Set after 1x17 "Covenants". Mikita discuss how real their new relationship is.

"Michael," Nikita whispered into the dark and still loft. The two had quieted after they had ripped each other's clothes off and had wrestled between the sheets of her bed. Lingering kisses and touches passed between them. Yet after they were spent, exhaustion settled in. They sort of dozed in one another's arms, not able to speak just yet. They were able to breathe each other in, though, and that had been enough for the moment.

Yet that moment soon passed. A million thoughts rushed into Nikita's mind, desperately needing to be expressed right that second. She couldn't sleep with all those things left unsaid. They'd never leave her alone. They'd plague her and torment her and drive her insane. They had already battled her exhaustion and left her painfully awake. And since she was so awake and alert with no sleep in sight, she was so very, very awkwardly aware of Michael beside her.

The two weren't lying shoulder to shoulder on her small bed. Michael was partially draped over Nikita, his arms wrapped around her waist and his head nestled in the crook of her neck. One of her hands absentmindedly played with his hair while the other traced the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder. But she stilled completely when she realized what he was doing.

Michael Bishop was cuddling with her. Michael Bishop was curled into her side post-sex and while they were both naked. Michael Bishop, the man who had wanted to kill her a few days ago, the man who had taught her and had protected her in Division, the man who was more important to her than anyone else in the world, was holding her so gently and tenderly that it could've been described as lovingly.

And that completely freaked Nikita out.

Yes, she wanted to cuddle with Michael and be held in his warm, strong arms. But she had wanted that so badly and for so long, she was afraid that it wasn't real. She was terrified that when Michael woke from his doze, he was going to be the Division agent assigned to kill her again. Whatever bliss the two had found between the sheets would be gone as soon as the morning came. She was going to lose Michael again. And that time, it was going to be so much worse. Because they had actually crossed that line together. They had actually had sex.

Five years ago in St. Petersburg, Nikita and Michael had kissed. They had kissed deeply and passionately and with the full intention of wanting to have sex. Yet they didn't move farther than kissing and feeling each other up on the bed. They couldn't cross that line then. But they eventually had. And since they had gotten naked together, since they had moaned one another's name in pleasure, since they had reached such amazing bliss, there was nowhere else for them to go. They couldn't return to how things used to be. They couldn't take a step back. All that was left for them was the future- the uncertain, terrifying future.

Nikita wanted to know- needed to know- what exactly was to come for her and Michael. They had had sex. Michael Bishop, the head of Division's agents, the agent in charge of the task force to kill her, had kissed her, had undressed her, had given her pleasure and had received pleasure in return. So where the fuck did that leave them. He couldn't seriously go back to trying to kill her after that. Could he. Could he wake up and decide that he didn't want to be there anymore, that he didn't want her, that it had all been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake.

There was a sharpness in Nikita's whisper that made it sound like a shout in the quiet of her loft. Michael jolted at the sound of his name, yet he didn't panic. He simply tightened his arms around her waist, nestled deeper into her side, and hummed against her skin, "Mhm…"

Nikita's breath hitched in her chest as she paused that time. She could've sworn that Michael was peppering her skin with butterfly kisses as he laid so close to her there was no room for air. He was so gentle with her. He was so gentle, and tender, and soft. When had Michael Bishop- so serious, so stern, so brooding- ever been soft. He had been kind. He had been caring. But Nikita had never seen Michael soft. Who was the man next to her.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she had completely misjudged what Michael would do once he woke up and came to his senses. He had already come to his senses. When he had stood in the doorway of her loft hours ago with an apology on his lips and regret in his eyes, he had already come to his senses. Michael went there for her. He wasn't there for some emotional release to unhealthily cope with his pain and guilt. He wasn't there just to get his rocks off. He was there for Nikita.

Pulling away from Michael, Nikita couldn't breathe. She couldn't think either. She needed answers. She needed him to talk to her and tell her what was on his mind. Because her mind was a mess. And she desperately needed to know, "What is this?"

Michael peeled open his beautiful, deep, green eyes when he heard her sharp question. He pulled his head out from the crook of her neck and finally seemed to notice that she had begun to inch away from him on the small bed. There wasn't a lot of room for the two to actually move around. But it was obvious when one of them was trying to escape the other. Much more alert and awake, Michael shifted so he could see Nikita's face. He must've been able to read the panicked curiosity in her eyes because his muscles tensed underneath her hands. He sat up on the mattress and turned on her bedside lamp.

Once the soft light was on, Nikita was brutally aware of how naked the two of them were. Neither had bothered putting clothes on after they had been ripped off. And with the lamp on, they could see every inch of each other. Although Michael had seen Nikita's naked body when he had undressed her and when he had worshiped her body in caresses and kisses, that time was different. Michael Bishop was studying her with concerned eyes, attempting to figure out what was wrong. She felt exposed. She felt bare and vulnerable in all the wrong ways. She needed to make him stop staring at her. She needed to cover up.

Pulling the sheet up towards her chin, Nikita wound it tightly around her bare chest. She tucked her knees into her chest as well, also keeping them under the sheet. Despite not knowing what was wrong, Michael copied Nikita's actions. He covered himself with the bedding before shifting towards her. His hands landed gently on her thighs, and he lowered his gaze to match hers. She wanted to pull away and run even more. She wanted him to be sincere. But that seemed like too much. Especially for the thoughts she was having. Especially with her confusion about what he wanted and what they were really doing there.

She simply needed to suck it up and ask. Nikita couldn't be held back by her fear, nor could her negative assumptions weigh her down. She just had to rip the bandaid off and ask what happened to them in the morning after, "What is this? Like, what are we doing- together? Are we… is this real? Is this an actual thing? Are you with me? Or is this some sort of emotional outburst after everything that happened today? Like, are you gonna leave as soon as you're satisfied, or you've calmed down?"

"I'm not leaving," Michael replied instantly and sincerely. He pressed his hands firmly into her thighs and moved so close to her they shared breath again. Nikita's eyes implored Michael's, begging to know just how serious he was. He was serious. Of course he was. He would never be that flippant. Of all his serious moments, then was his most. He wasn't leaving. He'd never leave. Nikita's negative assumptions had definitely been wrong. She wasn't with Michael Bishop, the Division agent. She was with Michael, the man who had always cared for her, "I'm with you, Nikita."

"With me in this war, or…" Nikita couldn't help but ask. She knew exactly what Michael meant. The way he looked at her left no room for misinterpretation. They had kissed, had had sex, had dozed off in each other's arms because he wanted to be with her. He had no other motivations. He wanted her. Yet she still needed to hear him say it.

Noticing the tense rise in Nikita's shoulders, Michael reached for his button down shirt. He vaguely knew that it had been tossed somewhere over the side of the mattress. He soon found it and held it out for her to where. She didn't need to stay wrapped like a mummy in the sheets. She could cover up with his clothes- whatever she needed to do to be comfortable. He wanted her to be comfortable, after all. It'd make it easier for her to listen to him, "I'm with you. Wherever you are, I'm with you. This is real."

Nikita was slow to pull on the offered shirt, too focused on Michael's confession to truly move. Having sex wasn't just physical for him. She had known as much after St. Petersburg five years ago. Michael didn't see sex was purely physical. It was always emotional for him. If he was going to commit to someone like that, then he was going to commit all the way. Nikita wasn't the exception. Michael had had sex with her because he was hers. He wouldn't leave and go back to Division; he wouldn't try to kill her. Wherever she went, so would he.

Gently, Michael helped Nikita slip into the button down. Once it was draped over her small shoulders, he then began to slip the buttons through the holes. Nikita held onto his forearms as he did, completely in awe of everything he did. He kept his eyes locked on hers, "When I said you were right five years ago, I wasn't just talking about the fact that I should've believed you'd help me get Kasim. I meant, you were right about ignoring everything and just being together. I should've been with you since the beginning. You were right."

"And you were hurting," Tenderly caressing Michael's stubbled cheek, Nikita added. She had always known why he had stopped himself five years ago. He had been grieving the tragic loss of his family, and he couldn't move forward until that pain had subsided. She had understood. After Daniel, she had understood even more. There was nothing Michael had to apologize for regarding that moment. It was okay for him to grieve.

"Not hurting so much that I had to deny myself this," Kissing the inside of Nikita's wrist, Michael admitted. She couldn't stop herself from pausing again. Fortunately, Michael was ready to remind her of how very real things were between them. The sheet still covered their laps, yet his hands were on her waist, pulling her to practically sit atop him. He bumped her forehead with his and ran his thumbs along her abdomen. Nikita's breath began again by matching Michael's. And by soon realizing that 'this' was the softness that she had never seen from him but he had always wanted to be.

"You're here now, though. Right?" Nikita wondered quietly, her hand dropping from his cheek to his shoulder. Her fingers continued to absentmindedly dance along his soft, warm skin, however. Since she had begun touching him, she didn't believe she could stop. She had to feel every inch of him. She had to memorize each line of his tattoos, each dip of his muscles, each scar, each faint freckle. Even if he might pull away, she had to touch him; she had to feel him.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm here now. I'm always here," Michael swore. He promised. He guaranteed. He pledged. Squeezing Nikita tight, he vowed that he was there and that he would always be there. He had made the decision to be with her on the flight back from St. Petersburg. Nothing would take him away from her that time. He was with her until the end of time. If she would have him.

Whereas Nikita beamed brilliantly- her smile igniting the gold in her brown eyes- Michael hesitated. Doubt began to creep into his mind, marring his features and tensing his relaxed muscles. He knew where he stood and what he wanted. But after all he had done, Nikita's thoughts and feelings were a mystery. There was a chance his latest stunt had caused him to lose her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if it had. Though, there was a good chance he deserved it, "Are you here with me? I'd understand if you're not after what I've done. But… is this… is this real for you too? Are you… will you stay with me?"

Nikita tried not to chuckle at Michael. If he needed to ask questions in order to assure himself, then she'd absolutely answer him. However, it was just so sweet to see him stutter and trip over his words. He cared so deeply for what she thought and what she felt, that he couldn't remain his stoic self. He crumbled whenever she was around. He better get used to that, though, because she'd always be around, "Yes. Michael. Absolutely. Yes."

Michael was so elated by her response that he hugged Nikita. She laughed joyously into their embrace and squeezed him as hard as she could. When they eventually separated, he pressed his forehead against hers again. The way she looked at him while they were that close was possibly the greatest thing in the world. Her brown eyes were all on him, bright, adoring, and clear. He always wanted to stay like that. He always wanted her to look at him like that.

More importantly and more powerfully, though, Michael wanted to kiss Nikita. He wanted to hold her warm, lithe body against his and kiss her soundly. Brushing her nose with his, he almost pressed his lips against hers. However, doubt held him back. What if, although she was with him, she wanted to take things slow. They had been through too much lately (actually, ever since they had known each other, they had been through a lot) sex couldn't fix it all. What if she wanted to go slow to ensure that he was really there with her. If that was the case, he'd do it. He simply had to make sure he knew what she wanted first, "Can I kiss you?"

Laughter erupted out of Nikita before she could stop it. Michael hadn't hesitated before kissing her hours earlier. But after they had had sex, he became shy. She found that fact absolutely adorable. And sweet. He didn't want to hurt her, or make her uncomfortable, or push her too far. He just wanted her to be happy. Luckily, with him, she already was, "Baby, we're together. You can do whatever you want."

Chuckling in pure bliss, Michael kissed Nikita. That kiss was nothing like the ones they had shared earlier. It wasn't passionate and biting and full of unsaid feelings. It wasn't sweet and chaste and tentative. Their kiss was full of smiles and laughter and absolute joy. The two could hardly kiss for long before they were collapsing from giggles. But that didn't stop them from continuing to kiss over and over again.

Eventually, Michael flashed Nikita that crooked smile of his- the crooked smile he reserved just for her. She hadn't seen that smile in such a long time; seeing it again felt like she had been holding her breath and had finally remembered to breathe again. A part of her wanted to spend the rest of her life just making Michael smile at her like that. It'd be a life well worth living if she could. That smile and accompanying laughter and freedom from him was the Michael she had always known. That happiness, kindness, and sweetness was the Michael she had fallen in love with- the Michael she wanted, "There's my Michael."

"He's been missing for a while, huh?" Michael muttered sheepishly. He attempted to duck his head in shame, yet Nikita held his eyes to hers. She cupped his chin in her hand and swept her thumb along his cheek. He didn't need to hide. She understood him. And as long as he was himself around her, she wouldn't complain.

Michael just had to kiss Nikita again. He had messed up with her the first time around. But he swore he wouldn't make dumb mistakes that time. He couldn't lose someone so perfect. He couldn't lose the person he had realized had mended his broken heart, "Nikita, you're the first person in a very long time that has made me happy. I mean, truly happy. The only reason I can smile and laugh is because of you. You brought that back to me."

Nikita smiled so brightly her cheeks hurt. She was also fairly certain that her cheeks flushed beet red. Judging by Michael's chuckle, that was a correct assumption. But she couldn't stop from blushing even if she tried. Not only was Michael saying some of the best things in the world to her, she was also so brilliantly happy. The joy of having what she wanted had to be expressed. And it had to be shared, "I'm happy too."

Their laughter filled kiss soon grew passionate. The bed sheet was kicked away from their legs, and they laid back down against the pillows. Excited hands began to travel along newly explored skin, wanting to feel more than before. The buttons of his dress shirt were slowly slid out of place until her chest was exposed. Michael dared to separate his lips from Nikita's to take advantage of that. He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck. When she moaned slightly, he couldn't help but expel a breath against her heated skin and husk in utter excitement, "Can I tell you what I want?"

Smirking, Nikita was going to make a quip about how badly Michael wanted her. But then his stomach growled. She doubted his hunger had made him stop kissing her, yet the coincidence couldn't be ignored. She giggled and wondered cheekily, "Food?"

"No… Wait. Well, yeah actually. Do you have any?" Distracted, Michael asked. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until his stomach had growled and Nikita had mentioned food. But since that thought was on his mind, he couldn't shake it. He would love a snack right about then. Or maybe one of the meals he hadn't been able to eat while his thoughts had been plagued with her.

"Yeah. Let me go get some," Giggling softly, Nikita went to move towards the kitchen. She could eat something too; she probably should eat something too. She didn't think she had eaten a proper meal since Michael had first broken into the loft. She had been far too preoccupied with other things. But things were better then. They were much better.

"Wait. Let me say this first. Then we can get something to eat," Pulling Nikita back into the bed, Michael stilled her actions. Food could wait for a moment longer. There were still some things he had to share, and he'd rather do that then before any more doubt invaded his senses.

Taking Michael's hand in hers, Nikita gave him her full attention. He smiled softly at her, beyond appreciative of her presence. Especially then, when he really needed it, "All I've ever wanted was peace. I had that with Hayley and Elizabeth. And after they were gone, I thought I'd find that again when I killed Kasim. But I was wrong. Being blinded by rage, grief, and revenge hasn't brought me anything but more pain."

Michael inadvertently squeezed Nikita's hand. But she didn't let go of the harsh grip. Instead, she brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. She hadn't necessarily thought about the affection before she did it. However, it seemed like the perfect thing to do. The sorrow that had settled over Michael lifted with the simple kiss. He smiled at Nikita and pulled her into his arms with his free hand, "But you, Nikita, you have brought me peace. Being with you, I don't feel hurt or lost. I just feel happy, and at ease… and in love."

Gasping softly, Nikita thought she had misheard Michael. Did he say he was in love with her. Did he actually feel that strongly for her. The light in his green eyes said 'yes', and she was gasping all over again.

Copying Nikita's earlier motion, Michael kissed her knuckles. He brought her back to the moment just long enough to knock her off her feet again. He wasn't done confessing everything in his heart. He had locked it away for so long, that opening the doors then caused it all to come flooding out. Yet he wouldn't stop it. Nikita had to hear him. And he needed her to know without a doubt where he stood, "You brought light to the darkness I had surrounded myself in. You gave me the peace I wanted and so much more. You saved me."

Staring helplessly at Michael, only three words screamed in Nikita's head. They were the same three words that screamed in St. Petersburg five years ago. They were the same three words that screamed when she saw him again for the first time in three years. They were the same three words that screamed when they were planning a mission in Uzbekistan. They were the same three words that screamed in that airport. They were the same three words that screamed on that rooftop. They were always on her mind, ready to explode. She simply could never let them lose until then. But then she could say them freely. Then she could finally say, "I love you."

"I love you," Michael replied instantly and sincerely. Nikita didn't need to study his green eyes to see who serious he was that time. She knew. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew that Michael loved her. She could feel it in the same breath in her lungs, the same beat of her heart, that she felt her love. Nikita and Michael loved each other. And they were going to start a relationship together. It was real.

Kissing one another passionately, the two collapsed against the pillows once again. Their hands remained clasped for a moment. They couldn't let go of one another as they kissed. However, the need to explore their bodies and finally rip away the button down became too strong. The two let go of their hands so they could feel the rest of each other. When his dress shirt was back on the floor, Michael resumed his kisses on Nikita's neck. She wanted to melt into the sensation, but something they had said the last time they were in that position came to her. She couldn't help but snark, "I thought you wanted food."

"Later. I want you more," Michael husked against Nikita's lips. She chuckled into their next kiss and rolled with him on the bed. Although he was ready to experience indescribable bliss with her again, he still needed one more doubt cleared up. Before they moved forward, he needed to know if they were on the same page. From that point on, it was going to be Michael and Nikita against the world. He was ready to dive into that with her; he was ready to spite Division- spite God- for her. But was she. Did she love him in the same way, "Are you still with me? Do you want this?"

"Yes," Nikita promised against his lips. Then she kissed him deeply, resolutely, and lovingly. He kissed her back, a brilliant smile illuminating his features. The couple- the newly established couple- continued to smile, laugh, kiss, and say 'yes' as they soon made love between the sheets. They were there. They were together. Their love was real. And nothing would ever change that.