Set pre-series in Nikita's early recruit days, then in late Season 2. What Michael could've said to Nikita to keep her from getting canceled.
If I don't see immediate improvement, she gets a bullet in the brain. And you will be the one to put it there.
"You know why I'm here," Michael threw the door open to Nikita's room. It was close to lights-out; he thought he would've found her in bed. Instead, she was standing near her desk, inspecting a particular spot on the wall. At the sound of his voice, however, she frantically whirled around and acted like she wasn't doing anything at all. A part of him wanted to investigate what possible trouble she was up to. He could call her out for her bad cover up and ream her out for whatever she was doing. But what purpose would that serve. She would just keep getting into trouble. He had to talk her off the ledge.
Ensuring the door was closed behind him, Michael slowly approached Nikita. She remained stock-still. Only her chin moved so she could look up and stare at him. He couldn't intimidate her. No one could. He didn't really mind the fact at that moment. He didn't need intimidation for that conversation. He just needed to make her understand. Someone needed to finally talk sense into her, "If you don't get your act together, they will kill you."
"Okay," Nikita just shrugged. Her brown eyes continued to bore in his green. She didn't flinch. She didn't cower away. She continued to hold her ground. Michael blinked.
Any other recruit under the threat of death would've panicked. Or, at the very least, they would've put on a show of false bravado while fear gripped their heart. Nikita was different. There was real indifference in her eyes. She didn't care if she died. She had already faced some of the worst things a person could. What was death after that if not a blessing.
Michael attempted to not let that realization affect him. He had to stay on mission. He had to say something to save her. Though, a part of him did agree with her: what was the point of living with all that pain. It would've been easier to receive a bullet to the brain. But they couldn't take the easy way out. There were things they had to do, things they had to prove, "So you're going to give into everything anyone has ever said about you? You're just going to be scummy orphan trash they can toss aside?"
"Fuck you," Shoving her face into Michael's, Nikita practically growled. Her voice was so low, it dripped with venom. He had struck a chord. Good. He got her feeling something other than indifference. He could say something she'd actually listen to, even if she looked at him with utter hatred- the kind of hatred she could use to rip his head off.
Grabbing her roughly by the arms, Michael shoved Nikita away. He spun her towards her bed and forced her to fall onto the mattress. Before she could snap back to her feet or begin to scream, he shouted over her. His own anger mixed with his sternness, leaving her hardly any room to fight him, "If you die, they'd all be right. You're nothing. You always were nothing. And you'll always be nothing."
"Great pep talk. You really want to convince me to live?" Nikita spat. She didn't stand from the bed, however. Her glare didn't need to be at eye level to be menacing. She sat straight up on the edge of the mattress, pure rage continuing to burn brightly in her eyes.
"You don't want to prove them wrong? If you keep living, keep fighting, then all they've ever said about you would be wrong. You could prove how special you are," Softening his tone (at least removing the anger from it) Michael continued. Nikita appeared stubborn and spiteful enough to do everything in her power to prove others wrong. She wouldn't accept the labels people placed on her. She wasn't nothing. She was somebody who could make a difference.
"By killing other people who don't deserve to live," Nikita countered. She was under no delusion what Division did for the government. She was being trained to kill people those in positions of power deemed unworthy of life. They were no different than her. Other people decided their fates and refused to ever give them a chance.
Michael sighed heavily. He grabbed the hard plastic chair from the desk and sat in it facing Nikita. He didn't know why he had expected the conversation to go easily. Nothing about her had been easy. She had almost killed several guards and trainers. And she had attacked him and Amanda. Nikita was on her own path. She couldn't be diverted by Michael or anyone, "I can't convince you with the fact that you'll be serving your country and the greater good."
Nikita shot Michael a look that basically said 'well, duh'. He did everything he could to swallow down his frustration. Snapping at her obviously wouldn't make her listen. She was used to being yelled at. She could tune it out easily. What she couldn't ignore was someone asking about her wellbeing. It'd be foreign enough that she'd have to respond out of shock. Also, asking about Nikita's thoughts could help Michael actually talk to her instead of feeding her lines, "Why are you so determined to get yourself canceled?"
"I told you. I want out," Lying back against her pillow, Nikita stared blankly at the ceiling. She had made numerous escape attempts before. None of them had worked, regardless of the amount of guards she had attacked. She couldn't sprint out of Division. Even if she could, where would she go; she didn't have a home. Fortunately, running away wasn't the only way out. If she broke enough rules and caused enough hell, Division would take her out for good. She'd have the ultimate escape.
"Death isn't an escape," Somberly, Michael muttered. He knew he couldn't put much weight into the statement. After Hayley and Elizabeth died, he had tried to overdose on morphine. He wanted to escape the pain and drift away after them. The offer of revenge was the only thing that kept him going. Yet, he was still so close to choosing that escape. Nikita seemed to read it in his eyes. She regarded him in a way that appeared like she knew him. He wanted to dissuade that look. But before he could, she closed her eyes and nestled into her pillow.
"But I control what happens to me," Nikita admitted quietly. With her eyes closed and laxed position, she was not-so-subtly hinting that she was ready for bed and needed Michael to leave. He wasn't going anywhere, however. Not until she gave up her cancellation course.
"She won't live for spite, and she won't live for others," Studying Nikita, Michael voiced some of his thoughts aloud. He expected her to keep her expression blank; however, the corner of her lips lifted slightly. It was almost like she was proud of being difficult. She was sticking to her stubborn stance. He should just give up and leave.
Unfortunately for her, Michael could be stubborn in return. He leaned closer to her so she could feel his presence despite her closed eyes, "And it's not like I can convince you to live for revenge either. You never had anyone worthy to fight for."
Eyes slowly opening, Nikita raked her gaze over Michael. She soon sat upright, yet she kept her gaze on him. He couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking. Her expression stayed blank. Yet he assumed she was studying him in return. After a long moment of silence, she was able to call him out, "Is that what you're alive for? Revenge?"
Whereas Michael leaned back in his chair, Nikita sat forward on the bed. She continued to examine him with all-too-knowing brown eyes. She hadn't been in Division long, but she already seemed to be able to read him better than he could read himself, "You're not like the rest of us. You're not a criminal. You're definitely not a junkie. You're just government. And you're using Division to get what you want, like Percy and Amanda."
"What makes you think that?" Michael tried to keep his expression neutral. Amanda had been right about Nikita. The way she studied a situation, finding the best way to survive, was remarkable. She could read the place she was trapped in and the person she was trapped with better than any trained agent. If they could harness that ability, Division would be unstoppable. Though, Michael didn't believe Nikita could be controlled. She was going to do whatever she wanted. And if that included destroying the world, then she was going to achieve it. She already had him pegged. She could use that information to tear him apart then focus on a higher target.
"Cause you look like every main character in a cop drama," Instead, Nikita just made fun of his fashion choices. Michael couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the quip.
It was so unexpected he was caught off guard. She had that uncanny ability with him. He either couldn't predict what she was going to do next, or she found a way to slip past his guard. That had the potential of being a huge problem later. Michael had to get Nikita under control as soon as possible. Or, maybe he could simply learn to play along with her antics, "Alright. I'll give you that one."
Nikita continued to study Michael. But rather than a serious expression marring her features, she cracked a shy, confused smile. Hearing her handler laugh inside Division was jarring. She didn't believe such joy could exist in that place. Were they even allowed to be happy, "I didn't know we could laugh down here."
"You have a lot of freedoms down here. Much more than death can offer you," Michael tried to redirect the topic back to its original point. It didn't work. Nikita's small grin, an expression that hadn't existed for far too long, fell. She shifted back on the bed and glared at him. He sighed, defeated.
"What can I possibly say to make you want to live?" Although he attempted not to sound desperate, Michael was reaching his limit. How could he keep fighting for something Nikita so clearly didn't want. Why was he even fighting that hard. She was only one of many recruits that Division would swallow whole. If she wasn't willing to survive, why should he make her. Yes, he didn't want anyone to die; he didn't want the recruits who were constantly abused by the system and tossed aside to continue getting hurt. But there was only so much Michael could do to save Nikita from a bullet. So why was he fighting past that point.
She didn't have that answer for him. Nikita seemed just as confused as Michael was by his determination. She wasn't worth the effort- never had been, "Why are you fighting so hard? I'm just a recruit. Let me go."
"You are more than the labels other people placed on you," Strengthening his resolve, Michael refused to quit. He wanted to protect Division's agents in the field, and he wanted to keep the recruits on the right track. That meant he had to protect them from themselves as well. Nikita glared at him, but he ignored it. He moved as close to her face as he could, forcing her to hear every single word. He wouldn't let her argue. Nor would he let her think anything besides what he told her, "Prove them wrong. If not for spite, then for yourself. Be the amazing person you've always known you can be, even when no one believed in you."
Nikita's intense gaze dropped to her lap. Her rigged upright position also dropped. She slouched on her small bed, becoming lost in thought. Besides when she studied him, that was the first time Michael had seen her take a moment to think. She wasn't going to act on her first instinct. His words had stopped her. Whether he had completely stopped her from sprinting towards her death or not, he didn't know. And he wasn't going to press the issue. Just getting her to think meant he was on the right track. Nikita could be reasoned with.
The room was silent for a while. Michael patiently sat and waited for Nikita, though. He wouldn't rush her or keep piling onto her thoughts. She could take a moment to consider what he said. If she wanted to argue, he'd argue right back. That was his final say on the matter. After some time, Nikita appeared to recognize that. She looked back up at Michael, her gaze much softer. And when she finally spoke again, she wasn't focused on dying, "Was I right about you?"
"I'll let you know if you're still here in a week," Michael quipped. Nikita scoffed; though, her brown eyes lit up. There was a spark in her gaze that he had never seen before. He believed that spark was her finally fighting to live. Well, he was more hopeful than full of belief. Yet he was going to bet on that feeling. He got to his feet, put the chair back at the desk, and moved towards the door. There wasn't much else he could say to Nikita. What he had said was sinking in. She was beginning to see sense.
"Knowing more about you isn't as much of an incentive as you think it is," Nikita fired back. A full smirk pulled at her lips that time. It made Michael want to smile in return.
"Good night, Nikita," Before exiting her room, Michael flashed her a crooked grin. Although it was a quick smile, it reached all the way up to his green eyes.
"Night, Michael," Nikita echoed in the empty room. She remained completely still for a long moment. She couldn't move or think. When she could finally take a deep breath, she collapsed against her mattress. She brushed her hair out of her face and stared at her ceiling. Many different thoughts crowded into her mind, demanding her to make a decision. What should she think; what should she do. The lights soon went out in her room, and she was left alone in the darkness with her too many thoughts.
"Hey. What did Michael say to you as a recruit to stop you from getting canceled?" While she and Nikita cleaned their weapons in the safehouse, Alex dared to ask. She had been thinking about it for a while, remembering what Michael had said to her when she had almost gotten canceled for her behavior. The clear-cut fact that she was about to die made her shape up so she could be a better mole. Yet that obviously wouldn't have worked for Nikita. She had been a far different case. A whole mission had been created to keep her line for God's sake, "Cause the way Amanda and Percy tell it, they were shocked he even got through to your stubborn ass."
Chuckling lightly, Nikita shook her head. She wasn't that stubborn. She was just lost. Had it not been for Michael, she would've been lost forever. He had saved her that day and almost every day after, "It wasn't so much what he said but what he did."
"Which was?" Alex wondered. She placed down the gun she was absentmindedly cleaning and gave Nikita her full attention. She was too lost in thought to return it.
"He cared," Nikita stared at Michael across the room. Her eyes didn't have to be on him long for him to notice. He looked up at her and flashed his crooked smile. She beamed.
