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LFN: Wings Heckle Me (Nikita/Michael)

Title: Wings Heckle Me
Author: voleuse
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Pairing: Nikita/Michael Samuelle
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Leave me to conjure my happiness: leave me to my season of sleep.
Notes: Set after 1.03.



The cafe was a small one, blocks away from Section, on a side street that didn't get much foot traffic. Nikita requested a cappuccino, and Michael nodded at the server after she ordered. "Deux, s'il vous plait," he murmured. They sat in silence until the drinks arrived, and she watched his fingers as they rested against the edge of the cup, still, light, tense.

"Would you tell me about her?" Nikita asked. The lines of his face didn't quaver. He lifted the cup to his lips, and she quashed a thrum, low in her belly, and focused on his eyes instead.

Michael set the cup down, precisely. "She was a good operative," he said. "She was clever. Passionate."

"High praise," Nikita said. She slouched in her chair and considered her words, the lure of them. "It must have been difficult, to have a relationship. Inside."

"In some ways." Michael tilted his head to the side, a gesture she had learned as negation. "She acted as support, in most cases. Computers." His index finger tapped against the table, once. "She didn't often go out in the field."

"But--" Nikita checked herself before uttering Glass Curtain. "But the last mission was an exception."

"Yes." He was looking past her now, but she didn't mind. "Simone was nervous, but I thought it would be...routine." A mocking smile ghosted on his lips. "It's no longer important."

Nikita set her cappuccino down. She hesitated, then reached across the table. "Michael." She grasped one of his hands in her own, and his fingers curled around hers, almost automatically. She hated the guilt in his eyes, the emptiness that chased it. She pasted a cheery grin on her face, squeezing his hand tightly. "Why do you think she married you?"

Michael's lips parted. There was a soft huff of air, not quite a laugh. His gaze focused on the present, on her, and he disentangled their hands. "I suppose she had her reasons."

Nikita folded her arms and watched him build his defenses again. She raised her eyebrows. "I can't imagine what they were."

Michael's laugh was audible this time and, she thought, for the benefit of their surroundings. He took another sip of his cappuccino, and she thought perhaps this was all the mourning he would allow her to see.

She set her feet on the ground, waiting.

"How is your flat?" he asked. "Is there anything that you need?"

"Actually, yes," Nikita replied. "I need you to stop calling me when I'm busy with other things."

"Things," Michael asked, "or people?" He pushed a lock of his hair back, a careful, controlled gesture.

Nikita shrugged. "Does it matter?" She watched his brows knit, and she settled back for a scolding.

She scowled through Michael's entire lecture, but when the server interrupted, asking if she'd like another cappuccino, she nodded, and Michael requested more of the same.


###

A/N: Title and summary adapted from Agathias's Petition. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.

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