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Author's note: I'm going through Nikita withdrawal this week. So I wrote this flashback mission story.
Disclaimer: I only own the plot and nothing else.
In quiet contentment Michael watched the morning sun illuminate Nikita's stunning face as a summer breeze blew her long dark locks off her shoulders. The tips of her delicate fingers turned a page of the book she was reading. To see her enjoy one of the few privileges that Division allowed their agents was a pleasure for him. It gave him a chance to view her in a rare state of satisfied stillness where for a brief moment she was a normal young woman reading a book underneath the sunlight. She was being who she is and not the deadly spy/assassin she was forced to be.
If he didn't know better, her non-reaction to his appearance would have led him to believe that she was unaware of his presence but he knew that wasn't the case. Nikita's ability to deceive those around her was one of the qualities that made her the best. Although only Michael knew that she would never describe this skill as being a redeeming quality, she hated how easily it came to her. Fortunately for her sake, Division was unaware of her true feelings.
Keeping her eyes on the book she asked him, "No one told you that it's impolite to stare?"
He walked over and sat on the lounge chair next to hers, "I didn't want to disturb you..You seem really into what you're reading."
She lifted her sunglasses and placed them on her head, "I am but you're not here to join my book club," she smirked.
His lips suppressed a grin, "We have a mission."
Her eyebrows slightly creased, "And?"
"And I'll be in the field with you..Birkhoff's coming too."
Upon hearing Birkhoff's name she sighed, "So the nerd is coming along, great."
"He has to, Nikita. I'll tell you more during your briefing downstairs," he stood up and saw her do the same. The gray sports bra and black sweat pants she wore didn't diminish her natural beauty, he tried his best not let his eyes linger on her thin figure.
"You're going out in the field. This should be interesting," she walked alongside him.
"What makes you say that?" his eyebrow rose slightly.
"For once I won't be the only one getting battle wounds while you're in the van telling me what to do," she gave him a smug look.
He tilted his head feeling a little offended, "I'm out in the field more than you think. You can't see my scars," he opened the door for her.
She leaned towards him catching the scent of his fresh cologne. Their faces were barely inches apart, "Papercuts don't count, Michael."
Once she passed him to descend the stairs, a small chuckle escaped his mouth.