Lost Without Them
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Adam Samuelle, Michael/Nikita
Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to, I don't own La Femme Nikita, and all characters remain property of the show's wonderful scriptwriters. All original characters and plots are mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
Synopsis: I remember our first meeting like it was only yesterday, although I couldn't have been more than five at that time. Spoilers for the Season 3 opening arc, as well as Season 5.
Author's Note: It's been a long, long, long time since I last ventured into these waters, and I just recently felt the need to rehash some old plots and old memories of a lovely time that followed me through most of my teenage years. Short one-shot, just to get back into the groove.
I remember our first meeting like it was only yesterday, although I couldn't have been more than five at that time.
Dad was at home, engaging in a game of make-believe with my newest set of airplane toys, and the doorbell had rung. Mom answered the door, her voice muffled by the distance. Dad had quickly scrambled to his feet and picked me up, moving towards the door to see who was there.
I distinctively remember the tremors that shook through his body as he held me in his hands and greeted the newcomer.
I remember those bright blue eyes boring into mine; yet instead of being afraid of the intense gaze, I was drawn to it. There was a smile attached to the blue eyes, although it had been confused at our first meeting.
It turned into love, then melancholy, at our subsequent meetings.
There's not much I remember beyond that; my childhood was a maze of distant memories and foggy details that I never really cared much for. My mother met with an untimely death just shortly after my father was murdered, or so I thought. He resurfaced years later, telling me that my grandfather's enemies had tracked him down so he faked his own death to protect us.
Yet each time those blue eyes were by his side. They never left. They always sparkled in concern, and sometimes held quiet conversations with my father's green-gray ones. They were a constant companion, and as I grew up, I came to realize just how much my father relied on them.
He was lost without them.