| Subject: Heat Wave 8 (end) |
Author:
'chelle
|
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Date Posted: 10:30:46 01/05/02 Sat
In reply to:
'chelle
's message, "Heat Wave" on 10:01:34 01/05/02 Sat
Note: Here be the last of it...
Chapter Eight
A lazy finger traced patterns in her skin, back and forth - they were both too exhausted to move, but had enjoyed the journey leading to the destination.
"I suppose we should check in with Section."
"Not just yet." He wasn't willing to let this special moment go yet. It would come soon enough, but not yet.
Nikita smiled, "Have anymore of that ice?"
His small chuckle surprised her and warmed her heart. She kissed the shoulder she was resting on and pushed up to a sitting position. "I have some… interesting ideas for it."
"I could go check." His eyes burned into hers, as if searching for the part of himself he had left in her keeping. As long as he lived, he would care for this woman. Do everything in his power to keep her safe.
She smiled, "Could you? Please?" Leaning down, she gave him another long kiss. "Thank you." Her hand traveled down, over his chest, his stomach, finally down to cup him gently. She gave him another kiss that promised of things to come.
He moaned deep in his throat, feeling himself come alive again. His hands moved to tangle themselves in her hair, pulling her closer, delving in the hot corners of her mouth.
"mmm...ice" she mumbled against his lips.
He pulled back, "Ice."
She nodded, moving away from him and smiling. "Please."
Michael sighed and surged to his feet, he pulled his trousers on again and picked up the soggy bag from earlier He moved through the lobby like a tiger, primitive, invincible, the powerful muscles in his body flexing with every movement.
Nikita watched him leave, moving to the couch she picked up his shirt, bringing it to her face, she breathed in his scent before slipping it up and over her head. She dropped down and stretched out, smiled and closed her eyes; she had plans for that ice.
A small sound alerted her to his presence, she opened her eyes and gazed into the face of the man she thought she had killed. Confusion mixed with alarm as he raised his gun to her face.
"Miss me?" Capistrano leered at her, his eyes raking over her semi nude body.
"From the stunned look on your face, I'm guessing you thought I was taken care of.. tsk tsk tsk.. you should always double check your kills Nikita. Although, technically," he glanced down at the seeping wound in his side, a makeshift bandage was plastered to it, but it wasn't doing anything to stop the flow of blood.
"…I don't have much time left. But I take comfort in knowing I'll take you down with me."
"Why…" the word escaped her, the confusion and wonderment that this man would go through so much just to kill her, he was in obvious pain. She had to know why. She also needed the time for Michael, he would be returning any minute.
"Why? My brother…you took away the only family that understood me. My only brother, and you killed him. You Section butchers are all the same, you go in and kill everyone that moves. He was an innocent, but you didn't care, he was acceptable collateral to you." His impassioned voice raised as his anger and frustration did. "He was just another wasted bullet to you wasn't he?"
Nikita thought back, too many fights, too many wars, too many deaths on her hands to remember them all. "I don't… know what you're talking about."
"Tell me you remember his face." He waved the gun at her.
Nikita slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. There's too many.."
With a brutal backhanded slap, he knocked her from the couch to the floor. "TELL ME YOU REMEMBER HIS FACE!" He crouched low - hissing into her face, over her the cold steel of the gun pressed against her temple. Pulling a photo out of his pocket, he showed it to her, whispering he continued, "You're going to know this face, you're going to know that this man was the reason for your ticket into hell. He was my brother…"
"Nikita? I thought I…" Michael trailed off.
She watched it unfold before her, Michael, walking towards them, Capistrano, turning and firing.
A shot... a single shot.
Michael's eyes locked onto hers. A look of shock mirrored on their faces.
A crimson stain of dark red, spreading across his chest.
He looked down, then back up, a look of utter astonishment marring his beautiful features.
Bewildered, he dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the ground.
"NO!" Nikita shoved the palm of her hand upwards under the biker's chin, from her vantage point it wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to stun and push him off balance. Using her advantage she pulled the gun from his grasp and quickly turned it. He flew back from the force of the bullet, his hand compulsively clutching the picture in his hand, the fingers smearing the blood across the young smiling face.
Scrambling, Nikita hurried to Michael's side, placing a hand on the gaping hole in his chest, his red blood covering her pale white skin. She pulled him into her arms, cradling him.
His mouth opened and then closed, his eyes wild with pain and confusion, his body racked with coughs as he struggled for air. A look of regret filtered through his eyes as he reached up and touched her hair.
Rocking back and forth, she pleaded with him soundlessly… willing him not to leave her. Ordering him to stay, just by the fierce intensity of her eyes.
With one last piercing look, he closed his eyes and slipped away.
There was no sound.
The minute he left her, she could feel it; it was a warmth she wouldn't ever feel again. A part of her was floating away with him, leaving her with only the cold emptiness. She slowly moved around to lay beside him, pulling him close. Taking one arm, and pulling it around her, she rested her head against his chest, blood coating her cheek, staining her hair, and waited… waited for the heart beat… waited for the world to start again… waited…
~end~
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