| Subject: Chapter 19 |
Author:
Kate
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Date Posted: 16:29:50 03/31/01 Sat
In reply to:
by Kate
's message, "Things My Mother Taught Me" on 19:49:51 03/29/01 Thu
***********************
Never assume anything.
Sam felt heavy. Slowly he became conscious of his surroundings.
Hard floor. Painful head. Bloody hell, it felt like someone had swung Gray's Anatomy at his head. And the angry voices didn't help matters any.
He lay still, trying to understand what was going on.
" -- to tell him anything, Michael! Are you crazy? We can't --"
"Nikita, I want to know. Don't you?"
"I will not have Milla put in danger! I didn't pull her out of a minefield and love her for 20 years to have her be tortured and --"
"Nikita. Slow down. No one is torturing anyone."
Well, thought Sam. That sounds positive.
"He brought his wife. My God, Michael, they're probably both operatives -- Milla --"
"Nikita. Stop it."
Sam heard some scuffling, then a woman crying.
"Nikita. There is no Section," the man's voice said, very slowly. Section of what, Sam wondered.
"Michael --" Nikita whimpered.
"Let's just calm down and think this through."
... like civilized people, Sam finished automatically in his head. That's what his mother always said. Let's calm down and think this through like civilized people.
"They could be deep cover," Nikita whispered.
"Who would use them as deep cover, Nikita?"
"I don't know. Someone. Red Cell."
The man sighed and Sam heard the bedsprings creak as he sat down on the bed. "There is no Red Cell. There is no Section. There hasn't been for 20 years. You are the love of my life, Nikita. But when you lose your head like this, I could shake you."
"Me?! You're always the one who's Mr. Paranoid!"
"Hey, I'm not the one that taught Milla so much she could be a Level Three operative --"
"Michael!"
"Nikita." And this time, the man's voice was tinged with steel. "Sit down."
It was quiet except for Nikita's breathing -- dry sobs that reminded Sam of his sister when she was tiny and furious at something her brothers had done.
Then the man spoke quietly. "I want to know my son."
Nikita took a deep, shuddering breath.
His voice quiet and definitive, the man said, "And it's time you told Milla about your past."
*********************
Milla's hand was raised to knock on her parents' door. Once when she'd been small, she'd opened the door without knocking and had embarrassed herself as well as her parents.
Her fist raised, it took her a minute to realize something wasn't right. She heard her mother yelling behind the door and she paused.
Mami and Michael didn't fight. Ever.
Milla bit her lip. Someone was crying. Mami? She prepared to knock again, then heard Michael's voice raised in exasperation and a little bit of anger.
She'd seldom seen Michael angry, but when he got angry -- watch out. Milla's hand dropped and she stood uncertainly in front of the door. She didn't want to stay there. And she didn't want to leave. What was wrong with her mother?
Then Milla did something she hadn't done since she was a little girl.
She leaned her head against the thick door and listened.
" -- Mr. Paranoid!" Mami shouted and Milla winced. Maybe Michael was cautious. But paranoid?
"Hey, I'm not the one that taught Milla so much she could be a Level Three operative --"
"Michael!"
"Nikita. Sit down." Milla pressed her ear firmly against the door and faintly heard Michael say, "I want to know my son."
Milla blinked. Son? What son? She had a brother? Where was he? Milla's hand clapped to her mouth. Good God, Michael had had an affair! No. Impossible. He was totally faithful. Wasn't he?
Then she heard Michael say, "And it's time you told Milla about your past."
Past? What past? Milla knew all about her mother's past: she'd grown up in Australia, her family had been killed in a fire, and she'd joined the Peace Corps. Or was it Red Cross? Anyway, one of them. Then she'd found Milla. What kind of past was that? Certainly not something to cry over.
Then Milla heard another sound, one closer to her. A moan. It sounded awful; the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Behind the door, she heard Michael say, "He's waking up. Go get some ice for his head, will you, Nikita?"
Milla was across the room in a flash, and when her mother opened the door, Milla smiled brightly, as if she'd just come from the kitchen. "Ready for dinner?"
Mami looked awful. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red. Her hair was matted on one side and Milla saw a trace of blood from her head injury. She swallowed hard and pretended it was lipstick so she wouldn't get sick. "Mami? Are you okay?"
"I'm ... fine. Just a little ... Milla, love, will you go get me some ice?"
"Sure, Mami. Anything else?"
"Just the ice. Thanks."
Slowly, Milla obeyed.
********************
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