Your reviews are like sentenced packed with smiles. Thank for them, especially the ones that tell exactly what you like and didn't like. And if I'm doing something I'm not supposed to, or not doing what I am, please forgive me, for I am new to the site, (and I don't know what PPMS means as of now...) Anyway, I combined what was originally two chapter to make this chapter longer. Please enjoy:)
"Nikita, we should talk," Michael requested as he sauntered into the house.
"About Alex and Birkhoff?" she guessed, not looking up from her computer.
". . .Yes," he said, a little resentful of the stolen thunder. "How'd you know?"
"Alex is a good liar," she said. She looked up at him and continued, "but I taught her everything she knows."
"So what's the deal with the two of them, your all-knowing omnipotence?"
"I don't want to know," she winced, standing up to face him. "Everything I think of is exponentially gross."
"So you think they're involved?"
"If not, Alex wants them to be, though she won't admit it," Nikita explained, "even to herself."
"I think Birkhoff is the same way," Michael informed her. "I just spoke with him. He got jittery at the mention of Alex."
"What do we do about it?" she asked.
"I thought you were the one with the plans?"
"Where would this world be without women?" she teased. "Well, obviously, this relationship is dangerous. We can't be sure of Nerd's alliances."
"Hey, Birkhoff's my friend," Michael pointed out. "Go easy on the guy."
"Fine," she huffed, though having no intentions to. "The first step is just to keep an eye on them and, if you can do so without seeming sketchy, keep them apart. Alex may be a good liar, but if she gets to comfortable with Ner . . .Birkhoff, and shares the truth with him . . . well, it's not like he's very happy with me right now. He'd probably have Percy on me before we could find out."
"So is it Alex or Birkhoff that you don't trust?"
"I trust Alex," Nikita replied, "not Birkhoff. Why, do you trust him?"
"To a certain degree, I suppose."
"And Alex?"
"Yes, I trust Alex."
"Do you trust them together?" she asked.
"For me, the x-factor is Percy, Amanda, or anyone else at Division. I care about the well-beings of both Alex and Birkhoff, and you know Division's policy on relationships with co-workers."
"They'd be cancelled," Nikita realized out loud.
"If they have a relationship, let them," Michael announced, catching her by surprise, "as long as not even you and me can figure it out, because if we can, then Percy and Amanda can."
"I'm afraid we're at a disagreement, Michael," Nikita frowned. "I don't care how well they can keep secret, I don't want their to be a relationship at all, even if you are 'friends' with Birkhoff. It's too risky and Birkhoff is . . . malleable."
"Malleable?"
"He acts like this huge rebel, but he's an even bigger conformist. He'll do as he's told by Percy, even if he has to harm Alex."
"That's harsh," Michael scowled.
"It's true, isn't it?"
"I think you should give the man some credit."
"Like I said," she began, "I'm afraid we're at a disagreement."
Alex fumbled in her purse for the keys to her apartment. She didn't have many others possessions, yet it was always a struggle to find her freaking keys. It must've been a universal thing. After rummaging for a good thirty seconds, she plopped the bag onto the floor and bent down to it. Perhaps a more conventional angle would summon key-location success.
It didn't, but it might have if she had time. Before she could really get into the search, the door swung open in front of her.
Nathan stood in her apartment, looking upset.
"Nathan?" Alex breathed, her hands going still.
"Hiya, Alex," he greeted her humorlessly. He held up his right hand which was clutching a tiny, brass key, responding to her unanswered question. "You never took your key back."
"Can I have that back?" Alex inquired delicately, standing up slowly. Talking to Nathan seemed like walking on eggshells now. Say the wrong thing, and he could turn her in for being an assassin. When Nikita had asked about, she pretended to not care about this possibility, but Alex could die over such a confession, and so could Nathan. With him or not, Alex didn't want to be responsible for his death.
"Of course you can," he said, "after we talk."
"That's not really a good idea, Nathan," she warned.
"Why not?"
"I might say something wrong."
"You broke up with me over the phone," he pointed out. "There's a huge margin of error here."
"Fine," Alex agreed reluctantly. "Can I enter my own house now, please?"
"Be my guest," he gestured inside.
Alex brushed past him, adding some haughtiness to her walk. She had every intention on listening to whatever Nathan had to say until she saw the key hanging limply from his right hand. Before she fully formed the coherent thought to do so, she had spun around, snatched the key from Nathan's hand, and pushed him out the door in quite a ninja-like move. She shoved the door shut behind him, locking it before he had time to protest.
Besides killing people and attempting to kill people, that was probably the meanest thing Alex had ever done.
"Birkhoff?" Amanda called into the computer the room.
Crap, Birkhoff thought, pretending not to hear her.
"Birkhoff, I know you can hear me," she sneered.
Probably a lie. People just said that sometimes, because if they actually can't hear you, they won't know you said that.
"Birkhoff!" she snapped.
"You are interrupting very important business here, Amanda," Birkhoff told her, minimizing his game of solitaire.
"How will I ever survive?" she slurred in that annoyingly sultry voice of hers. "I'm here with a message. Michael wants to see you upstairs."
"Are his legs broken? Why can't he come down here?"
"He wanted to speak in private," she told him. "It must be important. I request you keep me posted on the contents of this discussion."
"I highly doubt that, Amanda," he feigned remorse. "We're not exactly BFFs, are we?"
"Perhaps not," she admitted, "but I do trust that you know what's good for you and that you'll tell me if anything sketchy might be occurring."
Birkhoff didn't like her tone. It sounded accusative. It usually did, so maybe he was paranoid, but it seemed extra suspicious-sounding today.
He stood from his chair, minimizing everything controversial he may have pulled up on the computer, and sauntered to the elevator, dodging the training recruits.
"Move, move, you are all below me," he murmured as he passed, slightly sarcastic.
He rode the elevator to the next floor up, though not entirely sure where he was supposed to be going. Michael, however, had anticipated his confusion, and was waiting just by the elevator doors.
"What's this about?" Birkhoff asked, not coming up with anything particularly witty to say.
"We need to talk," was Michael's answer.
"You should sort out your priorities, my friend," he replied. "We need food, water, and the grace of the good Lord, but we can live without talking. Sign language being around, and all."
"Let's talk anyway," Michael demanded. He led Birkhoff to a room just down the Hall. It was empty except for a few chair that seemed to be made of metal. Birkhoff imagined there was some electrocution involved in here.
"Have a seat," Michael offered, taking one himself.
Birkhoff did so.
"Remember how Nikita and I used to be . . . involved?" he began.
"Like it was only six years ago."
"What did you learn from watching me do that?"
"Are you implying that I watched?" Birkhoff scowled. "That's just sick, Michael. Plus, I could find that easily on the internet and. . ."
"No, Birkhoff," Michael sighed. "I mean, what did you learn from seeing the aftermath of it."
"The aftermath was Nikita leaving you to run off and going rogue, so I guess I learned that she doesn't know how to handle a break-up."
"I'm serious, Seymour."
"Ooh, first names," Birkhoff cooed. "I can tell this is serious."
"Just don't make the same mistakes I did, okay?"
"Again with the implications," he frowned. "What are you accusing me of?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Michael assured him. "I'm not even sure you're doing something. But I better not here that you are."
"Since when are you my authority figure?"
"I'm your friend. And as a friend, I'm warning you to watch yourself."
"You sound like the popular girl at high schools who tell nerdy chicks to watch themselves, and then give them laxatives at the prom or something," Birkhoff gratified, "but I actually am capable of making my own decisions. And I'm offended at being the nerdy chick."
"I just don't want your decisions to be stupid ones."
"I believe that in the category of stupid decisions, your list runs longer," Birkhoff reminded him. "Do I have to remind you what exhibit A is?"
Michael knew Nikita was not a mistake, but of course, Birkhoff couldn't.
"Fine," Michael said instead. "You're dismissed."
"Thanks, Professor Michael."
Alex's phone was going off, buzzing atop the kitchen counter. The possibilities were Nathan or someone from Divison. (Nikita had a cell phone all to herself.) She didn't like either of those options, so she just stared at the phone from the couch for a while.
At buzz number one, Alex thought, "Oh, crap, my phone is ringing. Someone I really don't want to talk to is calling me."
Buzz two: "I hope it's not Nathan. I don't want to confront him after what I did. Geez, I was cold."
Buzz three: "But if it's Division, there aren't very many reasons it could be good."
Buzz four: "If you don't answer, you'll either come off cold or irresponsible."
So, before it went to voicemail, Alex approached the counter and flipped open her cell phone.
"Hello?" she asked gingerly.
"Hello, Alex," the sultry voice of Amanda greeted her. "You're presence is requested at Division."
"Why?"
"You may be filled in later by yours truly," she assured. Alex didn't like her tone. She didn't like hearing Amanda's voice at all, for it implied that she was around, but this voice, scheming and careful, like she didn't want to spoke a wild animal, did not make Alex comfortable. "For now, your required to just stay in your apartment until someone comes to retrieve you."
Alex frowned. "Retrieve me?"
She hesitated, carefully considering her answer when she replied, "Yes, Alex. Stay put. And don't bother fighting back."
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why can't I just go quietly?"
"Because you won't," she answered simply. "At least, not when you discover what you're coming for."
Before Alex could interrogate her further, her door came crashing into her apartment. In the doorway were two guys in suits obviously from Division. One of them held a syringe.
Alex went on offensive first. She charged the two men, calculating what her moves would be, where she would hit, whether or not they needed to be killed. Nothing came to mind immediately, so she just began kicking and punching.
But these guys were well-trained, and they caught or dodged every blow. Perhaps Alex should have chosen to be on defense, because it was all too easy for the men to find an opening and plunge the syringe into Alex's neck.
She moaned quietly as the needle went into her, then collapsed to the ground unconscious.