This is an AU story.
Division is as it always has been; powerful, lethal and untouchable. For decades its been grooming its agents to wreak a nearly non-existent destruction, and at the heart of it's new generation are Division's finest: Michael, a former Naval Intelligence Officer and Alexandra Udinov, reformed sex slave and drug addict. But like every great and terrible thing, Division has its rebels: Nikita Mears, defected Division spy and Ryan Fletcher, a disgraced CIA analyst. Together the two are determined to burn down Division and end it's silent reign of horror, even if it means trapping themselves and their loved ones in the flames.
Note: This is not an episode by episode rewrite. It goes wherever I allow it to.
[Hearts Under Fire] Chapter 1—La écarlate Rébellion
Ryan is the first to wake that morning. By the time Nikita comes downstairs breakfast is already cooked and spread out on the kitchen island. Two cups of coffee sit steaming in matching mugs and the television is tuned to Nikita's favorite news station.
"You didn't have to do all of this."
"I know." Ryan sets a mug of coffee down in front of her; a quarter cup of milk, seven sugars, just like she likes it.
"It's just another day."
"You know it's not."
Nikita holds up her homemade breakfast sandwich—toast, turkey bacon, eggs with lemon pepper and sugar free syrup—and takes a bite of it. "You can't properly enjoy the food with a frown on your face," she says, disregarding all manners and talking with her mouth full.
Ryan sighs and sits down across from her. "I have a feeling I'll be wasting my breath if I tell you how horrible an idea this is."
"Ryan this sandwich is delicious!" Nikita exclaims, not at all subtle with the deflection.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Well, I figured if you're gonna go and get yourself murdered, you might as well do it on a full stomach." The legs of his stool scrape the linoleum floor as he stands and storms out the room.
Nikita sighs, knowing they were going to have to have the conversation all over again. She wonders if it would be un-classy to bring the sandwich along.
He's standing by the massive floor to ceiling window in the living room, body completely still, eyes just peering out. Nikita steps behind him.
"Ryan," she says, tugging on one of the belt loops of his dark jeans. "Say it."
He sighs.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
She gives him a look.
"Say it."
"Nikita," he mumbles.
"What was that?"
"Nikita," he says, speaking louder.
"And what's that?"
He stays silent. She tugs on his belt loop again.
"The last word they'll say before the end."
"Good boy." She pats him on the shoulder and smiles, but he doesn't return the favor.
Nikita sighs. "Ryan, I know you're worried about me but…this has to happen. Division has to burn, okay? And nobody else can do this."
"You know that's not true."
"You know it is true."
"We could go to the authorities-the FBI, Homeland Security, the Marines—it's what they were made to do. They can raid Division Headquarters, shut it down from the heart." He turns and locks eyes with her.
Nikita shakes her head sadly. "They won't make it out alive."
"You won't make it out alive." He turns back to the window.
"I'm twenty-seven. I had a good life," she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.
Ryan cracks just the slightest of smiles, already used to her morbid sense of humor.
"There we go!" Nikita pinches his cheek and beams. "Now, let's go eat, I'm starving."
"I can tell. You're stomachs been growling this entire time."
Nikita laughs and pulls him across the living room by his arm.
"Wait," Ryan stops just before they reenter the kitchen, holding Nikita in place as well. She sinks a little.
"What?"
"Just…come back home. Okay?"
Nikita turns around and steps closer to him.
"I'm coming back home tonight, and tomorrow night and the night after and all the days that this takes." Nikita pecks him on the cheek. "At the end of all this, I'll still be standing. But Division won't be." She turns away from him and walks into the kitchen. "Now come on. It feels like there's an earthquake in my stomach."
Ryan gives a weary smile. He wants to believe her, but as he watches her walk away, he imagines a giant neon sign above her head flashing the words 'dead woman walking.'
xx
Percy gets the message at 5:00 P.M.
Seymour Birkhoff walks into his office unannounced—isn't his new security system supposed to prevent things like this?—and delivers the news.
"Nikita's back on the grid."
There's a slight pause as the words sink into Percy's brain. His fingers hover over the keyboard he was just typing on, and his icy blue-gray eyes drift up to Birkhoff's face.
"What?"
"Nikita Mears. Little Miss Rogue. She tripped one of our traps."
"Which one? Are you sure?"
"The one in the cemetery. And yes, we have video confirmation."
Percy sighs, pinching the bridge in his nose.
"Get Michael over here. Send out one of the Alpha teams. How long ago was this?"
"About forty minutes ago. I sent out a team the moment the alarm was tripped, but…" Birkhoff trails off, shaking his head. "Back in the wind."
Percy stands and crosses his office, stopping at the bar. "Look at all the cams in a twenty mile radius—traffic, security, personal, all of them. I want a team combing every inch of the site." He pours himself a glass of whiskey.
"Already done. I looked at all the cams myself. The footage was spliced together. Nothing."
Percy sighs, annoyed. He turns and faces Birkhoff. "What about forensics?"
"Nothing that could give us a lead on her location. But…she did leave something behind." Birkhoff shifts uncomfortably.
Percy stares at him.
He pulls a scarlet piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it over to Percy. Without saying a word he unfolds it, reading it to himself.
Scrawled in Nikita's handwriting was a four letter message:
"Percy. It ends now."
xx
Michael sits up and scoots to the edge of the pool table, rubbing the back of his head.
"When I brought this pool table, I never intended it to be used for that," he says looking over his shoulder at Alex.
She gives him a wicked smile and slips her arms into his light blue button-up. "That was so much better than a boring game of pool," she says, just slightly out of breath. She buttons the shirt from the bottom, and stops after the forth button. Her lacy purple bra peeks out and already he misses the time when she wasn't wearing it. "Wasn't it?"
"Something tells me you planned that from the moment you said 'let's play pool.'"
"And you didn't?" She cocks an eyebrow at him and turns, heading into the kitchen.
He chuckles to himself. "Where are my underwear?" he runs a hand through his short hair, looking around.
"All the way over here." Alex stands behind the kitchen counter, dangling his navy briefs from a finger.
"Toss 'em."
Alex smirks at him. "Nope."
Michael looks at her, mildly amused. "What?"
"Walk over here and get them." It's about twelve feet from the pool table to the kitchen.
Michael slides off the table, letting his pants drop to the floor. He doesn't bother covering himself as he crosses the distance. His strides are slow, his confidence apparent in every relaxed step he takes. As he watches Alex—whose gaze is focused on another part of his body—a throbbing starts in his body.
When he finally reaches her, he notices a hint of pink on her cheeks.
"You're not blushing, are you?" he teases.
"Well you put on quite the show." She offers him the briefs, and he swats them to the floor.
"No use for them now." He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in for a kiss.
She giggles as their lips collide, his harsh ones on her soft ones. He licks the bottom one for entrance, which she happily gives him.
"I should be getting home," Alex murmurs, leaning in to the kiss. Michael slips his tongue inside her mouth and begins unbuttoning her—his—shirt.
"Stay the night," he breaks away long enough to utter the words and push the shirt off her shoulders. She lets out a soft moan as he nips at her bottom lip. She pushes her hair away from her shoulders, and he begins trailing soft, fleeting kisses down her neck and across her collarbone.
"Well, if you insist," she says, becoming breathless. Michael, chuckles, reaching back up to kiss her. He backs her up against the kitchen counter, and rather than lean against it, their bodies slam into it.
"Ow!" Alex laughs, looking down at her soon to be bruised hip.
"Sorry," Michael chuckles. He pulls the hem of the shirt up and presses a soft kiss to the irritated skin. He crouches down and presses another kiss to her knee then a trail of them up the creamy skin of her thigh. He stops at her waist, then stands up and whispers in her ear, "you know, it's been a while since I had cream pie."
Alex's mouth forms a small 'o', surprised that the former soldier knows any slang—let alone pornographic slang. She laughs and then pecks him, putting her hands on his shoulders.
"We should fix that, shouldn't we?"
She jumps up and wraps her legs around Michael in one motion. He grins and spins the two of them around, setting her down on the other counter, one where they would have more room. Her shirt is carelessly tossed to the ground and the clasp on her bra is shakily undone. Michael's lips find her nipples and she lets out another moan as his tongue flicks over it again and again. When he bites down, he bites hard and she lets out an excited yelp.
"I love when you make that noise," he murmurs, switching to the other breast. He runs a fingernail along her inner thigh, the back of his hand brushing against her pussy. She groans, loving all that Michael can do to her.
Alex has been with a number of guys over the years—a hell of a lot more than she would have liked, considering her past—but none of those experiences compare to the experience of being with Michael.
"Lay back," he growls, ducking his head. She does as she's told and her head finds the granite counter top. Seconds later she feels his tongue running up her thigh, alternating between long strokes and short, quick ones. He runs his thumb over her slit and she finds herself arching her back, moaning out his name.
Then his phone rings.
"Don't answer it," she says sharply. There's no way in hell she's coming off this high.
It rings again and she feels Michael pull away from her.
"Michael," she groans, annoyed.
"That's my Division phone."
"I know. Get back over here."
"It could be important."
"Or it could be a courtesy call for another recruit that tried to commit suicide. Again." Because that's a common thing in Division.
He gives her an exasperated look—he really does care about the recruits.
"Fine, answer it." Alex rolls her eyes and sits up. He grabs the phone off the other counter and answers it.
"Hello? Percy?"
Alex pretty much stops paying attention after that. She reaches out a hand and runs her fingernail down Michael's length. His body jerks and he coughs awkwardly. Alex smirks.
He smacks her hand away, giving her a dirty look. Then he goes back to his conversation. "What? When?" He begins to pace back and forth and Alex notices, with disappointment, that he's gone soft.
"Fine, I'll just play with myself," Alex shrugs and parts her legs.
"Are you certain?"
"Yup, I've been doing this for years." Alex answers, beginning to stroke herself.
"Not you," Michael hisses, covering the mouthpiece on his phone. He momentarily freezes when he sees what Alex is doing.
She smiles sweetly at him.
Again, she stops listening to the conversation in favor of getting herself off. A few strokes later, when the room seems to be getting warmer and her world more blurry, she, not by complete accident, lets out a moan. Michael wraps his arm around her wrist, giving her another deathly look.
She pouts at him. "Michael, you're killing me."
"Alright, I'll be in shortly." Percy says something else, and Michael nods his head. He hangs up.
Alex wraps her arms around his neck. "You're not really leaving, are you?"
"Yup, and you are too."
"Huh?"
"There's an emergency. Level six." He scurries into the living room and returns; arms full of their clothes.
"Right. Remind me what that is again?" she says, sounding bored. Michael stops and stares at her. "What? I was absent the day they handed out the Handbook of International Spying and Shit."
"'Handbook of International Spying and Shit?'" he mocks raising an eyebrow at her. He tosses her the royal blue shirt she'd been wearing earlier.
"Whatever. What is it?"
"Rogue agent spotted."
Alex freezes, shirt halfway over her head. "Rogue agent, as in…" she trails off in disbelief.
"Defected Division spy." He steps into his pants and then pulls them up, buckling the belt.
"There's only one in history," Alex says, growing excited.
"Yup."
"…Nikita."
"Well, at least you were there that day."
Alex hops down off the counter and reaches for her pants. "Wait, why does Percy want us?"
Michael stops and looks at her, annoyed. "You already know."
"Say it anyway."
"Alex—"
"Say it."
Michael sighs, just the tiniest bit amused. "He wants Division's finest on the job."
"And that includes you…"
"And you." Michael leans forward and pecks her on the lips.
"Good boy."
"Come on," he says, grabbing his car keys. "They won't start the briefing until we get there."
Oh, the parallels.
Just to clarify: Nikita and Ryan are not a couple. They are just very close friends. Michael and Alex are not a couple. They're just partners and close friends who occasionally bang each other. And why shouldn't they? They're Division elite:3
Reviews are love (and they also motivate me to write faster:)