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Entry tags:
FIC: dealing with the devil 2/2 [la femme nikita]
dealing with the devil
by abby82
category: missing scene
rating: Teen
word count: 3,582
disclaimer: they don’t belong to me, no money is being made. I’m only borrowing them.
author’s note: This is the second part to my story from earlier in the year that touched upon what the conversation between Michael and Egan Petrosian would have looked like when he ordered Michael to go to Nikita. The "date" pimp session that Petrosian sets up between Michael and Nikita comes and goes pretty quickly in the episode, but it does touch on some pretty interesting character beats from the episode, namely Nikita's flirtation with the perks that Petrosian offers her and how Michael handles powerful women. I've always wondered what Michael and Nikita would talk about if he did stay for that drink. Michael's not exactly known for his small talk. And of course he stayed. There's no way he was going to humiliate Nikita by leaving.
story began: February 2023
story finished: July 2023
links: LJ | AO3 | Tumblr
summary: "Should we just have a drink? No more games or promises...just a drink."
“Am I under orders to please you?” Michael asks, already knowing the answer.
“Of course,” Nikita answers with coquettish delight. His heart contracts for just a moment at Nikita’s apparent willingness to go along with Petrosian’s plans before she gracefully backpedals. “Not.”
Underneath her dark, red lipstick, Nikita’s smile is sharper.
She now stands before him, suggesting that they spend more time together outside of Section and extolling the benefits of letting Petrosian have his run at Section One. Her words are a manifestation of his deepest desire and the most dangerous of scenarios.
She’s trying on a new persona…the temptress. Her exotic perfume teases his nostrils when she leans into his personal space. She’s clearly intrigued by the liberties her new authority at Section has given her.
Nikita is beauty and desire incarnate and Michael doubles down on his self control.
“Should we just have a drink?” She offers in an attempt to ease them back into neutral territory.
“No more games or promises. Just a drink.”
Nikita’s beguiling smile has the bartender immediately before them.
“My handsome friend will have your finest red wine, please.”
“And for you, madam?” He asks with professional courtesy.
Nikita takes a final sip from her drink and pushes the empty glass forward with another smile.
The silence between them lingers, but it’s lost some of its initial edginess. It’s only been a few minutes but this is the most non-mission related time that they’ve spent in each other’s company since she returned. He’s missed her. Even with Nikita back in Section, he’s crossed paths with her far less than he’d like. She accepted the Section approved vacation time after Jurgen’s death and she left for two weeks for parts unknown.
She left to mourn Jurgen. She left to get away from him.
He’s well aware that he drove Nikita into another man’s arms well before he was ordered to ensure that she and Jurgen grew closer. By the time he’d realized that he’d been too harsh, it was too late.
Nikita had drifted away from him. The desire that had emanated from her so fiercely was replaced by either polite indifference or tense combativeness.
She’d refused his invitation for company. He wasn’t entirely surprised given his recent treatment of her, but he’d still hoped. He hoped that he could reconnect with her, perhaps not physically, but emotionally. He’d hoped that some private time together away from Section, away from Jurgen’s presence, and away from the surveillance that had surely been reactivated in her apartment would give him the opportunity to give Nikita the reassurances she sought out.
He’d miscalculated Nikita’s need for connection. Michael had spent years suppressing that need and so he failed to see that Nikita was nowhere near as stunted as he. Their night together fed that need, but while he was able to get himself under control, Nikita had no such success. She didn’t see why they had to deny themselves.
And so, Michael regularly rebuffed her more overt advances and the subtler invitations to visit her. His hands tightened on her bare skin as he held her back. She caressed his chest and clung to the lapels of his jacket as she tried to get closer to him. Wanton passion radiated off of her. Nikita was abundantly clear that she wanted to pursue more with him and she wasn’t ashamed to voice her desire. She sought out his lips and Michael barely managed to turn his face to deny her. Her blatant disregard to Section’s all seeing eyes alarmed him.
His blood cover aside, there would have been no immediately viable way for them to pursue a relationship.
He feared for them both. The possibility of discovery was very real. At times, he felt like he was standing on quicksand as yet another obstacle appeared before them.
Jurgen lingered in dark corners, watching them. His former trainer was savvy. He would exploit any vulnerability he saw to get his answers. Michael had been grossly reckless during Nikita’s absence. It was a downward spiral that rattled many, even if his mission success rate was still high. Section needed to be reassured that he was back to his pre-Shays mission levels. A relationship with Nikita would not help matters.
He needed to counteract the conclusions that Operations and Madeline had reached. He could not allow them to think that his ability to function was tied to Nikita’s well-being. They needed to believe that he had not been compromised. The perception of weakness is no different than actual weakness. So, he pushed Nikita away despite his own desire to take what she was offering.
Michael suspects that a relationship between Nikita and Jurgen would have materialized had he not sacrificed himself during their last mission. Nikita’s earnest declaration to remain a part of Jurgen’s life after his fall from grace rang in his ears long after she’d left his office. Michael was grateful that he was spared having to witness that despite being sorry that Jurgen had to die. Overhearing their brief interlude was more tortuous than he cares to admit. He refuses to entertain what level of undress they reached before he was able to interfere.
He tells himself that he has no right to feel betrayal at Nikita’s apparent willingness to entertain another suitor so soon after their own unforgettable night together. After all, it was his own perceived apathy that made Nikita feel that he was the one who was dismissive of their night. Six months of isolation and loneliness on the outside clearly made Nikita yearn for the most basic of human needs, emotional and physical connection. Two things Michael was forbidden from giving her.
Upon her return from extended downtime, Nikita kept her distance. She was polite but never lingered. Her eyes always found somewhere else to look the few times they conversed. “Look at me,” he silently willed her. When she doesn’t, Michael fights the impulse to touch her, to force her undivided attention. The painful moment ends when she walks away. The space she once stood in grows cold. Then he walks away as well.
His ears almost always pick up laughter in his wake. Nikita has graced both Walter and Birkoff with her extended company. She’s worked to resurrect the lost bonds her time on the outside had created. She doesn’t have to work too hard. They basked under her attentions and were beyond elated to have her back. The three of them easily made up for lost time. From a distance, he watched her lithe figure bring light to the dark depths of Section once again.
The distance was all for the best, Michael told himself. He really could not afford to torment himself with memories of Nikita’s bare skin or any other reminders of their intensely passionate time together. Nor could he torment himself with memories of a Nikita all too eager to find herself in his arms again, only to be hurt by his rejection. It was bad enough that he often found his mind drifting as he drove between Section and home to Adam and Elena. The hour long drive was the only real time he had to himself and now even that time was slipping away from him.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Nikita had recently begun to engage him in longer conversations. It was still mission based, but the wall she had erected was now much, much lower. He clung greedily to those moments. He’d always enjoyed watching Nikita work through the more theoretical aspects of mission assessments, and this was no exception.
Between live runs and some additional post debrief sessions with him, Nikita was quickly becoming a much more well rounded operative. Even Operations could find no fault with her performance.
The bartender returns and brings with him the requested glass of red wine and refills Nikita’s champagne flute.
Michael cautiously turns towards her.
“So, read any good books lately?” Nikita asks with a touch of humor.
He smiles imperceptibly at her comment. The only book he’s read lately is the one Adam has been infatuated with about a very hungry caterpillar.
Michael lets his gaze drift over her. Nikita was garbed in a peacock’s plumage. Her hair teased into a mountain of blonde ringlets that frame her swan’s neck. She was ready to be seen.
If the subtle and not so subtle glances from the restaurant’s male diners are any indication, Michael is the envy of every man present.
He has to be cautious around her. His eyes unconsciously drift to her lips when Nikita takes a sip of champagne. Here is the opportunity he sought out weeks ago—Nikita, alone and receptive to his company. They can’t talk of Section. Not really, and so they’ve silently decided that topic is off limits.
“You know, after being in the city for this long, there’s still so much about it that I haven’t seen.”
Her voice is contemplative as if finally giving voice to something that she’s thought about for some time.
Michael listens attentively, relieved at the change in topics.
“Oh, I go places,” she clarifies. “Places I really like, but I’ve realized that they’re all the same. One park blends into another. Every music shop, regardless of how ‘underground’ it claims to be, looks like any other. There’s no variety and I’ve never really tried to change that.”
“Why?” Michael asks genuinely curious. Nikita is by nature an explorer, always looking for new experiences.
“Dunno. Language barrier maybe.”
“Your French is…” He struggles slightly to find a word that won’t come off as insulting. “Serviceable.”
She laughs good-naturedly. “Gee, thanks.”
It’s good to see her laughing. His heart skips a beat at her beautiful and effortless smile.
“You really know how to flatter a girl, Michael.”
She steps a little closer to him and once again he finds himself disarmed by her vibrancy.
“I know you can do better.” Nikita teases. “You can be very charming when you want to be.”
It’s an opening he doesn’t take. He can’t afford to.
Nikita notes his silence and takes a sip of her champagne.
“In the beginning it was fun. I could pretend that I really was ‘between jobs’ and that I had the financial luxury to not work. I think that Carla probably thought I had some well to do parents somewhere that paid my bills while I indulged in clothes, crazy wigs, and my attempts to figure out what my tastes in interior design were.”
The smallest of smiles graces Nikita’s lips as she recounts deceptively simpler times.
Michael remembers those times fondly. He’d find himself perplexed and further intrigued when he would occasionally review Nikita’s itemized credit card statements.
“It just wasn’t real,” she declares somberly. “All those afternoons shopping for clothes and music, and I could only pretend for so long. I didn’t like lying to Carla, and she wasn’t stupid.”
Nikita takes another sip of her champagne.
“How did you do it, Michael? You once told me the transition was difficult for you too. I’m rather sorry that I blew off your attempt at advice. I thought I had it all figured out. That I could easily separate the job with the life I wanted to try and have.”
Sadness creeps into her voice. It colors her every word.
“You’re not the same person you were back then," he tells her. "You’ve come to the same realizations I did. It’s all an illusion. What we knew of normal from before is impossible to replicate. The only life we can really have is on the inside and even that can be complicated.”
She eyes him carefully. Her gaze is so substantial that it’s almost a physical thing.
“Where were you…before? Were you always here?”
Her voice has dropped. Not in attempted seduction, but in intimacy. It’s eerily reminiscent of not so distant moonlight confessions. Nikita was more than just physically bare, but emotionally as well. Her doubts, her fears were all given voice. She sought the comfort of his arms and he freely gave it in return, but Michael had remained silent.
He couldn’t offer her words then, but perhaps if he treads carefully he can give her something now. Something from before things in his life went sour.
“Not always, no,” he responds.
Her eyebrow rises ever so slightly, surprised that she got an answer. This is a conversation wrought with land mines, but Michael feels like he owes her.
He takes a simple sip from his wine glass and lets distant memories of home and the Marché aux Poisson engulf him.
“Narrow, winding cobblestone streets near the Vieux Port; markets pungent with fresh fish and salt and a marina so filled with mastheads that it was difficult to see anything else—a city bound to the sea, but it wasn’t enough. Paris promised so much more. It was easy to get swept up in that promise.”
Nikita looks at him in quiet awe. She hadn’t expected that.
If they had had more time, more night available to them, this could have been his lover’s confession, his past. Marseille has always had a chip on its shoulder when compared to Lyon.
Instead, they loved each other one final time, before exhaustion took them and daybreak arrived. Nikita offered him her body and her arms. He drank greedily from her and she from him, both of them believing that it was the last time.
She opens her mouth to ask a follow up question when Michael interjects, almost uncharacteristically.
“Stephen Hawking.”
“Pardon?” She asks, clearly confused. A tiny vertical wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.
“The book I’ve been meaning to catch up on. ‘A Brief History of Time’ has been updated for the tenth anniversary of its publication. I’ve been meaning to read the new edition.”
Nikita quirks her head. The corner of mouth rises slightly in amusement.
“Really? Astrophysics…huh.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes sparkle playfully.
“In English or French.”
“Whichever is available.”
Once again she smiles. He could definitely get used to this, being the source of her smiles, being on the receiving end of them.
“Show off,” she teases.
She’s inched closer still. Anything further and it could risk the precious balance they’ve achieved.
Michael takes note that Nikita had finished her flute of champagne. Aside from a single taste, his own glass sits untouched.
“I better get you home,” he tells hers quietly.
Nikita’s eyes flash with resigned understanding. Their time, however brief, is up. Whatever loose limbed carriage she’d adopted disappears and she straightens up to her full height. When she wears heels, their eyes are perfectly in line with each other.
“I came in a cab. Besides, I said ‘no promises’ with our drink. You’re under no obligation.”
“It’s not obligation. I want to.”
He reaches for the small handbag she’d placed on the bar and hands it to her.
Nikita watches him with limpid eyes while he settles their tab.
“Shall we?” Michael asks obligingly.
At the coat check, he helps Nikita with her white cashmere coat. He gets another tease of her perfume and his fingers briefly make contact with her golden curls.
She’s an angelic vision, but she isn’t his. He has no right to covet the unattainable.
When he offers his arm to escort her out, he tells himself to enjoy the understanding they’ve come to.
It’s inevitable that he’s going to hurt her once more. He will inevitably be on the receiving end of Nikita’s fury. There will also likely come a time when she won’t forgive his indiscretions.
But that day is not today. Today he gets to escort Nikita to his car and take her home. He gets to briefly pretend that theirs was a real date and not Egran Petrosian’s attempt to further corrupt them.
Operations is on the mend and Egran Petrosian, for his role in the failed assassination, will be dealt with swiftly. His attempt to permanently take the reins of Section One have been thwarted.
While Michael had once again been dispatched to another distant corner of the globe, Nikita found herself at the very center of the proceedings.
She and Section One survive to see another day free of the briefly installed new regime.
She’s already eased herself back towards the familiar. Her streetwear is sporty yet fashionable. Her blonde hair flows freely behind her and there’s a lightness that had been absent from her demeanor.
Michael feels a comforting warmth at the return of the “real” Nikita.
From where he stands near Comm, he witnesses both Walter’s wordless dismissal of her greeting and her conversation with Madeline.
He couldn’t hear them, but he saw the emotions that crossed Nikita’s face—sadness, concern, skepticism, and then contemplation. It was a rollercoaster emotion that finally settles on lost.
“What is it?” He asks not unkindly after the older woman departs, leaving Nikita alone and rooted to her spot.
“Nothing,” she dismisses unconvincingly.
It wasn’t “nothing”. Something about her conversation with Madeline disturbed her.
He can see Nikita internally debate whether or not to say more. She takes a frustrated breath and absently runs her hand down the strap of the bag flung over her shoulder.
“Do you think that everyone who gets to taste power spends all their time trying to recapture it?”
“No.”
“Madeline disagrees,” she says quietly annoyed.
Nikita should know better. Madeline knows exactly what buttons to push. That she let her words get to her shows how deeply her role as Petrosian’s right hand affected her.
Michael takes a single step towards her and chooses his words with care.
“Your approach the last few days was an ill-fitting persona, but if managed differently, could prove useful for you. Never underestimate your ability to adapt to the circumstances you find yourself in.”
A look of confusion crosses her face.
“You think I should be more like Madeline?”
Mild surprise filters across Nikita’s face.
“No, but eventually you might need to call upon similar tactics to achieve certain objectives.”
She looks at him for several long seconds, absorbing his words and very likely trying to determine if it goes beyond simple advice.
“Were you uncomfortable with it?”
“It was different,” he acknowledges. “Part of your strength lies with your individuality. There’s no one else like you in Section.”
Her eyes crinkle slightly and she allows the tiniest of smiles. Michael doesn’t miss the hint of flirtation in her voice.
“Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”
More than a compliment really…admiration.
“An observation,” he says instead.
Nikita glances cautiously around them.
“I enjoyed our drink together,” she says privately.
He says nothing.
“I hope we don’t let too much time go by before we can share another.” She shrugs her shoulder. “Even if it’s just to check in and see how the other is doing.”
Michael sighs internally. He’s into his fifth year with the Vacek mission. Adam will be having a birthday in a few weeks and there’s still no sight of mission closure.
What Nikita offers is innocent enough. He remembers the gratitude he felt when they had a quiet cup of coffee together after Simone’s death. Her friendship and compassion were a much welcomed gift.
He’d love the opportunity to do it more often. He just doesn’t know if he can.
Weeks ago, Nikita had questioned why he hadn’t visited her. When he turned her away, she sought Jurgen’s company. Then, after his continued self-enforced distance, she sought it out more often, to the point that they were always together.
Last night, when he walked Nikita to her front door, it was his first time back there since he discovered the extent to which Jurgen had further inserted himself into Nikita’s life. Jurgen looked comfortably at ease in Nikita’s space, in the seconds before he looked taken by surprise. He was different and welcomed, like the new furniture she’d acquired. Michael didn’t cross the threshold this time, but he remembered the pang of regret that he’d felt the evening that he did.
It was a dangerous feeling. Spending more time with Nikita would only exacerbate the situation if and when Section comes between them again.
It will happen. Of that he is certain.
Accepting her invitation can only bring them more pain. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s never liked the missions that involved Nikita with another man, even loosely. Whatever objectivity he possesses disappears the minute she laughs with someone else or lets them come close to her, especially someone of her own choosing. Now, Michael knows the feeling of her confident hands across this body; the moist heat of her breath on his skin. He knows how she quakes with pleasure when it overwhelms her and the soft private smile she gives him before she steals another sweet kiss.
“That might not be the wisest thing to do,” he tells her honestly, back in the present.
“What’s the point of being alive if we don’t even try to live?”
“It’s survival.”
There’s reluctant acceptance that crosses her face, much like the one last night when their evening ended.
“It’s also lonely.”
With one final look towards ordnance, Nikita lowers her sunglasses.
“See you around, Michael.”
He doesn’t answer her, but he’s more than certain that Nikita has resigned herself to knowing that the status quo between them is firmly in check. The safety of distance is all he can give her, at least for now.
-30-
by abby82
category: missing scene
rating: Teen
word count: 3,582
disclaimer: they don’t belong to me, no money is being made. I’m only borrowing them.
author’s note: This is the second part to my story from earlier in the year that touched upon what the conversation between Michael and Egan Petrosian would have looked like when he ordered Michael to go to Nikita. The "
story began: February 2023
story finished: July 2023
links: LJ | AO3 | Tumblr
summary: "Should we just have a drink? No more games or promises...just a drink."
“Am I under orders to please you?” Michael asks, already knowing the answer.
“Of course,” Nikita answers with coquettish delight. His heart contracts for just a moment at Nikita’s apparent willingness to go along with Petrosian’s plans before she gracefully backpedals. “Not.”
Underneath her dark, red lipstick, Nikita’s smile is sharper.
She now stands before him, suggesting that they spend more time together outside of Section and extolling the benefits of letting Petrosian have his run at Section One. Her words are a manifestation of his deepest desire and the most dangerous of scenarios.
She’s trying on a new persona…the temptress. Her exotic perfume teases his nostrils when she leans into his personal space. She’s clearly intrigued by the liberties her new authority at Section has given her.
Nikita is beauty and desire incarnate and Michael doubles down on his self control.
“Should we just have a drink?” She offers in an attempt to ease them back into neutral territory.
“No more games or promises. Just a drink.”
Nikita’s beguiling smile has the bartender immediately before them.
“My handsome friend will have your finest red wine, please.”
“And for you, madam?” He asks with professional courtesy.
Nikita takes a final sip from her drink and pushes the empty glass forward with another smile.
The silence between them lingers, but it’s lost some of its initial edginess. It’s only been a few minutes but this is the most non-mission related time that they’ve spent in each other’s company since she returned. He’s missed her. Even with Nikita back in Section, he’s crossed paths with her far less than he’d like. She accepted the Section approved vacation time after Jurgen’s death and she left for two weeks for parts unknown.
She left to mourn Jurgen. She left to get away from him.
He’s well aware that he drove Nikita into another man’s arms well before he was ordered to ensure that she and Jurgen grew closer. By the time he’d realized that he’d been too harsh, it was too late.
Nikita had drifted away from him. The desire that had emanated from her so fiercely was replaced by either polite indifference or tense combativeness.
She’d refused his invitation for company. He wasn’t entirely surprised given his recent treatment of her, but he’d still hoped. He hoped that he could reconnect with her, perhaps not physically, but emotionally. He’d hoped that some private time together away from Section, away from Jurgen’s presence, and away from the surveillance that had surely been reactivated in her apartment would give him the opportunity to give Nikita the reassurances she sought out.
He’d miscalculated Nikita’s need for connection. Michael had spent years suppressing that need and so he failed to see that Nikita was nowhere near as stunted as he. Their night together fed that need, but while he was able to get himself under control, Nikita had no such success. She didn’t see why they had to deny themselves.
And so, Michael regularly rebuffed her more overt advances and the subtler invitations to visit her. His hands tightened on her bare skin as he held her back. She caressed his chest and clung to the lapels of his jacket as she tried to get closer to him. Wanton passion radiated off of her. Nikita was abundantly clear that she wanted to pursue more with him and she wasn’t ashamed to voice her desire. She sought out his lips and Michael barely managed to turn his face to deny her. Her blatant disregard to Section’s all seeing eyes alarmed him.
His blood cover aside, there would have been no immediately viable way for them to pursue a relationship.
He feared for them both. The possibility of discovery was very real. At times, he felt like he was standing on quicksand as yet another obstacle appeared before them.
Jurgen lingered in dark corners, watching them. His former trainer was savvy. He would exploit any vulnerability he saw to get his answers. Michael had been grossly reckless during Nikita’s absence. It was a downward spiral that rattled many, even if his mission success rate was still high. Section needed to be reassured that he was back to his pre-Shays mission levels. A relationship with Nikita would not help matters.
He needed to counteract the conclusions that Operations and Madeline had reached. He could not allow them to think that his ability to function was tied to Nikita’s well-being. They needed to believe that he had not been compromised. The perception of weakness is no different than actual weakness. So, he pushed Nikita away despite his own desire to take what she was offering.
Michael suspects that a relationship between Nikita and Jurgen would have materialized had he not sacrificed himself during their last mission. Nikita’s earnest declaration to remain a part of Jurgen’s life after his fall from grace rang in his ears long after she’d left his office. Michael was grateful that he was spared having to witness that despite being sorry that Jurgen had to die. Overhearing their brief interlude was more tortuous than he cares to admit. He refuses to entertain what level of undress they reached before he was able to interfere.
He tells himself that he has no right to feel betrayal at Nikita’s apparent willingness to entertain another suitor so soon after their own unforgettable night together. After all, it was his own perceived apathy that made Nikita feel that he was the one who was dismissive of their night. Six months of isolation and loneliness on the outside clearly made Nikita yearn for the most basic of human needs, emotional and physical connection. Two things Michael was forbidden from giving her.
Upon her return from extended downtime, Nikita kept her distance. She was polite but never lingered. Her eyes always found somewhere else to look the few times they conversed. “Look at me,” he silently willed her. When she doesn’t, Michael fights the impulse to touch her, to force her undivided attention. The painful moment ends when she walks away. The space she once stood in grows cold. Then he walks away as well.
His ears almost always pick up laughter in his wake. Nikita has graced both Walter and Birkoff with her extended company. She’s worked to resurrect the lost bonds her time on the outside had created. She doesn’t have to work too hard. They basked under her attentions and were beyond elated to have her back. The three of them easily made up for lost time. From a distance, he watched her lithe figure bring light to the dark depths of Section once again.
The distance was all for the best, Michael told himself. He really could not afford to torment himself with memories of Nikita’s bare skin or any other reminders of their intensely passionate time together. Nor could he torment himself with memories of a Nikita all too eager to find herself in his arms again, only to be hurt by his rejection. It was bad enough that he often found his mind drifting as he drove between Section and home to Adam and Elena. The hour long drive was the only real time he had to himself and now even that time was slipping away from him.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Nikita had recently begun to engage him in longer conversations. It was still mission based, but the wall she had erected was now much, much lower. He clung greedily to those moments. He’d always enjoyed watching Nikita work through the more theoretical aspects of mission assessments, and this was no exception.
Between live runs and some additional post debrief sessions with him, Nikita was quickly becoming a much more well rounded operative. Even Operations could find no fault with her performance.
The bartender returns and brings with him the requested glass of red wine and refills Nikita’s champagne flute.
Michael cautiously turns towards her.
“So, read any good books lately?” Nikita asks with a touch of humor.
He smiles imperceptibly at her comment. The only book he’s read lately is the one Adam has been infatuated with about a very hungry caterpillar.
Michael lets his gaze drift over her. Nikita was garbed in a peacock’s plumage. Her hair teased into a mountain of blonde ringlets that frame her swan’s neck. She was ready to be seen.
If the subtle and not so subtle glances from the restaurant’s male diners are any indication, Michael is the envy of every man present.
He has to be cautious around her. His eyes unconsciously drift to her lips when Nikita takes a sip of champagne. Here is the opportunity he sought out weeks ago—Nikita, alone and receptive to his company. They can’t talk of Section. Not really, and so they’ve silently decided that topic is off limits.
“You know, after being in the city for this long, there’s still so much about it that I haven’t seen.”
Her voice is contemplative as if finally giving voice to something that she’s thought about for some time.
Michael listens attentively, relieved at the change in topics.
“Oh, I go places,” she clarifies. “Places I really like, but I’ve realized that they’re all the same. One park blends into another. Every music shop, regardless of how ‘underground’ it claims to be, looks like any other. There’s no variety and I’ve never really tried to change that.”
“Why?” Michael asks genuinely curious. Nikita is by nature an explorer, always looking for new experiences.
“Dunno. Language barrier maybe.”
“Your French is…” He struggles slightly to find a word that won’t come off as insulting. “Serviceable.”
She laughs good-naturedly. “Gee, thanks.”
It’s good to see her laughing. His heart skips a beat at her beautiful and effortless smile.
“You really know how to flatter a girl, Michael.”
She steps a little closer to him and once again he finds himself disarmed by her vibrancy.
“I know you can do better.” Nikita teases. “You can be very charming when you want to be.”
It’s an opening he doesn’t take. He can’t afford to.
Nikita notes his silence and takes a sip of her champagne.
“In the beginning it was fun. I could pretend that I really was ‘between jobs’ and that I had the financial luxury to not work. I think that Carla probably thought I had some well to do parents somewhere that paid my bills while I indulged in clothes, crazy wigs, and my attempts to figure out what my tastes in interior design were.”
The smallest of smiles graces Nikita’s lips as she recounts deceptively simpler times.
Michael remembers those times fondly. He’d find himself perplexed and further intrigued when he would occasionally review Nikita’s itemized credit card statements.
“It just wasn’t real,” she declares somberly. “All those afternoons shopping for clothes and music, and I could only pretend for so long. I didn’t like lying to Carla, and she wasn’t stupid.”
Nikita takes another sip of her champagne.
“How did you do it, Michael? You once told me the transition was difficult for you too. I’m rather sorry that I blew off your attempt at advice. I thought I had it all figured out. That I could easily separate the job with the life I wanted to try and have.”
Sadness creeps into her voice. It colors her every word.
“You’re not the same person you were back then," he tells her. "You’ve come to the same realizations I did. It’s all an illusion. What we knew of normal from before is impossible to replicate. The only life we can really have is on the inside and even that can be complicated.”
She eyes him carefully. Her gaze is so substantial that it’s almost a physical thing.
“Where were you…before? Were you always here?”
Her voice has dropped. Not in attempted seduction, but in intimacy. It’s eerily reminiscent of not so distant moonlight confessions. Nikita was more than just physically bare, but emotionally as well. Her doubts, her fears were all given voice. She sought the comfort of his arms and he freely gave it in return, but Michael had remained silent.
He couldn’t offer her words then, but perhaps if he treads carefully he can give her something now. Something from before things in his life went sour.
“Not always, no,” he responds.
Her eyebrow rises ever so slightly, surprised that she got an answer. This is a conversation wrought with land mines, but Michael feels like he owes her.
He takes a simple sip from his wine glass and lets distant memories of home and the Marché aux Poisson engulf him.
“Narrow, winding cobblestone streets near the Vieux Port; markets pungent with fresh fish and salt and a marina so filled with mastheads that it was difficult to see anything else—a city bound to the sea, but it wasn’t enough. Paris promised so much more. It was easy to get swept up in that promise.”
Nikita looks at him in quiet awe. She hadn’t expected that.
If they had had more time, more night available to them, this could have been his lover’s confession, his past. Marseille has always had a chip on its shoulder when compared to Lyon.
Instead, they loved each other one final time, before exhaustion took them and daybreak arrived. Nikita offered him her body and her arms. He drank greedily from her and she from him, both of them believing that it was the last time.
She opens her mouth to ask a follow up question when Michael interjects, almost uncharacteristically.
“Stephen Hawking.”
“Pardon?” She asks, clearly confused. A tiny vertical wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.
“The book I’ve been meaning to catch up on. ‘A Brief History of Time’ has been updated for the tenth anniversary of its publication. I’ve been meaning to read the new edition.”
Nikita quirks her head. The corner of mouth rises slightly in amusement.
“Really? Astrophysics…huh.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes sparkle playfully.
“In English or French.”
“Whichever is available.”
Once again she smiles. He could definitely get used to this, being the source of her smiles, being on the receiving end of them.
“Show off,” she teases.
She’s inched closer still. Anything further and it could risk the precious balance they’ve achieved.
Michael takes note that Nikita had finished her flute of champagne. Aside from a single taste, his own glass sits untouched.
“I better get you home,” he tells hers quietly.
Nikita’s eyes flash with resigned understanding. Their time, however brief, is up. Whatever loose limbed carriage she’d adopted disappears and she straightens up to her full height. When she wears heels, their eyes are perfectly in line with each other.
“I came in a cab. Besides, I said ‘no promises’ with our drink. You’re under no obligation.”
“It’s not obligation. I want to.”
He reaches for the small handbag she’d placed on the bar and hands it to her.
Nikita watches him with limpid eyes while he settles their tab.
“Shall we?” Michael asks obligingly.
At the coat check, he helps Nikita with her white cashmere coat. He gets another tease of her perfume and his fingers briefly make contact with her golden curls.
She’s an angelic vision, but she isn’t his. He has no right to covet the unattainable.
When he offers his arm to escort her out, he tells himself to enjoy the understanding they’ve come to.
It’s inevitable that he’s going to hurt her once more. He will inevitably be on the receiving end of Nikita’s fury. There will also likely come a time when she won’t forgive his indiscretions.
But that day is not today. Today he gets to escort Nikita to his car and take her home. He gets to briefly pretend that theirs was a real date and not Egran Petrosian’s attempt to further corrupt them.
Operations is on the mend and Egran Petrosian, for his role in the failed assassination, will be dealt with swiftly. His attempt to permanently take the reins of Section One have been thwarted.
While Michael had once again been dispatched to another distant corner of the globe, Nikita found herself at the very center of the proceedings.
She and Section One survive to see another day free of the briefly installed new regime.
She’s already eased herself back towards the familiar. Her streetwear is sporty yet fashionable. Her blonde hair flows freely behind her and there’s a lightness that had been absent from her demeanor.
Michael feels a comforting warmth at the return of the “real” Nikita.
From where he stands near Comm, he witnesses both Walter’s wordless dismissal of her greeting and her conversation with Madeline.
He couldn’t hear them, but he saw the emotions that crossed Nikita’s face—sadness, concern, skepticism, and then contemplation. It was a rollercoaster emotion that finally settles on lost.
“What is it?” He asks not unkindly after the older woman departs, leaving Nikita alone and rooted to her spot.
“Nothing,” she dismisses unconvincingly.
It wasn’t “nothing”. Something about her conversation with Madeline disturbed her.
He can see Nikita internally debate whether or not to say more. She takes a frustrated breath and absently runs her hand down the strap of the bag flung over her shoulder.
“Do you think that everyone who gets to taste power spends all their time trying to recapture it?”
“No.”
“Madeline disagrees,” she says quietly annoyed.
Nikita should know better. Madeline knows exactly what buttons to push. That she let her words get to her shows how deeply her role as Petrosian’s right hand affected her.
Michael takes a single step towards her and chooses his words with care.
“Your approach the last few days was an ill-fitting persona, but if managed differently, could prove useful for you. Never underestimate your ability to adapt to the circumstances you find yourself in.”
A look of confusion crosses her face.
“You think I should be more like Madeline?”
Mild surprise filters across Nikita’s face.
“No, but eventually you might need to call upon similar tactics to achieve certain objectives.”
She looks at him for several long seconds, absorbing his words and very likely trying to determine if it goes beyond simple advice.
“Were you uncomfortable with it?”
“It was different,” he acknowledges. “Part of your strength lies with your individuality. There’s no one else like you in Section.”
Her eyes crinkle slightly and she allows the tiniest of smiles. Michael doesn’t miss the hint of flirtation in her voice.
“Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”
More than a compliment really…admiration.
“An observation,” he says instead.
Nikita glances cautiously around them.
“I enjoyed our drink together,” she says privately.
He says nothing.
“I hope we don’t let too much time go by before we can share another.” She shrugs her shoulder. “Even if it’s just to check in and see how the other is doing.”
Michael sighs internally. He’s into his fifth year with the Vacek mission. Adam will be having a birthday in a few weeks and there’s still no sight of mission closure.
What Nikita offers is innocent enough. He remembers the gratitude he felt when they had a quiet cup of coffee together after Simone’s death. Her friendship and compassion were a much welcomed gift.
He’d love the opportunity to do it more often. He just doesn’t know if he can.
Weeks ago, Nikita had questioned why he hadn’t visited her. When he turned her away, she sought Jurgen’s company. Then, after his continued self-enforced distance, she sought it out more often, to the point that they were always together.
Last night, when he walked Nikita to her front door, it was his first time back there since he discovered the extent to which Jurgen had further inserted himself into Nikita’s life. Jurgen looked comfortably at ease in Nikita’s space, in the seconds before he looked taken by surprise. He was different and welcomed, like the new furniture she’d acquired. Michael didn’t cross the threshold this time, but he remembered the pang of regret that he’d felt the evening that he did.
It was a dangerous feeling. Spending more time with Nikita would only exacerbate the situation if and when Section comes between them again.
It will happen. Of that he is certain.
Accepting her invitation can only bring them more pain. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s never liked the missions that involved Nikita with another man, even loosely. Whatever objectivity he possesses disappears the minute she laughs with someone else or lets them come close to her, especially someone of her own choosing. Now, Michael knows the feeling of her confident hands across this body; the moist heat of her breath on his skin. He knows how she quakes with pleasure when it overwhelms her and the soft private smile she gives him before she steals another sweet kiss.
“That might not be the wisest thing to do,” he tells her honestly, back in the present.
“What’s the point of being alive if we don’t even try to live?”
“It’s survival.”
There’s reluctant acceptance that crosses her face, much like the one last night when their evening ended.
“It’s also lonely.”
With one final look towards ordnance, Nikita lowers her sunglasses.
“See you around, Michael.”
He doesn’t answer her, but he’s more than certain that Nikita has resigned herself to knowing that the status quo between them is firmly in check. The safety of distance is all he can give her, at least for now.
-30-