Subject:  Chapters 7, 8 and end |
Author:
Cynaera
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Date Posted: 14:47:58 12/23/01 Sun
In reply to:
Cynaera
's message, "P.J." on 16:13:05 12/20/01 Thu
Chapter Seven
Operations paced in the aerie, the ever-present cheroot in his fingers. His silver-blue eyes were laser-sharp and lightspeed-quick. “This is not acceptable!” he fumed, as his second in command sat placidly, waiting for him to finish his tirade. “That kid is walking around Section, free, and god only knows what he’s absorbing! He’s got access to all the computers – he could be sending the directory to every enemy of Section—“
“—You’re being a little paranoid, aren’t you?” Madeline gently interrupted. “This boy has cancer. His condition is deteriorating every single minute. The doctors are saying he probably won’t survive another month. Meanwhile, he’s being monitored because of the tracker we’ve implanted. He’s been with Walter, Nikita, Birkoff and Michael almost constantly since he was brought in two weeks ago. He hasn’t been near a computer, except under Birkoff’s supervision. He’s given us valuable tools to safeguard ourselves against future break-ins. He’s managed…” Madeline paused, an enigmatic smile crossing her stern features, “to make Michael smile.”
At that statement, Operations stopped pacing. He strode to face Madeline. “Michael?” His expression was one of complete astonishment.
“Smiling,” she reiterated calmly.
Operations was silenced.
~~~
P.J. was beating Birkoff at Mortal Kombat. The two of them were lost in the battle, each struggling for supremacy. Nikita stood behind them, silent, watching the transformation. Birkoff was more like a child than she’d ever seen him before, and P.J. was more relaxed and cheerful. She knew the boy’s time was short – every time she looked at him, she wanted to sweep him into her arms and hold him until he squealed. He seemed to bring out the best in everyone with whom he came in contact. No one could fault him for his arrival in Section One. He’d been brought in against his will, having committed no greater crime than the one of testing his knowledge in the wrong place. He wanted to live – he wanted to do as much, see as much, experience as much as possible in the time he had left.
Section One would smother his dreams, unless certain people took action to make certain he could live before he died. Nikita had made a pact with Michael that they would do everything possible to help P.J. achieve his dreams, or at least come as close as possible to them. It had been more than an agreement between them – it had been the beginning of a relationship beyond Section constraints. Nikita had not anticipated it -– it had simply happened as a result of the presence of P.J. in their lives. She and Michael had finally united in a purpose that was not Section-oriented. And it felt right, somehow – it felt good.
~~~
Walter watched P.J. as he walked to his quarters. His clothing seemed to hang off his fragile frame, and his body seemed more slight. “Hey, sport!” he said jovially, wrapping an arm around P.J.’s neck. “How’s it going?”
P.J. looked up at Walter, and his blue eyes were full of pain. “Not so good,” he said. “Walter…”
Walter knew, then, that he was close to the end of his path. He fought to keep the anguish out of his voice when he said, “What’s up?”
P.J. whispered, “We both know I don’t have very long, Walter. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but it’s gonna be soon. Would you help me to my room?”
Walter bit back a profanity and swept P.J. into his arms, holding him tightly. “I love you, kid,” he murmured into P.J.’s ear, and the boy smiled.
“I love you too, Walter,” he said softly, closing his eyes.
Walter strode down the hallway with P.J. in his arms, his eyes full of tears. It isn’t fair! He thought fiercely. There are scumbags out there, living the life of Riley, and this kid, who never did anything to hurt anyone, is dying… and all he wants to do is live…
Walter almost collided with Michael, who was on his way to his office. Michael saw the tears in Walter’s eyes, saw P.J., pale and drawn, breathing with difficulty, and he knew, without a word having been spoken, that it was essential for him to be wherever P.J. was. He pulled his cell-phone out, dialed Nikita’s number, and said, “Josephine – hurry…”
Nikita, hearing his voice and the added command, knew it had to do with P.J. She’d become so interlinked with the boy, and with Michael in the last couple of weeks, that she didn’t need complete sentences to tell her what was happening. She left her apartment in an indecent haste, making certain only to lock the place. She didn’t care if Red Cell broke in – right now, only P.J. mattered…
Chapter Eight
He lay so still – so white and fragile, so different from the boy who only a few days ago had thrown Birkoff into a frenzy by reconfiguring his entire system with new, more airtight codes; who had caused Michael, the man of stone, to laugh out loud over a cynical observation laced with a snide comment; who had reduced the silver-haired dominator of Section to tears by reminding him of his own mortality; who had given Madeline, the frozen maiden, something so private and special that she wouldn’t share it with anyone, but would call upon it in times of stress, and receive a smile – a REAL smile – in reward; who had given everyone something life-affirming and individual, without realizing it.
P.J. was dying – they all knew it. And no matter how each of them rationalized the fact that they were at his bedside, they each had a reckoning. P.J. had demanded it of them. He’d said, in a voice shot with pain, “You all are alive – you all have love, and hate, and passion. You have the chance to live on and make a difference. I wish I did, too, but I don’t. So I’m giving you my last wish…”
Nikita had begun to cry then, silently, the tears running down her face unchecked. Michael stood near her, and he took her hand unobtrusively, and she had taken it gratefully, knowing that she would never again reject anything Michael offered to her in the way of affection, even if it seemed twisted. P.J. had taught her that Michael, complex as he was, still had a deep, basic goodness and integrity that nothing and no one could warp. She was willing to put all her trust and faith in that quality…
As P.J.’s voice rang out in the room he’d learned to call home for the few weeks he’d been there, he found that he wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t worry about his mother, who had worked so hard to keep him alive and protected. He knew she would be taken care of – Michael had told him so. And, knowing how enigmatic the man of stone could be, P.J. had pinned him down about what “taken care of” had meant. “Dead?” he’d asked.
“No,” Michael had responded, his eyes anguished
“Then what?”
“P.J., we won’t kill her,” Michael had said, and something about the look in his eyes had convinced P.J. that Michael would do everything he could to make sure his mom would be all right. Michael had drawn himself upright with a resolve that had reinforced P.J.’s trust in him.
“Then what?” P.J. had reiterated, wanting to tie up this loose end, this most important one, before he was no longer able to do it.
“I’ll make sure that she’s provided for,” Michael said very softly, his green eyes almost black from pain. “She won’t want for anything.” Except you, he thought, and for the first time in years, Michael had let tears fall…
P.J. was whispering now, his strength fading rapidly. God, I wish I had a little more time… he thought. There’s so much they need to know – so much I need to say… He knew that he had to make every word count, every point had to hit true. Time was so short, and it was all so unfair…
He said, “Michael – tell her… Tell her what you feel…” The words were out, and Michael felt himself flushing with embarrassment at being put so pointedly on the spot. Yet, he knew he could not back down.
“I will,” he said, very reverently, meeting P.J.’s eyes. Their conversation was finished – Michael could see it in P.J.’s eyes.
“Operations, I know your real name,” P.J. whispered. “I won’t tell – but you need to look at the people you control and remember that they’re people, too – just like you…”
Operations, to his own consternation, felt tears, and he nodded, a sort of sorrowful smile crossing his features. “I promise,” he whispered to P.J., knowing that his promise was good.
“Madeline,” P.J. continued, and his voice was weaker – he could feel his strength draining from him, but he had so much to say, and so little time… “Don’t let life pass you by…” It was difficult for him to get the words out now – please, just a little longer… “You deserve to live…”
Madeline let her tears come then, and she didn’t care who saw her cry.
“Walter…” The munitions expert was right by P.J.’s side, holding his hand, crying openly. “You are a man among men… I love you…” Walter bent over him, weeping silently, clutching the fragile, bluish-white hand as if it were a rosary. No words formed in Walter’s mind, but it didn’t matter – P.J. knew…
“Birkoff, thank you…” P.J. coughed, and his thin, almost skeletal body lifted off the bed for a moment until the spell was controlled. “Thank you for giving me the chance to see my potential. I coulda done some great things for Section… And I still have the high score for Mortal Kombat, but I left you some strategies – you can find them under “crap” on the Z-drive.”
Birkoff took off his John Lennon glasses; they were too wet with his tears to be of any use to him now, except that he wanted to memorize P.J.’s face…
“Nikita…” At the mention of her name, Nikita sucked in a breath, unable to think, frozen from movement, Michael’s hand clenched so tightly in hers that it almost hurt him. He gently freed her hand and nudged her to P.J.’s bedside, his eyes dark with sorrow. He thought, Mon dieu, you are so precious, little one…
Nikita crept to P.J.’s bedside, took his hand, glanced across the bed at Walter, who was still crying unashamedly, and reached across the bed and grasped Walter’s other hand. Together, they cradled the boy who had irreversibly changed their lives, listening to his last words to them. “Nikita, Michael loves you… he told me so… I know… it won’t be easy for you—“ P.J. coughed again, and his unnaturally small body was wracked with spasms for a moment. He recovered, then resumed his earnest request to Nikita, as Walter listened. “Don’t let anything or anyone come between you… please…promise me…”
P.J.’s eyes were growing glassy, and Nikita could not keep her tears inside any longer. “P.J….” she pleaded, gripping his hand tighter. He fought to focus on her, even as his life slipped away. “Nikita… so beautiful…. Love him…love…..Michael….”
The hand in her grip went limp, and breathing stopped. Nikita held on to that precious hand, the one that had touched her, that had belonged to the boy who had given her insight into Michael’s mind, that had taught her to live, to love…
She swallowed her heart, stood, and exited the room with dignity, to the surprise of all who had been gathered there. Michael stared at her as she walked out, and he knew, from her face, that she would need him later. He steeled himself for another heartbreak, aside from the loss of P.J. He knelt by the boy’s bedside, and in an uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness, closed the boy’s eyes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thank you, P.J. – I’ll miss you…”
Chapter Nine
Nikita sat alone, listening to “Blue Sky Song” by The Gathering Field. She was on the floor, her back against the sofa, the view of the city unenticing. It had been less than a day since P.J. had died, his hand in hers. She was so devastated by it that she could not function. All she could do was to remember his words to her, to Michael, to Walter… He’d been wiser than his years, and he’d died too soon…
More tears came then, and she wondered if they would ever stop. She’d made a copy of P.J.’s tape, just so she could listen to his voice and remember who he’d been… She hadn’t been able to listen to it, though. The pain was too fresh to cope with alone, and Michael – well, he’d had enough pain of his own. In fact, Nikita realized that because of P.J., all of them had a lot more to think about than the next mission. He’d overturned their lives, with no exceptions, and no one had walked away untouched.
~~~
In the aerie, Operations watched the latest mission. It was moving like clockwork – yet, he was distracted by a voice in his head. A young voice, with the wisdom of an old man. “…You need to look at the people you control and remember that they’re people, too – just like you…”
He stopped his pacing, stared at the cigarette in his fingers, and suddenly saw it as a distasteful taker of life. He tossed it onto the floor, stamped it out with the toe of his shoe, and resolved never to take up the habit again. And he knew he would win this battle, even if he never won another one for Section. He was doing this, not only for himself, but for P.J…
~~~
Michael had been baffled by Operations’ seeming benevolent manner. He’d given Michael a week off, and had taken his cell-phone to punctuate the fact. When Michael had inquired whether anything was wrong, Operations had said, cryptically, “Don’t worry, Michael. Everything’s fine. You’ve done excellent work – you and Nikita should be commended. Now, go – have fun. Oh, and by the way – I’ve given Nikita the same amount of time off. I have her cell-phone, too.”
Michael had left the aerie in a state of confusion and paranoia. Operations seemed to be pushing him into a liaison with Nikita. Much as Michael wanted that, he suspected it was another test of his loyalty to Section. When will they trust me? he thought in anguish. When will they let me live my life? He had no answer to the question, and his heart closed up again, as he headed to his office.
In the corridor, Michael was struck suddenly with a memory – that of P.J., telling him earnestly, “Tell her, Michael. You love her – tell her… Life’s too short…”
He made a decision, then, and bypassed his office, heading to the parking lot. Nikita had the same amount of downtime he himself had – it was a perfect opportunity to tell her about himself. He knew she was aware of his ongoing mission as a married man – he also knew that it hurt her. I’ll change that, Nikita, he thought as he drove. When you know how I feel about you, none of the other things will matter anymore… Michael felt a strange sense of completion as he drove to Nikita’s apartment complex. He sensed her pain, and knew that he could make everything right – P.J. had given him the strength to do it…
~~~
In various places in Section, in various times, a single voice spoke in the background – a voice that had altered the way Section was run, a voice that had reminded soul-less people that they did indeed have souls, and consciences, and feelings…
*“That’s what made me decide to tell my story – the looking to the future. After I’m gone, I want someone to be able to hear my story and take something from it. Well, isn’t that what most people want from the future, anyway?”*
The End
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