A/N: Michael's such a woobie, I want to give him a hug! :D

PART XI

Michael didn't believe in happiness. At least, not for himself. It was part of the reason why he felt so protective over the recruits, because they were still at that point in their lives where they could still feel the thrill of their first bull's eye and hold their head up high after winning combat session. Let them have their moments of light before plunging into the perpetual darkness he knew so well.

Happiness was for people who weren't in his line of work. He would only sleep well knowing that he was repaying what he owed Percy, so that when the day came he could go into his grave, debt free. He'd never imagined himself being happy, so it came as a surprise when Nikita showed up and he'd find himself smiling for the smallest reasons. But it wasn't meant to be, he told himself over and over, and he felt vindicated when Nikita disappeared after Daniel died. Having no expectations meant not feeling disappointment.

The split second that Nikita made her decision, all that determined energy burning through her, Michael closed his eyes, so he wouldn't see her leave again.

When she runs, he gives a dutiful chase.

When she leaves, he always stays behind.

He preferred it when she runs, at least then she would look back, fire off a warning shot or a snarky comeback. At least then he could imagine himself catching up to her, coming up right next to her, and finding a reason to smile again. When she leaves, he would find himself back in the darkness, sustaining on the glowing embers of memories she left behind.

Whatever strength he had gathered in his weakened state evaporated with a dull prolonged pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. He grasped the cold hospital wall beneath his fingers, and listened in blind silence for her steps to fade away.

They didn't fade. Instead, they got louder, and before Michael could open his eyes, he felt the touch of another human being that didn't involve sparring, shooting, cutting, or prodding. His body had been an armor to be trained, reinforced, and repaired for so long that the simple contact was both strangely foreign and achingly familiar.

When Nikita wrapped her arms tightly around him, his mouth fell open with shock. When he felt her smiling widely into his neck, he couldn't help but smile with her, his arms automatically coming around her with unconscious and affectionate mimicry. When she sighed heavily with relief and started to shudder in his embrace, he couldn't help but think that he was missing something terribly important.

He almost asked her what was wrong. But the training was in his bones so instead what came out was a mixture of admonishment and accusation, albeit one so lacking in force that an answer seemed to be optional.

"What are you doing?"

Nikita reluctantly released him and casually rubbed at her cheeks with her hands, brushing off sparkles of light. She tried to wipe the silly grin off her face before answering him, but only succeeded moderately.

"Consorting with the enemy."

Even a straight reading of a phrase like that would have sounded suggestive when it was said with a crooked smirk like Nikita did. And she said he was the tease. And if his face hadn't been so pale to begin with, she might have missed the subtle rush of blood to his face.

Nikita tilted her head to one side, her eyes playful, as she remarked with a clinical matter-of-fact intonation, "That's a good color on you."

Michael's face contorted hopelessly, trying to scowl and smile and be expressionless at the same time. It turned out to be quite the exertion. He coughed and his physical weariness struck an all too familiar cord of wariness in his heart and clarity in his mind. He couldn't capture her, not in his current state, if he had to explain to Percy. But she couldn't stay here, especially if he read the situation right. A glimpse of a solid white bandage under her wig told him that she had also been admitted to the hospital, which in all likelihood meant there was a Division unit assigned to her. If they discovered her missing, their orders would be shoot-to-kill. He hesitated for a beat, savoring the closeness of their proximity, before feigning disgust at his weakness and her light hearted overtures.

Michael pushed her away with all the force he could muster, avoiding her pointed gaze. When Nikita made no move to leave, he tasted bile. She had to make him say it, to confess, to put it into words that he cared more for her than for any Division directive. He wondered sometimes if she took too much after Amanda in that regard, the effortless way that she would pick at his scars until they bled once more.

"Get the hell out of here!" Michael snapped, eyes averted, unwilling to see the triumph in her eyes as he lets her go again, again and again. In the long run, it didn't matter, he told himself. Division would be crawling all over them at any time, if words were what she wanted, then he would give them, if only it meant that she would leave and live to run another day.

Nikita watched the gamut of emotions flash across Michael's face and felt his hurt like it was her own. Whether she was fully cognizant of it or not, there was always something cruel about the way she expected him to give in to her and to understand her without opening herself to him. She chose to protect herself and blissfully ignored the person who stood by her through thick and thin. How could she be so righteous of what she was doing to Division when she was perpetuating her own brand of manipulation on the person least deserving of it?

Drawing in a shaky breath, Nikita leaned down and propped Michael up with her shoulder.

"I'm helping you stand up straight, old man, because I want to say this to your face."

Her solemn countenance dared him to denounce the 'old man' quip. He figured the worst was yet to come and said nothing.

"I want your help," she announced succinctly. He gaped incredulously at her as she forged on, "I can't do this without you."

Michael blinked in rapid succession, his pulse flailing behind his eye sockets. He was so much at a loss for words that he ignored the way his memory pinged at her last sentence, and nearly stuttered as he exclaimed in disbelief, "Are you insane?" Her entreaty scared him, scared that she would take such a risk on him, and scared that he might actually do it for her.

"I've never been saner in my life. I should have done this a long time ago," she concluded for him before stepping forward, erasing the distance between them so that they were closer than close, breathing the same air.

Michael froze, his brain still stuck in a jumble as Nikita leaned in languidly, a dangerous smile on her lips. Her fingers reached for his face, the tips massaging through the dark stubble that had accumulated around his hard jaw and cheeks. She waited, watching from under her lowered eyelids as his lips parted instinctively, on cue. With a victorious glint in her eyes, she closed the last inch between them.

And all his thoughts flew out the window.