(Hey guys.. Just a lil' oneshot about my fave ship on Nikita.. Alex and Nikita! This sistership is AMAZING. Anyways, I hope you like this.. Please review! I love hearing from you guys; your reviews make my day. R&R!)
The van pulled into Division's garage and Alex found herself wondering why she'd ever considered coming back here, why she'd somehow expected to come back and find everything the same when in truth, everything had changed. Everyone had left and everyone had died, and all that pain and loss was on her hands. If she hadn't shot Ryan, if she hadn't turned against Nikita, if she hadn't raised a mutiny and taught it how to stand and then destroy, maybe he would be alive. That pain was still with her—it was with her all the time, but as she came to the realization that when she entered Division for what had to be the millionth time, it would not be the same. Sean—it hurt to even think his name—wouldn't be there, and everyone that remained would look to her not as a friend, but as an enemy, and she couldn't blame them. Alexandra Udinov had made her bed, and now she had no choice but to lay in it.
She remembered that night in flashes and blurs, in gunshots and betrayals and blood. Alex had never wanted any of it to happen, but it hadn't mattered. She'd wanted to save everyone with a passion that had somehow swallowed her whole, causing her to lose sight of her morals, of everything. Instead of people she'd seen martyrs, instead of walls she'd seen steel bars, trapping her and everyone else inside of a prison that would kill them all. She'd had to save them, and when it'd started she'd been so confident that she could succeed, no matter how out of control she felt, because while she felt lost, she felt power and adrenaline and a streak of black inside of her that hadn't shown itself in a long time. The high was different than when she'd been on drugs, this time it was more a sense of fire and guns blazing than a sense of helplessness—after all, she hadn't wanted help. She hadn't wanted to be saved—all she'd wanted was to save her father and those girls and Sean and everyone else. But she hadn't been able to save anyone, not even him.
Nikita murmured something to Michael, but Alex didn't hear. She was too caught up in her own pain and guilt to notice the conversation. After, Michael nodded and shared a look with her and then left, leaving her and Nikita alone in the car. Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes, caught up in their own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence even after everything that had happened and Nikita didn't seem to mind it, something Alex was grateful for. She didn't want to talk—in fact, every instinct in her body was telling her to run. Finally she decided she had to, otherwise she and Nikita would sit in the car all night. "I don't know how I can walk into Ops right now. I… I think that it would be easier for everyone if I just… left," She told her, refusing to meet her eyes when she turned around from the front seat to look at her. How could she, after everything she'd done?
Her fingers absentmindedly traced the door's handle, and she thought about it, about leaving, really thought about it for the first time. Once in her life she might have thought that she could run off and start a new life, but now she knew that it was complete and entire bullshit. The pain stayed with you—it didn't matter where she went or who she was with; she would never forget Sean's face or voice or lips. She would never forget the damage she'd caused here or all the other people she'd failed to save. A normal life wasn't in the cards for her. And honestly, when she thought about Sean or Nikita or Michael or Birkhoff and all the other kind, beautiful people she'd met in this complicated, painful one, she wasn't sure if she wanted a normal life. If she could go back, would she make the same choices? Would she have chosen to be Alexandra Udinov? Would she feel all that pain just to meet Sean? To meet the man she had loved so much even if she'd never dared to admit it to herself? And if the answer was no, how could she begin to ever go on living?
"You have to stop this, Alex," Nikita told her, her kind, warm dark eyes demanding her attention. "You have to stop running."
Alex finally looked up to meet her eyes, her own blue eyes full of defiance. "I'm not."
"You are," the older woman countered. "You escaped from the brothel and you've been running ever since. You've never dealt with your past." Alex tried to find flaw with her words but she couldn't—because it was true. She was running, always running. She'd run away from Sean, too.
With the woman who was like a sister to her staring at her so intently, with so much love and determination, Alex didn't have the strength to lie. Instead, she told the truth. "I don't like thinking about it."
Nikita nodded in understanding. "Well, you've got to. It's only going to get worse. And next time, you might really get yourself killed." There was fear in her eyes, fear for Alex, fear of Alex. She was so afraid that she would decide that it was better just to jump off the ledge instead of trying—because what if while trying to save everyone she forgot to save herself? "Look," she continued, "Amanda took something inside of you that you've been denying and used it as a weapon against you. As long as you're carrying around that guilt, that weapon will always be there. You have to start to heal yourself."
For the first time in days, Alex felt something other than pain or guilt—she felt anger. Bitterness. Fear. "What if I can't?" She asked, that same fear echoing in her crystalline eyes. She was afraid that her promise to Sean had been broken as soon as she'd made it; what if she couldn't get better? She was so, so afraid that she would always be broken like this—that she would never find a way to get better, a way to breathe. Ever since Sean had died she'd felt like she'd been trying to breathe through corrupted lungs, like the only thing she had left was the serrated knife of agony stuck in her chest, one that no one had the decency to puncture her heart with or pull it out and let her bleed like she knew she deserved to. Desperation was also in her eyes—disguised as tears, a desperation that threatened to swallow her whole. She looked away from those dark eyes, unable to look into them any longer.
When she finally looked back at Nikita, the look she gave her said that she might possibly be the only hope she had in the world. The fights they'd had didn't matter—nothing mattered. After all of this time, after Alex had loved and hated her with equal measure, she realized that Nikita was the only person that never left her. Nikita was a survivor, and maybe that was why she was the only person Alex trusted—she trusted her not to die on her like everyone else had. It was a completely different kind of trust than the one she had shared with Sean or the one she shared with Michael. It was the trust that no matter what happened, they would always come back to each other. It made leaving each other seem silly because they were never truly apart—even when Alex had wanted no more than to be free of her crazy plans. Nikita was the only one she had left, she realized. Somehow it always came down to the two of them—even when they'd both abandoned each other to fight their own battles. That's what a sister was. "You can," Nikita told her, complete faith in her despite as scared as she was of what they were about to face.
The Udinov princess tore her eyes away from her for a second and looked around the empty garage and imagined what Division would look like if she'd entered. She could form no picture in her mind. "Because you're a survivor," Nikita continued to say, demanding her attention once again. Alex shook her head silently, but she continued anyway. "And I know that's not some kind of curse. It just means that you're strong enough to keep going."
Alex looked down to the floor, Nikita's words hitting her hard. "I don't understand why I keep getting to live." She slowly looked up again, feeling that streak within her coming back. "Why me and not them?" Why not Sean? Why not good and kind and funny Sean who would never do anything to hurt her? Why not him? Alex silently added, forcing her tears back down.
This time it was Nikita who looked away, facing forward in her seat. "I had the same questions when Daniel died. I never found an answer," she told her honestly, staring off into space. "But maybe…maybe tonight is the answer," she said, looking back at Alex. "Those girls… they got out because we were there. We survived then and maybe they will now. And maybe, maybe someone else will have a chance because of them. Who knows?"
Once again, Alex nodded, for the first time in days feeling a spark of hope.
And then they left the car.
Side by side they entered Division, Alex trailing a little bit behind. There was less confidence in her step and her blue eyes trailed about nervously, like a bird deciding whether or not to take flight. Every bone in her body was telling her to run—to run to anywhere but here. Being back at Division brought back all the memories of that night—brought back the bloodshed and the tears and the screams. It bought back the shock and hurt on Birkhoff's face when he'd looked at her with blood all over his face. Brought back how she'd asked Owen to find him. Birkhoff who was so sweet and kind—Birkhoff who never wanted to hurt anyone, whose hand shook when holding a gun. Sonya's horrified face as Rachel held her boyfriend's life in her hands and the shaken grateful look she'd given Alex when she'd attacked Rachel. Tormented Owen who'd been tortured by Amanda's mind tricks even more than she had. Nikita and Michael. Ryan. Sean. Everyone who'd been lost all because of her.
In the distance she heard them walk into Ops—Michael, Birkhoff, Sonya, and Ryan. Their conversation—argument—faded off and she didn't hear much of what they were saying. Her eyes were not on them but on the damage around her—the flickering lights on the screen, the hole in the ceiling, and all the other things that were only the beginning of what had happened here.
They'd reached Ops to hear the tail end of the conversation. Alex hovered behind at the bottom of the stairs, resisting the urge to run.
"—Unless you want to put me back into a coma!" Ryan yelled, his face flushed with anger.
Birkhoff was the first once to notice her. Seconds later their faces turned toward her, a different look in each pair of eyes. Birkhoff's had hurt in them and also concern—concern for her or concern for his own life she didn't know. He didn't look at her like he used to—his face was deadpan; there was no gentle expression or sarcastic quip on his lips. That sent a familiar pang in her heart, one she tried to ignore. Michael's had concern in them as well, a wariness that never really seemed to leave him. His quickly strayed from hers and then met Nikita's, probably silently asking her if she was sure that this was the right thing to do. Nikita nodded, offering Alex a sympathetic smile that she didn't deserve. Sonya shared Nikita's look of sympathy, much like she had when Alex broke down that night and had sat in the middle of Division's floor, rocking back and forth with tears falling down her cheeks. She'd been the only one to see that, to see her lose control, for which she was grateful. Alex didn't want their sympathy—and she didn't deserve it, and it would only make things harder.
When she allowed herself to focus in on Ryan she subconsciously took a step back, and ran her hand through her hair, trying not to lose it. He noticed her last and when he did, the look in his eyes was what she'd expected. Anger and fear and pain—his blue eyes that were usually kind were now hard and filled with resentment. His face was cold and detached. He stared at her for a second before looking away, unable to even look at her. Slowly she made her way up the steps, hoping she didn't look like a threat. "I'm so sorry," Alex told them, her voice a lot stronger than she felt. Ryan looked away again but she continued talking, desperately hoping that she could break through to them, to him. "I don't know what she did to me, but what I did to all of you…" She trailed off, looking at each of them individually ignoring the obvious tremble in her voice. "Ryan—" She began, but stopped when he cut her off.
"She shouldn't be here!" Ryan yelled, finally finding his voice, eyes trained on her while also managing to drift to Nikita. "We don't know what Amanda did to her," he continued, his voice cold and his eyes even colder. Alex flinched at his words and looked at the floor. She couldn't look at him, couldn't see the anger and distrust in his eyes that she knew wasn't unjustified. What was worse was that she could still see him falling, falling, falling…after she'd shot him. She had no right to feel hurt from his words, yet she did anyway.
"We don't know what Amanda did to me either. If we can't trust Alex then we can't trust me," Nikita answered, her eyes defiant. She had none of Ryan's coldness but her voice was firm.
No one could say anything to that—only offer their own distinguished pained looks. Michael and Nikita's eyes met in a way that made her heart ache. A long time ago she'd said that she'd wanted a love like that, wanted someone who she could share a look with that said that even if lost, they'd lose together. She remained fully convinced that she'd had that with Sean and had now lost it.
Nikita went on to give them all one of her famous speeches that could have inspired an entire army to follow her and go into an impossible war, which was what it really was. They had no chance of winning, no chance of surviving, yet they had to try because it was the right thing to do. And as she talked about how she'd watched defenseless girls take down an armed man and how she was ready to fight, Alex realized that every thing that had made her ever resent Nikita was also something that made her love her in the same way. Like the way she took control of things and did everything to protect the people she loved, even if it meant lying to them and trusting only herself. The way that she wouldn't give up on anyone—not even on Alex, who time and time again had given her every reason to. Those things had made her hate her in the past, but now as her dark eyes lit up with excitement and ferocity, the blue eyed girl decided that she would never have a better person at her back.
So that was why when Ryan asked her, with anger fresh in his eyes, "So why are you here? Do you honestly believe that we can fight our way through this?" she answered, her eyes meeting his for the first time that night, and said something that she'd said before any of this had happened and still meant, as impossible as it was.
It was the same answer she'd given Sean when he'd asked her what they were doing at Division chasing monsters.
"I believe in Nikita."