Michael didn't know how to take Nikita's expression. He didn't make it a habit to tell people he was an analyst for the CIA. Not that he wasn't allowed to, he simply preferred his privacy. But the few people he had told about his job (only the basics, never anything that could compromise himself or others) usually reacted with enthusiasm. They'd ask millions of questions, mostly based off of movies they had seen. He'd just shrug and repeat he was an analyst. There was no need to go into specifics about the type of analysis he did (military) or the missions he helped with (those were the covert ones). If the person was extremely curious, he'd tell them he started in Naval intelligence. It would satisfy their curiosity about any danger or adventures he might have led, and sort of explained his prosthetic; though, the particulars of that were kept securely to himself.
Nikita was different. Michael was well aware of that after spending the day with her. Hell, he knew that the moment he met her. But the way she reacted to his job was strange. He had dropped that he was an analyst earlier, so her lack of surprise wasn't concerning. She was an intelligent woman, she was able to pick up on a lot of things. That didn't explain her expression, however. He had seen her dazzling brown eyes light up with laughter and playfulness, but in that moment they dulled. She became strikingly serious when he mentioned the CIA. He had never seen her serious, not even when she noticed his prosthetic. She was always sarcastic and fun. Her sharp quips and bright smiles made it so easy to be around her. He was really starting to like her.
Her reaction was throwing him off, however. Michael couldn't make sense of it. There was a lot about Nikita that he couldn't make sense of, yet that made getting to know her so enjoyable. It was like puzzle pieces fitting together to form a beautiful picture. She brought out feelings in him he thought he had lost, and they had only known one another for a day. A fuse was lit between them, the spark luring him in. He had to spend more time with her. And it made him unbelievably ecstatic when she called what they were doing a date, one she also wished to continue. If only he could understand her strange reaction to the CIA. it was the one thing about her that concerned him. She just appeared so upset by his job.
Nikita played it off quickly, though. One second the look marred her features, the next it was gone. She grinned and made some James Bond joke as though nothing had happened. Michael played along, grateful for the change. Maybe he was over analyzing the situation. His nerves were getting the better of him. He was always hesitant to open up to people. The CIA had required physical and emotional therapy after the, for lack of a better word, accident. It helped greatly. Yet there were still hurdles he had to vault over. He would get there one day. Interacting with someone as interesting and engaging as Nikita was a huge benefit. Being open wasn't such a bad thing.
Their food arrived as they continued their twenty questions. The two ate and talked, constantly giggling and trying to drift closer to one another. Nikita avoided any questions concerning his job, but she did ask what he had done beforehand. Michael guessed she didn't want to pry because she knew information about what he did was sensitive. Really, he hoped that was the case. He was trying to push away the image of her dour expression. It wouldn't do well for either of them if he dwelled on it. It was best just to move on, and enjoy himself.
"So Naval intelligence and CIA analyst. Are you like a nerd or something?" Stealing some toasted ravioli from his plate, Nikita eventually teased. They had made comments about their answers during their initial round of questions, but they had kept them small. They wanted to focus on getting to know each other more, before they slipped back into their conversation. The way they flowed from one topic to the next made the decision seem like the correct one. The two never had to fish for something to say around one another. Talking together simply came naturally- almost like breathing.
"Is that a bad thing?" Michael ignored her grab for his food, and leaned across the table. Earlier he took her hand as an excuse to lead her inside the restaurant. He had kept thinking about it while they walked, yet never had the courage to follow through. He figured if he had a justifiable reason, she'd allow it. But she never pulled away once they were inside. The fact helped him be brave. He took her hand in his again. She leaned closer to him, tracing his skin with her fingers.
"You should meet the computer tech I work with," That was the first time Nikita truly smiled when her job was mentioned. She didn't appear to like what she did for a living. She hardly wanted to talk about what being an airline consultant was, and she admitted she wasn't a fan of the move at first. At the time, Michael honed in on the "at first". He thought he had something to do with that- that he was making her love the move to Chicago. And maybe he was, judging by the way she was admiring him. However, after hearing her talk about it again, he wondered why she stayed at a place she couldn't stand. That fact about her was almost as confusing as that reaction.
"Alright then. How about I'm too smart for my own good?" Chuckling, Michael settled on a compromise. Nikita's brown eyes changed from flirtatious to serious again, but he missed it. He was too busy glancing at her smirking full lips, wishing desperately to kiss her. He was never a fast mover. He preferred to take things slow, ensure what he was doing was the smart thing- he didn't want to lose his heart again. But as he thought many times, Nikita was different. He could jump into a relationship with her, without feeling guilty or cautious. It was probably due to where he was in his life. He had learned to heal and cope through the help of therapy and others. He was steady and secure. However, he wanted to give all the credit to Nikita. She simply made him feel alive.
"I can work with that," Nikita husked against his lips. Michael jolted. Noticing, she pulled away with a bright giggle. Their hands were still linked, so all she had to do was tug lightly to get him to follow her. They cleaned their mess, and left the pizzeria. Once outside, she pulled him along the sidewalk towards the bar. His heart leapt in his chest, and his feet picked up the pace. The more time he could spend with her, the better. Although she laughed at his enthusiasm, he knew she felt it too, "You still wanna go to the bar?"
"Oh absolutely," Laughing, the two had the best night they had had in a long time. At the end of it, when a tipsy Michael had walked a buzzed Nikita home, he finally kissed her. She returned the affection, smiling just as brilliantly as he was. They spent the rest of their week together. Nikita unpacked, familiarized herself with Chicago, and joined the nearby yoga studio while Michael was at work. But the second he was home, she was by his side. They had date after date, learning more and more about one another. Neither could get enough of the other. They needed to be close, laughing and talking. They were addicted.
All of that changed when Nikita got called back to work, however. Her hours were long and strange. Michael didn't see her for nearly three days at some point. Whenever she got back, she was exhausted and distant. She'd barely tell him anything about what happened, claiming she wanted to focus on him instead. Usually that would get her to smile and relax- just being with him. Other times, she remained silent and closed off. Her mind was somewhere else, battling some unseen demon. He'd hold her then; it was all he could really do. But it seemed to work. She'd bounce back the next day as vibrant and lively as ever.
Michael had seen people act like that before. Agents and soldiers would hide themselves like that after difficult missions and operations. He didn't make the connection at first. However the longer they were together and the more intimate they became (where he could spot the various scars and bruises decorating her olive skin) he started to connect the dots. Despite the stories she would tell him to explain a nasty cut, he knew something was wrong with her airline consultant job. What exactly though, he didn't want to know. He wanted to pretend everything was normal. They were just two people with demanding jobs trying to make a relationship work. Yet as the months went on, the less he could force that to be true.
Nikita disappeared for two weeks. She left him sparse messages about some work merger or whatever and that she was extremely apologetic, but she was still gone for so long. Michael began to worry. He tried not to go to the extreme before, except he couldn't help it that time. He used his CIA resources to dig into Nikita King. Everything was on the up and up; nothing appeared to be amiss. He had to have been paranoid- panicking and making things up. Not everything was a conspiracy. Even though she was anxious about his connection to the CIA and her work was beyond complicated. He was bringing his analyzing home with him, that must've been it. The feeling in his gut had to be ignored. She was perfect. He couldn't mess things up believing she was some kind of spy.
Fortunately, Michael had a new assignment to focus on. A team had brought in notorious arms dealer Nicholas Brandt. The particulars of the mission were kept from him, yet he still had to interrogate the man; he had been supplying weapons to a paramilitary group he was tracking. Brandt didn't say a word. He just glared the best he could with one eye. Michael had to hide his reaction to discovering the arms dealer's right eye had recently been gouged out. It was a horrendous wound, but he deserved it. That man deserved every terrible thing that was about to happen to him.
Agents came to take Brandt to another location (Michael knew it was a black site without them saying anything), allowing him to go home. It was late, he didn't want to bother checking if Nikita was home as he had in the past. He didn't think he could stand the disappointment anymore. He entered his apartment with downcast green eyes. Going through the motions, he almost didn't notice her. She must've let herself in with the spare key he had given her, and made herself comfortable. She was dressed in skimpy pajamas, obviously ready to surprise him. But there were tears in her brown eyes, and she was gripping the couch cushions fiercely.
"Nikita?" Michael stumbled towards her like a man who had just seen the sun for the first time. He didn't realize how much he had missed her until she was back in his arms. Nikita didn't smile back though. She was lost in thought, shaking. She looked like she was fighting back a panic attack. Instantly, he sat next to her and placed a soothing hand on her cheek. She drew in a stuttered breath and glanced at him unfocused. What appeared to be dried blood stained her chin; whatever way she had tried to scrub it off, hadn't completely worked. The sight terrified Michael deeply. It took everything in him to keep himself steady. His thumb caressed her cheek, helping her settle and breathe, "Nikita, honey, what happened?"
Instead of answering, she collapsed into his arms and sobbed.