We Used to Wait
Chapter One: Playing House
A/N: This is a sequel to Paradise Lost, but it works fine as a standalone, so you can just start with this story and then read Paradise Lost if you are so inclined :) Enjoy.
Sometimes Nikita felt like this was all a dream. Waking up in Michael's embrace, the sounds of the ocean in the distance? She never imagined it. Not once. They were back in paradise, away from Division, and safe at last.
Michael bought her a house that stood, tall and beautiful, overlooking the ocean from a grassy hill, a brisk walk away from a secluded strip of beach. The first time she stepped through the threshold of the house, her eyes were alight with the beauty of the house. Wood floors, soft white couches, powder blue rugs. She looked back at Michael. He was watching her with a mixture of hope and love on his face. She just turned, tears in her eyes, and jumped into his arms.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"You haven't even seen the best part," he said, grinning. He walked over to the wall, and opened a silver box with a keypad. He typed in a numeric sequence and their living room bookshelf swung open. On the other side were rows of guns, bulletproof vests, and other tactical gear. On the ground, there was a trapdoor.
Nikita laughed. "Really, Michael?"
"Like Birkhoff always said, 'if you're rich and you don't have a revolving bookcase, you're doing it wrong'," Michael said, smirking.
He leaned against the bookshelf, watching her admire the rows of guns. His voice lowered, grew serious. "And safety is kind of important from here on out. We're going to have more to lose nine months from now."
Nikita's hand automatically ghosted over her stomach, just barely protruding from her petite body.
Out of all of the roles she has played in her life thus far – assassin, seductress, girlfriend, daughter, druggie – she was about to add another, much more intimidating one.
Mother.
She knew Michael's thoughts went to his lost family, to the car bomb. If these precautions helped him sleep at night, then she was all for them.
Sometimes it felt as if this new life was in danger of being swept away by the tumultuous, lethal waters the calm ocean could so quickly turn in to. Their lives had always been precarious. Could she really live a stable, normal life here with her family.
Michael saw the turmoil and the doubt in her eyes. He stepped towards her, grasping one of her hands in his, his grip firm. With the other hand, he gently caressed her face and lifted her chin up so her eyes would meet his. The gesture was intimate and tender, and Nikita melted into his embrace.
"We used to wait for good things to happen," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "We used to say, 'after we take down Division', or 'after Oversight is gone', or 'after this next Black Box mission'. We almost lost each other. I won't allow that to happen again."
"Michael," she breathed, gazing into his eyes with all of the love in the world.
That adorable half smile that she loved so dearly crossed his face, only to be replaced with a mischievous grin. "We also used to wait to paint the walls of all of our previous safe houses, despite how ghastly the colors were. So I picked up some paint." He held up a bucket of bright highlighter-yellow paint.
Nikita laughed and pushed him away, covering her eyes. "I'm blinded!" she exclaimed.
"The guy at the hardware store said it was a wake-up color. Like caffeine for the eyes," he said, watching her theatrics with laughter in his eyes.
"And you thought that was a good sign?"
"I wasn't sure. I bought some blue, too," he said, smiling.
She pried the horrifically colored paint from his fingers and hid it in the armory, guiding him out into the living room and shutting the bookcase behind them.
"I knew you still had some common sense left in you," she said.
They spent the next few hours painting – and making a mess of each other in the process, flinging paint at each other and nearly breaking out into playful fights that ended up destroying several paint rollers that happened to be unfortunate enough to be used as weapons. They were bluer than the Blue Man Group by the time they finished the room. With a sly smile, Nikita looked innocently down at her clothes, drenched in paint.
"Well, I can't be dripping paint all the way to the shower, can I?" and slowly drew the hem of her tank top up and over her head.
Michael's eyes went wide.
Needless to say, neither of them made it to the shower for a good hour after that, and Michael called upon the "shower-together-to-save-water" clause. Nikita didn't protest.
That was their first day in their new house.
And their last.
…
It was 1AM when Michael awoke to the smell of smoke. He pulled back the covers, jumping out of bed with such speed that Nikita jolted awake and sprinted to his side moments later.
"Oh my God," she whispered in terror.
Underneath their bedroom door, a steady stream of smoke was seeping into the room.
Micheal pressed a hand to the door, only to remove it quickly.
"Why didn't the fire alarms go off?" he asked, but she was already two steps ahead of him, backing away from the door, looking around wildly for means of escape.
"They found us, Michael," she said, her voice trembling, "and they're not going to stop until they've killed us."
Michael and Nikita heard the sound of dozens of footsteps clunking up the stairs with military precision. Michael ran to the window. Eight vans around the perimeter, armed and ready to shoot to kill.
And standing with his arms folded, brazenly unarmed and unflanked by bodyguards, was Ari Tasarov.
"Gogol's here," she whispered. "And there's no way out."
A/N: Review if you want more chapters :) Hope you all are surviving during the hiatus. January 6th, come faster!