Eleven Years Earlier

Nikita wasn't supposed to be there so early; students weren't allowed in the school until much later. Yet she knew the locker room was constantly unlocked. And from there, she could enter her highschool and roam the halls. She had a specific destination that morning, however. Storming into Ms. Bennet's classroom, she dropped her backpack on the ground and chucked her soccer ball at the wall. When it came back to her, she kicked it over and over and over again. None of her frustrations disappeared.

"You can't beat the wall when it can't fight back," Ms. Bennet was quick to stop the soccer abuse. She scooped up the ball on one of the rebounds, and moved to settle Nikita. The teenager fought the angry tears in her brown eyes. She didn't need to cry in front of her teacher. She just needed a place to run to after getting into it with her mom again. Ms. Bennet knew, as she always did, smiling softly, "If you broke into school, it must be important."

She meant to tease, but her student wasn't having it. Nikita rolled her eyes and attempted to stomp right back out of the room. Ms. Bennet gently pulled her back. She wasn't going to allow her to walk away without talking. The teen struggled to remain silent. However, the words forced themselves to be expressed as they poured out of her, "I just want to know where I come from. My parents don't understand what it's like to be adopted. And it's obvious I'm adopted. I just wanna know about my birth parents, but they won't let me."

Although she was a little repetitive and she kept fidgeting with her dark hair, it was the best way Nikita could express her point. She had to know about her birth family. Wandering around without knowing her roots was difficult. There were so many unanswered questions: who was she, where was she from, why was she given up. Of course her parents didn't understand why she was so desperate to uncover those truths. Sometimes, it felt as though she was all alone in that big house. At least she had others to turn to, like Ms. Bennet, "I don't know what it's like to be adopted either. But I do know you don't find who you are in your past. It's all about what you do in the present. And what you do is amazing. Your parents don't define you. It's all you."

Ms. Bennet stilled Nikita. Comforting her students came naturally to the teacher. She genuinely cared for the teens. She listened to them and helped them through their problems as best as she could. Nikita wasn't willing to take the advice so readily, though. She continued to be upset by the argument with her parents. Ms. Bennet was well aware of how lasting and damaging those effects could be. Highschoolers carried around the weight of their family as though it was the only thing they could do. Which was why she reminded her class of all the remarkable things they could do as often as possible, "What do I say about wildflowers?"

"They grow no matter the adversity," Nikita mumbled. As always, she was grateful for Ms. Bennet's help. She could be reminded that despite everything, she was going to be alright; she was a force to be reckoned with. However, she simply didn't know what to do with the rest of her anger. She had had that argument with her mom before- she had had many arguments with her mom. It was bound to happen again, and was bound to have the same results. Yet stopping to think about wildflowers for a moment started to change her mind. It couldn't have been all bad. The world wasn't, after all. A small grin pulled at Nikita's lips. Ms. Bennet beamed at her.

"Now go. But leave the ball. You have to be punished somehow for breaking in," Nudging her student out the door, Ms. Bennet smirked. Nikita rolled her eyes once more, but that time with a smile on her face. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and went to sit in her car before school started. Blasting music, taking the time to breathe, and picturing wildflowers helped calm her enough to enjoy the rest of her day. Especially when she got her soccer ball back. Ms. Bennet had drawn wildflowers growing out of the seams. The teenager thought about erasing the doodles for a moment. However, she decided to trace the pencil marks in different colored Sharpies, making them permanent.

One Year Later

Michael didn't have a destination in mind. He was simply roaming the halls, attempting to get that briefing out of his mind. He hated when the recruits were threatened. Division was the one taking them from what they had known and forcing them to perform or else. There had to be a better way of doing things. But Percy had his reasons. Unfortunately, those reasons were focused on Nikita at the moment. She was certainly a firecracker, taunting and attacking her fellow recruits and her instructors. Amanda had called her into her office that morning to talk to her. But it went nowhere. She nearly killed her instructor later that day. Her actions were going to get her canceled, unless Michael could talk some sense into her. He had made that bargaining deal. They weren't going to kill recruits, not if he had any say in the matter.

He just had no idea what to say to Nikita. She didn't listen, and she didn't follow the rules. There was no getting through to her. Michael's wandering eventually led him to the training room where a punching bag was being beaten to a pulp. No one should've been up that late. Even if they were, they weren't supposed to be out of their rooms. Approaching the equipment, he spotted the young recruit on his mind. Of course it was her, looking like she had been there for hours. But what surprised him, was that she also looked like she had been crying. When he tried to near her, she turned on him ready to pounce. He held up placating hands, "You're gonna kick me in the balls like you did your instructor?"

A glint of mischief in her brown eyes, Nikita moved to do just that. Yet as Michael prepared to block the kick, she instantly turned around. She marched off as though nothing had happened, and he couldn't stop himself from chuckling quietly. She definitely wasn't like the other recruits. For starters, she was far more athletic than the junkies they dragged in. Although he hadn't read her file (for some reason, it was for Percy's and Amanda's eyes only), he could tell she was a well rounded athlete. Her breathing and muscle control was on par with extraordinary swimmers and yogis. And her quick feet could put any other soccer player to shame. She could be an amazing agent. He just needed to help her see that, "Fine. Quit. Though that doesn't seem like a halfback to me."

Nikita stopped in the doorway. She turned around slowly, studying Michael over. She didn't trust him- she didn't trust anyone. But she let him draw her back. The handler smiled warmly while he approached her again. There was a reason he liked to read his recruits' files. It allowed him to know them and connect with them. He was reaching in the dark with her, however. Everytime he thought he knew something, she surprised him. Yet he had her soccer position down. And the fact that he did made her finally say something other than an insult, "Attacking midfield."

"Defensive midfield," He shared his own position in an attempt to keep the conversation open. Nikita just stared at her handler. She continued to study him, unsure of his intentions. Michael softened his gaze. Most of the recruits were young- street kids pulled out of prison. Except she appeared even younger. She had to have just turned eighteen when Division took her in. That could have been the reason she was acting so fiercely. She was a teenager forced to do things she didn't want to do. Whatever way he was thinking of talking to her had to be changed. She wasn't a normal recruit.

"So, you're gonna use sports metaphors to get through to me?" Fortunately, she gave him something he could use. Nikita sternly crossed her arms, blocking herself. Michael smirked. It seemed that she could read him as much as he could read her. She had called him out after she had attacked her instructor, after all. She knew what her actions were causing. She knew what fate was awaiting her. And she knew it was Michael who was determined to get her to see that as a bad thing. He just hoped he could.

"Stop being so aggressive with the other players and they won't redcard you," Michael went for teasing. Berating wasn't going to get him anywhere with her. Maybe if Nikita knew she had someone willing to care for her inside Division, she wouldn't be so hellbent to destroy everything. However, his comment only earned him a scoff and an eye roll. She wasn't having it. Nothing was going to get past her stubbornness.

She really was determined to get herself canceled. Michael could see it in her unwavering gaze. Nikita didn't want to be there. She was doing everything she could to prove that she didn't want to be there. If Division was as smart and advanced as they claimed, they'd take her out like she wanted. All she was doing was giving them hell. It'd be easier to get rid of her. Michael was the one who resisted. He wasn't going to let anyone die. Although she gave him the opportunity to argue his point, she did so condescending, "Give me one good reason to stay in, Coach."

"At least tell me why you want to die," Michael shot back instead. He had no reason for her. He wanted to, yet he didn't know Nikita. The only reason he had decided to keep living after he lost his family was revenge. He wasn't sure if that would work for her. If the two could actually talk, sit down and be open with one another, maybe they'd be able to understand each other's argument. Instead, the two were fighting about life and death like it was meaningless.

"Everyone I love either wants me dead, thinks I'm dead, or is dead," Fresh tears pooled in Nikita's eyes. Her first two statements seemed to not affect her; she had processed it and pushed it aside. But the last thing she said gutted her. She was still reeling from that fact, almost as though she had just learned it. Michael's heart couldn't handle it. He tried not to let his emotions overrun him when dealing with the recruits. Except, how many times was he going to have to admit that she was different- she was special. He moved to comfort her, yet she pushed him away. Ferocity overcame her grief, "Why do you even care what I do? Just go get a gun and shoot me already!"

The words had impact. Nikita meant every single thing she had said. Yet Michael wasn't going to give in to her demands. She was too young to want death too much. And he was too protective and stubborn to let her throw away her life. He had seen her fight back against fellow recruits and instructors. She could fight that as well. He had no doubt she was strong enough, "I lost everyone I love too. But I found my reason to keep going. I just want others to know there's always a reason."

After a long moment of silence, Nikita left. Michael hoped he had actually gotten through to her. He also hoped she wouldn't be berated by those thoughts for long. However, he couldn't say much about that. He was the same mess when his family died. He had found some way through it, though. Somewhat. He wouldn't wish that feeling of hopelessness on anybody. The next morning, he was relieved to spot Nikita willingly following an order. She was still full of sarcastic wit, but she wasn't tearing anyone to shreds. Michael couldn't stop his grin.

Present

Nikita descended the stairs, her attention trained on Alex. She hadn't moved from the couch since they had arrived at the beach house. The young woman simply stared at the waves crashing to the shore, lost in thought. The rogue couldn't blame her. What had happened in Russia would've destroyed the best of them. Being abandoned by your mother to a dangerous man wasn't something anyone could brush off. Luckily for Alex, Nikita knew exactly what she was going through. She could help her see a reason to continue fighting, and how amazing she was despite her family. She wasn't going to suffer alone.