LFN: Watching From the Wall (1/3)
Title: Watching From the Wall (1/3)
Series: One Line (5/26)
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Character(s): Michael Samuelle, OC, Madeline, Jurgen
fanfic100 Prompt: 38-touch
Length: 3,411
Rating: PG-13, edging into R
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: Michael has mandatory downtime, but he doesn’t want to take it.
Notes: This story is pre-S1. Written for fanfic100. My prompt table is here, and the timeline for the series is here.
Watching From the Wall
Part five in the One Line series.
by vashti
She tilted her head first one way. Then the other. Left. Then Right.
There was amusement in Madeline’s voice when the older woman, standing beside her, asked, “Is he to your liking, then?”
She stopped her examination, half turning. “I have a choice?”
Madeline knew that she herself had been speaking rhetorically. But… “This time.”
This time. An entire existence, pastpresentfuture, summed up in two pregnant words. This time.
“Knowing nothing about him other than he looks just as awful all bruised up as any other body, I suppose he does.”
“Good.” Madeline had thought he would. “In that case, I see no reason why we should linger. We have some time before your voice lessons. If we can get the last of the fittings done with now then you can have the afternoon to yourself.”
§§§
“Michael.”
He stiffened. The operative he was talking to wordlessly slipped away. Michael turned. “Jurgen.”
“Walk with me a minute?”
Michael wondered why Jurgen bothered making it a question. But that, he had quickly learned, was the nature of Section. Once upon a time, under different tutelage, he would have voiced his opinion. And once upon a time he would have gotten an answer, though it wasn’t always a satisfactory one. He had gotten the impression that Elsa only tolerated his questioning, would have preferred that he kept them to himself, but found them amusing all the same. Jurgen did not.
The two men turned away from the comm. floor, following one of the corridors that wound around it. Michael recognized the route they were following as they passed the training rooms. It wasn’t how he would have gotten to Jurgen’s office and wondered why his mentor had taken them this way. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Michael.”
Not a question this time. Michael took a stab at silence. It was Jurgen’s favorite tactic against Madeline and Operations, particularly Madeline. Simone had suggested it after watching another one-sided shouting match between him and Jurgen. “Notice anything about all these fights you two get into? Other than the crowd you attract?”
“That he always knows just where to push me?”
“Yeah. Do you know how he knows just how to push you?”
“He…reads my profile. He’s been doing this for years. He…he has experience.”
“All true. But you also hand yourself over to him on a silver platter! You’re busy shouting your hot French head off, all social protest, and all you’re doing is exposing yourself. He prods and you react. He prods and you react. You don’t think you’re not hitting any points with him?”
“How can I? He never-”
“Reacts? Exactly.”
Walter had come out then, wanting to know who was making the ruckus outside his space. “Oh…it’s you two. Look, Simone, sugar, if you’re gonna get him goin’ again at least switch to a language I don’t know so I can tune ya out.”
Michael had since been working on maintaining his composure to mixed success. Even when they weren’t at odds, he never had and doubted he ever would like his mentor. Of course, as the man himself had pointed out that first day, circling Michael in White Room, they didn’t have to get along. They just had to work together.
Jurgen took Michael’s current silence in stride, though he caught Jurgen glancing in his direction. “Operations and Madeline have been pleased with your continued performance.”
They passed through one of the open doorways into the hall where Jurgen’s office was located. His was the last door, the furthest out. They stopped outside. “Madeline suggested that you have some down time.” He handed Michael a file. “It’s yours to take as you will. Let me know if you have any questions.”
The dismissal was plain in his voice. That and, when he looked up from the file in his hands, Michael was suddenly staring at a closed door.
Truthfully they - the ubiquitous They - had been running Michael into the ground. He was sure it was a test of some sort, some more longsighted version of the ordeal he had had to go through before officially passing his training. But if it was such, he didn’t know how much longer he could go before the stress of constant missions with little, if any, down time got to him. If he were his teammates he wouldn’t want to go out with someone in his state. Unfortunately Level One and Field Ops had little say in who comprised their teams - or whether they themselves were fit to be on a team at all. It wasn’t the kind of admission you wanted to make, even to yourself.
§§§
He’d taken a more direct route back to his quarters and regretted it. Michael no longer knew what he had thought the file would say. He had been expecting a dossier of some kind, yes. He had been surprised to be handed a paper file, and now he understood why. Or he thought he did. Elsa had used paper files, despite the heavy lean to make the entire system el-
Michael stood up and paced his tiny room. Why was he avoiding this? If he had been handed the profile of a professional prostitute five years ago and been told “It’s yours to take as you will” he would have spent an hour telling every one he knew, male and female alike just to see, to hear, the reaction. Even if he never followed through with it - and he couldn’t say anymore whether he would or wouldn’t have - the discussion it would have inspired would have been worth it. Something for his friends to use against him when he brought around his girlfriend. His wife.
He stopped pacing and stared at nothing. He turned to the dossier, the manila a splash of color on the white bed.
Five years ago he wouldn’t have believed it was real.
§§§
“Waiting is difficult, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“It may not happen, you know.”
“I…hadn’t considered that.”
“It’s not likely but it is possible. A possibility that is built into the spec of your mission.”
“…so there’s a backup plan.”
“Always.”
“Do we need one now?”
“Give it a little time. Patience is key. If you learn nothing else from this, take that away with you. You will need it later.”
§§§
Michael winced as the doctor pulled the bandage around ribs tight. “That’s it, I’m putting you in for mandatory R&R. You’re not fit to go out unless you’ve done something to get you on the abeyance list.” He looked at Michael expectantly.
“Not as far as I know,” he felt compelled to admit.
“Then downtime. Starting as soon as you get-”
“I already have down time.”
The doctor, a middle-aged man who, with his unlined face, seemed to have gone prematurely gray stared at him. “Say that again, son.”
“I…already have down time?”
“Then what in the- What’re you doing going out on missions?” he demanded, his voice gone hard and cold and incensed.
“I was told I could take it as I will,” Michael said as calmly as possible, not used to even leashed emotion from superiors.
“When was your last mental evaluation?” he asked Michael, already reaching for the active tablet on the rolling cart by the medical bed. “You performed exceedingly well. Have you recently been knocked in the head? Concussed?” he asked, still reading the tablet.
“No.”
“No,” the doctor repeated. He looked up. “Then what in God’s name is wrong with you? Someone gives you down time, tells you to take it whenever, and you go on another half dozen missions? You’re taking that down time, the minute you get out of here, then you’re up for another mental eval. Now get out.”
Michael slipped off the medical bed. He reached for his shirt and stifled a grunt of pain. He could hear the doctor, who had taken his tablet and rolling cart down the aisle to another bed, muttering to himself about not caring how superb Michael’s results were, clearly something was wrong.
§§§
As luck would have it he ran into her in the hall, coming out of a room in the living quarters. She closed a door and turned in his direction.
The picture didn’t do her justice. Rather like the universally wretched passport photo, she had appeared washed out and sallow in her standard profile picture, her hair a corkscrew cloud around her head. She was a much healthier shade of olive-tan in person and her hair was straight as a pin. It still looked soft.
“Hello.”
Michael shook himself at the sound of her accented voice. Most people in Section, it seemed, were American, Canadian or Latin American with a handful of other, mostly European, nations thrown in. The English were almost conspicuously absent.
“You’re Cerise?”
She smiled at him. “And you’re Michael. I was starting to think you would never come.”
“I’ve been busy,” he felt compelled to explain.
She raised a shoulder. “That’s all right. I’m on your schedule, not the other way around. So…you’ve come looking for me then?”
Not precisely. “Yes. Were you leaving your room?” he asked suddenly.
“No-”
“Someone else’s?”
She smiled at him again. “I’m not working down here, if that’s what you are trying to get at. You are my sole assignment. I must say, it’s been a nice three week vacation.”
Heat burned at the edges of Michael’s face, tempered only by her obvious good humor.
“Do you know where the Tower is?”
Michael blinked at her.
“I’ll take that as a no. The Tower is where we will be…I believe for the better part of the week if I remember right. Not that you’re obligated of course.”
He started. “I have a choice.”
“Curious feeling, isn’t it. But, yes, in this matter you do. One of us will have to file something official, otherwise I can’t be released from your profile and there’ll be an inquiry. I can file it, so you needn’t worry about that.”
He blinked again, wondering if he should thank her. Wondering if she could file that something official now - until he remembered he was now under doctor’s orders to take the down time that already been given to him, and immediately.
“Take this will you?” she said handing him a stack of tablets, only one active, that he hadn’t noticed she was holding. Curious, he skimmed the contents of the active tablet. It was a schedule including French and German lessons, vocal classes and a list of songs he hadn’t heard of since before his parents had died.
Walking with a long, easy stride she quickly outpaced him and his bruises so that she was at least four steps ahead. Michael found that he could balance the tablets and admire the view with little difficulty so long as he didn’t have to maneuver around another operative. She led him beyond the active areas to one that clearly saw very little traffic. “I apologize, there isn’t a lift up to the Tower. It’s stairs only. If you go straight up and say your name and let your thumbprint be read you’ll be let right in. I’ll be there in a moment. I have to turn these in,” she said taking the tablets back from him. Then she handed him the active one. “Actually if you could put this on the kitchen table it would be greatly appreciated.”
“Of course.”
When she reached up to lightly brush her lips against his cheek, Michael surprised himself by leaning down and returning the gesture. It seemed like the most natural thing.
With her gone, Michael considered going back the way they’d come and getting straight in his bed. But he was now twice under orders and Cerise had mentioned that there was paperwork that would have to be filed… Michael shook his head. Only in Section could he find himself in such a situation, or so he hoped.
He began climbing.
§§§
She surprised him with a hand in his hair, curling briefly around his nape. Engrossed in perusing her active tablet, he hadn’t heard her enter. The burn at the edges of his face was back as she gently plucked it from his hands. “I can only imagine you didn’t have such a crazed schedule when you were training.”
“No,” he said, turning on the little ottoman to watch her as she moved around the space that served as both kitchen, dining and living rooms, his features shuttered.
“You mean no dress fittings for you, Michael? Lucky boy.” She smiled softly and closed-lipped at him as she pulled one of the spindly black chairs from the table and brought it to where he was. “You should have been facing the door, you know.”
He did know, but it wasn’t what he had expected to be brought up short on.
“So…Michael…you don’t want to be here.”
Nor that.
“Don’t look so not-surprised. A man is told he has access to…” She looked off over his left shoulder. “…a courtesan, for lack of a less derogatory term, for any seven days of his choosing and he doesn’t even bother to make introductions or try her…services…for three weeks? If we knew each other I’d say you didn’t like me. Do you find what I do distasteful?”
Yes. But since Simone’s just-shut-up-and-wait-it-out advice seemed to be working here just as well as it did with Jurgen, he decided to stay with that.
“I see. Well…you can’t get out of tonight. Or this morning as the case may be. I read your updated status. Forty-eight hours mandatory downtime. Did you know that?”
He hadn’t. “No.”
“And according to standing orders, part of them must be spent with me. But, luckily for us, no one specified how they need be spent. So…you look rather tired. There is a very large, very comfortable bed which would be happy to have you as its sole occupant if you so choose. Or I could send for something to eat, or we could talk. Or,” and wide smile blossomed on her face that made him think of someone else entirely for a brief, disorienting moment, “we could sit here and stare at each other.” She planted her elbows on her knees and her chin on her upturned fists. “What do you say?”
He stared at her. She stared back.
She reached across and brushed hair away from his forehead. “Stare?”
“Sleep.”
§§§
“That’s not exactly how I would have done it. You’ve potentially lost yourself a day.”
“I know but he’d already waited three weeks. Clearly he either doesn’t trust me or doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
Madeline smiled. “In other circumstances I’m sure he’d be very interested in having everything to do with you.”
“How am I supposed to take that?”
“However you choose. Now, you have less than six days to achieve your objective.”
“What if he decides to defer?”
“It was your decision to present that option to him-”
“In an effort to gain his trust.”
“Be that as it may, you presented the option to him and so now it is up to you to see that he either doesn’t take it or that you complete your objective before he does. You still have six days.”
She nodded, the cloud of hair swaying as if in a breeze. “Yes, Madeline.”
“You should go back before he wakes up.”
§§§
Michael woke in stages when he was used to waking all at once. It was his injuries. Taking too deep a breath still hurt and probably would for a little while if past experience served. The warmth at his back helped, even if it was unwanted.
“You said just sleep.”
“And I meant just sleep,” she assured him, leaning up behind him so that her chin was on his shoulder. A hand gingerly assessed the bandages under the shirt she had helped him into. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Yes.”
“And-”
Michael grabbed her hand and forced her back, hissing under his breath. “It still hurts. All of it.”
“All right then. If you would like to go back to your rooms, that’s fine, but have some breakfast before you go. Or lunch, rather.”
Michael sat up and quickly regretted it.
“Let me help you,” she said, slipping off the rather large bed. She came around to his side. “It’s what I’m here for.”
“I thought you were here for other things.” The words slipped out of his mouth. He cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to say anything.
Kneeling down to eye-level, she smiled at him again, in a way that reminded him of someone else completely. “I am here for your pleasure, Michael. Whatever that is. Ostensibly that pleasure would be sex but you aren’t so inclined. At the moment I think you just want to get out of this bed, and probably these rooms, as quickly and in as little pain as possible. And have something to eat.”
“How do you know I’m hungry?”
“I felt your stomach grumble. Come. Up with you.”
An hour later he was watching her put away the dishes. He’d offered to help clean up after their meal, but she’d ignored him like he wasn’t there. So Michael hovered over his coffee and watched her lift and stretch and bend…but not talk. They’d talked over the meal, but she was silent from the moment she stood up and took their empty plates.
Michael started at the hand in the hair at his nape. “How do you do that?” he asked abruptly.
Scratching lightly at the back of neck, he felt her shrug. Her thumb moved into the hollow of his skull. “I don’t do anything. You do.”
“Explain.”
“You are a charming fellow, Michael, or so I’ve read. Very subtle. But you don’t…take to it as well. Subtlety. It… I don’t know what it does to you. Maybe nothing. Maybe you’re just thrown by me, and what I am and what I do.” She shrugged again, withdrawing her hand from his hair. “Haven’t you had Valentine training?”
“Yes.”
“Then this kind of the thing shouldn’t effect you. A pretty whore is a silly liability for a good Cold Op.”
He caught her hand and pressed it his lips.
“No. None of that from you. I’m working, you’re relaxing. And you wanted to go to your room,” she said, tugging at her hand. “I mean it, Michael. There’s no point to prove with me. Let me go, hmm?”
He stood as her hand slipped from his. “What if seducing you is what I want to do?”
“But it’s clear that it’s not.” Only an inch or two shorter than Michael, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’re stiff and awkward. Your stance is too wide and your focus is intense but…not on me.” She searched his eyes and brought up a hand to touch his face. But stopped. Her hand dropped. “You’re angry.”
She took a step back. “You’re going to have to learn how to hide that.” She took another step backward. Then another. And another. Then she turned and disappeared behind the bedroom door.
§§§
“Walter.”
“Michael! What can I do ya for, Kid?” Walter cleared a space to lean over the high metal table between them. “Heard ya got some mandatory downtime. Didn’t I tell you you’ve been pushin’ yourself too hard? Here, siddown.”
“Walter am I…”
“Are ya what?”
“Nothing.” Michael stood to leave.
With a speed that belied the gray in his hair, Walter reached across the table and pulled Michael back into his seat. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Kid. I’ll listen.”
“I don’t know.”
“That last fight with Jurgen gettin’ ya down? You were doing pretty good there at keepin’ your cool. Guess he just got the right combination of buttons, huh?”
“Am I frightening, Walter?”
The old man stared at him. “Now where’d that come from?”
“Just…tell me. Do I ever make you want to…back away from me?”
“Naw, Kid. Sure ya got a temper like pinched hornet, but I know ya wouldn’t do nothin’ to your friends. Now for someone who doesn’t know ya too well, maybe.” He slapped Michael’s arm, chuckling. “Oh don’t look so upset. Just think of it as something else ya gotta work on. Hey…ya hungry? Wanna get somethin’ to eat?”
Michael rose slowly, shaking his head. “I’ve eaten.”
Next Part
Series: One Line (5/26)
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Character(s): Michael Samuelle, OC, Madeline, Jurgen
fanfic100 Prompt: 38-touch
Length: 3,411
Rating: PG-13, edging into R
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: Michael has mandatory downtime, but he doesn’t want to take it.
Notes: This story is pre-S1. Written for fanfic100. My prompt table is here, and the timeline for the series is here.
Watching From the Wall
Part five in the One Line series.
by vashti
She tilted her head first one way. Then the other. Left. Then Right.
There was amusement in Madeline’s voice when the older woman, standing beside her, asked, “Is he to your liking, then?”
She stopped her examination, half turning. “I have a choice?”
Madeline knew that she herself had been speaking rhetorically. But… “This time.”
This time. An entire existence, pastpresentfuture, summed up in two pregnant words. This time.
“Knowing nothing about him other than he looks just as awful all bruised up as any other body, I suppose he does.”
“Good.” Madeline had thought he would. “In that case, I see no reason why we should linger. We have some time before your voice lessons. If we can get the last of the fittings done with now then you can have the afternoon to yourself.”
§§§
“Michael.”
He stiffened. The operative he was talking to wordlessly slipped away. Michael turned. “Jurgen.”
“Walk with me a minute?”
Michael wondered why Jurgen bothered making it a question. But that, he had quickly learned, was the nature of Section. Once upon a time, under different tutelage, he would have voiced his opinion. And once upon a time he would have gotten an answer, though it wasn’t always a satisfactory one. He had gotten the impression that Elsa only tolerated his questioning, would have preferred that he kept them to himself, but found them amusing all the same. Jurgen did not.
The two men turned away from the comm. floor, following one of the corridors that wound around it. Michael recognized the route they were following as they passed the training rooms. It wasn’t how he would have gotten to Jurgen’s office and wondered why his mentor had taken them this way. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Michael.”
Not a question this time. Michael took a stab at silence. It was Jurgen’s favorite tactic against Madeline and Operations, particularly Madeline. Simone had suggested it after watching another one-sided shouting match between him and Jurgen. “Notice anything about all these fights you two get into? Other than the crowd you attract?”
“That he always knows just where to push me?”
“Yeah. Do you know how he knows just how to push you?”
“He…reads my profile. He’s been doing this for years. He…he has experience.”
“All true. But you also hand yourself over to him on a silver platter! You’re busy shouting your hot French head off, all social protest, and all you’re doing is exposing yourself. He prods and you react. He prods and you react. You don’t think you’re not hitting any points with him?”
“How can I? He never-”
“Reacts? Exactly.”
Walter had come out then, wanting to know who was making the ruckus outside his space. “Oh…it’s you two. Look, Simone, sugar, if you’re gonna get him goin’ again at least switch to a language I don’t know so I can tune ya out.”
Michael had since been working on maintaining his composure to mixed success. Even when they weren’t at odds, he never had and doubted he ever would like his mentor. Of course, as the man himself had pointed out that first day, circling Michael in White Room, they didn’t have to get along. They just had to work together.
Jurgen took Michael’s current silence in stride, though he caught Jurgen glancing in his direction. “Operations and Madeline have been pleased with your continued performance.”
They passed through one of the open doorways into the hall where Jurgen’s office was located. His was the last door, the furthest out. They stopped outside. “Madeline suggested that you have some down time.” He handed Michael a file. “It’s yours to take as you will. Let me know if you have any questions.”
The dismissal was plain in his voice. That and, when he looked up from the file in his hands, Michael was suddenly staring at a closed door.
Truthfully they - the ubiquitous They - had been running Michael into the ground. He was sure it was a test of some sort, some more longsighted version of the ordeal he had had to go through before officially passing his training. But if it was such, he didn’t know how much longer he could go before the stress of constant missions with little, if any, down time got to him. If he were his teammates he wouldn’t want to go out with someone in his state. Unfortunately Level One and Field Ops had little say in who comprised their teams - or whether they themselves were fit to be on a team at all. It wasn’t the kind of admission you wanted to make, even to yourself.
§§§
He’d taken a more direct route back to his quarters and regretted it. Michael no longer knew what he had thought the file would say. He had been expecting a dossier of some kind, yes. He had been surprised to be handed a paper file, and now he understood why. Or he thought he did. Elsa had used paper files, despite the heavy lean to make the entire system el-
Michael stood up and paced his tiny room. Why was he avoiding this? If he had been handed the profile of a professional prostitute five years ago and been told “It’s yours to take as you will” he would have spent an hour telling every one he knew, male and female alike just to see, to hear, the reaction. Even if he never followed through with it - and he couldn’t say anymore whether he would or wouldn’t have - the discussion it would have inspired would have been worth it. Something for his friends to use against him when he brought around his girlfriend. His wife.
He stopped pacing and stared at nothing. He turned to the dossier, the manila a splash of color on the white bed.
Five years ago he wouldn’t have believed it was real.
§§§
“Waiting is difficult, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“It may not happen, you know.”
“I…hadn’t considered that.”
“It’s not likely but it is possible. A possibility that is built into the spec of your mission.”
“…so there’s a backup plan.”
“Always.”
“Do we need one now?”
“Give it a little time. Patience is key. If you learn nothing else from this, take that away with you. You will need it later.”
§§§
Michael winced as the doctor pulled the bandage around ribs tight. “That’s it, I’m putting you in for mandatory R&R. You’re not fit to go out unless you’ve done something to get you on the abeyance list.” He looked at Michael expectantly.
“Not as far as I know,” he felt compelled to admit.
“Then downtime. Starting as soon as you get-”
“I already have down time.”
The doctor, a middle-aged man who, with his unlined face, seemed to have gone prematurely gray stared at him. “Say that again, son.”
“I…already have down time?”
“Then what in the- What’re you doing going out on missions?” he demanded, his voice gone hard and cold and incensed.
“I was told I could take it as I will,” Michael said as calmly as possible, not used to even leashed emotion from superiors.
“When was your last mental evaluation?” he asked Michael, already reaching for the active tablet on the rolling cart by the medical bed. “You performed exceedingly well. Have you recently been knocked in the head? Concussed?” he asked, still reading the tablet.
“No.”
“No,” the doctor repeated. He looked up. “Then what in God’s name is wrong with you? Someone gives you down time, tells you to take it whenever, and you go on another half dozen missions? You’re taking that down time, the minute you get out of here, then you’re up for another mental eval. Now get out.”
Michael slipped off the medical bed. He reached for his shirt and stifled a grunt of pain. He could hear the doctor, who had taken his tablet and rolling cart down the aisle to another bed, muttering to himself about not caring how superb Michael’s results were, clearly something was wrong.
§§§
As luck would have it he ran into her in the hall, coming out of a room in the living quarters. She closed a door and turned in his direction.
The picture didn’t do her justice. Rather like the universally wretched passport photo, she had appeared washed out and sallow in her standard profile picture, her hair a corkscrew cloud around her head. She was a much healthier shade of olive-tan in person and her hair was straight as a pin. It still looked soft.
“Hello.”
Michael shook himself at the sound of her accented voice. Most people in Section, it seemed, were American, Canadian or Latin American with a handful of other, mostly European, nations thrown in. The English were almost conspicuously absent.
“You’re Cerise?”
She smiled at him. “And you’re Michael. I was starting to think you would never come.”
“I’ve been busy,” he felt compelled to explain.
She raised a shoulder. “That’s all right. I’m on your schedule, not the other way around. So…you’ve come looking for me then?”
Not precisely. “Yes. Were you leaving your room?” he asked suddenly.
“No-”
“Someone else’s?”
She smiled at him again. “I’m not working down here, if that’s what you are trying to get at. You are my sole assignment. I must say, it’s been a nice three week vacation.”
Heat burned at the edges of Michael’s face, tempered only by her obvious good humor.
“Do you know where the Tower is?”
Michael blinked at her.
“I’ll take that as a no. The Tower is where we will be…I believe for the better part of the week if I remember right. Not that you’re obligated of course.”
He started. “I have a choice.”
“Curious feeling, isn’t it. But, yes, in this matter you do. One of us will have to file something official, otherwise I can’t be released from your profile and there’ll be an inquiry. I can file it, so you needn’t worry about that.”
He blinked again, wondering if he should thank her. Wondering if she could file that something official now - until he remembered he was now under doctor’s orders to take the down time that already been given to him, and immediately.
“Take this will you?” she said handing him a stack of tablets, only one active, that he hadn’t noticed she was holding. Curious, he skimmed the contents of the active tablet. It was a schedule including French and German lessons, vocal classes and a list of songs he hadn’t heard of since before his parents had died.
Walking with a long, easy stride she quickly outpaced him and his bruises so that she was at least four steps ahead. Michael found that he could balance the tablets and admire the view with little difficulty so long as he didn’t have to maneuver around another operative. She led him beyond the active areas to one that clearly saw very little traffic. “I apologize, there isn’t a lift up to the Tower. It’s stairs only. If you go straight up and say your name and let your thumbprint be read you’ll be let right in. I’ll be there in a moment. I have to turn these in,” she said taking the tablets back from him. Then she handed him the active one. “Actually if you could put this on the kitchen table it would be greatly appreciated.”
“Of course.”
When she reached up to lightly brush her lips against his cheek, Michael surprised himself by leaning down and returning the gesture. It seemed like the most natural thing.
With her gone, Michael considered going back the way they’d come and getting straight in his bed. But he was now twice under orders and Cerise had mentioned that there was paperwork that would have to be filed… Michael shook his head. Only in Section could he find himself in such a situation, or so he hoped.
He began climbing.
§§§
She surprised him with a hand in his hair, curling briefly around his nape. Engrossed in perusing her active tablet, he hadn’t heard her enter. The burn at the edges of his face was back as she gently plucked it from his hands. “I can only imagine you didn’t have such a crazed schedule when you were training.”
“No,” he said, turning on the little ottoman to watch her as she moved around the space that served as both kitchen, dining and living rooms, his features shuttered.
“You mean no dress fittings for you, Michael? Lucky boy.” She smiled softly and closed-lipped at him as she pulled one of the spindly black chairs from the table and brought it to where he was. “You should have been facing the door, you know.”
He did know, but it wasn’t what he had expected to be brought up short on.
“So…Michael…you don’t want to be here.”
Nor that.
“Don’t look so not-surprised. A man is told he has access to…” She looked off over his left shoulder. “…a courtesan, for lack of a less derogatory term, for any seven days of his choosing and he doesn’t even bother to make introductions or try her…services…for three weeks? If we knew each other I’d say you didn’t like me. Do you find what I do distasteful?”
Yes. But since Simone’s just-shut-up-and-wait-it-out advice seemed to be working here just as well as it did with Jurgen, he decided to stay with that.
“I see. Well…you can’t get out of tonight. Or this morning as the case may be. I read your updated status. Forty-eight hours mandatory downtime. Did you know that?”
He hadn’t. “No.”
“And according to standing orders, part of them must be spent with me. But, luckily for us, no one specified how they need be spent. So…you look rather tired. There is a very large, very comfortable bed which would be happy to have you as its sole occupant if you so choose. Or I could send for something to eat, or we could talk. Or,” and wide smile blossomed on her face that made him think of someone else entirely for a brief, disorienting moment, “we could sit here and stare at each other.” She planted her elbows on her knees and her chin on her upturned fists. “What do you say?”
He stared at her. She stared back.
She reached across and brushed hair away from his forehead. “Stare?”
“Sleep.”
§§§
“That’s not exactly how I would have done it. You’ve potentially lost yourself a day.”
“I know but he’d already waited three weeks. Clearly he either doesn’t trust me or doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
Madeline smiled. “In other circumstances I’m sure he’d be very interested in having everything to do with you.”
“How am I supposed to take that?”
“However you choose. Now, you have less than six days to achieve your objective.”
“What if he decides to defer?”
“It was your decision to present that option to him-”
“In an effort to gain his trust.”
“Be that as it may, you presented the option to him and so now it is up to you to see that he either doesn’t take it or that you complete your objective before he does. You still have six days.”
She nodded, the cloud of hair swaying as if in a breeze. “Yes, Madeline.”
“You should go back before he wakes up.”
§§§
Michael woke in stages when he was used to waking all at once. It was his injuries. Taking too deep a breath still hurt and probably would for a little while if past experience served. The warmth at his back helped, even if it was unwanted.
“You said just sleep.”
“And I meant just sleep,” she assured him, leaning up behind him so that her chin was on his shoulder. A hand gingerly assessed the bandages under the shirt she had helped him into. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Yes.”
“And-”
Michael grabbed her hand and forced her back, hissing under his breath. “It still hurts. All of it.”
“All right then. If you would like to go back to your rooms, that’s fine, but have some breakfast before you go. Or lunch, rather.”
Michael sat up and quickly regretted it.
“Let me help you,” she said, slipping off the rather large bed. She came around to his side. “It’s what I’m here for.”
“I thought you were here for other things.” The words slipped out of his mouth. He cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to say anything.
Kneeling down to eye-level, she smiled at him again, in a way that reminded him of someone else completely. “I am here for your pleasure, Michael. Whatever that is. Ostensibly that pleasure would be sex but you aren’t so inclined. At the moment I think you just want to get out of this bed, and probably these rooms, as quickly and in as little pain as possible. And have something to eat.”
“How do you know I’m hungry?”
“I felt your stomach grumble. Come. Up with you.”
An hour later he was watching her put away the dishes. He’d offered to help clean up after their meal, but she’d ignored him like he wasn’t there. So Michael hovered over his coffee and watched her lift and stretch and bend…but not talk. They’d talked over the meal, but she was silent from the moment she stood up and took their empty plates.
Michael started at the hand in the hair at his nape. “How do you do that?” he asked abruptly.
Scratching lightly at the back of neck, he felt her shrug. Her thumb moved into the hollow of his skull. “I don’t do anything. You do.”
“Explain.”
“You are a charming fellow, Michael, or so I’ve read. Very subtle. But you don’t…take to it as well. Subtlety. It… I don’t know what it does to you. Maybe nothing. Maybe you’re just thrown by me, and what I am and what I do.” She shrugged again, withdrawing her hand from his hair. “Haven’t you had Valentine training?”
“Yes.”
“Then this kind of the thing shouldn’t effect you. A pretty whore is a silly liability for a good Cold Op.”
He caught her hand and pressed it his lips.
“No. None of that from you. I’m working, you’re relaxing. And you wanted to go to your room,” she said, tugging at her hand. “I mean it, Michael. There’s no point to prove with me. Let me go, hmm?”
He stood as her hand slipped from his. “What if seducing you is what I want to do?”
“But it’s clear that it’s not.” Only an inch or two shorter than Michael, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’re stiff and awkward. Your stance is too wide and your focus is intense but…not on me.” She searched his eyes and brought up a hand to touch his face. But stopped. Her hand dropped. “You’re angry.”
She took a step back. “You’re going to have to learn how to hide that.” She took another step backward. Then another. And another. Then she turned and disappeared behind the bedroom door.
§§§
“Walter.”
“Michael! What can I do ya for, Kid?” Walter cleared a space to lean over the high metal table between them. “Heard ya got some mandatory downtime. Didn’t I tell you you’ve been pushin’ yourself too hard? Here, siddown.”
“Walter am I…”
“Are ya what?”
“Nothing.” Michael stood to leave.
With a speed that belied the gray in his hair, Walter reached across the table and pulled Michael back into his seat. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Kid. I’ll listen.”
“I don’t know.”
“That last fight with Jurgen gettin’ ya down? You were doing pretty good there at keepin’ your cool. Guess he just got the right combination of buttons, huh?”
“Am I frightening, Walter?”
The old man stared at him. “Now where’d that come from?”
“Just…tell me. Do I ever make you want to…back away from me?”
“Naw, Kid. Sure ya got a temper like pinched hornet, but I know ya wouldn’t do nothin’ to your friends. Now for someone who doesn’t know ya too well, maybe.” He slapped Michael’s arm, chuckling. “Oh don’t look so upset. Just think of it as something else ya gotta work on. Hey…ya hungry? Wanna get somethin’ to eat?”
Michael rose slowly, shaking his head. “I’ve eaten.”
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