Revenge
A/N: Based on a writer's prompt "Revenge: My character will get revenge on yours." Spoilers for S01E09.
Summary: Michael catches up to Nikita after she thwarts his revenge attempt on Kasim, and the results are painful for them both. Rated T for violence.
Music inspiration: "Lips Go Blue" by HIM
When she woke, Nikita almost believed she was still dreaming. She didn't know how many times she'd dreamt of being back here, locked in her recruit quarters that more resembled a padded cell than a bedroom. The taste of stale air and the hum and blare of florescent light bulbs were exactly as she remembered. She hated this place.
She jerked at the handcuffs that bound her wrists to the bed frame, but without result.
"Good morning, recruit," Percy said, standing at the doorway. That sickening, self-satisfied smile quirked at his lips.
Michael, silent and broody as always, shadowed behind him. He had two butterfly bandages sealing a gash at his forehead, a black eye and a busted lip.
Half of that was Kasim's doing; the rest was all Nikita.
After the police intercepted Michael's reckless revenge at the airport, Percy only needed to pull a few strings to set him loose again.
And Michael had been so angry when he found her.
"Michael-" she breathed, the beginning of a heartfelt excuse never completed. It was the first and last word spoken before their feelings metamorphosed into physical blows, a language they both understood far more than any of the other dozen dialects Division had forced down their untrained throats. Kasim may have killed Michael's family, but Nikita's betrayal (riddled with good intentions that left wounds like bullet holes), caused a much deeper ache.
Three strides forward, and suddenly her arm was twisted behind her back, her head slammed into the desk with every ounce of vitriolic hatred in his body. She clawed, scratched until his skin broke beneath her fingernails, bit, threw him to the ground. But Michael had always been the better fighter, lithe and strong and built for war. Somewhere inside them both, they knew her crusade would have died in its tracks if he'd ever laid a finger on her with purpose.
He had his hands clenched around her throat, thumbs pressed into her windpipe until all he could feel was her pulse and sweat and regret. She grasped with heartbroken determination at his forearms, leaving bruises as her fingers danced along his skin and her body strained for air with watering eyes. He had her. He could end it. And maybe, for a moment, she wanted him to.
But then, just as her vision began to fade, he let go. Oxygen returned to her heaving lungs.
Two of his ribs were broken. Blood oozed from a wound on his forehead. But the anger- the adrenaline, was gone.
Nikita lied there on the ground, taking shuddering, broken breaths, staring at the light fixture above her head as her brain reminded her that she was still alive.
"Michael," she wheezed again. Cradling her fractured wrist against her chest, she pulled herself up so she could sit, their damaged limbs tangled in a battered mess between them. She reached out her other hand, knuckles red and bruised from where they'd collided with his bones and flesh, and she gingerly cupped his cheek.
He sobbed once, and their lips almost met- and maybe they should have. But then the doors burst open, red laser sights baring down on them both. Whatever moment of tenderness they almost shared was murdered when Michael grabbed her in a headlock, his body angled between her and the Division agents at the door.
"You can lower your weapons!" he shouted, "I got her."
As he handed her over to the men in body armor, Nikita gave Michael's arm one last gentle squeeze.
A/N: At least one chapter remaining! Will be up before the end of the week.
