Nikita gave Michael such a look of cold fury that surely she must hate his guts. Birkoff was too young to understand that intense anger could give way to incredible passion.
"Ouch!"
"I'm so sorry, Nikita!" He had treaded on the hem of her elegant ball gown. "I knew this was a bad idea," he sighed.
"No harm done, Birkoff. Just relax. Rollando should be here any minute." Birkoff still had a worried look on his boyish face and she wanted to reassure him. After all, he was one of the few real friends she had in Section.
"You were really a quick study with those ballroom dancing lessons."
Birkoff straightened up at the compliment. "You think so? I have to say that you're a better partner than Madeline," he confided. "Not as stiff."
Birkoff thought back a week ago. He was sitting at his monitor, going about his business, and enjoying some Oreos. Then Madeline had called him to her office.
"We need you to prep for the embassy mission next Saturday night with Nikita." He stared at her with a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
"Michael is meeting his informant at the same time Nikita is arriving at the embassy. She can't go alone – she needs an escort."
"Me, escort Nikita? I'm a computer geek," he protested. "What about Davenport or Moen?"
"Davenport has a torn shoulder ligament and Moen broke his ankle in Kabul. At any rate, Monsieur LaBranche will be here this afternoon to instruct you and Nikita. That will be all." She turned back to her computer and started punching in some numbers.
Birkoff shook his head in disbelief and headed back to his station. Along the way he passed Nikita. She called out, "Got your dancing shoes ready, Birkoff?"
"I don't know how to dance. I don't have any rhythm," he said sadly.
Earlier that Evening
Nikita was browsing through the rack of dresses in Madeline's wardrobe annex. So far she did not see anything that really spoke to her. But then, what would a street urchin know about dressing for an important function at the embassy of the Czech Republic?
"I believe this one will do nicely," Madeline said in that refined voice of hers. She unzipped a garment bag. Nikita stared at the gown. It couldn't be called just a dress. The strapless bodice was of midnight blue satin and the full floor-length skirt was black velvet with a scattering of tiny seed pearls. Somehow, Nikita didn't feel this was her style, but Madeline was waiting. She held out a napkin and Nikita let her large wad of purple chewing gum fall into it. She looked rather sheepish.
"Sorry. My mouth was dry," she explained.
Madeline looked at her closely. "Are you worried?"
Nikita looked at her, but said nothing, taking a page from Michael's book.
"I have every confidence that you will perform well tonight," Madeline said.
Suddenly the door slid open and male voices were heard in the hall: Operations and Michael. Nikita quietly edged around the corner into the dressing room. She didn't want Michael to see her just yet. She had to try to preserve some of her dignity in this hellish place.
Snatches of their conversation reached her as she slipped into the gown. Operations wanted someone else for this mission, saying it was too important to use an inexperienced operative. Madeline pointed out how much progress Nikita had made and that she had to go into the field sometime.
Finally, Michael said, "I want Ni-ki-ta."
Around the corner, Nikita stopped arranging her hair and waited for the other shoe to drop.
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Operations said derisively. "But that's beside the point." He looked at Madeline, who said, "I agree with Michael. All she has to do is dance with Birkoff and distract the Minister of Finance. She's a beautiful young woman so it shouldn't be difficult."
Operations stared malevolently at Michael, his top operative and heir apparent.
"Very well. But if she jeopardizes the mission, she'll be cancelled. There is no margin for error. Is that clear?"
Nikita held her breath and waited for Michael's response.
"Of course," he said quietly. Would he really sacrifice me so easily? she wondered. She leaned back against the mirror to steady herself. She could picture Michael standing there with his hands clasped in front of him, his face showing no emotion. Operations was completely serious; the man never joked. He would have no problem carrying out his threat.
Nikita took a deep breath. This was her very first mission. She wanted to do well tonight and she wanted to live. She wanted to live long enough to figure out what made Michael, the Dark Angel, tick and what, if anything, he felt for her. But did they know how hard it had been for her to transform herself from a homeless teenager to the gracious, well-bred woman who stared back at her now? One who could wear the right clothes and walk and talk like the best society matron.
Nikita was suddenly very nervous. She wasn't at all sure she could walk in these shoes and remember the dance steps and not chew her lip or fidget with her hair. If Michael were her partner tonight she would feel better about the whole situation. He seemingly was from that well-bred sort of background. He could dance and make small talk with important people and play the part to perfection. She knew Birkoff was worried as well.
She looked at herself again. It was amazing how the right clothes could change a person. She took a couple of deep breaths and recalled what Madeline had always said: you must project confidence even when you don't feel it.
Usually when Michael looked at her she knew he was only seeing "Nikita the operative" and thinking how to improve her numbers. But sometimes, like this morning, she knew without a doubt that he saw "Nikita the woman." They were working out when Michael got the upper hand, flipped her onto her back, and pinned her arms down. She was mad that she hadn't anticipated his moves. She was breathing hard and her face was contorted in frustration. His body was crushing her and his right knee was digging painfully into her thigh.
His face was close to hers and she could feel his hot breath. Lying beneath him gave her a strange, but pleasant, sensation in the pit of her stomach. They had been in this position many times before during training. Somehow today was different. For a split-second, she thought he was going to kiss her. He could have. They were the only ones there. Of course, he didn't, but there was unmistakeable electricity between them. She felt it and so did he as his eyes roamed over her face.
"You have to think two moves ahead. One move is not enough," he said releasing her arms and standing up. That had been early this morning. She had not seen him since.
When Nikita came back into Madeline's office, the men had left. The older woman nodded her approval at Nikita's transformation. "This will complete the ensemble," Madeline said as she handed Nikita some long pearl earrings.
Michael went back through Systems to see if Birkoff had received any new intel. He had not, so he continued on to his office. He sat down at his desk and suddenly had a vision of this morning's training session. He had a vivid recollection of Nikita's lips. They were luscious! For two long years he had wanted to kiss them. Why hadn't he this morning? They were the only ones in the dojo at 6 a.m. He had strong feelings about Nikita, so strong that it scared him. Those feelings only added to the complications of his secret life.
Many nights he sat in this very office only to be tormented by the weight of his duties and desires. People in Section were not supposed to have desires. In the third month of Nikita's training, Michael was reviewing the numbers of all new recruits. When her name popped up on the screen, he had to face facts: he was in love with the scrappy blonde and nothing could change that! He was finally able to admit it to himself, even if he couldn't to her. It was much too risky for both of them.
In all those months since that confession, he had never given in to his feelings. How much longer could he be the perfect operative?
"Nikita. . .wow! You look like Cinderella." Birkoff's eyes almost popped out of his head. Nikita blushed slightly. "Thanks. I feel. . .I don't know, like a character in a play or something." She looked down at her dress.
"Maybe there's someone else who'd like to see you." She followed Birkoff's glance down the corridor. Michael was standing at the end wearing mission gear and looking extremely lethal and sexy at the same time. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Birkoff could feel the erotic tension in the air. He felt like he was intruding on a private and sacred moment.
"Uh, Nikita, we have to go now," he prompted finally. She glanced briefly at him and nodded. When she looked back, Michael was gone. It was like she had seen a ghost. Birkoff stepped forward and draped the black velvet stole around her shoulders. They entered the elevator and were whisked up to street level. A black limousine was waiting. Nikita looked around for any sign of Michael. Suddenly a motorcycle pulled out from the shadows. She stared after it until it was lost in the flow of early evening traffic.
"Are you ready, Mademoiselle?" It was the anonymous chauffeur holding open the door. Remembering the part she was to play tonight she smiled and said, "Of course. To the embassy."
As they drove along the boulevards of Paris, Nikita thought about her relationship with Michael. Well, actually, there was no relationship other than trainer and recruit. Nevertheless, she knew what people whispered about them. But they were not romantically involved. Not yet. When Michael used her to demonstrate a move in class, the other female operatives were green with envy. Each one wished that he would pick her.
Only yesterday she was going into the locker room when she overheard Kiersten and Paula talking. Paula was asking about Michael. "Oh, him!" Kiersten snorted. "He could have any woman at all, but he's hung up on that blonde. You know - Nikita. Why don't you ask her about his bedroom abilities?" she challenged as she slammed the locker shut.
Nikita quietly closed the door and waited around the corner until she heard them leave.
Nikita and Birkoff were in line at the long buffet table. "There he is," Birkoff whispered. "Second one on the right. He likes tall married blondes, so use some of your charm on him." Nikita rolled her eyes at Birkoff. "Yeah, right!"
Fortunately, the woman next to Nikita suddenly dropped her plate, causing a minor commotion. Two waiters came scurrying over to assist the stout blue-rinsed matron and to clean up the mess. Sergei Rollando, the Minister of Finance, glanced that way and then did a double-take when he spotted Nikita. He quickly excused himself from his little group and came over to introduce himself.
"And this is my dear cousin, Seymour. He was kind enough to accompany me tonight. You see, my husband was called away on business at the last moment," Nikita gushed. Rollando was so taken with Nikita that he barely acknowledged Birkoff. This gave Birkoff the chance to melt into the crowd. Now he found himself standing by a group of tall potted plants in the corner. He appeared to be talking to them.
"Michael, have you made contact?" Fifteen seconds passed before there was an answer.
"Contact confirmed our intel. I must create a diversion in order to retrieve the file from Rollando's office." Section suspected the Minister of using his government contacts to help his terrorist brother buy arms for the Freedom League. But until recently they had no hard evidence.
"Confirmed. Nikita is keeping him busy." Now as Birkoff looked in that direction Rollando was leading her to the dance floor.
"Birkoff, don't let her out of your sight."
"Understood." Birkoff knew Michael really meant "or else I'll cancel you." He respected, but also feared, Michael. Birkoff may have been young and inexperienced, but he sensed the connection between those two.
Birkoff stayed put. He was tired of chanting One, two, three, One, two, three as they waltzed around the room. From here he had a clear view of the dance floor. Nikita tilted her head back and laughed at some remark from Rollando. Other men wanted to cut in, but Rollando would not share Nikita, much to their consternation.
Ten minutes had passed since his conversation with Michael. All of a sudden the lights flickered and then a loud explosion was heard somewhere in the embassy. The music stopped and everyone looked around nervously. An aide rushed up to Rollando and whispered in his ear. Nikita couldn't catch all his words, but it didn't matter. She knew Michael had caused the uproar. Rollando made elaborate apologies and allowed the aide to lead him away.
While dancing, Nikita had kept track of Birkoff's location. She moved quickly to join him. "Did you know Michael was going to blow up this place?"
"He said, uh. . . he was going to create a diversion," Birkoff replied shakily. As they moved through the crowd they saw one man who appeared to be having a heart attack. Fire trucks and ambulances could be heard in the distance.
They reached the front of the embassy and ran down the stairs into the street. "There's the limo!" Birkoff yelled over the din. He grabbed Nikita's arm and they ran toward it.
The chauffeur already had the door opened and Nikita and Birkoff literally fell into the car. They both were shaking and trying to catch their breath. "Boy, I'm glad that's over!" Birkoff exclaimed.
"Me, too. But we did our part so they can't fault us for anything." Then she added wistfully, "I hope Michael's okay."
The limo returned to Section and Birkoff got out. As he turned around to assist Nikita, the window separating them from the chauffeur slid down a fraction. "Mademoiselle, please stay in the car."
"Why?" Nikita asked. There was no answer and the window closed. She and Birkoff exchanged a look and he shrugged his shoulders. He was as much in the dark as she was. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, cousin." She tried to keep her voice light to reassure both Birkoff and herself.
"Be careful," he said as he closed the door. The limo drove on for another twenty minutes and came to a halt in a quiet street. The chauffer got out and came around to open her door. Nikita gingerly got out and smoothed down her dress. She looked around at the stately old homes, but had no idea where she was.
"Four-twelve," the chauffeur said. Nikita studied him for a moment. He must be seventy-five if he was a day. Could he be an operative? she wondered. Even after her two years of training, it was sometimes hard for her to realize the extent of Section's resources and cunning.
She glanced up at the house. Apparently it had been turned into apartments. "Four-twelve," she repeated. Was this another field test for her? The old man got back into the limo and slowly drove off.
What now? she thought. No weapon, no phone, don't even know where the hell I am. She scanned the street, but there wasn't a soul around. There were some parked cars and one or two houses still had some lights on. Unknown to Nikita, she was being observed from an upstairs window. Here goes nothing, she thought and boldly walked up to the door. The foyer light was on and she pushed open the door.
Straight ahead was an ancient elevator, the kind where you have to pull the metal gate across. She got on and pushed the button for the fourth floor. She didn't feel like negotiating four flights of stairs in this outfit.
When she reached the fourth floor, she looked up and down the hall. There was an eerie silence. Apparently all the other residents were asleep. The only sound was the rustle of her gown as she moved along the hall. Apartment 412 was on the right, the door slightly ajar with a wedge of light escaping into the hall. Cautiously, she pushed back the door. If only she had something, anything, to use as a weapon. She thought about taking off her shoes, but that seemed silly. Whoever heard of defending yourself with peau de soie pumps?
She peered in and saw furniture covered by sheets. "Hello?" she said. No answer. She hesitated and then went in. On a small table to her left was a bottle chilling in an ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Up a few steps to the right she saw a bed, also covered with a sheet. This was all very mysterious and only added to Nikita's anxiety. Suddenly she knew that someone was behind her. Whipping around, she found the Dark Angel himself standing in the doorway. As at their earlier encounter, they simply stared at each other. The air was heavy with anticipation.
Michael's eyes traveled from her face over the ball gown and returned to her face. "An appropriate choice," he said softly. Anyone who didn't know him would not have detected any change in his expression. However, Nikita noted a small glint in his eyes.
"Look, if you're going to criticize my performance, just spit it out," she said with exasperation. The hour was late and she felt drained. But there was one thought in her mind that she could not dismiss: she was alone with Michael and away from Section's pervasive eyes. The possibilities were endless!
"There was one small anomaly," he said flatly. Her eyes widened. Clearly, she knew about Operations' threat.
"I did not have the pleasure of dancing with you." Then the unheard of happened: Michael smiled slightly. She had never seen him smile. Even when she performed well in training or Operations praised him for a successful mission, his expression never changed. Whether that was just his personality or the result of his years in Section, she did not know. It unnerved her a bit now. But the whole day had been full of surprises.
He reached behind him to close the door and then began unbuttoning his jacket with his left hand. The way he always did. Nikita had spent a lot of time studying Michael and knew some of his habits. Those strong hands. She often fantasized about them exploring her body in intimate detail.
She smiled slightly in return. Is he for real? she wondered. He hung the jacket on the back of one of the chairs. The black sweater he was wearing hugged his chest like a glove. Nikita had the sudden wicked thought that she wanted to take that sweater off him and run her hands over his bare chest. When he looked up, he seemed to know what she was thinking. She felt herself blush.
"You must be thirsty," he said and began filling the flutes. He picked up one and handed it to her. Their eyes locked as they sipped the bubbly in silence.
"Michael, whose apartment is this?"
Michael set his glass down and stared at it for a moment. "I used to live here."
Nikita stood there not knowing what to make of this. Michael had never before revealed any personal information. She waited patiently for him to continue.
"I lived here when I was at university. After Section recruited me, I never saw it again." Michael looked beyond her to the uncurtained French doors that opened onto a balcony. When he looked back, the moment had passed and his Section mask was once again in place. "But that was a long time ago."
"It must have a lot of memories for you," Nikita offered. What else could she say? She really wished he would get to the point of this little tete-a-tete.
He pressed a small remote that was on the counter. Soft, seductive music filled the room. He moved closer and picked up her right hand, turning it over in his own and running his thumb over her knuckles. This simple gesture sent shivers down Nikita's spine.
"Memories belong to the past," he whispered.
"And we have no future," she replied. "Operations is always quick to remind me."
"We have tonight, Ni-ki-ta." With that, his right arm went to the small of her back and pulled her hips against his. Their bodies began to move slowly in time to the music. Nikita had never danced with Michael, but somehow it was effortless and natural. As she gazed into his eyes, she detected small flecks of grey that served to enhance the green. His eyes are amazing, she thought. I could drown in them.
They danced for several minutes as the music played on. Nikita loved the feeling of being in Michael's arms, but she had to look away briefly from his intense scrutiny. She just knew he was reading her mind.
"Ni-ki-ta, you are beautiful." His fingers lingered at the top of the gown's zipper. He teased her a bit by pulling on it. She thought about the only things she wore underneath: a black lace thong and garter belt. She would gladly shed everything for him.
"Are you going to force yourself on me?" She tried to sound serious, but she knew he was not fooled by her tone.
"I don't think it would be forced," he said quietly and then there it was again – that hint of a smile. Nikita's breathing was becoming erratic and her lips parted slightly. Michael glanced at them momentarily before leaning down and pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth. Nikita closed her eyes and savored the sensation. He released it for a second then took her upper lip. Several times he did this as Nikita moaned softly.
Finally, he broke contact and studied her reaction. Her eyes flew open. "Mi-chael," she breathed. Somehow he had managed to move her over against the wall. He fingered her long blonde tresses, examining them the way a hairdresser might. Then he pushed them back from her neck, exposing the earrings Madeline had supplied. They were real. He remembered Section appropriating them from a certain Bulgarian businessman and known Red Cell sympathizer. They were intended as a birthday present for his mistress.
"I have thoughts about you, Ni-ki-ta." This as he ran the back of his fingers down her creamy-white neck and over the top of her breasts, lingering there a moment. Goosebumps appeared even though it was a warm evening. "Dangerous thoughts. Sometimes I can't sleep because you are in my head." They were all alone, but still he whispered. His accent was more pronounced, too.
"What kind of thoughts?" Nikita was mesmerized. If his left hand were not on her waist, she would surely have slipped to the floor in a puddle of velvet.
Michael knew he should not reveal his feelings, but if he didn't he felt he might explode. "How I need you. How I want to feel your skin against mine."
The line had been crossed, the line between professional and personal. There could be no going back. Michael didn't care, however. He felt reckless tonight. He wanted Nikita and he knew she wanted him.
Nikita's heart was pounding. Surely Michael could hear it. "Michael, I. . ."
He did not let her respond. He crushed his mouth to hers and kissed her savagely. Each one struggled for control until Michael's tongue forced her lips apart and plunged into her warm, inviting mouth. His hands again found the zipper and yanked hard on it. The bodice slid down until her breasts were almost exposed.
"Yes . . . Michael!" she managed to pant between kisses. She ran her hands into his hair to hold his lips to hers. From her first day in Section she had wanted to touch his hair. She loved the auburn color and the wildness of it. It represented an untamed aspect of Michael's otherwise rigid personality.
A sudden shrill noise interrupted them. Michael flinched as if he had been shot. He rested his forehead against Nikita's and closely his eyes tightly. Merde, he thought. For a few glorious minutes he had been able to forget his responsibilities. He sighed deeply and looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he breathed before stealing one last kiss.
Not half as sorry as I am, she thought. She nodded slightly. He was as disappointed as she was. It was plainly written on his face. Both desperately hoped the evening would progress to its rightful and natural conclusion. Now she felt ridiculous standing here with her clothes disarrayed. Quickly she adjusted the bodice and zipper. Michael had his back to her and was taking the phone from his jacket.
"Yes?" he answered. Of course, Nikita had no way of knowing that the caller was an anxious woman concerned about a small boy's fever.
"Will you be home soon, Michael?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm on my way," he responded mechanically. "Good. We'll both feel better when you are here," said the woman with obvious relief.
In his mind he pictured the black-haired woman who was his wife and the mother of his only child. Elena. She was an innocent caught up in something totally beyond her control. It wasn't her fault that her estranged father was an international terrorist whom Section had been chasing for many years. It wasn't her fault that her husband did not love her or want any more children.
Michael felt sorry for her and he felt sorry for himself. The woman he really loved and needed to survive was only a few feet away. Then there was Adam, his beautiful little boy. As much as he loved him, he knew that one day he would be separated from him.
Michael had almost lost control tonight. He had wanted to lose control. He wanted to rip Nikita's clothes off and touch her and make love to her all night long. He wanted to show her his true feelings and wake up with her in his arms. Now the sobering reality of his two lives smacked him in the face. He closed the phone and dropped it in his pocket. Nikita had quietly come up behind him and now touched him lightly on the shoulder. Again he flinched. Turning his head slightly, he said, "We have to go."
"Of course," she said in a small voice. What had almost happened here tonight would probably never take place. She felt both cheated and vindicated. At least she knew that Michael cared for her. She would remember this encounter for a very long time. And a girl could hope, couldn't she? Perhaps one day. . .
Without any further conversation, they left the apartment and went downstairs. The limo and its ancient driver were waiting. They rode back to Section in silence, each one lost in their thoughts. Michael didn't even look at Nikita. She wondered if there was a new mission being profiled or if he simply regretted his admission to her. Either way his Section persona had returned and she knew he would not speak of tonight again.
When the limo stopped, Michael got out and extended his hand. She felt shy now and hesitated before accepting. But she couldn't let the moment pass. Looking directly at him she said, "For what it's worth, I enjoyed this evening."
Michael felt a pain in his soul, but he allowed his face to relax a little. "So did I." Then quite unexpectedly he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Good night, Ni-ki-ta." He turned to get back in the limo.
"You're not coming in?" She looked puzzled. Where could he be going at this hour? He paused, but did not turn around. Nikita would never know how much effort it took for him to resist her at that moment.
Back to business as usual, she thought as the elevator descended into the dimly lit halls of Section. The limo would take Michael to another location where he would change clothes and pick up a Saab. He would become "Michael Samuelle, computer security consultant and devoted family man." Husband of Elena and father of Adam. Living in a quiet neighborhood where no one had ever heard of Section One.
One day, Ni-ki-ta, he thought. One day.
Nikita was back in her spartan quarters, deep within Section's underground complex. Now that she had changed into the loose cotton shorts and tank top, she felt plain and uninteresting. Birkoff was right about Cinderella. She had felt beautiful, graceful, and most importantly, desirable in that gown and Michael, as her handsome prince, had agreed. Her skin tingled as she remembered his kisses and caresses. She sighed dreamily.
Her body was tired, but sleep would not come. Her mind was busy trying to process the day's events, especially the last few hours. She was on her right side, then a few minutes later she rolled over to her left side. The room was stuffy and she could not find a comfortable position.
Finally, she sat up and decided to get a cup of tea from the canteen. She stuck her feet in some flip-flops and made her way down the hall. She didn't see anyone except the elderly, white-haired woman who staffed the canteen at night. She looked up from wiping a table and bobbed her head at Nikita.
Nikita smiled and said, "Couldn't sleep."
"I understand," the woman replied.
As she was heading back to her room, Birkoff stepped off the elevator. "Nikita! Are you okay? I was worried about you."
"Oh yeah, it was nothing. Michael wanted to debrief me. You know, since it was my first mission." Even to Nikita's ears the explanation sounded lame.
"Well, that's a relief! Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you," he said and handed her a small brown envelope.
"What is it?"
"Don't know. It was in my desk when I got back. I just came down here to get some more Oreos and milk."
"Thanks, Birkoff." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
She went around the corner where she knew the surveillance camera couldn't see her. Inside the bubble-padded envelope was a key. She turned it over in her hand and smiled. Four-twelve. Was Michael telling her that they would have another rendezvous? It was such a small thing, this key, but it comforted her and raised again the question of where Michael actually lived. As a Level Five operative she knew he was able to live on the outside, in the real world. She put the key in her pocket and returned to her quarters.
One day, Michael Samuelle, I'll find out where you live, she thought. One day.
~ Finis ~ 2-16-02
