For a prompt on tumblr: Michael/Nikita, in which there is no Division but they still find their way to each other.
I evidently have NO CONCEPT of what 100 word drabbles are, because dang this got long. Also, I figured that the Mikita fandom needed a lighter fic before the episode tonight crushes our hearts.
Puzzle Pieces; 1,971 words; PG (mild language)
It's so much harder to put your life together than it is to let it fall apart. This is something Nikita learns the hard way.
Nikita loses the job at the hospital and flounders for a bit. There's not much work out there for a girl with nothing but a G.E.D. and a few dollars to her name, but Nikita is a wildflower in the desert, and she will survive this.
After suffering through a terrible day, culminating in highly anticipated interview that went nowhere - mainly because the jerk of an interviewer was too busy staring at her chest - Nikita has just about had enough. There's a coffee stain on her white blouse that she's hiding with a navy jacket she sincerely hopes no one notices is missing a button and a once tiny run in her nylons has slowly crept up her calf.
Worse, she's starting to second guess this whole Nikita-can-have-a-normal-life speech that Carla still gives her.
Nikita tries. Niktia's been trying. It doesn't seem to be enough. If her life is a puzzle, the pieces of it are scattered and lost and broken. She doesn't know how long it will take to put them back together again.
So when she stops at a tiny little coffee place that offers free Wi-Fi and a really, really good latte, she's trying to scrounge up some sense of optimism.
She's sitting in a corner booth, eating her scone and sipping at her coffee when he walks up.
He's got a scruffy beard, shaggy hair, and a pair of sunglasses that he takes off when he approaches her.
"You're in my spot," the guy says, sliding into the seat across from her. He sets a laptop down on the table in front of him.
"Excuse me?"
"My spot, lady. My table. This is it. So either share, or scram."
That's the part of the conversation when she'd really like to dump her coffee over his head, but Nikita refrains.
He's not doing anything but typing frantically into his laptop, and she's almost done with her scone anyway…
Nikita sighs and takes the final bite, blinking back tears of frustration.
After a second, the typing stops. The guy looks up at her. "You're still here."
"Acute observation." She casually rubs her eyes with her fingers in an effort to hide any tears.
It doesn't work. The guy seems to notice her smearing mascara. "Look. I'm sorry. I'm an ass sometimes. Let me buy you another coffee."
"I'm good."
"Another scone? Dinner? A drink? You look like your day's been about as bad as mine."
It has been a hellish day, not that Nikita wants to confess that to this random stranger.
"I just…hate job hunting," she says with a tight smile. "I'll be out of your hair in a second."
"Wait - " he says, holding up a hand, "you're looking for a job?"
Nikita nods.
"In that case, I'm Birkhoff. Seymour Birkhoff." He studies her for a second, then delves a hand into his pocket and slides a business card across the table.
Nikita looks down at the card, "CEO of ShadowCorp?"
"We're an up and coming technology company."
"This says your slogan is 'Taste the Rainbow'. Doesn't Skittles already have that one trademarked?"
"That's…not the point. The point is, I need an assistant." He swipes the card from her, pulls a pen from his pocket, and scribbles down an address. "Be there tomorrow at eight sharp. Dress nice. We'll talk hours and salary then."
Nikita stares at him. "I'm a random chick whose table you hijacked in the middle of a coffee house. You don't even know my name. Why would you offer me a job?"
"You're a hot random chick, and I was a complete jerk to you. And that last problem is easily fixable."
He looks at her expectantly, and she realizes that he's waiting for her to introduce herself. "Nikita. Nikita Mears."
"Nikki." He smiles. "I like it."
"Don't call me Nikki - " For a second, she scrambles for an appropriate nickname for him, " - nerd."
He tugs his shades down the bridge of his nose and glances at her over the lenses. "The preferred title is 'boss'."
"Thank you…boss."
"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow, Nikki."
Nikita leaves wonder what in the hell she just got herself into.
Turns out, she has little to worry about. Birkhoff is really a great boss. He showers her with flowers, gifts, and - occasionally - a few surreptitious glances at her ass. The latter she mostly ignores for the sake of the former. He helps her find an apartment, gets her a company car, and basically spoils her. All this while telling her that she's the best assistant he's ever had - by which she figures he means the most attractive assistant he's ever had.
She actually takes to the job rather well. Nikita gets used to taking calls, arranging appointments, and wrangling ShadowCorp's flighty CEO into the appropriate conference room at the appropriate time.
Birkhoff is - she's loath to admit sometimes - a genius. The kid speaks computer code so fluently that Nikita sometimes thinks English is his second language. (And Birkhoff is a kid at times. Nikita often feels like his mom, his handler, and his nanny all at once.)
Sometimes she thinks that it's a good thing she doesn't have a love life, because she really doesn't have the time for it. Still, in this new life she's gotten, it's the one thing she hasn't yet found for herself. Birkhoff is a great boss, if a little unorthodox, but sometimes Nikita wants…someone. She still feels like there's a piece of her that's missing.
One dreary, rainy night, two years into the best job of her life, he walks into her office.
It's late - way past business hours, but Birkhoff's never been adverse to staying at the office around the clock, and Nikita can't quite bear to leave him alone - when Nikita looks up from her computer to see the personification of Tall, Dark, and Handsome standing in front of her. Clean-cut, clean-shaven and very, very attractive. At his side, holding onto his hand, is a little girl with dark, curly hair.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Seymour Birkhoff."
"Do you have an appointment?" At well past ten at night, it's not likely, but she has to ask.
He smiles. "We're old friends."
"Your name?"
"Tell him it's Michael."
Nikita presses a button on the office intercom. "Mr. Birkhoff, I have a Michael…" She looks up at him, expecting him to fill in the last name for her.
"Just Michael." He looks down at the little girl. "And Hayley."
"I have a 'Michael' and a 'Hayley' here to see you."
Birkhoff's response is immediate. "Send them in."
She smiles at the stranger. "Right this way."
Nikita can't be sure, but she's almost positive she hears the little girl exclaim "Uncle MoMo!" as they step into Birkhoff's office.
Two hours later, during which Nikita has definitely not fought the temptation to use the intercom to eavesdrop, Birkhoff's 'old friend' steps out of his office.
"Have a good night."
He startles at the sight of her. "You're still here?"
"I don't leave until he leaves."
Michael shakes his head. "He doesn't deserve you."
"That's what I tell him when I negotiate for my year-end bonus. Have a nice night."
He smiles at her, and her heart flutters. "You too, Nikita."
It's only after the elevator doors close that she realizes she never remembers telling him her name.
The next day, Birkhoff tells Nikita that he's hired Michael as his new head of security.
("You fired Roan?" Nikita asks.
"Roan gave me the creeps," Birkhoff says.)
She sees Michael rather frequently after that. They chat on the phone when he calls to talk to Seymour; they smile at each other when he drops by the office to see her boss. Once he has to work on a weekend - there's a huge security breach that Birkhoff is positively freaking out over - and his daughter's sitter catches pneumonia so he asks if Nikita can keep an eye on Hayley for a while.
Nikita hesitates because she's never really been good with kids, but the little girl is no trouble at all; she pretty much sits by Nikita's desk and plays her handheld video game - a gift from a doting 'Uncle MoMo' - and occasionally peppers Nikita with questions.
Eventually - between bits Birkhoff tells her, a few things Hayley lets spill, and a few words from Michael himself - she learns the story. Hayley's mother, Elizabeth, had cancer. She died while they were living in Hawaii, an event which prompted Michael to quit his job with the government, pack up and move back to the continental United States. He and Birkhoff met during the brief period of time Seymour was - forcibly - working for the government.
Look, Nikita's not going to deny that she's attracted to Michael. She's attracted to Michael. Those few minutes when he stops by her desk every afternoon are the highlight of her day. Sometimes, when Birkhoff is being obstinant, they're the only reason she goes to work.
But he has a kid, and as great as that kid is, Nikita can't ignore the fact that they work together and somehow she doesn't think Birkhoff would approve of interoffice relationships.
She's wrong.
"I think Mikey likes you."
Birkhoff is the only one allowed to call Michael 'Mikey', and Nikita thinks the only reason Michael lets it slide is the fact Birkhoff's the one signing his checks.
"Excuse me?" She came into his office to get his signatures on three work related documents, not talk about Michael.
"Seriously," Birkhoff says, making his scribble of a signature on the first of four pages, "I think - with the right encouragement - Mikey would totally ask you out."
Nikita's jaw drops. "Nerd! We work together!" Well, not together-together, but close enough.
Birkhoff gives her a look. "You work in completely different departments. No ones going to care. And if they do, I'll fire him."
"That's assuming I'm interested in Michael."
"Aren't you?"
She doesn't have an answer.
"Ask him out, Nikki."
She doesn't.
Birkhoff calls her a chicken, and three days later, an absolutely huge bouquet of flowers arrives at her desk. Red roses.
The card says they're from a secret admirer, but based on the way Michael's face drops just a little when he sees them, Nikita doesn't think they're from him.
He asks her out to dinner the next day. She agrees.
The flowers were definitely from Birkhoff.
He takes her to this lovely little place with a quiet atmosphere and a simply divine vegetarian lasagna. They talk about his daughter, about work, about life, and Nikita discovers that making Michael laugh just might be the greatest thing she's ever done.
It's the best date of her life.
Later, he walks her home because she only lives two blocks away and they're too lazy to call a cab. When she shivers, he places his suit jacket is over her shoulders and a second after that, his hand finds hers.
There's a lopsided grin on his lips as they climb the steps to her door. She would really like to kiss him, and the thought of it makes her stomach twist.
She's turning around with the intention of doing just that, when the heel of her shoe breaks, and she falls into his arms.
Nikita laughs as she holds onto his shoulders to steady herself, and that's the moment Michael kisses her.
And that last missing piece of what she imagines her perfect life to be?
Nikita feels it finally click into place.