| Subject: Chapter 271 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 271) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, February 21, 07:24:41am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
She didn't know where they were going but had no real doubts as to decency of his intentions. A moment later, they were in Helmut's study, were led to a desk the two of them shared. When he pulled out a folded piece of paper, she seemed uncertain, his look tender. "Michael gave this to me, before he left." He held it out to her. "Maybe it's time you see what he said."
She was a bit bemused by this offer--but, she had to admit, rather agog to read it; she tried to calm her heart, telling herself to be sensible. It probably had little to do with her, would contain just general details, in case Rene needed them; her hands trembled slightly, as she told them to be still. There was no reason to wish for anything more than that.
He saw her thoughts, almost laughed at her--knowing his old friend's typical fear was sometimes real: she was quite unbelievably young, at times. How she could believe that any message the man could write wouldn't include her at its heart was astounding; he watched her open it carefully, smiling at her. But it was a bit of naiveté which was impossible not to long to protect.
The letter read:
Dear Rene,
I've asked many favors from you in the past and, with luck, will probably ask even more in the many years to come. I know this isn't fair, given how I've treated you these last few years. My only defense is the one you already suspect. It's all for my Nikita. Please do it for her, if not for me.
You already know the situation which is causing me to go--and I'm certain that you know, in that omniscient way of yours, that nothing besides Nikita's well being could force me to. Still, just because Jones has promised to leave us be if I'm gone doesn't in any way mean that he'll keep it. All this talk of "gangster honor" be damned. He's a killer and a brute, whatever airs he puts on. How my Nikita came to have any part of his blood in her veins is a mystery I'll never understand.
Still, it's for her sake that I'm going to ask all this of you. No matter what I do to please him, he has no intention of leaving us alone--will see me dead someday, if he can find a convenient way to do it. I'm sure that he's hoping that the war will do his work for him; rest assured that I'm going to do my damnedest to make certain it doesn't. But I can't help my fear that he's going to use this time to make some sort of attacks against Nikita. It's just too good an opportunity for him to let pass.
Part of my request, then, is nothing new. Look after her for me. But in even this I'll be asking for more from you. It's not enough to simply keep an eye on her while she changes or to keep an ear out for dangerous rumors. Now, I need to recruit you, and all those with you, to watch over her completely.
I know our enemies are many and this task is daunting--and it's no easier for me to ask it of you. To give up my right to protect her, for even a while, is unbearable. After all she's been through already, she needs me. I can't stand to think of even a day without being by her side.
You, Rene, and your companions by extension, are the only ones I truly trust in this. Despite the way I mistreated you, you've always been my closest friend. Aside from Nikita, you are my only real confidant. More than any other time in my life, I need you to be my friend.
The ways you can do this are mostly the obvious ones--but there are many fronts to watch out for. Jones will attack quite openly, I'm certain, but Madeline will be her usual self. If she has any sense, she'll find a way to use Hedda. After all, Nikita is more open to rumor just now than ever before. She's alone; she's pregnant, and she's vulnerable. *Look after her for me*. It's not enough that that fool Shears has promised to; I don't trust him at all--he's at least half obsessed with her--and he's still Madeline's best weapon for Hedda. All she needs to concoct is one good story about a budding romance between them, as their filming continues, and that bitch Hedda has all the ammunition she'll need to make my wife's life Hell. Please don't let her. All Jones needs is an excuse to pull Nikita out of the limelight. Once she's forgotten, I don't even want to imagine what he'll do with her.
I know what I'm asking of you is immense--and open-ended. I don't even have any clear plans I can give of how to proceed. I just know that I can't bear the thought of her being alone. I can't even think of what I'd do, if she were gone.
No--you know as well as I do that that's a lie. I survived Simone's death; I'm not even certain how. It was merely Hell. But, if Nikita dies, I'll go with her. Not even your constant friendship could keep me anchored here after that.
I'm sorry. I don't mean that to sound like the threat it probably does. It's just that I'm going to be forced to leave her. Tomorrow, I'll be in another country--one I vowed I would never return to. I'm going insane. Please look after her. My only hope of sanity is to know that she's well.
I don't know whether I'll make it back alive--although I damn well intend to try. If not, I've included a list of my accounts, etc. I think Helmut knows many of them already. Nikita will need them--and I doubt that she'd be in any shape to look after it all herself.
I hope it doesn't come to this, but, if it does, please look after her--and our child. While she's always been more than independent--has had to be--I fear that I've done my damnedest to make her need me over the last few years. It's unconscionable, I know, but I couldn't help it. She's so beautiful and perfect. I really can't imagine any life, if she didn't need me there.
I don't know what else to say--and I know I've been rambling. Please forgive me. I suppose I should only add again that, should it ever come down to a choice between Nikita and our child, you know the correct decision to make. Losing the child would destroy Nikita--but, if I'm there with her, I can help her survive. I'll *make* her survive, if necessary. But I can't live without her. I'm sure you understand. Our child, our children--they're a fantasy, some dream far too good to be true. I won't believe in them, until--or unless--they exist. But nothing at all on earth exists without her.
I'm sorry to leave you this. I'm sorry to ramble on so. And I'm desperately sorry to leave you with a world of responsibility, all as a favor for a friend who's treated you so badly. Still, you know my feelings; I'm certain of it. Please look after her. I just can't live without the knowledge that she's there.
Your eternal if unfaithful friend,
Michel
Lord. It was impossible not to cry, the battle with her tears lost somewhere in the back of her throat--her attempts to choke them back loud and obvious; she had never been a dainty crier, or much of anything else. But still this man wanted her. Even in the maddened possessiveness the letter showed--in all his heartfelt emotions, when he knew he was about to leave her--to know that Michael loved her this much . . .
Rene saw her efforts, took the letter from her hand to turn her toward him, comforting her softly in his arms. "Ssh. It's alright. Go ahead and cry." He would have been amazed had she not broken down. Not only was her life far too heavy a burden for any one person to bear, but the sheer maddened love of the letter--from the man she was so cruelly distanced from--would break anyone. Had Michael ever written such a letter about him, he would be a weeping wreck; he tried not to laugh, comforting softly. Besides, from all he had seen of her, she deserved all his old friend's devotion and more.
In some ways--they both knew--the emotions of the letter were neither sane nor safe. It had clearly shown a sort of possessive rage, a need to keep her with him, no matter what. Had the actor taken such emotions to their more dangerous conclusions, neither one of the pairing might ever be protected again. But both the actress and Rene understood that, once the couple were given the opportunity to build a life together, neither Michael nor Nikita would let that come to pass.
She had no idea of the designer's thoughts, then, couldn't overcome her own; it took awhile, before they were even coherent enough to state, most of them simply a mush of deep love and dull pain. She wasn't even certain why her husband had sent the letter to his friend--as it contained very little about him, really. Maybe it was just a need to tell someone about the torment both of them had been enduring. Heaven only knew, each of them had been trying to be all too brave for the other.
She thought the missive over a little, as her sobs began to subside, trying to draw herself back together again; she couldn't afford to be so weak. And what surprised her, when she thought into it, was that the letter wasn't in French. She had sometimes heard Michael slip into it, when Rene was the only one nearest him, and he *had* signed it with his, rarely used, given name; her thoughts turned. Still, this letter was probably really addressed to both Helmut and the designer. She had no idea whether the other man could read French--but, if it weren't public knowledge, then Michael probably didn't, either. If the banker couldn't read it, then . . . Well, there was no point in asking for help, if the one you asked didn't understand a single word.
Such rational thoughts quelled the sobbing at last, forcing her into calm. Once she finally got the last of it under control, she looked back up to the man--one, oft-repeated, thought in the letter making her wonder; she took the opportunity of the moment to ask. "Why was he apologizing--about mistreating you, I mean?" It certainly made sense to apologize to all of them for expecting them to look after her. That wasn't really anybody's job but her own.
Ah. He smiled, seeing that this was a tale Michael hadn't told--or, if he had, she had temporarily forgotten it. Not surprising, given the emotion of the letter itself. His hands were still on her arms, still calming her, in his inherently gentle way, as he looked into her eyes, being certain that she was ready for such topics. "I gave him some advice about his relationship with Simone--just before she died, as it turned out." The look on his face showed his sadness at the memories, moving into her shocked gaze. "He didn't forgive me for quite sometime." He didn't think it the right moment to point out that that had only happened when she arrived.
She didn't see it, either--rarely one to find the good in herself or her effects on others. Instead, her curiosity continued cautiously, biting her lip slightly, as she asked. "What was the advice?" Somehow, it seemed important to her to know.
Lord. He didn't really want to tell her, patted her arms gently, as he let her go. Still, letting her read the letter had opened up the topic. He supposed it was only fair to finish it.
"I advised him not to marry her." He saw the shock he had expected, went on to explain. "The world wasn't ready for it, Nikita. They'd have destroyed them both." His head shook. "It wouldn't have been good for either of them, or the child." When she tried to look sympathetic, he pointed out the rest. "It didn't mean they couldn't stay together or love each other." There was a shrug. "Sometimes, you just have to be cautious."
Oh--she understood, even if she wasn't entirely certain she agreed; her thoughts cast back suddenly. And had Michael once told her about it--awhile after they'd met? She blinked, trying to remember that whole conversation about Simone. It seemed so damn long ago, had come in the midst of about a million other traumas and triumphs--had preceded so many yet to come, as well. Her head shook, giving up. Maybe it was better to just stay in the moment.
It took her only a second to refocus, seeing her friend's many meanings, once she did. Her hand went to his face tenderly, eyes so kind. "Rene," she sighed, giving him all her sympathy. After all, he knew from bitter experience what it was not to be able to love openly, to be eternally shunned, just because the one he cared for didn't fit the iron-clad set of requirements society had dictated. She sighed, feeling the unfairness of it. If only any of them had it easier now.
He smiled at her attempt to understand him--supposed she did, if only a little. Her own, early sexual relationship with Michael had had to be kept quiet, as well, to avoid a public outcry. Even beyond that, they had had to wait to marry, until she reached a publicly-acknowledged, acceptable age; there was a very small sigh. Still, it *was* different--as she clearly knew; the smile deepened, taking her hand away. "I am what I am, Nikita." There was a shrug. "That's just the way life works."
They were quiet after that, were found that way by Helmut, when he arrived several minutes later to take her home. Even if the banker raised a slight eyebrow at his partner--amusedly demanding a later explanation--the pair had come to a deeper sort of understanding. Because Rene was a friend, and simply because he was the man he was, he would look after her and her child--would rally as many others as he needed to do the same. In return, he got the same sort of friendship and concern from Nikita; they smiled at each other. And both of them thoroughly understood that their every interaction would always remind them of the man that both of them missed.
[End of Part 271]
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