written by Meilin
"Chips?" Birkoff tilted his bag of Fritos at Walter.
"No thanks, I've got high cholesterol," Walter answered, staring anxiously at Michael's slouched form.
They were all suffering from severe sleep-deprivation, but Michael was the hardest hit. Knowing that his wife, Nikita, was in serious danger only made things worse for Michael.
"Look," said Walter in a sage tone, "I think we've thoroughly beaten the profile to dust. I say we all get some rest so we're ready tomorrow." He glanced at Birkoff and shifted his head a centimeter to Michael's direction.
"I'm not that tired," Birkoff shrugged. "Must be the caffeine."
Walter gave the techno-freak a look that clearly stated "you're not helping."
"But I should probably be getting back," Birkoff added quickly, catching on. "I promised Nolan I'd be back around midnight." He rose and slid on his jacket.
A knock on Michael's motel room door prompted the men to immediately jump into defensive stances. His gun raised to head level, Michael nodded to Birkoff to answer the door. With remarkable confidence, the computer whiz strode to the door and peered through the eye hole. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. Michael motioned for him to open the door anyways. Obeying, Birkoff swung open the door and sweeped both ends of the dark hallway for a sign of life. Nothing. With caution, he used his foot to poke the parcel that was on the ground. Nothing again. Bending, he retrieved the package, scanned the motel hallway once more, then shut and locked the door.
"Well, I'll be damned," Walter muttered, clearing the table of junk food and laptops to make room for the mysterious delivery. "You can set it down here."
Wielding a pocket knife, Michael quickly and efficiently slid open the package to reveal a mass of styrofoam. Sifting through the white blobs, he found a standard computer disk.
"What, no Hallmark card?" Walter joked. No one laughed.
Birkoff dutifully took the disk from Michael and started downloading on his trusty laptop. Moments later, they gathered around the screen to watch the video.
The image of a face that was distorted by fuzz appeared. The fuzz, however, was attached to a body that was obviously male, as was the voice that spoke.
"Hello Michael," said the voice. "You must be worried sick about your dear wife. I know how hard it can be to lose a loved one. But you see, I am a very considerate man. I gave you this tape so that you might be assured that we are taking excellent care of your lovely Nikita."
The man stepped away, his movements jerky due to the quality of the video. This action revealed a sight that tore painfully at the hearts of the three men in the room.
A deathly pale Nikita dangled by her arms from a metal hook. Her bruised and battered body hung limp. Birkoff bit his lip as Michael's hand which had been resting on his shoulder tightened into a death grip.
"Those bastards," Walter spoke for all of them.
The man on the screen grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and jerked Nikita's face up. She whimpered and Michael closed his eyes at this sound.
The man lifted his hand to reveal a knife which he pressed firmly against Nikita's thin cheek.
"So beautiful," the man murmured. Birkoff swallowed a cry as Michael's hand clenched his shoulder even more tightly.
"It would be such a pity to see this delicate skin marred by a scar," the man commented lazily.
"Beauty is only skin deep," Nikita suddenly spoke up in a hoarse, but defiant voice. "But, that's something you wouldn't understand."
"No, Nikita," Michael whispered. "Please don't."
The man chuckled and shook his head. "I can't say I think much about your role as a husband," the man chided Michael. "This here is a wild one," he said, stroking his knife against the length of Nikita's face. "Not obedient or submissive, as women should be. You haven't broken her soul, Michael. Why is that?"
Walter glanced at Michael for a reaction. All he saw was pure hate reflected in the cold op's glittering green eyes.
"I have an order for you to fulfill, Michael," continued the man. "I know that you won't obey me without a little persuasion because you have not yet joined the Trafalq. So that is why I arranged for your wife to be brought to me."
The man's voice lowered a degree in frostiness. "I want your son, Derek, at the crack of dawn. You are to bring him to the north end of the city park located on 21st street. If he is not there, with you, as commanded by me, I will take your wife. She will live out the final hours of her life in pure agony. But like I said, I am a considerate man. I intend on eventually returning your property to you. . . in pieces."
With that final chilling statement, the man used his knife to pierce through the upper layer of Nikita's skin. A six inch line of blood appeared along her face, and the red slid down to her trembling chin. But she was brave, and did not emit a single sound of pain.
The video stopped, and the screen erupted in fuzz not unlike the mask which had covered the man's identity. Walter, Birkoff, and Michael stared at the screen for a full moment, not moving.
"I'm sorry, Michael," Walter finally broke the deathly silence.
Michael didn't answer.
"So what do we do?" Birkoff asked.
"Go through with the profile," Michael stated in a detached voice. "We knew this was coming. We just need to accommodate the time and location."
"Right," Walter sighed. He made a movement to give Michael a reassuring pat, but thought better of it, and instead picked up his coat.
"Well, Birkoff and I will be going back now. Are you coming with us?" he asked.
Michael shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't want Derek to suspect anything from my behavior. I'll meet you in the morning to pick him up."
"Okay," said Walter. He nodded gruffly at Michael. "Try to get some sleep."
But Michael's face had already taken on a lost look. His gaze was unfocused, signifying that he was in his own world of thought.
Birkoff quickly packed up and followed Walter out the motel door.
Once they were in the hallway, he whispered to Walter. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"
Walter shrugged. "No," he replied honestly. "But there's nothing we can do about that."
Birkoff nodded. Then he and Walter began their journey back to Derek and Nolan. Birkoff rotated his shoulder. He pondered whether or not to get it x-rayed, because Michael's fingers had clearly done some serious damage to his bones.
________________________________
Nolan gazed down at Derek's sleeping form, envious of the boy's
peaceful expression. Nolan had spent the last hour listening to
Derek relate to him the stories of Section One that Walter had
told the child. He had learned of Suba, and Chandler, and Bauer,
all the "bad men" that had attempted to destroy
"Princess Josephine and Sir Michel." Nolan sat down
carefully on the side of the bed, and closed his eyes in grief.
It hurt. It hurt to know that in the two years that he had spent
as a student of Nikita, she had never told him about Michael. If
only he had known the truth, then maybe he would never have
allowed himself to fall in love with the beautiful blonde. But
then again, he decided, maybe he would have desired her despite
the knowledge of Michael. She had done so much for him. She was
the benevolent angel who had prevented Section One from stealing
the one thing that truly belonged to him, -- his soul. And he
loved her for that. How he could let go of her, he did not know,
but Nolan knew it had to be done. From what he had learned from
Derek, the bond between Michael and Nikita was of a higher force,
something that wasn't to be tampered with.
A lone tear slid down Nolan's cheek. I can do this, he told himself. It's the right thing to do, after all. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shut out the image of Nikita from his mind.
_______________________
In a dark, gloomy cell, a small huddled form shivered in a dank
corner. Nikita swallowed hard, wincing from the harsh dryness in
her throat that was the result of dehydration coupled with too
much screaming from pain. In her head, she played mental games to
prevent the drugs, that coursed through her body, from taking
over her psyche. First she recited the American presidents in
order from George to Elizabeth, then she did capitals of the
world, the multiplication table, she alphabetized the numerous
terrorist factions she knew, and then finally, when she she'd run
out of material, she resorted to going through the mission
profile. She envisioned all the possible loopholes, created
possible back-up plans should anything go wrong, devised the best
method to go about killing the Trafalq leader. . .
A burst of excruciating pain exploded from her abdomen, and she clutched her torso in agony. Writhing helplessly for a minute, Nikita gradually overcame the pain by imagining that her loved ones were with her. Deep inside, she knew it wasn't real, but her drugged mind allowed her to take some peace from this hallucination.
In her mind, she was in a real home, not her apartment, but a real two-story home that lay nestled in reasonably isolated woods.
Michael, Derek, and her, were relaxing in front a blazing fireplace, the embers flickered across their contented expressions. She cuddled against Michael's broad chest, his chin rested on her head, and his arms wrapped comfortably, protectively, around her waist. Derek was chattering gleefully with them, narrating his school day events with excitement. Every once in awhile, he would ask a nonsensical question like why the sky was blue, and why Nikita wore sunglasses in dark rooms. Then Michael would answer these inquiries in a maddeningly serious tone that almost would cause Nikita to laugh out loud.
She laughed. A hoarse, pitiful sound that echoed in her dark cell. It hurt her, and the pain in her stomach took charge again. And the reality of her current situation threatened to destroy the last remnants of hope that was she was holding on to. But then she heard him again, Derek. He was giggling, giggling helplessly as Michael tickled him as punishment for asking an impudent question. The childish laughter rang in her ears, and she smiled.
___________________________________________________________
Part V
"Father, I'm going to play in the playground, okay?"
little Derek quipped.
"No," Michael forbade in a faintly distracted, but nonetheless autocratic voice. "You have to stay here with me because we're gonna meet someone."
His eyes scanned the park, a movement that was not lost to his son.
Derek tugged at his arm. "I can't see your head," he whined. It was a phrase Derek used whenever Michael was in mission mode. Quite often Michael would neglect to make eye contact with his son whenever he was occupied with Section work. "I can't see your head" meant that Derek wanted Michael's undivided attention back.
"Who are we meeting?" Derek asked impatiently. "And why are you so nervous, Father? Is something wrong?"
Fleeting memories of Elena and Adam flitted through Michael's mind before he was able to formulate an answer. Looking down, Michael pinned his son with a serious stare.
"Now listen carefully to me, Derek," he began. "We are here to meet some people that will take us to your mother."
"Mommy?" Derek grinned with glee. "Good! I miss her! Where is she?"
A muscle in Michael's left cheek twitched ever so slightly.
"She was kidnapped by some very bad men," Michael explained bluntly.
Derek's little mouth opened. "Bad men?" he repeated. "Like the ones that came into Walter's 'partment and started shooting with guns?"
"Yes," said Michael.
"Why didn't you stop them!" Derek almost shouted, his childish face contorted with anger. "How could you let them take Mommy!"
Derek suddenly stopped, and in a gesture that was beyond his years, he paused to think over what Michael had told him before jumping to conclusions.
"Did the bad men have guns again?" the boy asked. "Is that why you couldn't protect Mommy?'
"Yes," said Michael. His eyes edged to an obscure point past Derek.
"So the bad men are coming to take us too?" Derek asked.
"Yes," Michael said again, amazed at how fast his son was able to comprehend the situation. "They will take us to the leader of the bad men," he continued, "and this leader is evil."
"Evil," Derek repeated, emphasizing the word with abhorrence.
"He will ask you to join the bad men," Michael warned his son, "but you have to be strong and refuse him."
Derek nodded. "What about Mommy?"
"I'll take care of here," said Michael. "You just remember what I've told you, okay?"
Michael's gaze softened. Bending, he scooped his son up and brought the boy to his head level. He felt that he should say more to his son, but he couldn't think of anything else that might help Derek.
The sound of an approaching vehicle brought a sudden pang of pain to Michael's heart. It was time. He had dreaded this moment ever since he'd first held Derek in his arms. Was this the right thing? Did he and Nikita really have the right to jeopardize a child's life just so they might have a chance of being a family? It no longer mattered anymore, Michael realized. None of them had a choice in this mission. Free will had been abolished. Section was in control. But, Michael repeated firmly in his mind, they would not control him completely. He would see to it that Nikita and Derek made it out of the Trafalq headquarters alive, . . . even if it meant sacrificing his own life.
_______________________
"So who's the target?" Nolan asked, watching as Birkoff
monitored the mission from the van they were seated in.
"Trafalq leader," Birkoff answered absentmindedly.
"That's his name?" Nolan scoffed. He winced slightly as Walter tossed a gun onto the console, where it landed with a loud clatter. The old man was obviously in a bad mood.
"We've got very little Intel on the guy," said Birkoff. "All we know is that he's fucked up a couple of government buildings and has been stockpiling nukes for the past ten years. I'd nominate him as 'most likely to start world war three'," he finished with a sniff.
"So how did we infiltrate?" Nolan queried, popping open a can of soda.
"Long story," said Birkoff, distractedly. "I've got movement, Michael," he suddenly spoke into the com unit. "They'll be in position in a half minute."
"So Michael's gonna take them down, huh?" Nolan murmured. "Where's the rest of the team, though?"
"Nikita's already in," Walter said bluntly.
"Nikita?" Nolan repeated stupidly. "But I thought these Trafalq guys kidnapped her. . . "
His voice trailed off as Walter gave him a "you should know better than that" stare.
"Alright, disconnecting all links," Birkoff informed Michael. "Good luck."
Meanwhile, the light was starting to dawn on Nolan. "Section purposely set Nikita up so the Trafalq would kidnap her and take her to their headquarters," he realized out loud.
Nolan sipped at his carbonated beverage. "So, what am I suppose to do as part of the back-up team? Just baby-sit their kid 'til they get back from "work" ?"
"You don't have to watch Derek anymore," Walter informed Nolan with a tone of contempt.
"Then who's taking care of the kid now?" he asked, confused.
"Michael and Nikita," Walter answered brusquely.
"But they're on a mission," Nolan stated the obvious.
"Yeah, and Section ordered them to take their kid along," said Walter, angrily tossing another cleaned gun onto the console.
"That's crazy!" Nolan exclaimed. "Derek doesn't work for Section. He's only five!"
"Section's power extends past its employees," said Birkoff entering into the heated conversation.
"I know that!" Nolan said indignantly. "But what right do they have sending a kid into dangerous situation like this? He could get killed!"
"What right does Section have to kill any operative that doesn't meet their standards," Walter countered. "Why does Madeline get to torture civilians? Why should anybody have the power to blow up a building that's full of innocent people just to fulfill a mission's goal? But Operations does. He's got the power, and like anyone who's got totalitarian control, he'll do stuff that's downright evil".
Walter slammed the last weapon down.
"Welcome to the even darker side of Section One," he told Nolan in a harsh tone.
_______________________________
Derek sat on his bottom, legs splayed out wide while he
impatiently tapped his hands on the floor. Meanwhile, Michael
roved around the small, but commodious room. The walls were a
subdued blue and matched the plush carpet. Piles of stuffed
animals and other toys were placed about the room, but Michael
had forbade Derek from playing with them. The boy had been
greatly disappointed at first, but he seemed to understand the
seriousness of the situation.
"Father, when will we see Mommy?" Derek asked in a quiet voice. His father's tense mood was starting to frighten Derek.
"I don't know," Michael replied gruffly.
Derek pouted ever so slightly and bent his head in a forlorn movement. Michael grimaced inwardly as he realized what his Section side was doing to his son. Slowly, he settled himself down beside Derek. Folding his tall, dark form into a cross-legged position, Michael began tapping at the carpeted floor as well, in an almost playful manner.
"If this leader is so evil," Derek asked. "Why did he lock us up in a nice room?"
"Would you rather be a in dark dungeon that's full of rats?" Michael teased.
"No," Derek answered seriously. "I'm afraid of the dark. And Mommy's scared of rats. But it's just kind of funny that they put us here, you know?"
Michael nodded. "Evil people will do funny things to confuse you," he told his son.
"I hope they didn't put Mommy in a dungeon that's full of rats," said Derek, still caught on his last train of thought. "Remember when we went to that hotel in. . . " he scrunched his face up to remember.
"New York?" Michael supplied, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips.
"Yeah," Derek continued, "and I was using the wastebasket as a basketball hoop, and Poopy the Hippo was my ball? The maid accidentally threw away Poopy 'cuz I left him in the garbage and you went to the big garbage cans to find him! Mommy got worried when you didn't come back after such a long time. So she took me with her to go looking for you."
"I was knee deep in garbage when I heard this wild shrieking coming from down the alley," Michael continued with the story, his eyes twinkling. "I remember it was the first I had ever heard your mother truly scream. It wasn't a loud yell. And it didn't sound like a duck being stepped on."
"Father!" Derek giggled.
"It was a high-pitched, feminine wail of distress," said Michael his French accent growing rougher with dramatism.
"So I rushed to see what was wrong," he continued, "And there you were, using a metal stick to beat at five big fat garbage-fed rodents that were swarming around my poor Nikita."
"I made them go away," Derek told his father proudly.
"Yes you did," Michael agreed, his gaze turning affectionate as he stared at his son.
They sat in silence for a moment. Clinging to the happiness of memories that were slowly slipping away as the present reality intruded upon them.
"I hope she's okay," Derek said quietly.
Michael nodded and pulled Derek into a rare embrace.
"I hope so too."
____________________________
The door to their cozy prison cell suddenly swung open and Derek
immediately snuggled tighter into Michael's warm embrace. First,
two armed men entered and positioned themselves as guards. They
were followed by four more armed men who automatically encircled
Michael and Derek. Michael slowly stood to withdraw their
advantage of height, but kept his hold on Derek.
Moments later, his wife was led in by two men. She held herself proudly, but Michael saw that she walked stiffly and that her vibrant eyes were set in a gaunt face. A stark white gown clung to her thin body and made her skin seem paler in comparison. Anyone else in the dress would have looked like a rehab patient, but Michael thought it made her look like a sickly angel who had gotten lost on the way back to heaven.
"Mommy!" Derek half-squealed, running to his mother.
Quick as lightning Michael clapped a hand down onto Derek's shoulder to restrain him from further injuring Nikita with an exuberant hug. Nikita smiled gratefully at him, then strode carefully to Derek. Bending, she wrapped her arms lightly about him and pressed her lips to his babyish cheek.
"I missed you Mommy," Derek whispered.
"I missed you too, sweetheart," she whispered back. Behind Derek, Michael stood watching on. Their eyes met during the embrace, and so they communicated their love for each other this way in silence.
Another entity entered into the room, and Michael's eyes broke away from Nikita's to take in the intruder. Michael's heart clenched with anger when he saw the familiar lean body that towered from the ground. The body was of the same man he had seen cut Nikita's face. The mysterious face that had been obscured at that time was now unveiled for him to see. It was angular and rigid, but at the same time, it possessed the feature of one that snubbed all those he placed below him. His eyes were haughty, and gleamed of aristocracy. His aura was cruel and commanding, and Michael had the sudden impulse to step in front of his family to shield them from this evil radiant.
But when the man opened his mouth to speak, his tone was not incisive, but instead, demonic sheathed with honey.
"Hello Derek," Trafalq leader greeted the boy.
Nikita drew herself up and turned to face the man, keeping her son at her back so that he was safely positioned between her and Michael.
"How do you like your room?" Trafalq leader asked, deliberately ignoring both Michael and Nikita.
Derek peeked out from behind Nikita's slim waist, but he did not open his mouth.
"You are frightened of me," the leader stated. "Don't be, I am your father, and you may call me so."
"You're not my father!" Derek's high-pitched voice cut across the room.
"Oh, but I am," said Trafalq leader. "That is why I have brought you back to my home. It is time for you to learn the ways of the Trafalq."
"I already have a home," Derek shot back stubbornly. "And it's better than this place. I have a better father too."
Michael placed his hands on Derek's shoulders, silently willing his son to be quiet.
Trafalq leader's eyes glimmered dangerously. He raised a hand and waved it.
"Take them," he commanded.
Michael watched with alarm as two guards began to roughly haul Nikita away. He then jerked forward slightly as the barrel of a gun dug into his spine and he too was led to the door.
"No!" Derek shouted, grabbing onto his parents.
"Everything's gonna be okay," Michael whispered to him, "Just remember what I told you. Remember that evil is never what it seems."
But Derek wasn't listening, with tears streaming down his face, he began wailing.
"Please, don't leave me!" he sobbed.
Nikita immediately responded with maternal instinct and bent to press her son to her bosom. She clung tightly to him, even as the guards pulled at her.
Trafalq leader watched on with cold dispassion.
"Mommy, Mommy, I want to go home!" Derek babbled, almost incoherently. "Please Mommy, don't leave me!"
Impatient, one guard raised his gun high to strike it down upon the blonde's crown. Michael hastily latched his hand onto the guards wrist, his iron grip wrenching the man's bone to powder. Effortlessly pushing the guard away, Michael then dropped one hand down to grip onto Nikita's white dress. His movements robotic, Michael hauled her up and away from Derek.
"Mommy!" Derek screeched. His tears had blinded him so that he hadn't realized who had torn his mother away from him. His tiny hands reached out, but encountered nothing but thin air.
"Michael, no" Nikita moaned, violently trying to wrestle out of his vise-like grip.
"Ni-ki-ta," his voice was cold and autocratic.
Nikita felt her knees give away as she collapsed with grief, all thoughts of the mission overpowered by the impending separation from of her son.
"No, no, no," she cried weakly, even as she felt the prick of a needle upon her ashen skin. "Derek!"
She screamed hoarsely at darkness swirled about her and she was carried away by the wind.
Slowly, Michael loosened his death hold upon Nikita when he felt her body go limp. Cradling her protectively against his chest, he turned and allowed himself to be led away by the guards. He heard Derek crying behind him, but dared not glance back. For Michael knew that the sight of his anguished son would break him more easily than any ghastly form of torture could.
________________________
Michael gazed down at his wife with sorrow. His hand tentatively
stroked the side of her face, and he allowed his fingers to twine
into her golden strands. He did not know how long he had sat on
the bed, waiting for her to awake from her drug-induced slumber.
However, his Section side decided it was time to be efficient and
scan the room for surveillance equipment.
Slowly easing himself off of the bed, Michael began a quick and economic inspection of their room. It was moderately-sized, and just as commodious as the room Derek had been placed in. In only minutes, Michael was able to locate the cameras. One dangled above their bed from the ceiling fan, another hid within a lampshade. They would all have been easy to disable, but Michael knew it would be pointless, so he did not bother.
A whimper interrupted his intense examination of the bathroom mirror. Striding quickly to the bed, he arrived to find Nikita curled in a fetal position.
"Ni-ki-ta," he called out to her.
She mumbled incoherently and he reached out to shake her from her stupor. It was a mistake. At his touch, Nikita shrieked and rolled away, almost falling off of the bed. Michael grabbed her flailing body and hauled her away from the edge. She responded with a vicious left hook which would have stunned his Adam's apple had he not swooped down to pin her. He gripped her wrists, then immobilized her thrashing lower body with his legs.
"Nikita, this is Michael," he told her through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He grunted when she kneaded him in the groin. Apparently they didn't have a mutual agreement.
Michael placed a hand on either side of Nikita's face and used his fingers to push her open her eyes. Hysterical blue pierced at him.
"Nikita," he murmured, stroking her cheek in an effort to calm her.
Gradually, her movements ceased. Nikita's entire body went limp beneath Michael's form.
"You," she accused him hoarsely.
"Yes, it's me," answered Michael, rather modestly.
Nikita sighed.
"Derek?"
"I don't know," Michael told her, honestly. "He's still in that room, as far as I know."
Nikita groaned. "What have I done?" she cried softly. "What have I done? I should never have agreed to --- "
Michael silenced her by pressing his mouth to her lips, successfully preventing the cameras from picking up this slip.
"This room isn't clean," he informed her, whispering into the fragile shell of her ear.
Nikita blinked at him, understanding reflected in the turbulent pools of her eyes. But the pain was still there.
"I'm sorry, Nikita," he had to say it, even though he knew the words meant nothing to her.
She squirmed beneath him and moaned.
"What? What is it?"
"You're leaning on my ribs," she complained.
Michael immediately rolled off of her, then pulled her gently into a standing position.
"What did they do to you?" he demanded, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice, but failing to do so.
"I'm fine," Nikita started to say, but Michael would have none of that.
Before she could object, he lifted her white dress up and off of her body. A mosaic of bruises, welts, and lesions greeted his horrified eyes.
"Michael," Nikita protested when he began moving his hands about her body, checking for internal injuries.
He shoved her hands away with impatience and Nikita could have sworn she heard him growl. So, she acquiesced and stood stiffly before him while he scrutinized the surface of her marred flesh.
Once he had satisfied himself with the knowledge that her injuries were mainly external, Michael quickly wrapped an arm about Nikita's waist and led her to the bathroom. She shivered slightly and he slipped his shirt off to clothe her. The white dress that had once made her look angelic, now seemed to be a repulsive accomplice to her beating. He would not have her wearing it.
Pushing her down to sit on the toilet seat, Michael quickly turned on the taps in the bathtub. When the temperature was just right, he moved quickly to strip both Nikita and himself. Then he steadied her while she stepped into the steady shower of warm water.
"Nikita?" he questioned. Her pliant body rested weakly against his broad chest. Her closed eyes gave her the appearance of being asleep.
"I'll be fine," she told him tiredly. "Just clean me, Michael. I feel disgusting."
Michael nodded, and after pressing a fierce kiss to her forehead, he proceeded to fulfill her request.
__________________________
Derek sat on his bed, gazing sadly at the locked door of his
room. He wondered were his parents were. Suddenly, the door swung
open and a stick-thin woman stalked in. A thick black shawl
draped across her shoulders. Derek thought it made her look like
a spider. She strode over to him, her brightly painted red lips
stretched into a thin line, and placed a tray laden with food
onto the bed.
"I'm not hungry," Derek told her.
She simply shrugged and spun on her heel to walk out of the room without a word. A moment later, a tall, dark man entered the room. Derek stared at him apprehensively. He remembered that this was the man who had ordered the bad guys to take his parents away.
"Good morning," said the man.
Derek played with his food.
The man smiled freakishly. He sat down beside Derek, and Derek immediately responded by sliding off the bed.
"Do you miss Michael and Nikita?" the man inquired.
"Where are my parents?" Derek demanded.
"They aren't your parents. I am your father," Trafalq leader informed Derek.
Derek folded his arms and glared back with intensity that rivaled his father's patented blank stare.
"Come here," Trafalq leader beckoned. "I have some things to tell you about the two people you believe to be your parents."
"They ARE my parents," Derek shot back stubbornly.
The door behind him opened, and the spider-woman entered again. This time she came with a tray laden with coffee and other grown-up breakfast foods. Silently, the woman set the tray down in front of Trafalq leader. Then she turned to leave, but not after giving Derek a bone-chilling glare.
"Come," Trafalq leader beckoned to the boy.
Derek stood back a moment longer, then proceeded to obey with exaggerated reluctance. He plopped himself down on the edge of the bed, and smiled with satisfaction when the coffee splashed out of the man's mug.
"Do you know what Section One is?" Trafalq leader inquired, using slow, laconic movements to butter his toast.
Derek shook his head. He remembered his father teaching him how to keep strangers from knowing too much about himself. "Never volunteer information" was his father's rule when dealing with bad men.
"Section One is a secret organization that your parents work for," Trafalq leader told Derek. "Your parents lied to you about their jobs. They aren't diplomats. They're killers."
"No they aren't!" Derek protested. "My father and mommy help people. You're the killer!"
Trafalq leader smiled. "On the contrary," he began, then proceeded to launch into his anti-Section speech.
Derek frowned, and folded his arms. He watched as the man slowly stood up from the bed and began pacing the room. Seeing this opportunity, Derek deftly reached into his pants pocket to retrieve the pill his father had given him. Making a silent wish that he would do this correctly and not disappoint his father, Derek swiftly dropped the pill into the man's coffee cup. It disappeared into the brown murky depths without so much as a ripple.
"How do you feel now, knowing that you've been lied to all your life?" Trafalq leader asked, suddenly spinning around to face Derek.
Derek shrugged. He hadn't really been listening to the man's blabbering about terror-ism. The man used too many big words. Uncle Walter was a much better story-teller when it came to Section One tales.
Trafalq leader glared down at the boy. He was angered at the boy's lack of emotion. "What did I expect?" Trafalq leader asked himself. "This is after all, the offspring of two of Section One's most adept operatives. He will be hard to break."
Trafalq leader seated himself again before the boy, and contemplated the boy's blank, almost oblivious face over the rim of his coffee mug. Something was wrong with this picture, Trafalq leader realized. If only he could figure out what it was.
____________________
"You did what!!!"
Michael winced when Nikita's furious voice practically shattered his ear drums.
"It was the only way we could get to Trafalq leader," he told her curtly. "Neither of us were in a position to take him out. He would never have suspected Derek, so that's why we chose him."
"We?" Nikita tried to yank her arm out of Michael's grip, but his steel fingers clung to her elbow.
"Operations, Madeline, and I," Michael clarified, continuing his brisk path down the hall, dragging Nikita along with him.
"How did you get Derek to - " Nikita half-grunted, half-squealed when Michael abruptly stopped right in front of the corner and she collided with his shoulder.
Michael pushed her flat against the wall, then crouched down to peer around the corner. Nikita glanced down the hall, instinctively scanning for the enemy.
"He thinks this is a game," Michael explained.
"A game," Nikita repeated. She huffed with annoyance when Michael's fingers again latched onto her arm and began pulling her around the corner. He broke into a brisk run and she followed suit.
Minutes ago, they had broken out of their locked room. It was only a matter of time before the whole place came down on them.
A burst of gunfire erupted somewhere in the compound and the rat-a-tat of the ensuing machine guns spurred them onto a faster escape speed. The second time Michael stopped, Nikita managed to refrain from walking up his back. He set to work on the lock of the room they had stopped in front of while Nikita stood guard.
"Father!!" Derek's high-pitched voice greeted them as they entered. "Mommy!"
Nikita almost stumbled back when Derek flung his body at her. He buried his face into her tummy, and she smiled down at him with maternal love. She hoped she would never lose him.
"I was so scared Mommy," Derek confessed, his shimmering blue eyes looking up at her.
"Are you all right?" Nikita asked him anxiously. "Did they hurt you in anyway?"
"No Mommy, I'm fine," said Derek.
Nikita bit her lip. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry upon hearing that phrase come from her son's mouth.
"We don't have much time," Michael told them, already out of the room and in Section-mode.
"Derek, we have to go now," Nikita began to gently pry the boy away from her.
"Did you get rid of the sugar pill?" Michael asked Derek.
"Yep!" Derek quipped. "Princess Josephine will be so happy!"
"What?" Nikita's mouth dropped open upon hearing her codename. Michael nudged it shut with a careless finger.
"I'll explain later," he promised her. Hoisting Derek up, Michael used his free hand to propel Nikita out of the room. "Let's go."
They ran down the hallway while all hell broke loose around them in the compound.
Shouts echoed about the area.
"The Trafalq leader's dead!" someone yelled out.
"The prisoners escaped!"
"Get them! They're in Sector 5!"
Nikita skidded to a stop as five armed men rounded the corner in front of them. They aimed their weapons at the family and Nikita raised her hands above her head in a gesture of surrender.
"Don't shoot," she warned them, positioning herself in front of Derek, who was being held by Michael.
Nikita held her breath, waiting. Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted from the hallway perpendicular to them. All five men hit the ground, dead.
Moments later, three armed, black-clad Section operatives appeared. Among them was a familiar, tall, gawky youth.
"About time," Nikita whispered under her breath.
Nolan smiled sheepishly.
"The security in this place wasn't exactly easy to bypass," he told her. He glanced shyly down at the floor when he realized how audacious that had sounded. Nikita smiled and punched him playfully in the shoulder. Nolan nearly melted. Then he realized that Michael and Derek stood behind the blonde.
"Hi," he said with a note of uncertainty.
"Can we go home now?" Derek called out in a tone that bordered on whining.
"Let's," Michael agreed, stepping forward to accept the gun that Nolan held out for him.
"Are the charges set?" he queried.
"Yeah," Nolan nodded.
Derek stared at the men with wide open eyes. "Father, you know how to use a gun?" he gasped.
Nikita closed her eyes in despair.
Michael hesitated.
"You know how Sir Michel used a magic sword, right?" Nolan suddenly burst out.
Michael and Nikita stared at him.
"Uh-huh," said Derek.
"The sword was very powerful, and could be used to kill bad men," Nolan continued, feeling inspired. "But Sir Michel only used when it was absolutely necessary. He only used it when people's lives were in danger. Your dad learned how to use a gun just in case you or your mom got in trouble like this. He wanted to make sure he'd be able to protect you in times of danger," Nolan finished.
"Oh," Derek absorbed this information without question.
Nikita opened her mouth again, closed it, then opened it again.
"Sir Michel?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Later," both men told her.
"We've got to go," said Michael.
"Yeah, the charges are set for ten minutes," Nolan added.
Sure enough, ten minutes later the entire compound exploded into a ball of fire, incinerating both the Trafalq leader and his legion. The smoke from the flames curled upward into the starry night as the Section team, plus a little boy, disappeared as well into the night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * *
Operations stared down at his domain, his eyes fixed on two
particularly troublesome operatives.
"What do you suggest we do with the boy?" he asked Madeline.
Madeline folded her arms and carefully pondered this question.
"His amount of exposure was limited," she said slowly, "Memory alteration would be my first recommendation, but the parents would no doubt strongly object."
Operations snorted. "I'm sure they would," he glared down at the two operatives, watching as they prepared to depart from Section.
"Michael and Nikita can have him for now," said Madeline. "But we must continue to be an influential part of the boy's life. After all, he is now young and malleable. It's the perfect time to began training. I'll admit that this first mission had its flaws, but we'll learn from our mistakes and improve the next one."
"Sometimes I wonder if he's really worth it," Operations confessed, turning to face Madeline.
Madeline shrugged slightly. "I have my doubts too," she conceded, "but I think he's worth the trouble. Derek is the combination of our two most seasoned operatives. He has their prime traits. If we raise him the right way, he could very well grow up to become our most proficient operative."
"Yes," said Operations, thoughtfully. "If we could just instill a killer instinct in him, we'd have the right balance of lethal skill that could be regulated by Nikita's conscience." He smiled. "It's a good thing we got Trafalq leader out of the way. Now we have complete control of the boy."
"Yes," Madeline agreed. "He's ours to mold."
_________________________
"Uncle Walter, do you think Princess Josephine's sugar pill
is going to work?" Derek asked anxiously.
"Of course it will," Walter assured the boy. He carried the boy into Nikita's apartment. The place had been returned to reasonable living standards, (courtesy of himself, Birkoff, and some hired help) after the Trafalq had demolished the apartment with bullets.
"When are you two kids gonna get a real home?" Walter teased
Michael and Nikita as they entered with Nolan and Birkoff in tow.
Nikita shrugged. "Someday," she said, smiling tiredly at her husband. Then she pinned everyone in the room with a threatening stare. "Now I think I deserve an explanation, correct? What's all this talk about Princess Josephine and Sir Michael?"
"Sir Michel," Birkoff corrected her.
Nikita raised her eyebrows. "You're in this too?"
Birkoff shrugged sheepishly.
"Princess Josephine and Sir Michel are the rulers of Section One, Mommy," Derek explained in earnest. "They protect the world from terror-rism."
"Oh, I see," Nikita smiled at her son, then turned to glare at her husband.
Michael held out his hands as if to say, "don't blame me."
"It was my idea," Walter assured her. He patted Derek on the head. "Why don't you get ready for bed?" he suggested.
"Yes, dear," Nikita put in. "Go brush your teeth. Your father and I will be up soon."
"But Mommy," Derek whined. "I want to stay with Uncle Walter and Birky and Nolan."
"Birkoff," Birkoff corrected him.
"Look Derek," Nolan said, pitching in, "How about we do something tomorrow night, together. I mean, if it's all right with your parents and everything," he added, glancing at Michael and Nikita.
"Okay!" Derek instantly agreed.
Michael nodded his consent.
"That's fine with me," Nikita sighed. "Now go on," she said, gently pushing Derek in the direction of the bathroom. Then she turned to face the men.
"Well?" she asked, expectantly.
Walter sighed. "You see," he began, "one day I was looking over a profile of one of the missions while you two were off someplace in Cambodia. Derek was messing around with my bomb kit. . ."
Nikita gasped.
"Under my supervision," Walter added quickly. "The thing's harmless, trust me," he assured. "Anyways, the phone rang so I went to answer it. It was Birkoff here, and so we talked for awhile. When I came back to check on Derek, I saw that he was trying to read the mission off of my laptop screen."
"You left the mission on the screen?" Nikita exclaimed.
"I didn't think he'd be interested in what I was doing," Walter said, defensively. "Anyways, Derek can't read too well, but he got the gist of what the mission was about. He demanded an explanation, and well, the only thing I could come up with was to tell him that I liked to document legends during my free time. I spun this whole tale about how Section One was this lost kingdom that existed sometime ago, and made some characters up."
"And you just had to use our names," said Nikita, with disbelief.
"Creativity was never my strong point," Walter conceded. "Anyways, Michael found out, and he. . . "
"Thought it would be better if we didn't let you know about these stories," Michael cut in, "because it would only worry you."
"Right," Nikita said, sardonically. "What were you planning on doing when Derek grew up?"
"Remind him that these stories are just fiction," Birkoff suggested. "Hey, some kids have Santa Claus, others have anti-terrorist organizations."
"Mommy?" Derek's voice stopped Nikita from throttling the computer-whiz. "I can't find Poopy the Second," he cried, ambling out to the kitchenette in his pajamas.
"Poopy the Second?" Nolan repeated, flabbergasted.
"Stuffed hippopotamus doll," Michael explained, his accent stumbling over the animal's long name.
"I'll help you look for it," Nikita assured Derek. "Okay?"
"Okay," Derek sniffled.
"We'll discuss this later," she told Michael in a half-heartedly cold voice. She turned to face the rest of the men. "Good-night," she said sweetly.
"Good-night, sugar," said Walter.
After she had left with Derek, the four men exhaled in unison.
"She seems pretty upset over this whole thing," said Birkoff.
"Yeah," Nolan agreed. "Maybe you should have just told her from the beginning."
Walter clapped Michael on the back. "I feel sorry for you," he said, expressing camaraderie. "If she sends you to the couch," he teased, "remember, I have an extra cot over at my place. You're always welcome."
"Thank you," Michael said, courteously.
Then, after bidding the three good-bye, he squared his shoulders and proceeded to prepare for bed. He checked the sofa cushions for misplaced sunglasses, just in case.
_____________________
"Hey, Nolan, could you toss me a Twinkie?" Birkoff
requested absentmindedly.
Birkoff sorted through psych profiles on his laptop. "Nolan?" he prompted, when his friend didn't respond.
Glancing over at Nolan, Birkoff saw that the gawky teen was staring with blatant infatuation at one particularly attractive blonde cold op. Again. Birkoff rolled his eyes, then paused to summon up what wisdom he had acquired over the years. He rolled his chair over to Nolan's perch.
"You've got to get over her," he told Nolan, in a solemn voice.
"I know," Nolan said sorrowfully. "But I just don't know how to let go of her."
"She was never yours in the first place," Birkoff reminded the young man.
Nolan swallowed hard. "That's what hurts the most," he lamented. He turned away from Birkoff so that the cyberpunk wouldn't see the tears that threatened to trickle out of his eyes.
"Those two years that I had with her," he began, "Nikita was the center of my universe. She wasn't just my trainer and mentor, she was my best friend, my confidant, and, as silly as it sounds, the mother that I never had."
Birkoff and Nolan watched as Nikita slipped on her coat and prepared to leave Section. Sparks of emotional turmoil shot out from Nolan when a black-clad, green-eyed, tall, dark, and handsome man accosted her. Nikita smiled faintly at the man. He didn't return the gesture, but his eyes glimmered with affection for her. They departed together, strolling side by side in companionable silence.
"Then he came along," Nolan bit out bitterly. "And I realized that everything Nikita had done for me was a lie. She doesn't really care about me, does she? I was just another assignment for her to carry out."
Birkoff shook his head.
"First of all," Birkoff declared, "Michael and Nikita were together way before you arrived. But," he softened this blow, "I also know that Nikita does care for you. I can't count the number of times she's manipulated mission profiles so that you'd be safe out on the field. She's always tracking your progress, secretly checking out what the Section heads think of you in terms of merit. She'd lay her life on the line just to keep you from being canceled. She may not love you as she does Michael," Birkoff admitted, "but she loves you like. . . "
"A little brother," Nolan finished, grudgingly.
Birkoff had been going to say "like a close cousin" since HE was Nikita's "little brother", but he decided not to make waves.
"Yeah," he said to Nolan.
Nolan sighed, his startling blue eyes fixated on the elevator door Michael and Nikita had been waiting at.
"You know, Gail tells me that there's this munitions chic that's hot for you," said Birkoff. "Her name's Ada. Why don't you ask her out for a cup of coffee?" he suggested.
Nolan didn't answer at first. Instead, he stood up slowly, dropping his scruffy combat booted feet to the ground. Then he swung on his equally beat-up army coat and proceeded to rake his fingers through his blonde locks. Gone was his clean shave, professionally styled hair, and designer clothing.
"Nah," said Nolan, "Coffee was something Nikita would ask me out for. But to tell you the truth, I've never really liked the stuff. I think I'll ask Ada if she wants to go out for a nice greasy burger and some root beer."
"Whatever floats your boat," Birkoff encouraged him.
Nolan forced a smile. There'll always be Nikita, he told himself, but there'll also be Michael. It's time to move on. Tossing a Twinkie to Birkoff, he nodded a good-bye, then trudged onward to munitions.
_________________________
"I love root beer," Ada admitted cheerfully.
"Can't live without my weekly fix of it."
Nolan grinned. "Yeah," he said, trying hard to concentrate on her, and not a point above her shoulder.
"So what do you do when you're not tied down by you-know- what?" Ada asked mischievously.
Nolan's lips quirked upward. "Well," he said, just beginning to notice how exotic her violet eyes were. "I like to go biking, listen to music, play computer games. . . "
"Biking?" she sounded intrigued.
"Yeah," said Nolan, grateful that Section wasn't the topic of conversation. "I love biking on ice. It's the greatest feeling to be skidding along, the winter wind slashing at your face."
He smiled shyly as Ada responded with enthusiasm. He listened to her talk for awhile about her own interests. A half hour later, when they walked out of the burger joint, Nolan realized he'd changed. It felt good. He also realized, that for once, his mind wasn't fixated on Nikita.
"So where to now?" Ada asked, her eyes twinkling. "Back to you-know-where?" She pouted and shook her head, answering part of her own question.
"Nah," said Nolan, linking her arm through his. "I've got a better idea."
They crossed the street.
________________________________________________________
Epilogue
The muted sounds of city night-life resonated throughout the
candle-scented bedroom. Peaceful, was the first word that came to
Michael's mind as he laid cuddled with Nikita. Idle fingers
immersed themselves into her golden strands, and he heard her
sigh with contentment.
"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" he remarked, pulling her closer to his chest.
"Yes," she murmured, "I'd almost forgotten how wonderful it can be to just lie back and relax." She smiled impishly at him.
Michael responded with a guttural laugh. He leaned down to press a kiss to her swollen lips, but stopped when he saw the shadow of seriousness settle onto her exquisite features.
"What?" he asked her.
"I'm sorry," she apologized for breaking the mood, "but I just thought of Derek again. What if he tells his schoolmates about Walter's stories?" She frowned. "Derek's already been exposed to Section operatives," she pointed out. "Sooner or later, he's going to start asking detrimental questions."
"I know," said Michael, learning back onto his pillow. He sighed. "I'll talk to him tomorrow, promise."
Nikita settled back onto his broad chest. "I just hope that'll be enough," she whispered.
"We can't protect him from Section forever," Michael warned her.
His fingers traced a path up her spine, and then settled on the nape of her neck. She shivered.
"What are you trying to say?" she demanded.
Michael pulled himself and Nikita into a sitting position so that they were face to face on the bed. He placed his hands onto her bare shoulders and looked deeply, solemnly, into her defiant blue eyes.
"Section wants him," he told her.
Nikita shook her head violently, denying the inevitable truth.
"No," she moaned, trying to free herself from his grasp.
"Nikita, listen to me," Michael ordered, pulling her into an embrace. She trembled in the circle of his arms.
"We both know the real reason Section allowed us to have a child," he told her, hugging her close. "You knew it all along, deep inside of yourself. But you went ahead with the pregnancy, and chose not to abort. I supported your decision, because I wanted Derek as well. And if that makes us selfish parents, so be it. Now it's up to us train him, prepare him, for what Section will ultimately do to him. We have to make him strong enough to survive Section." Michael's voice dropped to a whisper. "We have to make him as strong as you, so that he'll never forsake his soul."
Nikita pushed herself away from Michael, and he let her go.
"He wasn't a mistake," she said. It was part statement, part question.
"No," Michael replied fiercely. "He is not a mistake."
Nikita nodded, and raised a hand to swipe at the tears that had escaped from her eyes. Michael gave her her space for the moment, letting her sort through the emotions. Then when he could no longer keep himself apart from her softness, he advanced forward and gently folded her into his arms.
Suddenly, the door to their apartment burst open, and a flurry of pounding feet could be heard. Michael and Nikita froze.
The sound of the pounding feet increased steadily in volume until they stopped abruptly in front of their bedroom door.
"Derek!" Nikita hissed. Michael pushed her down onto the bed and quickly covered her nudity with the silk sheets.
The door swung violently open, and an extremely high-strung little boy burst into their room. He bounded to their bed and promptly hurtled himself forward to land between the startled couple.
"Derek!" Michael admonished, "How many times have I told you to knock before you enter this room!!"
Innocent blue eyes stared up at Michael. "I'm sorry Daddy, I was just so excited that I forgot," Derek explained earnestly. His little face pleaded for forgiveness.
"Daddy?" Michael repeated. He looked like he'd been hit over the head with a Glock.
"He's learning," said Nikita, grinning at Michael's moment of weakness.
Just then, a red-faced old man huffed and puffed himself into the room. He jogged over to the bed and leaned down to rest his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
"I'm sorry," Walter managed to gasp out. "I just didn't have the energy left to stop him from coming to your room."
"Did he wear you out that much?" Nikita teased, folding her arms in a gesture of modesty.
"Oh yeah," said Walter. He started when he saw the position that the couple was in. "Oh," he muttered, blushing slightly. He focused on the little boy. For once, his flirtatious eyes weren't on Nikita. Not with Michael around!
"Derek, why don't you let me help you get ready for bed," Walter suggested. "It's been a long night."
"But I want to tell Mommy and Daddy what we did!" said Derek, almost whining.
"It's all right, Walter," Nikita assured the old man. "Thank you for taking him out tonight. We can take it from here."
Walter nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said, still avoiding direct eye contact with her. He glanced at the still-stunned Michael and decided to take a chance. He stole a look at the beautiful blonde sans clothing and flashed her a saucy grin. Nikita stifled a giggle and waved him a good-night.
"Sleep tight little booger," Walter told Derek.
"Bye Uncle Walter!" Derek replied enthusiastically. "And thank you!"
"No problem," said Walter. "You folks have a good-night, now." He turned and left, unable to contain his grin any longer.
Derek squirmed around in the bed, sliding off his shoes and socks before snuggling down between his parents.
"Mommy, aren't you cold?" he asked, matter-of-factly. "Where are your pajamas?"
Nikita opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"Here," Michael dug around the mess of clothing that lay tangled beneath his side of the bed and then mechanically presented her nightgown to her. He was still in shock over Derek calling him "Daddy" instead of the usual "Father." But he managed to gather his control together and pull Derek into his arms, thus diverting the boy's attention from his nude wife.
"Tell me what you did," he requested while Nikita slipped on her nightgown.
"Uncle Walter, Birky, Gail, Nolan, and Nolan's girlfriend took me to the fair!" Derek exclaimed excitedly.
"Nolan has a girlfriend?" said Nikita, curiously.
"Yeah," said Derek. "Her name's Ada, and she has purple eyes. And she wears funny clothes like Gail does, but she's just as nice."
Nikita laughed softly.
"We went on the Ferris Wheel and the Gravitron and the roller coaster!" Derek proudly told his parents. "Birkoff threw up on the Mountain of No Return," he informed them tactfully. "But he's okay now."
"So you had fun," Michael summarized.
"You bet!" said Derek, curling up on the bed. He seemed oblivious to his father's lack of clothing.
"Derek, perhaps you should go to your own bed," Michael suggested.
"Derek?" he repeated. Steady breathing was his only response.
Michael sighed loudly and then looked over at Nikita's smug expression. His eyes narrowed.
He gently shook Derek. "Derek, wake up," he insisted.
"Michael, let him sleep," Nikita pleaded. "Just this once?" she smiled innocently at him, feigning to be unaware of his earthly needs.
"What happened to spending more time relaxing?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
Nikita shrugged. "I hear that sleep can be very relaxing," she deadpanned.
Michael fairly glowered at her.
Suddenly, Derek stirred, and they looked down in unison at their child. Twin expressions of tenderness were displayed upon their faces.
"Good-night Mommy," Derek mumbled. "Good-night Daddy."
"Daddy," Michael repeated again with disbelief. He shook his head. "When did he decide to stop using 'father'?"
Nikita merely smiled, and reached over Derek to push back an errant strand of Michael's hair.
"Good-night Michael," she whispered.
She pressed a kiss to his lips, then bent to press a kiss against Derek's forehead.
"I love you," she murmured sleepily. She settled down beside Derek, pulling the covers up around them.
Michael sat up for a moment, his mouth slightly open as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Then, giving up, he reclined back onto the bed, and kissed his son good-night. He reached over the boy's head to wrap an arm around his wife. She leaned into the embrace and smiled contentedly.
"I love you too," he whispered, knowing that she would hear him, even though her eyes were closed.
The End
written by Meilin
Return to La Femme Nikita Fan Fiction
©1999 La Femme Fiction
people have read this fic since
April 15th, 1999