What if – A Section skewed story around the episode Charity
Premise: What if Nikita was never recruited inside Section. Would she still had been a street rat by the time Section went after Alec Chandler? Would Michael still save the day? Would the two have ever met? (One shot)
Michael stood looking up at the monitors in Comm., patiently waiting for their operative to make contact with the target. Sara, the female operative assigned for this mission, had been in place for over an hour. She was chosen for the mission due to her looks and youthful appearance, which analysis had indicated the target was attracted to.
As if thinking of him conjured him, surveillance on site alerted him that Chandler had emerged from the building where his meeting was taking place. Surveillance feed showed Chandler making contact with Sara before walking toward the street.
Michael: "Team 1, engage."
A dark car barreled around the corner, driving quickly straight toward Chandler who stood frozen in the middle of the street. The car swerved at the last moment as Sara shoved Chandler out of the way and tackled him to the ground. Michael listened to their conversation over Sara's comm. set.
Chandler: "Are you all right?"
Sara: "I'm fine."
Chandler: "Are you sure?"
Sara: "Yes. Unbelievable! He didn't even stop!" She paused and looking back toward where she was prior to the near miss. "Where's my bag? Oh, don't tell me someone stole it."
Chandler: "Serves you right. Next time you'll mind your own business. It's all right. I'll replace anything that was in it."
Sara: "It's okay. I'll replace it myself, thank you."
Chandler: "Dinner then? Probably can't rely on our meeting like this."
Sara considered him for a long moment before responding: "Fine, but I get to choose the location."
There was a lot not to like about living on the streets. There was the lack of clean clothes and a safe place to live. You have to watch your watch every moment of every day to guard against people who would seek to take advantage of the weak. The worst was the constant hunger that gnawed deep inside her gut, making her feel light headed and increasingly desperate. You couldn't always count on the kindness of strangers, and Nikita had gotten used to dumpster diving for her next meal.
In addition to the hunger, was the bone deep cold that seeped in, even when it wasn't the dead of winter. The air had turned chilly, with a bite that wasn't there just a few weeks ago. Winter had just begun, and it would be a long time before she could thaw out. Nikita berated herself for the 1,000th time of the folly of migrating to Toronto in the great white north instead of somewhere more tropical like Miami or Los Angeles.
At the present moment, she was more concerned about the graying edges of her vision. She knew it was a sign that she was about the pass out from hunger. Not that anyone passing by gave a damn about street urchins. No one paused or even gave her a second glance other than looks of disgust as she asked for hand outs.
She wanted to scream at them for their callus attitudes. She wanted to yell out that she was a human being too. She wanted to cry out that despite being a homeless street urchin, she had feelings and needs. A small ounce of human kindness was all she asked for.
Another grinding pain deep in her shriveled stomach doubled her over in pain. She knew she needed help and fast. She did the only thing left to her and walked to the nearest homeless shelter, hoping she would find a bit of charity and kindness there.
Michael paced slowly around Comm while listening in on Chandler with Sara. Their relationship was progressing as profiled and Chandler had already shown sign of possessiveness toward Sara. He listened as the couple danced on Chandler's boat.
Chandler: "Am I forgiven?"
Sara: "For what?"
Chandler: "For having you followed the other day."
Sara: "Perhaps, if you make it up to me."
Chandler: "I'm having a fund-raiser for the shelters tomorrow night. Will you come?"
Sara: "Sure, if you'll come to hockey on Saturday night."
Chandler: "Unfortunately, I'm out of town for the weekend."
Sara: "Business trip?"
Chandler: "It doesn't really matter."
Sara: "Does it have to strictly business or can you mix business with pleasure?"
Chandler: "Are you saying you want to come with me?"
Sara: "Maybe if I know a little more. You still have to make it up to me still."
Chandler: "Unfortunately, not this time. It'll only be a short trip and I'll be back by Sunday."
Sara: "That quick?"
Chandler: "Yes. I promise I'll make it up to you some other way."
Sara: "I'll hold you to it."
Nikita clawed furiously at the wire fencing at the front of the truck. Two guys laughed at her displays of anger, while smoking nonchalantly, as if they weren't standing in front of a group of trapped kids.
Nikita pounded furiously against the unyielding wires and yelled out: "You can't keep us trapped in here! Let us out!"
One of the goons came toward the truck and leered at her before replying: "Tell you what; I'll let you out as a favor as long as you show your appreciation."
Nikita warily asked: "What do you want?"
The goon unzipped his jeans and slipped his puny dick out into view. "You wrapped those lush lips around my cock and I'll let you out if I get the release I want."
Nikita cringed in disgust: "That's sick! Dream on you pig!"
The goon laughed and taunted: "Suit yourself." Then he started to urinate toward the cage. The prisoners inside backed away to avoid getting sprayed.
Nikita glared as the goon walked away, feeling more anger toward another person than she had ever felt in her life. She knew the anger was only a surface anger. What was underneath was a bond chilling fear at what was going to happen to her. She had survived so many years living on the streets. It looked like her luck had finally lucked out. She forced the tears that threatened to erupt down and focused on the anger to sustain her.
Nikita sat against the wall of the truck, her arms wrapped around her raised knees. She had no idea how long she had been trapped inside. Long enough for the gnawing hunger that was her constant companion to reappear and briefly distract her from the dire situation. The truck had been moving for about an hour before lurching to a stop. She could hear voices coming from outside the truck and strained to hear the conversation.
Hardin: "You're late."
Chandler: "You are ugly. Let's cut the pleasantries. This weather's playing havoc with my shoes."
Hardin: "Where's the goods?"
Chandler: "Bring it up."
The truck lurched into movement again, slower this time. It stopped abruptly and the truck door was rolled up. Nikita stood up slowly and looked out at the group of men assembled in front of them. They looked like middle-age businessmen, except some of them were standing with guns pointed at them. She gulped and stared at them, her terror rising with every heartbeat. Whatever was happening to them cannot be good. She watched as a blonde haired man in a trench coat turned toward the man clad in leather beside him.
Chandler: "Your turn, George. Do you have the money?"
Nikita watched in disbelief as a suitcase was opened, revealing a large sum of money inside, more money than she's ever seen in her life.
Chandler: "Very good, take it away. All right, my friend, they're all yours."
Nikita watched as the two men shook hands. The blonde hair man's words echoed relentlessly in her mind. All his? What did he mean we were all his? What was he going to do to them? She couldn't help it, but she could feel the panic rising. Soon she would be in a full on panic attack. Before her terror consumed her she heard a voice bark out.
"Put your weapons on the ground."
She screamed and shuffled as far back from the truck door as shots were fired. She dropped to the floor of the truck and covered her head, hoping that she would make it out alive. Finally the gun fire ended and blissful silence enveloped the area. She looked up cautiously, her eyes widening as she saw the various bodies strewn around outside.
Nikita noticed that the blonde hair man was still alive, crouching behind some metal barrels. He slowly emerged with his hand out in a gesture of surrender. His attention seemed to be focused to her side and she turned to see what held his interest.
She saw a man dressed entirely in black, with curly auburn hair walking calmly forward with his gun pointed to the ground. The man seemed utterly unafraid, gazing calmly back at the blonde hair man. She couldn't look away from the handsome stranger, his confident air making her feel safe for the first time.
A noise tore her focus back to the blonde hair man. He had put his gun down on the barrel and appeared to be moving out from behind them. Suddenly, the man grabbed a barrel, tipped it over and rolled it toward the truck. She watched in horror as the barrel came to a stop underneath them and could smell the unmistakable odor of petroleum. She couldn't help but scream as she ran to the back of the truck, as far away as she could get from the flammable liquid.
Chandler: "Don't anybody move or I'll torch the kids." He pulled out a lighter and flicked it on and held it in the air.
Michael: "Put it out."
Chandler: "Go ahead, drop me and watch them burn. I want a car…Make that an armored car with a driver of my choosing."
Chandler: "No? That wasn't a request little fella; that was an order. Unless you wanna see the children die. So what's it going to be?" He kneels down so he could hold the flames directly over the spilled fuel. "Last chance."
Michael: "Don't you want to know why you're still alive?"
Chandler: "I'm listening."
Michael: "We're not interested in you; we're interested in who you work for."
Chandler stared at Michael with calculation clear in his eyes. "What will you give me if I cooperate?"
Michael coolly replied: "Your life."
Chandler: "In case you have forgotten, I hold all the cards here." He gestured with his lighter.
Michael: "You know you won't light the fuel."
Chandler: "And why wouldn't I do that?"
Michael: "Because you'll have no more leverage."
Chandler hesitated for a long beat before allowing the flame to burn away. He straightened up and held his hands up in surrender. Section operatives swooped in, restrained Chandler and hauled him away.
An operative came up to Michael and gestured toward the truck while asking: "What do we do about them."
Michael: "Release them."
Michael stood to the side as an operative unlocked the gates and helped the kids get out. Another operative identified them as police doing a bust on a local human trafficking ring. The kids seemed shell shocked, but grateful at the rescue. He watched as one of the girl move away from the group and walked up to him.
Nikita: "Thank you for saving us."
Michael: "You're welcome."
Nikita: "I would like to buy you a cup of coffee in thanks."
Michael considered the girl for a moment, surprised by the offer from someone who moments ago was scared for her life. The girl was young, in her early 20s at the very most, with unruly platinum blonde locks that gleamed even in the moon light. Bright blue eyes peered at him behind long bangs, filled with earnestness and gratitude.
Despite almost being sold to a slaver, those eyes were innocent, unaware of the evil that people were capable of being. Her innocence both drew him toward her as well as repelled him, since he was unwilling to taint that innocence. He gave her the only response he could: "I'm sorry I can't."
Nikita: "Can I at least know the name of the man who saved me?"
Michael: "You can call me Michael."
To his surprise, this wisp of a girl offered her hand and replied: "Nikita."
Michael took her hand in his for a brief moment. They looked at each other, recognizing had situations had been different, they could have been friends and maybe something more. The moment came and went, lost forever. Michael let go of her hand and smiled the briefest of smile before leaving with the team. Nikita watched him go, wistfully wondering if she would ever meet him again.