Alex eventually got Nikita to tell her what happened. It was in choppy bits and pieces, but the whole horrific event was ultimately unveiled. And once it was, Alex completely understood why Nikita couldn't talk about it at first. Not only was Michael hurt, but he had been severely hurt for so long without any help. It wasn't as though they could blame Amanda for that. Although the bitch still lived, she wasn't at fault for what had happened. Ann threw the grenade, the backup team was far away, and Nikita cut off Michael's hand. She was the one who had hurt him in order to save him. All that blood was because of her.
She had saved him, though. If Nikita hadn't cut off Michael's hand, he would've died when the flames reached the leaking gas tank. If she hadn't cauterized the wound, he would've bled out before help finally arrived. She had saved her fiancé, even if all that blood said otherwise. Alex tried to express that to Nikita with soft words and a tight hold. However, she refused to believe any of it. She just clung to her best friend and continued to cry about what she had done. She hadn't saved him- she wasn't a hero- not when she had made her love scream.
Unsure of what else to say, Alex tried to focus on what they had to do next. If she couldn't comfort Nikita, then she could at least push her to do something besides worrying over Michael. While Alex had been pulling information from Nikita the other Division agents had claimed there was a place the bloodied woman could go to clean up. She didn't have to be covered in her fiancé's blood anymore. She could shower off the horrific mission and wear the clothes her friend had brought her. It just took some time to convince her it was alright to care for herself while Michael was recovering.
When she had enough control of herself, Nikita agreed to shower. She grabbed the bag of clothes from Alex and left without another word. The young woman felt like she should chase after her and continue trying to comfort her. But there were other things she had to do. And, honestly, Alex couldn't wrap her mind around what had happened either. Amanda managing to live another day wasn't surprising. Ann throwing a grenade at the agents, and Nikita killing her wasn't a surprise either. The shock came in what happened to Michael. He had to lose his hand in order to save his life. That wasn't easy, especially since his fiancée was the one who did it.
Reading Michael's and Nikita's minds wasn't Alex's job, however. She wasn't there to parse out exactly what they were thinking and how they were feeling. She wanted to. She wanted to help her friends- comfort them. Yet she still had a job to do. She needed to report to Division what had occurred in the field. After she gathered the statements from the other agents, Alex contacted Ryan and shared the details with him. A long pause followed. No one seemed to know what to say after hearing information like that. The best that Ryan could eventually say was that they should try to come home as soon as they could.
Who knew how soon that would actually be. No doctor had updated anyone on Michael's condition. And Nikita disappeared in the showers. That was partially a good thing. She needed to calm down and collect herself. But her being away for so long was troubling. Nikita wasn't one to get worked up. Usually, she could rationalize her actions and calm herself down. She could separate herself from whatever had its grip on her. Then, she could talk herself off the ledge. Except, that time was different. She wasn't in that situation anymore, but she could still hear the screams. She wasn't on that street anymore, but she could still see his blood.
She was safe and sound in the hospital- he was safe and sound in the hospital- yet her senses continued to howl at the horror of it all.
It wouldn't come off her hands. It wouldn't come out of her nails. She was covered in it. No amount of water or soap or washing or scrubbing could get it off of her. She was stained. She was scarred. Nothing she could do would change that. It wasn't going away. Her scrubbing, her cursing, her crying wouldn't do anything. Nothing could salvage her. Nothing could erase what she had done. She was covered in the evidence. It was caked under her nails. She couldn't get rid of it. She was always going to be covered in Michael's blood.
Nikita couldn't scrape it out from under her nails. The blood just wouldn't go away, despite the hot spray of the shower and her vigorous scrubbing. It was going to stain her skin forever. She'd never be clean of it- of what she did to Michael. She had made him scream like that. She had made him lose so much blood. She had cut off his hand. If any of those things had killed him, it would've been all on her. It could still be all on her. He hadn't emerged from where the doctors had wheeled him off to. He was still in danger; his life was still threatened. If Michael died, it was Nikita's fault.
But you showed me something here I haven't seen before. Something evil. You have evil in you. Relax, it's a good thing. There are monsters in this world. The only way to beat them is to get down there with them and fight fire with fire. That's why Division exists. There are monsters out there.
The woman who did this, that's who you are. The woman who did this and enjoyed it, that's the real Nikita.
You can't ever go home. People are raging wars around you. Ms. Bennet died. The twins will never see you again. Birkhoff, Ryan, and so many others have to keep hiding here. Alex got so sucked into your crusade she was nearly killed. Michael can't go home either, because you won't let him. And you murdered Mom and Dad.
You can't save everyone you love.
A strangled gasp tore out of Nikita's throat. Her blood caked nails dug at the shower wall as she bent under the cold, harsh spray. Her body shook with the force of her sobs. Tears fell heavily across her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them. She didn't think she had ever sobbed so much in her life- except for one other time. Yet she couldn't help it. Michael was hurt because of her. She had hurt her love. Nikita kept hearing his screams over and over and over again. The sound burned her, consuming her whole. She really was a monster. What else could you call the thing that caused such pain. She was evil and horrible, and she didn't deserve the life she had.
The only thing that got Nikita out of the shower was a knock on the door. She wasn't sure how long she had stood under the spray, choking on sobs. But considering her tears had long since run out, she had stayed under the cold spray far longer than she needed to. Shakily, she turned off the shower, toweled herself dry, and pulled on whatever clothes Alex had brought her. She barely registered that they came from her Division locker. She simply went through the motions. After shock and despair came numbness.
Opening the door, Nikita realized that it was Alex who had knocked. The doctors finally had an update on Michael. He was out of surgery, and she could go see him. Before Nikita managed to sprint down the hall in a mad attempt to find him, however, Alex held her back. She needed to know what the doctor had told her. Surgeons did what they could to salvage Michael's arm and stop any infections from growing. Things looked good; he simply needed more rest and time. He was still attached to IVs at the moment, also needing blood and nutrients back into his system. But he should be fine in the next day or two.
That was when Alex figured they should return to Division. As soon as Michael was strong enough, the three should return home. Medical could oversee his care from then on. After all, they couldn't spend too much time in the military hospital. Their covers wouldn't hold that long- even with black badges and Birkhoff's tampering. Alex and Nikita should start working on a way to transport Michael and have Medical already prepared to handle all his needs. But Nikita had stopped listening to Alex. She wasn't willing to think about the future.
Once she had Michael's room number, she was gone. She had to see him. With her own eyes, she needed to see that he was okay. Besides his ghostly complexion and the thick bandages on his right forearm, Michael looked alright as he slept in the starch white hotel bed. He was breathing. His chest rose and fell. His heart was beating. The monitor recorded a steady beat. Michael was alive. Nikita could see him and touch him all she wanted. He was alive, and he would be well. She could finally let herself breathe.
There were chairs in the room that Nikita could've dragged over and used to sit next to Michael's cot. But she didn't even bother. She curled into the small bed with her fiancé, relishing in the warmth of his body. He didn't stir at the feeling of her beside him. She didn't expect him to. She just caressed his stubbled cheek and stared at him. Every line and contour of his face was memorized. She committed all of his features to memory. She refused to let him slip away from her in any aspect. She was going to hold onto him in every way she could.
Michael woke to a strange discomfort on his left arm. As he blearily opened his eyes to see what it was, he noticed Nikita asleep and drooling on top of him. Groggily, he tried to move her aside. But as he lifted his right hand, he was met with extreme pain and emptiness.
He did his best to stifle his groans, yet his body still tensed and a sharp hiss still escaped his chest. Nikita instantly startled awake at the noise. At seeing Michael in incredible pain, she paged for the doctor and reached to soothe him. She didn't know what was wrong; however, she could at least help him work through the pain. He was experiencing so much agony. He clutched his forearm as the rest of his body tensed. Tears flooded his eyes. Nikita soothingly stroked his cheek. She didn't know what else to do, or even say. She just tried to give Michael comfort while he looked at her lost and confused.
The way her fiancé regarded her, believing she had all the answers and remedies to his hurt and pain, snapped Nikita out of it. She could think and act for him. She could tell him what happened, have the doctor explain to him the medical aspects of it, work with Alex to get him home, and remain a steady rock by his side. Whatever she thought or felt wasn't important anymore. She shouldn't dwell on herself. Michael needed her then more than ever. She had to keep playing hero, although she knew she wasn't, "It'll be okay. We'll figure it out together."
