| Subject: Jericho, 13 |
Author:
Anon
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Date Posted: 19:48:30 03/28/02 Thu
**Borrowing a lot of dialogue and the scene from the episode, Charity**
**
Michael glanced at his watch again and sighed with annoyance. It was past 1a.m. and Nikita was still not back at her apartment. He had instructed Birkoff to tell her to go home and that she could debrief in the morning. The truth was Michael didn’t want to risk having Nikita run into Operations in her current state of mind. Even if she was only a little drunk, chances were she would say something that would get her thrown in abeyance or worse.
He sat down at her table and waited in the dark. There was, he knew, always the possibility that Nikita would ignore the call to come in and stay with Chandler. Would she sleep with him, Michael wondered? He rejected the idea almost immediately. Nikita idolized Chandler because of his work with runaways, but Michael didn’t believe she had any real physical attraction to him. At least, he hoped not.
I don’t want her to get hurt, he rationalized. As he sat pondering on this, he heard a sound coming from Nikita’s bedroom and he quickly, silently reached for his gun. The lights in the apartment were off, he hadn’t bothered to turn them on when he’d entered. He was certain there had been no one in the apartment when he entered but Michael knew he had definitely heard a noise. He was about to rise and slip further into the shadow when he heard a soft mewing sound and saw the outline of a kitten saunter out from Nikita’s bedroom. It paused at the landing, gave a long lazy stretch and then sat on its hind legs.
Michael replaced his gun and the kitten turned to look at him, its eyes yellow in the near dark. After another moment, it hopped down from the landing and trotted over to where Michael sat and rubbed up alongside his foot. Michael bent down and picked it up. It was only a couple of months old, an orange colored scrawny little tike with pale stripes.
The cat mewed again. Michael placed it back down on the floor, and then nudged it gently with his foot. “Go.”
The cat considered him a moment and then, ignoring him, lay down and began to bathe his front paws. Just like its owner, Michael thought; disobedient.
Just then he heard a key being inserted into the front door. The kitten’s ears perked up and then it was off and running before Nikita even entered the room. Michael watched with disapproval as Nikita closed the door and, without bothering to turn on the lights or scope the apartment for danger, she bent down and picked the cat up and cuddled it close. She made little cooing sounds as she turned toward the kitchen. Michael saw her stiffen with the realization finally that someone else was in the room. He reached over and turned on a nearby lamp.
Recognizing that it was him, Nikita relaxed as she set the cat down and then strolled into the living room. Michael watched as she stood next to the landing and removed her shoes. She flashed him a lopsided smile. Great, he thought, she’s drunk. He folded his arms across his chest and stared hard at her. “You and Mr. Chandler were having quite a time together.”
The smile faded from her face. Nikita opened her mouth as if to give some retort, but then she shut it again without saying anything and instead walked over to the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you question him about the trip?”
“Because,” Nikita said, her voice slurred, “he wouldn’t have told me anything.”
“You don’t know that.”
She heaved a long-suffering sigh, opened the refrigerator and peered in. “What is he doing that is so evil?” she asked, straightening. In her hand she held a carton of milk. She opened it, sniffed, and then drank without getting a glass.
“I told you,” Michael answered, looking away. “He launders money.”
“He also happens to spend a lot of it helping kids.”
And that was supposed to make it better? Michael turned to see Nikita reaching down to turn on her stereo. Music erupted and filled the room as she walked away from him and began to zip down her dress. He stood up, walked over to the stereo and snapped the music off.
“You don’t have to like the job, Nikita. You just have to do it.”
He walked over to where she stood, his eyes sweeping over her face. She had a little milk mustache over her lip and Michael found himself wanting to do something that would definitely not be wise on his part.
Nikita lifted her chin and stared back at him, trying not to teeter. Michael sighed inwardly and then informed her, “I’ll be at the party tomorrow night. His parameter security is very tight. We’ll have to work from the inside. You’ll be briefed in the morning.”
Nikita rolled her eyes, obviously displeased, and she leaned against the wall in the hallway. His message delivered and assured that she was home safe, Michael walked over to the door and then he stopped and looked down to where the cat was now pressing up against Nikita’s bare feet.
“Get rid of the cat,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. Nikita gave a soft laugh. “It’s a distraction,” he continued. “It was the first thing you noticed. If I were an enemy, you’d be dead by now.”
Nikita closed her eyes briefly and then she leaned forward, her eyes focusing on his. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice sounding far away, “I think you are the enemy, Michael.”
She seemed so vulnerable in that moment and Michael wished not for the first time that there was some other way to teach her how to survive in Section. “Get rid of the cat,” he said again, and then opened the door and left.
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