The next few days passed in a blur for Nikita. They were at first erratic, filled with a mixture of people complaining and then  accepting that they would have to stay at the Black estate for much longer than they had anticipated. It was almost amusing to watch.

Nikita spent the majority of her time observing the others and their interrogations. There was much to see, and much to learn. In those first few days, roles were very quickly established.

The Doctor had become the unofficial head of the whole operation, with a man Nikita had heard referred to as Kennedy at her back. They structured interrogations and held them in the library. The rest of those confined to the estate were called to watch each interrogation, but only a dozen at the most would usually show up to each one.

Nikita missed the first few interrogations accidentally. She had decided to work out what she could about the other suspects, and to do that had spent her time following them at a distance, trailing after some individuals in particular for a few hours to see what went on.

For one of the first times in her life, she was relying on her guessing abilities to clear the picture up a bit for her. Though, this once, she didn't seem able to uncover very much at all. It was more than mildly infuriating. Nikita spent a long time staring impassively at the other guests, trying to work out something, anything that could help her uncover more about this murder case.

She spoke to a few of them, only fleetingly, only to find the bare bones of what was happening and connect it to what others and she herself had already amassed.

By the time Nikita gave up and headed to the library, she was thoroughly frustrated by her lack of success, and more than ready to hear some good information on someone she had yet to try and read herself.

Nikita could hear the shouts from within the room before she was fully upstairs. The hallway was blown away by a cacophony of wild accusations and screamed questions, just like it had been the first day. There was a loud, jarring 'SHUSH' from somewhere over to one corner, and immediately the room quietened. Nikita swerved around those present and picked up a teacup from the table in the middle. She poured herself some tea and stood against the same bookcase she had before.

"This is a serious operation. We can't have such...unneeded shouting and bawling over nothing! We need to be sensible. Please, let me continue." The Doctor sat on the couch in the middle of the room. A woman with dazzlingly bright eyes and long blonde hair sat across from her, her lips pursed and hands folded stiffly in her lap. She appeared calm, despite the tension obvious in how she held herself.

"Sandra," the name was familiar to Nikita, she'd heard this name spoken a few times while she'd been on her observations, "is it true that you spent some time in a lab, with a corrosive chemical of your creation known as Cynide?" The Doctor asked the question in a way that said she already knew the answer.

The blonde-haired woman sat up straighter, "Yes. That is true. Cynide is one of my latest inventions," Nikita raised one eyebrow. The woman didn't look like a scientist to her, but then, looks could be deceiving. What was Nikita expecting? A lab coat and goggles?

"Right. Can you confirm that the traces of the chemical found in Kennedy's gloves were your own?" The Doctor stood abruptly, and beckoned for a tall, stern-faced man to join her. If looks could kill, Nikita reckoned Sandra would have dropped dead on the spot right there.

The man held up one hand. The tips of his fingers were a deeper red than the rest of his hand, and where his fingerprints would be, the skin appeared to be peeling. He seemed unable to hold what he wanted to say back anymore, "Those gloves! There was something...something in those gloves! You did this to me! And I bet you did it to Delilah Black too," He stepped forwards and pointed his fist at Sandra accusingly, "Murderer! That's what you are. I'll make sure you serve your time well for it, too,"

"Now, now, Kennedy. Calm down. I think that's all we needed to see. Please return to the crowd," The Doctor cooled the situation, and Kennedy moved back to where he'd stood. His shoulders shook with barely contained rage.

Nikita turned to the shelf beside her. She removed three books from the shelf in the middle, and one from the row below. She placed all four books on a coffee table just a few steps away, and put her teacup just next to them. She moved back to where she'd been standing before, with absolutely no idea why she'd done any of that.

Gloves.

The word was a command behind her eyes, written a burning white, like a quickly drawn tattoo. Her head felt weighted on one side.

A room. A woman sitting on a couch. Boxes. Brown boxes, painted boxes, the rustling of tinfoil.

Nikita used the bookcase ledge she'd removed the books from to hold herself upright. Her knee dug into the shelf just below, in the space she'd taken the fourth book from. Her breathing had deepened, as had the scalding pain dripping like fryer oil across her head.

Coloured boxes of different sizes. Bows. The woman looks up. Another woman stands in front of her. She points at one of the boxes, and at something brown and vaguely hand-shaped on the table. The woman on the couch shakes her head. Her hair slips in front of her eyes. Nikita's vision is momentarily obscured. She brushes it out of the way, and watches as the other woman leaves.

Nikita slid down the wall, landing in a curled heap on the floor, with her head to her chest and her legs spread around her. Everything burned, everything was swirling. Boxes. Women. Tinfoil. Colours. Boxes. Hair. The words were a senseless whirlpool in her mind.

There were people around her now, pulling Nikita to her feet and yammering words that held no meaning into her face. She recognised some, most, of the people at her sides. The rest were a mystery. Her eyes refocused after a few seconds, and using the arms offered to her, Nikita pulled herself back to her feet. She stumbled back against the shelf again, using it like a rope to reality. The edge of the shelves dug into her back, and that pain helped to ground her.

The Psychic stared at the onlookers around her in awe. She was gasping for breath, her every nerve alive with electricity that came straight from those odd images she'd just viewed as if they had been on a television screen.

Denise Kim appeared out of the crowd, and looked Nikita up and down. "Nikita Rose, I presume? I've heard a bit about you. Come here." She turned on her heel and gestured to the couch Sandra has sat on just seconds - minutes? - ago.

Nikita looked from the Doctor, to the couch, and back again. She didn't feel like sitting there. Nikita swallowed thickly and stood up straight. She pushed herself off of the bookcase to stand on her own two feet. "No, thank you. If it's alright, I'd rather stay standing. I need to get my bearings back," she could hear the murmuring of the crowd behind her. Nikita ignored them all.

"Okay. It's your choice. Do you feel alright?" The Doctor didn't ask as if she was concerned. It was more like she needed information, in any form that it may come in.

"Yes. I'm fine. I get... visions, I guess you could call them - premonitions - a lot. They're just usually not as powerful as that one was," Nikita figured she'd better tell the truth. The last thing she wanted was a murder blamed on her.

"Premonitions? You can predict the future?" The Doctor sounded as though she didn't believe what she was saying.

"I see them more as guesses than premonitions. They tend to be accurate yes, but I have no control over what happens, and I usually can't work out much from what I see," The guesses were unreliable, Nikita believed. It didn't matter how accurate they had proven to be. Placing hope on the possibility that her guesses would be correct was nothing short of idiotic, in her opinion.

"So, did you predict Mr. Black's death?" Nikita had had an idea the Doctor would go straight to the point like that, no messing around. She seemed like a straightforward person. Nikita could understand that.

Nikita shrugged, "again, they are not predictions. Does a pencil know it will hit the ground, even as it rushes towards it once dropped from a desk?" She shook her head, "I had a feeling something bad was going to happen from the moment I received my invitation to this party. My colleague, France, can vouch for that. Did I know Delilah would die while I was here? No. No I did not. In fact, I approached a man I now know as Leon, and told him to be careful. I believed him to be the one at risk, not Mr. Black." Nikita spoke slowly, and precisely. She had a lot of information to give, and she would give it well.

The Doctor nodded, "so you knew something bad would happen, and you didn't think to let us all know?" She asked with one eyebrow raised to a steepled point.

Nikita swore inwardly. She could see this turning against her very easily, if the Doctor so wished it to, "as I said, I wasn't aware of what was going to happen, I only guessed something would. It is very difficult to interpret these guesses, especially since that one was nought but a feeling."

"I see. What happened just there? Did you 'predict' another death?" There was an almost sarcastic note to Denise Kim's voice now. Nikita pretended not to notice.

"No, not this time. It's difficult to explain. That was the most intense prediction I have had to date. I'm hardly an expert in this field. I know as much as a passerby does upon looking in on a conversation through a shop window," Nikita shook her head slowly, looking off into the middle distance whilst she gathered what she wanted to say, "I saw from the perspective of a blonde woman sitting on a couch. She was fiddling with something in her lap that sounded like tinfoil and was covered in all of the colours thrown out by a mirror struck by the sun. There were gloves on the table. Another woman spoke to her without sound,"

Denise Kim blinked twice before she answered, "so, what you mean to tell me, is you had a dizzy turn and hallucinated yourself sitting in a room? Forgive me, Miss Rose, but that doesn't sound very helpful to me." The Doctor swirled the cup in her hand.

"There is a very distinct difference between my visions and hallucinations, I assure you, Denise. I don't know how helpful my visions will be,"

"Where do these visions come from?" The Doctor asked, moving one hand to her chin and resting her head thoughtfully upon it.

Nikita didn't have much of an answer for that, "I may only know what I'm given to see, the origins of these visions are not my secret to spill,"

Denise frowned, "This mention of gloves seems oddly coincidental to what Kennedy said only moments ago. I believe you have some unresolved mental issues to attend to, rather than these being visions. Do you take any medication, Miss Rose?" The Doctor sounded almost dismissive now. Something about her tone rubbed Nikita the wrong way.

"No, I take no medication, for I have no need for it. Are you suggesting I am delusional?" Nikita's tone had become more severe. She hated being made out to be a liar. Suggesting that her visions were figments of a fractured mind didn't help the Doctor's case much either.

"Yes, I am," Denise replied simply, "Schizophrenia, perhaps? I don't believe you can see the future, or things that have happened without you being present. It is cruel for you to make these people believe that that could be possible," Denise replied with a coolness that aided Nikita in keeping in control of her own emotions. The last thing she wanted was to spark something here. She didn't want enemies.

"Well, my visions are largely open to interpretation. I do not claim that they are trustworthy, nor do I urge any of you to trust in them. They're merely visions of events that even I can sometimes have trouble working out," Nikita spoke to the crowd just as much as she was speaking to Denise. She wasn't going to be made a laughing stock here.

Denise's eyes narrowed, "You knew something was going to happen to Delilah Black, and if your words are to be believed, you have seen what happened to Kennedy. Those two events seem a bit suspicious, don't you think? Did you kill Delilah Black, Miss Rose?" There were a few gasps from across the room.

Nikita ignored the quiet chatter that had picked up after this accusation. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "No, I did not. If I had known Delilah was at risk, I would have warned him myself. I am not a murderer, Denise, no matter what you believe my true intentions to be."

"The perfect cover up for a murderer, don't you think? Present at all the right moments, never really knowing anything at all. It's stupid to attempt to get anyone to believe such magical nonsense. Do you have any real proof of what you say, aside from what's within your own head?"

"No. I do not. I can't cast spells or make fire come out of my hands, Doctor. I'm not a wizard. This is all very much within my own mind, but that doesn't not mean it is a sign that I am not sound of mind," Nikita said scathingly. She paused for a second or two, and then continued, "I find it odd that you try and pin this murder on me. Could it be that you're the true suspect here?"

"Maybe you're not completely delusional then, Miss Rose," The Doctor raised both of her eyebrows this time, "Me? How so?"

"What better way to make people suspect someone else than to blame another? You've been carrying out a lot of the interrogations here, but who's been keeping an eye on you?" Nikita smiled companionably, and was surprised to see a similar, very slight smile from the Doctor.

"I'm not against being interrogated, by all means. All good points, Miss Rose. Would you be interested in a wager, a gamble of sorts?"

The change in subject threw Nikita off for a good few seconds. "A wager? That would depend what the subject of the bet is," Nikita moved a few steps closer to the Doctor.

"A simple coin flip. You win, I will tell you something of importance. You lose, and you will carry out a task for me. What do you say?" Denise produced a ten pence sized coin from somewhere and held it on her palm.

Nikita looked from the coin, to the Doctor, and back again. She moved to sit beside the Doctor, and thought about her response. Nikita had always been a fan of gambles. She had always been lucky with them, and tended to win regularly, not just because of her gift. "Alright, I'll play."

The Doctor nodded, "Call it in the air," She threw the coin up.

Heads

"Heads,"

The coin landed in Denise's palm, heads up.

"Well, well, well. It seems you've won," The Doctor pocketed the coin, and turned back to Nikita. She leaned forwards and spoke into the Psychic's ear. "Do it for Mr. Black." Something about those words weighted heavily on Nikita's mind.

"Thank you, Doctor," Nikita was thoroughly confused by what that message meant.

"I like you, Miss Rose. We'll speak again sometime. Thank you for your time," The Doctor didn't smile, but she didn't look so aggressive now either.

Nikita took that as her sign to leave. She stood up, and walked out of the room. As she walked, she locked eyes with a woman with blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes. The look they shared was fleeting, but many different thoughts were exchanged. Nikita kept walking.

"Niki! Niki wait!" The voice of her colleague made Nikita slow down and turn. France moved briskly to catch up. "That looked pretty intense, are you alright?" She asked, worry visible in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm alright. It had to happen at some point. Have you been interrogated yet?"

"No, not yet. I think I will be soon, maybe even next, I don't know. Do you know Kennedy?" France grinned as she said his name. Nikita recognised the look.

"Kennedy is the Doctor's right hand man. What of him?" Nikita sounded curious, rather than overbearing as her words often suggested.

"Oh, nothing! We're sort of a thing, I like him a lot y'know? He's so handsome, and sweet when he's not being all grumpy," She sounded lovestruck to Nikita. Who was she to rain on this happiness?

"I'm happy for you. He is a handsome fellow," Really, Nikita has a few things to say about this, such as how ludicrous it was for anyone to date at a time like this, or how odd it would be to date someone you'd known for only a few days. But, she kept these thoughts to herself. This was a very tense time. Why not make it a little less insufferable?

"Yes he is!" France looked over her shoulder, "I should probably get back, see what's going on. Talk later, okay?" The librarian turned on her heel and headed back towards the room.

"Yes, of course," Nikita replied, going up towards her room.

Do it for Mr. Black

What could it possibly mean?