![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For Cole: The future is now
Apr. 22nd, 2015 07:47 amThe last couple of weeks had been possibly the worst she had experienced in Darrow. It wasn't anything to do with the job or her flat or anything like that, which was what it might have been before. It was almost always the job before.
The problem was the little stone balls that she couldn't seem to escape. The first time she'd touched one, she'd seen herself as Operations. She wasn't sure how she knew that from just a brief glimpse, but she did. She was standing in the Perch and she looked hard and cold. She looked like Operations. It was the very last thing she wanted to be, but yet she was.
The second time, she'd seen herself shooting Michael. She'd seen him die at her hands, and seen him mouth, "Je t'aime" as his eyes closed. She hadn't known how she killed him or why, but she had, and the betrayal on his face was terrible. His hair had been a different style and she'd had a different weapon, a newer one.
The third time, she'd seen herself in a hospital bed with tubes running everywhere. She seemed to be in a coma, although she couldn't see any physical damage. On the other hand, she'd been covered by a blanket, so who knew? The worst or possibly best part was her mother, bending over her to kiss her. She recognized Roberta, even though she hadn't seen her in at least ten years. Roberta looked much better. She might have actually gotten help. Why couldn't that have happened before Nikita apparently nearly died?
She'd heard from her colleagues at Bondurant's that this kind of thing had been happening. Lots of people had seen what might be their futures, but a lot of them said things about children and grandchildren and money and joy. Hers only showed pain and loss. It fit with her life, but she didn't like it. She wasn't sure if she could handle seeing another future. She'd got rid of the stone ball she bought, and she hoped that was enough, but she wasn't confident of that. She sank heavily onto her couch and put her head in her hands, closing her eyes in frustration and grief.
There wasn't really a sound or a feeling, but suddenly she knew she'd been moved. She was somewhere else, on a couch that felt different, and there was a warm body touching her from shoulder to knee. She didn't look up, though. At this point she almost didn't want to know where she was and what had happened now, although she also felt her instincts sharpen and adrenaline flow in case there was a fight.
The problem was the little stone balls that she couldn't seem to escape. The first time she'd touched one, she'd seen herself as Operations. She wasn't sure how she knew that from just a brief glimpse, but she did. She was standing in the Perch and she looked hard and cold. She looked like Operations. It was the very last thing she wanted to be, but yet she was.
The second time, she'd seen herself shooting Michael. She'd seen him die at her hands, and seen him mouth, "Je t'aime" as his eyes closed. She hadn't known how she killed him or why, but she had, and the betrayal on his face was terrible. His hair had been a different style and she'd had a different weapon, a newer one.
The third time, she'd seen herself in a hospital bed with tubes running everywhere. She seemed to be in a coma, although she couldn't see any physical damage. On the other hand, she'd been covered by a blanket, so who knew? The worst or possibly best part was her mother, bending over her to kiss her. She recognized Roberta, even though she hadn't seen her in at least ten years. Roberta looked much better. She might have actually gotten help. Why couldn't that have happened before Nikita apparently nearly died?
She'd heard from her colleagues at Bondurant's that this kind of thing had been happening. Lots of people had seen what might be their futures, but a lot of them said things about children and grandchildren and money and joy. Hers only showed pain and loss. It fit with her life, but she didn't like it. She wasn't sure if she could handle seeing another future. She'd got rid of the stone ball she bought, and she hoped that was enough, but she wasn't confident of that. She sank heavily onto her couch and put her head in her hands, closing her eyes in frustration and grief.
There wasn't really a sound or a feeling, but suddenly she knew she'd been moved. She was somewhere else, on a couch that felt different, and there was a warm body touching her from shoulder to knee. She didn't look up, though. At this point she almost didn't want to know where she was and what had happened now, although she also felt her instincts sharpen and adrenaline flow in case there was a fight.
