A/N: Ah, those halcyon days—welcome to the lighter side of Division. :)

Chapter Two

The flight to France had been a nightmare. It was official: Birkhoff could ruin anything, even a first class trans-Atlantic trip. His incessant yammering about C++ code, "graphic novels not comic books!" and MMORPGs was enough to give Nikita an itchy trigger finger. Thank God she couldn't bring a weapon on the plane.

Michael, who lounged in the neighboring seat, seemed oddly complacent. Normally, he couldn't tolerate Birkhoff's nerd babble for more than four minutes—let alone four hours—but today he wasn't bothered by it. After all, their short fuses with each other were the reason Nikita had chosen the aisle seat across from Birkhoff—just so Michael wouldn't have to sit directly next to his own personal human sandpaper.

At one point, Nikita grabbed Michael's attention and mimicked shooting herself in the head. It was only because Michael laughed that she saw them: two high-quality ear plugs. "Bastard," she said, her eyebrows pinching together in disbelief.

He pointed to his ears and mouthed, "I can't hear you."

Even her deep scowl couldn't conceal the smile underneath. "You're dead," she mouthed in return.

Michael responded only by settling deeper into his seat and reclining the back as far as it went, his eyes fluttering closed dramatically.

Landing in Nice couldn't have been more welcome. As the plane's wheels skidded across the tarmac, Nikita sat on the lip of her seat, her eyes searching out the window over Michael's shoulder. She could almost taste the salt of free air, and yet she knew she wasn't so lucky. They still had the agonizing half hour ride to Monaco with which to contend.

"A taxi? That's all Percy could pony up for?" Nikita complained as they exited the terminal. "I mean we flew first class, and we'll be staying in exclusive suites, yet we're stuck with a taxi."

Michael shrugged. "We've got to save some money somewhere."

She looked to Birkhoff for a comrade, but he was still angry at his peers' insolence toward him so instead he continued pouting, proof positive that underneath all his egotistical bravado there was a tender vulnerability. Nikita nudged him as they climbed into their conveyance. "Buck up, nerd. We're on vacation in Monte Carlo. In a taxi." His only response was a continued glower; Michael's was a frustrated sigh.

The car wended its way through pale mountainous terrain speckled with evergreens, fruit trees and shrubs. To the right, the cliffs tumbled spectacularly down toward the aqua blue Mediterranean Sea. The colorful flags of sailboats snapped stiffly in the sea breezes, and the setting fall sun glinted off their bows. The smell of warm sand and figs permeated the humid air and clung to their clothes like perfume. Nikita found herself smiling, though she didn't remember initiating it. If it weren't for their mission, this place might truly be paradise.

After descending a steep, winding road of seemingly endless length, the team entered Monte Carlo proper. The roads were narrow and clogged with stubby cars and scantily-dressed pedestrians enjoying the remains of the day. Horns honked so often, they almost drowned out the squawking of the gulls hungry for their dinner. Multitudes of hotels, apartments and luxury condos soared above the trio and sufficiently blocked out much of the view to the sea from street-level.

It wasn't until they pulled in front of the Hôtel de Paris that any of them spoke. Even then, "whoa" was all Nikita could manage.

"Kind of puts our digs back home to shame," Birkhoff added, the first words he'd uttered since arriving in Europe. Nikita nodded absent-mindedly.

A sinking sun bathed the building in a citrusy glow, a heavenly spotlight on the crown jewel of Monte Carlo. The hotel looked more like a palace than anything else, sprawling to the left and right of the Division team. Palms huddled against its majestic beige exterior like star-struck fans, and figureheads of mermaids emerging from sea spray graced the high walls. Nikita was honestly embarrassed to get out of a cab in front of this masterpiece.

Michael, however, was all business. He paid the driver and walked into the opulent lobby seemingly unfazed. Nikita was almost in more awe of his apathy than the crystal chandelier suspended over the tile floor. "Sometimes I worry about him," she commented to Birkhoff as she grabbed her luggage from the trunk.

"Guess it takes a lot more than architecture to impress Michael. Can't say I blame him though. I'll hold back judgment of this place until I try out its internet connection."

"Men," she muttered as she rolled her eyes.

After checking in, they found their way to their rooms on the third floor. Even the hallways were elegant with their plush carpeting and warm colors. Nikita approached her door as the two men drew up alongside their neighboring suite. She offered Michael a wicked grin as she slipped her card key in the door. "Sometimes it really pays to be a woman. Looks like you'll be needing those ear plugs stapled to your ears."

Birkhoff's glower was unmatched in depth or breadth. "It's not like I asked to come along and ruin your little love nest."

"Aw, I think he's feeling left out. Don't worry, nerd, we're glad to have you along," Nikita said with a warm smile. She resisted the urge to pinch his adorably unshaven cheek or ruffle his unkempt hair. "Michael's relieved to have a new roommate."

"I hope your room has bed bugs," Michael retorted.

"No need to be such a sore loser, Michael," she said as she eased into her own room, her face framed teasingly by the door. "If you need a break, neighbor, feel free to knock." In a flash, she was gone, leaving the two men to each other's company.

Birkhoff pointed a finger at Michael's chest threateningly. "I'll have you know when we get back to Division, I'll be reporting the lack of respect I'm getting here. Some thanks I get for creating Division's very own network Fortress of Solitude," he grumbled as he entered their suite. "I should be on the cover of PC World, not condescending to share a room with a tech neophyte."

Michael put a hand to his forehead and began to rub, anticipating a major headache within an hour. "Put a cork in it, Birkhoff." The door to the room slammed shut, the exclamation point on Michael's frustration.


To say Nikita's suite was gorgeous would have been a serious understatement. While this hotel lacked the warmth and hominess of the room she recalled so vividly in Banff, it made up for it in sheer elegance. Every piece of furniture was mahogany, and the deep hues of the wood stood out against the rich blues and eggshell of the walls and carpet. The comforter had a delightful pastoral toile pattern more suited for royalty to sleep on than an assassin. A small wrought iron balcony offered an unimpeded view of the grand Casino de Monte Carlo, perfect for discreet surveillance.

Somewhere on the floor above her, Giacomo Brusca would be donning his suit for his night out at that casino.

Luckily for Nikita, Division wasn't demanding Brusca's head for another two nights, a merciful allowance for a jet-lagged soul like hers. Until that very moment, she hadn't realized exactly how bone-weary she really was. She'd been up since three o'clock New York time, and for obvious reasons, she had hardly been able to sleep at all on the plane. Once she settled in, she would reconvene with her team, talk a little shop, and then sink into her king-sized bed for a night of uninterrupted, unadulterated slumber.

Nikita barely had time to hang up her gowns when she heard a knock at her door. She wasn't all that surprised to find Michael on the other end of the peephole. "Tired of Birkhoff already?" she asked as she opened the door.

The agent breezed in, his eyes roving around the suite. "Actually, he's lost in his own hacker world already. Hasn't said much really."

"Then why are you here?" Nikita inquired and realized it probably sounded ruder than she had intended.

Michael took a seat at the desk that faced toward the window. He didn't answer her.

"Okay," Nikita drawled, plopping down at the end of her bed and idly kicking one leg against it. "Or you could just come in here to not talk to me too."

He sighed reluctantly, something she wasn't used to him doing. "Michael, what's wrong?" she asked with a hint of worry.

"I don't want to share a bed with Birkhoff."

It took every ounce of her etiquette education not to burst out laughing, but even with Amanda's rigorous training, Nikita couldn't suppress her smirk. "Well, I hope you don't think you're staying here."

His eyes implored hers. "Give me a break. You know that ego-maniac won't sleep on the floor or the chaise."

"And apparently neither will this ego-maniac," she said, thumbing at Michael. He frowned.

"It wouldn't be a big deal if I stayed with you." Was that the trace of an impish grin she saw? Was he actually flaunting Banff back at her? That rotten tease.

"If it's not a big deal, then sharing a bed with Birkhoff should be no problem." Obviously he hadn't expected such a clever response; Michael narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "Come on," she continued, "you're always saying we do these missions for the good of our country. Consider it your debt to society."

Michael stood up from the desk and paced around the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "You know how he gets under my skin," he complained.

And you know how you get under mine, she wanted to add but wisely didn't. Instead, she replied softly: "Michael, it's not a good idea." The implications hung in the room like the seascape prints on the walls.

He stopped pacing and nodded once. "I know."

Nikita quirked an eyebrow. "So I'll see you in an hour for the once over on the mission details?"

Michael shrugged but returned the same raised eyebrow. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

She couldn't resist: "Yes, I do. Spooning Birkhoff in your room."

His knuckles cracked as he balled his fist, and he took a threatening step closer. She might have been intimidated if it weren't for the slight upturn at the corner of his lips. "That is insubordination, Nikita. Also, it's just cruel."

"I think you'll get over it," she teased as she showed him to the door.

Michael left without looking back, which was an awfully good thing considering Nikita could no longer hide how the lighter side of her stoic handler had charmed her. She leaned her back against the door, her head resting against the cool wood. Her cheeks felt warm and there was no way to smother her stupid, delighted smiles. Honestly, the two most insufferable men on the planet, and she would have to spend days with them. She was beginning to love this mission more by the minute.