Set during the events of 4x02 "Dead or Alive". Alex and Nikita have a much needed conversation.

"Fuck!" Although she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, Nikita couldn't stop the curse from spewing past her lips. She had tried to relax on her cot in the airplane, yet it was useless. The autopilot attempting to fight turbulence caused everything to rock violently. Her injured shoulder kept getting jostled and struck. She had no reprieve from the pain. After one too many sharp jabs of pain that felt as though she was getting shot all over again, Nikita had enough. She bit harshly into her burner cell as if that would solve all her problems, "Who's stupid idea was it to have a plane as a safehouse?"

Alex just laughed over the phone. When Nikita first found out about the airplane base, she praised the idea. It was the perfect way to stay off the Shop's or any government's radar. The team could also always be on the move, ready to deploy for any mission. Sure, there were some drawbacks, such as fuel and other resources. And living on a plane was almost like living out of a van. But it was the best the team could do. Good thing even their adequate was excellent.

Except when it came to injuries. Nikita cursed and mumbled some more, each jostle from the plane irritating her gunshot wound. Alex felt no sympathy for her. She brought it on herself when she went rogue from her team again. Nikita had to learn her lesson some way or another, "Aww. Is your gunshot wound bothering you? Suck it up, you whiny bitch."

"Wow. No sympathy from my supposed best friend," Nikita sighed. She should've expected that response from Alex. It was about time she faced the consequences of her actions. She just wished it didn't hurt so damn much.

"You never heard me complain that much when I was shot," Alex reminded her. Although she had been far too stubborn for her own good when she was shot, which led her to a lot of trouble, she didn't groan and complain. Getting shot hurt like hell, but they had managed to survive the pain. Besides, both Alex and Nikita knew experiencing withdrawal was far worse.

"The two times you were shot and had expert medical care and rehab afterwards? Yeah, not the same," Nikita knew she shouldn't complain. In hindsight, her gunshot wound was nothing. She was just fucking frustrated. Despite everything she had done, her team was still in a terrible situation; she still had to mend her torn-up shoulder with a field dressing and hope her muscles weren't permanently damaged. She had wanted better for her loved ones, but it continued to be utter bullshit. It wasn't fair.

"How many times have you been shot, then?" Understanding Nikita's frustrations, Alex simply moved the conversation along. Her best friend had called her to relieve stress, not feel more regret and anger. That'd just have to come later.

Attempting to ignore the pangs in her shoulder, Nikita sat up in her cot. She continued to be woozy from the blood loss, but sitting upright could've been better for her shoulder. She only wanted to be comfortable. Maybe that'd help ease her frustrations. It definitely helped her think of a reply, "Not counting ones to the vest or grazes, five."

"I don't even want to know what you consider a graze," Chuckling quietly to herself, Alex muttered. Chances were, Nikita didn't count any bullet that didn't pierce her skin as a real shot; it was how she could convince Michael she was fine when she really wasn't. But Alex wasn't able to confirm her suspicion right that second. Another sharp rumble of the plane caused Nikita to stifle her next scream of discomfort. That was probably the worst one yet. It was past concerning, "Jesus. Take a pain pill or something. It'll at least help you relax."

"No. No pills. I'm fine," Stiffly, Nikita refused. She could fight through the pain without any numbing drugs. She had to.

"You're clearly not," Alex mumbled. If the silent cursing wasn't her clue, then Nikita switching to quiet Russian definitely was. The enclosed space of the airplane base didn't really allow for private conversations. Speaking in another language only a few of them knew was the best way to not be overheard. Nikita didn't want Birkhoff, Ryan, or Michael to know what she was saying. Alex sighed deeply.

"I don't want to take them right now. That'd be too much," Even if she whispered it, even if she spoke only in Russian, Nikita regretted sharing the thought out loud. She had called Alex to distract herself from her jumbled up thoughts and emotions. She didn't want to delve into them. But with that thought released, her best friend was going to question her about it.

Whenever addictions were mentioned, Nikita liked to skirt the subject. She'd only share as much as it would take for Alex, or whoever else she was talking to, to know she understood their problems. She refused to talk about her own struggles for long. But since the cat was out of the bag, Alex was going to latch onto it. It was about time they had that conversation, "What would be too much?"

"Alex," Nikita warned.

"Nikita," Alex argued.

Silence filled the phone; Nikita wouldn't give in without a fight. Luckily, Alex could be just as stubborn, "Are you afraid you'll relapse?"

"First time I took pain killers in Division, I almost did. Amanda had to confiscate the drugs from me and talk me down," Explaining halfheartedly, Nikita hoped that would get Alex off the topic. She wasn't in the headspace to discuss drugs and addictions; she'd rather get shot again than talk about potential relapses.

"Yeah. Same thing happened to me," Alex sighed. It had happened after she broke her wrist as a recruit. She refused to tell Nikita at the time, believing she'd be seen as weak and unable to handle being a double agent. Fortunately, she knew better then. She wasn't weak, she was just human.

"I haven't taken pain pills since," There, that was it. The conversation was resolved. Nikita and Alex could resume discussing lighter issues- such as their ever ongoing war. That was easier to talk about, after all.

Alex, however, wasn't finished talking. She could've sworn Nikita had taken pain killers before. She had seen a bottle in her med-kit when they had lived together in her loft. She had seen her eyeing the pills at the beach house and in Medical after bad injuries. Nikita had to have taken pain medication before. Alex couldn't believe otherwise, "You haven't?"

"A couple temptations here or there. Alcohol I can handle. But narcotics? That's too much for me," Nikita wasn't sure why she kept sharing her thoughts so openly. It was only irritating her more. She had warned Alex that it would've been more than she could handle at the moment, and it was rapidly reaching that point. The conversation should just lie. Didn't the women know each other enough. They didn't need to explore further.

"Is that why there was an open, full bottle of pain pills in your loft? The ones I found and tried to OD on?" The question had been burning in Alex's mind for years. She had always wanted to know why a former addict kept such strong pain killers around. She wanted to know why the seal had been broken, but the bottle was full. And she wanted to know why Nikita never fucking talked about it. She would only focus on the fact that Alex had almost died in front of her, never the fact that she had the narcotics in the first place.

Nikita didn't say anything for a long time. She knew she owed Alex an explanation. She just couldn't make herself talk. The only thing she could think of to say, after too long of a moment of silence, was something she had told her best friend before, "You've always been stronger than me, Alex."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've relapsed way more than you have," Alex snapped. Why was it so hard for Nikita to just talk to her. She always expected her to talk about her addiction and relapses. So why wouldn't she. What was Nikita holding back.

"That's not… Relapsing doesn't mean you're weak. You knew it was wrong. You had guilt and shame, and you wanted to be better even if you couldn't do it. I never… I didn't regret relapsing. I kept pills around because I thought… I thought that made me better, not the other way around. At the time, I didn't want to be stronger. Unlike you," Quietly, slowly, and in broken Russian that could only be explained as her fighting back tears, Nikita explained. She hated herself further with each word, and her injured shoulder repeated that with throbbing pangs. Yet Alex had to finally know. If anyone deserved the full story, it was her.

A thousand different responses filtered through Alex's mind. She could've said a thousand different things in response to Nikita. However, she didn't think her best friend was looking for support or reassurance. Nikita already knew she had that. What she really needed was for Alex to make her keep talking, "How many times have you relapsed?"

"Not counting slip-ups or temptations, three," Unlike with how many times she had been shot, Nikita didn't have to pause to think about that answer. She was well aware of how many times she had fallen apart- each one harder to come back from than the last.

"Did you relapse when you ran away?" Alex felt like she already had the answer to that question, yet she asked it anyway. She wanted to know where Nikita's head was at when she had kept herself away from her family for so long.

Although she easily could've lied, Nikita decided not to. She had to own up to her mistakes and terrible decisions, "Tempted. But no."

"What makes you stop yourself?" The two women should've had that conversation years ago. When Alex and Nikita first talked about the hells of getting clean and staying sober, they should've talked about their coping mechanisms. Maybe if they had, they wouldn't have been where they were. Maybe if they were brave enough to be truly open, it wouldn't have been so hard to be truthful then.

Nikita had once advised Alex that if she knew the reason for her pain, she could actually begin to heal. Except, she had never shared her reason. She never let her own pain be known. At least, until then, "I took drugs to escape my foster family, to escape Division, to escape the feeling that I was useless. I don't need to escape anymore. I need to fight for my family."

Irritation shot through Alex. Obviously the team was fighting for one another. They were fighting for the whole world. The question wasn't whether Nikita would fight or escape, it was if she realized her family was just as capable as she was, "Fight alone, or together?"

"I don't know," Barely above a whisper, Nikita admitted. She should've known the answer by then. She should've known that running away from her team didn't fix anything or keep them from harm. In fact, she had been the one to hurt her family by playing the martyr. But even after that, she wouldn't change what she did. She'd always sacrifice herself for her loved ones. They deserved better than her.

Alex never got the chance to argue with Nikita. There were so many things she wanted to scream at her best friend; there were so many things she wanted to say to force her to believe she was just as deserving as the rest of them. They were all better together than apart. But another bout of turbulence caused Nikita to cuss loudly in English again. That time, it seemed to wake someone else on the plane. Alex heard rustling over the phone, then Nikita's quiet voice whispering, "Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"I think your bandages need changed," Michael responded clearly. He didn't sound like he had been asleep at all. That made sense; he always tossed and turned whenever he had to sleep on a plane. And, of course, he never needed much sleep. He probably grew tired of Nikita's grumbling and came over. If he helped her out, he could go back to pretending to sleep.

"I can…" The protest died on Nikita's lips before she could fully state it. The stern look on Michael's expression wasn't what shut her up, however. It was the fact that after so long, despite the dark guarded reflection in his usually bright green eyes, despite the fact that there seemed to be something off between them, he would be touching her again. She could risk her stubbornness and pride just to feel his warmth. Three long months without it, and she felt as though her chest would cave in. She wouldn't be truly mended unless he held her. Nikita wouldn't be whole until Michael held her in his arms again.

Neither of them really spoke, however. Michael simply grabbed the med-kit and gently took care of Nikita's fresh wounds. She stifled groans of pain, biting her lip and clutching the burner cell in her hand. For a moment, she forgot she was even on the phone. Alex had to speak up, wondering what exactly was going on, for Nikita to remember, "Is that Michael?"

"Yeah," Without elaborating any further, Nikita answered.

"Are you guys… okay?" Alex didn't know how else to phrase her question. The last she knew about Michael's and Nikita's relationship was that Nikita left her engagement ring behind when she ran away. Neither said anything about where they stood. The others just had to guess.

Based on the dead silence on the other end of the phone, Alex assumed that the couple wasn't doing well. She should drop the subject and say something else, "Tell him I said, 'hi'."

"Alex says 'hi'," Forcing out a held-in breath, Nikita relayed the message. She was glad that Alex had gotten her silent hint and changed the subject. Discussing addictions had been enough. She didn't think she could talk about Michael as well.

"Hey, Alex. How are you?" Halting his movements for just a second, Michael replied. He had to move his face close to Nikita's in order for Alex to hear him over the phone. That was a bad move. Brown and green eyes clashed, trying desperately not to glance down at how close their lips were. If they just moved a centimeter, they'd kiss. Michael pulled away and went back to replacing her bandage. Nikita sighed and brought the phone between them.

"I'm good. Just trying to figure all this out. Sonya and I think we're onto something, though," At the sound of the call going on speaker, Alex relayed the information she had shared with Nikita. It wasn't much. But at that point in their war, they had to take anything they could.

"That's good. Keep us updated. And, please, stay safe," Although his words were directed at Alex, Michael stared at Nikita. She fought the instinct to look away.

"We will," Alex promised sternly before ending the call.

Michael and Nikita were left in silence once again. They sat stiffly next to one another on her cot- their thighs weren't even brushing. He made certain to quickly and efficiently clean and redress her wounds, so they could both rest apart from one another. However, the autopilot course correcting itself caused the two to tumble together. Antiseptic burned bitterly against Nikita's skin. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears and a scream slipping loose. Instantly, Michael's warm hands attempted to soothe her, "It's okay. Just breathe."

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, Nikita harshly breathed in and out. Michael continued to touch her gently. His hands never left her as he finished cleaning the bullet wounds and placing new bandages. The longer he remained by her side, the easier it was for her to breathe and relax. It helped even more when he caressed her arm. She was safe. She would be okay. Michael would take care of her, "I think we have some non-narcotic pain killers."

Nikita's eyes snapped open to search Michael's. Had he heard what she told Alex (he spoke Russian). Did he know how much she was struggling. In the darkness, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. He could've simply remembered that she avoided harsh pain killers. She hoped it was only that. Their relationship was strained enough as it was. She didn't want him thinking about her any differently. She needed him to remain by her side with his gentle hand on her arm. Maybe if she expressed how grateful she was, he would, "Thank you."

"Of course," Michael whispered, his thumb lightly skimming her bicep. That was the part where he'd kiss her. That was where he would squeeze her arm reassuringly, lean in, and kiss her. Nikita expected it. Her heart leapt. Her lips tingled. He was going to kiss her, and everything would be okay. He would kiss her, and the burning ache in her chest would subside.

Except, instead of bringing himself closer, Michael pulled away. He abruptly dropped his gentle hand from her arm and stood up. Nikita felt the lack of warmth at her side immediately. Her insides iced over, the emptiness in her chest gaping wider. Despite the pain in her shoulder, she reached out from the cot to bring him back to her. He was too far, however. He continued to slip out of her grasp, "Michael…"

"I'll get your medicine. You get some rest," Already walking away, Michael muttered. Nikita slammed her head back against the wall of the plane, creating a dull thud.

She was so goddamn motherfucking stupid. How was it that she kept ruining everything. Ryan had his 'wall of crazy'. Birkhoff hid in a new makeshift nerd cave. Michael barely looked at her, spoke to her, touched her. And she and Alex couldn't make it through a conversation without holding back their thoughts and yelling at each other. Nikita had only wanted to fix things. With her gone, it should've been fixed. Instead, everything was so much worse.

Staring at Ryan's 'wall of crazy' across the plane, Nikita's self-hatred and self-pity fizzled out of her. She was being ridiculous. So what if her past actions ruined things. Beating herself up wouldn't fix it all. She had to act. She had to be as fierce and determined as she had always been, and do something about her shitty situation. Pushing off her cot, Nikita stomped towards the dry erase board full of evidence. She wasn't wallowing or hiding. She was attacking. She was going to attack with her team behind her back like she had always done before. Her fear couldn't continue to choke her voice or hold her back. Nikita was better than that.

She was going to finally listen to her team. She was going to be the version of herself they all believed she could be. Nikita would be the person she had fought to become with her friends and family around her. She was going to attack Amanda and the Shop, and finally end things for fucking good.