"It's not the same as your CIA issued one. But it's the best we can do," Birkhoff apologized for the umpteenth time. In the weeks following the accident, the hacker had done his best to find a replacement for the prosthetic Michael had lost. With Division's limited resources and funds, it wasn't an easy task. The best Birkhoff could do was an older model of the robotic-like prosthetic the agent already had. He could try to modify it, but even his hacking skills had a limit. Maybe if he had more time with the technology, he could truly help.
"Don't worry about it. I can make do," Michael shrugged for the umpteenth time. He honestly hadn't been expecting a prosthetic like the one he had had. He was just hoping for one that'd help him throughout his day to day. Honestly, a replacement hand wasn't what had been occupying his mind the past few weeks. All his focus and attention had been on his wife. The two continued to only dance around the subject of what had happened. After their initial conversation, they felt no need to continue talking until they were both ready to explore those emotions. That time had never come.
Nikita continued to heal from the miscarriage, taking it easy and resting at home. She hadn't been back to Division since the incident. Michael had stayed with her for the first week. He helped her with whatever he could; though, she wouldn't admit to needing much. She focused on him trying to function with only one hand. He could adjust with some things. He had learned to function without his right hand long ago. However, Michael couldn't do everything on his own. Fortunately, he wasn't alone. Nikita stepped in and helped her husband whenever she could. She wound up helping him just as much as he had helped her.
However, after a while, Michael had to return to Division. He was needed to gather intel on Dirty Thirties and determine where Amanda had scurried to hide- the usual. He urged Nikita to stay home longer. Her body still needed to adjust. She didn't argue with him. She actually hadn't argued with him since they got home. She also constantly listened to him. If it was anyone else, Michael wouldn't have thought that was alarming. But as it was Nikita, who had never listened to him in the years they had known each other, he was worried. He figured it was time they talked to each other. Something was going on inside her head that he needed to know about.
Whenever he tried to seriously talk to his wife, however, Michael chickened out. The words caught in his throat; so instead, he just smiled and discussed something light. He was afraid to sit down and have another tearful conversation. He wasn't necessarily worried about Nikita's reaction. Despite what had happened, he knew she was strong enough to face anything that might occur next. It was his emotions that had him choking on what to say. He didn't want to face his own thoughts. The few he had had were frightening.
They had nothing to do with Nikita. Michael's morose thoughts had absolutely nothing to do with his wife. He didn't blame her for what had happened. He didn't believe she was in any way shape or form at fault for the tragic events that had transpired. He knew that those things just happened. There was such a thing as a no-fault miscarriage. The fetus simply didn't develop. That was normal. That had no blame attached to it. Nikita was faultless. There was nothing anyone could've done. Regardless, Michael couldn't stop his thoughts from assigning fault and blame and other horrible attributes to himself.
Although he could never blame Nikita, and although he knew there was nothing she could've done, Michael felt as though he could've done something. He could've been more attentive to his wife. He could've been there for her. He couldn't have changed the fate of their unborn child; that wasn't up to either of them. But he could've done something that didn't leave Nikita alone. She carried that grief and pain all by herself. That shouldn't have happened. Michael should've helped her- been there for her.
If he had just been able to read her mind earlier, he could've calmed Nikita's fears. Yes, she also should've told him what was going on. But he also could've guessed. He had managed to read her mind when it came to everything else. When it came to their baby, however, he was blinded by their possible future. Michael was so consumed with their potential happily ever after and the outside sources that could rip it away, that he wouldn't consider how fleeting it could actually be. And because of that, his wife suffered alone.
She wasn't actually alone during the worst of the miscarriage. Sonya, Birkhoff, and the Medical staff were there with her. Sonya sat with her the whole time, even when the medicine and exhaustion put her to sleep. Nikita's husband, however, was missing. The person she wanted by her side the most- the other person strongly affected and heartbroken by the miscarriage- was gone. He was gone for hours, and he couldn't even contact her over the phone. The married couple hardly spent a long time away from one another. If they did, they still managed to communicate. Yet the one time they couldn't, was the one time it mattered most.
Michael believed he could've been by Nikita's side earlier. He could've held her and comforted her through the terrible pain and heartache. If only he hadn't spent so much time in the field. That was his prosthetic's fault. The damn thing restricted his movements. Sure, he could function with it. But it wasn't as great as a real hand. If it was, he might've been able to kill Amanda. He would've been able to kill Amanda and Ann, Alex wouldn't have gotten hurt, they could've returned home as planned, and Nikita wouldn't have had to suffer without him. Michael could've been the hero he was supposed to be if he wasn't at such a disadvantage.
The new prosthetic Birkhoff was outfitting him with was even worse than his old one. Again, he could perform basic functions with it. He had simply struggled in the field with the last one; he could be an effective partner, yet not without difficulties. With the new one, however, he couldn't even form a fist. He tried repeatedly, but to no avail. Birkhoff did what he could to calibrate the sensor- except it still wasn't working. Michael couldn't form a damn fist. What kind of agent couldn't make a fist.
Frustration rolled hotly through Michael. He had been able to adjust to his old prosthetic just fine. So what the hell was wrong with him that time. Why couldn't he do anything right anymore. As his frustrations and irritations rose, pain began to radiate in his right forearm. He ignored it at first, continuing to attempt to make a fist. However, soon the pain became too much. Michael winced and clutched where his prosthetic met his arm. Birkhoff instantly stopped what he was doing. He frantically examined his friend, trying to determine the source of the sudden pain and hoping he hadn't been the one who caused it, "What is it?"
"Nothing. Just phantom pain. It'll go away," Breathing harshly through the discomfort, Michael dismissed Birkhoff's concern. When he had first lost his hand, the phantom pain was consistent. The longer he lived without the limp, though, the less he felt the ghostly tendrils of discomfort. By that point in time, there were very rare moments of pain- they were mostly spurred on by nightmares. That instant must've been a result of his frustrations. He wanted the prosthetic to act like a hand so badly, he forgot it wasn't. He received a rude awakening there.
"I didn't know that was still an issue," Birkhoff stared at Michael lamely. The agent didn't talk about his missing hand much. He only told the hacker the story of how he lost it once. He mostly focused on how he worked with his prosthetic, and how it didn't slow him down in most cases. Birkhoff had no idea that Michael continued to feel pain where his right hand should've been. He thought that would've faded as the years since the car bomb increased. Yet that day would continue to haunt the agent in more ways than one for as long as he lived.
"Hey," Before Michael could continue assuring Birkhoff that there was no need to worry (the pain had already subsided) he spotted Nikita walking towards his Medical room. She must've been looking for him. She definitely wasn't there for herself. He leapt out of his chair and raced to meet her in the hallway. He didn't care that Birkhoff was still messing with his prosthetic. Michael needed to know what his wife was doing back in Division. She didn't tell him that she was thinking of returning that morning. Something had to have happened, "What are you doing here? Are you okay? Is everything alright?"
"Ryan called. He has a line on a new Dirty Thirty," Nikita responded simply. She brushed Michael's hand off her shoulder as she shrugged. She refused to let his concern dwell on her for long. There were other things to worry about and pay attention to. She was fine; she wouldn't have returned to Division if she wasn't. Gently grabbing her husband's new prosthetic, Nikita silently moved the conversation to another topic. She tapped her fingers along the robot-like ones, testing out each new reaction. Michael didn't stop her from exploring. A part of him knew he'd feel better about the change if she approved.
"So he called you?" Interrupting the silent moment, Birkhoff asked. He and Ryan hadn't spoken much since the hacker had been barred from telling Michael about Nikita's miscarriage. The men avoided one another, finding other things to preoccupy their minds. Hunting down Amanda after she had disappeared into the air again was a great and necessary distraction. Division had to continue its ever-growing, tedious mission to finally have freedom, despite the fact that they kept slipping further away from that point.
Nodding slightly, Michael agreed with Birkhoff's sentiment. He didn't quite understand the irritation towards Ryan, yet he agreed that Division's director shouldn't have called Nikita. She kept saying she was fine. But if that were true, she would've returned to Division on her own. She probably wasn't ready for more stress and life threatening situations. It was okay if she needed more time to adjust. There were other agents who could kick ass and save the day, "I know you can handle it. But you don't have to. I can go with Owen, Alex, and Sean."
"I thought I heard my name. Are we all heading out?" Upon hearing his name, Owen joined the group in the hallway. Between digging through files that could possibly provide him with information on his past, he would check in with Medical to see if anyone had any clue what Amanda did to his brain. There was no new information on either front. Owen continued to be operating in a fog. Fortunately, there was finally a mission he could join. If it wasn't against Amanda, then there wasn't a chance he'd lose his mind. He'd love a mission to keep himself preoccupied. He needed to feel like he was actually doing something worthwhile.
"Sean's with the Seals, and Alex is doing something with the Udinov estate," Nikita expressed, continuing to study Michael's prosthetic. It wasn't as advanced as his old one, but she guessed that it was the best Division could do. They didn't have the same resources the black ops unit used to have. The team got rid of Percy's corrupt and questionable contacts when they took over. They also lost most of their government funding, as they were technically still illegal agents. They couldn't have the same technology as agents could've possibly had before. Michael also couldn't go running back to the CIA for an upgrade. He was technically still a dead man.
Refusing to think about how her husband's freedom relied on her being able to finally walk away from Division, Nikita dropped his prosthetic. Owen butting in on the conversation helped remind her that there was a new mission to focus on. The team was missing some of their members for that op. Nikita had talked with Alex sporadically over the weeks. The young woman had admitted that she and Sean were awkwardly trying to juggle their real lives and their roles in Division. It had almost come to a disastrous blow after the mission to kill Amanda failed. The two needed to figure things out. Living two separate lives just wasn't working anymore.
"You'd think Ryan would share all that with us," Rolling his eyes, Birkhoff huffed. Sean had informed the team that he'd be spending more time with his Seal unit as they prepared for their upcoming deployment. And Alex had expressed that being an heiress actually required a lot of paperwork and legal things to take care of. The two couldn't be faulted for having to leave Division to handle their other business. Alex and Sean had real identities they still needed to pay attention to. It wasn't ideal, but they needed to leave Division at times to be real people.
Ryan was aware of that. He knew that the team would be down a few people from time to time. He just needed to inform the others of when that would be. They had to prepare for fewer people assisting them as well. Though, maybe the team shouldn't even be going out into the field when they weren't fully stacked. There were other teams in Division. It wasn't on the former rogues to save the world all the time. When they needed time to recuperate or be real, they should've been granted that. Ryan couldn't put everything on their shoulders.
Glancing between the men around her, Nikita attempted to understand each of their thoughts. She couldn't. Though, honestly, she really didn't try that hard. She just wanted to go to Ops and review the new mission. She was ready to get back into the field and have all her thoughts distracted. She wanted something to focus on that didn't leave her head spinning and heart dropping. A simple Dirty Thirty operation seemed like the perfect thing. Nikita couldn't wait to start bringing down Division again, "We have a mission."