Just Moments

Disclaimer: As promised this is from Michael's point of view, just after Sean shoots Brant in the basement in 2x19. I feel like there should be some sort of order to these chapters, but there isn't. It's just whatever pops into my head, or whatever scene I've been dying to explore from a different perspective at the moment I'm sitting down to write.

I can't believe the season is almost over already! I'm going through withdrawal symptoms just thinking about it and I might seriously die if they don't renew it for a Season 3.

Btw there are a couple projects going on for Maggie Q's b-day. There's still one or two days left to enter so go on twitter or tumblr and check it out.

She is the Sunlight

Nikita was injured, exhausted and her desperation wasn't going to be enough. She was far too weak to go up against Brant, and Michael realized with sudden icy fear that she was going to die right in front of his eyes.

And he couldn't reach her.

Michael's head was throbbing, he was bruised all over, and he was fighting to get his eyes to focus and his body to move when gunfire split the air. Brant let go of Nikita to spin towards this new threat, and Michael twisted a bit until he saw Alex and Sean on the stairs just above him. The former Navy Seal fired several more times at point-blank range and Michael turned to watch Brant fall backwards to the ground.

Nikita's gasping breaths filled the sudden silence as she fell to the ground and crawled quickly towards him. Michael struggled against his bound hands as Alex came to cut him free and Nikita reached out to place one shaking hand on his face.

He struggled to sit up, Nikita's frantic, broken face before him, and then he had her in his arms. She was shaking, her grip around him so tight he wondered how she could even breathe, and he wasn't ever letting her go. He cradled the back of her head and after a few moments began to murmur whatever soothing phrases popped into his mind. He wasn't sure afterwards what he even said but the trembling gradually left her body. She moved slightly to bury her face in his neck.

In a distant, distracted way Michael watched as Sean and Alex reported back to Birkhoff and then erased any traces of Nikita's presence from the house.

Alex came back to him. He didn't hear what she said, but he felt her hands under his elbow as she helped him get to his feet. He refused to even consider putting Nikita down, so she lay in his arms occasionally shaking from the aftereffects of electrocution. He was still slightly dizzy from Brant's kick to his head and Alex helped push him up the stairs and out to their waiting car. He slid into the back with Nikita still held securely to him.

"We're not going back for your other car," Sean said as he drove towards the highway. "Division could have rigged it with something on the off-chance you and Nikita escaped."

Michael didn't comment. After a moment he told Alex to call the cops and report that she'd heard gunfire at Brant's house. Then he turned back to Nikita and tuned the rest of the world out.

She was half-sitting, half-lying across his lap, her head pillowed against his shoulder and her arms loose around his neck. Her eyes were open but whatever she was seeing wasn't of this world and clearly her mind was replaying things it would be best to forget.

"Hey," he said gently. Her dark eyes flickered up to his. He reached out and lightly placed his lips against her forehead. "It's gonna be alright," he told her, projecting calmness and strength and willing her to believe him. "We're going to go home and Birkhoff will fuss, and Alex and Sean are safe, and Brant is gone, forever."

His arms tightened infinitesimally. "You're gonna be alright."

She seemed to drift off a bit after that. She was both mentally and physically exhausted but she seemed more numb and unconscious than truly resting. Michael stroked her side gently as he stared out the window and willed away the traffic that congested the bridges leading back to Long Island.

His mind kept replaying what happened in the basement; Nikita's tortured eyes as she told him she thought she was evil, the way she'd lashed out at him when he all but told her he couldn't live without her, and the way she had stared at him afterwards, waiting for his reaction. She had looked so lost, gazing at him as though afraid of his answer and yet needing so badly for him to say something to make it alright.

He'd been so afraid of saying the wrong thing.

He'd thought her distance for weeks now had had to do with Cassandra and Max - that she was pushing him away because she had thought they were what he wanted, that she had been afraid of being hurt, that she had been jealous even.

And that may have been a large part, but now looking back at it, he realized she had pulled even further away from after they found Carla. Carla, who had brought back every part of Nikita's messed-up childhood and teenage years with her.

Darkness. She thought she had darkness inside of her.

Michael supposed it made some sort of sense. Nikita had always been so good at understanding and thwarting the plans of bad men. She was the best assassin Michael had ever seen and the most badass woman he had ever met. She was one of the only people Michael knew who could stay one step ahead of Percy, and Amanda had always considered her Division's greatest success.

But Michael had never considered himself a saint either. He had done many things that he regretted, just like she had.

Nikita, though, had never had an ordinary childhood. And that he supposed was the real problem for her - the fact that she had killed a cop, even a corrupt one who had shot her friend - and had been sentenced to death even before she entered Division. That, on top of being Divisions' best, meant she saw herself as some kind of monster.

Alex, looking back at them both, didn't think that Michael realized he was scowling out of the car window. He probably hadn't realized that Nikita was lying in his arms just watching his face either. As Alex watched, Nikita took one of her hands and ran her fingertips lightly across Michael's cheek startling him. She traced the bridge of his nose, over his chin and then up until she brushed across his forehead smoothing out the lines from his scowl. As though she was memorizing his features. "What are you thinking about?" she murmured to him drowsily.

"That if Roan hadn't killed Gary I would go back there and make him suffer and then kill him myself," he told her, his voice gruff.

Nikita was silent for a moment, her fingers still lightly skimming Michael's features. "As someone very wise once told me," she told him quietly, "if I didn't have Gary, I wouldn't have you."

It always amazed Michael how strong she was, and there with her lying in his arms after suffering so much today, it hit him again how remarkable she truly was. He smiled and turned his head to kiss her fingertips.

…

Birkhoff was seriously hovering when Michael carried Nikita into the house.

"Is she alright?" He craned forward to catch a closer look at her. "Oh god she looks terrible!"

Michael shot him a half-hearted glare.

"Thanks a lot, Nerd," and there was Nikita's voice, exhausted but still alive with sarcasm. "I go through hell and all you care about is how I look. Typical guy."

Birkhoff cleared his throat. "She'll be fine," was his expert medical opinion and then he hurried off to get the painkillers obviously relieved.

Michael carried Nikita up yet another flight of stairs and then into the bathroom adjoining their room. "Ok, quick shower and then sleep. It's the only thing that's going to decrease those muscles tremors from electrocution."

She was fading fast. Michael put her gently on her feet – keeping on arm around her to steady her – and quickly removed her clothing. He pulled off most of his clothing as well before turning on the water and stepping with her under the spray. She leaned against him tiredly as he quickly washed her hair and skin.

He hauled her out quickly, toweled her hair dry, wrapped her in a large fluffy shirt, pulled on clean pants himself and then crawled into bed with her. The painkillers from Birkhoff were lying on their bedside table.

As he held her close and she dropped off into exhausted sleep he knew that only time would heal some of her wounds, and others would never heal at all. But as he had told her down in the basement, with both of them waiting to die, he loved every part of her. He loved every broken piece of her. He always would. If she ever left him, he knew he wouldn't be able to go on without her.

Since the day he'd met her, she had truly made his life worth living.

Note: Not sure if I made Michael too soft in this scene or Nikita too weak. Personally though, I feel like if I was electrocuted for hours I'd have been crying like a baby. And to everyone who reviews, I LOVE every single one of your comments so much! Thank you.