Set sometime during the latter half of season 1. Nikita is injured from a mission Michael didn't know about.
It was a rare day for Michael. He followed Percy around as he met with some powerful men on Division business. He had done so before, but under the role of security. That was Roan's job that time around, however. The head of agents was brought along to be shown some of the inner workings of the black ops organization. He thought it was a bit odd, but he had been trusted with more and more of those things lately. There was no down side to it, though, especially since at the end of the day he'd be able to relay all the information to Nikita. If he was being honest, he was more excited about seeing her than informing her of intel that could destroy Percy. The relationship between them was still so new, it wasn't fair that they couldn't spend more time together. Hopefully, that was something they could remedy soon.
When he entered her loft that night, the only evidence of his girlfriend (was that what they really were, 'boyfriend and girlfriend') was the running shower. Michael was a little disappointed by the fact. He had hoped to surprise Nikita at the door, and have her beam at him while she moved excitedly to greet him. But waiting for her was almost as good; he got to make himself comfortable, at least. However, as he removed his shoes and suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he heard loud bangs coming from the bathroom. The second the clatter ended, curses full of pain shrieked through the loft. He took off immediately to go to her aid, fearful and concerned about what he was going to find, "Nikita? Nikita!"
What sounded like a bewildered 'Michael?' came from the bathroom, yet he couldn't hear it above all the pain in her voice. Bursting through the unlocked door, green eyes scanned the wreckage for Nikita. A pair of crutches and the shower curtain were scattered on the floor, the heavily injured rogue beneath them. Michael rushed to help her stand, but pain had seized her body. He had to carry her out of the mess and sit her on the sink counter. She was soaking wet, yet he didn't care. The sight of her bruised and broken narrowed his concern. All he could focus on was ensuring that she was alright. Panic choked his voice and forced his body to remain as close to hers as possible, "What happened?"
"Good to know that you still don't know everything that happens at Division," A tight smirk pulled at her full lips as she attempted to play the whole thing off. His shirt was clenched in her white-knuckle grip, helping her ride through the wave of her discomfort, and fresh tears stained her paled cheeks. Of course a mission left Nikita devastatingly injured. Hot, boiling anger rolled through Michael at the fact that he didn't know about it. But he shoved it aside to hand her a towel, turn off the stream of water, and somewhat right the crutches and shower curtain. He'd have to fix those later. For the moment, it was all about helping her dry off and seeing what wounds needed healing.
"Who did this to you?" Michael couldn't stop the lividity from shaking his words. It got Nikita to look at him with her own concerned brown eyes. But he was too busy studying her injuries to notice. Her ankle was swollen and purple, explaining the crutches and probably how she fell out of the shower. A gash along her hairline and stitches under her collarbone were somewhat covered with bandages; they must've loosened under the spray of the water. Her lip was split, her chin was scraped, and her bronze skin from her shoulder down was spotted in bruises. All the scrapes and bruising appeared to only be on her left side. Her right, and stronger side, was practically unscathed. He had the sinking suspicion of how that came to be.
During recruit training, they taught them that if they ever needed to protect someone or something while fighting off attackers then to do so with their weaker side; that way, they can successfully save themselves and get out of the situation. Nikita always struggled with that, however. Amanda suggested it was something left over from foster care and living on the streets. Her priority was protection- she'd sacrifice her weaker side as long as someone stayed safe. Michael had always admired that about her. Yet before he could comment on it, or ask what she could've possible been protecting, she started to answer his previous question. It was as though she wanted to barrel right through what had happened, unwilling to dwell on what brought her pain, "You'll find out tomorrow when you see who died… holy fucking shit, Michael!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Honey. I didn't mean to," Instantly, Michael removed his hand from her ankle. That was the most concerning of all her injuries, and he was trying to figure out if it was sprained or broken. There was no doubt that it was broken, however; the slight touch he had lain on it proved as much. Nikita fought through the pain and tears, focusing instead on the fact that he had called her a term of endearment. It more than likely slipped out on accident, but the affection behind it was beyond sweet. She managed to somewhat smile and hand him the first-aid kit and wrap for her ankle that was across from her on the counter. He copied her grin, tenderly brushing her wet hair out of her face and beginning to dress her wounds.
"It's only a hairline fracture. Had to escape out the window barefoot and landed wrong on a rock. But I can take the compression wrap off to shower. Other than the stitched up stab wound, that I need to keep covered, the rest are just defensive," Nikita sounded a bit clinical as she informed Michael of her injuries. She was probably repeating what the doctor had told her. He guessed she had gone to the physician, who she trusted to keep quiet as long as she paid the right amount, based on the crutches and the dressing she had received. The rational part of him was proud that she took care of herself. Yet the part of him that was still encased in fear halted all movement at the word 'stabbed'.
"You were stabbed?" The tremble was still in his voice. It was a mixture of fear, anger, and hurt. Michael knew he wouldn't have been able to protect Nikita forever. But weren't some of his duties as her mole to try and help her no matter what. He didn't want to think about how he had failed her with the latest mission. Yes, he wasn't aware of every Division operation, yet he still could've done more. He shouldn't have let himself be distracted all day. He should've been in ops, directing agents away from her. Or, preferably, he should've been out in the field and done everything he could to make certain she got out alive.
"Yeah. Knife ended up in one of your guys," Doing her best to distract him, Nikita smirked. Michael only gave her a sorrowful look as he finished wrapping her ankle and moved to place better bandages on her wounds. She had hoped that they would've had that conversation later, when her injuries weren't so painful. She didn't need her boyfriend (that word sent a thrill of excitement through her) so concerned or angry. Knowing him, he was bound to rush off and make whoever had hurt her pay. As much as she admired his protective and devoted qualities, they had to keep playing it safe. No one could know of their recent relationship change. It was how both of them were going to survive.
"I should've been there," However, Michael didn't care about that. Nikita needed a partner. Not just people feeding her information and helping her ruin operations, but an actual partner- someone to have her back at all times, no matter what. That should've been him. Alex could handle the mole situation; she was a capable and impressive agent. He, on the other hand, would protect his girlfriend (he was certain that was what they were- partners in all things) at all costs. She couldn't keep running and gunning without a safety net to catch her. The next time she got injured that badly she might not make it home.
"To do what? Kill the other people you swore to protect," Nikita called him out for his irrationality, though. Michael's main mission inside Division was to protect and train the recruits. Whenever an instructor, or Amanda, or Percy were too harsh, he was there to swoop in and ensure they were okay. He actually cared for the agents in a world that didn't give a shit about them. He couldn't give all of that up for her. She didn't think it was fair. Others depended on him to have their back. She could share him in that regard, as long as she had his love (and him in her bed) all to herself.
Green eyes connected seriously with brown. Michael had finished re-dressing her wounds and shoved aside the supplies. He ran a towel gently over her skin and through her hair, drying her a bit more and trapping her gaze on him. Although Nikita had been flippant and light, attempting not to think about the hellish mission, every one of his statements had been more serious than the last. Her pain wasn't anything he was willing to joke about. He was determined to carry it all on his shoulders. He might not have known what that intense feeling was when he had first felt it. But as she continued to be in his life and as their relationship flourished, he realized his love for her was all consuming. If she died, so did he, "Yes."
"Well you're here now," Placing a comforting palm on his cheek, Nikita wasn't certain what else to say. It was always a series of firsts when it came to Michael; she was constantly surprised by the amount of love and devotion a single person could have for her. And not just some watered down, undercover version of herself, every single bit of her he loved and adored. He was absolutely willing to give it all up for her. Words escaped her at just the thought. How was she to express how deeply his feelings affected her. What could she possibly say to convey the same, when she had never done so before. Well, when she had never done so without negative consequences. But he would never do that. He would never hurt her.
Softly, Nikita kissed her love (which was a far better description than 'boyfriend'). She was cautious of the cut on her lip and the damage to her side. Yet when Michael kissed her back, she ignored all of it. She was patched up, and the ibuprofen she had taken (no pain pills, no matter how long she had been sober) had begun to course through her veins. She could handle strong physical affection. Besides, after going through hell she needed it. She wanted to feel alive and free in her partner's arms. He was hesitant, though. He didn't want her to strain herself. So, despite how great it felt to kiss her passionately, he pulled away, "Nikita. We shouldn't. You need to rest."
"Oh come on, Michael. I know you know I'm naked. So why don't you take me to bed. I can handle it," Nikita wiggled slightly on the counter. Michael had mostly studied her for injuries, but she had caught his eyes wandering to her bare chest and thighs. He had tried not to stare, which she thought was very gallant of him- he would never take advantage of her, something she was sadly not used to. However, the time for sorrow and hurt had to be over. They should move on together, prove they were stronger than their enemies. She emphasized her point by unbuttoning his dress shirt, and brushing his nose with hers. He flashed her a crooked yet endearing smile.
He let his shirt fall off his shoulders first before scooping her up in his arms. Michael made certain her uninjured side was pressed against his chest while he bridal carried her out of the bathroom. Nikita hid the wince and whimper that rose through her throat at the feeling of her ankle being jostled. She kissed her boyfriend, halting his movements. He didn't want to walk and kiss her at the same time. He knew he could do it, but the fear of dropping her was persistent. He'd allow himself to be single minded for a second. Sighing, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. Even with the destination of the bed in mind, her security was his utmost priority. She'd laugh at the ridiculousness if it didn't fill her heart with joy.
Eventually, he placed her gently on the mattress and moved to sit next to her. While Nikita started work on his belt and pants, Michael simply kissed her. That was all he could manage to do for the moment. He just wanted to kiss his girlfriend and breathe in the feel of her against him. His tenderness got her to slow down, and trail caressing hands over his sides. His fingers were in her wet locks, cradling her head and anchoring him to her. Both weren't aware of how long they remained like that, yet it seemed like a blissful forever- until, at least, their bodies ached to move from the position. He shifted to let his slacks and boxers fall, and she pushed herself farther back on the mattress.
Her ankle proved difficult again, however, as she didn't know what to do with it. No doubt the soft give of the bed would irritate the broken bone, yet she didn't want to put an end to things. Michael had a solution to that. He carefully took hold of her calf and pulled it over his shoulder as he got down on his knees in front of her. As he began to kiss her inner thighs, Nikita sighed in contentment. She laid one hand on her breast, while the other took hold of his on her hip. The second he licked her, though, her grip tightened and she moaned. He adjusted his hold to account for her fierce grasp, and continued to bring her pleasure. Her moans echoed her approval and encouraged him not to stop.
Everything besides pulsing hips and penetrating tongue and soon fingers melted from the couple's minds. Nikita was quickly reaching her peak and Michael was determined to send her over the edge. He shook his hand free from her grasp, reaching up to play with her breasts. The passion filled sensations overwhelmed her. She moaned hotly once she crashed into ultimate pleasure. He couldn't help but smile against her, and kiss his way up her heated bronze skin when she settled. Grinning at him in return, she sat up to pull him on the bed with her. He kissed her thoroughly, and slowly followed her command.
They struggled a bit to find a comfortable position. But it wasn't as though they were trying too hard as they kissed feverishly. Nikita ended up on her uninjured side, as Michael took hold of her calf to bring her broken ankle over his hip. That seemed like something the couple could both handle, so they collapsed there. Somehow, a condom was grabbed amidst their inseparable kisses and caresses. But protection was securely in place and he was finally able to enter her wet heat. Once again, moans and thrusting hips flowed through the couple. Yet, that time, the two were as one. They were truly partners in all things.
Taking their time, words of gratitude, adoration, and love was able to fill the space between the couple. They continued kissing, but it was sloppy from all their moans and gasps of hot breath. Neither minded, as long as their hips continued to drive the other insane. Hands moved to caress, except holding on to one another felt more important. Hearts just seemed lighter and freer at the feel of one another in their arms. Michael and Nikita weren't lost or torn apart. They were fiercely and strongly together. From their perspective in bed, souls and bodies connected as one, nothing could separate them- not even the threat of death.
She reached bliss again, but he was right behind her then. Nikita clung to her boyfriend, moaning love into his ear. Michael's heart burst, and he had to kiss her as he rode his own pleasurable high. More kisses were shared between the couple as their harsh breathing and writhing bodies settled. Yet he broke from them several times to express his love in return. His girlfriend beamed brilliantly after each one. He knew she was still coming to grips with someone adoring her so completely, but he wasn't going to let her go through that alone. Just as he wasn't going to let her heal from her injuries alone. He'd be there for her every step of the way; he'd have her back. And she wouldn't have it any other way.