No rights to Nikita.
(Hey, guys, look at the show's rating. What even is that? What are we doing? What if it gets cancelled before Balex ever gets to happen? Wahh.)
Birkhoff worked quickly, his hands flying across the keys. He tried to put himself in Percy's head to figure out his passwords. With enough deep thought and cross-referencing and some technological cunning, maybe he could figure this out.
For Alex's sake.
Alex was reclining on the couch with Liverfield across from her. She was laughing like a complete dunce and her self-respect dwindled with each passing moment.
"Haha, that is so funny!" she repeated for the umpteenth time.
Liverfield smiled as if impressed with himself and Alex resisted gagging. Like seriously. Is there a single funny knock-knock joke on the planet?
"You don't need to pretend," Liverfield assured her. "It isn't very funny."
He was like a pretty girl trying announcing how ugly she was to a crowded room so people could fall over themselves in disagreement.
But Alex didn't play along.
"Yeah, you're right," she said flatly.
Liverfield raised an eyebrow.
Alex resisted rolling her eyes. "I mean . . . how's political strategizing treating you?"
"Excuse me?"
"If there was one thing you wouldn't want a secret spy agency knowing about your political strategy, what would it be?" Alex questioned.
He just stared at her, confused.
"Alex," Amanda reprimanded in her head, "you can be more discreet then that. You want that chip out of your head or not?"
"Nevermind, it may not be worth it," Alex smiled, her spy code training kicking in.
Liverfield smiled warmly, but Amanda was less kind. "You have a kill chip, too, Alex. Keep that in mind."
Alex sighed, and delivered the pivotal line. "You wanna take this upstairs?"
"This . . . this is a hotel room," Liverfield stammered, confused.
"Oh, crap, I did that wrong," Alex scowled. "Elsewhere, I mean. You wanna take this elsewhere?" She was kind of surprised Amanda didn't cut in to correct her.
Liverfield glanced over his shoulder at his bodyguards who were trying pitifully to act like they weren't watching the two of them.
"Would you give us a minute?" Liverfield requested. "Go get a coffee down the street or something."
They nod stoically and left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. Liverfield turned back to Alex.
"Now what was that?" he prompted.
Alex sighed and blew up her bangs. "You wanna . . . you know."
"Do I?" Liverfield pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, gosh, he's trying to be seductive, Alex whined in her mind.
"Yeah. You do," Alex assured him blandly.
"Well," Liverfield began, putting a hand on her thigh, "I'm quite flattered you've offered."
Alex pursed her lips together and tried to go to a happy place or whatever it was people did when they wanted to get out of a situation.
The hand on her thigh moved, and she literally but her tongue to keep from shrieking.
The forceful seduction by significantly older men?
This was a lot like Russia, back when she was young.
The thought straightened her posture and pushed her toward the edge of the couch, away from Liverfield's imposing hand.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Liverfield attempted to be soothing.
Alex tried to laugh off what she had just done. "Sorry," her chuckle came out as a gasp, "I guess . . . I'm just a little . . ."
"It's okay. I understand," Liverfied assured her, and Alex didn't want to know what kind of conclusion he was jumping to. He scooted closer to her, brushed hair off of her shoulder, and put his hand there.
It was too much like Russia.
She bolted off the couch.
"I should go," came from her lips, feeling unbidden.
"What?" Liverfield said.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry." She turned to leave.
"Hey!" Liverfield grabbed Alex by the wrist, a new harshness in his voice that made Alex's blood run cold.
"The attention-seeking nature of the women today," Liverfield shook his head disapprovingly. "You think you can come in here, dressed like that, acting like that, and just leave?"
A new terror ran through Alex. She tried to get her fearlessness back, what usually enabled her to bash guys' faces in, but the connections between her current situation and her childhood were too massive and stifled her bravery.
"I'm sorry," Alex repeated.
"Get over here," Liverfield snarled, and his voice implied he wanted things Alex didn't want to think about.
Alex was near fearful tears. She was near helpless. She was afraid for the first time in a long time. With her impaired judgement, the only choice she could think about was . . .getting over there.
Alex sat back down on the couch, her body rigid. She hung her head shamefully as Liverfield reached for her again.
And Liverfield was about to reach her, to touch her shoulder or face or who knows what else.
When the door was flung open.
Alex and Liverfield's heads swiveled to the door to see the new intrusion, the new annoyance, the new nuisance.
With such words used to describe such a visitor, the characterization of the arrival made a lot of sense.
"Am I interrupting something?" Birkhoff asked with a grin, leaning against the doorframe.
"You are, actually," Liverfield said gruffly. "Please, leave."
"Sorry, bro," he shrugged, "but I don't plan on leaving without the girl."
Liverfield shot a look at Alex. "No. She's with me now."
"You don't know what you're getting into," Birkhoff told him with a lazy smile. "I mean, have you seen her fashion sense? Look at that gaudy orange dress! It's just distasteful. How could you commit to someone who would wear such a thing?"
"This isn't about commitment. Now get out," Liverfield ordered.
"In that case," Birkhoff began, pushing off the wall, "objectifying women, blah, blah, they aren't trophies, blah, blah, they have feeling, blah. Oh, and another thing . . ." To finish his sentence, he pulled a gun from his back pocket and fired.
Alex admitted, that was pretty hardcore.
Birkhoff missed. He was trying to. He shot the bottle of champagne resting on the table, which burst to pieces. Liverfield ducked, but gripped Alex tightly by the forearm.
Reenergized by Birkhoff's entrance, Alex quickly unstrapped the gun from her thigh and thwacked Liverfield's fingers with its butt. He released with a cry of pain and Alex ran towards door past Birkhoff, who shot at the upcoming figure of Liverfield, still chasing her down. He let out another cry of pain, then collapsed, grasping at his arm.
Birkhoff closed the door behind them, then turned to face a very shaken Alex.
Alex wanted to yell at him. He might've just ruined her only chance at Amanda removing the ear piece, and with it, her chance to get to Nikita and Michael without damaging her position within Division. She wanted to take the gun in her hand and shoot him in one of his limbs.
But instead, she threw his arms around him.
"Thank you," she said softly, stifling sobs.
"My pleasure," he replied, placing his hands on her back. "It pains me to interrupt this rare moment of Birkhoff appreciation, but we should go."
Birkhoff pulled away, but left her hands on his shoulders. "Huh?"
"Has Amanda been quiet lately?" Birkhoff asked, taking her arms and removing them. "I managed to disable the listening chip."
Alex wanted to cry with relief. She went to hug him again in her gratitude, but Birkhoff caught her by the shoulders.
"Yes, yes, I'm very sweet, but I might've caused some problems," he explained. "You see, now I have Amanda on both of our tails, so we should go."
"Go? Like go?"
"Yep. Like run away. We're Division fugitives now."
Alex's head spun. This was happening too quickly for her taste.
"Ready for the ride of your life, sweetheart?"