"I absolutely hate traffic jams."

Nikita drummed on the steering wheel of her sleek silver KIA Quoris, which was built for both speed and comfortable travel. She sighed. She couldn't wait to get to her apartment. She hadn't even been able to get a closer look at it before she was called back in by Michael. No, she told herself, not Michael, her handler. That sounded sexier. And right now, she was dying to take a good at her apartment, perhaps go shopping, but she was stuck in a traffic jam. A traffic jam, for God's sake! For all she knew, a fellow recruit – no, a fellow Agent, as she could now proudly call herself, might be dying, or the world might be coming to an end, or a bad guy might be practically begging Division to have him killed. But she couldn't sweep in and do the job, because she was stuck. In a stupid traffic jam, of everything that was possible. And Nikita didn't even know why there was one. She hadn't seen any signs indicating an accident or a closed off lane, or something like it. Annoyed, she leaned out of the side window of her car. Traffic cams and possible snipers be damned, she wanted to know what in the world was going on and why the hell her car was not currently whizzing along the highway, on its way to her apartment.

Nikita craned her neck in order to be able to look further along the line. When she saw someone in a uniform wandering between the cars, her eyes narrowed to slits. Oh hell no. She sighed. Of all times, the cops had to show up and conduct random checks right now? She observed the police officer, who couldn't have been much older than twenty-five, as he walked from car to car. He seemed to be asking some of the drivers one or two questions, and as Nikita watched he mumbled something into his walkie-talkie. Upon that signal, another cop came closer and beckoned for the driver and both passengers to step outside the car. The young officer and his older, bulkier colleague conducted a quick sweep of the car, then sent the three back on their way, playfully hitting the roof of the car as a goodbye. Nikita frowned, her thoughts flitting to the Beretta 92, Glock 19 and the extra ammo she had stashed in her glove department. It'd just be her luck to be one of the few drivers to have her car searched and then get taken into custody for having two guns and enough ammo to start a minor massacre with her.

Anxiously, she watched as the young cop made his way over to her car. Two left in front of her. Now there was only one. Nikita watched as the cop first smiled through the window of the car in front of her, then straightened back up and leisurely made his way over to her.

"Excuse me, miss, but we have been ordered to ask each driver here today a few questions. Do you mind?"

Nikita cleared her throat. For the past few months, she had been nothing but snapped at by the Division personnel and snickered at by the other recruits. They despised her for being a top-of-the-class loner who had been on the graduation shortlist after only four months of training. In fact, no one but Michael had even so much as looked at her without a glare on their face for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to be addressed politely. Realizing she had been silent for far too long, Nikita frowned delicately at her little trip down memory lane. "Sorry. Um, no, I don't mind at all."

"Alright." The cop was obviously flushed. Whether it was from the heat or from talking to such a beautiful young woman – Amanda had done her makeup that morning – Nikita didn't know. "May I have your driver's license please?"

"Of course." Nikita handed him the counterfeit license, briefly gazing down at her picture and the name printed below it. She was Nikita Michaels now. A hint of a smile graced her lips as the memory of Michael giving her her documents crossed her mind.

"So I'm Nikita Michaels now, huh?" Nikita flashed him a flirtatious smile. "You chose the name?"

"No," Michael was quick to assure her, and if he hadn't been Michael Nikita would have been sure his cheeks were tinged red, "Percy chose it. Don't ask," he added, as he saw Nikita was about to ask why the boss had named her after his right-hand-man.

"Let me guess… It's classified?"

"Actually, no, I just don't know the answer."

"Sure you don't." And as she turned around to go see Amanda for the last time as a recruit, she threw the handler with the smoky voice a glance over her shoulder. "Such a tease."

"Miss Michaels?" From the tone of his voice, Nikita knew it wasn't the first time the young cop asked.

"I'm sorry. I just took a little trip down memory lane." She flashed him one of her brilliant smiles, of which Amanda was so proud. Nikita could see she hadn't exactly convinced the police officer, but at least his main suspicions – about her mental health, probably – were soothed.

"What I was asking, miss Michaels, do you mind us searching your car? It's a random search, based on car model. Yours fits the profile."

Nikita was at odds with herself. She knew that if she agreed to the search, the cops would find her guns. However, if she didn't agree, they would be hell-bent on finding out why she wanted to stop them from searching her car. She decided to try one of Amanda's manipulation tactics. She always enjoyed playing a role, and she'd always been great at improvising.

"Listen, of course I don't mind. But, um," she lowered her voice to a whisper, to achieve the maximum effect. "Can I ask you a favor? Can we talk somewhere…" she threw a skittish glance over her shoulder. "…away from the car?"

The cop nodded, obviously intrigued by this strange, beautiful woman, who couldn't have been much older than twenty. "Of course." He allowed her to step outside the car, even helping her, making a crucial mistake in not calling his colleague before he did so. Nikita took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up. She pretended to stumble and bumped into him, discreetly turning his walkie-talkie off as she did so.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. For the first time in ages, she was thankful for Amanda's seduction techniques and the endless manipulation scenarios she had made Nikita practice. "It's the heat."

The cop was obviously blushing now, as he got a full view of Nikita's leather-clad body. "No matter. Um, what did you want to talk about?"

Nikita bent towards him, lowering her voice once more. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but you have to believe me. My boyfriend," she saw the cop officer pull back briefly and made a quick decision to change her course of action, deciding to draw on his compassion instead. "Well, more of an ex-boyfriend really. He's with a really bad crowd. Like, really bad." The cop's eyes lit up, probably thinking of a big promotion already. It was so easy to manipulate him Nikita almost felt bad for doing it.

"What is this ex-boyfriend's name?"

Nikita bit her lip, thinking of who to use. In a split-second, she had made her decision and it was taking all her willpower not to laugh when she muttered, "Percival Rose." They'd never be able to run that name and get a hit. Percy was way too cunning for that.

"Alright. So what does this have to do with your car?"

"I broke up with Percy today, actually only about half an hour ago. And to be honest this car is his, but he got out when I told him we were over, and I just… I drove away. I mean, I'm planning to return it, I didn't steal it, but he looked like he was going to kill me! And his reputation is… well, let's just say I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. He's hurt me bef-" Nikita stopped abruptly, biting her lip and glancing down as if ashamed of admitting it. The cop's eyes widened slightly.

"What did he do?"

Nikita turned her back to the cop and tossed her hair over her left shoulder, showing him a scar she'd gotten during a practice knife fight with one of the other recruits. "He thought I'd cheated on him. He had had too much to drink, and he just… He freaked out. But," she turned back around to face the guy, "that's not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is… there are two guns in the glove compartment."

The cop sucked in a breath, obviously shocked. "Guns?"

"Yes. I mean, I told you Percy is with a bad crowd, right?"

Suddenly, the cop was all back in his serious I-Am-With-The-Police-mode. "I'll have to take those with me, ma'am."

"Yes, I understand. I do. But I wanted to ask you a favor… Please let me keep one. Percy knows where I live, and he's livid." Nikita allowed her eyes to widen slightly, making her look absolutely terrified. "As I told you, he's hurt me before. He's hurt others, too. I mean, really hurt them."

She risked a furtive glance at the cop's face. He was obviously in conflict with himself. She knew she had to do something to get him on her side. Choking back a sob and allowing a tear to make its way down her cheek, she whispered 'Please… He'll kill me.'

The officer nodded slightly and Nikita allowed herself to relax. She had managed to sway him.

"What did you say your ex-boyfriend's name was?"

"Percival Rose."

"Alright, miss Michaels. I'll personally make sure we track him down and keep an eye on him."

"Thank you so much, really, you have no idea how terrified I was… Percy has a way with guns. And knives," she added as an afterthought, referring back to the scar she had showed the cop. The cop's jaw tightened. Obviously he now hated 'Percival Rose' with a passion.

"I'm going to have to confiscate one of the guns, though. Please step aside, I am not allowed to let a civilian handle guns while I'm around."

Some civilian, Nikita thought. I'm probably a better shot than you are, newbie. Out loud though, she just gushed about how grateful she was.

When the young cop pulled out the guns, she pretended not to notice how his eyes widened at their beauty. She couldn't blame him; it were two of the best guns she had ever handled, after all. "Oh, please be careful," Nikita told the young agent. Pretending to be absolutely clueless, she added, "Are they loaded?"

"Yes, they are. Now, I'll have to take the Beretta and most of the ammunition in there. You can keep the Glock and one extra clip. Take care of yourself, miss Michaels."And with a twinge of humor, he added, "I don't want to wake up tomorrow to hear a young woman fitting your description has accidentally shot herself, alright?"

"No, thank you, I'll never forget it. I'm so grateful. You don't know Percy like I do…" Nikita knew she was babbling as she got into her car, but didn't care. It suited her persona of a terrified young woman.

"Goodbye, miss Michaels. Please call me if anything happens, alright? Here's my card, and your license back." Nikita took both with a grateful smile. She took a quick look at the cop's card. Daniel Monroe, it read, and a phone number.

"Thank you, Daniel. Thank you so much. You're amazing."

As she drove away, she considered tearing the card into pieces. She wouldn't need it anyway. However, she decided to keep it. Daniel was a nice guy, and handsome too in a cute way... Nikita shook her head. She was a convicted murderer, for God's sake, and an Agent of a covert Black Ops group! She could never end up dating a cop! Plus, she had already found her knight in shining armor. Her new surname was proof of that.

Moments later, a passerby with amazing eyesight might have seen the tiny pieces of paper floating out of a silver KIA Quoris's window.