:) Good morning everyone!
I know it's been long, too long and I understand you were impatient to know how the story ends but some of you were leaving angry comments and quite honestly I didn't like it.
I haven't forgotten about the story and I definitely haven't forgotten about you my beloved readers :) But I've been working all summer so when I've had some free time I really wanted to spend it with my friends in the sun rather than in front of a computer. That's why finishing this chapter took longer than I expected.
I don't know how many times have I edited it but it's finished now. I dedicate it to each and every of you as a thank you for all this time and all your reviews and words of motivation.
For the last time, enjoy! :):):):):)
Beware, it's loooong...
Part XIX
His worst nightmare comes true, she doesn't show up.
Michael feels like a complete fool while glancing at his watch, which ticks up to 12.16 p.m., leaving no doubt that Nikita is not coming.
"This is a farce, Mr. Bailey." Man with short, grey hair speaks angrily. His navy, cashmere suit looks ridiculously in dingy motel room. "We drove through half of a town in rush hours, only to end up in some disgustful motel room, which by the way, is charged by the hours. I have a reputation to maintain, Mr. Bailey. Where is this alleged witness you were talking about?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure she's on her way. Let me just call her, ok?"
Michael dials her number, stuffing left hand into his pocket hoping that Judge Stiles doesn't notice his trembling fingers or the sweat running down his neck. But hiding his true emotion is something he developed perfectly throughout his career as NYPD Detective. He listens patiently to the steady beeping, watching the pulsing vein on Stiles's forehead wondering if he already regrets the rash decision to help him. Judge made him a great courtesy, agreeing to meet in such short notice with no details, just vague info that they will meet a potential crown witness and it requires absolute discretion.
Michael ends the connection when the answering machine asks him to leave a message.
"Maybe we could take a coffee. There is a nice place nearby where we can-"
"That's it, Detective. I can't wait any longer, I owed you one and I wanted to help. But this? This is absurd. Next time you ask me a favor, make sure that you need one."
Michael doesn't try to stop him from leaving anymore. He mumbles the words of apology which are drowned out by the noise of the door slamming.
He lets it all out once he's left alone in the room. Flame of irrational anger swells inside him as he starts to search the room carefully, looking for a note, a sign that she didn't bail on him again.
Would it really hurt if she listened to him once? Just once! When he finds nothing, out of pure frustration Michael punches the wall with bare fist. Coarse surface of the wall gashes the skin on his knuckles. Damn it! He curses as the pain doesn't bring relief, only more anger.
He is wiping his hand with bathroom towel, watching as the scarlet stains form on it's white surface when he gets a text.
Michael grabs the phone, trying to unlock the screen with his left hand, hesitating for a second when he sees Nikita's number.
I know I shouldn't text you and I'm sorry I didn't show up. Something held me up. You'll understand everything when we talk. Meet me at Kensington Rd 334 ASAP.
If Michael would think clearly he'd remember that Nikita would never break their protocol like that, sending a traceable message and he'd notice the unusual urging tone in her text.
But he hasn't slept for three nights in a row and his judgment is clouded so he forgets about the stained towel, his bleeding hand and caution. He leaves the Motel room in a rush, texting her hurriedly
On my way.
A loud ring, signaling new message brings uneasy feeling, coiling her stomach into a tight knot.
She doesn't know what the message is, she doesn't have to. She can see it in his smile - victorious and presumptuous as John Foldman puts her phone back into his pocket.
"He won't show up." Nikita says, trying to make her voice sound strong. "Michael's too smart. He will know it's a set up."
It doesn't spoil his perfect mood even for a moment. "Oh trust me, he will show up. Michael might be my best detective and he might be smart but he has one fatal liability- you."
24 hours earlier:
"Let's hope it will work. " Nikita turns from the window as Michael ends the connection.
Air is thick, the heavy scent of mold mixed with the cheap air freshener irritates his nose. Yet the Sunrise Motel is the perfect place for their secret meetings. Staff here was well-trained how not to pay unnecessary attention. It provides them anonymity they need.
"It will." Michael states calmly, observing her vague figure in the dim light. Drawn blinds shut most of the light down, making the dark, late night atmosphere. "As long as you will show up tomorrow."
"No worries." Her tone is firm as if she'd feel offended by his doubts. "Are you sure that Judge Stiles can be trusted?"
Michael smiles ironically remembering that Nikita is a walking proof of his bad people instinct. She probably thought the same thing because the red heat travels up her face from the neck up to her cheeks. He'd never think she can blush. And he'd never think she can look that cute doing so.
"He owes me a favor, and he is the kind of a man who keeps his word, so, yeah I'm pretty sure."
"What do you mean, he owes you a favor?" Nikita asks, a wrinkle of incomprehension forms on her forehead.
"Long story short: When I was still in the Road Patrol Unit, I caught his 15 years old daughter on speeding. Instead of locking her up for 24 hours in a holding cell, I drove her back home, and left the whole incident out of report, under the condition that Stiles will keep an eye on her. He kind of did, because now she's finishing the Law School and she wants to work in the DA's Office."
"You still keep in touch with them?" She is surprised hearing a hint of jealousy in her voice.
" From time to time." Michael answers vaguely.
There is a loud creak coming from the sofa when Michael stands up. "Let's go through it again." He begins to pace the motel room. "I have a scheduled appointment with Stiles at 12.00, As far as everyone knows, we are meeting for a dinner, but once I am with him alone, I make sure nobody follows us and then we come here. You wait here with the evidence. We give him the files, he gets you in the witness protection program, place you in a secure location and- "
Michael pauses as his eyes darts quickly to Nikita's face, seeing that something is bothering her.
"Did I miss something?"
Michael is well aware of the fact that Nikita was against the idea of involving anyone else, but they have talked about it and he thought he managed to convince her.
"No." Nikita shakes her head slowly, silently weighting her next words. She just realized that something is very, very wrong with their plan. "It's just that…..If everything will go as planned we will never see each other again."
Her words surprise him, and he doesn't know how to react. He stops in front of the window, suddenly very interested in the couple fighting on the parking lot two floors below them. The woman looks angry and hurt but the way she is looking at the man, with complete care and devotion, even though she is obviously very mad at him, melts his heart. We can't choose the people we fall in love with.
"We will." He finally speaks, turning around to look at Nikita, with gentle smile which is supposed to say 'everything is okay' while it was not. " I still have to testify on the trial."
Voices from outside are even louder now and Michael moves back from the window, trying not to listen to the pain and disappointment in woman's voice.
"Get some rest and try to relax." He looks down at Nikita for a long second, his eyes soft as he takes in her features – dark circles under eyes, pale skin. " You could use some sleep. See you tomorrow. "
"Tomorrow." Nikita nods and watches Michael leave. Door click shut and she hears his footsteps on the hallway, dying away, mixing with the street hum.
I still have to testify on the trial.
It certainly wasn't the answer she expected.
It was their habit to leave the motel in 15 minutes space and it was her habit to take an extra walk around the premises, just to make sure everything looks normal.
But not this time. This time she is walking towards the main lobby with eyes fixed on the floor, baseball cap on her blonde hair pulled lower, blind and deaf to everything around. Could it be that easy? Could she convince this Judge to believe her and more importantly, could she trust him with her own life? Be sure that he'll do is job? She always believed that the only person she could really rely on was herself. But then again, what choice does she really have?
The battle of thoughts in Nikita's head is probably why she doesn't notice the man in a cowboy hat in the hallway, and that's why she bumps on him. His strong arms holding her elbow rescue her from collapsing on the floor.
"I'm so sorry. " She mumbles intending to walk away but he still holds her shoulder.
"Are you in love, young lady?"
The voice sounds familiar. She wants to look up at the man but before she manages to do that, she feels a sharp sting on her neck.
"You are causing trouble miss Mears. Too much trouble."
The cold whisper is the last thing her mind registers before she succumbs to the darkness.
Now:
"You're never gonna get away with it." Nikita hisses with gritted teeth, fighting with the ties around her wrists even though the rope bruises her hands. She stares at the man who took everything from her and she is no longer confused or scared. She feels hate and desperate need to see him crawl in pain.
"Don't you see it? I already did. I will have here all the people who knows what I've done." Foldman laughs glancing at her with pity. "But I admire your spirit. You really are your father's daughter. "
"Do not talk about my father." She snaps and glances discretely at the two windows on the opposite wall, too small and too high to even think of escaping. Her eyes wander around the room, looking for anything that could be used as a potential weapon. She finds nothing and wonders what are the odds that she'll get out of here alive.
"Your father could achieve a lot you know. He had the spirit. And the smile - people loved him. The only thing he was missing was reason..."
"The only thing he was missing was a friend." Nikita speaks. "You betrayed him. He came to you because he suspected Kerrigan was embezzling money. He didn't realize it was you the whole time."
What happens next baffles Nikita. She would expect everything: outrage, negation, even defense. But she would never expect Foldman's laugh. It's a cold, soulless laughter that brings chills on her back.
"You really think your father caught me on stealing money?" She looks for any sign of deceit on his face but she finds nothing.
"Oh, Nikita….you have no idea what really happened 13 years ago. No idea."
Nikita can't really understand what he is talking about. She observes Foldman in complete silence wondering if he starts to lose his mind. She knows exactly what happened. She remembers every detail of the night her parents were murdered, she discovered the reason why it happened and now she is looking at a man who did it. What could she possibly miss?
When Jon Foldman speaks again, Nikita forgets about the ties on her wrists, about the basement, about escaping. She stares at him, listening to the most unbelievable story in her whole life.
"You're lying." She says but her voice comes out raspy, barely audible. The word partner reverberates in her head, making her feel sick.
It was my idea but your dad… he was my partner. We were both stealing the money.
"You're lying." She repeats, her voice almost hopeful.
"Why would I lie? I mean, we are past that stage, aren't we?"
"My father would never-"
"Oh trust me, he would." Foldman snaps, disappointed with her naivety. "And everything worked perfectly until your mother found out about it and threatened him with divorce. She wanted to take you away from him. And he was stupid enough to listen to her. He wanted to end it and come clean about it. Can you believe it? He'd jeopardize everything! And for what? For some bitch and the kid. I had to do something about it."
Her carefully constructed universe crashes down. For all these year one thing kept her going- the memory of a happy family that was taken away from her. Her good, noble, righteous father - her idol, who taught her how to ride a bike, tie the sailor's knots and how to respect every living creature She didn't want to believe that her memories were just a wishful thinking even when Will showed her divorce papers. As much as she'd want it not to, every missing piece found it's place. She glances at Foldman with complete despair when she realizes he's telling the truth.
Michael turns left and curses under his nose once he realizes, he got lost again. He has never been in this neighborhood before and every street looks exactly the same. Rows of identical houses with freshly mowed lawns and picked fences. His phone starts to ring but he ignores it, driving forward into the narrow street, looking for a place to turn back, wondering what Nikita could possibly find in a place like this.
The phone rings for the third time.
"Yes?" He snaps, irritated.
"Michael? " He hears Barry's voice. "Where are you man? Don't you want at least pretend that you will show up at work today? "
"Sorry, I'm busy." He says turning back on the driveway. He doesn't bother with finding a good excuse.
"I'm covering for you right now, but when Foldman gets back I will need something more convincing than your Aunt's appendicitis."
"Wait-Foldman is not at the Precinct?" Michael's heart speeds up as he realizes his own stupidity.
"Yeah, he went on some meeting in the city. It was 5 hours ago and he doesn't even pick up his phone. Everyone is so snappy today, I can't even-"
Foldman is out of reach and Nikita sends him weird text. That can't be a coincidence.
"I've got to go, Chase." He hangs up despite his friend's protests.
Now, Michael is fully aware of the trap he might walk in. But he doesn't turn back the car, he speeds it up.
"Do you know what I always say to my people? Never neglect your case, because sooner or later it will bite you in the ass. Well, here I am, victim of my own words."
Nikita rolls her eyes, irritated and bored since Foldman suddenly felt the urge to share his life story with her. She pretends to listen while in fact she is still working on loosening her ties. Few more minutes and she'll be free.
"…I didn't know you were home that night. Of course I've had a chance to kill you at the hospital but you were just a sweet child who had no idea about our schemes or about who was in your house that night. I've had too soft heart to kill you. I knew you are not a threat but I felt a bit relieved when they found you dead three years later. Or so I thought…" he pauses and sighs just like he'd talk about good old times with his beer buddy. " And suddenly, almost 10 years later, you walk in to my precinct. How ridiculous that sounds, right? I didn't recognize you at first, not until Thomas called me and started talking about your dad. He said that you brought up the memories, that there was something oddly familiar in you. So I looked into you. Everything was fine, almost too perfect - that's what caught my attention. I decided to try the other way and look into files of Mia Sommers which –imagine my surprise- disappeared from the system. That hacker boy of yours - the lizard- I have to say he was good. But not that good. He didn't know that before 2005 we were keeping spare paper copy of all files in the archives. I knew yours must be there too. I went to the archives and imagine my surprise when I found it. Thick folder of your life adventures with a photograph that didn't leave a doubt that we have a fraud in our unit. All I had to do was to point the boys in the right direction and wait."
She feels the rope loosening and she knows that the timing couldn't be better, Foldman has lost his caution in favor of gloating and it was a perfect moment to strike. But then she hears the crunch of a gravel and a car pulling in on the driveway.
Foldman stops his monologue and his face spread in a smirk.
"Looks like we've got company."
"It's between you and me, Foldman. Don't drag Michael into this." She whispers, hoping he doesn't hear the panic in her voice.
Foldman glances at Nikita with satisfaction. Her eyes glisten with fear and desperation. Not so tough after all.
"You dragged him into this the moment you jumped into his bed. I know Michael well enough to know he wouldn't stop asking questions if they found your body. You've made a lot of mess Miss Mears, but It ends today."
"Show time." He grabs her elbow and forces her to stand up. Then He hits her with the barrel of his gun and she loses consciousness once again.
Michael pulls in on the driveway. He approaches the house carefully, peeking into the windows, listening for any suspicious noises. House seems to be empty and silent like a grave.
He takes out his gun and presses the door handle. It's peaceful. Too peaceful, just like a sea before a storm, filled with dangerous silence that is only a promise of something horrible.
Heart sinks in his chest as the unimaginable thought creeps into his mind. Is he too late?
He hears a rustle behind and before he manages to turn around, Michael hears a well-known voice.
"Put the gun on the ground, Michael."
"No tricks. Don't turn around. Just put it on the ground and slide towards me."
"To do that, I'd have to turn around." Michael points out, at the last moment he manages to hold back 'sir'. Old habits die hard.
"Well, you've always been a smart ass. That's why I liked you."
Michael slowly raises his hands and turns around to face his own boss keeping him on the gunpoint.
"Where is she?" he asks kicking his Glock in Foldmans direction.
"Where she belongs. Under the ground." Foldman's voice is cold and chilling. He stares at his subordinate with evil smile, watching as the blood rushes down from his face. „Relax. She's downstairs." He rolls his eyes pointing the basement door behind him.
"Shall we?"
"What did you do to her?" Michael asks when he sees Nikita's unmoving body on the basement floor. Despite the desert heat outside, he is freezing cold.
"Nothing yet."
"Let her go." Michael demands not letting his eyes of her.
"Hate to break it to you but I'm the one holding the gun here. That means I dictate the terms."
"But I'm the one who has given the evidence that prove you were on three murder scenes including your old friend Thomas Kerrigan's to DA's Office this morning. You can kill us both but you lose anyway."
. "Let's suppose you're not bluffing and those documents do exist…. So what?" Foldman shrugs his shoulders. "You know what you do when you can't deny evidence?"
Michael doesn't answer, still staring at Nikita hoping she'd twitch or do anything that would mean she's alive. Sunlight coming through the window creates soft shades on her hair.
"Destroy their credibility. What more is it worth than a piece of paper when you are found dead and Nikita is the one holding the gun? Another victim of unstable girl, who deluded a fancy conspiracy."
" I can't believe I was so blind." Michael speaks turning his gaze back to his boss. "I looked up at you. I respected you. And you were just a scungy piece of shit."
"Watch it." Foldman snaps angrily. "I still have your girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"So why are you here?"
Michael was asking himself the same question.
"It's nothing personal, son. I always liked you, you know that, do you? But you got into wrong woman's pants, that's all. I will make sure your funeral is with all honors. I will personally give you a decent eulogy." He unlocks the gun, points it at Michael and that's when something hits his head.
Nikita regains her consciousness but she doesn't move, partly because her head is pounding and partly because her right arm- the one she was laying on- is numb and stiff. She can hear some voices but for a while words are mixed into a cloud of noise. It takes her a moment to remember why is she lying tied up on the floor stinking with mold and why does her head hurt so much.
Nikita opens her eyes slowly and she sees that Foldman is turned with his back to her. Michael is standing few feet away from him and he looks furious. Nikita is sure that if Foldman would't keep him on the gunpoint, Michael would tear him apart with his bare hands. She continues to fight with her ties, silently, listening to their conversation.
" So why are you here?" Foldman asks, but Michael doesn't bother answering.
"It's not personal, son. I always liked you, you know that, do you?" Her hands are free and her heart is pounding in her chest so loudly that she fears he might hear it. She glances at Michael and their eyes meet just for a split second before Michael turns his gaze back to Foldman.
"But you got into wrong woman's pants, that's all. I will make sure your funeral is with all honors. I will personally give you a decent eulogy."
She hears the click of unlocked gun and that's when she makes her move. Nikita jumps out like a bullet, hits Foldman in the head with her elbow but the gun fires anyway. Foldman covers head with his hands, falling on his knees. The gun hits the floor beside him and Nikita kicks it away.
She glances at Michael who- just a moment ago- was standing by the door and now is laying beside it, unmoving.
"No" Nikita screams and that's when something snaps inside her.
She attacks Foldman blindly, scratching, punching and kicking. She wants to inflict pain, make him suffer and she loses control.
She watches as he cringes when her hits land on his face, his chest and abdomen but all she can really see is Michael's unmoving body, Will's pale, lifeless face and her parents coffins.
He waits for her to make a mistake and when she does, he grabs her left hand and twists it, making Nikita fall on her knees and before she can react she sees his hand falling on her arm.
She hears a horrible sound of breaking bone before she can feel anything. Pain comes moments later, striking with full force and taking her breath away. She clutches her limp arm to her chest.
This is the moment of advantage, Foldman uses, he knocks her down on the floor with one kick to the stomach and then he is on top of her, his fingers clenched around her throat, watching as she chokes, unable to fight back, overwhelmed by massive waves of blinding pain in her arm.
She waves her right hand blindly, scratching his face, driving her fingernails into his skin. His grip is strong and she can't take a breath.
When he raises a little bit to change the position, she automatically kicks him in the groin with her knee and the grip loosens. She crawls from under him and she is finally able to suck in a breath. The air burns her lungs when -still choking and coughing- she notices a blink of the metal just few meters away. They both reach for it but she is just a second faster, her fingers clench around the cold metal and she turns around, firing twice, watching as his body stops and two red dots on his shirt grow wider into scarlet circles. Foldman collapses on the floor with complete shock as the last emotion engraved on his face.
She lays on the floor, gasping for air, the gun falls from her hand, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Whole room spins around just like a carousel and she tries to regain focus, find Michael in this maze of lines and colors.
She sees him beside the wall, a grimace of pain on his face, hand clutched to is chest but definitely breathing. A glimpse of hope wakes up in her and she struggles to stand on her feet but she collapses again so she crawls right to him, praying for him to be-
" I'm ok." He gasps but she tears his jacket anyway, breathing with relieve when she feels the Kevlar vest under her palm. It has a round dimple in the place where the bullet hit him.
She doesn't realize she's crying until she feels burning tears rolling down her cheeks and she wants to to hug him, to feel the warmth of his skin, grateful that Michael is such a dutiful cop and always follows the protocol.
But she doesn't because that's when the hell breaks loose.
"Put your hands in the air and move back from him." Someone shouts and suddenly they are not alone. Men in dark uniforms storm into the basement.
She freezes still looking at Michael. With fear, disorientation. Her hand hovering just inches away from his cheek.
"Move back! Or I'm shoot you." Man keeps her at the gunpoint. She can't see his face because he wears a black goggles, helmet and black bulletproof vest. The the only thing that wasn't black in his outfit were four white letters on his chest- SWAT.
"Hands in the air!"
Lurching, she tries to do so but her body doesn't cooperate. She slowly raises on trembling legs, trying to raise hands but the broken arm falls limply on her side.
"Don't shoot! Leave her alone!" Michael screams, but they are louder. More and more soldiers storm into the basement.
Before she can react she's flat on the ground, blinded by shot of pain when they twist her broken arm behind her back.
"My arm…" She wants to scream but her voice is barely a whisper. Someone is already pulling her up and she almost faints, unable to take in a breath, stabbing pain piercing her body with every move. She is escorted from the basement and she stumbles on the stairs, because she still looks back, her eyes fixed on Michael, wondering if she'll ever see him again.
First thing she feels is a smell of the detergent, strong and acrid, mixed with something else, more delicate and flowery.
Then she starts to hear noises. The buzz of machines. Quiet talking. She lies still savoring the peacefulness and the soft comfy bed. As her other senses are waking up, she feels something is wrong. Her left arm is heavy and stiff, her head throbbing. She lifts her right arm to scratch it but something clings and it falls back on the mattress. Her eyes snap open and she realizes she's in a hospital room. Her left arm is plastered and on a sling.
Then she looks down to see what stopped her hand and she moans.
Handcuffs. She is handcuffed to the bed.
Shit.
Nikita falls back on the pillows with a heavy sigh as the memories come back. She must have passed out in the police van. She looks around and sees normal-size and bar-free windows. It's not a prison. Or at least not technically- she glances at the metal ring around her right hand. In the corner, on the little table she finds the source of the flowery smell. It's a small bouquet, roses and tulips with some gardenias. Her lips pull up in a wide smile.
She hears the footsteps closing in and a quiet conversation behind the door before it opens and nurse comes in. Man in uniform closes the door behind her.
So if somehow handcuffs, pills and the plaster wouldn't be enough to stop her from killing somebody, there was also a meathead in uniform outside her room.
The nurse is young and pretty, her dark blonde hair is pulled up in a bun. Dark circles under her eyes betray she's exhausted but she has the most friendly and natural grin Nikita's seen in a long time.
"Good afternoon." She says cheerfully carrying the thermometer and IV Bag. Nikita tries to respond but her mouth forgot how to speak. The nurse doesn't seem to be estranged by the handcuffs and helps Nikita place the thermometer under her armpit before she changes the IV bag.
"How are you feeling?"
Nikita nods, hoping it would suffice for an answer.
"How long am I here?" Her throat is coarse, voice raspy. Nurse hands her over a glass of water.
"Thank you." Nikita says with more normal voice as the water sooths her dry throat.
"They brought you yesterday's evening, honey."
"Was anyone…. Was anyone else brought with me?"
"Who would that be?"
"Man… about six feet tall, mid 30s, probably broken ribs?"
"Nah, I don't recall such patient…."
Nikita feels a bit of relief thinking that maybe his injuries weren't so serious and he didn't have to see the doctor. But then she remembers that Michael would never go to the doctor voluntarily.
"How long do I have to stay here?"
"You suffered a nasty concussion and we need to monitor you just to make sure there isn't any hematoma or other complication. Couple of days I think but…." she throws a glance at the door and hushes her voice. " If you'd still feel faint or dizzy, we would have to prolong your stay here." She winks at her. "I don't like that guy."
Nikita smiles to her, surprised with the kindness. Nurse takes out the thermometer.
"I will check up on you in couple of hours. Try to get some sleep." She leaves, closing the door silently. Nikita closes her eyes few minutes later, surprised how tired she is.
Voices behind the door wake her up again few hours later. Not just any voices, she recognizes one of them instantly and before the door opens, she pulls up in the bed to the sitting position, handcuffs cling again.
"Hey" Nikita says when she sees Michael entering the room but he doesn't answer. He stops midway and with his brows furrowed and complete shock he stares at her bed.
"Officer?" He calls the big guy at her door.
"Yes sir?"
"Take it off." Michael points the handcuffs.
"But…sir I got strict orders….."
"Now you got an order from me. Take it off. It's 8 floor for God's sake, you are twice her size and guarding the only exit. Take it off or I will make sure you end up writing tickets on the Lincoln Avenue."
With a heavy sigh and burning cheeks pursed lips, Deputy Officious takes her off the handcuffs.
"Thank you." She says to Michael once they're alone again.
"Surprise me and don't try to escape." He whispers eyeing her up. "Trust me, It would bring more damage than good."
She sees that he is breathing with effort, standing rather stiffly. "How are you feeling?" She asks concerned.
"I've had worse." He looks around, his gaze stopping on the flowers in the corner.
"They are pretty." Nikita says, convinced flowers are from him.
"They are from the SWAT team leader." For some reason Michael seems amused.
"Oh…"
"Thanks to them you have an arm broken with dislocation. They were afraid you could press charges."
"And they figured that bunch of tulips will change my mind?" Nikita says derisively. Michael just shrugs his shoulders, trying to hold back laugh.
"How exactly did they found us there?"
" They traced the text Foldman sent me from your phone." Michael explains.
"Well, they could have hurry up a little bit more." Nikita sighs, falling back on the pillows.
There is a heavy silence before any of them speaks again.
"Listen… " Michael begins with more serious tone. "All three murder charges were dropped but there is still plenty they can accuse you of. " He hands her a business card. "My good friend is a lawyer and promised to take your case."
She nods as a silent thank you. Grateful and a little disappointed of the reason of his visit.
"So this is it?" She says more to herself than to him, turning the card in her hand.
"Yeah." He nods. "This is it."
"Take care of yourself, ok?"
She feels panic, realizing that their meeting comes to an end. She wants him to stay but she isn't able to say the words.
"Michael?"
"Yes?"
"Could you throw them out?" She points the flowers which suddenly seem ugly.
"With pleasure." He grabs the bouquet and nods at her in silent goodbye. His hand lingers on the door handle for a moment too long, before he leaves.
She hasn't seen him for three months, busy with preparation for her trial. Many times she was putting up the phone to call him but never had enough courage to press the green button. She didn't know if she was just giving him space or was it fear that he might have moved on.
But that road goes both ways so she always keeps her phone by her side and makes sure it's charged. Just in case.
She's eating breakfast, turning the pages of the newspaper, browsing through job ads but finds nothing interesting. Truth is, she liked working at the Precinct, analyzing and solving cases, going back to the Diner wasn't an option anymore.
The sharp ring of the phone makes her twitch, she glances at the caller's ID ,a little bit disappointed, seeing her lawyer's number. She takes another spoon of cereal before picking up.
"Yes?" she covers the microphone with her hand so he doesn't hear the crunching.
"Nikita, sorry for the early time, but I am calling with good news. All charges against you were dropped. You are free and clear."
"What?!" She chokes with cereal. "How?"
She knows if she'd call him he probably wouldn't pick up. Showing up at his doorstep would be inappropriate. So she chooses the most neutral way. She is sitting on the stairs of the apartment building from where she has great view at the Precinct.
When he walks out of the building she takes the sunglasses off and runs up to him.
Michael doesn't notice her at first, focused on finding his car keys.
"Hey" She speaks and he turns around quickly surprised hearing her voice.
"Hey…. What are you doing here?" Michael asks, even more surprised with what he sees. Her hair is shorter now and back to its natural dark brown shade. She looks amazing and he can't stop staring.
"Waiting for you." She smiles. "I was just wondering if you would let me invite you for a cup of coffee. We have something to talk about."
"I really have to-"
"It won't take long and I know you have two hours off."
"How did you-" And then he remembers who she is. "Never mind. I don't want to know."
She smirks. Thanks to the few tricks Will taught her, she could still get into the Precinct database with one hand behind her back.
He looks at her suspiciously for a moment before agreeing. "Fine. Lead the way."
"Your hair is darker." He says when they sit at the table in Leland's Coffee.
"Yeah. Blonde wasn't really my thing."
"It looks good." He says and he almost laughs at himself. Smooth Michael.
"Thank you."
Her hands fidget on the table, fingers playing with each other as they keep staring at each other awkwardly, both searching for the right words.
"I don't know if you heard but they dropped the charges. Turns out, that a NYPD detective vouched for me and claimed I was a valuable asset in the investigations. I wanted to thank you.
"I only told them what I thought is true."
"So you admit that I made a hell of an agent?" She smirks.
"Don't push it." Michael shakes his head but can't hide the smile. His eyes glisten with the joy she hasn't see there for months. Heart flutters in her chest. Both of them joking and smiling, first time since God knows how long. She didn't realize how much she missed that.
"Now we're even. You saved my life back there I saved your ass now."
We will never be even." Smile dies on her face and she looks him straight in the eyes. "If it weren't for me you'd never be suspended or on the run hiding from your own colleagues."
He hears a grief in it, the guilt. But he can't do anything about it.
"If it weren't for you I'd still be serving under murderer."
She feels a bit of relief. "I've heard you have a new captain."
"Yeah. He's kind of a strict one." He winces, taking a sip of coffee. "What are you planning to do now?"
"Since I have such a good recommendation I figured that I'd join the Police Academy."
Michaels eyes grow wide from shock. "Over my dead body."
"Relax…." She laughs and he can see the dimple in her chin again. "I'm Just kidding."
She needs to touch him. Desperately. So she reaches for the menu, accidentally brushing his hand with her. She feels jolt of electricity when their skin meet.
He notices a small tattoo on her wrist. A tiny lizard with green tail. A question dies on his lips.
"I've heard they have best coffee in town." he blurts out instead, feeling awkward.
"Mhm."
"Are you seeing someone?" Words escape her lips before she manages to hold them back. So she holds her breath and stares at him, waiting for an answer like a sentence.
The nod of his head is slight but definite. "I think so. Yeah."
She doesn't flinch, still staring. She should have expected that but still….. it shocks her.
"We are going on a date tonight."
She smiles politely wondering why the hell is he telling her this.
"Actually that would be our first real date, although we know each other for quite a while." He can't stop talking. "I haven't asked her yet."
Is this how it's gonna be now? He will confide to her and expect she will act like some kind of old friend?
Nikita can't look at him anymore so she fixes her glance at the sugar bowl trying not to listen. Words fly around her but she doesn't acknowledge them, wishing him to stop already.
"So what do you say?"
"What?" her head snaps up at him, disorientated as she realizes she lost the thread.
"The date." He explains.
But then her eyes meet his, warm and loving and she sees his boyish smile, the one she fell in love with.
And she understands.
Her lips pull up in a smile when she says: "Yes. I say yes."
Michael wakes up first, like he always does. At first he soaks in the silence and the warmth of the sheets before opening his eyes, welcoming the morning glow filtering through the blinds.
It's still early: 7.14 a.m., everything is still, silence disturbed only by Nikita's rhythmical breathing.
He can see the sunlight touching her shoulder and the curve of her hip. The sheet she is covered with is tangled somewhere between her legs and elbows while Michael sleeps under the thick duvet, like every other normal person in January.
He tried to argue, when she didn't want the duvet anymore but as always, she didn't budge not convinced with his strong arguments about the wintry cold howling outside and the dreadful image of pneumonia. So from this day on, Michael was setting the temperature in their bedroom few degrees higher than usual.
It was not the only change in their sleeping habits in the last few months.
Nikita always loved to fall asleep in his arms, snuggled to his chest. She would rest her head in the crook of his collarbone and whisper goodnight to his ear.
Not anymore. Now she's complaining that her neck is sore in the morning when she falls asleep like that and it's too warm. He would just listen, knowing that this is what she needs now, to let it off her chest a bit, the fatigue, the stress and worries.
She hums in her sleep and then rolls over. Her face is now turned to his and he can see the peace and the stray strand of hair on her face. It still amazes him, how perfect she is.
He breathes in her scent, the light mix of pear, vanilla and something else. Something sweet and warming : hope.
Michael closes his eyes, dreaming, picturing how their life will look like very soon. He thinks about the ring with a small diamond hidden in his winter socks, waiting for the perfect moment.
He was planning it for weeks but always something was not right. He didn't get the reservation at their favourite restaurant. Nikita was working the late shift. They run out of tulips in the flower shop at the corner.
It's 7.32 a.m. she is still sleeping. With her lips slightly parted and tousled hair she has never been more beautiful.
Maybe he thinks so because he's not objective. And maybe because she's seven months pregnant and she carries his baby.
Michael leans in, placing a soft kiss on her warm skin, waking her up, smiling as she wrinkles her nose, mumbling something about few minutes longer.
Out of all perfect moments- this is the right one.
* THE END. *
P.S. A little explanation, because some of you might have forgotten - The lizard was Will's nick name and that's the meaning of Nikita's new tattoo ;)