Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to la femme Nikita.
A Distant Daydream
You stand there in Systems, with loud bar music in your ear and a visual in front of you to aide in your guide.
You watch him mingle, sitting among a flock of women that swoon and flirt with him, one with her arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressed snug against his own.
The mission is going perfectly. Everything as planned. Operations will be pleased with your planning and your quick decisions. But for once, your mind starts to drift. Away from the current mission. Away from the innocent that may get hurt after unwinding away from who she thinks is her devoted man. Away from all the people around you that put your commands in to action.
And your thoughts land in a fantasy world. Full of wondering. Of what ifs. Of what would have beens and could haves. Your no longer in a sterile, cold room, but in that bar. Standing a few feet away from the man you've loved for what seemed like an eternity. For all of this new life you've been given. Your no longer Section. He isn't either. You're not his material. His lover. His partner. You're bare, ripped from all the memories you've shared with him. You're no longer what Section created, but what you would have become if never taken from the streets. The same woman you once were, just a little older. A little wiser. And yet so naive of all that really goes on in the world. Standing there, naked of all you've known, you wonder if he'll notice you. If you'd have a chance with him. If he would have a chance with you. Would you notice each other? Would he take a look at you and see past the tattered clothing and dirt smudged face and see the potential? The intelligence? The kindness? And all that made him fall in love with you once? Or would he take a look at you and turn away. Not interested, nothing there to catch his attention?
Something deep in you, somewhere in the folds of your heart, refuses to allow that he'd just pass you by. But would something spark in him? Make him walk over to you, take you in? Would you become friends, meet a few times a week after work, grow in affection? Would he hold your hand in public? Show the world that your love was all that mattered - no matter what situation you both were in? That a love like this could survive anything - Section, or the real world outside.
Or was that just taking the fool's road? Was that better than the woman that he had met at the homeless shelter, disguised as a rich donator making an annual call to check out where his money was going? The woman who was just delighted that he had graced her with his presence, took her to this bar, and had fallen desperately in love with him over a very short time?
You wonder if you're in the blindness of love. Just like so many women before you who had fallen for this very same man. The man who had played them on behalf of Section.
Surely, no. You weren't just another on that long list. You were the one he fought for. Sacrificed for. Risked his life and status for. He truly cared about you, loved you. But that was a different time. That has nothing to do with where you stand now - watching him, wondering if in this parallel universe, you're love could make it through. If you'd even have a chance.
After all, in Section you were thrown together. You were his material, his partner, his helper. It was easy to fall in love. But here you are nothing. And there was only one way to know.
A man is rushing by. His shoulder hits your side and you go spinning. Losing you're footing, you soon feel the harsh ground against you.
His head turns. The movement had caught his eye. Yes, now he's spotted you, looking you in the eye. But he makes no move. For agonizing seconds, you stay fallen upon the floor, silently begging with your heart to have him come near. To have that same longing you do.
Slowly, as if still deciding, he stands. He holds up a finger to signal to his date that he'll be right back, then walks to you. Bends down. Offers a hand.
You eagerly take it in yours, grateful for his assistance, your voice of doubt slowly fading in to the oblivion.
"You alright?" It's barely above a whisper, but you can hear it, despite the loud music and floods of bodies around you.
A nod to answer, your regular voice seems to have left you as well. "Th-thank you." Finally emerges from your suddenly dry throat.
straight, blank face is starting to crack. The smallest of smiles
starts to form in the corners of his lips. His eyes seem to have a
soft glow radiating from deep,
He says in his accented voice that couldn't be more delicious.
A smile, goofy as it may be, is suddenly plastered upon your face.
"Ni-kita?" This time he sounded confused, unsure. But he was still smiling. He was still happy.
He didn't look like he's say your name in that harsher sound. Then again, as you think on it more, his accent was less noticeable.
"Nikita! What's wrong with you?"
Someone suddenly grabs your arm and you're jolted from where you just were. Michael is no longer in front of you. Well, he is, but no longer are you in front of him. In the bar.
Your in Section, once again. Michael is on the screen, talking to the woman. It was Birkoff who was calling you, looking like you went mad while away.
"The exit points are blocked. What's your call?"
An automatic response comes forth, not even really sounding like you. You know the answers, they're being delivered to Birkoff now, but your mind is far from here. A fuzzy memory...what were you just thinking of? What thought were you trapped in?
Birkoff goes to Operations to report on the mission's success a few minutes later.
"We're on our way back now." Michael's voice flows in to your ear and you smile to yourself again. "Ni-ki-ta?"
And you're out of your fantasy again before it could start back up. "Uh...yes, we'll be waiting. Operations is being informed now."
You look up to
the screen and see Michael staring in to the camera. His face is
slightly wrinkled with concern and suddenly, the memory of where you
had drifted off to come back.
Your finger tips give a slight caress to the monitor before switching it off and taking a sip of warm tea.
"Daydreaming about a lover is a good way to get cancelled, Nikita." Birkoff is suddenly at your side. His tone is even and serious, but his eyes shone in amusement.
You run your hand on top of his hair and wink at him. "Tell Michael to come find me when he finishes Debrief, would you?" You say, then walk off. Your daydream is turned on again, and you continue in your wondering. Would you accept my love, if we were one of those on the outside? With normal lives, normal jobs? Would you come and pick me up from the floor of a bar? Make a connection that would last? Form a love that would overcome?
You reach the rows of
flat Section beds and lay down on one. Enough of impossible
questions, you need sleep. Another team will be going out soon and
sleeping on the job is, as Birkoff pointed out, not the wisest of