Hey hey hey!

Okay, as always, I just want to thank everyone of who is reading this story! And the reviews – OMG! I honestly did not expect so many to be into this. When I read all the feedback, my jaw literally dropped. Seriously! You guys are all so sweet. :)

Anyway (if you actually do read this portion), I'll finally explain some things ABOUT this story. This was originally intended to be all in Nikita's POV, but I just had to put in parts that were in Michael's POV in the previous chapters to get things rolling. Starting from this chapter though, everything will be what it was supposed to be.

That's also why Nikita is the one only listed in the characters portion of the story. Am I making any sense? Anyhoo, I promise, it'll all become clear as the story goes on.

So… I'm shutting up now. I'll explain other details later on.

And now, I present to you… the next chapter! :]

Chapter 2: Meetings

"And now you have a chance to get it back." – 2x08

Nikita had always loved the beach.

There was something about the sand and salt water that attracted her to it. Not to mention, the usual calmness of the ocean brought her tranquility and serenity.

Staring out the ceiling-length window, Nikita sighed. The white sand and setting June sun looked so inviting, and she was contemplating of doing her yoga session out in the backyard patio.

She just had to finish painting her toenails a vivid purple.

Waiting for the nail polish to dry, Nikita pulled her long legs up close to her and wrapped her arms around them. The chaise longue she had been sitting on had the perfect view of the private strip of beach and the Atlantic Ocean that was just a few steps away from the back of the villa.

Up till now, she still couldn't believe that she managed to get Birkhoff to buy this humble abode for her. She loved this place, as well as the people that lived with her in it.

Although she was alone in the house right now, she really didn't mind it. In fact, she relished the short minutes of rest and relaxation without the craziness of a full household.

But there was just something about today that made her feel lonelier than usual.

Setting her chin on her knee, she gazed at the reflection thrown back at her. She definitely looked tired, like she needed a good night's sleep – which was true. She hasn't been getting any sleep these past few days. She'd toss and turn in bed all night for some reason, and no matter what she did, she just couldn't hold her sleep for longer than an hour. A bottle of sleeping pills was in her medicine cabinet but she never gave it a second glance. She wasn't that desperate. At least, not yet.

Someone told her she might be experiencing some conversion disorder; that her insomnia was her mind's defense mechanism against some other strong emotion that she may be stifling. Like missing a certain someone. Or lacking a specific human interaction. But Nikita just brushed that idea off with a roll of her eyes.

The truth was though; she just didn't really want to dig into that wound. Years may have passed but it was still fresh and raw as ever. She may have repressed and pushed all the hurt, the pain, and the anger to the back of her mind, but it was still there. A ticking bomb ready to explode when given the chance. Sometimes though, when she was feeling masochistic and vulnerable, she'd let those emotions come to surface and claw at her chest so much that it was the only thing she could feel. It made her numb.

A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away with the back of her hand. She sighed again. There was no use dwelling in the past.

Nikita was clearing up her mani-pedi set by the time she heard the front door open. A smile slowly crept to her lips as she turned around and called out, "I'm here, babe–"

A gasp and the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the living room.

Nikita was frozen in her spot, her lips slightly parted as a look of surprise was plastered on her face.

She couldn't believe it. She blinked to make sure she wasn't just hallucinating.

She wasn't.

A second passed.

He was still there.

A heartbeat.

"Michael?" she finally asked, her traitorous voice suddenly getting smaller.

He somehow looked taken aback at her reaction.

"You were expecting someone else." Michael told her. Whether it was a statement or a question, she wasn't sure.

Nikita didn't really know what to say or what to do at that point. Yes, she was expecting someone. And it wasn't who she wanted Michael to see just yet because she didn't know how he'd react to that. Her heartbeat had started to pick up its pace.

She couldn't deny, a part of her was rather… delighted that Michael was there in front of her. But a conflicting part, the part that was making her chest constrict with a flurry of emotions, also wasn't. She turned away from him to search for a cleaning rag, saying, "Doesn't matter."

"Nikita."

Trying her best to ignore him, Nikita crouched on the floor and picked up the broken pieces of glass and discarded them in a nearby trashcan. She was already wiping off the purple nail polish from the tiled floor when she felt Michael come near her.

"Nikita," he said again, kneeling beside her.

She stopped. Turning her head to look at him, her throat dried up. They were too near to each other for her comfort. After 6 years, he heartbreakingly looked the same as she remembered, save an etching of one or two more worry lines. But her throat tightened as she looked directly into those familiar green eyes – the very same ones that have seen her soul… it was just too much. The close proximity of their faces and bodies after a long time of not seeing each other was unnerving. Taking a step away, she cleared her throat and asked, "What are you doing here, Michael?"

"I came to see you." He told her, gently. Sensing her edgy standoffishness, he also took a step back to give her more space.

"Well," Nikita said, standing up, "You saw me."

"Right." Michael gave a wry smirk, following suit.

Nikita walked over to a coffee table and placed the soiled cleaning rag back inside one of its drawers. Then, she turned back around to face her unexpected visitor. Crossing her arms over her chest, she realized that it was an action that was more of holding her broken self together rather than a closed gesture. But she was still silently grateful of the 6-feet of space she had put in between them. Inhaling deeply and shakily, she started, "So…"

"So…"

They both looked at each other, not really knowing what to say. Awkward tension saturating the air around them.

Nikita found herself wishing that Michael should just attack her or something. Anything. She'd take that better compared to this.

The stares, the uneasiness, the unspoken words that were waiting to be said… it was hanging over them like an overwhelming shadow.

"How's Max?" she finally asked, not bearing the agonizing seconds of uncomfortable silence anymore.

"He's good," Michael told her. "He's eleven now. Bright kid, very athletic. He's in his school's soccer team."

Nikita just nodded and chewed her lower lip. Looking away from him, she glanced out to the beach, "And Cassandra?"

"She's doing fine too. Still with the MI6, but mostly doing intel work now."

"Oh. Good for her."

Another round of silence.

"Nikita–," he said, after a few moments, but it was at the same time she also started, "Michael–".

Their eyes met for a brief moment.

"You go first."

"No, you."

Silence. Again.

Anyone could almost hear a needle drop in the room.

She didn't know how much longer of this she can take.

"I see you bought the house," Michael conversationally said, trying to break the quiet.

Nikita glanced at him for a second before looking back down to her purple toenails, "Yeah. Just… wanted to settle down, I guess."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael open his mouth to say something but decided against it a second later.

Tension rolled off of them in waves.

"Listen, Nikita," Michael said, a few moments later, taking a few hesitant steps towards her, "Birkhoff said some things and it sounded like you were – I don't know if it's my business to ask, but… are you seeing some–"

The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted what Michael wanted to say. Nikita closed her eyes and let out a sigh of resignation, as Michael looked over his shoulder to see who the newcomer was.

"Hey, Nikita, there's a car out front – oh."

Nikita opened her eyes and looked at Alex. The same look of surprise Nikita had on earlier, was also found on her face. But Nikita nearly smiled at her almost-sister, seeing that she entered the living room with one hand behind her back, no doubt holding a gun as a minor precaution.

"Hello, Alex." Michael greeted, rather sheepishly.

"Hey," she replied, almost uncertainly. The younger woman stared at Michael like he was some foreign object that magically sprouted in the room. She shook her head in disbelief and transferred her gaze to Nikita, saying, "Well, this certainly complicates things."

"Yeah."

Michael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at the exchange. Looking back to Nikita, he asked, "What things?"

Staring back at him, Nikita was perplexed on what to answer. She threw a glance over to Alex but she just shrugged.

"Hey, everything alright in there?"

Nikita ran a hand through her hair with an exasperated sigh, while Alex looked alarmed. Michael looked back again over his shoulder, surprised at the new yet familiar voice floating around the house.

"Yeah," Alex quickly called out, "But don't come –"

But she never had the chance to finish her sentence as Owen already strolled into the room. He stopped short seeing that all eyes were on him and his inopportune timing. Sensing the awkward silence that he had just walked into, he tried to break it by saying, "Oh, uhh… hey, Michael. Didn't expect to see you here."

Nikita gazed at Michael for his reaction. She was absolutely sure that he didn't hear what Owen just said. Not when his attention was captured by the little girl clinging onto Owen's neck. She was rubbing her eyes with the back of her tiny hand and then yawned, apparently just waking up from the car ride she was just in.

Looking over at the child, Nikita knew Michael would compare the similarity the young girl and Alex had with the wavy brown hair.

What he didn't know was that the young girl actually inherited her hair not from her mother, but from her father.

Turning around in Owen's arms and seeing Nikita, the little girl gave a heartwarming smile that brought out the deep dimple on her right cheek.

Oh, things were definitely going to get complicated.

"Mommy!"

And that's it!

Yes, Nikita has a kid! Many of you already expected that, I guess. Haha. :)

Okay, so let me know of your thoughts about this chapter in the Reviews! And, if you have any recommendations, criticisms, and corrections too!

Next chapter will be Michael's reaction! And more information about the kid. Like her name, for instance. :]

- Dani