Fanfic: Someone Borrowed - Part V (Michael/Nikita, pg-13)
V. and I can't trust anything now
Michael's plan to stay inside Division until Kasim was dead is scrapped the instant the word pregnant slips through Nikita's lips.
He doesn't even ask if she's sure, doesn't ask how it's possible. Birth control has never been a hundred percent effective, and Michael can think of at least one time when they've forgone protection completely. (The first time, for instance, had been so spur of the moment, neither of them had even stopped to think about contraceptives.)
He absolutely refuses to lose another child in a hopeless quest for vengeance. He'll get Kasim another way.
She's staring at the floor, winding her fingers together, and Michael realizes that she's taking his silence as anger or disapproval. Stepping forwards, he places his hands on her shoulders and gently tugs her towards him. She collapses against his chest instantly, curling her arms around his middle and sighing against his shirt.
"We have to get out of here," he says quietly.
"What will they do, Michael?" Her face is turned into his silk shirt, but he can still make out her words.
He can't answer. He's heard of female agents getting pregnant, and best as he remembers, almost all of them terminated the pregnancy - or were forced to terminate the pregnancy - once Percy found out. The only exception was a girl who was already scheduled for cancelation. Percy let her carry the baby to keep her docile while he waited for an appropriate suicide mission. The little girl was put up for adoption two days before her mother died from a gunshot wound to the head.
She seems to hear the words he's not saying. "How long do we have?"
Not long enough, as it turns out.
Two weeks later a routine physical puts a swift end to the 'secret' part of Nikita's pregnancy. Before she can blink, she's marched off to Amanda's office and seated on one of the plush couches while Amanda pours hot tea and offers a small cup to Nikita.
"Do you want to hear your options?" Amanda sips her tea almost delicately. Nikita doesn't even know how that is possible.
"I didn't know I had any."
Casually, Amanda circles the lip of her teacup with her forefinger. "There are always choices, Nikita."
No, she thinks, there aren't.
"For example," Amanda sets her teacup on the coffee table and leans back against the couch, crossing her legs, "we could terminate the pregnancy." Her eyes fall to Nikita's abdomen, where the palm of her left hand presses protectively against her shirt. Self-consciously, she moves her hand away.
Damn.
So much for keeping her cards close to the vest.
"Or…you carry the pregnancy to term and the child is put up for adoption."
"That's what I want." The words fly from her lips faster than she intended. She shrinks back and presses her lips together tightly.
"Really? You want your child to be raised by strangers? Was your experience in our foster system really that wonderful, Nikita?"
It wasn't. It was hell. Being abandoned, rejected, bounced around from family to family. Nikita will die before she allows her child to go through the same pain. Her baby is not going into the foster system.
But Amanda doesn't know that.
"I…I don't want to terminate the pregnancy." I will not kill our child, is what she doesn't say. She doesn't think of herself as one naturally inclined to maternal instinct, so the strength of her feelings surprises ever her.
"Nikita…" Amanda's tone is just a tad patronizing, "I must say: I'm surprised. I was under the impression that you hated being Josephine, but you still want to carry her baby to term?"
And then Nikita understands. They don't know that the baby is Michael's; they think that the pregnancy is the result of her latest assignment. Of course, Amanda would expect her to want the abortion. The baby is Josephine's - not Nikita's.
"An abortion is nothing to be ashamed of, Nikita."
Nikita bristles. "I'm not ashamed. It's my body. It's my choice. I want to have this baby."
"If this is some futile act of rebellion…some attempt to regain a sense of self-"
"You know what?" Nikita stands up; her cup of tea falls to the floor, and the dark liquid spills out against the tile. "I'm done."
She leaves; Amanda offers no resistance.
"Nikita's pregnant," Percy tells Michael.
He tries to guard his expression, he really does, but the question throws him off guard.
"You knew," Percy leans back in his chair. "She told you?"
"She does confide in me," he answers defensively.
"She trusts you," Percy amends. Then, before Michael can protest, he quickly says, "That's good. It means she'll listen to you, take your advice. You need to convince her to have an abortion." He holds up a hand to ward off any protest. "For her own sake, Michael. I've seen what happens when mothers are allowed to become attached. It's not good. Amanda thinks she's insisting on carrying the fetus to term because of some twisted need for rebellion."
"Nikita only takes my advice because it's mine and not yours. If she thinks for a second that I'm working as your mouthpiece…all that trust is gone like that." He snaps his fingers.
Percy frowns. "Then you'd better make it convincing."
One night, she wakes up to find her legs and sheets slick with blood. She screams until her throat is raw.
The doctors at Division tell her she's had a miscarriage. The haunted look behind Michael's eyes tells her otherwise. Nikita doesn't know what Percy's done, or how Percy's done it, but the very thought that he is the one responsible for this makes her feel ill.
She sits numbly on the gurney, well aware that Percy, Amanda and Michael are talking right now somewhere down the hall. Tears stream down her cheeks, and she's very thankful that at least no one is around to see her cry.
A few seconds later, a knock at the door causes her to frantically wipe her eyes before she looks up.
Michael stands in the doorway, looking as defeated as she feels.
"He did this," she whispers, and he shakes his head, subtly pressing a finger to his lips. Not now. Not here.
He sits next to her and calmly drapes his suit jacket around her shoulders. The garment dwarfs her, but she pulls it tightly around her body. Division is so cold. "I know that you're hurting, but you need to be smart about this." It's Michael-speak for you're right, but this is not the time or the place.
He takes her hand, but quickly drops it when Amanda enters. When Nikita bluntly refuses to even look at the woman, much less speak to her, Michael cuts in and helps her to her feet. He keeps his arm around her shoulders, and levels a steady glare at Amanda. "I'm taking her home. You can talk to her later. She's been through enough for one night."
Amanda opens her mouth to protest, but Michael pushes past her without another word.
Michael takes her home to her apartment, and she curls up on her sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her legs.
For the longest time, she doesn't say a thing, and even then, her words are just a quiet, pain-filled request to be left alone.
He needs to leave soon, get far away from her apartment. He knows, just knows, that Percy is hovering over Birkhoff's station watching that screen, counting the seconds until he leaves in order to make sure nothing untoward is going on between the two of them. It's not like the nerd can suddenly make it look as if Michael's at home while Percy is right there watching.
Except…Michael doesn't want to leave her, not like this, not with this haunted look in her eyes and this wounded expression on her face.
At some point, he just can't stay any longer. He lifts her up in his arms and carries her into her bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed and tucking the covers around her lissome body. She murmurs something unintelligible, and his heart breaks for her.
He's not sure how he's reacting to this, except that something somewhere inside his soul is twisting in agony. Outside he must be calm and collected otherwise Percy will know, and things will only get worse. For Nikita's sake, he can't even visibly grieve over the fact that his job has once again cost him the life of his child.
They can't stay in Division; they can't leave Division. He loves her, but he hurts her. She loves him, and so far it's done nothing but cost her everything.
He stays by her side until he's sure she's fallen asleep, and he damns the consequences because this is Nikita and she's the most important person in his world.
Maybe he's learned impulsive action and unwavering devotion from her.
She shuts herself in her room for the next week. Michael comes by for a few hours each day, bringing food, mostly soup, but once or twice, he brings her coffee and a pastry from her favorite bistro. Obligingly, she nibbles at the crescent and sips at the broth, but once he is gone, she hardly touches the food.
Hatred towards Division seeps deep into her veins.
Nikita is not one to stay in the sorrow stage of grief very long. The anger phase is welcome.
She wants out; she wants revenge.
She wants Percy's head on a platter and her bullets piercing his black heart.
She wants Division to burn so it can't take from anyone else the things it's taken from her.
Michael barges into her apartment a week later, and she looks up from the dismantled 9mm spread out on her coffee table. "What do you want?" she asks, continuing to clean the weapon methodically.
"Why aren't you answering your phone?" He's using his handler voice, that tone that defies argument.
"Took it off the hook. I don't want to talk, Michael."
"Good, because I didn't come here to talk to you. I have an assignment for you."
"No."
"Nikita." It's a warning, but she doesn't heed it.
"I said no, Michael."
"Nikita…you don't tell these people no. Do you know what Percy would do to you? Do you really need a reminder of what he is capable of?"
She jumps to her feet. "What else can he take, Michael?"
"What's the point? What are you trying to prove?"
"That everyone doesn't have to ask how high whenever Percy tells them to jump. Someone has to stop him." She lets the words fly unrestrained and she doesn't care how foolish it his, doesn't care if her apartment is bugged or if Percy is around somewhere listening to her every word.
He releases a deep, heavy sigh. "And you think that person should be you?"
"Do you have someone else in mind?" Sitting again, she begins assembling the gun, fingers moving steadily as the pieces click into place, each one fitting exactly the way it is supposed to fit.
"Anyone else." He drops onto her ottoman. "Just not you."
That burns. It's silly, but she'd thought he was coming to respect her as an equal. "Why? Why not me? You don't think I could do it?"
"I'm not losing you too!"
The confession shocks her into stunned silence. Taking a hesitant step towards repairing something that seems irreparably shattered, she slides forward and off the couch. On her knees, she crawls across the short space between them. Her hand slides down the length of his arm and their fingers intertwine.
Still, she's stubborn and not quite willing to let the issue slide that easily.
"Please, Michael…stop deluding yourself and look around. They take everything away from us, and you just sit back and let them. Why can't we just leave, Michael? Why can't we just take off and never look back?" She knows she's pleading, but she can't help it. Her insides feel shredded and raw; her emotions are bleeding her dry.
His hand cradles her cheek; his thumb brushes across her lips. "And then what, Nikita? We live happily ever after? Domestic bliss? You and I both know that was never meant to be our life."
"But it could be!" She knows it could be; she's seen the Michael and Nikita that could be, and they're beautiful. Not like this Michael and Nikita, all twisted up in lies and deceptions. They're lost somewhere in the maze of Division, and sometimes Nikita thinks they'll never be able to find their way out, no matter how hard they try.
"Try not to spend too much time thinking about the future, Nikita."
"You don't want to leave because you still want to find Kasim." She may as well have slapped him. Regret fills her as soon as the words pass her lips. It isn't fair, and she knows it.
"That's not true." He shakes his head slowly, sadly. "I don't want to leave because if we do - if we leave now - we'll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders."
"There are worse ways to live."
"Name one," he challenges.
"Apart." A shrug. "Alone."
"That's two." He smiles, a sad curve of his lips. Brushing back her hair, he touches her like she's something precious - fragile, breakable. Maybe that's what she is now. Maybe Percy's finally gotten through and she is broken and damaged.
"I know." She feels the fight draining out of her as she speaks.
And he sighs deeply. His shoulders slump, sorrow fills his eyes, and her heart goes out to him.
She goes easily into his arms. His touch is tender and his kiss is affectionate and reassuring, and she feels herself melt in his embrace.
For now, they are not apart, and they are not alone.
Michael takes her to Division, where he quickly rushes off the moment he sees Amanda marching down the hall towards them. Amanda leads Nikita to her office and briefs her on her next mission. As far as assignments go, this one is rather straightforward. There is a man, he is a problem, and Division wants him eliminated. (Or someone with a large pocketbook wants him out of the way; there isn't much of a difference these days.)
The mark is in Paris, and their window of opportunity is rapidly closing. Michael is going with her to make sure she behaves, because this is her first assignment since her world went topsy-turvy. As far as Nikita is concerned, her world still hasn't fully righted itself, only now she has vengeance and fury keeping her sharp and focused.
She's determined to prove that she can be as patient as she is impulsive. Part of that patience includes fighting the urge to drown the woman in the horrible tea that she serves.
"It's been a while since we've talked, Nikita," Amanda says, once all the details of the assignment have been discussed backwards and forwards. "How have you been?"
"I'm surprisingly well. Apparently, I am a fully competent adult who is capable of dealing with her own emotional problems without your psychoanalytic babble."
Amanda's eyes narrow. "Nikita, you know I'm only looking out for you and your best interests."
She wants to say that her best interest involved her having her child and escaping Division, but that never happened because Percy and Amanda took matters into their own hands. (And there really is no use in denying it. Michael's all but confirmed it, and it is exactly the type of thing Percy would do.)
Nikita doesn't say a word.
"I know that living this life is difficult sometimes, but what we do really is for the greater good." Amanda's trying to be decorous. It's just not working. The only greater good Nikita's been working for has been Percy's, and she's sick of playing his games.
She needs Amanda to let her leave, though, so she pastes a smile on her face and lies through her teeth.
"Of course I do. And it is difficult sometimes. It really is. But you've helped me see things in a whole new light, so thank you. Thank you so much." She pretends to wipe away a tear. "Can I leave now?"
With a pert frown, Amanda makes a shooing motion with her hand, and Nikita exits the room as fast as is humanly possible.
They sit together in first class late at night. He sips on a glass of red wine and she nurses her ginger ale. (His blunt, "No alcohol on assignment, Nikita," was met with a derisive pout.)
For the past hour, he's been reading folders and files on this person she's going to kill tomorrow, trying to figure out who is behind the hit. She glances over his shoulder once, gets bored after a few seconds, and then turns to stare out the window at the black ocean swirling thousands of feet below their jet. If only she knew how much concentration he's putting into his study so he has something to keep his mind on other than the strong temptation to lean over and kiss her.
Finally, he can't stand the silence between them any longer. These past few weeks have been tense and unbearable, and he doesn't think he can stand another minute of sitting so close to her while their relationship is still so strained. He puts work away and carefully finds her hand with his.
"I'm sorry," he tells her.
Turning away from the window, she asks, "For what?"
Hesitating for just a second, - Michael's never been one for either apologies or heart-to-hearts - he searches for the right words to say. "I can make plans for the worst plans scenario, no problem. But when it comes to planning for positive outcomes…I'm just not used to that. It does not mean I don't want one."
With an almost awe-filled smile, she leans over to kiss him then, sweet and tender and everything Nikita. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her close.
"Is that what we need, Michael?" she whispers after a moment. "A plan? A plan to get out?"
He nods his head. Some part of him can't believe he's agreeing to this insanity, this betrayal, but he is.
Division is suffocating them slowly, and every minute they're inside just prolongs the agony.
Michael doesn't want to drown.
The portion of Nikita's soul that is completely detached from the horror of her assignment wants to brag that the shot is perfect, but there is no time to admire it. She can't process the fact that she's just taken a life on nothing but Percy's say so.
The mark was in the building next to the one she's using as a perch, so she has a little bit of time before the authorities figure out where the shot came from. At least, she hopes she does.
With quick, deft hands, Nikita packs up her Remington 700PSS and gets moving. It's a shame. There is no way is she getting the rifle out of the country, and it's a beauty. Sadly, she has no time to mourn the loss because she needs to get out of the building before the authorities arrive.
The elevator will take too long, so Nikita just heads directly for the stairs, thinking that she was definitely smart for wearing heels into the building, but swapping them for flats after gaining access to the appropriate floor. She's sad about the heels too. It seems she's leaving a lot behind in Paris on this excursion.
The night air is cool and refreshing after descending forty-plus flights of stairs.
A silver four-door pulls up to the curb, and after she tucks the rifle into the trunk, Nikita practically leaps into the passenger's seat. Flushed and a little out of breath, she snaps on her seatbelt and turns to Michael as his foot presses on the gas petal and they speed away. She almost cheers. "Well, that was fun!" She bites her lip as she grins and does the tiniest little happy-dance in her seat.
"I think I beat another one of your records," she taunts.
He gives her a look, but she sees pride in his eyes.
She knows that he's proud of the shot she just made, not of the assassination she's just carried out.
Either way, that revelation makes her outstandingly happy.
She knocks on his hotel room door later that night with a bottle of expensive champagne she doubts he'll let her drink and a brand new set of lacy lingerie hidden underneath her black sweatpants and oversized tee-shirt. That way, if he rejects her, she won't feel like a total idiot.
He lets her in, and they spend the entire night - jet lag being what it is - awake talking about missions and the possibility of escape.
He does, unbelievably, let her have a few glasses of bubbly. When she raises an eyebrow at him, all he says is, "What Percy doesn't know isn't gonna hurt him."
She thinks that's a good rule to live by.
They begin to plan.
A bit here, a bit there.
Michael's resources are better than hers are, so when he can, he teaches her things they'll need to know on the outside. She knows how to lose a tail, how to stay under the radar for a short period of time, but he coaches her about staying alive in for a long period of time - the rest of their lives.
They tuck away money in safety deposit boxes; they squirrel away guns in various weapons caches. This is mostly Michael's doing, seeing as Nikita's movements are a little more limited. Still, he makes her memorize every location, every combination, and every contingency.
At night, they sit in Nikita's living room and pour over Kasim's files, trying to find any clue, any hint of where he might be or what he might be doing.
Because once they get him, they can get out.
It takes a few weeks for her to realize that she isn't living with the constant fear of Percy's wrath. She no longer wonders if they're always doomed to live in the shadows because there is the possibility of a future now.
There's hope, and Nikita clings to that with all that she has, regardless of however foolish it might be.
She meets him in a coffee shop.
"Hi, I'm Daniel."
Nikita smiles as she takes her drink from the barista.
"Hi, I'm late."
She doesn't give him a second thought.
A few days later, she wakes up in the middle of the night without knowing why.
"They're sending me on a mission."
"Michael?" Her fingers find the switch to her bedside lamp, and the soft glow it provides is just enough to make out his silhouette in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"
"I leave in under four hours."
Nikita chances a glance at her alarm clock. 3:08 AM. "When will you be back?"
He moves to the bed and sits on the mattress. She finally gets a good look at him. With his wrinkled suit jacket, loosened tie, unbuttoned collar, and shuffled hair, he's quite a mess. "I…don't know."
She scoots towards him on the bed and snakes her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"
He shakes his head sadly, and she understands. Either he doesn't know or he doesn't want to tell her. Neither option is good.
His hand rests heavily against her waist, and he gently tugs her closer to him.
"Nikita," the word is a breathy whisper against her neck.
"I know," she says and draws his mouth to hers. For a moment, the kiss is slow, but it builds steadily in its intensity. Suddenly she's straddling his lap, helping him shed his jacket and finish unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers swiftly unknot his tie and throw it aside.
They twist around and then he's laying her down on the mattress and his body is over hers, heavy and wonderful. Her head spins, and her heart races.
He reaches across her to turn off the light and the room goes black.
Michael leaves in the morning because as much as he would like to, he can't stay without putting them both in danger. He tries to convince himself that she'll be alright while he's away. He'll be gone, so it's not like there's a chance of Percy catching them together. Nikita will be safe so long as she keeps her head down and follows orders. (Although neither quality is one of her strong suits.)
She stirs when he tries to carefully slip out of her embrace. Her grip is strong, and she moans when he moves her arms.
Her hair spreads out across her pillow as she rolls onto her back, still slumbering. One arm stretches over her head, the other rests against her stomach.
He doesn't wake her up to say goodbye, because somehow he knows that if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave her.
(He doesn't want to leave her, - ever - and that is precisely the problem.)
He kisses her forehead tenderly and whispers I love you into the still morning air.
Just in case.
In Nikita's opinion, the man Percy sends to kill her is beyond incompetent.
For starters, the imbecile lacks the brains to use a gun instead of making her death look like a robbery gone violent. Percy's malicious; Nikita has no doubt in her mind that the Reaper's orders were to make it as painful and drawn-out as possible.
Although the Reaper is so well built it looks like he could snap her tiny body in half like a twig, he's slower than she is, and Nikita's nimble feet dodge his first blow with ridiculous ease. Her gun is drawn in an instant, and she doesn't pause or hesitate.
Once he's dead on the floor, Nikita doesn't waste time. She grabs the black backpack containing everything she needs on the run, along with the disposable emergency cell phone Michael gave her, hoping against hope that Percy decided that she was the weak link and therefore disposing of Michael was unnecessary.
She tells herself that she never actually expected Michael to answer, but the message she leaves on his phone still sounds a touch frantic to her ears. "Percy sent a Reaper. Call me."
The protocol they've established in this situation is clear; Michael has drilled what she should do into her head so well she can practically quote his instructions word for word. She is to keep the phone on for twenty-four hours. If she hasn't heard back from him by then, her directions are to assume the worst, ditch the device and disappear.
"Percy sent a Reaper. Call me."
Percy smiles; there is nothing in the technological world that Birkhoff can't hack.
"Delete it."
Part VI
Masterpost