A/N: Modified the title on the main screen just to be a little nicer to general audiences. Just started watching Nikita a week ago, and I instantly became obsessed. After finding myself endlessly quoting it for the past few days, I figured I'd get the obsession out of my system a bit by doing some writing. Trying to kill some time until April 7th—Percy would be proud. Hope you enjoy!

Lies, Damn Lies, And Assassins

2005 - Division

"Everything is go for Operation Harbinger," Birkhoff said with an overly-dramatic tap of one last key on the board.

Percy nodded. "No screw ups this time." He didn't look at anyone in particular because it was directed at someone other than the other two people who were currently in Operations. Still, the ever-paranoid Birkhoff looked warily over his shoulder at his boss.

Amanda, on the other hand, shifted her weight to her other leg with her characteristically crossed arms. "I realize I am being over-ruled here, but I must reiterate for the record that I don't agree with the plan of attack being employed on this mission."

"As always, I value you're input, Amanda," Percy said, walking to the door, "even if I don't always use it." He stopped in the exit and without looking back added, "Oh, and for the record, there is no record."

2011 – Banff, Alberta, Canada

Nikita sat on her bed in the presidential suite, thick down pillows hugging her back and legs pressed firmly into her chest. Her chin rested on her knees, and her eyes stared past the silent flat-screen television set, through the elegantly painted wall, and toward the majestic Canadian Rockies capped in white toques of snow.

Perched up in one of the many towers of the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, Nikita might have, at one point in her youth, imagined herself a princess here, but the cold reality of the murderous world she lived in made her feel more like the wicked queen who would have locked up the princess.

Tactically, this was a good room to be in. The 360-degree views of the valleys the room afforded was ideal for her mission, or rather her mission takedown.

But these walls held more than just her usual arsenal of sniper rifles, Berettas, and Glocks—they held memories. Not this room, but a room just like this. Dangerous things had happened in this hotel, and not all of them involved gunfire and murder; some things had happened here that were far more dangerous. Secrets lingered in the linens, thoughts half-expressed clung to the thick drapes, fresh tears permeated the carpets. A lot had gone down in this hotel, and now Nikita was back to make it right.

She wondered if Michael would be on the mission. She wondered if he would allow himself to remember just how much had gone wrong here.

Nikita glanced to her right, where the warm light of the candelabras glinted off of the dark metal of Michael's knife. It was a reminder of one of the darkest moments in their relationship, and she hoped one of the last. But Michael was as stubborn as she was, and when it came to him, nothing was ever as easy as she wished.

Her computer chirped from downstairs in the loft. Another mission update from Alex probably. Nikita knew her protégée was on the team hired to kill Oksana Nodova, a member of Gogol as well as a femme fatale responsible for seducing a secret or two out of Percy, much to his great chagrin. Nikita remembered Oksana from her recruit days, but back then the woman went by Helina and was already an agent by the time Nikita had started her training. In fact, Nikita was the one responsible for outing her, though quite incidentally. She wondered how Oksana would react to seeing her again. In the end, it hardly mattered. This mission would be personal for Percy, which was why it was personal for Nikita.

She descended the spiral staircase into the expansive living room, where some nice bellboy had lit a fire for her in the hearth. The sun had dipped behind the peaks of the mountains, and only a few spears of orange light could struggle over the behemoths and into the room. Shadows lengthened and twitched at the mercy of the dancing flames. A wash of sorrow swept over Nikita as she imagined another life—a life where instead of suitcases full of weapons, there would be suitcases full of lingerie and instead of plans for revenge, there would be plans for dinners and drinks in front of a romantic fire.

But with another insistent beep from the computer, those images were dashed, and instead Nikita returned her focus to the task at hand. "You there?" and "Sensei?" waited impatiently for her on the screen.

Though her shell program had been discovered and dismantled within Division, now that Alex was an agent, Nikita had a chance to reinstate it on a smart phone she had gifted her partner for the mission—to be ditched upon completion of the op, of course. It worked like texting but without the inconvenient electronic trail, and there were no messy calls to be overheard.

"I'm here," Nikita typed. "Where are you?"

"Room 436. Nice digs. Bet yours are nicer."

"Expensive taste. Less money for your inheritance." She couldn't see Alex, but she pictured her smiling.

"Not sure how many of us there really are. I know of at least six agents. Stationed throughout hotel, waiters, housekeepers, guests. Will have to be careful because their posts are changing."

"Any sign of Percy?" But Nikita already knew the answer.

"No. As far as I know, he's not coming."

"Of course," Nikita said. "Can't even clean up his own mistake. Sends in the innocents to do his dirty work like always." But she just wrote lamely, "Too bad."

There was a long pause before Alex's response, long enough that Nikita began to worry the mission may have started earlier than scheduled. Right as she was about to ask, she saw the words she had dreaded and hoped for: "Michael's here."

"Did he give any more details on the mission?" It wasn't really what she wanted to ask, but she always walked a line with Alex, unsure of how much to reveal about her complex relationship with Michael. For Alex, there was a danger of knowing too much, and for Nikita, a danger of thinking too much about it.

"Not really. He hardly said a word on the plane ride here. Seems distracted."

Maybe he hadn't been warped as much by Percy as she had thought. Maybe, underneath all that bravado and blind servitude, there was still a trace of the man she had always looked up to and cared about.

"When you get your first intel, let me know."

"You got it."

With that, Nikita signed off and stowed the computer. She had gotten here a day ahead of Division to surveil the hotel and find hiding places for all her equipment. She flirted with the bellboys and bartenders and got a feel for security. What she didn't yet know was with whom Oksana would be arriving. A woman of her caliber and particular rank in Gogol would hardly be travelling unaccompanied. It was time to await the guest of honor.

She donned a parka and snow boots as well as a ski cap and a pair of goggles. She looked like any other ski bunny ready for a big night on the slopes, but more importantly, she looked nothing like Nikita. It was hard to find outfits that actually changed her appearance without making her stick out from the crowd, but snow gear afforded that luxury of complete anonymity without sacrificing too much style.

After locking up the room and arming a discreet, remote security system, Nikita headed for the elevator when she rounded the corner and saw Michael at the end of the corridor. He was leaning against a wall, casually looking out a window at the lake.

She didn't panic—or at least show it—though her pulse quickened and every sense heightened. Turning suddenly or running would only catch his attention, so she lowered her head, pulled out her cell phone and in perfect French began speaking with no one at all. "Yes, darling, I'm on my way…. Don't make fun. You know it takes me forever to put on these stupid ski suits.…You're going to get it for that remark…. Make it two spankings!"

Nikita didn't glance at Michael, but she felt his eyes on the back of her jacket. She wondered what he was thinking as she created this ridiculously private dialogue between two lovers. She knew he spoke French, and as always, his keen ears would be listening. Did he remember Banff Springs six years ago the same way she did? Did he even care to?

When the elevator door opened, she let out a light laugh and promised to give her French lover "a really hard time tonight." And then the door closed and she was safe. She snapped the phone shut and leaned into the wall letting her forehead rest against the cool metal.

"Might as well face it, girl," she said to herself. "There's going to be a whole lot more where that came from. We've got a bumpy night ahead."

2005 - Division

There was a firm, single rap at Nikita's door, but she was feeling too lazy and comfortable to get out of bed. She was browsing a gossip magazine she had bought above ground after her last mission one month ago, so even though many of the celebrities had probably already moved on to bigger and better lovers and cheated on the old ones along the way, it was still nice to have some semblance of normality in the dark hole that was Division. She didn't feel like having that interrupted.

This time the second knock occurred as the door was already being opened. "Can I come in?"

Nikita sighed but didn't lift her eyes from the page splattered with Brad's betrayal of Jennifer. "I don't get you people. If you're just going to come in anyway, why even bother to ask?"

"Because we know you'll get over it. Now stand up. I've got an adventure for you."

Despite herself, Nikita flicked her eyes from the magazine to the handsome rogue lording over her with his intense presence. Michael knew her well enough by this point to know what words titillated her, and "adventure" was one of them.

"You've been activated." He watched her, looking for some note of excitement or curiosity, but he was awarded only a pair of wary eyes.

"What kind of mission is it this time?" she began spitefully, sitting up on her bed and tossing her magazine to the floor. "Assassinate a grandmother at her grandson's playground? Garrote a high school music teacher after a concert? Sleep with a senator before a major debriefing?" She shot up from the bed, ready to storm out the door.

Michael suddenly grabbed her left hand slipped an enormous diamond ring on her finger. "Not exactly. Marry me?" He said it casually with that wry smile he sometimes wore when they were sparring and he was beating her, that precious moment of lightness that reminded Nikita that not everyone down in Division was a robot, that Michael had feelings too.

The proposal had momentarily floored her, and she was surprised how brazenly her heart slammed against her ribcage, worse than any of the cardio exercises she had endured in Division, worse than any of ops she'd been on yet. She could hardly take her eyes off of the solitaire stone, nearly as large as marble. She lifted her hand and marveled at how even under the unforgiving fluorescent lights, the gem sparkled with the warmth of the sun she had only seen four times in the last six months.

Michael allowed himself a small but rewarding grin—Nikita didn't see it, so no harm, no foul. She was, he admitted to himself, radiant in that moment, more beautiful than any stone man had ever unearthed. And in that same moment, she was innocent again—not a killer, not a recruit he had shaped to be clever and merciless and beguiling. She beguiled naturally, through no fault of her own. Then Michael remembered himself, stowed his smile but remained a touch playful. He raised one eyebrow. "Don't you know it's cruel to keep a man waiting for such an important answer?"

Nikita's head snapped up, and she regained her faculties. This was still Division, this was still her room, she was still in limbo somewhere between recruit and full-fledged agent, and he was still her mentor. "Not much for romance, are you, Michael? Sure, it's a pretty ring, but a lady like me needs more than a big rock to make a lifetime commitment like this."

"Oh yeah?" he said, biting the inside of his cheek. "Like what?"

Nikita lowered her hand, heavy with several carats that now decorated it. She circled him, his hands rising assertively to his hips. "You want me to say yes, you have to woo me."

He laughed—Michael actually laughed—one big, astonished "ha", and then shook his head. "You do realize this is a mission, don't you? Wooing is not part of the deal."

Eventually, she made her way around him and faced him, crossing her arms over her chest and making sure the diamond was pronounced against her glowing skin. "Hey, this is my finger, remember? Division doesn't own this finger, I do. And if you're going to be taking up any realty on it, I expect you to earn it. Now, get down on one knee and earn, son."

"Nikita—" He wanted to sound stern, but he worried he sounded more like desperate.

"Ah, don't suck out all the romance now. You'll lose your paramour. Come on, this is what every little girl dreams of."

Michael pressed his lips together and studied her face. Her eyes were resolute, and dazzling as usual. He could pull rank, do this the hard way, force her to play the part the way Percy might if he were in the same position. But more flies with honey, right, so where was the problem. Besides, they were going to have to sell an act, a very important one, and the truth was a newly engaged couple was all about romance, so perhaps Nikita had a point.

Grudgingly, Michael dropped to one knee, that small smile still flickering across his lips, but more importantly in his eyes. He reached for her hand again, this time taking his thumb and dragging it deliberately across the plain of flushed skin on top. He took a moment to revel in her shallow but noticeable intake of breath at his contact. "Nikita, darling," he added in his most saccharine voice, and she rolled her eyes, "will you do me the honor of making me the happiest of men?"

"Only because I can't stand to watch you beg me anymore. It's kind of pathetic." Michael stood up immediately and raised both eyebrows, instantly letting go of her. "Just a tip, if you ever propose again, try a little more sincerity and a little less smarm."

"What makes you think there would ever be an 'again'?"

Nikita shrugged. "Lots of beautiful young recruits here, lots more people for Division to murder."

Michael's eyebrows pinched together. When had their play shifted to a moral debate? "Nikita, we've been over this. We are serving the good of our nation."

"Well, it doesn't feel good, so how can it be good." She turned her back to him and stared at The Killers album poster she had been awarded after winning her first debate in perfect Farsi—the irony of the band name was not lost on her.

She felt white hot pressure on her shoulders and glanced to her left to see her mentor's hands resting gently on her flesh. "We sacrifice our feelings, our freedom, our futures so that countless others don't have to sacrifice theirs. But it doesn't have to be all bad." Michael turned her around, still holding her shoulders and now her gaze. His eyes were unfathomable, but in their depths she saw something she dared to think was hope. "This op is intel only. No one gets hurt, we just get information."

Like she had a choice anyway. She looked down at the ring, at his hands, at his face, and maybe he was right—it might not be all bad. "What's the mission?"