A/N: Happy Holidays!
Michael liked to think that (as second-in-command at Division) he had seen it all; that there was nothing more in this world that could shock him.
Unfortunately, Nikita seemed determined to prove him wrong.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, pointing his gun firmly in her direction. He ignored the fact that both Thom, and Nikita herself, were pointing their weapons at the ambassador. "I won't let you ruin another mission, Nikita," he glowered at her, "Not this time."
"And here I was, thinking that I was doing you a favor," she said blandly, not looking the least bit concerned. "Though it's been a while since I've crashed a mission," she added as an afterthought. "I thought you might have missed me."
"Like hell," Michael snapped, tightening his grip on his firearm. He lowered his voice to a growl, "Because the last one you crashed turned out so well…"
"You're standing here, aren't you?" Nikita raised her head to look him dead in the eye, "I would call that a success."
"Kasim got away because of you!"
"And you're standing here in one piece because of me."
Michael looked away at that, but didn't deny it. "You don't get to choose, Nikita. Who lives or who dies...it wasn't your decision to make."
"No, that's your job, isn't it?" she shot back, and Michael's gaze flashed back to her.
"You seem to be a little confused," he hissed through gritted teeth. "The target is the ambassador. Isn't this the part where you pull off some epic rescue mission that involves shooting me in the shoulder and jumping out the window?"
"Still a little sore about that?" Nikita asked innocently, gesturing at his shoulder. "No worries, Michael. I'm not here to shoot you this time." She turned her attention back to the ambassador, "I'm here to kill this waste of space. I've been trying to track him down for a long time." She aimed at the ambassador with deadly precision, "And now I've finally got him exactly where I want him."
The ambassador whimpered, "Please, what do you people want? Who are you! Is it money you want? I've got plenty of money—"
"Shut up," Thom snapped, looking unsure as he switched between aiming his gun at the ambassador and at Nikita. He looked over at Michael for instructions, "Sir?"
Michael closed his eyes, feeling a migraine coming on. He finally looked over at Alex, who still hadn't moved. He glanced her over, relieved that there were no visible bruise marks. "Alex, I need you to come over here and take Thom's gun." Alex stood up slowly, her gaze flitting uncertainly around the room. "Nikita won't hurt you," Michael said impatiently, misunderstanding her hesitation. "Trust me."
"That's where you're wrong," Nikita swung her gun over in Alex's direction, and Alex froze. "No one is getting in between me and the ambassador, got it?"
Michael inched his way closer, trying to position himself in front of Alex. But Nikita lashed out, forcing him backwards. She again pointed her gun at Alex callously, "Now, get out of the way before I make you get out of the way."
"Don't touch her," Thom snarled, glaring at Nikita. "I owe you," he reminded her, his voice steely, "Twice over."
"And by the end of today, I'm sure we'll be counting to three." Whatever retort she was going to follow with that statement was cut off when Michael lunged at her, slamming her against the wall. She gave a gasp of pain as she tried to fight him off, both of their guns dropping to the floor in the process.
Alex gaped at them, and moved back into her corner, her eyes wide. So this was how two killers fought, Alex mused thoughtfully. It was almost like a dance...the way they moved, perfectly in sync with each other...anticipating each other's moves. The dance of death...
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, and Alex's eyes flashed back to the doorway. Her mouth opened in horror.
Thom lay on the floor, knocked out.
Behind him, was Nathalia.
"Thom!" Alex cried out, starting to move towards him. She stopped dead as Nathalia pointed a revolver at Thom. "One more step and he dies," she warned, with no trace of the Russian accent from before. She gestured for her husband to get up, and he gratefully made his way over to her. She kicked Thom's body behind her so that she was standing in front of both him and her husband, and then proceeded to glare at the remaining people in the room.
Nikita and Michael both looked stunned. Alex swallowed, looking up at Nathalia. "What happened to your accent?"
"What happened to being here as security detail?" she mimicked back, her voice dripping with disdain. Her gaze roamed over to Michael, who had been eyeing the two guns that lay discarded on the floor. "Kick the guns towards me," she ordered coldly, "Or the boy won't be the only one that dies." She swung her gun around to point at Alex instead, and Michael scowled as he slid the guns in Nathalia's direction.
"Who are you?" Nikita asked, sounding bored, "Someone with a death wish?"
"Hardly," Nathalia scoffed, "But I know who you all are. Division."
"Well, so much for a secret Black Ops program," Nikita said sarcastically as she threw Michael a pointed look.
"Don't look at me," he snapped, "I didn't organize this mission!"
"Yeah? So, who did?"
Michael's mouth fell into a grim line. Percy.
Nathalia raised her hand to her ear, apparently speaking into an earpiece. "Yes, get me two guards to the master bedroom. We have four Division agents trapped."
"Actually—" Nikita started, but fell silent when Michael glared at her.
Within seconds, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, signaling the arrival of the guards. "Keep watch over the door," Nathalia instructed them as she locked it behind her. "I have to go talk to..." Try as Alex might, she couldn't hear the rest of the sentence as the door shut behind the ambassador, Nathalia, and Thom.
Michael stood up immediately and strode quickly over to the window. He peered down and swore, "There's a bunch of guards down there. We'd never make it out alive."
Nikita paced back and forth across the room, looking harassed. "Mind telling me how they knew we were Division? And how did you miss the fact that the wife was involved?"
"I don't know, okay?" he hissed back. He looked back over at Alex, and this time went over to her. "Hey," he said in a softer voice as he crouched down next to her. "Are you sure you're okay? He didn't...nothing happened, did it?"
Alex shook her head, "He tried...I was going to stab him with the potassium chloride but he somehow knew what I was going to do. I—I don't know what happened."
"It's okay," Michael slid a comforting arm around her, "It's not your fault." He looked up then and saw Nikita staring at him with a strange expression on her face. When he caught her eye, she suddenly gave him a bright smile. "What's with you?" he asked suspiciously as she knelt down on his other side.
"Come on, Michael," she said with a grin, "You know me best. Did you really think I waltzed into a mission with only one weapon on me?" He narrowed his eyes at her as she stretched her legs across his lap, and reached into her boot. Within seconds, she pulled out a knife.
His knife, to be more precise.
She held it up in front of him, "Guess you were right in Yemen."
He stared at her for a few seconds, "About what?"
She smirked, "About good luck charms."