A/n: Well, here is chapter six of 'Moments'. I was going to post a scene from the show, but this came to me and sprouted out in such a hurry that I had to post it. And if you get chance, read my other Nikita story 'Patriarch'. Please? :)

Disclaimer: NO. Would I be wasting my time on fanfiction if I owned Nikita? O.o

Story: Three months or so after the events of 2x08-'London Calling'. Part 1 of 2. Title says all.

Michael looked down at the gunmen who lay on the ground, unmoving. He wasn't exactly sure how he and Nikita had managed to take them down. The mercenaries took them completely by surprise, at a moment when they were weak and their guard was down. Seven against five wasn't exactly the best odds, but they'd managed. They always did.

His gaze shifted discreetly to Nikita, eyes roaming her to make sure she was ok and unharmed. She was tucking her gun back in the back of her pants before she began speaking into her earpiece, calling Birkhoff to send the exfil. After assuring himself that she was ok, he moved his eyes away.

It had been nearly three months since Nikita had walked away from him in London. After a time, he began to understand why she did it, but what shedidn't understand was that Michael didn't want a relationship with Cassandra.

He wanted one with Nikita.

"You ok?" she asked abruptly, snapping Michael out of his train of thought.

"Yeah," he nodded after a quick self assessment. He hadn't even thought of checking himself. "You?"

Nikita smiled weakly and nodded. "Perfect." He relaxed at her answer. Knowing that she was alright was all that mattered to him at that point.

Their eyes met for a moment, Michael opening his mouth to say something but his voice failed him. He wanted to tell her that he chose her. As far as Nikita knew, he and Cassandra had resumed their relationship— fact Michael tried to counter many times, but was always interrupted. Nikita was the one who broke the connection, turning towards the entrance of the empty warehouse. "Birkhoff's sending the drones to get us out of here. They should be here in about five minutes."

Finally seeing a chance, five minutes of no distractions, Michael thought it the perfect time to set the record straight. "Nikita," he called out, and she stopped walking, still not facing him. There was so much to tell her, but for the life of him, Michael couldn't find any words. He went to try again, but he stopped and froze when he saw something shift in his peripheral vision. He glanced over and saw one of the gunmen dragging himself across the floor, reaching out for the gun that had fallen out of his grasp. He gripped it tightly and pointed it straight at her. At Nikita.

"No!"

Michael lifted his gun to fire as Nikita turned to see what he was yelling about. Michael aimed, three shots echoing in the warehouse before the Gogol mercenary lay unmoving.

Michael watched the man for a few seconds, making sure he was really dead this time. Satisfied, he holstered his gun, the adrenaline leaving him shaking slightly.

"Michael…" Her voice was soft, and made him turn around almost immediately.

"Are you alrig-" His voice cut off harshly as the sight hit him full force. It was the fact that she was suddenly so pale, though it did register in his mind. It wasn't the fear in her eyes, though it added even more fear in himself. It wasn't any of that. No, it was the red spot on her shirt, over her abdomen, that was growing bigger. Nikita looked up at him from her wound before she fell to the ground.

"Nikita!"

Michael caught her in his arms before she hit the floor. Gently placing her down on the floor, he tore off his jacket and crumpled it into a ball, pressing it to her wound. She whimpered, making Michael wince. He knew it hurt, and he hated causing her pain, but if it kept her alive…

"Nikita, stay with me. Help is on the way, ok?" He faintly heard the engine of Birkhoff's drone planes off in the distance. But they sounded so far away. Would they get here in time?

Nikita's eyes were looking directly up at the ceiling, avoiding Michael's gaze. Her eyelids fluttered closed every now and than, and what worried Michael was that each time they stayed closed for a few more seconds.

He got up on his knees and leaned over her, trying to get her to focus on him. He brushed a strand of her dark hair out of her face, leaving his hand cupping her cheek.

"Nikita? Come on, please don't do this. Stay with me, Nikita." She, with a great amount of effort, brought her hand up to the side of his cheek before covering the one he had on her own cheek. Michael could feel and see her try to squeeze his hand, but he felt no pressure. She barely had any strength left in her.

He was losing her.

Shaking with fear, cold, he didn't know what, he looked into her eyes, trying to give her (and himself) something to focus on. "Nikita," he breathed, fighting his tears. "I love you." There. He had said it. Of course, he wanted to tell her his decision in better circumstances, but it was giant possibility that if he didn't tell her now, he might never be able to. "I love you Nikita. Stay with me. Please."

He saw Nikita struggle to get her mouth to open, and when she was unable to, it hit Michael that the life was slipping from her. She couldn't respond, and she desperately wanted to. To tell him she loved him too.

But her eyes moved away from his gaze back to the ceiling above them, closing as her head lolled to the side. Michael could physically feel a breath leave her body, and he almost completely lost it, no longer able to hold back his tears. They fell onto Nikita's pale skin, and left a salty taste in his mouth.

"Please Nikita."

A/n: Ah, I bet you were expecting a happy gooey reunion, huh? Well TOO BAD!

Jk. Seriously, I'm kidding.

Anyway, I wasn't expecting a cliffie to come out of this, but don't worry. As I said, this a two-parter. But I'm also thinking of maybe making a story on it's own. Expanding on the situation. Hmm…

Well, tell me what you think.
;)