Nikita lay within the circle of Michael's strong arms. She could feel his body heat warming her, even through their field suits. A part of her knew that it was the heat of fever that warmed her, that Michael was ill, but he didn't complain. Michael never complained. He simply bore pain and illness in stoic silence. Nikita didn't fare so well. For a time she had wept as the pain of her broken ankle and dislocated shoulder had gotten the best of her. Of course, it didn't help that she was hungry and dehydrated, and that the air they so desperately needed to survive was running out.
They were trapped in the basement of an electronics lab. Caught beneath the rubble after the C-4 charges had exploded prematurely. Michael had shielded Nikita with his body otherwise she would probably be dead. She wondered how badly he was hurt, but didn't bother to ask. She knew he wouldn't tell her. He had spent several hours trying to free them from the rubble. Or perhaps it had been longer. Their com units didn't work and Nikita despaired of Section sending anyone to rescue them. Simpler for them to be written off as a loss, or so she believed. Michael tried to convince her otherwise, but Nikita wouldn't be comforted. For herself she knew that Section would easily write her off. Michael was more valuable to them, but even he was expendable. Nikita had seen how Section had treated him in the past, despite his position within the hierarchy. He was acceptable collateral just as she was.
"Talk to me, Nikita," Michael beseeched, as he felt Nikita's breathing change. He didn't want her passing out on him, even though he knew she was in great pain. She had to stay awake.
"I'm tired," she whispered, letting her eyes close.
Michael shook her, numb to the pain that rippled through him at his movements. He guessed that nearly sixteen hours had passed and that they had less than two hours worth of breathable air left to sustain them. He didn't know if Section would come for them, he only knew that he regretted that Nikita would die hear, in this way. For himself it didn't matter, but she didn't deserve such a fate. "Tell me what you're thinking?" Michael beseeched, desperate to keep her with him till the end. She had given up hope, but he would cling to it for the both of them.
Nikita sighed and forced her eyes open. She shifted slightly in Michael's arms and felt him flinch. "I'm sorry," she said softly, knowing that she had caused him pain.
"Doesn't matter," Michael said, his lips brushing against Nikita's temple. "What are you thinking?" he asked again.
"That I'm sad," Nikita replied, honestly.
Michael rested his chin on the top of her pale head. "Sad about what?" he prompted, grateful that she was talking again. She had faded out on him for a time.
Nikita considered her words carefully. "I'm sad that there wasn't enough time for us," she replied. Then she fell silent, waiting for his response.
"Time for us?" Michael repeated, uncertain of her meaning.
"For you and me to be honest with each other," Nikita explained. "I should have told you how I feel about you before now. I should have made you listen to me."
Michael closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the pain in that shimmered in Nikita's voice. Pain that he had caused. "I'm listening now," he told her, for he knew that she needed to speak her heart. That she needed for him to hear her.
Nikita felt her throat tighten as tears filled her eyes. She blinked then swallowed hard, forcing down a lump so that she could speak. This was the last chance she would have to tell Michael the truth. "I think I loved you from the start," Nikita said softly. "When I woke up in that white room and saw you sitting in the chair staring at me, dressed in black. You reminded me of Lucifer, and I remember thinking that no one told me that the devil was so beautiful." Nikita paused as she felt Michael's arms tighten about her and she sensed that he was going to interject. Nikita took one of his strong hands in her good one and raised his palm to her lips. She kissed the calloused skin then said, "Let me finish."
Michael nodded, knowing she could feel the motion. "Go on," he told her.
"Soon after I realized that you were aptly named. Michael...the archangel." Nikita laughed softly. "You are a guardian angel, you know. Once I had learned to see past the illusion, I saw the truth. I know that you have a heart, and that you know how to love. And that the things you said to me...your words....they weren't all a lie."
"Nikita..." Michael couldn't stop himself from responding, for he suddenly realized what she was telling him. That moment in MedLab, after their escape from Red Cell, when Nikita had been sleeping and Michael had kissed her and whispered...it wasn't all a lie..in answer to her accusation when she had learned that he had allowed himself to be captured so that she would reveal Sections knew location in order to set up Red Cell. "You heard me," he whispered now.
It was Nikita's turn to nod. "I heard you," she confirmed. She would have said more but a fit of coughing cut her off. She felt Michael holding her as she nearly retched.
Michael stroked her hair in a soothing gesture, knowing that it was difficult for Nikita to catch her breath. "Shhhhhhh..." he whispered, and he felt her body relax as the spasm faded.
"Tell me the truth now, Michael," Nikita beseeched, as she swallowed against the dryness in her throat. They had so little time left and she didn't want to die without knowing what he felt.
"I love you, Nikita," Michael whispered, knowing that was what she wanted to hear. And it was the simple truth. He had loved her from the first day she had arrived at Section. Had loved her innocence, even as he had admired her spirit. Michael had vowed to protect Nikita from the darkness of Section, refusing to allow it to suffocate her, and steal her soul. Would not allow his fate to befall upon her, yet difficult to do when he was forced to teach her to become what he was....a killer. "I love you as best as I remember how," Michael continued, his voice a hoarse whisper as he felt hot tears fill his eyes. He let them fall because it didn't matter now.
Nikita felt them in her hair and her own rolled down her face, making tracks in the dirt that stained her skin. "Why didn't you tell me?" she challenged, feeling her heart ache at the chance they had lost to be together. To have each other to hold on to, and to give each other strength.
Michael didn't answer for a time. He wanted to speak from his heart, but his heart had long since stopped beating with emotions. It was merely the vessel that kept his body alive. But he would give Nikita the truth. "You deserve someone who can love you freely, Nikita. Someone who can match the depth of your passion, and the innocence of your soul. I can't do that."
"Yes, you can," Nikita whispered. "You can, Michael. You haven't lost your soul, you just lost your faith in yourself. But you are capable of love. I know that, because I can feel it." And she could feel it, in every breath that he took. The breath that they seemed to share. The breath that was fading fast.
"Nikita..." Michael hissed her name as he felt her body slump in his arms, without warning. He pulled her closer and shook her, but she didn't respond. It was then that Michael realized his calculations had been wrong. They had almost no air left. It wouldn't be long now and the darkness he had desired for long would claim him. Death had come for him at last. Closing his eyes, Michael turned Nikita in his arms so that he could kiss her goodbye. And with his lips still on her, his world faded to black.
Nikita watched as Michael's eyes fluttered open. He had fallen asleep on her as he was prone to do, thanks to the sedatives the doctors were giving him. They knew Michael well. First chance he got, if capable, he would walk out of medlab. But he needed time to heal, to recover from his injuries. After Section had found them, and not a moment too soon, Michael had regained consciousness. On the ride back to Section he had refused treatment, sitting beside Nikita and holding her hair. Begging her not to leave him. Or so she had been told.
Once in Medlab, Michael had, again, refused treatment, pacing outside the double doors until the doctors had come to assure him that she would live. Only then, Madeline had informed NIkita, had Michael's body given out and he had collapsed. That was four days ago. He had suffered broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, internal bleeding and a concussion. To make matters worse he had developed a secondary infection and ran a high fever. But the fever was nearly gone now and he was on the road to recovery.
"Hi," Nikita whispered, as Michael opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Hello," he whispered back. "How long?"
Nikita grinned. "About three hours this time. But you need the sleep. It's okay," she told him, one hand reaching out to smooth a dark curl off his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
Michael nodded, and was relieved. "Nikita...about what I said to you..." he began, picking up where he remembered leaving off.
"Don't," Nikita begged, her eyes filling with tears. "Don't make excuses, Michael. Just be glad that we've got a second chance. I know it won't be easy, but I'm not giving up on you. Understand?"
"I'm glad," he replied, a smile curving his lips. Michael knew that he wouldn't be able to love Nikita openly, the way she would like. The way she deserved. But he knew that she did understand, and for that he was grateful. "I can't promise you that we'll have a future, Nikita."
She stood up and leaned over to silence him with a kiss. "I don't care about the future, Michael," Nikita whispered. "I'll settle for the present. Deal?"
Michael's reply was sealed with a kiss, and tears filled his eyes as he felt Nikita breath against his lips. "I love you," he whispered."Mon Nikita."
THE END
© 1997 sharay@prodigy.net
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