Set post-series. Nikita flinches.
She flinched. Her body recoiled. Her eyes shut. Her breath hitched. She prepared herself for the blow she knew was coming. It always came after screaming matches. She was always hit after she caused frustrations to rise and blood to boil. It was how she was forced to stop fighting. Hitting her made her shut up; it weakened her so she'd lose the argument. She couldn't be the dominant one. She was lesser than, weaker. She had to be put in her place. The least she could do was brace herself for the painful impact.
Except, it never came.
The hammer Nikita had seen raised didn't get slammed against her. The shouting that had been ringing around the house didn't continue. The anxiety that had been building within her all day had nowhere to release. Everything fell silent and still. Slowly, Nikita peeled her eyes open and glanced back where she had perceived the threat. Michael definitely held a hammer, yet it wasn't raised above his head. The tool was low to the ground, hovering above the nail slipped between two pieces of wood. No strike had been about to occur. The danger was all in her head.
However, the look of shock and horror in Michael's dark green eyes was beyond clear. His muscles froze and his jaw slackened as he stared at her. He couldn't believe what she had done. And honestly, so couldn't Nikita.
The two were just building a bookcase for the room they had decided would be their study. They had mapped out exactly how their new house should be, they simply had to gather the furniture and decorations to go with it. The two had a desk, some chairs, and many books to place in their study. All that was left was a bookcase. Michael and Nikita spent all day trying to find the perfect one that would fit in the space, hold all their books, and match the other furniture they already had. It was late by the time they found it. So late, that the married couple just decided to build it themselves instead of having the workers do it. That was a horrible mistake.
Quickly, the two became frustrated. It just kept getting worse as time went by. The instruction booklet didn't make sense- it was all pictures and no words. Parts and pieces were scattered around the floor, what they really looked like not matching their pictures in the instructions. The tools the bookcase came with were subpar at best, so Michael and Nikita had to grab the toolbox from the garage. And the whole process wasn't going the couple's way. If they were going to build their furniture on their own, they could've at least waited until the morning. Once they had reached the halfway point, they were ready to explode.
Scrutinizing the instruction booklet, Nikita huffed. She thought she had figured out what the pictures meant and what screw was needed where. It was all a matter of testing it out to see if she was right. Her husband, however, didn't have the patience to wait it out. He only wanted to jam things into place and hope for the best. Nikita was close to wanting to do the same. But that bookcase was going to be in their home for a long time. She wanted it to at least last longer than their carelessness, "That's the wrong screw."
"No it's not. It goes with this panel," Michael ignored his wife. She was probably right. He had to shove the screw into place, and the stupid little wrench the bookcase came with didn't work. Yet he didn't care. He just wanted the whole thing to be done with. He was tired. He was hungry. And he wanted their books off the floor and into the right place. It didn't matter what screw went where. The damn thing just had to be built.
"Well then that's the wrong panel," Making him stop what he was doing, Nikita argued. She was not going to let Michael mess up when they were close to finishing- well, about halfway to finishing. Then, they'd have to start all over. And that would be worse than taking their time.
"This is how you build it," Michael tried to shrug her off. He had built his fair share of furniture in his time. He knew what he was doing. The instruction booklet was just there to guide you. At least, that was what Michael was banking on. He had lost his patience so quickly. Nikita should've just let him do what he had to in order for the bookcase to be built.
"No it's not. It says it right fucking here!" Nikita waved the booklet in Michael's face. Just because he was fed up, didn't mean she was too. Okay, she was somewhat done with the whole thing. But that was why it had to be right. The two were going to build the bookcase as perfectly as they did everything else. Irritation levels be damned.
"Oh my fucking God!" Snapping in frustration, Michael grabbed the hammer to force the screw into place. As he reached for it, he heard Nikita inhale sharply. He glanced over in concern, wondering if she had gotten hurt. Once he noticed that she had flinched, prepared herself to receive a harsh blow, he froze. His insides iced over, and his frustrations melted away. What just happened. What had he done.
Michael had seen his wife flinch before. When he shouted at her for not knowing how he'd feel if he lost her, her breath hitched. When he was so pissed about Cassandra being Gogol, thus putting Max in danger, and threw items off the counter, Nikita crossed her arms tightly over herself. When Sean stalked towards her with empty eyes, demanding to know how his mother died, she bit her lip before responding. When Birkhoff yelled at her for losing his money, she clutched the desktop. When Michael snapped at her for cutting off his hand because he was too stupid to realize she had saved his life, she backed away from him. When she and Alex were fighting, and Alex hurled acidic words her way, Nikita tensed her muscles and stood stock-still. And when Michael moved to comfort her after a nightmare, she always slipped out of his arms. Nikita flinched often. But never like that.
A part of Nikita's mind was constantly fighting her. The fear that her family would hurt her like they always had before coursed through her. Except, she managed to battle that fear away with rationality. The family she had built around herself wasn't like the family she was forced into. No one would ever hurt her. Nikita knew that well, which was how she could push past her flinch and continue forward.
Yet that flinch was different. That flinch was worse.
Nikita fully believed Michael was going to strike her. So much fear ran through her veins, she braced herself for the pain she thought her husband would inflict. No rationality appeared in her actions. It was all instinct. Something he had done triggered the move. He made her flinch.
Eyes wide, Michael laxed his grip on the hammer. He couldn't believe he had done that. He didn't mean to. He never wanted to scare his wife. Dread, regret, and self-hatred sank his heart. He shouldn't have yelled at her like that. He shouldn't have gotten so frustrated. They were only building a bookcase. He should've walked away when he became overwhelmed. It shouldn't have escalated like that. There was no need for him to shout.
There was also no need for Nikita to flinch. She realized that a minute too late. The hammer rested against a nail in the wood. Michael hadn't raised it against her. Of course he wouldn't attempt to hit her with the hammer. Despite how much they yelled at each other, he'd never strike her. He wasn't like her foster parents. He was so much better. She should've known that. She did know that. She should've remembered instead of allowing her frustrations and stress to consume her. She should've been better.
Because she wasn't, she had hurt her husband. Nikita could see it all over Michael's face. He was so shocked and confused by her flinch. How could she believe he'd strike her. They were happily married and were building a home together. What was wrong with her.
She should leave. She had to leave him alone and fix herself. Michael deserved better than what Nikita just did. He could finish building the bookcase on his own. She'd only fuck up more if she stayed. She had to make herself better- whatever that was. Abruptly, she shot to her feet and stammered out an excuse to run away, "You're probably right. Just… you can finish."
"Nikki…" Michael tried to follow after her. Yet he was slower to his feet with all the screws and tools around him. By the time he stood, Nikita was long gone. He didn't hear either the front or back door slam, and he didn't hear the garage open. He could've gone to find her, she was still in the house. However, he soon thought better of it. Nikita hardly let him comfort her when she was that worked up. Michael would have to torturously wait until she calmed down before he could approach.
Nikita didn't know exactly where she was going. She just had to get away from her husband before she hurt him further. She felt as though she was on the verge of tears. The ridiculousness she felt for flinching clashed with the lingering anxiety attack forming from the perceived threat. Breathing was difficult. She was about to burst. She only made it as far as the bedroom before she fell apart.
Something was wrong with her. There always had been; she knew that. But how could she flinch away from her husband. How could she be in their home, preparing for their new lives together, and believe he would hurt her. For the whole entire day, the back of her mind screamed something bad was going to happen. Why did she have to believe it. Why did she have to give into her fear. Everything was fine. She didn't have to defend herself all the time, not anymore.
Collapsing on the edge of the bed, Nikita clutched the mattress and lost her battle to her tears. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to wallow in self-pity over her flinch. But her anxiety attacks didn't manifest in any other way. She struggled for air, she shook, she scanned her surroundings frantically, and she cried. She felt every harmful emotion at once, unable to gain control. It almost seemed like she was losing her mind. For once, she couldn't fight against what was coming at her.
Michael didn't wait long before he chased after his wife. He gave her the time it took to finish building the bookcase to calm down (which, once he realized Nikita was right about the screw, only took ten minutes). Then, he searched for her. He heard her in their bedroom before he saw her. The panicked sobs were clear to understand. Although Michael wanted to burst right in and hold her in his arms, never letting go, he approached gently. Nikita didn't flinch. He was able to sit next to her on the bed and wrap her into an embrace. She curled right into his arms.
Tenderly, he kissed her anywhere he could. It was just soft brushes of his lips against her hair and skin, yet he needed her to feel his warmth and comfort in every form. Michael knew that usually helped ground Nikita once she was ready for another person's comfort. Her tears could soon stop, and her breathing could settle. It was her tense, shaking body that took longer to ease. Michael just held Nikita tighter. He held her tightly and kissed her softly.
"I'm sorry," Finding their voices, both Michael and Nikita whispered to each other. Their apologies were for drastically different reasons- their tone expressing that. Yet neither would take it back. They shook their heads and negated, "It's not your fault."
Both sighed. Nikita and Michael could continue like that forever. He'd put the blame on himself, citing that he shouldn't have yelled. Then she'd say he was fine, she had panicked over nothing like she usually did. Although they'd both try to assure each other, each trying to take the blame wouldn't get them anywhere. The two would be stuck in the same tenuous dance they always found themselves in. There was no point in sticking to it. They'd just leave it at their apologies and their acknowledgement that neither was at fault. It was just a shitty situation.
Silence washed over the married couple for a long while. Michael kept his arms wrapped securely around his wife, rocking them gently on the mattress. She melted into his embrace and tried to hold onto every ounce of strength he was giving her. It wasn't enough to take her guilt for flinching away. But Nikita did feel calmer and in charge of her anxiety for once. She had no reason to panic anymore. She was completely safe and sound.
"It's been a bad day," Eventually, Nikita mumbled. Her anxiety had been high all day. It started with a nightmare that woke her too early for comfort. Then, on her run, she swore a man had followed her; she had to take some wild turns to lose him. When she got home, she didn't know Michael had gone out to get them fresh fruit. The garage door suddenly opened, and it startled her greatly. By the time they went furniture shopping, she believed her anxiety had decreased. But then that whole fiasco occurred. Honestly, it was no surprise she had flinched so badly. Her anxiety had made her a ticking time bomb, ready to explode into a panic attack.
Nodding, Michael understood why Nikita was so worked up. He had had days like that. A nightmare turned into terrible events, which later became a panic attack set off by the stupidest thing. But that was no reason to be ashamed. It was bound to happen after all they had been through. The end of their war wouldn't end that, "It's okay to tell me about it. I understand."
"I'm supposed to be better," Nikita shook her head, muttering the words into the crook of his neck. She had probably said that so often it lost its meaning. However, it was still supposed to be true. Oversight, Gogol, Percy, Ari, Division, the Shop, Amanda, they were all defeated. Nikita and her family had survived (mostly) and were able to live their lives in complete freedom. Nightmares and anxiety attacks shouldn't be weighing them down anymore. There was nothing to worry about. They were free, which meant she had to be better than who she was.
"You are better. But that doesn't negate the fact that you're still going to have bad days. You have PTSD, Nik. We all do, in varying forms. Are you gonna say I'm not better because fireworks give me anxiety attacks? Is Alex not better despite the fact that she has some nightmares that makes her call us to ensure we're here? Is Birkhoff still struggling if he panics at the sight of blood?" Michael dared Nikita to contradict him. Of course their whole family had post-traumatic stress. No one survived the abuse they had suffered without being scarred. But that didn't mean they couldn't be strong and powerful. They could still be great.
"We're all doing far better than we ever have before. We simply have lingering fears that invade our senses. That's going to stick with us for a long time. We just need to talk to one another, know we'll always be here for love and support, and recognize that the bad days don't even come close to the good," Continuing before Nikita's stubbornness could find a way to argue, Michael reminded her of all the things she had told him, and Alex, and Birkhoff, and so many others. They were out of hell, but their minds continued to fight. They just had to keep relying on their loved ones' support to see themselves through.
There was no argument from Nikita. She just burrowed herself deeper into his warmth. Michael laid another kiss to the top of her head, and continued to rock. After a while, as her muscles finally relaxed, he figured the anxiety attack was finally gone. The two could focus on lighter things. Michael suspected that Nikita would like to do that instead, anyway, "I finished the bookcase. You were right. I had the wrong screw. But it was the right panel."
A brief chuckle slipped past Nikita's lips. The small sound made Michael beam. He needed to hear more of her laughter and see her smile once again. They shouldn't stay weighed down. They should be lifted up, keep each other afloat despite their treacherous minds, "You want to help me decorate it? I know you want the books in a certain order."
When she nodded, Michael squeezed her and rolled backwards so she'd be lifted into the air. The movement made Nikita squeal into giggles. As soon as she smiled, so did her husband. He placed more kisses along her temple and crown, and tickled his fingers along her side. She squirmed and laughed in his grasp. He didn't stop teasing her until she broke free and ran away.
The grin she threw at him over her shoulder dared him to follow. Michael was powerless against his wife. He and Nikita chased each other to the study, laughter filling their new home. The flinch and the anxiety attack weren't completely resolved; more thoughts and emotions would have to be sorted through. And Michael had his own share of issues to solve. But the couple had time to explore those later. They had all the time in the world to support and love each other. In the meantime, they could simply play around.
Nikita and Michael smiled brightly and enjoyed their freedom- their home- together.
