A/N: Guys, I don't even know with this story. Please tell me if it's good because I have no clue where it even came from.
I want to learn what it's like to wake up in the morning and not feel sad.
Sean had been staying at her apartment for a while now.
She'd had some time to make it her own place, since Nikita tossed a key to her a few weeks after Division got plonked into their hands. Alex had even gone to the lengths of digging up some old photos of her and her parents to put on the mantlepiece. She supposed it came from a small, lingering flame of hope in the back of her mind that reminded her of the possibility that Division could be shut down for good in the coming months, and when it happened, this apartment could be a spark for a normal life.
Of course, that really wasn't a plausible theory with the situation everyone was in but Alex figured that it couldn't hurt to dream.
Except she rarely had dreams.
Usually, it was all nightmares.
–{}–
night·mare
/?ni-t?me(?)r/
Noun
1. A frightening or unpleasant dream.
2. A terrifying or very unpleasant experience or prospect.
–{}–
Admittedly, she was used to that. She'd woken up screaming, drenched in sweat and tears so many times since the age of twelve that she'd lost count. When the time came, the drugs helped. Most of the time, she was so zoned out that she couldn't remember the previous day let alone the terrors her mind may or may not have concocted during the night.
She learned a lot through long, withdrawal heavy, sleepless nights alone.
Like how dangerously thin she was becoming and how useless and her life was. How undeserving she was of it.
How she had nothing to live for.
How her nightmares were never about what could possibly hurt her. They were always about the deaths of people she loved.
The people she loved.
Who were always dead.
But soon enough, she'd get the money for Ronnie and the nightmares would be blurred with reality.
Then Nikita found her.
And the nightmares returned.
It was a chilling shock to Alex, realising that she cared about Nikita, because that was the only reason the older woman's possible death would be plaguing her unconsciousness.
For weeks, Nikita would be shaking her awake, screams echoing off the walls of the almost empty room of the loft, sheets drenched with sweat and Alex's cheeks stained with tears. At first, Alex just murmured 'Nothing' to Nikita's constant question of 'Alex, tell me what's wrong'.
It changed when Nikita didn't return from tailing a Division car.
Alex stayed up, feet tapping impatiently on the floor as her legs hung off the edge of the bed. Her fingers loosened, then tightened around the metal framing of the bed and the idea of leaving the loft and finding the local chemist to steal something from to drown all this worry was becoming more and more tempting.
However, as the clock ticked nearing 2:48 a.m., Nikita trudged into the loft, tossing her coat over a chair and wincing as she kicked off her boots.
'Alex?' she said in surprise, confused when she saw the nineteen year old still awake.
'Oh my God, you're alive!' Alex gasped, scrambling to her feet and throwing her arms around Nikita's neck in a hug that stunned them both.
'You should've gone to sleep,' Nikita said softly, an hour or so later after they'd both eaten and Nikita had told Alex what had gone wrong in the sabotage attempt.
'No point,' Alex said darkly. 'I would've just woken up a few hours afterwards, screaming pointlessly.'
She met Nikita's hesitantly curious gaze and after a deep breath, told her about the nightmares.
A month later, Alex awoke from nightmares to early mornings that came with coffee and training for Division infiltration.
Nobody asked about nightmares once she was inside Division.
Everybody got them, was the reason.
As her handler, Michael quietly asked one day 'Are you sleeping okay?'
To that, she raised an eyebrow and shrugged. 'Is it possible to sleep okay in this hell hole?'
He took that as a no.
In the months to follow, after switching sides, he would soon learn the details from Nikita.
The dark dreams would haunt her at every turn, whether it concerned Nikita, Thom, Michael, Nathan, her parents... and in Division, there was noone there to comfort her.
Once she became an agent, it was easier to call Nikita after a cold shower and a strong coffee, but then, everything went pear shaped.
Forming an alliance with Division meant solitude in the more personal aspects of Alex's life. Her guilt regarding her traitorous actions towards Nikita spread through her mind like a disease, even infecting the cracks of her consciousness in which she thought she was safe from the horrors she faced during sleep.
It was safe to say that she didn't sleep much through the months she spent liaising with Division.
And somehow, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sean carefully edging his way into her life. His attempts at keeping his interest in her strictly professional wasn't convincing in the slightest and his anxiety about her lit a warm feeling at the pit of Alex's stomach that made her want to curl up under a heap of blankets and beam like a schoolgirl with a crush.
A crush.
The moment the idea formulated in her mind, she grabbed the vase on her windowsill and smashed it.
She did not have a crush on Sean Pierce.
She had other things to worry about.
(She had a nightmare about him that night).
Then, there was Russia and her mother and Semak and Nikita and Michael having a son and Sean attacking the beach house. Operation Clean Sweep, breaking into Division, returning to the silo as a spy for Nikita, Carla showing up, planning the trip back to Russia to retrieve her mother – Alex's world was spiraling and twisting and crashing down all in the space of a few weeks.
Repairing the damage between herself and Nikita was easier than Alex expected, and so, the vividness of the nightmares returned.
This time, everyone else was a hell of a lot clearer too.
Nikita.
Michael.
Birkhoff.
And oh God why – Sean.
'My father's watch?!'
'I didn't want you to get hurt.'
'Why would you care?'
For the better part of six months, Alex had managed to convince herself that she and Sean had nothing.
Yes, he was on their side now.
That was it.
But hey.
It was the same 'nothing' that she and Thom had, and the same 'nothing' she had felt with Nathan.
At the very least, she cared about him.
Which wasn't 'nothing'.
Returning from Russia seemed to be fine, but when an unexpected terrifying noise roared through the phone, Sean's voice cut off and Birkhoff announced that an explosion had occurred at his location, Alex's heart stopped and scenarios blared through her mind.
'My mother is dead.'
Her heart ached for him because she knew exactly how he felt, despite the fact that her assumption had been incorrect.
The day went curving out of hand and Nikita's torture stuck like a permanent glued picture every time Alex shut her eyes.
Being at the beach house was better than being at Division.
At least here, Nikita had a pot of coffee brewing every evening so when Alex stumbled into the kitchen during the early hours of the morning, there was a small assurance that she wasn't alone.
She had seen Sean die so many times in her mind that when the shot rang out through the air on that cold, quiet morning and he collapsed against the car, white shirt splattered with blood, breath ragged, Alex could feel the panic rising inside of her.
Don't die, she was silently begging. Oh God, please don't die Sean, please.
–{}–
What most people learn from their nightmares is what they are afraid of.
What Alexandra Udinov learned from her nightmares, was who she cared about in the world.
–{}–
Who she cared about.
Who she loved.
The people she loved.
Who right now, were very much alive.
(He kissed her later that day. Whether it was coincidental or not, the fact of the matter was, that she didn't have any nightmares that night).
He was persistent, she'd give him that.
She never said no, exactly.
She just never said yes.
Because she didn't want him to get hurt.
Or to die.
Whichever happened first, if they got together.
The wind changing in an abruptly different direction came with the territory with the life the bunch of them lived, so when Division was dumped in their care, Alex was surprised to find that she wasn't surprised at the turn in events.
What remained unresolved, was what exactly she and Sean had.
He was strolling in and out of her nightmares as he pleased (which didn't particularly please her, because if he didn't appear, she would actually be able to know where they stood and could insist that this 'nothing' between them really was nothing.)
The days were happier than they ever had been: Michael and Nikita were engaged, life was rolling on, the dirty thirty were slowly but steadily being taken down and even the nightmares started to fade.
Medical exploded.
'I love you. But if that's not reason enough for you to leave, then I've got no reason to stay.'
Damn him.
(And yes, she had no nightmares that night).
She relapsed.
He was gone – he saved her once, but said it didn't mean anything.
The nightmares blurred and the days passed with a merge of colours, gunshots, bruises and missions.
Earlier – about Alex being used to abrupt changes in day-to-day life?
That meant nothing when it came to Michael losing his hand.
She was found out, in terms of the drugs.
Michael and Nikita were on the outs – who wouldn't be after what they went through – and he was refusing the accept help.
Owen was Nikita's new partner.
Sean popped up out of nowhere.
They were still on shaky ground.
And then...
'What you said before, about what most people would do...'
'I should've known better.'
'Yeah, you should've!'
'Are you angry?'
'Yes. But not at you.'
Weeks later (in a bedroom with pictures of her mother and father on the mantlepiece, sun streaming in through the window, the somehow comforting sound of cars, traffic and people hurrying to work present from the street below), Alex awoke to a gentle hand tracing the tattoo on her upper back and she smiled.
'Morning,' she said softly.
'Morning.' He kissed her forehead. 'No nightmares,' he said observantly. 'That makes it a few weeks now.'
'I know.'
–{}–
Most people get taught what their darkest fears are, during the course of recurring nightmares.
Alexandra Udinov got reminded that she deserved a proper life.
–{}–
'Thank you,' she whispered.
'For what?'
'Stopping the nightmares.'
Sean didn't reply, just brushed her plaited hair away from her back.
'So,' he said, his voice as steady as an artist's paintbrush as they take the first stroke on the canvas. It made her think of coffee dates and sparring matches and traveling and exploring and promises of life.
'Mm?' she murmured.
His fingers continued to study the butterfly embedded on her skin. 'You ever going to tell me what this means?'
FIN.
A/N: Read and review?