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Date Posted: 19:02:05 04/22/05 Fri
Author: Diane
Subject: Okay - Chapter 7
In reply to: Diane 's message, "Okay" on 11:00:56 04/04/05 Mon

Despite Michael’s efforts to point out the beautiful scenery along Maine’s rocky coast, it was clear that Adam was starting to drift again. He’d had a good night’s sleep, yet he kept trying to curl up into a ball and withdraw again. Desperate measures were needed.

Michael flipped though the stations on the radio until he found one playing disco. He cranked it and sang along in a falsetto.

“Shake your groove thang
Shake your groove thang,
Yeah, yeah!
Show ‘em how to do it now!
“Shake your groove thang
Shake your groove thang,
Yeah, yeah!”

His crazy singing and head bopping gave Adam the giggles.

“What’s the matter?” Michael demanded in mock seriousness. “Your daddy has a beautiful singing voice.”

“You sound silly,” Adam pointed out.

“I do not!” Michael defended himself. “You just don’t appreciate the finer points of disco.”

Just then the DJ announced a two-hour BeeGees marathon. Okay. Michael actually liked the BeeGees. He could do this.

“Well you can tell by the way I use my walk
I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk”

Adam hooted with laughter.

Michael breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and sang on.

* * *

By the time the disco station was breaking up, Adam was hungry and Michael’s throat was raw. They pulled into a Dairy Queen and went inside. Michael ordered two cheeseburgers and an iced tea. Adam begged his dad for a Pepsi. Michael considered for a moment, then consented. He’d already corrupted the boy with pop—what could one more hurt?

Over chocolate sundaes, Michael approached the subject of Adam’s new birth certificate.

“When we get to Montreal, we’re going to have to do a lot of pretending,” he informed Adam seriously.

Adam wasn’t sure if they were still playing or not. “What kind of pretending?” he asked, grinning.

His father’s face was serious. “Supercop pretending.”

Adam looked at him warily. “I thought the bad guys were all in Europe,” he pointed out.

“They are,” Michael assured him, “and we want to keep them there so the people who are still Supercops can catch them.”

“What do we have to do?”

“We have to change our names.”

“For how long?” Adam queried.

“For a long time,” Michael responded. “Maybe for always.”

Adam took a moment to digest this. “What else?”

“We have to pretend we were born in Montreal, and that we are Canadian, not French.”

“Mommy, too?”

“No, Mommy was English. That’s why we lived in Europe for so long. We came home because she died.”

“What about the bad guys?” persisted Adam.

“We don’t know anything about any bad guys. I was never a Supercop.”

“What were you?” asked Adam, clearly confused.

Michael sighed. “I know this is hard to understand, son, but we have to do a lot of pretending now, just like I did when I was a Supercop.”

“But you just said—“ protested Adam.

“I know what I said,” Michael explained patiently. “I was pretending. We have to pretend I was never a Supercop, and that we don’t know any bad guys. And that you and I are Canadian and we were born in Montreal, but we lived in France until Mommy died. Do you understand?”

Adam nodded hesitantly. “I think so. Is my name Adam Samuelson?”

“Yes,” smiled Michael, relieved.

“But I’m just pretending, right?” Adam was trying to keep things straight in his head.

Oh, God. Michael wished so much that he didn’t have to do this to Adam, or that he at least had Nikita here to help him. She was so good with him.

“We’re pretending today,” he began slowly, “but soon the things we’re pretending must become real, and the real has to be forgotten.”

“Everything?” cried Adam in dismay. “What about Mommy?”

“You can always remember Mommy,” Michael reassured him. “She really was English, and she really did die in Europe. You never have to forget Mommy.”

“What about Nikita?” Adam persisted, sniffling. Michael didn’t answer, but Adam knew the truth when he looked up at his father’s face. He got out of his seat and climbed into Michael’s lap, where they just sat and held each other. They would never speak of Nikita again.

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Replies:

[> Okay - Chapter 8 -- Diane, 19:15:47 04/22/05 Fri

Nikita’s first stop was Munitions. “Hey, Walter!” she called back into his inventory room.

Walter’s gravelly voice floated back from seemingly out of nowhere. “Be with you in a minute, Sugar.” Nikita smiled at Ken’s lifted brow.

Walter emerged, wiping his hands on the thighs of his pants. Shit! The one time he let his guard down and the boss-lady was being official. He wondered how much trouble he was in.

Ken wondered what a retired Hell’s Angel was doing working in munitions, but he kept his face neutral and his opinions to himself.

Walter removed the navy rolled handkerchief from around his head, wiped his still sweaty hands, and quickly retied the bandana. He pulled his long gray hair back and quickly knotted it into a ponytail. Who was this new guy in the suit, and what was he to Sugar?

“Walter, I’d like you to meet Kendrick Lockett. He’s one of the applicant’s for Michael’s old position.” She and Walter both knew she meant ‘and Madeline’s,’ but the less often her name was mentioned, the better.

“Ken,” said the suit, reaching forward to take Walter’s hand. Good grip, the older man noted. Not afraid to look you in the eye, either.

“So, Ken, where do you come from?” said Walter conversationally.

“Spec. Ops.” Silence. Okay, so he’s not a talker, thought Walter. I can live with that.

“What’s you favorite beer?”

Ken smiled. “Coors.” Interesting, Walter mused. Drinks American beer in Germany. “But I don’t drink anymore,” he added.

“Let me introduce you around before Walter totally corrupts you,” said Nikita with a smile. She put arm out for Ken to take. He ignored it. Nikita looked at Walter, who shrugged. Nikita just raised her brow and started walking toward Comm., with Ken following behind.

Quinn was not in sight, much to Nikita’s relief. “Jason, I’d like you to meet Ken Lockett. He’s one of the candidates for Michael’s position as Head Strategist and Chief Tactician.”

Jason rolled back lazily in his chair to ‘scope out the competition.’ Taller than Nikita. Hell, taller than Michael. Older than Michael, too, if you went for that type. But could the dude profile? Could he run a mission on site? So far, Jason had yet to be impressed. He flashed Ken a quick “Hey,” then turned his attention back to his screen.

Nikita was visibly annoyed. “What are you working on, Jason?” she asked stiffly.

“Nothin’ much. Just breakin’ a few codes.” His hands drifted lazily over the keyboards.

At least he hadn’t called her ‘darlin’’. “Maybe Ken could help you out for a while. I have some things to do in the Perch.”

“Why not?” said Jason agreeably. He’d been putting on a show for the dude—slacking off to look like the job was s-o-o easy. In truth, as soon as Nikita left, he intended to return to warp speed.

“Where do you want me?” asked Ken.

“Uh, over there’s fine,” said Jason, gesturing to an empty work station. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“How can I work if I don’t touch anything?” asked Ken patiently.

Great. A know-it-all.

“Fine,” said Jason tersely. “Work on this for a while,” purposely shooting him the most difficult encryption—the one that had been giving him the most trouble all morning. When he checked on him a few minutes later, Ken’s tall frame was bent over the keyboard, working slowly and methodically. Jason allowed himself a grin. Newbies!

After about 10 minutes, Jason heard Ken asking him to come look at something. He wasn’t about to help Nikita’s new fair-haired boy. Let him crash and burn on his own. “Uh, I’m kind of busy here, Ken,” he shot over his shoulder, hands flying over his keyboard.

Quinn, who was returning to her post, stopped to see what Ken, whom she first thought was a trainee, needed.

Immediately recognizing the code Jason had been struggling with, she cried out, “You broke it! Well done!”

Jason stopped what he was doing and rolled to Ken’s side, flummoxed. “How did that happen? What did you do?” he demanded.

Ken shrugged. “I ran it through a Delta Four pattern, then recycled. It wasn’t that hard.”

“But you’re not cleared for a Delta Four. I’m head of Comm., and I’m not cleared for a Delta Four!

Ken lowered his voice. “Yeah, that was the tough part. Some of those firewalls were a bitch. Getting through them without setting off an alarm was a little tricky.”

Jason just sat there, slack-jawed.

Nikita descended from the Perch, having spotted Quinn. She dreaded this moment. “Quinn, have you met Ken Lockett?”

“Not officially,” she said, smiling warmly. “Welcome to Comm.”

“That may be a bit premature,” said Ken with a shrug.

“Ken is interviewing for my Second-in-Command,” said Nikita. Well let’s call it what it is. She held her breath. She half expected Quinn to throw a fit right there in Comm., but Ken was better than either she or Jason, and she knew it. She also knew that Ken would have had to pass rigorous tests in sims and profiling to have made it this far, and she conceded defeat.

“I don’t think so,” Quinn said, her smile not as wide but still as genuine. “Welcome to Section One.” She extended her hand to the better man.

“Thank you,” said Ken quietly, taking it. He looked at Nikita, who shrugged.

“Welcome to Section One!”

Ken smiled.

“I’ll still have to have it approved by Center, but I don’t see a problem,” said Nikita. “How soon can you wrap things up and prepare to move in?”

“Give me four hours notice,” was his quick response.

“Well, then,” said Nikita, clearly pleased, “let me make some phone calls. After that, how would you like to do a little sparring?”

Ken lifted his eyebrows. He hadn’t done much sparring in Spec. Ops, only as part of his weekly fitness routine, and rarely as a combatant. He figured Nikita would probably wipe the floor with him, but what the hell. He needed to get in shape quickly if he was going to be out in the field again anytime soon.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but take it easy on the old man, all right?”

Nikita giggled. Ken couldn’t believe his ears. A Section head who actually *giggled*. “You’ve got a deal. See you in the General Gym in about . . . an hour?”

“I’ll be there,” promised Ken, “in full body armor.”

Nikita giggled again. Ken wasn’t kidding.

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[> [> Re: Okay - Chapter 8 -- Shanola, 20:26:32 04/29/05 Fri

You are skipping POVs in this chapter. Each line is an inner thought from a different character. I'd suggest streamlining this into one character's head. It'll be less confusing for the reader that way.

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[> [> [> Re: Okay - Chapter 8 -- Diane, 21:11:57 04/29/05 Fri

I see what you mean. I'll have another go it.

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[> [> Okay - Chapter 8 - Altered Version -- Diane, 12:22:46 04/30/05 Sat

I didn't make a lot of changes, but see if this helps.

Nikita’s first stop was Munitions. “Hey, Walter!” she called back into his inventory room.

Walter’s gravelly voice floated back from seemingly out of nowhere. “Be with you in a minute, Sugar.” Nikita smiled at Ken’s lifted brow.

Walter emerged, wiping his hands on the thighs of his pants. Shit! The one time he let his guard down and the boss-lady was being official. He wondered how much trouble he was in.

If Ken wondered what a retired Hell’s Angel was doing working in munitions, he kept his opinions to himself.

Walter removed the navy rolled handkerchief from around his head, wiped his still sweaty hands, and quickly retied the bandana. He pulled his long gray hair back and quickly knotted it into a ponytail. Who was this new guy in the suit, and what was he to Sugar?

“Walter, I’d like you to meet Kendrick Lockett. He’s one of the applicant’s for Michael’s old position.” She and Walter both knew she meant ‘and Madeline’s,’ but the less often her name was mentioned, the better.

“Ken,” said the suit, reaching forward to take Walter’s hand. Good grip, the older man noted. Not afraid to look you in the eye, either.

“So, Ken, where do you come from?” said Walter conversationally.

“Spec. Ops.” Silence. Okay, so he’s not a talker, thought Walter. I can live with that.

“What’s you favorite beer?”

Ken smiled. “Coors.” Interesting, Walter mused. Drinks American beer in Germany. “But I don’t drink anymore,” he added.

“Let me introduce you around before Walter totally corrupts you,” said Nikita with a smile. She put arm out for Ken to take. He ignored it. Nikita looked at Walter, who shrugged. Nikita just raised her brow and started walking toward Comm., with Ken following behind.

* * *

Quinn was not in sight, much to Nikita’s relief. “Jason, I’d like you to meet Ken Lockett. He’s one of the candidates for Michael’s position as Head Strategist and Chief Tactician.”

Jason rolled back lazily in his chair to ‘scope out the competition.’ Taller than Nikita. Hell, taller than Michael. Older than Michael, too, if you went for that type. But could the dude profile? Could he run a mission on site? So far, Jason had yet to be impressed. He flashed Ken a quick “Hey,” then turned his attention back to his screen.

Nikita was visibly annoyed. “What are you working on, Jason?” she asked stiffly.

“Nothin’ much. Just breakin’ a few codes.” His hands drifted lazily over the keyboards.

At least he hadn’t called her ‘darlin’’. “Maybe Ken could help you out for a while. I have some things to do in the Perch.”

“Why not?” said Jason agreeably. He’d been putting on a show for the dude—slacking off to look like the job was s-o-o easy. In truth, as soon as Nikita left, he intended to return to warp speed.

“Where do you want me?” asked Ken.

“Uh, over there’s fine,” said Jason, gesturing to an empty work station. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“How can I work if I don’t touch anything?” asked Ken patiently.

Great. A know-it-all.

“Fine,” said Jason tersely. “Work on this for a while,” purposely shooting him the most difficult encryption—the one that had been giving him the most trouble all morning. When he checked on him a few minutes later, Ken’s tall frame was bent over the keyboard, working slowly and methodically. Jason allowed himself a grin. Newbies!

After about 10 minutes, Jason heard Ken asking him to come look at something. He wasn’t about to help Nikita’s new fair-haired boy. Let him crash and burn on his own. “Uh, kind of busy here,” he shot over his shoulder, hands flying over his keyboard.

Quinn, who was returning to her post, stopped to see what Ken, who she had first thought was a trainee, needed.

Immediately recognizing the code Jason had been struggling with, she cried out, “You broke it! Well done!”

Jason stopped what he was doing and rolled to Ken’s side, flummoxed. “How did that happen? What did you do?” he demanded.

Ken shrugged. “I ran it through a Delta Four pattern, then recycled. It wasn’t that hard.”

“But you’re not cleared for a Delta Four. I’m head of Comm., and I’m not cleared for a Delta Four!

Ken lowered his voice. “Yeah, that was the tough part. Some of those firewalls were a bitch. Getting through them without setting off an alarm was a little tricky.”

Jason just sat there, slack-jawed.

* * *

Nikita descended from the Perch, having spotted Quinn. She dreaded this moment. “Quinn, have you met Ken Lockett?”

“Not officially,” she said, smiling warmly. “Welcome to Comm.”

“That may be a bit premature,” said Ken with a shrug.

“Ken is interviewing for my Second-in-Command,” said Nikita. Well let’s call it what it is. She held her breath. She half expected Quinn to throw a fit right there in Comm., but Ken was better than either she or Jason, and she knew it. Quinn also knew that Ken would have had to pass rigorous tests in sims and profiling to have made it this far, and she conceded defeat.

“I don’t think so,” Quinn said, her smile not as wide but still as genuine. “Welcome to Section One.” She extended her hand to the better man.

“Thank you,” said Ken quietly, taking it. He looked at Nikita, who shrugged.

“Welcome to Section One!”

Ken smiled.

“I’ll still have to have it approved by Center, but I don’t see a problem,” said Nikita. “How soon can you wrap things up and prepare to move in?”

“Give me four hours notice,” was his quick response.

“Well, then,” said Nikita, clearly pleased, “let me make some phone calls. After that, how would you like to do a little sparring?”

Ken lifted his eyebrows. He hadn’t done much sparring in Spec. Ops, only as part of his weekly fitness routine, and rarely as a combatant. He figured Nikita would probably wipe the floor with him, but what the hell. He needed to get in shape quickly if he was going to be out in the field again anytime soon.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but take it easy on the old man, all right?”

Nikita giggled. Ken couldn’t believe his ears. A Section head who actually *giggled*. “You’ve got a deal. See you in the General Gym in about . . . an hour?”

“I’ll be there,” promised Ken, “in full body armor.”

Nikita giggled again. Ken wasn’t kidding.

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