| Subject: In the Shadow of Simone 3 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 21:49:15 12/18/01 Tue
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "In the Shadow of Simone - Sequel to Redemption" on 23:28:26 12/17/01 Mon
Nikita was startled awake by the soft caress of Michael’s fingertips against her cheek. She had fallen asleep along side him after hours of keeping a vigil. It was dark outside once again. Nikita’s watch told her it was either five in the evening, or five in the morning. She was too disoriented to know which.
“How long have you been awake?” She asked, feeling his forehead; it was cool, almost cold.
“Not long.” His raspy voice was almost unrecognizable and Nikita knew he spoke each word in pain.
“Michael, we have to get you to a hospital.”
“No.” He struggled to sit up, but was so weak he couldn’t raise his head. Seeing that only made Nikita more insistent.
“Michael! Shut up and listen!” She leaned over him and looked him squarely in the eye. She almost broke a smile at his look of mild indignation; for once she would have the last word.
“How did you get here? A car? A truck?”
“Truck.”
“Where is it?”
“Too far. . .”
“Where?” She insisted.
“Stalled out.”
She flashed him an exasperated look before carefully searching him. “Where’s your cell phone?”
“Left in truck.” He whispered.
“Why are you here, anyway?” She asked giving up the search. “I’m not going back.” There was an edge of steel to her words.
“I know.” Michael returned, looking over at her, his face pasty-white with pain.
“You came to cancel me then?” She asked, her blue eyes half-hurt, half-reproachful.
“No.” He replied.
“Then why?” She got up and went to where she kept a thermos of hot tea.
“To go with you.” He finished, his gray-green eyes, dipped half-closed.
“Go with me?” Nikita’s voice was full of disbelief.
“You’ll never make it alone. . .”
“I did before!” She reminded angrily.
Michael opened his eyes and pinned her with them. He didn’t need words to say that she hadn’t made it alone for long. She dropped her eyes in silent acknowledgment.
“I found you,” Michael said. “They will find you, too.”
“That’s what you keep saying--so, we both run and we have a better chance? I don’t think so.” She got to her feet and walked into the kitchen for a cup. She carefully poured some of the still-hot tea, spooned in some lemon juice and honey and, stirring as she walked, brought it back to where Michael lay.
“Here, try to get some of this down. It should help to break up the congestion a little. I don’t like the way you sound.” She knelt down, bent over him, and gently lifted his head so he could take a sip of the tea.
“I’m fine,” he whispered hoarsely, catching her hand before she could move away.
“You’re not fine, Michael! You’re white as a ghost and your skin is cold and clammy! You should be in a hospital!”
He ignored her, and painfully reached out with one hand to gently touch her abdomen. “Have you felt it yet?”
Nikita felt her entire body melt at his touch. Her hand covered his and held it against her for a moment, before she could answer, “No, not yet. The baby book says you can start feeling it at four months. I’ve got at least a week, maybe two. . . “ She stopped speaking, her eyes filling with tears, realizing there might not be another week for her, much less two.
“Oh, Michael. . .” Her voice was barely a whisper, “I want this baby so much. . .so much!”
Michael wanted to tell her it would be all right--but that would be another lie, so he told her nothing. Instead he held her hand in his. He had no answers, no way out, no hope. The most he could do was give her a little more time to adjust to the inevitable. He couldn’t-wouldn’t allow her to destroy herself, not even to save his child. Somehow, he had to protect her from this calamity he had brought upon her.
“I’m sorry.” Michael finally said aloud.
“For what?” Nikita asked, moving away from his touch.
“For everything. For what I’ve done to you.” Michael said, ‘and what I still must do. . .’ his heart whispered sadly.
“Sorry?” Nikita sat back on her heels and looked down at him. “I’m not. Of all the things that have happened to me, since I got into Section, this is the only good thing.”
Nikita froze. “Wait! How did you know about the baby?”
“Madeline told me.”
“She sent you, didn’t she? To bring me back!” Her blue eyes flared with her accusation.
Michael told her the truth, because it suited his purpose, “Yes.”
“Why?” Nikita demanded. “Why, when it’s evident she knows I’ve gone AWOL?”
“She hasn’t told Operations.”
“Why not? What’s going on that you haven’t told me about?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing is always something with you, Michael. What are you hiding?”
He closed his eyes and didn’t answer. She couldn’t handle the truth, and he was weary of lies.
Nikita felt him close up and knew further questions would be useless. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m not going back.”
“I know.” He replied softly, turning his head away.
“I mean it, Michael! Section has stolen my life--it’s not going to get this child’s as well. It didn’t do anything to get into Section! It’s innocent--isn’t that the entire purpose of Section? Protecting the innocent?” She got up, not expecting an answer and began to gather up her things. Dragging her backpack out of the corner of the room where she had tossed it upon her arrival, she quickly began to stuff it with her belongings.
“I don’t know what Madeline is up to, and I don’t bloody care!” She started to cry again, out of exhaustion, and disappointment. “Is it so much to ask--just this one thing?”
“Nikita.”
“Don’t you care? Even a little?” She stopped packing and crawled over to where he still lay on the floor in front of the fire. “It’s your baby too, Michael!”
He cared. He cared and could do nothing! The emotional anguish was ten times more painful than what he was suffering physically. Just watching Nikita mourn a loss, she now could only visualize, would be nothing to seeing her mourn for real. He knew it from experience. He knew it from watching Simone. She was such a tiny thing; petite and dark and full of fight. So different than Nikita and yet so alike in many ways. . .
* * *
Slender as a child, wiry as a seasoned veteran, Simone stood in Madeline’s office awaiting her new assignment: Michael.
“This?” Simone asked with a short laugh, when Madeline introduced them. She tossed a handful of her past-the-waist, straight, black hair over one shoulder, as she spoke.
Michael regarded the tiny Asian woman with some irritation and no little embarrassment. Madeline had just finished explaining the next phase of his training and he was more than a little uncomfortable with the idea. He much preferred the combat and tactical part of his Section duties to this new task of seduction. He had a few experiences with women, not many. Most were disappointing and he’d never been in love. He’d been too busy with school and working for his father.
“Is he a virgin?” Simone asked, with a wicked smile, “he’s blushing like one.”
“Simone. Please?” Madeline asked firmly.
Simone capitulated with a wry grin and sat down, crossing her legs at the knee. Michael sat as well, at the opposite end of the couch, frowning, and refusing to look at his tiny antagonist.
Madeline sighed, shooting Simone with a disapproving look before returning to seat herself at her desk. It didn’t seem to faze Simone at all, she sat completely undaunted by the whole situation. She bounced her one leg constantly, as it was balanced on the other. Like a ball of kinetic energy, she seemed ready to ping off the walls if given half a chance. And she smiled too much, Michael thought disdainfully, wondering who in their right mind could smile that much, and be in Section.
“Michael, I realize this type of duty isn’t exactly your cup of tea, but you know it’s part of the day to day job of many of our agents, and you’ll just have to grin and bear it like the rest of them.” There was a slight edge of humor to Madeline’s words when she added, “Uh, no pun intended.”
Simone roared with laughter, while Michael flushed redder, with anger. He hated this!
“All right--Simone this is all your fault!” Madeline chuckled despite trying not to. She turned to Michael, with her lips twitching, and apologized. “I’m sorry Michael--she’s an imp! Sometimes, she’s infectious!”
“I am not! I’ve had my shots!” Simone retorted with comic smugness and folded her arms.
Madeline’s hand rose to smother a laugh, even as she ordered, “Get out of here, Simone! Now! And don’t forget Michael!”
Feeling like excess baggage, Michael followed a near prancing Simone into the hallway.
“Okay,” she quipped, turning to look up at him with dark brown eyes, “My place or yours?”
Michael rolled his eyes, and lifted his arms in silent supplication, as if to plead with the Deity, “Why me?” Simone took that as an answer and grabbed him by one of them.
“Okay, mine. At least I know the sheets are clean.”
She led him down to her section quarters. “Home sweet home--it isn’t, but it is private.” She said, closing the door and locking it.
“So! Have a seat. Want a Coke? Some milk?” She left him standing in the middle of the room while she peeked into the small refrigerator in the kitchenette.
Michael looked around for the seat she mentioned and saw only the bed. Reluctantly, he walked over and sat on the corner of it.
“Can you talk?” Simone asked suddenly.
“What?” The question took Michael by surprise.
“Guess you can. Or at least you have one word in your vocabulary.”
“What?” Michael was growing confused.
“Yep! That’s the word!” She shook her head. “Would-you-like-to-have-a Coke?” She spoke slowly, as if speaking to a not-so-bright child then paused with a raised eyebrow for an answer.
“Milk.” Michael retorted.
“Milk, it is.” Her head disappeared into the refrigerator again while she retrieved the requested item. With a milk carton in one hand, and two glasses in the other, she kicked off her shoes and sauntered over to the bed.
Silently, she held out the glasses until Michael took them. He held them, while she poured. Then Simone skipped back over the to the refrigerator, replaced the milk, and skipped back to the bed.
“Thanks!” She said happily, taking one of the glasses of milk from Michael’s hand.
They sat side-by-side drinking their milk for several minutes, without uttering a word to each other, until Simone bounced off the bed and went over to her small stereo.
“What kind of music do you like?”
Michael shrugged with disinterest.
“I like everything--can you dance?” She asked brightly.
“No”
“No problem. I can teach you.” She opened a jewel-case and slipped a CD into the machine. Almost immediately a soft, moody sax filled the air.
“Slow dancing is your first lesson.” Simone said, suddenly standing before him with her hands held out to him.
Michael blinked. She seemed to be in constant motion, darting about like a hummingbird and just as fast.
“You shy, as well as quiet?” Simone asked, her hands still waiting for him to take one of them.
“Is this part of the assignment?” He asked, setting his empty glass on the floor and taking her hands.
“Only if you want it to be.” She answered, with a one-shouldered shrug. “If you don’t want it to be, then I charge ten dollars a dance--it’s your choice.”
Michael’s lips lifted at the corners and Simone looked aghast. “Oh, my God! His face is cracking!” She leaned closer on inspection, “Or is that a smile?”
The crack got wider until it was readily a smile. Simone smiled back, and Michael noticed two tiny dimples in her cheeks that he had overlooked earlier.
“Okay, you’re bigger than me--rule number one--don’t step on me! Rule number two, move with the music, not against it.”
Michael immediately broke rule number one.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.” He was instantly contrite.
“That’s okay. I only use that foot half the time.” She said hopping around on the other.
Michael was beginning to wonder if she was on springs!
“Okay, I think the circulation’s back.” Simone said, “But now I get to step on your feet awhile.” She stepped up on top of his black-booted feet, but was so light Michael hardly noticed, except that she was almost eye-to-eye with him.
“O-Kay,” she said brightly, “That’s better--the view is too! My, my, what big green eyes you have--or are they gray?” She leaned closer in and Michael laughed as her almond eyes seemed to meld into one.
“Is this part of the training too?” Michael asked.
“Ohhh, no. I charge for this.” Simone said with a wag of her eyebrows.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘okay’” Michael returned.
For once he had caught her off guard, “Why?”
“You’ve used that word in just about every sentence in the last five minutes.”
Her forehead puckered in thought for a moment, “Could be. It was the first American word I learned when I was little--that and “G.I.”
Now Michael frowned, and for the first time, Simone seemed a tiny bit subdued.
“Is English your second language?”
She brightened instantly, “Third, actually. French was second.”
“Oui? Vraiment?” Michael asked with a smile.
“Oui, mon brave!” Dimples peeped out again. She looked down at their feet, “Hey! You can dance, you liar!”
Michael looked down as well, at her tiny feet atop his seemingly huge one’s by comparison. He grinned as they were moving well with the music. “I had a good teacher.” He replied at last, only in French.
“Flattery will get you anywhere you want to go!” She replied in the same language.
“Oh, speak again bright angel!” Michael quoted with a wistful smile, “I haven’t had anyone to speak French with, for such a long time.”
“Me either--I might be a little rusty.”
“What was your first language?”
“Vietnamese.”
Michael grinned and replied to her in Vietnamese, “Really, it’s my third language.”
Simone’s jaw dropped in surprised admiration, “You speak perfectly! Where did you learn?”
“My trainer, Jurgen. And Operations--he speaks it fluently as well.”
“Ah!” Simone’s head bobbed back and forth, “Operations, “ she added cryptically. Then with a short sigh, she said, “I guess we’d better get back to the business at hand.”
At the mention of Operations name, it seemed a cloud had passed over the sun of Simone’s soul for a moment. For several minutes, neither said a word, letting the music guide their bodies around the room. In that time, Michael noticed a few more things about her.
She had slender hands, with long, French manicured nails, and her blue?black hair carried the scent of sandalwood. It was her one real beauty, that hair, Michael thought. So straight and glossy, it almost looked unreal. Each strand of hair remained smugly separate from all the others, except when they all moved together in a dusky waterfall over her shoulder. It begged to be touched and before he realized it, he was fingering a handful of it, rubbing it across his palm.
Simone leaned closer and rested her head against his shoulder as the slow music continued. She had slipped her hands out of his a moment before and linked her tiny arms around his neck, and Michael had responded almost instinctively by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.
She was so tiny, he thought, delicate, like a bird--like a hummingbird, he thought again, and smiled. He must have chuckled, because Simone suddenly pulled back to look at him.
“What’s got you laughing?” She asked with a wry smile.
Michael shook his head as if he had no answer, and he hadn’t. In the past half hour Simone had made him smile more than he had in the past two years. He thought back to Madeline, laughing--actually cracking jokes! He shook his head again and laughed.
“Oh, private joke, eh?” Simone tugged playfully on his earlobe.
“No. Just thinking of Madeline.”
“Madeline? I’m jealous! Rule number three, never talk about other women when dancing cheek to cheek.” Simone reached down and pinched Michael on the butt.
It so surprised him that he stopped dancing, and Simone’s feet slipped off his boots and onto the floor.
“Oh, did that hurt?” She teased, looking up at him with those dimples showing again. “Such a nice butt too! Come on--let’s go wash it!” She grabbed him by the hand and started to lead him across the room.
“W-what? Where are we going?” Michael asked, suddenly bewildered.
“Back to work.” She chirped as she skipped towards the bathroom with him in tow.
“Work?”
“Sit!” Simone ordered, pointing at the closed toilet
seat. Michael did as she told him.
“Take off your boots.”
He sighed, pulled them off, and chucked them in the corner.
“Socks too.”
He continued pulling. They joined his boots quietly.
“Now what?” He asked, feeling foolish and uncomfortable. For the first time, he had to look up to her.
Simone lifted her arms. “Undress me.”
“Undress. . . “ Michael began to rub his hand across his jaw. “All right . . .” He reached out, grabbed a handful of Simone’s jade-colored blouse, and jerked it upwards.
“No. Not like that!” Simone chastised comically, and jerked it back down again. “Look,” she straddled him where he sat, “Look-into-my-eyes!” She chanted like a hypnotist and pointed to her eyes with the ‘V’ formed by her first two fingers.
Michael smiled again; he couldn’t help himself.
“Like this,” she said softly. Her slender hands, connected to sinuous arms, slid over his shoulders and across his chest where they lingered for a brief moment to massage. Next her fingers moved up the back of his neck and into his scalp. They massaged there a while as well.
It felt good. Michael closed his eyes and started to relax. After a while he relaxed so much that his head tilted forward against her shoulder.
“Mi-chael?” She asked in a sing-songy voice.
“Hmm?”
“You aren’t going to sleep are you?”
“Huh?” He lifted his head and looked at her in wide-eyed innocence.
“You know, you can sure break a girl’s heart.” She smiled at him, then ever so gently slipped her hands underneath his black T-shirt, and feathered her long, perfectly manicured nails along his rib cage, on both sides.
A shudder went through Michael, like electricity, and Simone leaned over and plugged herself into him, covering his mouth with hers.
Michael’s hands moved everywhere at once, as if he didn’t know where to put them. Simone caught them both and gently slid them inside her blouse. She cupped them over her breasts, and never moved her mouth from his. She taught his hands to rub across her firm nipples, the friction of which delighted them both.
When Simone finally moved her mouth from his, it immediately moved to his ear and whispered, “Undress me, Michael. Slow-ly.” She kissed his earlobe, then eased off his lap to stand in front of him.
Slowly, with a side-to-side seesaw movement, Michael lifted Simone’s blouse. She raised her arms to allow him to ease it over her head. He stared at her breasts and dropped the blouse on the floor. They were small, but perfect, with rigid peaks of light brown at their centers.
Simone let out an apologetic little sigh, “More than a mouthful is a waste, or so I’ve been told.”
Michael smiled, his eyes stealing shut for a brief moment, “Is that an invitation?”
“Yes, you rogue!”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and took one nipple in his mouth, gently nipping at the tip.
“Ow! No biting! That comes later!” She swatted at his head playfully.
“So, okay--what does comes next?” Michael laughed, grabbing both her arms to stop his mock beating.
“Are you sure, you’re French?” She taunted saucily, throwing down the gauntlet.
“I’ll show you French!” Michael retorted. He peeled off his shirt, drop-tossed it into the sink, engulfed her in his arms then kissed her “a la Francais”.
It started playfully and slowly became more erotic, with Simone’s wonderful nails slipping down his bare back and beneath the waistband of his jeans. By mutual consent, Michael got to his feet, enabling Simone to finish undressing him. He did the same for her. Neither wore underwear, they both discovered.
Michael sat back down and eagerly pulling Simone astride him again. He reached between them to guide himself inside, when she unobligingly, slipped off his lap again.
His look of complete dismay was precious. Simone shook her head. “A girl likes a little romance first--and a bath. Come here.” She crooked a finger at him.
Michael groaned, combed his fingers through his hair, then held his head as if in pain, “Let me guess, lesson number four.”
“You got it, G.I.! You washy my back--I’ll washy yours,” she offered sweetly in pigeon-English. She leaned forward, letting the heavy silk of her hair cover her breasts. It made her look mysterious and modestly innocent at the same time. Michael was intrigued.
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