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Chapter 6
*All around him was darkness except the circle in which he sat. Papa sat across from him leaning on the ground, looking like he did in happier times. Those times that were so long ago. Michael hung his head under his father's heavy stare.
"I can't help the way I feel. I let all of you down. I'm not worth it for you to call me your son. I'm not worth anything."
"You need to change your way of thinking, Michael. That's not true. Not many men can do what you do and keep themselves intact."
"I'm not...I'm parts. Parts that don't work together. That only drive people away." Michael got up and turned his back on his father. He stared into the darkness, trying to find a spot of light. There was none.
"What did you want to be Michael?"
"I can hardly remember anymore."
"Try."
"I think I used to dream about being an artist, Papa. And I know I wanted to have a wife like Mama, and children." He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, feeling the air around him getting colder.
"And why aren't you?"
Michael felt the movement behind him and then the hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes again and tried to keep the pain back. Everything he'd done had been so wrong. So many wrong choices... "Because I'm weak."
"No not weak, just trapped. Break away. Take the chance. If that is what you really want. She will be there to help you. You don't even need to ask it of her. Just reach out."
He turned to look at his father, his eyes shining with tears. "I can't have it. My world won't let me. My past won't let me. I can't let it hurt her anymore. I want her to be safe."
"You need to accept the challenge and make the chance for change for the three of you. You can't let the past rule you. You're stronger than that. Better than that. You need to live, my son. Through them is living. Run towards it."
"I'll only stumble and bring Nikita and Katie down with me. They've been through enough hell because of me. I can't drag them into mine. I will never have what I want. I'm not strong enough to make it happen. I have no right to it. I've done too much wrong to have anything that good."
"Michael, you deserve that goodness. Life has stolen a lot from you. Shouldn't you get something back for all you've given up? Do you see how she and that child are your reward?"
Laughter filled the air. Michael closed his eyes, dreading the appearance of the man to whom the laughter belonged. "Chancier, you're wrong. For once the little coward is right. He's weak, incompetent and unfaithful. He deserves nothing but more of what he's gotten before. He's never going to change. Like father, like son. Somehow you managed to rub off on him."
Michael stepped between L' Araigne and his father. He wasn't about to let the bastard go at his father. Not while he was here to protect him. "You don't know my father. Go back where you came from. You don't belong here!"
"And you never knew him either. I'm more your father...your role model...the one who shaped you than this figment of your imagination. A whisper of a memory that can dissolve with a snap of my fingers." Michael flinched as L' Araigne snapped his fingers. The sound echoed around in the air like a report of a gun. The figure of his father besides him burst into a million pieces and fell down around him. They melted as they landed, like the first snowfall of the winter.
Michael reached out to the now empty space beside him, "No Papa...." He reached towards L' Araigne only to have him pull away and back up from him as if he was flying away. Michael lunged at him, determined that he wasn't going to get away again....almost...he could feel the shirt's material. He stumbled and tried to right himself only...*
To find himself staring into the semi light of the early dawn as he sat up in bed in the small room. He blinked and pushed his hair back. It was all a dream he quickly realized but it had been almost real. He had felt his father's hand on his shoulder and the texture of the material of L' Araigne's shirt. Feeling out of sorts, he pulled himself out of bed and went to the window. He pushed the sheers aside and looked out.
A light fog covered the field in front of the cottage. Glancing over on the stand by the bed, he saw that it was just about time to get up anyway. He'd only been asleep for about 5 hours. A good night's sleep for him. He frowned as he looked out the window again. He'd been here for almost 4 weeks now. A feeling of isolation and loneliness had started to weigh down on him. He missed the familiarity of home and as much as he hated to admit it , that of the Section too.
*Mon coeur...I'm thinking of you.....I miss you beside me....It feels very empty here....*
With a sigh, he let them drop and cover the window again. Well he had 3 hours before he was supposed to meet Greg at his house. They were going to take target practice together this morning and then spend the afternoon looking for a gift of appreciation Greg called it for an associate. Michael was actually looking forward to the day. He was doing something though that he always warned all other operatives about. Don't get involved with the mark. And here he was, actually starting to like the man. Greg was easy to get along with. He had a great sense of humour and Michael had in some instances found himself laughing at his comments and one liners. Actually joining in and enjoying the comradery, the pleasure of becoming and getting a friend. Even under the pretenses it was.
Today though could be the chance he was looking for, hoping for. He actually was going to Greg's house. They had met elsewhere before this. Michael was determined to start working on the strengthening of friendship that was developing between them. He wanted this profile complete. He wanted to tell Greg the truth and go from there. He wanted to go home, too. He wanted to see Nikita. A rueful smile crossed his mouth. *Hell, I want my own bed.* With a short laugh, he started to get ready.
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"Where did you learn to shoot? You are incredible. You only missed a bird that flew by." Michael turned in the direction of the voice as he tugged off the charcoal grey sweater to reveal a matching t-shirt beneath. A man around the same age as him sat against a tree stump. He shook his head as he regarded Michael and then stood up. He stood about 6 feet tall and around 180 pounds. His dark brown hair was short and curly. His eyes were a soft almost golden toned brown. A gift he said from his grandmother who was from Spain. Legacy of 'El Leon' was how he had put it He held his hand out for the rifle in Michael's hand.
"If you wanted bird stew for lunch, you should have told me, Greg. I could have gotten him."
"I don't like crow buddy. Too tough and stringy. Kinda gags you on the way down." He grinned at Michael who returned his comment with a smirk. "You're lethal looking too. Like a lion or a wolf. You move that way too. So you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"Memory problem today?"
"No. Sorry, in my line of work you need to know how and be able to take care of yourself. So I work out a lot and practice. You never know who might be upset because you decided they didn't deserve that painting over the mantlepiece. Got to defend the flow of supply and demand."
Greg raised an eyebrow as Michael took his seat on the ground. "Yeah right." He turned back to the target and began to fire. He was curious about the man. Michael was a good guy and he was really starting to like him a lot. He was easy to talk to and seemed to appreciate his quirky sense of humour. But there was something hidden in Michael. A sadness that Greg would see in his eyes when he didn't think Greg was looking. And he was alone it seemed in that cottage down in the valley. Not just alone though, he seemed very lonely. There was a big difference and recently Greg was learning just how big.
While casing the cottage, Greg had noticed more mysteries about him. Michael worked out for hours on end, driven by something inside he was sure. It wasn't the needs of his 'profession". And he kept weird hours. The man didn't sleep much. He had a quick mind though unmarred by his strange lifestyle. Meeting him at the artists' enclave in the next town over had been fortunate. He knew his stuff. And what was more was that he drew and painted himself. His sketches were beautiful. Maybe he could have him do..
Greg glanced over at Michael to see what he was doing. He smiled as he saw him leaning against the tree, now with eyes closed and bared forearms resting on his bent knees. He looked like that lion or wolf he had mentioned earlier even while relaxing and that was tempered by a smile was forming on his face. Michael was a handsome man who turned many a head as Greg had discovered when they had visited places in the past several weeks. Greg had never used the term 'graceful' with a man before but that was Michael. The way he walked and carried himself lent itself to that description. It was strongly tempered though with a strength and darkness. Grandma would have said that he had El Leon in his soul. Greg thought it more a wolf. One that had been wounded somehow and never quite healed the right way.
He seemed relaxed there against the tree. Greg wondered if the relaxed feeling was reaching Michael's eyes. But he knew that the look deep in his eyes that disturbed him would still be hinted at. It said that Michael's life had been rough, that was where he got the wounded idea. Figuratively as well as literally. Maybe that would explain the various scars he had seen on him. But he could also feel that Michael had lost something he had cherished dearly. When you had it happen to you, you could always sense it in someone else. Seeing the look on Michael's face now as he shifted his focus to the target, he had to wonder what was causing it.
Michael leaned his head back against the stump. The warmth of the sun and the sweet smell of the hay in the next field over coupled with the honeysuckle behind them was a powerful drug. His mind wandered from the mission he was on and into a daydream. He could hear the water lapping in the lake and a few frogs and geese. A child's happy shriek carried through the air. And Katie came barreling over, jumping onto his stomach as he laid on the sand of the shore.
"Tell Mom to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Threatening me...." she shrieked again and bounded off of him. Before he even got his eyes open, water cascaded down on him. Sputtering, he opened his eyes to laughter coming from both Nikita and Katie who were slapping hands together in victory. With a sly grin he scrambled to his feet and chased Nikita down the shore, Katie right behind him. "Get her, Daddy." He managed to snag her around the waist but was off balance. Together they fell into the water and playful began to wrestle. A tussle Katie gleefully joined.
Curiosity was getting the best of Greg. He wanted to know more about Michael. He thought they could become close friends. That's what he needed. He needed a friend; someone to talk to. Especially now that Margeaux was gone. God, he missed her. Even with everything she had done while they were together. The lies, the secrets, the fights, the unfaithfulness, he'd forgive it all to have her back. The last time he had been out here at the target range was with her during a glorious sunset. There had still been snow on the ground. It had been before things had gotten so crazy. They had made love and she had said she was sorry about Reese. A fight had ensued from that comment. He regretted that now. He knew he had hurt her a lot with the cruel things he had said. He closed his eyes as grief came over him. He gripped the gun spastically and the shot went wild.
The gunshot brought Michael out of his revelry. His eyes snapped open and he looked at Greg. The other man stood there, the gun visibly shaking in front of him. Scrambling to his feet for real this time, he approached Greg and placed his hand on his shoulder. The body quivered under his hand and he could see that Greg's eyes were closed. The pain on his face was plain to see.
*Well this is where it starts I guess. Make this work, Michael..... If you want to go home then you better ;* his inner voice retorted. "What's wrong, Greg?" With the other hand, he slowly pushed the barrel of the rifle down to the ground. Greg released it and it fell to the ground. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Michael. Tears glimmered brightly in the sunlight.
"God, Michael, I miss her so much."
*OK here's the in....I'm not thrilled this is the path it's going to take but I don't have any other choice. I've got a job to do. Time to focus.* "Who?"
"Margeaux...my wife...she's dead."
Michael swallowed hard. This was not going to be easy. To talk about losses that were so similar. Having not been able to prevent it. Michael felt the pounding behind his eyes start. What was that Walter has said about stress...? "I'm sorry. I know how you feel. It leaves a big hole. One that takes a long time to fill in. What happened?"
"She was killed." Greg took a deep breath. Somehow Michael understood. He was going to take a chance and confide in the man beside him. He had to talk to someone. With a sigh, he sat back down by the stump. Michael followed suit and sat down near him. "Can I tell you some things? That will just be between us? I don't usually talk to anyone like this but I going to take a chance here. I need to get this stuff out. I can't keep it bottled up inside. It's not good for me. If it stays in here, I can't heal. I won't be able to get through this and be able to go forward with my life."
"Sure. You can trust me..hell who am I going to tell? Maybe the rabbits who live behind the cottage?" Michael kept his eyes on Greg but his mind was racing. Everything that he had longed to be able to do this man had no problem doing. In fact he readily was telling him that he had to tell him. He knew what he had to do. To move forward and on with his life.* Now why can't I ? What is stopping me? That's easy to answer. I don't know how. If I get rid of all the guilt and pain, then I lose what's left of myself. Except what I feel for Nikita...but is that enough to survive...to live...Papa seemed to think so....*
Greg could see that Michael was dealing with something hard himself. He tried to smile but it didn't work. "I know you don't exactly walk the straight and narrow. Neither do I and neither did Margeaux. We buy and sell weapons Michael. That's my profession. Arms dealer internationale. I was just the money man.....not the way Grandma thought my inheritance was going to be spent.. oh well ...they all dealt directly with her. Everyone of them...more than I got to, and she was married to me... Somebody was coming after me....I don't know why....maybe something she did or didn't do...I faked my death with the help of.... some European government officials. In retaliation, somebody took her out... I can't believe someone could be cold-hearted enough to do it, let alone where and when they did."
"Tell me." Cold hearted was a great way to describe Operations. His only desire was to see the job done. No matter what it cost or who.
"She was going to 'my grave' to visit me. Keeping the charade going until I could find a way to come back. It was a poor plan but all I could do on short notice. I made it look real. She was so hurt. Anyway...it was early in the morning. Just the kind of morning she loved...cool and misty. The worst part was she had the baby with her." Greg stood up and then sat back down again, clearly agitated. "Why? Tell me why?"
"There's never a why, Greg. It's just fate's payback. It hurts to be fate's favorite thing to kick. It never stops hurting. And after a while you get numb to it and then just start to accept whatever merde she wants to throw at you."
"You're so bitter. You know exactly how it feels. But you can't find a way around it though. What's keeping you from letting go?"
"That's because it was all my fault." He took a deep breath. It was time to let some of the feelings inside out. But to tell a stranger about them, this was a sacrifice he was not soon going to forget. He was going to demand something in return for this one. "I lost my wife Simone about 4 years ago in an explosion. I still dream about it. It's still there. It never goes away completely. In a way you're very lucky."
"And how the hell do you figure that? Your wife wasn't murdered...she just died!" Michael could hear the anger in Greg's voice. He felt a little angry himself and started to let some of it leaked through. After all she had been taken from him...twice. As had Merle and Nikita...just as everything had. He stood glaring down on Greg.
"She just didn't die. She was kidnapped and died with the bastard who took her. And you want to know why your so f'ing lucky Greg? You want to know? You've still got a piece of her you can look at every day. You've got your child. Mine's in a grave next to her. I've got nothing. Except a lock of hair and a locket." He turned and shoved his hands in his pockets. The hurt was starting to get more intense. Suddenly he felt the need to wrap his arms around Nikita and hold her close.
"It would be nice if he was really mine! My wife was not exactly the most faithful woman in the world. Reese's biological father was one of her business contacts. God I used to think she slept with every one of them. Sex was power to her and she knew how to use it. Maybe she intended to use Reese as a bargaining chip someday" He paused for a moment and then said...."Sorry for blurting something like that out. Did they die together?"
Feeling like he had been hit with a sledgehammer by his confession to Greg, he was quiet for a moment. With a slow shake of his head, Michael said softly, "No. He died shortly before. I wasn't there. I was away. I came home and he was gone. She burned all the pictures and got rid of all his clothes. I...." Michael pulled himself away from the memories and slammed his mask down into place. He shut off the pain. He then spoke in a flat emotionless voice. "I'm going to go."
Greg got to his feet and grabbed Michael's arm. He yanked away, his dead eyes locking with the other man's. Greg lifted both hands in the air. "Whoa Michael, easy...we both have a lot of pain to deal with. How about we help each other? I think we both need someone to talk to. Now I know where that look in your eyes comes from. You've lost a big part of your heart and soul."
Michael gave a short deeply bitter laugh. "If you only knew..."
"Come up to the house with me."
"No I'm going ho...I mean back to the cottage."
"No you're not. Come up to the house with me. I've got someone I want you to meet. He should be getting up from his mid morning nap by now."
"I don't think it's a good..."
"I'm not taking a refusal. I brought up a lot of bad stuff today. I'm sorry. I want to make up for some of it. We're both going to drowning in memories by ourselves. Why not fend it off for a while?"
Michael watched him closely. Was Greg trying to manipulate him or honestly trying to be a friend? There was no way for him to know that this was a set up. Nothing he had said so far had been a lie. And the hurt that was tied to his words had been real. Anyway wasn't the whole purpose of this to get the guy to trust him so they could break him into pieces and save another little part of the world? Yes that was the goal here. Blow someone else's world to smithereens and then say it was for the greater good. More and more he was starting to doubt the job they did.
He nodded at Greg. "OK, let's go."
Greg felt a need to trust Michael but he couldn't completely. Having lost Margeaux had him on a defensive bent. Especially with the example of trust she had always set for him. He was wary of everyone. How could he be sure that this was a set up for him? That Michael was somehow connected to the people that had taken her away from him? It was just too strange of a thing for someone he had just meet a month ago to have experienced the same thing he did. He knew he was taking a chance bringing him to the house and an even greater one to introduce him to the baby. But he had to know....the need for a friend was too much to ignore.
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Greg and Michael entered the house through the kitchen. A woman stood by the microwave watching it. She turned as they entered. She was petite, rail thin and had nondescript brown hair in a bun and small cold eyes. "He's awake, Mr. Linsdon. I have his snack started."
"Thanks, Robin. I'll get him in a minute. This is my friend Michael. Michael this is my housekeeper and for now a reluctant nanny, Robin."
She smiled thinly at Michael who inclined his head at her. "Hello. Nice to meet you." he said softly. Trying to act shy instead of showing the trepidation he was really feeling. He felt like he had the first time he had been on a mission alone. She didn't respond and returned her attention to the microwave. Michael and Greg left the kitchen. Greg did not look pleased.
Michael had to comment on the woman. "Not exactly friendly."
"Not exactly thrilled at being a nanny either. She doesn't really like children. And she was only working part time. Now she's full time and helping to care for a child. Not a happy person. I know she's going to quit soon. Then to be blunt....I'm screwed."
"Can't find anyone?"
"Having trouble trusting someone is more like it." They entered a hallway just as they heard a child's yell echo down the stairs. "Yeah he's up. Got a set of lungs on him that rival a soccer game announcer."
Michael laughed a little. Then again as he heard the child yell again. "DA!"
"Yeah, hold it a minute bud! Geesh!" Greg turned to Michael. "His name is Reese. He might be a little shy around you at first. He comes around pretty quick though. Loves people. I hope he doesn't grow up to be a talk show host or something like that. Come on up."
Michael chuckled a little at the comment. "Phil Donahue was a great host. What if he was like him?"
"What if he's not? God...." Michael watched as Greg rolled his eyes and then he chuckled again. He had to keep his mind occupied with other things. He didn't want to face what was coming next. He didn't know if he could. They climbed the stairs and Greg opened the first door on the left. He flicked on the light switch and Michael looked around the room, keeping his eyes off the crib on the far wall.
The room was done in a hockey theme with the predominant colors of navy blue and white. Posters of hockey players hung in several spots. A stick and a puck were mounted on the wall. The furniture was all in light oak. The rug's design was like a hockey rink and the curtains were covered with the pennants of the various teams. "You played, Greg?"
"No, bad knees and ankles. Always wanted to though. My team's the Avalanche. Maybe he will some day. Just please not a talk show host."
He looked to see where Greg was. He had his back to Michael and was talking softly to the child he was lifting out of the crib. He turned and Michael almost fell to the floor. The curly black hair tousled and chubby cheeks made red by his nap held his gaze. Then he saw eyes almost the same color as his, just as his own son's had been. Green eyes stared back at him from a face half hidden by a thumb being sucked, hitting him harder than a freight train. The blood drained from his face and his breath caught in his throat. Reese looked like he was the same age as Merle had been before..*He could be Merle....almost his twin....*
"Reese this is Michael. Say hello." The fingers attached to the thumb waved a little and he continued to look at Michael with huge eyes. Greg studied the almost dumbstruck man across the room from him. In that instant he knew that Michael could be trusted. The look on his face was not one that could be faked. The naked grief in his eyes was plain to see. This guy was real but it was a man staring at a ghost from the past who stood across from him.
"Hey, you ok?"
In a husky voice, Michael replied. "Fine." LIAR!!!! his head screamed back at him. He closed his eyes for a moment fighting to steady himself. When he opened them again, he realized that Reese's hair was actually more brown but the resemblance of the eyes and face was scary. It shook him to the core. He swallowed with difficulty. "Yeah, I'm ok." He said softly again.
Greg knew he was lying through his teeth. Michael was pasty white and his eyes were dark and closed-off looking. He couldn't quite figure out what was going on in his head. Whatever it was it was intense. It was as if Michael trying shut himself off. Greg had noticed it outside at the target range too. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped. As if he was turning himself off so that he didn't have to feel himself and the outside world. Or was it more so that the outside world couldn't feel him? Couldn't get inside and see what was going on....
Reese pulled his thumb out and twisted his head to look at his father. "Ba?"
"In a minute." Greg sounded annoyed at Reese's request. It pricked at Michael but there was too much screeching through his mind to really pay it close attention.
"BA!"
Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alright!" Again that annoyed tone. He looked over at Michael who stood stiffly and silently by the doorjamb. He could have sworn it was the only thing keeping the guy on his feet. "I'll tell you one thing...this kid can eat."
The voice that came from Michael was low and cloudy with emotion, matching the expression on his face. "It's the age. They never stop..." He looked at Reese again as Greg came even with him. Reese was still sucking his thumb but at the same time seemed to be gauging him. Suddenly, he yanked his thumb out of his mouth and stuck both arms out at him. A smile spread across the baby's face. "Uht!" he said to Michael.
Greg frowned slightly. "You better take him. If you don't he will express his displeasure quite loudly." Michael didn't move. He seemed frozen to the spot.
Reese bounced in his father's arms and looked expectantly at Michael. With trembling hands, he took the baby. Reese slapped his palm lightly against Michael's cheek. He reached up and pulled some of Michael's hair down into his face. Gently Michael blew upwards to get it out of his face and eyes. Reese watched the hair move in fascination. On impulse Michael blew the curly locks that rested on the boy's forehead. He squealed in delight and pushed his hands up against Michael's mouth.
A smile slid across his face and up into his eyes. Greg relaxed as he watched it form. The two of them were going to get along great. Michael blew again through the baby's fingers. Reese burst into high pitched giggles and attempted to clap his hands. He missed and this only made him giggle more. Light seemed to be growing in Michael's eyes and the smile became more sure of itself. Greg felt some relief. *Maybe Michael would want....* he pushed away the thought. Margeaux would not have liked it in the least.
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Reese hadn't eaten much, preferring to play with it instead and trying to get Michael to interact with him. They both seemed to be enjoying themselves. With a sigh, Greg got up and decided to clean up the mess. With his back to them, he started to clean up the dishes. Michael stood as Reese's eyes followed him. The happy look quickly left Michael's face. An unreadable expression replaced it.
He started to move away but paused. He looked from Greg to the baby, Greg was starting to say something. Swiftly and impulsively, Michael kissed the top of Reese's head and was out the door without a sound. "Should we..."
Greg was saying as he turned around. Michael's chair was empty and the door stood barely open. Reese was staring it and waving. With a frown, he ruffled the baby's hair. "I think you scared the hell out of him, Reese. Thank you very much."
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Briefly looking down at the speedometer and noting his speed, he started to slow down. * If only I could do it to my head. If only the past would just go away.* Michael wanted to just close his eyes and make everything go away. Especially what was flashing through his mind. Images, words, feelings. All jumbled together and threatening to choke him.
In his head he could hear Elouette's cruel accusations... *Why weren't you there Michael? Why weren't you with your son that day? You failed him. You abandoned him. You didn't even try to revenge his death. You just accepted it. It was just another death to you. Didn't you love him? Did the child you helped to create mean anything to you? How could you have been so heartless, so soulless? What kind of man are you? You're not a man though. You're just a machine. An unfeeling automaton that takes orders from the Section.."*
The words continued, not only from her but from him, too. If only he could let it go like Greg had been talking about. Maybe then he would not have gone through what he had in the past few months. Maybe none of it would have happened. Maybe if he just hadn't talked that gun away from L' Araigne that day....just let him shoot he on the spot as he had wanted to do.
*".....were you the one to give the order to kill the baby?"... "didn't you do as you were told...why didn't you kill the boy?"* Her question exploded in his head along with L' Araigne's and he veered off the road. He leaned his head between his hands gripping the steering wheel. He felt dizzy and out of breath. He remembered Simone telling him so coldly about the baby... the tone of her voice somehow saying it was his fault and his desperate search for something left of his son's...only to find that the only thing left was the locket he planned to give her for her birthday.
And then the pleading eyes of a young Claude while Michael held the match in his hand and then his declaration that he was only 10 and wanted to be 11, that he wanted to se his mother and grandmother again because he was all they had left..saying things that Michael wished he could have the courage to say....the sadness they shared as friends whose fathers were away from them. That eruption from L' Araigne as a result of returning with the job unfinished because Michael had 'felt' for Claude. The gun that had been pressed painfully into his forehead and the hour of pleading and promising that had followed. He had never kept those verbal promises that day but he also never forgot the ones he made in his head. Most of them he had kept, no matter how long it had taken or how hard it had been to accomplish. The pain as a result of those silent promises and the horrible memories that came with the others he had spoken.
A shudder ran through him. "I just want to forget! I want to let go!" He sat there, remembering but not forgetting. There was no way to forget. There was no way to let go. He opened the door of the car and stepped out. He leaned on the roof, staring off into the distance, across the open field. With a moan he pressed his forehead against the hot material, hoping to burn away a memory or two.
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Chapter 7
It was late and Nikita was not in the mood to be doing this but it was the only time she had been able to come up with. Michael's continuing mission had increased her own work load. She had noticed that it was acceptable to drop a lot in her lap. At times she felt a little bit like a maintenance worker, putting on a patch job til the boss got back. With that came the discovery that there just weren't enough hours in the day. She'd been up for almost 48 hours straight at this point and was feeling a little punch drunk. Nikita had to wonder how in the world Michael went without sleep the way he did. She looked around Strategics and seeing no one put her feet up on the console and leaned backwards in the chair.
* How do I reach Darcie? She doesn't trust. That's not hard to understand. Look at her life. FBI witness protection program rejects for parents. Almost got the kid killed. She takes off but they snag her. Bounced for a while before mommy and daddy show up again. Then on the run again with them. They lose track of her for 2 years before she shows up in the middle of a field mission. Sees the whole damn thing, takes on an operative involved who tries to break up a knife fight between her and Elena on site about who is going to the cops... They both end up here. Hmmmm.... she needs something real and gets thrown into this nuthouse....perfect. Trust and truth...where the hell do I find that here....me? Maybe....*
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to put your feet up on the furniture?" Darcie said softly from to her right and behind.
Nonchalantly Nikita tugged her hair out from behind her head and let it dangle down towards the floor as she leaned over backwards more. "No, only how to avoid things and how to run away." She opened her eyes and looked upside down at Darcie. "Not good lessons to teach a kid. Screws them up when they're older. Take it from one who knows."
"Do you hate your mother, Nikita?"
Nikita stared up at the ceiling considering the question. It wasn't a new question. Martina had asked it of her also. She didn't have an answer for it then. And when she had finally been able to figure it out, Martina wasn't around anymore to get it. She missed the woman a tremendous amount. Someday she'd find out what happened. And God have mercy on whoever was responsible for it, she was going to make them wish... With a sigh, she scratched the side of her head and gave her answer.
She twisted the chair from side to side. "No I don't hate my mother. I hate the sickness she had and how she let it make her weak. How she let it hurt her and let it hurt me. I hate the way she let it ruin our lives." Tears stung her eyes and she gritted her teeth together in anger. "Do you hate your parents for their choices?"
Darcie shrugged. "I don't know. I don't like to think about them. They were morons. I guess I wish they'd used their heads more instead of letting greed get in the way. Money was always a god to them. Me? I can do without it and all the strings attached to it. With money comes pain. I don't want any connections to a place . I just want to be able to go when I feel like it. Guess that's no longer on the agenda for me is it?" She studied Nikita with a look of uncertainty as the tall blonde got to her feet.
With a head shake, she leaned against the console and studied the trainee in front of her. "I was going over some of your progress reports. I like what I'm seeing. Thank you."
Screwing her face up a bit, Darcie asked , "Thank you?"
"For not making a fool out of the both of us. You're pulling in some of the best scores physically, but it's the other stuff I'm worried about."
"Such as?"
"The sessions with Madeline are my main concern."
"Get off my back, Nikita."
Anger flared in Nikita. She wasn't in the mood for the attitude or the mouth. She leaned towards Darcie, her arms still across her chest, eyes narrowing. "I'm not on your back yet. I haven't lost my temper with you yet. Don't push me. You don't want to see it. Remember what it felt like?"
"You don't scare me."
"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to make a point. You have to excel at everything. Not just the things you like. You know I was a lot like you. The stuff with Madeline was all bs. There was an effect though that I hadn't realized was happening. I took interest in myself and the world around me."
"And Michael too?" Darcie said sarcastically.
Nikita took a deep breath. Back to him again. She was lonely enough and didn't need his absence constantly thrown in her face. If one more person asked her when he was coming back... Then it hit her. Darcie really did need to trust. That's why she kept up the comments about Michael. Nikita had told her that there was nothing between them. Darcie knew it was a blatant lie. She had seen too much to believe it. The key here was some truth and honesty. Admit to the relationship they had to Darcie and see how the girl reacted. Show trust in her perhaps she would show it back. At this point there was no hiding it anyway. The events of the past few weeks, no months now, made that impossible. Everyone knew they were together. Just no one made a big deal about it. Except for Operations though. But what else was new, he had a problem with everything, didn't he?
"No, that was something I didn't admit to myself for a long time. Wasn't quite sure if it was a road I really wanted to travel. It seemed dark, dangerous and very rocky. No, then I noticed that people were paying attention to me. I wasn't thrilled. I thought they were looking at just the outside but I was wrong. When someone talked to me, they were talking to Nikita. I was somebody. I wasn't the street rat. I wasn't the product of my atypical dysfunctional broken up family unit anymore. People listened to me, talked to me and some of them actually started to care about me. It was quite the enlightening experience."
"Again, because of Michael and the fact that you're damn good looking."
Darcie sounded very bitter and cynical. It saddened Nikita to hear that from somebody so young. Eerie too, but it sounded so much like herself.
"Forget him for the moment. You're missing my point, Darcie. When you feel good about yourself, it shows. When I was on the street, I hated the world and everything about myself and it showed. I didn't want to look at myself and I didn't want anyone else to either. I made sure that happened. I didn't want to be noticed. I wanted to just be able to fade into the background and disappear."
"You say the words Nikita but I don't trust you. I know Section One can make things seem anyway they want. You active operatives take on and throw characters like some people use Kleenex. You told me before that words get you killed around here. Not to believe what I hear. Fine, I took that lesson to heart. Face value only while I'm stuck in this place. I readily admit I'm not thrilled about my life but I'll take what I can at the moment. 'Cause this is all I've got. I pretty sure that truth and trust are in short supply around here. I don't think anybody, including you, has any to give away."
*Good , I was right. I got the key. Let's open the lock and see how far the door will open.* "Fine. You want truth and trust. I'm going to give you some. A while ago you asked about Michael and the relationship that we have. I told you there wasn't one. I lied, I admit it. I'm open now to your questions. I'll answer what you want to ask. Will that make a difference to you? I don't do snow jobs. I'm real."
Darcie frowned but the idea appealed to her. She was wary of believing Nikita even though she had a strong desire to. Nikita cared, Darcie had seen that in her interactions with Walter, Birkhoff, other members of the team she was on and especially Michael. Maybe she could get into that select group too. Looking deep inside, she knew she did. She'd been without a friend or anything close to it for a long time. She decided to test it out. It was time to be blunt. "You see each other outside of this place?"
"Yes."
"Have you been to his...never mind I know that answer to that. That's where Bauer took you from. Which also made my first question stupid but... Ahhhh....ok...are you two doing each other?"
"If you mean we're lovers, if we're sleeping together...yes." Nikita stuffed down a sudden picture in her head of Bauer's leer and the memory of his hands. *Fade away!* she commanded it silently.
Darcie actually cracked a small smile. She chewed her lip for a second, watching Nikita's face for deception or something like it. Things looked clear. "Is he good?"
Nikita chuckled a little. "That I'm not going to answer. I don't think we know each other well enough for that answer yet. That's a little private."
*She's still being sincere I think. This is weird.* Knitting her brows, she looked to the floor and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the shiny surface. "Do you love him? Does he love you?"
"Yeah it goes both ways, I think. Alright, you feeling satisfied?"
"No, how did you get here? How did they get you?"
"That's a real long story. I'm willing to tell you but we need some sleep tonight. Later in the week? Will that help you?"
"For now."
"Good, I want something back then. Start doing as well with Madeline's stuff as you do everybody else's. That's all I want. Or we'll never do this again." Nikita kept her voice stern, her eyes fixed on the top of Darcie's head.
Slowly Darcie's head came up. "Thank you." She spun on her heel and beat a hasty retreat to the door.
Nikita looked down to the floor, the small smile on her face slipping into sadness. The questions had made the missing feeling stronger. She wished Michael was around to talk to. Now she was wondering whether she had just done the right thing or not. There was really no one to talk with, bounce ideas off of . Nobody who understood her way of thinking as well as he did. Whether he liked it or not, he was not only the man she was in love with but just about her best friend too.
A sick feeling came over her again and she wiped her hand across her mouth with a grimace of disgust. A tremour followed the feeling. Nikita..... She looked around. Where had that come from? It had sounded an awful lot like.....Shaking her head, she sat back down. Back to the notes here Michael had left for the report on .....
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Madeline regarded Walter closely. "Are you sure you can look into this without causing ripples? We can not afford to make it known what we're looking for."
"Madeline, how long have you known me? Have I ever let you down?" Walter slowly put down the soldering tool and looked up at the woman in front of him. Her face was drawn, the eyes were bloodshot and weary, dark circles, heavy underneath them. "You really think he was in on this?"
Hesitantly, Madeline nodded her head. "Yes. I don't want to but it is strongly pointing in that direction. If he can do that to Martina....what about us? Was he in on L' Araigne's escape? Was the whole purpose there to get Michael and Nikita out of the way? Are we next? Walter, we have to get to the root of this. Our lives depend on it."
"We will. We just have to be patient. Silvo's good. He'll come through for me. Let's just give him some time to work. Nothing is going to happen to any of us. I promise, OK?"
Madeline gave him a wan smile and then shivered. *Damn those cold fingers again!* she thought fearfully to herself.
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Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him and leaned his forehead against the back of it. God knew how he made it back here. He certainly had no idea of his own. He'd left Greg's what a day ago, two days ago, maybe even three. He couldn't be sure. He hadn't slept, just driven. He couldn't even imagine the miles he had put on the car. Michael pushed himself away from the wooden door and felt for the light switch on the wall. Light flickered on behind him before he could find it. Automatically he dug in for a breast pocket only to realize he only had on a sweat stained t-shirt. The gun was shoved in the back of his waistband. He knew it was going to be his last mistake.
He closed his eyes again and whispered, "Au revoir, mon coeur." And then he waited for whatever was going to hit him.
The only blow was from the words as they drifted across the room. "Where the hell have you been? I need to know how much longer, Michael! You're taking too damn long. Can't you do the job anymore?" Slowly he turned to the figure he thought would be in the chair. But Operations sat comfortable on the couch. His feet settled neatly on the coffee table. A glass of wine in his hand and a no nonsense look on his face. He couldn't make out Michael's face because of the shadows in the room.
Michael staggered forward. He couldn't believe it. Of all days when today and why now? When I'm in this shape? "What are you doing here? What do you want?"
As he came forward, Operations got to his feet and started to speak again, "If you come back in this condition while on a mission then..." He stopped as he looked at Michael. Then he leaned forward, peering closer. Michael's face was pale and tear streaked. His t-shirt was rumpled and clung damply to him. His eyes were red rimmed and dark circles hung under both. Both shoulders slumped and he seemed to be trying very hard not only to keep himself from shaking but to even stay on his feet. Pained was the only way to describe the set of his face and eyes. His hair hung in his face. It was obvious that he hadn't had a shower or a shave in several days.
"You look like hell. What have you been doing?"
"Trying to stay sane, I think. You conveniently forgot to tell me who that child looked like. You conveniently forgot to tell me how old he was. I should conveniently forget about this whole GOD DAMN MISSION!!!!!! Leave you to clean up your own freaking mess!!! What the hell are you trying to prove?? Maybe who is in control?? YOU REALLY THINK YOU HOLD ALL THE CARDS, DON'T YOU????"
"Listen, there was nothing personal intended here. You should be over things by now. I didn't think..."
"WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU DID?? OVER THINGS? WHEN DID YOU GIVE ME TIME? WHERE WAS MY CLOSURE? I never got it! Like what you created with all your lies and manipulations? Am I your greatest masterpiece or are you saving that honor for Nikita? GET OUT!!!"
"Stop it, Michael, calm down. I know now maybe I made a wrong assumption, considering this senseless reaction you're having. Sit down, you look like you're ready to collapse." Operations moved towards him and reached for him at the same time. Michael moved backwards, digging in for the gun. He pulled it out and pointed it at Operations. Hatred burned in his eyes. His lip curled in disgust. He had lowered his voice again but that deadly edge had crept into it.
"Senseless reaction. My reaction is senseless after everything you've taken or tried to take away from me? The pain and lies you given me? The times I've practically died doing your bidding? What I've lost because of you? Senseless? No. Not strong enough because you're still standing here and I haven't plastered your brains across the floor. But you are very close. If you only knew how close so many times. I will expect something in return for this, Oscar. And the repercussions will be unbelievable if you don't. Got it? You leave NOW!! I'll contact you when I'm ready. Go and don't think of finding a way to get back at me. It will blow up in your face. And by now you should now that my threats aren't idle."
"As if I've ever experienced your threats. You don't have the power Michael. You don't frighten me. Not in the least." *I 'm not frightened at all. Maybe just this side of terrified. He's a gun with a hair trigger right now. But I will not show him the control he does have. I can't let him know he is part of a deadly combination for me. I have to keep him off balance. I have to keep him, Nikita and Madeline busy til this is done. They can't know what is going on. I need you to get close to Greg now. You need to be in place with Nikita in case this falls apart.*
"Well what are you waiting for, old man? Go back to your little corner of hell." Michael's voice was hard and cold. As Oscar studied him, he could see the vivid hatred in Michael's eyes and the taut, restrained power in the body. If the younger man decided to physically attack him, he knew he had no chance of winning. But would Michael do that? Oscar wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to the question.
Neither man saw the figure move up to the window, looking in to see their confrontation. Greg was puzzled as to why Michael looked the way he did and where the anger came from. He was unable to make out most of the conversation but he could tell that the older man was trying to make an overture and it was making Michael furious.
"I just wanted to know how things were going. I honestly thought that you would be able to handle this."
For a second before he reacted to Operations' stupidity he felt eyes on him. He shook the feeling though. He had felt the same sensation a couple of time recently and he knew it was his mind playing tricks on him. Trying to pull him away from the mental anguish he was going through. "WHAT? After what I've been through recently....YOU IDIOT!" He shook the gun at Operations. "Leave now before I shoot you. You've got 30 seconds. And I'm counting right now. I won't be responsible for what happens when I finish."
Operations knew it wasn't a wise move to push Michael further. But he had to keep Michael reeling for as long as possible, trigger that reaction in him to protect someone else the same way he protected Nikita. That desperation would keep Nikita busy as well. Madeline was a different story. He was still working on that. The best bet for Michael right now in addition to the child was Nikita. Maybe giving him a small reminder of something he didn't have at the moment would push him to act.. But Operations still quickly went to the door and opened it slightly. He wanted a quick way to exit if Michael opted to pull the trigger anyway.
Greg pulled back as the light covered where he was standing. He could hear them plainly now. The older man spoke next. "You're not even going to ask about her."
"So you can shove it in my face that I'm here and she's there doing your bidding? Threatening my safety to her, so you can keep control? So you can tell me that my concern for her is a weakness? No...I'll find out on my own. I won't give you the god damn satisfaction. 15 seconds." Michael kept the gun on him. The need to know about her outweighed concern for his own well being, though. He had to ask, Operations had trapped him. He knew it but he didn't care. "Does she know about this yet?"
"No it's not time. I'll tell her how you are." He smiled at Michael. "It was good to see you. Try and clean up. Grunge isn't your style. Think about what I said. I am anxious to hear from you."
"I'm sure you will. I warn you. If anything happens to her, I will make good on every threat I've ever made to you. I know you were knocked down a few pegs for trying to cancel her. Don't try it again. My work will not be behind the scenes next time. 4 seconds." The door slammed behind Operations.
Greg didn't see the car pull up out of the corner of his eye and the older man get into it or the expression of pain to equal Michael's as he closed the door of the car.
His main focus was on Michael who still stood in the middle of the room, gun still held on the door. He saw his face contort into a fit of rage as he hurled the gun at the door. Michael ran his hand up through his hair, looking almost crazed. Wiping his mouth, he left the room, going to a doorway to the left. Whatever Michael was caught up in, it was eating him alive. Greg was determined to find out what it was and if possible find a way out for him.
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Nikita closed the door slowly as she entered her apartment. Wearily she pulled off her jacket and threw the keys on the counter. As she looked blearily at the remote control sitting there, she figured that she had been awake for close to....*ah hell too damn long.* At this point it felt like days. In fact it had been days. When was the last time she had been home?
The answer escaped her. She snatched the remote up and flicked it at the stereo system. Sounds of Depeche Mode filled the apartment. A tired smile came over her face.
"Music, a hot bath and then bed. If that phone rings, it goes in the toilet. I don't care who it is." She looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Even you, Michael. I'm too damn tired." Leaving the lights off and the apartment in deep shadows, she tossed the remote back unto the counter. Kicking off her shoes and humming with the music, she padded towards the stairs. Off a small stand, she grabbed a candle and the book of matches. Entering the bedroom, she tried to light the candle while holding it and the matches at the same time. It wasn't working. However the lit match was just enough to illuminate the area around her shadowily. The figure standing next to the bed startled her, making her jump and give a little yelp.
Shaking from the surprise, she struggled to strike another match and put it to the wick. His face flickered in and out of shadows as the candle grew stronger. "Michael?" His hair hung in his face and he looked like he had not shaved in days. She reached up to touch his face, it was rough and damp. His own hand covered hers, it felt cold and shaky. "What happened to you? Are you all right?"
Michael slowly shook his head and sunk down to the bed. He pulled her to him, laying his head against her. Nikita wrapped her own arms around him and rested her cheek on top of his head. He felt damp, like he had just come in from the rain. She felt him start to tremble and knew he was crying. Tightening her arms around him, she slowly rocked. After a few minutes, she made him look at her. "Talk to me. What are you involved with? Why do you look like this?" The pain in his eyes felt like a physical blow to her.
His eyes looked for reassurance and understanding in hers. Hesitantly he started to speak and then the words came out in a rush. "I can't tell you. Operations...he's ...go to him..... This hurts so much. I can't tell you how much this hurts. Tell me this will go away...that it will stop. I miss him...I still do...I never got to say good-bye. I never had the chance. Never had the guts to go. I want him back... It's not right. It's not fair. I want another chance. It's my right. I want another chance. I deserve something out of this. Something in exchange for all the hurt. Something to stop the pain. So I can put it away. So I can let it go."
Suddenly he pushed her away and was on his feet but none too steady. Nikita's mind was racing. Who and what was he talking about? Something in this mission had thrown him into a tailspin which he couldn't pull himself from. *...never got to say good-bye...want him back.* Nikita's hands went to cover her mouth before any sound could come out. * His son, he talking about Merle. Oh God! Michael, what did you see? What did he make you do? *
He stopped in front of his painting of them on the wall, staring at it. Slowly he reached up and traced the outline of the shore and the words in the sand. His next words were dull but cut into her deeply. "Do you regret living? Having to repeat yourself every day? Do you regret us? " He turned back to look at her. He could see the tears in her eyes and knew she understood what he had been able to say so far. "Greg's son looks just like Merle...same age when I lost him." He came closer to her then sank to the bed again. His hands dangled between his legs as he stared at the floor. They trembled so he clasped them together to make it not so obvious.
"You know it's not Merle. He can't be."
His head shot up to look at her. Snarling at her, he said, "I know my son's dead. I know Reese can't be him. I'm not crazy." He lowered his head again.
The anger gone as quickly as it had appeared. Nikita knelt down in front of him. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she inhaled deeply and then started again. "Michael, please that's not what I meant. I don't know everything that's going on but I don't want you to project onto this child. He can't be Merle and he can't become him for you. You can't bring him back by using another child to try to fix the past. Just remember how much you loved Merle. Cherish your memories of him. That's how you let go. That's how the pain stops"
Hollowly he asked, "Do you think he hates me for leaving him alone?"
"No, he doesn't. I'm sure he loved his daddy very much. And I'm positive he knows how much you miss him." Tears were blurring her vision and choking her voice. She was only beginning to understand the depth of the guilt he hid about Merle's death. This was why he had tried so hard to protect Katie. He didn't want her to experience what he had and was still. Thoughts raced through her head.
More than anything else was this the real force that weighed down on him and was it just the heaviest? Because he hadn't been there....was not a good father because of it. Did he feel that he was carrying on a legacy...just as his father had not been there to protect him? He hadn't been able to say good-bye. His words made her think that he still hadn't... *never had the guts to go.*
Michael couldn't let go because he had never allowed himself to say good-bye. He had avoided doing it because he felt that it was because of things he had done. He was not good enough. It was all punishment for his wrongdoings. To say good-bye was to accept. She knew the past tormented him but now she was getting a hint as to perhaps the real reason why. That he had refused or been unable emotionally to deal with any of the grief that surrounded those deaths. His parents, Simone or Merle. All this time he had been floating back and forth among all the stages but never to acceptance. He was like a record that was stuck.
"Do you hate me for letting it happen?" At that moment Nikita wasn't sure if he was talking to her and talking out loud to an image in his head. But she knew he needed an answer of some sort. In a way he was confessing, maybe she needed to give him some forgiveness and permission to leave some of the guilt behind.
"No, I could never do that. It was not your fault. The blame isn't yours Michael. Don't try to take it on. Leave it lay."
Lifting up his head again, he reached out with a hand and palmed the side of her face. With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that had started to fall. "Do you love me? I need to know. I need to hear you say it."
"Yes I love you. All of you." She moved her head so she could kiss his palm.
"You've said that to me before. Why? What do you mean by it?" He was trying to read her thoughts through her eyes. But he couldn't get past the tears he knew he was causing in those eyes.
"I can't pull off just parts of you to love. You're a whole person. Good goes with the not so good. To have you, I've got to take the whole package. Not that I like a lot of what makes up your world but there is not any other way to do it. If I fight it, I have to fight you. I'm kinda fighting a war....I'm just carefully picking the battles. I don't seem to win a lot."
She took a deep breath before going on, stopping the tears because she knew she had to be the strong one here. His eyes were fixed on her, as if he was looking for and trying to draw on that strength she was trying to find inside herself. His trembling and tears had stopped but the hurt was still strong in his eyes. All she wanted to do was find a way to make it go away and never come back.
"Now you've got to accept yourself and the past. The good as well as the not so good. Feel, experience and go on. That's living. Stop trying to just exist...just surviving...... .you're killing yourself instead. You're killing me. Accept what you are and the rest will follow. You asked me before...when I came back...to show you how to live....I'm trying but you're not following. Have you changed your mind?"
"No." His answer was soft. He meant it though. She was right. His emotional mess was wearing on her. She was strong but fighting to keep them both going was weakening her. He had to do this on his own. Come to terms and go on. He knew if he didn't he was going to lose her. He loved her too much to let that happen. Right now she was the only thing he felt was good about himself. Leaning over, he kissed her.
"Thank you. I know I've said it before but I needed to say it again."
"Thank you for what?"
"For being you. For finding and fighting for us, for me. For loving me. For everything."
She smiled at him and it helped a little but he still could not put the pain and hurt away. It was too big and strong right now. She pulled away and crawled up on the bed beside him. Laying down, she patted the mattress in front of her. "You need to sleep for a while. I do too. Can we just hold each other for a while?", she asked softly.
Silently he nodded and moved in next to her. They wrapped around each other and he buried his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Slowly and gently she slid her fingers along the side of his head through his hair. She did it until she heard his breathing slowing and deepening. Once she was assured he was asleep, she lightly kissed his head and drifted off herself.
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"Think a lot of yourself , don't you? Well let me tell you something you little twit! You're not smart enough, strong enough or good enough to do it. He's not worth it. Give it up!"
Nikita sat up at the sound of the voice. Elouette leaned against the doorway into her bedroom, twirling a small gun on her finger. "What are you doing here?"
"Well I don't like to leave things unfinished. So I have to get this done. He needs to go."
Nikita started to get of the bed, putting herself between Elouette and the still sleeping Michael. "NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
"You do as you're told, young lady. I'm sick of your mouth!" Momma backhanded her across The mouth and she fell back against the bed and almost to the floor. She scrambled up as Momma started to raise her hand again.
"You little bitch!"
Nikita grabbed her mother by the front of the blouse. "I'm not afraid of you anymore. You're going to stop this now. LEAVE US ALONE!!!" she screamed into Momma's face as she heard the shot and Momma sagged in her arms. She looked over at Elouette.
Elouette shrugged. "Oops, missed. Well you wanted her to stop, didn't you?"
Nikita jerked awake and instinctively reached for Michael. He wasn't there. The side of the bed where he had been earlier was empty and cold. The only sign of his having been there was an indentation in the pillow where his head had been. She got up and went into the bathroom. Her towel was draped neatly over the top of the shower doors. She touched it. It was still wet but not too much so. He'd been gone a while.
She turned to the sink to look in the mirror and studied herself. "Big words about acceptance and the past, Nikita. You're saying a lot of big words lately. Getting a bad taste yet? You ought to. You're just like them...say the words but how much of the shit do you believe? You're a liar and a sell out! Hope you're freaking happy!" In disgust she smacked the mirror and turned away from the image. Sick of looking at the face in it.
End of Part 3
continue on to Bitter Refrain, Part 4
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