Why, hello there! Nikita is currently one of my favorite shows, and probably the best new fall show this year. I really like the whole Michael/Nikita relationship because it's so subtle. So here's a little one-shot, tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: I don't own Nikita


Michael slid his key into the apartment door, feeling rather on edge. This whole week had been a doosie for him, whizzing by like time didn't care how much it was screwing with him and the life he had managed to create for himself.

Ever since she had reappeared, he felt like time just wasn't moving. Like he was just going through the motions of a foreign thing called living your life; as time moved on all too fast around him.

Nikita...

She had left. Left Division, left the undercover life, left him.

But now, she was back. Appeared from the same thin air that she had disappeared into. And honestly? He didn't know which one hurt more.

Michael entered his apartment, defeated, too tired to do the usual check for any strange visitors or weapons. He casually flicked through his mail, before turning to address his unannounced company.

"You didn't have to shoot me."

Nikita smiled at him charmingly. "I was just taking care of you. Besides, you're already out of that pesky sling," she stopped and gestured to a picture hanging on the unembellished wall. "Is it safe for you to have this?"

Michael laid his hands on the island counter and looked at the picture in question.

It was a rare shot of him and Nikita together. The two were at the beach-of course on a mission-when Michael had decided to snap the candid photo.

"It reminds me of simpler times," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"Our whole lives have been the exact opposite of simple, Michael."

He sighed, ignoring her comment. "Why are you here, Nik?"

"Stopping by to see an old friend?" She threw out.

Michael shook his head. "We both know that's not good enough."

"Look, Michael," she picked up a worn-out baseball that was lying on the floor. "You and I, we have something. An understanding."

He leaned back and looked at her, bemused. "An understanding?"

"Yes, sort of like 'you don't hurt me, I don't hurt you'," she elaborated.

"I have a hole in my left shoulder that sings a different song," he argued with a slight raise of the eyebrows.

She looked at him, annoyance and amusement written on her face. "Can I continue?"

Michael nodded his head and gestured that 'the floor was all hers'.

"Thank you," she smiled graciously. "What I'm trying to say is that, you and me? We're in the same boat."

"What-"

"You don't like Percy, I don't like Percy. You want to protect those kids in Division, I want to give them their lives back."

Michael waited a few moments, making sure it was okay for him to speak. "So what? You want me to pack a bag and come be your sidekick in this impossible crusade?"

"No," she stood up abruptly and moved closer until she was two inches from his face. "I just want you to do what's right."

"Protecting those kids is what I think is right," he enunciated bitterly.

Nikita backed away quickly, ready to make her exit. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. Don't worry, I know where to find you."

"Nikita!" He called out. "Is that the only reason you came here?"

She laughed lightly. "You caught me. My shower's out, so I used yours. The towels are in the dryer, thirty minutes until you can take them out."

And then with a wink she was gone.

Michael looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep in the frustrated scream that was ripping through him. He ran his hands over his face, trying to cool himself down, and glowered at the gun resting on the lamp-side table.

She knew coming here was a risk. That he could have shot her at any moment.

But he didn't, and he knew he would never be able to.

Because she was his biggest weakness...