If I may be so forward, may I tell you about a Balex one-shot up on my page? It's called "The D Word" You may check that one out if you wish.

Now, here's this one.

No rights to Nikita.

Day one of silence, and Alex was pretty miserable.

She sat on the bed in her apartment, leafing through a magazine and being careful that none of the pages made sounds that were too noticeable.

But the required silence wasn't the worst part.

Birkhoff could talk to her through the bug in her head.

"How's day one, Alex?" Birkhoff asked, his voice holding no sympathy. His dreary moment near the silo was obviously over. He's gotten his humor back. But now, there was a touch more spite when he and Alex spoke. He seemed vengeful now.

Alex didn't answer.

"Silent treatment?" Birkhoff feigned offense. "Fine. This means I can basically say whatever I please to you right now."

Oh, no, Alex thought.

"Well, first off, you have terrible taste in quiet hobbies," he said. "A trashy magazine? How terribly mundane."

Alex bit her lip to keep from sighing. Or shouting.

"In case you're worried," he began, "the bug can't hear this. It's on the opposite side of your head and your thick skull will probably insulate just fine."

Alex pretended not to be relieved. She was busy counting, flipping pages at somewhat common intervals.

"But just in case, I should whisper," Birkhoff murmured. "Perhaps, when you're just about to fall asleep, and it's dark and stormy and you just watched a horror movie."

Alex bit her lip painfully.

"Things like 'I'm watching you' or "There's something outside your window."

She pursed her lips and stretched her neck, contently picturing herself punching Birkhoff squarely in the nose. A satisfying crack. Blood gushing all over his face. Ahh...

"Okay, I thing I'm being mean now," he chuckled.

You think.

"Let's talk about serious things, like terrorism, global warming, or our feelings. You start."

As expected, Alex stayed silent.

"Fine, I can go first," he conceded. "I don't like handshakes. I don't know, maybe something's wrong with me, but I just down like them. I like handshakes that lead to bro-hugs, and secret handshakes that are complex and well-thought out, but normal handshakes? Ugh. Men do not need to hold other men's hands."

Alex smirked despite herself.

"Let's go deeper, then, shall we?" he continued. "When I was taken by Division, my life pretty much spiraled downward. Sure I can show off how amazing and intelligent I am without government interference, but hey, I no longer have a girlfriend. The selfish side of me tells me how great that is, but the hopeless romantic side kind of wants to kick every computer I see in the face. Or screen, if you will."

"You had a girlfriend?" Alex blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth as soon as she said it.

There was a short silence. Alex waited, startled at herself for her lack of control. Birkhoff was startled, too, and his eyebrows scrunched together behind his computer screen.

"Careful, Alex," he said. "I can edit that out later, but for now, our lovely Amanda can still hear you." He dropped his voice to a whisper, "And if you say anything that gets me in trouble, or gets me shoved into a therapy session. . ."

"Then edit this out, too," Alex blurted again. "What happened to your-"

"Alex!" Birkhoff hissed. "A little discretion, please. You're a spy. Use code or something."

Alex realized that his girlfriend was something he didn't want Amanda knowing about.

"So what's up, Birkhoff?" she asked.

This was her version of spy code. Birkhoff knew exactly what she meant.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "You're the one with the questionable love life."

If Amanda hadn't chimed in by now, she probably wasn't listening right then. She added, "Is that what you meant? When you said you knew what it was like to lose someone?"

Birkhoff hesitated, staring intently at his computer screen as if glaring right at Alex.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It is."

"Was it a hard break-up?" she continued, not seeming able to shut up.

"Not really," Birkhoff answered. "She was killed."

Alex's jaw dropped. "By who?"

"Who else? The puppeteers who run our very lives."

"Division?"

"Bingo."

"Then why did you agree to work for them?" Alex asked, shocked.

"Because they told me that if I didn't, I'd meet the same fate."

Alex's head reeled from this information. Birkhoff was emotionless, egotistical, and at times funny man that worked long hours doing admittedly important things behind a Division computer. He wasn't supposed to have feelings.

"Satisfied, honey? Can we move on?"

Alex didn't hear the words. Merely that Birkhoff was speaking. Whatever he said, she felt appropriate response was . . .

"I'm so sorry."

Birkhoff, put off by such deplorable sympathy, did not accept it. "Well, next time you're all angst-ridden over dumping your boyfriend, remember that at least you lost him by choice. Now go back to your perfectly timed magazine leafing. You've just added about ten minutes to your silent time."

"What? Can't you just-?"

"Ten minutes, three seconds, young lady."

Alex huffed, and didn't need confirmation that this added another second or so. She was just about to settle back into her comfortable antagonism towards Birkhoff when her phone, her secret, Nikita-only phone, starting ringing.

She stared at the lamp in which is was hidden, weighing her options.

That phone wasn't meant to call Alex with. It was usually for Alex to call Nikita because she was in trouble. Nikita would only call if . . . if. . .

If she was in trouble.

At this realization, Alex bolted for the phone, hidden in her lamp stand, and starting texting furiously.

Birkhoff can hear this, she reminded her. Amanda could hear this.

It didn't matter. Whatever ensued from that, Nikita could get her out of. It was only right to make sure she was okay.

Text me instead. Situation. she typed hastily.

"What are you up to, Alex?" Birkhoff asked quizzically. "Texting? Kids these days."

"Shut up, Birkhoff!" she snapped. She wasn't worried about Amanda hearing it. She'd probably say that a lot in the week.

Birkhoff huffed indigently.

It was agonizing waiting for the reply. Seconds passed that dragged on teasingly, seeming to jeer, This is really stressing you out isn't it?

Then, just as she was about to put the phone back, accuse herself of overreacting, it starting going off.

She opened it quickly, before the sound could truly register, and her jaw dropped as she read:

Help! Michael and I in trouble!