Nikolavnea

"So, all that being said, I think you would make an excellent addition to the team," Nelson said, cleared his throat, then frowned at the paper in his hands before ending with, "Niko-lavna."

The woman in front of him nodded. While the man's pronunciation was undeniably awful, she had heard worst attempts at her name before.

"When do I start?" Nikolavnea asked. Her tone, though brusque and indifferent, was cushioned with a heavy scoop of Russian that fell pleasingly in the man's ears. A half of a smile, so inconsequential, barely noticeable, passed briefly over his lips before he responded, "Tomorrow, if you can."

The woman, not missing this smile from this unsmiling man in front of her, shouldered her backpack (a heavy duty little thing she had bought at a thrift store simply because it matched the hunter green pants she had been wearing that day) and stomped to the door. She already had the door halfway open when she turned so fast that one of the larger diamond studs in her ear twinkled under the fluorescent light. She smirked suddenly, mockingly at Nelson who had been watching her, but now busied himself with his papers, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Page Break

"This is Wyatt, our chief communication director," Nelson, was explaining to Nikolavnea a few hours later. She had gone out to lunch earlier, a kitschy diner that charged too much for a sub average burger and limp fries. Nikolavnea already felt sluggish, but had agreed to take a tour and meet the team she'd be working with in advance.

"How d'you do, miss?" Wyatt asked, extending a dark brown hand to her.

"I am well," Nikolavnea replied, taking his hand in her own blue veined hand. "Your dictator is showing me around your hideout."

Wyatt let out a surprised yelp of laughter that quickly dissolved into forced coughing under Nelson's glare.

"Well, that's really great of him," Wyatt said, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he suppressed his laughter. "I hope you enjoy your visit," he said, but Nelson was already pushing Nikolavnea away.

"Come on, there's still more for you to see," Nelson said marching her away from Wyatt and down a dim hallway. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, and once they were out of earshot of anyone else he said, "This "hideout" is actually called the base. It's where we meet and prepare for everything."

Nikolavnea just looked at him. Her eyes, black in the dark hall betrayed nothing if not cold disinterest. Nelson flushed under her gaze, turning away he said, quieter, "And I'm not a dictator. I'm just the leader, there's a difference."

"What difference?"

Nelson paused, and thought for a moment. "A dictator doesn't have to listen to anyone, but a leader," he said, pulling himself up to stand taller. "A leader listens to everyone."

"Commander Nelson,"Nikolavnea said. It wasn't a question. She wasn't even asking for his attention. It was just his title.

Nelson's eyes widened slightly. He knew what the others called him when they thought he couldn't hear. Dictator. Tyrant. Supreme Ruler. It was never Commander, but others had taken to calling him only by his last name, Nelson. He was okay with it. The demotion never bothered, but now there was a woman, practically a stranger, who recognized what he could be. What he longed to be. Commander.

"If I am a commander, I hope I am a good one," Nelson said, turning to face her now.

"Nik-lahvanuh," Nelson started then frowned. "I'm sorry, is there something else I can call you? Do you have a middle name?"

"Nikolavnea Jenika, my only name," the woman said.

Nelson looked up, his forehead scrunching in thought, "What about Jen? What if I called you that?"

Nikolavnea frowned then her words rising on a current of venom, "So I change everything about me to come here? Even my name's not good to you?"

"No," Nelson said immediately, backtracking so fast he tripped over his words. That's when Nikolavnea's laughter, abrasive yet fueled by a dark humor that enveloped Nelson, cut through his floundering words.

"I-" Nikolavnea started, searching for the phrase, "I kid you. Jen is not bad name."

Nelson's face, drawn up in fear that he had offended her, slackened until he almost looked relaxed. He smiled cautiously at her, "Okay Jen, there's someone very special to me that I'd like to introduce you to then."

Page Break

"Hi, I'm uh, Mondo," Mondo said, too busy rapidly twisting his hands to reach out for a handshake. "And yourself?"

"Nikolavnea Jenika. Some call me Jen."

Mondo frowned, still looking at his hands, "What was wrong with Nikolavnea?" he asked, his pronunciation inviolable.

"Nothing was wrong with it," Nelson cut in before Jen could speak, "Anyway Jen's here to help us. Of course, we'll have a formal vote with everyone else about if we should keep her on the team or not," he said trailing off. "But of course, we'll want to keep you," he finished, meeting her eyes, only to find her intensely staring back at him.

Mondo glanced between the two of them, untwisted his hands, retwisted them, wondered if the conversation was over because no one had said anything to him in what felt like a long time. Mondo coughed gently into his fist, not wanting to intrude on the silent conversation passing between Nelson's and Jen's eyes, but also wanting desperately something to do with his hands.

Nelson looked at Mondo as if he had forgotten he was there, "Oh right, Mondo's in charge of..."

"Reconnaissance," Mondo finished.

"Right that," Nelson said, looking at Jen again.

"Mondo is like brother?" she asked.

"No," Nelson said, he glanced quickly at Mondo, "Well something like that."

Jen nodded in an authoritative manner, and then authoritatively took one of Mondo's hands from the knot he was making out of them and shook it. "Is nice to meet you," she said, smiling at Mondo's surprised stare.

"Nice to meet you too?" he said, so taken aback that he honestly wasn't sure if he was glad they had met or not. He recovered, but without taking his eyes of Jen he asked, "Crosby, we got a new shipment of firearms; do you want to do a test run in the training field?"

"Sure," Nelson said, completely forgetting to reprimand Mondo for using his first name. "Jen, why don't you come with us?"

Jen shrugged as if already bored. She looked down and picked at a loose flake of black nail polish on her fingernail. "I suppose," she said coolly. Nelson's face fell a little at her nonchalance, and she couldn't help but smile darkly at him before leading them all out of the base. "Did the commander of yours ever tell you how we met?" she asked over her shoulder to Mondo.

"Never," Mondo replied in his quiet voice, "Crosby never tells me anything." He added this last part with not so much as a twinge of malice. It was only a fact.

"Well it was at a- what's the name again?" she asked Nelson, her voice growing enthusiastic as she recalled the memory.

"A shooting range," Nelson said tersely, "That really has nothing to do with-"

"And I shoot all my targets," Jen interrupted, "And your commander asks me for help."

Mondo bit his lip. He never wanted to laugh at Nelson's expense, but as he listened to his friend defend himself ("I didn't ask for help I only asked for pointers. They're different.") he couldn't control the whisper of a giggle that escaped.

Nelson turned on him, his face already a dark red color, "Et tu, Mondo?" By then both Mondo and Jen had dissolved into laughter and could no longer concern themselves with Nelson's pride, pin pricked and now deflated by Jen's intrepid and consistent cajoling. Nelson pushed past the two, "You might have been a good shot then," he said, lifting a rifle from the new shipment. He turned it in his hands before handing it to Jen, "Let's see if you can do it again."