Set post series, during the reunion timeline. Inspired by my ideas of the new big bad they are facing could be. Thanks again for all of your kind reviews, and for sharing the love with me.
"Shit. Michael can you come sweep the kitchen?" Glancing down at the mess she tracked in, Nikita closed the sliding doors carefully. Their beach house was elevated, but that didn't mean sand didn't love to make its way up the stairs and inside. Normal people's pests were termites and cockroaches, theirs was sand. Nikita didn't help matters by traipsing around barefoot and forgetting to wipe her feet. It was a good thing Michael liked to sweep the house regularly.
Nikita padded through the kitchen, setting down what she had brought in from outside on the counter. It was her and Michael's turn to host their monthly family dinner. They had been preparing most of the day for their friends to arrive and for the circus to begin. The house was clean, except for the stupid sand that she left on the tile. Food was almost done cooking; Nikita just brought in the burgers, chicken, and mushroom patty off the grill. Barkhoff had been given an adventurous bath; that dog really loved to play in the ocean, then roll in the sand. And paper plates were bought; after a smashed dish last dinner, they decided to forego breakable items. All that was left to do, was wait.
Finishing the side dishes, Nikita turned off the stove and closed the fridge. She tidied the area, and unwrapped the paper and plastic ware. Barkhoff trotted into the kitchen, immediately sniffing the food he hoped someone would sneak him. Of the dog's two owners, Michael was more likely to feed him from the table. He thought he was being sneaky about it, but Nikita always caught him. She found it too amusing to put a stop to it, though.
Thinking of the devil, Michael's smokey voice floated into the room, "Living room clear. Moving to the kitchen."
"What?" Confused, Nikita called out. He was using his mission voice, as though he was speaking into a com. She moved to get a better look at the entryway, hoping to figure out what the hell he was up to.
Michael entered the kitchen, a water gun in his hand. He was battle ready while he scanned over the room. Nikita bit her lip in an effort not to laugh out loud. Her husband was doing what she had asked, except with a different interpretation. Michael swept the area, and spoke to an imaginary partner, "Got a possible tango. Going to engage."
A second too late, Nikita realized what he was about to do. For the past couple of years, the two had been holding a drawn out water gun fight. It was under the guise of keeping their skills sharp. Between missions they needed to practice and be at the ready. What better way to do that, than surprise attacks with water guns. Nikita grabbed a paper plate to use as a shield, backing away from Michael. Though family dinner was always casual, she had done her makeup and hair for the night. There was no way in hell he was going to ruin it. She shook her head vehemently, "Don't you dare."
Her tone was full of warning. She could and would fuck him up if he shot her with water. Michael approached her anyway, his trademark smirk flashing menacingly. Nikita glared at him the whole time, clutching her makeshift shield. His smile grew, until he was close enough to strike. Instead, he simply gave her a quick peck on the lips, "Tango neutralized. Kitchen clear."
As he dropped the water gun and the act, she rolled her eyes. She tossed the paper plate at him like a frisbee. It hit him in the face before he could successfully catch it. Nikita smiled triumphantly, "Can you sweep up the sand now?"
"Maybe. What'll you do if I don't?" Quickly grabbing the water gun from his grasp, and aiming it at him was her answer. Michael nodded in acceptance, "You're a hard woman to say no to."
While he went to get a broom, Nikita tossed the toy on the counter and threw away the frisbee-plate. She set the table and he cleaned the floor. Over the years they had become very comfortable with their domestic bliss. Moments like that always left the couple with companionable silence and content grins. They knew they were the perfect team out in the field. Many experiences had taught them that. But being the perfect team at home took Michael and Nikita longer to learn. Their freedom allowed them that opportunity, however.
Closing the sliding door after sweeping the sand back outside, Michael glanced over at his wife. He laughed when he noticed her actions, "Where'd you learn to set a table like that?"
The table placement in question was set like it was for a state dinner and not a family barbeque. Nikita completed her task with a shrug, "Etiquette training taught me how to properly set fine china. And this is obviously our finest china."
"Oh, of course," He tried for seriousness, but it fell flat as he chuckled.
She laughed with him, "Paper and plastic is the best way to deal with these bastards."
He helped her bring the food to the table, slightly annoyed at the change of topic. He knew exactly what she was referring to, "Has Alex apologized to Birkhoff yet?"
"Uh, no. Why would she?" Nikita raised her eyebrows in question. She stopped with the table and faced her husband with crossed arms. Michael ceased as well, sighing. He didn't want to get into a fight over it. Whatever he was going to say, she would refute him and not change her opinion on the matter. It was better to give up, then to get into it right before they were supposed to have a relaxing time with family.
"Yes, he was in the wrong for hacking into her computer. But she was the one who threw the plate at him," Michael slowly settled on a response.
Nikita eased, accepting his olive branch, "We'll get them to talk it out tonight."
They nodded in agreement, and finished their dinner prep. Barkhoff had been circling their feet the whole time, still begging for food. When Nikita turned her back, Michael gave into his wishes. She rolled her eyes again. Rapid knocking on the front door drew the couple's attention. Crossing to the other room, Michael checked his watch, "They actually arrived on time."
"Sonya probably drove. Nerd's a little old grandma when it comes to rentals," Nikita quipped, hoping Birkhoff heard her. However, it was Alex that rushed into the kitchen. One of her blue eyes was swollen, and a deep gash ran along her cheek. Nikita stared in shock at her best friend's appearance. Michael had the same expression on his face as he returned to the room. Concerned and frightened, Nikita whispered, "Alex…"
"We gotta talk. Are the nerds here?" Alex interrupted, her throat hoarse.
Instinctively, Nikita sat Alex down and Michael reached for the first aid kit under the sink. She examined the woman's injuries, shifting into secret agent mode, "Who did this to you? What happened?"
Alex shifted away from Michael's attempts to patch her up, instead focusing on her best friend and repeating her question, "Are the nerds here?"
"Not yet," Michael answered sternly, turning Alex to face him so he could clean her cut, "Just tell us what happened."
"Remember when I said I'd tell you about Houston in person?" Quietly, she asked.
Crouching to connect her brown eyes with her blue, Nikita remembered, "Did you run into another nasty human trafficking ring?"
There was a long pause before Alex shook her head. She let Michael patch her up and chose her words carefully, "I was only there to give a presentation. I didn't even go looking for them at first."
"Who's them?" Michael fished out an icepack from the freezer for her eye.
"I don't know. But I saw them coming out of a warehouse on my way back to the hotel one night. Their movements looked familiar, so I followed them…" She trailed off, lost in thought. Nikita and Michael shared a worried glance. Whatever she was trying to share with them, they had the sinking feeling that it was going to shake up their world. Alex took a calming breath, pushing forward, "I tried to dig up some more info before I talked to you guys. But nothing came up. So I went back to where I followed them. They were waiting for me though."
Nikita came to the conclusion on her own, "And they got a couple of hits in before you escaped, and rushed out here."
She nodded. Michael wasn't quite satisfied with her answers, and he pressed for more, "What was familiar about their movements? Why follow them?"
The woman's blue eyes lit with anger and determination. It was the most emotion she had shown since arriving at the front door, "They're a black ops mercenary group."