Right. So. School has started, which means I'm going to be a bit later with updates for you guys, but I'll try not to torture you too much. (Oh, wait, yes I most certainly will. Heh.) Anyway, have a Chapter!

The car was zipping down the roadway almost as fast as it had peeled into the driveway a mere hour before. The smoldering wreckage of the house lay behind the slightly cramped car, speeding away in the distance as Alex looked out the rear window. Nikita had been carefully laid across the middle seat, her head cradled gently in Michael's lap and her feet resting on Alex's legs. She looked forward at Sean driving more intensely than she would have thought was humanly possible before now and Birkhoff tapping away at his computer as usual. She gave a small sigh. You know it's a bad day when Birkhof is being completely serious.

The steady rhythm of the others breathing and sway of the fast-moving car lulled her body and calmed heightened senses, but there was no way she was going to feel remotely sleepy now. As much as she had overcome her experiences, being in a burning house, well, being in a burning anything still sent her spiraling downward a bit. She might have even joined that strange Doctor they picked up in his mini-panic attack when they were trying to get him into the car.

Her father's voice echoed in her ears even as she tried to shut it out. "You were made for greatness, Aleksandra, be strong." His voice wasn't the one she needed to hear right now, his version of greatness wasn't the path she had chosen. And yet no matter how much she reminded herself that she was not alone and she had found her purpose, Nikita's feet stretched across her lap reminded her of something else.

You were being so, so, stupid with Sean earlier. You can't afford to get attached, you know this, think of what Papa said, think of everything that's happened to you, even what Nikita did. You let yourself get hurt because you cared. And now look at you. Weak because of another person you care about, yet again. She shook herself, trying to get rid of the burgeoning thoughts, but her eyes flicked up to meet Sean's in the rearview mirror as soon as she stopped that small movement. It was times like this that she wanted Nikita, just for the sake of having another woman to talk to. She could fight, she could survive, she could endure without her. But she didn't really want to sort out her feelings for Sean right now, and she didn't think that any of the other guys would be particularly enthusiastic about talking. Come on, Alex, you're Russian. Why do you need to talk anyway?

But maybe even Nikita wouldn't be able to help her with this one. She sure as hell understood what it was like to lose everyone you love, but she had Michael and wasn't going to let go anytime soon. She wouldn't understand how Alex felt about Sean, why they flirted and flounced, why she was a stalwart supporter and why even though she thought she might be just a little bit in love with him, she held herself back when he asked her on dates. Because even with the rest of their little team, commitment meant that you had a chance to lose everything. And now with Nikita… out of commission, for a bit, she was left wondering who she would lose next. We made a good team, down there sniping, and I know I trust him more than I maybe should, but everything you love keeps getting hurt and lost and he's lost too much already.

Damn it.

Nikita, please just wake up already.

Roan blinked his eyes slowly, sluggishly staring up at a ceiling that seemed a lot closer than it should. He slowly began to move his limbs, assessing his physical condition. Findings: At least three gunshot wounds, with serious potential for blood loss and possible internal injury. Head trauma sustained in recent times: Possibility of concussion – calculating – negative, no concussion sustained.

Carefully turning his head to the side, he assessed the condition of the room he was in. Technically, it was the remains of what had once been a room, a room he distinctly remembered as being intact when he was knocked out. (Note: Avoid capture and being rendered unconscious in the future, extremely inhibiting to Priority Alpha: Capture Nikita) The entire wall by the main entrance way appeared to have exploded and the roof was now slanted at a rather alarming angle, which left him lying under maybe eight feet of sagging roof, surrounded by a notable amount of debris and nothing else.

No targets were visible in his limited range of sight, but even he couldn't see about three-quarters of the room, he could tell that he was alone. The Hunter knows when it's hunted, he thought to himself grimly, before shaking off such romantically frivolous notions. Now was the time to focus, to be logical, and to plot his next course of action.

Priority Alpha: Nikita, has left the premises, along with all other targets formerly in the area. Division will come to check when the strike team does not report back, they will also sift through the debris in the vain hope that some technology is undestroyed or even of a body left behind. Course of action: wait.

Roan settled down into the floor as best he could, careful not to aggravate his injuries as much as possible. According to his calculations, Percy's second team should arrive in approximately 15. 34 minutes, and they would find him when they arrived. He would not bleed out beforehand, the Regimen also included components to help wounds close quickly and boost the immune system, an advantage that had proved vital in situations such as these.

There was no boredom in waiting. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off into the logic of his mind, calculating and recalculating the fastest ways to kill a target, and plotting new ways to capture Nikita. His brain may have been slower and fuzzier than he liked it to be, but he could still use his time wisely.

And when his eyes snapped open to the half-worried, half-awed face of a young Division strike team member, he snapped his orders quickly.

A logical course of action will be maintained if it is the last task I ever manage to accomplish.

Percy sat at his desk, staring at the young woman in front of him with a look of such penetrating disgust she was rendered temporarily speechless. He looked her up and down. A young recruit, new to the tech center, then, Sonya must have sent her. She wouldn't last long here, she didn't have the gumption that it took to go up against hackers like Birkhoff who were just as fond as bamboozling the socks off of their victims as they were of coding.

He managed to lessen the intensity of his gaze. Stammering would do him little good. "Repeat yourself, please." He intoned in a dull, flat voice that was somehow more terrifying than rage would have been.

"Sir… Th-The strike team that you sent out, it, it didn't report back, and, so, well, we sent out another one, and… they're… they're all dead, the first one that is, and they found another agent in the wreckage and the house was all exploded and apparently it's-"

Percy had had enough ranting. His junior strike team had failed him, as he had expected it would, but that didn't change the importance of what had just been said. The other agent in the "wreckage" was obviously Roan, whom they had tracked there, but the important questions were left unanswered. What wreckage are they in? And why would Nikita do something this foolhardy?

The girl was quite clearly terrified when he abruptly cut her off, given by the way she flinched and the frightened look in her eyes as she suddenly contemplated the carpet. He sighed. He really did need to filter their tech recruits more severely. Reaching out his hand, he gestured for the laptop. "Let me see."

She handed him the device and all but fled from his office when he shooed her away. Flipping through the few images that the agents were starting to upload, he noted the remains of the partially demolished house. Isolated, modernly styled architecture, practically has Nikita's name written all over it.

A flicker of annoyance fluttered through his chest before he dismissed it. Anger was not useful in this situation. But he did fully intend to have a very long chat with Roan about the frequency and level of detail included in his check-ins, and then to make a plan.

And he had better have good news for me somewhere in there too.

The first think that Will noticed when he blinked himself awake was not the pain shooting through his legs to his upper body, nor the dust and rubble surrounding him, but the warm lap that his head was cushioned on. He couldn't really think of a reason that someone would be cushioning his head. It felt nice, though, it really did. Maybe he should try to open his eyes and look up at the person.

He felt a cool, small hand on his cheek. "Will? Are you awake?"

His eyes shot open, and then snapped shut again. He knew that voice… JJ. Of course. JJ. But what was she doing here? She had gone away to the back of the house… they were going to get shot if they staye- oh wait. The explosion. Right. He remembered the explosion. That would explain the pain, which he had just noticed.

He tried to lift his head to look down and assess the damage, but JJ pushed him back down gently. "Shh. You've got a few rather nasty burns and cuts, maybe a bit of shrapnel here and there, and part of the wall collapsed on both of your legs. They're definitely broken. Just stay still. Division will be here soon."

He found himself shaking his head then. Division was not a nice place for JJ. It was not a nice place for him either. Division was a place where you ended up with two broken legs and cancellation or maybe a nice easy bullet to the head if you're lucky. "No, no, no, not Division, not good," he began to mutter. "Not good."

He had finally managed to open his eyes. JJ looked confused, then a bit of understanding dawned on her face. "You know it too, don't you? They sent us on a suicide mission and they knew it."

I found myself nodding but wanting to shake my head at the same time. Yes, they had sent us on a suicide mission, but more importantly, they had sent JJ. They were going to waste JJ, send her to die for no good reason. That was not good, right?

She looked down at me sadly. "You do realize that you can't run off like this, though, don't you? Not with two broken legs, we wouldn't make it ten yards."

I screwed my eyes shut as a fresh wave of pain racked through my frame, and then I was opening my eyes and shoving her away, saying, "Go, go, go, run, go, get out of here, go, now! JJ, now! Before they get here…" She moved backwards, surprised.

"I can't just leave you all on your own, though. And what am I supposed to do out in the world? I'm a murderer. I'd be a fugitive."

I shook my head. She had to go, she had to get out of here, this would probably be her only chance. I croaked out one last time, "Get rid of the tracker and get out of here. It's your only chance and you know you want to take it. Now go."

Just then, the roar of two black SUV's was heard in the distance. Her eyes darted up to the road and then down to me and then into the woods, a little unsure, like a rabbit ready bound away.

"GO!" I roared one last time, before she was scampering.

But halfway across the clearing, she turned to me and yelled back. "I'm coming back for you, Will, I promise! I promise…"

And then she was gone.

I screwed my eyes shut and tried not to remind myself that by the time she got out into the world and had anywhere near enough resources to take on Division, they would already have cancelled me.

After all, what use is a cripple in an army?

When Sean finally managed to make the final miraculous hairpin turn into the driveway of the fabulous place that I managed to hook us up with on the way here, I let out a long sigh of relief. For an ex-soldier, that man sure did drive like there were no laws invented against that sort of thing, ever. If I had to hazard I guess, I would say that automobile laws were freaking invented for guys like Sean.

I opened the car door a bit blearily, (hey, it's hard work lying about your identity on a computer all afternoon), letting Michael slowly ease out of the car, cradling a still-unconscious Nikita. After I punched in the house code I had received via email about an hour earlier, I watched in amusement as everyone settled back into their places. Hell, I think I even smiled when Dr. Branahan woke up from his nap in the back of the SUV and scampered straight to the bathroom. No potty breaks for the weary, huh?

But now I could finally relax, even if just a little. There was no sense of impending doom. Dr. Branny could check out Niki, Mikey could worry and overanalyze everything, Alex and Sean could finally go off and resolve a little bit of that tension, I could hang out with my tablet and my only salvageable laptop, get Shadownet set up… It was all going to be fine, right?

Yeah, right, Birkhoff, right, you totally believe that.

And you're not going to spend the next hour while he's patching her up and examining her alternating between death glares in his general direction and researching obscure diseases you can get from getting shot.

Nope. Not at all.

Dear god of pancakes and all things technology, let her be all right. I swear I might even eat something healthy once in a while. Swear.

Please.

Oh, god, I definitely did not need to know about half of these infections.

Right, so, school, maybe kind of made my writing a little bit better, I feel. Anyhoodle. How was that, darlings? How many more chapters would you like of this one? I mean, I know what's coming and I can ignore you all if need be, but… yeah.

I know the POV's are written a bit differently for each person and it keeps changing and I am an evil little person, but you know you love me.