Alrighty, guys, sorry for the long wait. Real life caught up with me and I spent a total of at least 38 hours on a bus in the past week. Also, thank you, you beautifully insane people, for 54 reviews. That's a little bit surreal for the first story you put up and your only multi-chapter.

Onwards and Upwards to Chapter 10!

Agent Donovan slowly crept forward, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the bulletproof vest and helmet press him down into the earth and wishing that he had bothered to straighten his goggles. He knew everything that they told him was true. They were giving him a second chance, giving him a gift, saving his life and letting him help his country. It had to be true. But he had killed one man, and that was enough for him.

It's almost worse for me than for the ones who haven't done it before. They think it's going to be easy.

Of course, his first mission would be to attack the latest lair of Division Enemy Numero Uno, the woman who had managed to defy Percy for far too long. She would be punished this time, if he had any say in it. And yet, to some extent, he was sick to his stomach at the thought of it. He always had been a good actor, but he knew in his heart that something was wrong. There were far too many recruits on this mission, and far too many of them had been struggling in the training. Are we truly disposable to him? To this country?

He had no qualms about sacrificing his own life. He was a murderer, worthless scum who couldn't even keep sober long enough to remember his own name. There was another one in their group, though, a young blonde woman called JJ. Whatever she had done to get herself into Division, he didn't think she deserved to die. But if their mission did succeed, what would they gain? As much as Percy had tried to deny it, Nikita was one of them. As much as the supervisors tried to quash the gossip, everyone knew the story. How she was a recruit, and how the endless seductions and assassinations drove her over the edge. A few of the recruits and newer agents had even been trained by Michael and Birkhoff. Most of them had known Alex and seen Sean around Operations.

They were all deadly. But more importantly, they were all the people that they had the potential to become. And no matter how loyal the team advancing towards the solitary house remained to Percy and to their country, there was not a single one of them that had no qualms, no doubts about the mission.

As they grew nearer to the house, hoping and praying that the occupants were unaware, William Sally Philip Donovan looked around at the other agents, seeing the mix of determination and fear on their faces. His eyes lingered on JJ for a few seconds longer than necessary, feeling a twinge in his heart at her set expression. She was one of the few recruits who had smiled at him, and she had a beautiful smile. But she was even more devoted to the work than he was, and thought he could ever be.

I hope to God that I haven't seen that smile for the last time already.

And then they were 50 feet out. 40 feet. 30.

The order came, brief, quiet, over the coms.

"Open fire."

Roan felt his adrenaline building, feeling the rage fill his body. But tiny pieces of other emotions had been released from the cabinet in the back of his head where he kept the pieces of himself non-essential to the mission. It is only logical to maintain a clean mind to perform missions with maximum efficiency.

He began to feel twinges of guilt even as the strength filled his limbs. Regret for the people he'd killed, which he had never had before. He'd shut down long before that, long before Percy recruited him from the jail where he was serving out a sentence for a crime he could never forgive himself for, and turned him into the perfect killing machine. It was not a recruitment based on emotional redemption, as Michael's had been, but rather a promise. He would be put to use. He would be made new, made better, made strong. And he had taken that chance, filled himself with a cold, calculating new manner and reorganized the very structure of his mind, learning to shut things away, to shut away everything he had lost, and to ignore the emotions that had previously defined his life.

Analyzation: Adrenaline rush almost at maximum effectiveness. Commence mission: release self from bonds in approximately 34.5 seconds.

And then the thoughts began to rush out of his cabinet, rush out from behind the bars where he had kept them so long. I'm sorry. I miss you. I love you. I can't believe I haven't visited your graves all these years, all four of you. I'm so sorry. He wrenched himself back into the logical side of his brain, frantically rebuilding a wall in his mind, a wall to protect himself. And yet, he was shocked to find a tear sliding down his face.

He began to pull at his ropes, feeling the strength coursing through his arms, his panic about the thoughts that were penetrating his unguarded mind only aiding his efforts. The ropes broke quietly, and he ignored the pain on the sides of his wrist, and in his shoulder and down on his side just above his right hipbone where he had bullet wounds. He looked down at the bonds on his feet, recognizing the knots and easily untying them. He then rose silently, like a vengeful shadow. He glanced out the window, and to his surprise saw the Division strike team. A small joyless smile crossed his face as he recognized them, and he turned to look at the other occupants of the room as small beeping noises came from Birkhoff's computer. He charged forward and tackled the man who had risen out of his chair and was beginning to inform Michael of the twenty heat signatures they had advancing towards their position.

And then he looked up, as Michael advanced towards him. He still had the emotion, the rage and loss driving his adrenaline, but he looked in Michael's eyes, and he knew it would do him no good when he was still carrying them around with him.

He and Michael had always had more in common than the other man realized. And he never could.

He pushed the emotion, the rage, the aching memory of the family he had lost in a horrible car crash, the painful love he still had for his wife and three beautiful little children, the guilt of surviving when it was his fault, the horrible memory of the one or two little drinks he had taken, foolishly believing that he would be fine driving his family from the wedding. He shoved it all back into the closet, and breathed a sigh of relief as logic and reason and cold detachment took over his brain once more.

Situation: badly injured with undetermined (x) amount of blood gone. Severe disadvantage in physical contest with target Beta (identified: Michael West). Have neutralized targets Alpha (identified: Nikita Meers) and Techie (identified: Seymour Birkhoff). Fifth party in room (unidentified: surgeon) poses no threat. Targets Seal and Princess (identified: Sean Pierce) and (identified: Alexandra Udinov) are not on the scene, and must not be summoned. Course of action: determined.

He launched himself at Michael, who had turned from his perch on the couch at the crashing sound of Birkhoff and his chair hitting the ground. He was just beginning to draw his gun out of pure reflex when Roan crashed into him, and they fell to the floor behind the chair.

It may very well have saved both of their lives.

Birkhoff lounged in his chair, looking at the ceiling and wondering if Niki would kill him if there was a disco ball installed there when she woke up. Hey, I'm serious; this place could be a total party hub if we livened things up a bit. Oh, wait, dude… Way too many smoking hot enemy assassins invite themselves to parties. Hell, you saw it every day.

I might be able to live with that, though.

He lifted his head from its resting place on the back of his chair and pulled himself up to the computer when he heard the beeping alarm go off. His brow wrinkled in confusion, he tapped the keyboard a couple of times, going to the security section of ShadowNet that was currently guarding the safe house.

What the? Oh, hell no, Percy, you are not going to be this bitchy, not today, not again… Come on, dude, you already got Niki down, you are not seriously going to attack the house… How the hell did you know?

He opened his mouth to inform Michael of their lovely new situation, when something rather large and distinctly unfriendly crashed into him and his chair crashed over backwards onto the floor, slamming his head down.

Through the sea of stars, he managed to catch a glimpse of Roan's face and bloodstained glasses. The man looked like absolute hell, pale and bloodstained and enraged. Oh, god… My freakin' head… I am NOT going to get killed by the Terminator while lying in a tipped over chair. My death is going to have theme music.

But then the weight was lifted from his chest, and he choked out a breath. God damn it. Hopefully the crashing-to-the-floor bit had been enough to give Mikey the signal. He heard another crash, and wished he could turn his head to see what the pancake was going on over there.

Yeah, right, dream on, it feels like it's going to fall off if you try to do that. Let me see… We got a worried Mikey, a useless hungry surgeon, an unconscious injured Niki, and Seanny-boy and Princess Russia in the other room vs. one very pissed off injured Terminator. Dammit. Come on, Mikey, you beat him once; you can't let him get your girl twice in one day.

And that was when the machine gun fire started, shattering their windows and peppering the opposite wall with bullets, mangling his computers and ruining a perfectly good chair.

Oh, man, if we get out of here, Niki is going to go on another house-furnishing shopping spree. Although, if I could move without my head splitting in two, I'd get a lot farther on the getting-out-of-here-alive thing.

With a groan, he dragged himself out of his chair, underneath the table that had once held his computers and now held a whole lot of shot up wires and some random computer-looking bits, and settled himself down behind the wine cabinet against the wall, with his eyes screwed shut and the deafening sound of gunfire growing ever closer to the house.

I hope that doctor had enough sense to get out of the way. He probably tried to eat the bullets or something. I hope they kill Roan on accident. Oh, damn, I hope Niki's couch is holding up. Oh, shut up, brain, stop being sentimental and get your badass mode on.

He forced himself to look over. Mikey and Roan had somehow managed to both fall over the back of the chair that Mikey had been sitting on the armrest on and were now crouched behind the chair, seemingly having forgotten that they were supposed to be kicking out of the shit out of each other. He smirked slightly. If anything brings us together, it's the mutual desire not to get shot. Again.

Although he couldn't blame Mikey for being distracted. He was alternating between shooting around the corner of the chair and glancing at Niki anxiously.

And then he noticed the doctor crouched behind the back of the couch. Well, whaddaya know. He had some common sense after all. Or maybe he thought it was a storm and is deathly afraid of thunder.

He wondered why Roan hadn't knocked Mikey out yet, but then he noticed the division SAT phone the Cleaner had pulled out. He's getting out of here alive. So he can help with our interrogations later, when we're all back at Division. He's got us this time; he doesn't need to kill us. Great. Oh, how hellishly perfect. Another torture session is just what the doctor ordered.

And that was when the gunfire stopped, and the banging came on the door. Once, twice… then they were inside.

To put it mildly, all hell broke loose.

Sean felt fear flood his veins as the machine gun fire started from the other room. He gave a silent signal to Alex as they pressed themselves up against the door to room where the others were. Of course, just when the diva surgeon orders us out of the room the party gets started. Although, I don't very much like their version of party.

They couldn't see anything but Michael and Roan crouched behind the edge of the chair, one shooting and worrying over Nikita, one summoning their inevitable doom. Oh, wonderful. I love moving. That was my favorite chair, too.

He felt a hand grab his, and looked over at Alex in confusion. Not that he had a problem with her trying to be romantic, but was now really the time? He looked into her incredibly blue eyes for a long moment. She stared at him, then after a few faintly awkward moments made a motion with her head as if to say look-down-you-moron. He glanced down at her hand and then grabbed the rather nice automatic she had been trying to hand him.

Suddenly, the gunfire ceased. Bangs came on the door and then it collapsed inwards. Sean scooted forward, not quite clearing the doorframe but looking into the room. Roan and Michael had gotten up and were starting to fight. Normally, he would be betting on Roan, no offense to Michael, but the injuries seemed to cancel out the normal advantage that the regimen gave him. Birkhoff was crouched behind the wine cabinet, shielded from the view of the strike team advancing through the door. Some of them looked impossibly young, recruits even, on their very first mission, possibly. He glanced over at the doctor and Nikita briefly, just to confirm that they were both still alive, and then closed his eyes for the barest instant.

And for the second time that day, he turned and began to fire mercilessly into the oncoming stream of Division agents advancing into the room. He felt Alex's warm body beside him, moving to his side and firing well-aimed shots from a smaller handgun.

And slowly, they began to fall. The way they had bottlenecked themselves at the door showed their inexperience. Most of them didn't even have time to fire back, and the ones that did fired at the ceiling. The last few hid on the side of the doorframe, firing at the door where Alex and Sean were hiding themselves sporadically.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw Michael flip Roan over his shoulder and onto the floor, the run to Niki and kneeling beside her couch, not caring at all that there were still agents firing from the door. Luckily, their attention was still focused on the people who were actually shooting at them. People do have an unfortunate tendency to shoot only at the thing that actually looks like a threat. Gotten plenty of good men killed.

Alex handed him another case of bullets and he quickly reloaded, glancing at her briefly as she did the same with her own gun. He often felt most connected to other people like this, working together wordlessly, anticipating each other's moves. He wasn't exactly sure what had been going on with her staring at him earlier, but now wasn't the time to think about it. They were two people working together as one, and it didn't matter who they were anymore or what they thought of each other.

Alex leaned forward and whispered, "We never took out Roan's tracker. We have to get out of here, but we can't take him, and I don't know if we can move Nikita. Can you get us time?"

He looked at her, realization and horror at their stupidity dawning in his eyes. Slowly, then, he nodded, turning to fire as Alex made a quick somersault out of the door and behind the coach where Roan lay on the floor.

Time. I can buy all the time you need. Just get yourself out of here, and stop doing somersaults, you gorgeous little showoff.

She wasn't sure what it was that wrenched her out of the black and the red, whether it was the deafening gunfire or the feel of a familiar hand on her own. Her eyes shot open, not knowing where she was or what was happening and not completely sure if she liked being awake. Her mind still felt clouded, tinged with the red, but she felt more… alive than she had in what seemed like so very long. Her wide brown eyes flicked to the right to meet a pair of tired green ones, on a face that was so, so, familiar. Even if she couldn't quite remember all of it.

"Hey. How're you feeling?" grumbled a familiar voice.

She tried to open her mouth, tried to answer, tried to figure everything out. Bits and pieces fell in. She was home, she thought… Well, he was here, so she must be, right? No, not he, Michael. Michael was here. But then there was gunfire, and things being shot, and Roan knocked out on the floor, and an unfamiliar looking person crouched peeking over the couch by her feet.

And then she looked at him again. And she knew, knew in her heart the red could not take her for long, she would be all right in the end, even if she didn't quite know why.

And then she let the black claim her again, sinking down, down, down, into the velvet depths.

But a quiet smile crossed her face before she closed her eyes again.

Okay, I made myself feel bad for Roan. Also, I continued my theme of long chapters and use of CM names. And speaking of names... William Sally Philip Donovan? Bam. Will and Donovan in one punch. Oh, the things my brain does at 1:30 a.m. Anyway. Tell me what you think? I love reviews. And it's 2 in the morning. Ah well.

Hey, it took me a while, but this is the longest one yet, so…

Oh, tell me your favorite scene from Nikita. If you've got one. And I mean, 1x17 ending and 1x18 beginning come to mind, but… I don't know. If you like.