What's In The Past
Michael fidgeted in his expensive Italian suit in the warm summer heat. He systematically checked the cuffs of his sleeves to make sure that they were neat before reaching an arm to rap his knuckles smartly against the overtly-modern door.
"Who is it?" Came a comically-extravagent reply. Michael rolled his eyes to resist the urge to laugh.
"It's Michael," he replied.
The words had hardly left his mouth when the door in front of him had opened. Nikita stook in the doorway, clad in her new civilian clothes and panting slightly.
"Michael," she smiled. "Come in. Checking up on me already?" She called over her shoulder.
"Settling in the new place alright?" He asked, smiling. Nikita half-nodded.
"Yeah. I mean, I suppose. It's great and all, free clothes and stuff in the wardrobe but there was no food in the fridge." She breathed dangerously. "You'd think there would be food in a spy-apartment, but it's like a friggin' movie set."
Michael chuckled.
He proceeded into the apartment after her, casting his gaze around the first room. It was metallic and with the depressing feeling of chrome. Meaningless faux-paintings had been placed in different places around the room, probably by someone in Division, he mused.
The only part of the whole apartment that seemed remotely Nikita-like, Michael thought, was the rather wide window at the far end of the room. The curtains breezed gently in the heat, almost translucent in the light. They allowed the room, the living area, to be of a much more tolerable temperature.
Or, so he would have thought if his eyes had not started watering almost instantaneously.
"Guh," Michael grumbled, uncomfortable sensations running to his eyes.
"...and I hope that's not against the rules. Oh, well. I don't think Percy will have me cancelled for having a glass of wine."
He hadn't noticed what Nikita had said due to the new-pounding in his ears. She had been crossing the room to a couch near the windows, a glass of red wine somehow already in her hands. When she had sat, her face had clouded over with a look of concern.
"Michael?" Nikita's brow furrowed. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Oh God, he thought, I even sound ill to me.
Nikita gave him a strange look before continuing in what she was saying.
"Well, Percy's not going to be checking my blood alcohol levels without a fight. Crazy bitch Amanda probably could assess a sample just by tasting it. Crazy."
If he hadn't felt uncomfortable and ill, he would have mentally wondered why she trusted him with her critical views of the other high-ranking Division agents. It was as if she saw him as a new field agent as herself. Michael managed to cross the room to the couch himself, removing his suit jacket. He rested his head on the back of the seating in luxury and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Are you sick?" Came Nikita's voice from somewhere. He forced a painful smile.
"Boh," he sniffled thickly. "Vis time dob year-" He paused to take a great sneeze at which Nikita flinched, in danger of spilling her wine.
"Allergies." He finished. Nikita nodded in understanding. Before he really knew what was going on, he felt her dangerously graceful hands on his face, moving to his forehead to feel his temperature. Michael tried to not do something he would regret or be shot for.
"Mmhm, you're burning up." She replied, concern in her voice. He opened his eyes to say something, and noticed a brown cat sat on her lap, staring evilly up at him. They just held each other's gaze for a few moments like that.
"What is that?" He asked in terror, voice still thick. Nikita looked surprised and touched the feline in her lap.
"What, this?" She petted it on the head. "Does Division have rules against pets now? 'Cos I checked with the super and he said-"
"No, it's a cat." Michael's voice was low, dangerous. "I am...allergic to cats."
Nikita inspected the brown cat as he slowly recoiled further down the couch from it. She lifted it, pressed their noses together like it was a baby.
"Aww, poor thing. I think I'll call her Michael." Nikita announced in triumph. Michael shuddered at the content look on the cat's face.
"Wait, 'she'?"
Nikita nodded excitedly. "Ugh, don't think I would ever get a male cat. I've heard of dog's lipstick but a cat's? I don't think I want to come home from a stressful op and find Michael becoming one with my stiletto heels."
Michael shuddered once more, performing what looked like an odd sort of jig to Nikita as he fished around in the pocket of his jacket for a tissue.
"Don't call it that." He grumbled, sneezing a heavy sneeze immediately afterwards. Nikita merely held the cat to her face again, shaking it slightly. Michael watched in horror as stray fur casted from its wild back, its claws almost unsheathed in terror itself.
"Poor Michael." She cooed to the cat. "Are you allergic to human Michael, too?"
She relented, placing the cat in her lap and stroking it with strength she didn't quite realise she had. Cat Michael answered her question by sourly sloping off to sit on the lap of human Michael, proceeding to stare up at him with inquisitive brown eyes.
"Aww, you both even have the same eyes." She joked. Michael lifted his head an inch to glare at her as he finally retrieved a new tissue from his pocket, passing a small beige card to Nikita as he did so, her brow pulling down once more as she read it.
"Schmancy dinner?" She exhaled in awe. "What's the catch?"
Michael tried to fake a look of mock-insult.
"No catch. Just dinner."
Nikita checked the back of the card as if expecting something further.
"L'Araignée Vert." Nikita repeated the restaurant name in an over-the-top French accent as she watched cat Michael paw at real Michael's arm out of the corner of her eye. Both Michaels seemed intrigued by each, yet too afraid to investigate.
"Seems like too much of a shiny diamond for an old piece of coal like me." She joked, placing the card on the coffee table in front of her. Michael stood up, seizing his jacket.
"Do not," he issued, reaching down to slide the card further towards her on the table. "Say that, Nikita. Ever."
For the first time, it seemed as if a man was smiling down at her genuinely, not mockingly or in a predatory manner. Like a gentleman of some sort. She returned the smile, scolding herself as tears pricked her eyes without her say-so.
The moment would have been too saccharine for her tastes if she had not been trying to stifle her laughter at cat Michael sniffing human Michael's shoes with a hungry look in her eye.
"Thank you, Michael." Nikita smiled once more.
"No problem. It's my job." He joked, sliding his arms into his jacket.
"I was talking to the cat."
"Oh, shut up."
A/N: What do you think? Continue? I must say I rather enjoyed writing this. Please let me know what you think and if you want more. Unbeta'd so be nice. Will definitely get longer and arguably more interesting as we go on.