Well, this is it. This is really, really it.

Her shoulder burned as she held Percy suspended over the chasm, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against her wrist. It was the same shoulder that Roan had shot her in, and it had healed nicely, but the effort of holding up another person's full body weight was draining and she could feel her grip beginning to weaken.

Nikita looked into his eyes, hearing his bargains, the threats of Roan triggering a meltdown. But his earlier words were still ringing in her ears.

"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

There was so much anger in his voice, a rage that almost never penetrated the cool exterior man who had taken a young, lost woman and shaped her into someone who could kill. He had molded her into someone dark, someone efficient, someone who kept her heart locked in a chest of steel, and someone who could look at a human being and see only weaknesses and strengths.

But that was never Nikita, not truly. That was Josephine. That was the part of her that she locked deep, deep down inside, that was the part of her that she never let the people she cared about see. Because they would know her, they would know that there was a part of her soul still tainted by the terrors of a childhood and the twisted words of a man she had dangling off her hand.

She should have dropped him instantly. She should have told Birkhoff to watch for the signal and dropped him, closed that chapter on her life, avenged the re-knitted flesh that she could feel straining in her shoulder.

She let her hand straighten, feeling his hand slide down her wrist with a sense of revulsion. He was silent now, realizing that this was the end. His threats, his most carefully laid plans, his greatest efforts had not been enough. And in the end, he was just a man. Just another scared little boy on the brink of eternal rest.

And in that moment, she forgave him. She forgave him her shoulder wound, the saving of her life only to destroy it, the torture mission after mission after mission, wounds to the heart and the body that had left scar after scar, sending the man he knew she loved after her relentlessly, destroying everyone she held dear and nearly killing everyone she loved- she forgave him.

And then he slid off her hand all the way.

Her breathing was harsh as she heard the dull thunk of a body hitting the ground so many feet below. He was gone. He was done forever. They had won.

And yet she could not celebrate. What was done was done, but she had no delusions of what the future would hold, even in that moment of painful triumph.

There was a storm coming.

And they would have to carry on the best they could, and the same patched-together last-minute solutions and mayhem would doubtless ensue. But running Division would be different. It would be hard, perhaps even harder than bringing it down in the first place.

But she had a family now.

And as she picked herself up off the ground, she held her head high.

The old hierarchy was gone, and it had come at a great cost. There had been so many, so many that deserved to be remembered. Will.

But she had finally, finally won.

After a moment, she smiled.

Birkhoff's going to redecorate his desk all over again.

Thank you for sticking with me, you fantastic people. I've made friends over this fic and received more recognition that I ever hoped for or ever thought I deserved.

You guys are truly incredible.

We'll see what happens next. *wink*

"Shot through the heart
And you're to blame
Darlin'
You give love a bad name"