Tagging: Nikita, Owen, Alex, Sean, Jaden, Thom, Michael.
Ships: Nowen/Mikita. Salex.
Rating: K. (Might change sometime during the story.)

I'm glad this story has been as well-received as it is. I cannot thank you guys enough. As I keep struggling with my insecurities over this story, it's nice to hear it is at least enjoyed by you all.

I would've updated yesterday, but Shane West tweeted me (!) and rendered me unable to do anything at all for most of the day.

As you'll see, I've made some of these characters very ooc. I like to believe that because it's an AU I can, but if it bothers anyone, please do let me know.

The next morning Nikita was up before the dawn of day. That hadn't been completely voluntary, though she'd wanted to get up early to get her morning jog in before the Elliot family decided to do with her whatever it was they decided to do—they were only staying a week, and "cupcake, there is sooooo much to do" (Alex' words).

However, "early" was seven am, maybe even pushing seven thirty, not five.

She'd been awoken by the sounds of the house. A hauntingly eerie whistle of wind through the empty hallways and spacious rooms, the creaking of wooden beams that had been supporting the same sloped roof for decades if not centuries, and Nikita had sat up and clung the sheets to her chest, wondering if ever there'd died someone on these grounds and if a spirit could possibly be around to get revenge.

That was as silly a thought as they came, but peering through the darkness, she couldn't say she found anything that comforted her and coaxed those thoughts from her mind.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the bath room. Quietly she went to work getting dressed in formfitting black shorts and a loose tank top, pulled her hair up in a ponytail and brushed her morning breath away.

Morning routines were what gave her the time and space to mull things over. Through the steady, consistent movements she found her mind wandering. The first night in Quebec had been interesting, to say the least.

There'd been Alex who was nothing short of an unadulterated bundle of energy, overwhelming her with questions and affections and touches and random hugs—she'd grown fond of her already, though. Everything she never could've been, she was a breath of fresh air not unlike Owen had been.

There'd been Sean who was decidedly less brainless than he had seemed upon first impression, and especially over dinner she had found herself thoroughly engaged in the conversation they had going on that flickered between subjects like Battlestar Gallactica and Game of Thrones to health care and politics.

But most of all, there'd been Michael. His presence had been memorable most because of how quiet he had been in contrast to the others. Her moment of attraction had faded into more of an appreciation, and she felt justified in thinking she could acknowledge another person's beauty without wanting to act on it; and that had enabled her to be comfortable towards Michael.

However, every one of her attempts at conversations was met with silence. There was no interaction beyond their introduction, and he'd sat in the lounge with them, leaned back against the back of the couch, and hadn't spoken a word.

That hadn't annoyed her as much as it had confused her. She had focused on the others, but she couldn't shake thinking either something was wrong with her, or something was wrong with him.

She untangled her earphones while walking down the hallway. The carpet muffled her steps and she managed to get downstairs to the kitchen without, as far as she knew, waking someone.

"Good morning," came from behind her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise as she spun around. There, leaning casually over the counter, was Michael. For the first time she saw his scruffy beard give way for a smile. "Did I scare you?"

She chuckled, trying to laugh away the tension that had jumped into her muscles and bones, and shrugged one shoulder. "A little, yeah. I didn't think anyone else would be awake."

"I'm up at unconventional hours."

Behind him the coffee machine dinged. He poured himself a cup of coffee then cocked an eyebrow at her, lifting up the pot. "Want some?"

"Maybe after my run," she replied politely.

His eyes swept across her body, two long hauls from top to bottom and back. "Explains the outfit."

The conversation fell silent as he sipped his coffee and she stood there locked in his gaze. There was something tantalizing about how they'd just had a normal conversation as opposed to the day before, and she was reluctant for it to end already. Minutes ticked away though and she found it hard to come up with anything that wouldn't be awkward—after all, she'd given it a few tries before and those had been futile.

When the sun rose behind her, casting gentle light into the otherwise glum kitchen, she decided the opportunity to talk was now beyond them.

She nodded to him and then turned to the glass doors, sliding one open to step outside. When she finally dared to look back he was gone, but the pot of coffee hadn't been emptied in the sink and a clean mug stood on the counter.

With a smile she flicked on her mp3 and started on the path she saw curl around the pound ahead of her. Every footfall reverberated through her and inside her mind Michael's voice echoed.

For some reason, it was hard to rid herself of it.

She ducked back into the house an hour later. Her clothes clung to her frame and beads of sweat rolled down her neck. It had been exactly what she needed though, and the estate had provided her with more beautiful scenery than she'd ever had on a run before.

Inside she was met with peaceful quiet.

She slid into one of the bar stools at the breakfast counter, finally getting that cup of coffee that hadn't strayed from her thoughts, and when she inhaled the scent there was something addictive about it. Only after a few gulps she realized Michael had flavored it with cinnamon.

The beverage had only been lukewarm and it had felt like a hug; inviting.

Michael had become even more of an enigma that morning, and Nikita found herself rendered clueless as to how this man could be cold one moment and hot the next.

A few hours later, life had picked up like before and a freshly showered Nikita sat at the breakfast table, tugging pieces off her croissant before popping them into her mouth. Amanda, the head of Kitchen as it were, had wanted to make her anything she very well pleased, but she was a person of small pleasures. The idea of scrambled eggs with grilled vegetables was tempting, exceedingly so, but she refused to get used to a luxury she couldn't get used to—didn't want to get used to.

"What's on the program today?" she asked between bites, nudging Alex' elbow.

The girl grinned sleepily, a mischievous glint to her eyes. "You'll see."

Nikita frowned, her fingers stilling around her pastry. "No fair. Can I at least know who's coming?"

Alex tapped a finger to her bottom lip and then nodded. "Sure. Guess that won't harm anyone. It's going to be just you, me, and our boyfriends."

"What about Michael?" It was out before she could stop it. So he doesn't have to be home alone, she thought. There was a familiar sense of sympathy for a person in the underdog position, even though she couldn't get her mind wrapped around the biggest mystery of the Elliot family.

"Michael's sleeping. I don't think he'll wake up for another few hours."

"Oh." Unconventional hours. "Another time then, maybe."

"Mhm." Alex leveled her a look over the rim of her mug before she sighed, shoving aside her plate to rest her arms on the cold marble, hands reaching out for Nikita's. "I get you're new to this family so you don't know, but you'll eventually learn that Michael really just wants to be left alone. He doesn't want to be invited to this kind of stuff. It's a miracle he's even here right now."

Nikita smiled sadly and nodded, though she wasn't too sure if she was ready to back off from him now she'd had a taste of how genuinely fun he could be.

"Not so glum, sugar plum. We're going to have a great time!"