Aftermath
By Kimberly
Michael was tired when he returned to Section One. Walter was waiting in the hall as the group poured out of the van. They'd missed their target completely, he'd never been there.
"Operations wants to see you in his office," Walter said, his expression grim.
Michael knew immediately something was wrong. Something hung in the air in Section right now. Everything, everyone seemed subdued, like some major catastrophe had occurred. Nikita's office was dark as he strode by it, so she must have been out on a mission. He reached Operations office less than a minute later. Madeline and Jonathan were there, both of them had grim expressions on their faces. Operations looked almost . . . satisfied. Michael felt the cold fingers of fear grip his spine.
"We lost an entire team of 20 today," Operations told him, "Nikita and Darren were both on that team."
Michael felt the room tilt, his heart twist in agony. He'd come in this room with his mask on, he fought to keep it on now . . .
"The whole team . . .?" Michael asked after a moment, his voice almost a whisper. It was the only thing that betrayed what he was feeling inside - complete horror.
"Yes," Operations told him, "It seems someone got sloppy, managed to set off a charge inside the van."
Michael felt his stomach turn. This couldn't possibly be happening.
"An accident . . . or perhaps not an accident," Michael said carefully.
"Michael," Madeline said, "This really was an accident. We're not sure exactly how we're going to explain this to George. There were operatives on that team that he had been watching, Nikita was one of them."
Jonathan stood up, and reached out for Michael, "We know this is especially hard to hear Michael, especially considering that Nikita-"
Michael turned his emotionless gaze on him, "Do not touch me."
Jonathan stopped, "all right, I was just -"
"I have a report to prepare," Michael said, and turned, and left the room.
Michael went back to his office, punched in the keys to protect himself from surveillance, and sat back in his chair, unable to do . . . anything. He closed his eye's, and the image of the PDA he'd given her once, so long ago, flashed in his memory, Nikita, are you there . . . but there was no PDA this time. There was a knock on his door, and he looked up, prepared to send whomever it was away. But he looked up and saw Alexandra, looking tired, but calm. Too calm.
"Hey - you look like you just got back," Alexandra said, "I was just on my way to Med Lab to have this wound checked out again - and I thought I'd drop off some pictures for you - the ones I took at the Christmas Party."
She frowned a little. Michael was wearing his emotionless mask, "I . . . I'll just leave them I guess . . ."
She set the envelope down on the corner of his desk, and turned away to leave.
"Alex," Michael called out softly, "Have you spoken to anyone here, from Section today?"
Alexandra stopped, and turned back to look at him, "No . . . why . . .did I miss a call in? I've been home."
"Come in," Michael said, and thought briefly about calling Madeline or Jonathan. How do you tell someone that a loved one had died? Michael had done just that so many times, but in the past, he did it with a purpose in mind, to manipulate, to devastate. How do you weather this kind of a blow - somehow make it . . . less? So often, people had referred to Alexandra and Darren being Nikita's 'Children.' If Alex had become surrogate child to Nikita, then Michael would have been surrogate father. The role he played in her life often seemed to be just that. So how did he tell someone that he cared about, as if they were his own flesh and blood, that her two closest loved one's had died?
They were so alike in so many ways. He certainly didn't want Jonathan's comfort, or Madeline's, Alexandra wouldn't. Like Michael, the only person she'd turn too, was . . . he couldn't even think the word.
He decided being blunt would be best. He stood up, and walked over to where she stood, his arms dangling at his side. He wouldn't reach out to hug her, unless she reached for him. Few people could touch her, and Michael wasn't always one of those people.
"Nikita's team, Darren was on it, were all killed in an accident," Michael told her, plainly, "A charge went off in the van."
The redhead gasped, her mouth opened, but no words came out. She was at a loss. She took several long deep breaths to calm herself.
Finally she asked, "Was this really an accident - or did Operations just murder all of them?"
* * *
It was raining in Seattle when they arrived. George was waiting with two vans to transport them. He made a point of singling out Nikita, and sitting down next to her when everyone loaded themselves into the vans.
"You're dressed for a mission," he said, sounding a little surprised.
Nikita looked at him, her expression tired, resigned, "Until about 5 hours ago, we thought we were going on a mission. We were informed once we were in the air that we were officially killed on a mission and unofficially transferred."
George's expression told Nikita he hadn't known about that part, "That's all you were told?"
Nikita nodded, "Yes."
"This Section was closed years ago. Section 3 was once the Valentine Op unit. Now, it's going to be a more humanitarian Section. This is experimental. We want to see which one is more effective. The study will take place a minimum of 5 years, unless it becomes glaringly evident that it's not working. There will be no cancellations. If someone cannot perform, they'll be sent back to Section One."
"Operations will cancel them - Section One thinks we are all dead," Nikita told him.
George frowned, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it . . . I take it none of you had a chance to pack at all."
"No," Nikita told him, "We were told our things would be forwarded."
"I see," George digested this piece of information as well.
"Operations said we report directly to you," Nikita told him.
"You and Larry report directly to me, everyone else reports to you and Larry," George told her, "Section Three will run basically the same way as Section one has - with the exception that you can take a more humanitarian approach. No cancellations here - you transfer them back to Section One or the agency if they can't perform. Eventually if Section three is successful enough to warrant continuing it's existence, - it will be staffed the same way the Agency or the CIA is."
Nikita listened to all this, and wondered briefly why she wasn't elated . . . because she'd be doing this alone, because someone she loved, several people for that matter, were left behind, people that would feel her loss. Michael would be devastated. He'd believe Operations was behind their deaths. Alexandra would think the same thing. Who would be her mentor now? She'd been needy lately . . .
"How did you pick us?" Nikita asked him.
"Jonathan and Operations picked out 20 people he felt could do the same job, with the different approach," George told her.
The van came to a stop, and the back doors opened.
Section Three was a little smaller than the Section One compound. There were in-house quarters available to them. A Med Lab, gym facilities, a wardrobe department, a comm department, weaponry department - all of the comforts of Section One - just a slightly smaller scale. Nikita met Larry right away. He was warm and friendly it seemed, surprised at how they arrived, definitely irritated at the lies they'd been told. There was a woman there named Marie, who essentially did the same job as Madeline. Upon hearing that they were arriving with the clothing on their back, she sent someone off to pull a change of clothing for all of them from wardrobe.
"What assignments do we have waiting for us," Nikita asked, when a lull in the introductions and greeting conversations came.
Larry grinned, "Two actually. We don't have much on either one of them."
Nikita turned around and told her team to make themselves as comfortable as possible, but to stay in the facility for now.
A nervous woman hanging back behind Larry and Marie cleared her throat, "I uh . . . I hate to bother you - but I was told you had cell phones that would need to be reprogrammed . . ."
"Nikita, this is Sue, one of our tech experts," Larry said.
Nikita pulled out her cell phone, "Here. Everyone is already exploring their new home - so if you can't find them - I'll makes sure they get their phones to you in the next couple of hours."
"uh . . . thanks. . . ." Sue nodded nervously, and almost bolted out of the room.
Nikita looked over at Larry and Marie, "Where do the non Section people come from?"
"The agency, CIA . . . and a few outsiders that George managed to pick up," Larry told her, and they walked, and he stopped by a door, "You're office."
Nikita looked in. It was bigger than her previous office, and it overlooked the main communications floor. One whole wall was glass, and there were controls to darken it or have it clear. The walls were painted a light gray, the furniture simple and modern. Frighteningly like her office at Section One.
"This door here leads to the briefing room," he lead them through it, "That door is Marie's office, that door there is my office," He told her.
There was a pizza and a six pack of coke sitting on the briefing room table, a holo still up.
"We were looking at the two assignments that we got this morning," Marie told her, "Hope you like pizza with everything on it."
Nikita sat down in one of the chairs, and sighed, "Lets get started then . . ."
Darren knew the other operatives he'd been transferred with, or knew of them. He'd worked with some of them, some of them he'd just spoken to before. But none of them were people he'd call close friends. Someone was showing them what rooms would be theirs, and collecting cell phones to reprogram. They were being issued new ID's.
"You're new life, in a neat and tidy organizer," the young woman who handed him the organizer, and showed him which room was said to him, a smile on her face. Her name was Ming.
Darren sighed, and took the organizer, "What if I liked my old life?"
She was surprised at his statement
Darren sighed, and looked at her. She was Asian, thick silky black hair, beautifully shaped eye's. She was dressed in jeans and a cotton button up shirt, her hair pulled back in a thong.
I left behind the love of my life . . .
"This is Alex - by now, she's being told I was killed on a mission," Darren told her.
Ming looked at the two pictures. One of them was in color. Darren was sitting on a park bench, and a woman with dark red hair sat on the backrest, her legs on either side of him. She had her hands on his shoulders, both of them were smiling at the camera. The other one was in black and white. This time, the same woman sat on his lap, one arm in a sling. Darren held a glass of something up to her lips.
"And you can't tell her the truth, can you," Ming said softly.
"No . . . I can't. This picture here, was taken a few days ago - on the 23rd. She was hurt on a mission. She had to leap out of third story window," Darren told Ming, "I have some other pictures, of other friends - if my stuff ever gets here, I'll show them too you."
Ming nodded, "Yeah, I'd like that . . ."
She left him alone, sensing that he'd said more than he'd wanted to. His pain was palpable. It didn't take a genius to realize the woman in the picture was his lover, on an emotional level as well as the physical.
* * *
"Birkhoff," Michael said quietly, watching around him. His eye's traveled up to operations glass tower, wondering if he could feel the hate that emanated from Michael.
Birkhoff looked up at him, his eye's red, his voice betraying how miserable he felt, "Michael."
"The accident where Nikita and her team was killed," Michael began, "I want everything you have - off the record."
Birkhoff swallowed, "I don't have anything on it Michael. They suddenly just went off line. Operations sent out someone from a substation - they found the van. Housekeeping was called out immediately."
Michael kept his mask in place, "There was no communications?"
"Nothing," Birkhoff told him, " It happened minutes after they drove off the plane. They hadn't established the link yet."
Michael was quiet for a moment, "Do we know what kind of explosive it was."
Birkhoff shrugged, "I don't know, you could ask Walter - he was gonna follow up, but Operations stopped him. Said it was a waste of resources."
"I want a satellite thermal scan. Erase the record of the transmission when you're done," Michael told him.
Birkhoff watched Michael turn and walk towards Walter's station. Birkhoff knew what Michael was thinking, it wasn't an accident.
* * *
Alexandra sank down on her sofa, and closed her eye's. She'd spread out pictures of Darren and Nikita on her coffee table, unable to believe they were gone. She'd always known she'd have to face this one day. But it still hadn't prepared her for it. In a way, she'd always thought it would be her to go first. She'd spent so much time worrying about what her death would do to Darren, she never considered what losing him would do to her.
If she closed her eye's, she could see Nikita pouring over pictures with her, she could hear her talking other. She could feel Darren's lips on her own, feel his arms wrapped around her, hear him calling her querrida -loved one, telling her in Spanish what she felt like, how much he loved her. Her mind flickered back to the last time either one of them had faced down death. That night - at the chemical weapons factory . . . You go, I go . . . but I wasn't there this time . . .
She thought about how they all died. A charge accidentally going off in the van. She hoped that he didn't know that he was going to die. She hoped it was quick, painless. Maybe the concussion ended it before he knew something was wrong . . .
There was a knock on her door, and Alexandra felt like yelling at whomever it was to go away. But now was not the time to show emotions. Section would be watching. She got up, and walked over to the door, and looked out the peep hole. Jonathan stood there. Alexandra opened the door.
"Jonathan," Alexandra said quietly, "Come in."
She stepped back, and let him in, and closed the door behind him.
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked him.
"No, thank you," he said, smiling warmly at her, "I wanted to see how you were. I know that you were close to Darren and Nikita."
Alexandra nodded, "I miss them."
Jonathan watched her face, "You don't have to wear the mask around me Alex."
He moved to hug her, and Alexandra held up her hand, "Jonathan please - I'm not a touchy person, my shoulder is really sore - and you will always be part of Section One, and entity that doesn't allow for emotions."
Jonathan frowned, "Alex, emotions are my job, it's my job to help operatives with-"
"It's also you're job to learn how to exploit those emotions. You see, I have it on good authority that Operations knew I've been sleeping with Darren - even after he ordered us apart. Someone knew, and snitched on us. I don't know who it is, and I don't want to know. I made a mistake letting anyone get that close. It's a weakness to be exploited. I'm not making the mistake again."
"Alex - it doesn't have to be like that!" Jonathan reached for her, grasping her good arm.
Alexandra jerked back violently, dancing out his reach, "I said no!"
Jonathan's expression suddenly became angry.
"Maybe you should learn to like being touched!" Jonathan snapped at her, moving towards her aggressively, reaching up to loosen his tie, and unbuttoning a few buttons on his collar.
Alexandra turned, and bolted for her bedroom. Her gun was under the pillow. She yanked it out, turned, and leveled it on him. Jonathan stopped in his tracks.
"I get 100 accuracy scores with my right hand, and 99 with my left," she told him.
"Alex, Put the gun down, there is no need for this," Jonathan said.
"I . . .DON'T . . . LIKE . . . BEING . . . TOUCHED," Alexandra said slowly and loudly, cocking the gun so it make two loud clicks, "You are in my home, trying to touch me against my will. Keep in mind, I've killed people for less than that Jonathan - and just because you're Section One, doesn't mean I won't. I killed a Section operative less than year ago - because he didn't want to take no for an answer. I'm sure Madeline still has the footage."
Jonathan sighed, "You're overwrought - we'll discuss this tomorrow, when you've had time to calm down."
Alexandra walked to her bedroom door, and kept her gun trained on Jonathan until he was out the door. She locked it behind him, and took a deep breath, sagging behind the door. Her gaze traveled over to the phone, and she wondered who she could call.
The person you would have called is dead . . .
Alexandra felt her heart twist in her chest. She'd call Michael. He would know what to do.
* * *
"I'll handle it," Michael hung up the phone. Walter had pulled up an inventory list, and they were looking at the charges out of the same lot. They were all in perfect condition.
"What happened," Walter asked.
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, "Alexandra just drew down on Jonathan. She warned him away from touching her a few times, he got aggressive. He just left her apartment."
"Shit," Walter snapped, "Fuel on the fire. She's OK?"
"Yes," Michael answered, and looked down at the sample charges, trying to figure out how this could have happened.
"They don't just go off, unless they're set off," Walter told him "and there was a lot of charges on that van - more than usual."
"I'll need the frequency they were programmed for," Michael told him.
"Sure thing," Walter said, pulling up data. The older man continued to type, "You'll have to get Birkhoff to cover this up."
Michael nodded.
"You don't think this was an accident," Walter commented.
Michael only nodded, and took the number that Walter wrote down for him, "Thank you."
Michael was back to standing over Birkhoff when he saw Jonathan walk across the main floor. The other man saw Michael, and turned to walk in his direction.
"Birkhoff, change screens," Michael said calmly, but firmly.
Birkhoff quickly clicked on something, and brought up another screen, a mission profile that was in Michael's basket.
"Michael," Jonathan said, "I have concerns about someone who is your material now."
Michael looked over that Jonathan, "She phoned me."
"I see," Jonathan said, "Exactly how unstable is she?!"
Birkhoff looked up, surprised.
"She's fine," Michael replied calmly, "We'll talk about this tomorrow."
"I'm sending security to pick her up now," Jonathan snapped, "She's not stable."
Michael turned around, "Stop."
Jonathan stopped, and looked at him, expectantly.
"Birkhoff, pull up video surveillance on Alexandra's apartment, security code Michael Omega three."
Birkhoff typed for a few moment, and then the screen filled with video footage of Alexandra sifting through photos. Birkhoff sped it up, until she got up to do to her door. All three of them watched what played out, heard the words that were said.
Jonathan pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath, "This looks bad on video - but my intentions were not-"
"She's on medical leave - she doesn't have the use of her arm, she's nursing broken ribs. She doesn't like to be touched - you became aggressive after she asked you repeatedly to back off. Someone who's been abused in the past." Michael told him, "I see one of my operatives defending herself."
"She drew down on me," Jonathan told him.
"She could have killed you if she wanted to, she wanted you to leave her alone," Michael said, and took a step closer, and reaching out for Jonathan, "You tell her maybe she should learn to like being touched, advancing on her while loosening your tie, and unbuttoning your tie."
Michael let all his hate and resentment well up, and suddenly grabbed Jonathan's wrist, "Does this feel intimidating to you?"
Jonathan sucked in a breath of air quickly, staggering back at the onslaught of pent up emotions.
Michael let go of him, and turned his back on him.
Michael watched Jonathan stalk away. Michael picked up the phone, and called security, and asked for a guard who owed him many favors. Birkhoff listened while Michael asked the man to notify him if anyone called in a pick up for Alexandra.
"The thermal scan Birkhoff," Michael said.
Birkhoff looked up at Michael, "I found the explosion. I . . . you may not want to see this."
Michael felt an ache deep inside his chest, his stomach turn. What did you expect to hear? That it was all a hoax, that she was waiting for you, waiting to be rescued someplace, like every other time . . .
"Run it," Michael said calmly.
Birkhoff took a deep breath, "OK."
Birkhoff played back the recording. There was a bright blur that grew and held it's shape for a few minutes. Birkhoff turned the film off, "That was a lot of explosives. The secondary burning off to the side was probably the gas tank."
"Get me films of the surrounding area. I want to know if someone else set it off remotely," Michael told him, "And check for this frequency being used in the area. You'll need to erase a record pull on this for Walter."
Birkhoff sighed, "Sure Michael."
Michael turned, and walked away towards his office.
* * *
Nikita spent hours going through the two mission's they'd been given. There were more on the way too. Larry was used to doing things very differently at the agency. He knew Nikita would have a different approach, but it took hours to come to a consensus on the best way to approach the two missions. Then they had to assemble the teams. Mixing people from Section One and the Agency proved to be more of a challenge. A hard day for the agency staff was a normal day for Section One personnel. But after hours of planning and deliberating, a briefing was scheduled for early tomorrow morning. Nikita managed to get back to 'her' quarters with a few hours to spare for sleep, though she knew sleep would evade her. After two hours, she gave up, got dressed and showered, and headed down to the cafeteria.
That was where she found Darren, making himself breakfast.
"Hey," Nikita said.
"Omelet?" Darren asked.
"Sure," Nikita told him, leaning back on the counter to watch him.
He'd chopped up some onion, green peppers, and tomatoes, already. He added two more eggs to the bowl of eggs, mixed them, and poured them into the pan, and setting the heat on low. He careful sprinkled the chopped veggies in, and then the cheese. he folded the omelet over, and kept turning it every 20 seconds or so, until he was sure it was done. The huge omelet was tossed out onto a plate, and he used a fork to split it in two, and shifted half of it onto another plate for Nikita.
He put the pan in the sink, and poured her a cup of coffee.
"Alex loved omelets," Darren told her, digging into his.
Nikita forked a piece, and shoved it into her mouth, "Michael used to make me breakfast - he made omelets."
They ate in silence for a few moments, and then when Darren was done wolfing down his portion, he scrubbed out the pan, and hung it up to dry.
"What did we do wrong Nikita?" Darren asked her, "Was it because we dared to give a shit about other people?"
Nikita took a deep breath, "Yeah, I think it was. I was told something different - but that's what I think."
Darren shook his head, "What were you told?"
"This is an experiment - you heard George in the van, Five years - they'll compare success rates. He still has no answer to cancellations, sending anyone back to Section One . . . George is a politician first, not a tactician. Jonathan and Operations selected the people who would go. I think Operations selected a few of us to get us out of his hair- and to separate some of us."
"I think Jonathan wanted some of us out of the way," Darren snapped.
Nikita looked up at him, "You think he's after Alex?"
Darren sighed, "Tell me you haven't seen the way he watches her. He always finds a way to touch her! And she's getting sick of it, and she doesn't want to make to many waves because of the position he holds."
Nikita closed her eye's. She's seen it, daily almost. Whenever Alex was in Section in fact. She and Michael had discussed it often enough. Michael . . . he thought she was dead. She knew what that did to him last time. She worried he wouldn't survive this time. Would it be worse for him, because they'd become to close - or would it be easier, having shared some time . . .?
"I don't know what's going to happen to her Nikita," Darren said softly, "She was always the stronger one - but I . . . we got so involved, and after Anna, and how I reacted, I know she was really hurt . . . I couldn't take what she has - I'm having a hard time with this . . . What if this pushes her to her breaking point?"
"Michael will cover for her, until she's OK," Nikita told him, "He did it with me for . . . years really."
Darren looked up, "So who cover's for Michael right now? You know he's gonna check out our deaths - it's a little suspicious to lose a whole team this way - especially since we were thrown together at the last minute, and told we'd brief on the plane."
Nikita closed her eye's "I don't know."
There as a light mist in the air, when the left Section Three. Nikita couldn't help but see herself and Michael on some of the street corners. She passed by the restaurant they'd bought food at, their first day here. Their target was supposed to meet his contact by the copper pig in front of the entrance to the Pike Place Market. From there, they'd follow him, and take them both, when the first opportunity arose.
Nikita had her coat wrapped tightly around her to ward off the damp cold. She picked out the people on this team easily enough, because she knew what they looked like. But they blended in though. Nikita was in street person attire. Darren didn't look much better. He and a woman from the agency were sitting on a bus station bench, having a conversation. Two other section operatives were in Nikita's view, with agency Ops paired with them. Larry called that over kill. Nikita didn't think so. She knew the agency ops weren't trained as much as the Section Ops.
Their target appeared, spoke with his contact, and they started walking. Nikita heard Darren's voice say he was on them, and he and the agency op started down the street after them, keeping some distance, the two of them still carrying on an animated conversation. Nikita started after them as well. She heard other pairs of operatives call out when they passed them, when they turned corners. They were going towards the water front. Nikita knew the van was tracking them, hovering close by.
"When he turns into the parking area in front of the warehouses, we take them - teams 7 and 8, start moving in," Nikita ordered.
Nikita saw the van pull into the parking lot, waiting, the driver getting out and acting like he was rummaging around with something next to his seat.
"Go, Now, everyone!" Nikita ordered.
Darren ran forward, tackling the target, the van driver jumping back, four people jumping out of the van, and grabbing the man Darren tackled and the other man. Everyone jumped into the van, and the van took off. Nikita continued to walk, "Larry, they've got him and they're on the way back to base."
"We're waiting," the voice said in her ear.
Nikita hopped on a buss, and road it until she was three blocks from Section Three. She got off, went up two blocks then over the three, and came back down. Everyone else that wasn't in the van was just getting back in.
Nikita peeled of the ragged coat, "How are our guests feeling, talkative?"
Larry laughed, "Not yet."
Nikita sighed, "One could hope. There was a time I'd have been singing in the van - but that was years ago. Is Marie with them now?"
"The target," Larry told her, "How'd the agency people do?"
"Fine," Nikita said, "Good luck in Portland."
Larry had taken the mission that would take him to Portland.
"I think your stuff arrived," Larry told her, "and I'm supposed to give you this key."
Nikita looked at the key, with an address on a label, "What's this, my apartment."
"Yeah," Larry told her, "Did you live on the outside at Section?"
"Yes," Nikita said laughing, "I . . . I guess I'm still in shock. The day before yesterday I was wondering where I was going to hang a Christmas present up - a decorative mirror."
* * *
Alexandra found herself at the church that day. She'd walked in, planning on lighting a candle for Nikita and Darren, and the other operatives who'd been lost. She knelt down, and reached for a match, and lit two candles. Please God, watch over my friends who didn't make it back . . . .
She felt her breath catch in her throat, felt the tears welling up in her eye's.
She heard a sound behind her, and turned to look. The priest smiled down at her, his expression turning to concern when he saw her tears
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said softly, "It's just that I see you here, and we've never actually met . . . what has happened? You've lit two candles today."
Alexandra looked down at the match in her hand, "I don't know if I really belong here."
She stood up to go.
"Wait," he said, reaching out with his hand.
Alexandra dodged back out of his reach.
"I don't want to chase you away - I simply meant to offer an ear, or a shoulder," he said gently.
Alexandra said softly, "I . . . I don't like touched."
The priest smiled, and withdrew his hand, and looked pointedly at her shoulder, and sat down on the bench.
Alexandra sat down next to him a good arms length away, and took several deep breaths. She wanted so much to tell this priest everything, but she couldn't. Even if he was bound by the church to not reveal anything, she knew that the knowledge would put him at risk. Besides, she'd learned the hard way about trusting anyone at this point . . .
"My shoulder, I was being stupid, I fell out of a tree," she said after a moment, "I bet that sounds childish."
The priest smiled at her, "Everyone should have a little bit of a child in them. But the tree probably isn't the reason you're lighting two candles, instead of one."
Alexandra shook her head, and looked away for a moment, "I lost my two best friends . . ."
* * *
Two weeks later . . .
Alexandra had just gotten back from her physical therapist appointment, had taken a shower and sat down on her sofa to re-organize her negatives. Before, she'd listed them by date. Last week, she'd frantically poured through them, looking for a certain picture. She'd found it, but when she did, it looked different than it had in her dream.
She'd taken the photo's of Darren and Nikita and carefully stacked them up, selecting a few for her wall. The rest would be filed away. She never knew when Jonathan or someone else was going to pay her a visit. Last week, Michael had shown up out of the blue. He stayed for a cup of coffee, asked her how her shoulder was doing, he looked through her photo's, and left with a few after she urged him to take them. She had the negatives after all. It was easy to reproduce them.
So today, when she heard a knock on her door, in the back of her mind, she thought Max or Regi coming to check on her. But when she looked through the peep hole, she saw Madeline.
Alexandra grimaced, then forced a calm expression on her face, and opened the door.
Madeline always called people to her office. It was rare that she went to them. It was an established rule. People came to her, not the other way around. But occasionally, she made exceptions. Usually it was when someone was in Med Lab, and couldn't leave. This time, she came to Alexandra's apartment, because she wanted to get a look at what kind of world the young woman lived in, when she wasn't in Section One. If she had called Alexandra to her office, she'd be speaking with someone who had prepared herself. Madeline needed to assess the damage done to Alexandra's psychological makeup
Alexandra opened the door, "Madeline."
Alexandra stepped back, and gestured for Madeline to come in, "Coffee?"
"Thank you," Madeline said gently, looking around at the photograph covered walls.
Alexandra handed her the coffee cup, "I'm fine, since that must be why you are here."
Madeline nodded, "May I take a closer look?"
"Sure," Alexandra said, wondering what part of her soul Madeline would find.
Alexandra stood with her back to the breakfast bar, and watched Madeline slowly work her way along the walls.
"This is quite a collection," Madeline said after a few minutes, "Some of them are very lighthearted
Alexandra nodded, "Depends on my mood at the moment
Madeline fingered one of the photographs, "You're developing them by hand."
"Yeah
"What about color?" Madeline asked her.
Alexandra sighed, "Black and White is more . . . dramatic."
Madeline smiled, "You're talented Alexandra. Very talented."
She turned to look at the redhead, "I want you to learn to do this with a computer. I'm under the impression that you can't tell the difference between a good computer developed picture, and an exposed film."
Alexandra sighed, "So I'm told."
"It would be shame to let such a talented eye go to waste," Madeline told her, "I'll arrange for the proper equipment to be delivered to you here. There are times when it would be really useful to have the services of a good photographer."
Gee, that's enough to make me never want to pick up a camera again . . .
"It takes a while to learn to use the programs involved, and they're not cheap," Alexandra told her.
"I know," Madeline told her, "I'm sure that by now, you're growing bored."
Alexandra nodded, accepting the fact that she really couldn't refuse, and walked over, and pulled a photograph off the wall, "I believe you were really looking at this one."
It was taken at the Christmas party at Nikita's. Madeline and Nikita were laughing over something.
Alexandra slipped it into an envelope, "I've kinda developed this theory lately. Life is short for everyone, but really short for us. Capture all the memories you can."
She handed Madeline the envelope.
Madeline left, and Alexandra vowed that she'd learn how to alter photographs and put Madeline's head on a snake.
* * *
March. . .
Darren had fought to keep his mouth shut the entire way back to Section three. Everything had gone wrong. The fact that the agency operative had gotten them lost right away should have been the first warning that things were going to go wrong. When they met their target, Lloyd, another previous Agency operative flubbed his cover twice. The target tried to run. Darren shot him, without hesitation.
When they returned, both of the agency operatives quickly established that Darren had shot the target, without discussing it with either one of them. Nikita was out on another mission, so now Larry was demanding and explanation.
Darren listened to Larry scream and yell for an hour before he was dismissed. He left Section three the first chance he could, after leaving a voice mail for Nikita. Three months ago, after he'd just gone through a day like this, he'd find Alexandra, and the tension would just melt away. But Three months ago, he wouldn't have been reamed for doing 'whatever it takes'.
He'd left on foot, and found himself in front of the fountain at West Lake Center. It was a huge shopping mall, one that he'd heard Alexandra talk about in the past. The fountain created a tunnel that you could walk through. Darren took a seat on the bench, and watched the people around him. Bums were panhandling. Street kids stood in groups, smoking cigarettes, watching people. People in business suits hurried back and forth, their shopping bags full of treasures from a lunch break shopping trip. Alexandra had once told him that she could spend hours here, just watching. It was where she spent most of her waking hours, after Lora had taken her own life. She'd throw a penny into the fountain every day, and wish that her friend had found peace.
Today, Darren threw a penny into the fountain, and made a similar wish. He hoped that Alexandra was doing OK.
* * *
Late March . . .
Michael was so livid angry with her, he could hardly keep his mouth from expelling a litany of curses. Alexandra broke formation, running off to rescue four operatives alone. Four operatives, who had been pulled from the abeyance pool, were being dragged off by the terrorist group that had been their target that day.
"Alex, stop," Michael ordered.
"Michael, she's turned off her transmitter," Birkhoff warned him.
Michael started after her. He caught up to her, just as she was siting up the driver of the van. Michael knew he'd never get to her in time. He drew his gun, aimed and fired.
Alexandra's gun was ripped out of her hands, the force of the hit knocking her off her precarious perch. She hit the ground, reaching for the smaller gun she kept hidden in the ankle holster.
"Don't!" Michael yelled, pointing the gun at her.
"What the hell are you doing!" she yelled at him, lowering her gun.
"They're abeyance operatives," Michael said sternly, "Acceptable collateral."
Alexandra's head snapped back, and she jumped to her feet, "Meaning, we just let them get killed, and hope to god that they don't spill their guts again?"
Calmly, Michael said, "They're rigged with explosives. They'll detonate as soon as they enter the compound."
Alexandra gaped at him, "What? We . . . we rigged our own people?"
Michael didn't answer her.
"Is that how they murdered Nikita? And Darren?" Alexandra demanded.
Michael heard her walking up behind him. Suddenly, his knee buckled, and he fell forward. She'd kicked out the back of his knee, and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back.
"Answer me Damnit! Is that what happened to Darren and Nikita?!" Alexandra demanded.
He grabbed her wrist, pushed his thumb into a pressure point, breaking her grip. He was on his feet in an instant, and slammed her into the side of the brick building.
"No, that isn't what happened to Nikita and Darren, and if you ever attack a section operative again, do not make the same mistake you did. Do not attack in anger!" Michael hissed.
He pulled her off the wall, but kept a firm grip on her wrist, pulling her with him.
"let go of me!" she snapped at him.
"When you stop acting like a child, I'll stop treating you like a child," Michael told her, his voice deadly quiet.
They reached the van, and he shoved her in, "Go." He ordered.
* * *
Michael was about to leave, since the debrief was over. But Madeline stopped him for a moment. She opened a file on her desk, and turned it around, laying out some pictures. They were pictures of a woman Michael knew well, very well.
She had strawberry blond hair, tanned, her body type suggested she took care of herself. Her eye's were friendly and sensuous, and her smile bespoke a sense of humor that was quick, and perhaps a bit sarcastic at times. Michael could remember just how sarcastic she could be. The picture was taken in Seattle. There were other pictures as well taken in various cities. She looked tired, worried.
"She killed five red cell operatives," Madeline told him, "Quite a fete - especially for a woman you cancelled a few years ago."
Michael didn't reply. There was no defense for what he did - or didn't do.
"Has she been caught?" Michael asked her.
"No," Madeline told him, "We've tracked her into Chicago. She's on the run. In the past, I'd order someone else to cancel her this time. But we're in need of operatives - and she did kill five red cell agents. She's avoided being picked up by the civilian police so far."
"You want me to bring her in," Michael said quietly, focusing his emotionless gaze on Madeline.
"Yes," Madeline told him.
Michael took the disk she handed him, and Michael stood up to leave, his heart aching. He knew he'd have to kill her. He didn't want to condem her to this life . . .
"Michael," Madeline said, stopping him as he reached the door.
Michael stopped, and looked back.
"If she escapes, or is killed on accident, I'll send someone else to confirm it - if it turns our she's really dead, the reprecussions for Alex and a few other cold ops here would be severe," Madeline told him.
Continue on to Fallout