Chapter 20 Dark to Light
Nikita watched nervously as the rental car pulled up in front of the house. Her heart pounded as she shoved open her door and climbed out. Though she was stiff from sitting so long she walked briskly toward them, watching Alex rush to open the passenger side door of the car. As Nikita reached her side she ignored Alex's grim expression and stopped abruptly, stared in horror at Birkhoff's condition. A sick feeling filled her at the sight of his heavily bandaged arm and the battered condition of his face.
"Dear God," she breathed, noting how he kept his head down while Alex unlocked his seatbelt for him.
"Wanna help me get him inside?" Alex prompted, snapping her out of her zombie-like trance.
"Of course," she breathed, moving closer as he turned to get out. "Let me help," she offered, gently lifting his good arm over her shoulders while Alex helped him support his cast. Together they helped him out and started slowly up the walkway.
Finally he turned his head, squinting at her in surprise. "Niki?" he sighed, leaning into her support. "You ok?"
Deeply touched by his concern, she nodded. "Fine," she choked, nodding toward the house as they walked. "Let's get you inside."
"Easy, love," Alex soothed as he slumped forward, eyeing her accusingly over his bent head.
Nikita knew she had it coming, for they'd been enjoying married life until she'd interfered, risking not only her own life but his as well. But now wasn't the time to discuss it. "Almost there," she encouraged.
It took some work, getting him inside and finally settling him into the small guest room situated on the first floor. She caught him grimace in pain a few times, though he was obviously trying to hide it from Alex. Together they helped him change into tee shirt and sweatpants, finally tucking him into the queen sized bed. Nikita had all she could do to refrain from asking all the questions that raced through her mind about what he'd suffered. It was obvious that the Division grunts had worked him over badly and that Amanda seemed to have broken something in his arm, but she suspected there was more damage neither of them could see. He was a very subdued Birkhoff, his eyes vacant and his manner somber and silent. She watched Alex cover him gently, smoothing his hair back off his forehead as her heart ached for him. Unable to keep from crying, Nikita went to the window to draw the curtains against the bright afternoon sunlight pouring into the room. He must have suffered a mild concussion as well, judging by the way he kept his eyes closed. Swallowing hard, she composed herself and turned back.
As she watched their interaction closely, she realized that this was the first time she'd seen them together since they'd married. It was obvious they'd become very close already, judging by the way they exchanged a glance or a touch, an intimacy that was subtle but unmistakable. Though spaced out from pain and medication Birkhoff's eyes followed his wife as much as possible. Whenever she was near they held hands, Alex's gaze never leaving him. She sat at his side, gently smoothing his hair until he sighed and closed his eyes. She smiled down at him, keeping his hand in hers even after his breathing slowed. Then she gently laid it atop the comforter, got up and bent to kiss his cheek. Pausing to study his face, she sighed as he fell into a deep sleep. Checking that his injured arm was bolstered between pillows, she then looked up and nodded to her.
Nikita took her cue and dismissed herself, going into the living room and glancing around at the pleasant contemporary furnishings with distracted interest. It was a beautiful house, modern and well lit with an open concept design that suited them both. Her heart ached for the cruel interruption they'd suffered as she tried to deal with her guilt. Never would she have thought they'd grab Birkhoff, not where he'd stationed himself at a safe distance in his car to monitor her progress via his com handheld. They'd both assumed him virtually out of harm's way.
Glancing over to his workstation now, she studied the three desks which he'd joined together and filled with an impressive assortment of computer equipment and monitors. His command chair was typically positioned in the center, similar to his set up in Operations. Her eyes filled again as she pictured him working here without Division's oppressive scrutiny, free to enjoy himself for once, snide comments and off-color jokes no doubt entertaining Alex. Wondering if he'd ever be able to do that again, she cringed at the look of his right arm in that huge cast and wrapping, the tips of his middle fingers black and bruised, perhaps permanently damaged.
Oh Nerd, what have I done to you? Have you lost everything, because of me?
"I hope you're happy," Alex's voice interrupted her. Stiffening, she turned to face her.
"Alex…"
"Get what you wanted, Nikita?" she said quietly, moving slowly toward the kitchen counter.
"I'm so sorry," she croaked, following her but stopping when she lifted a warning hand. "Alex I had no idea Division would find him, neither did he—"
"Spare me the innocent act," she ordered, her own eyes filling with unshed tears. She glanced away, shaking her head. "He's just…"
"Alex please—you don't know the whole story," Nikita pleaded, wondering how she could possibly explain. But she began telling Alex about his call to her cell phone alerting her of the existence of a guy named Sean and stating how suspicious he was of anyone who could stand up to Amanda and who apparently worked for someone else. "It had to be someone from Oversight, and Birkhoff ran his image facial recognition sites, finally linking him to the senator. But what really bothered him was the fact he caught the guy monitoring your trip to St. Petersburg," she continued. "He worried about your safety even though Sean didn't seem to be under Amanda's thumb. So you see, all he could think about was you, Alex."
Looking as if she might cry, Alex straightened and turned a hardened gaze upon her. "I want to hear the part about you manipulating him into going after Oversight with you."
"I did and I'm so sorry," she admitted, shaking her head. "He was right—we shouldn't have gone in that way and that soon. But knew I was going in with or without him—that's the only reason he came with me, to protect me and back me up."
"Neither of you should have gone," Alex stated, gesturing toward the guest room. "Do you have any idea what he's facing now, thanks to your little scheme? Did you take a good look at him, Nikita? Can you guess what the visible damage is, or try to imagine what else she did to him?"
"No, of course not! The thought that Division would get him wasn't even considered, not by either of us!"
"Well it's certainly something to consider now—he may never regain full use of his right hand!"
Her voice broke on a sob as she turned and picked up the teakettle. Running the water, she kept her back to her while Nikita felt the shock of her news sink in. How could that be true? Is that prognosis something set in stone? It couldn't be! Birkhoff is tough, and he's already been through so much! She'd seen him recover from that horrible wound through his shoulder that had nearly caused him to bleed to death, and he'd recovered full use of his arm. It couldn't be true—he had to recover from this, or she—
"You didn't see him before the drugs or pain killers," Alex continued, her voice low as she turned back to face her. "Something happened to him in Amanda's torture chamber, something even worse than what anyone can see. His eyes looked haunted, Nikita! God knows what she put him through, being secretly attracted to him! You know how she is when she feels she's been betrayed."
She stared at her a moment. "Amanda? Attracted to Birkhoff? Are you sure?"
She nodded. "I've seen her sidle up to him, back when I worked with them in Operations," she croaked.
"But Amanda has a lover—"
"She liked him," Alex insisted, her eyes wide. "I've seen her try to touch him and how her eyes slide all over him even when he's avoiding her and cringing."
"Alex… I don't know what to say, or what to do," Nikita admitted. "Please, tell me what I can do! I feel horrible and guilty. I hate the way I act, rushing off like that without thinking things through!"
"That's right," Alex nodded. "That's exactly what you do, and it needs to stop."
"I know," she admitted, distracted by the water beginning to boil. "When he wakes up I'm going to tell him how sorry I am and ask him how I can make it up to him. I hope that someday he'll forgive me, and that maybe you'll forgive me too."
Alex's gaze shifted to her cell phone as it vibrated with a text message. Turning to shut off the kettle, Nikita picked up her phone, watching Alex pour tea into two glasses. She read Michael's message and closed it again.
"Michael's on his way," she stated, feeling relieved. He always seemed to smooth things out, which they sorely needed right now. "He'll be here in about a half hour."
"Good," Alex sighed, going to the refrigerator and taking out a quart of milk. Nikita watched as she made tea and brought the mugs to the counter. "Sit down. I really need a cup of tea, and you look like you do too."
"Thank you," Nikita answered, sliding onto one of the stools. Alex sat down, leaning her head upon her upturned hand. She looked exhausted. "You should get some rest too. I can let Michael in...we can talk later, that is assuming you let us stay?"
"You can both stay," she sighed, glancing toward the guest room. "Stay over if you want. You can sleep upstairs in the blue room. He'll want to talk to you too. But I think I'll lie down next to him, just to make sure he's ok. The doctor said he had a mild concussion, so he shouldn't be alone for long."
"Good idea," Nikita stated, realizing she'd been right about the concussion. Poor Birkhoff. "If there's anything I can do…"
"I'm set," she sighed, picking up her mug and starting toward the guest room. "You can cook whatever you want. Actually, that'd be a big help, for all of us."
"Ok," she nodded, watching her peek inside the door. She held her breath until she closed the door behind her. Leaning her forehead onto her arms, she released a tense breath and vowed to change her ways.
Amanda eyed Sonya, who did a double take when she looked up and saw her standing there. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, though she often backed up and made corrections. She was good, and almost as fast as Birkhoff had once been. At that thought, Amanda smiled.
"Something wrong, Sonya?" she cooed, coming to stand over her as the girl shrunk visibly down into her seat. "You look a little out of sorts."
"We have a problem," she stated very carefully, averting her gaze as she continued working. "I don't know how it's happened, but someone started an automatic remote data dump of everything we own—all of Division's files and data are being copied and sent somewhere—and I mean everything!"
Frowning, she leaned over her shoulder and winced at the scrolling thermometers layering her screen. "Data dump? But how on earth—well for God's sake, stop it!"
"I can't—it's impossible!" Sonya cried, glancing up with a panic stricken expression. "There's some kind of lock on the dump and I've no idea how to stop it! It even looks like it's been programmed remotely."
Amanda straightened, crossing her arms as anger flowed through her. "Birkhoff," she growled, making Sonya look up. "I don't know how he got away or how he did it, but you've got to find a way to stop it. What is the destination?"
"That's just it," Sonya admitted. "I've no idea—there's a security lock on it which I've been trying to trace all night—wait, where are you going?"
"Forget it—Birkhoff outsmarted us, but we're not idiots! Put out a general alarm to evacuate, now!"
"Evacuate? But how—"
Amanda grabbed her mike, nodding toward the board. "Broadcast me throughout the facility," she ordered. "Hurry, or this place is going to be crawling with federal agents. You don't want to get caught, do you?"
Alex glared at Nikita and Michael through the window, tempted to slam the lid down on the pot. Aware of Birkhoff still sleeping in the next room, she set it back in place and quietly laid the spoon upon the counter. Chicken soup—good for whatever ails you, they say. She had to admit she was grateful for Nikita's cooking up the soup, but hardened her heart against her again when she noted the tall bottle of pain killers on the counter. Resisting the urge to sneak back in to check on him again for what must be the 30th time, she tried to summon some amount of hope. He'd looked so pale and battered that it broke her heart, and she knew something even deeper than the damage to his hand was tormenting him. How they were going to get through the next few weeks without him getting an infection was beyond her, the warning signs still taunting her to fear. The K wires were so thin they could dislodge at any time and migrate inside his hand, up his arm and into his heart—
No, I will not think about that! she resolved, tiptoeing back toward the guest room to look in on him. Quietly approaching the bed, she stood studying his face as he slept.
His hair needs to be washed, she made a mental note. How he could take a shower with his arm in a plastic bag was beyond her. A bath might be a better choice, but washing his hair was going to be a challenge with him recovering from the concussion. Still, as she pictured him sitting with his back to the sink as she poured warm water over his head and gently washed his hair, she felt strangely comforted. It was something she'd done in the shower with him, and she blushed at the thought of their other activities in there.
Wanna give me a raincheck? he'd teased the day she'd run upstairs to get ready to go back to work. Now, she thought dismally, it could be weeks until they could manage that, or much of anything else. She stared at his troubled expression, even in sleep, her comfort vanishing.
He's different, she admitted, picturing that horrible vacant look in his eyes and the traumatized expression he'd had when she'd found him in that chair. She remembered him telling her about his recurring PTSD from the attack he'd suffered in prison, wondering if this might have been even worse. What if Amanda had attacked him in the same way?
To distract herself from going too deep into her fears of the unknown, she glanced at the clock and realized that he'd been sleeping since his surgery except for the groggy near-awake state from which he'd surfaced just after they'd arrived. She'd left her car in the hospital lot, telling herself it belonged to Division and that she'd never go back there, no matter what. Besides that, a rental couldn't be traced with the name she'd used. And the rental guy had delivered it to the hospital parking lot and found her at the surgical waiting room. She still had to return it somehow—maybe she could get Nikita or Michael to do that for them.
Sighing tiredly, even though she'd slept about an hour and a half at his side, she knew she had to go out and face Nikita again. It was nearly time for Birkhoff's evening antibiotic dose and she'd have to awaken him for it, even if he was still sleeping. Hating the thought, she almost wished for the IV to administer whatever he needed, just so that he could rest. Maybe she'd stall it another hour, and take the time to say hello to Michael, which so far she hadn't managed to do.
Amanda stiffened as the agents cuffed her hands behind her back, shaking her hair back over one shoulder. "You men are mistaken if you think you have anything on me," she stated regally. "I suggest that you unhand me before I'm forced to press charges—"
"Lady you'd better keep that pretty little mouth of your shut before you regret it," the middle aged man in charge stated, his expression bored. "I've already spoken with Ryan Fletcher down in your dungeon. He says you've illegally detained and drugged him these past few weeks, so spare us the innocent act."
"Ryan Fletcher?" she laughed. "There's no one here by that name—"
"Really? Well then you might consider the reams of data downloading at my headquarters proving otherwise," he smirked. "You've been had, lady, and you can thank Agent Birkhoff for throwing you this little farewell party."
"There's no Agent Birkhoff here either," she stated, planting her stiletto heels a wider distance apart to keep her balance. "Chatter and false documents pour in from all over the world, here, most of them fake. I don't know why you'd even mention such a preposterous notion—"
"Oh this isn't fake," he smiled. "No, the data he's set up to decrypt as it rolls in from lockdown has all been verified through Shadowpol, which has been up and running for several months now. "
She laughed cynically. "Agent Birkhoff? Shadow-pol? Gentlemen, I can assure this is all a huge hoax engineered by a traitor and white collar criminal who no longer works here! He's just a disgruntled ex-employee you really shouldn't take seriously—"
"Agent Birkhoff is a highly respected deep cover operative who's been supplying the Justice Department with a steady inflow of incriminating evidence on your little operation here," he stated, lifting his chin. "Which, by the way is officially terminated as of right now—let's go."
"You're insane!" she laughed. "Birkhoff was my IT chief, nothing more. Honestly, you can't expect me to believe he works for the Justice Department? The very idea is ludicrous!"
"I'm afraid that's not exactly true," he smirked. "Take her to the van, boys."
Fools! "Whatever tales you choose to believe don't concern me," she insisted. "I've been on staff at Division since its inception, and you can verify my records at the CIA."
"The CIA has had you under surveillance for just as many years, as was your dearly friend Percy," he stated, following alongside them.
"Just a minute!" she huffed, trying to holding her ground but unsuccessful when they literally picked her up. "You're hurting me—and I am an employee of the federal government with a very high level security clearance—"
"Which is about to be revoked," he snorted, shaking his head. "You're officially out of business, lady."
"I demand to speak to my lawyer!" she shouted, outraged by their rough handling. "Put me down—I will walk, damn you!"
He stirred slowly, finally turning his head on the pillow. She sat down at his side, her gaze devouring the masculine lines of his face, no matter how battered. She swiped at the tears, telling herself she would not cry anymore—it would only upset him. His lids fluttered and half opened, his dark blue gaze clearing nicely. She smiled brightly, leaning close as she touched his cheek. Thankfully, it was cooler to the touch. His scraggly beard was coming in more fully, she noticed.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said gently, gently tracing his whiskered chin. "How you feelin?"
He stretched a bit, blinking despite the drawn curtains. His gaze focused and dropped to her lips. "Hey," he sighed thickly, glancing down at his arm. "You been here long?"
"All day," she sighed in mock boredom, laughing softly as he glanced up with a frown. "No—I'm just checking on you for the 100th time."
"Really?" he sighed, lifting his good hand to rub his eyes. "What time is it?"
"5 p.m. Why—you have someplace you'd rather be?"
Her words registered and he almost smiled. "In the shower with you," he sighed, closing his eyes. She stared at him a moment, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. Then her hear leapt with joy as she leaned down and gently kissed his lower lip.
"Is that so?" she whispered, gently smoothing his hair. "The doctor said you can't get your arm wet for at least three wks."
"I'll use a plastic bag," he drawled, closing his eyes as he stretched his legs beneath the blankets. "God I feel mummified."
"That's from the twilight anesthesia and pain killers."
He opened his eyes, gazing up at her. "More like the Twilight Zone."
She nodded. "You hungry?"
He considered it a moment. "Yeah…I haven't eaten anything since…?"
"There's homemade chicken soup …it should be done in a few minutes actually."
"Then help me up," he croaked, lifting his head.
"Not so fast," she warned, her hand in the middle of his chest. "You have to be careful and take it easy."
He paused, glancing toward the door for a moment. "We alone?"
She pursed her lips, avoiding his gaze. "Nikita's here, Michael too."
"Then I'm definitely getting up."
"You do have to take your meds," she admitted, rising to help him get up.
"Got some catching up to do," he stated, his voice hoarse.
She took his arm as he stood, wobbling a bit until he got his balance. "You need a shirt or sweater," she stated, reaching for his oversized sweatshirt and maneuvering it up his good arm.
"Thanks," he sighed as she pulled it up over his shoulders and halfway down his injured arm. At least it was draped over his arm, providing some warmth. "I need to use the bathroom first."
She walked with him over to the door and waited while he went in, shutting it behind him. They were still somewhat private with each other's personal needs, except of course for showering together. And doing pretty much everything else. Longing filled her heart as she went toward the outer door and waited, giving him his privacy. When he came out she smiled up at him, opening the door. The scent of chicken soup assaulted her nose, making her stomach growl.
"I'm starving too," she admitted, taking his arm as they walked out toward the kitchen area.
Michael stiffened and looked up, Nikita at his side on the couch. "Hey," he greeted him, getting up and coming toward him. "How you feeling?"
"Not as bad as I look," Birkhoff nodded, lowering himself to the bar stool while Alex picked up a bowl to ladle him some soup. "When you get here?"
"A few hours ago," Michael answered, eyeing him as Nikita came to his side.
She reached up to push back a strand of her hair, a weak smile on her lips. "Hi, Birkhoff," she said softly, her eyes filled with pain.
"You ok?" he asked her, clearing his throat as Alex positioned the bowl before him, spoon stuck into broth.
She nodded. "Yeah…I'm so sorry, for getting you involved. I hope you can forgive me, someday."
He stared at her a moment, averted his glance and pursed his lips. "I'm a big boy. I knew what I was getting into," he stated, looking up. "Still do."
Michael eyed her with a hopeful expression and they all seemed to relax. Alex studied him covertly, her eyes wide as they shifted from him to Nikita. But she said nothing.
"I can't imagine being in Amanda's clutches all that time," Michael stated, shaking his head. "What'd she do?"
Birkhoff cradled the bowl with both hands, staring into it. "She smashed my hand with a hammer, then threatened to fry my brain with a cranial needle," he sighed.
The room went very quiet as they all tried to imagine the horrors of being tortured by Amanda.
"But hey, your call came in just at the right second," he added, looking up. "Thanks…for trying to get me out."
"Alex got you out," Nikita corrected, glancing shyly at her.
"I couldn't have done it if you hadn't been on the phone," she stated truthfully, deciding to forgive her since Birkhoff seemed to have. It was the least she could do.
"It's not her fault, Alex," he said gently, eyeing her until she nodded. He glanced at Michael. "I met their new IT girl…she's good. Picked up my signal when I took a second to switch. That's how they found me."
Michael grimaced. "Sonya…yeah, she's good but not as good as you. No way," he stated, accepting a bowl of soup from Alex. Then she handed one to Nikita, who thankfully sat down next to Michael.
Alex took her place opposite her husband, studying his subdued expression. To her delight he took a few spoonfuls of chicken meat and noodles, closing his eyes in appreciation. She lifted her spoon and tasted it, glancing at Nikita. "This is wonderful, thank you."
Nikita nodded, shifting her attention back to Birkhoff. "You were right," she sighed, waiting until he turned his head and looked at her. "I flew too close to this one. I never imagined you'd be the one to get hurt. I'm really sorry, Birkhoff."
He nodded. "I'm just glad they didn't get you too."
Alex eyed Michael. "So what happens now? You going back?"
"I might, just to punch Amanda in the gut," he said soberly, eyeing Birkhoff. "Wanna come?"
He swallowed another spoonful and accepted the antibiotic pill that Alex shook into his palm. "No use now," he sighed, placing it in his mouth and lifting his water glass. He drank half the contents and set it down carefully. "By now they should have cleared the place out."
They stared at him, waiting for his explanation. When he ate another spoonful, Alex stretched her hand out and rested it over his forearm. "What do you mean 'they should have cleared the place out'?"
He looked up. "The data dump," he sighed, stirring the contents of his bowl.
"What data dump?" Michael demanded softly, leaning toward him. "Seymour, what have you done?" he asked, a smile creeping over his features.
Birkhoff shrugged his good shoulder. "Got any more of this soup?"
c. 2012 by Christine Levitt
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