"Да, Мама," Alex sighed as she talked to her mother over the phone. She had only called her mom to ask a question about financing. The young heiress needed to sign paperwork and deal with some banking business. Earning her inheritance and Zetrov earnings was an ongoing issue, not a one-and-done deal she had hoped for. Yet it continued to work out okay, especially with her mother's assistance. If only afterwards Alex could get her off the phone. She needed to go, do other important things (such as paperwork regarding her coming back to life). However, her mom refused to let her go again.
"I don't know when Sean and I can visit. We're really busy right now," Replying to Katya's latest question, Alex rubbed her eyes. That was another reason she could keep talking to her mother. The young agent couldn't tell her everything that was going on in her life. She had to keep lying, and holding onto secrets, and living a double life. She didn't want that affecting her mother. Katya had dealt with enough. But there wasn't any way around it. Not with Division still around, zapping the brightness out of everybody's future. It felt as though they were all still trapped, "Well, he has the Navy, and I… I'm working on a charity project."
Continuing to only tell her mother half-truths didn't work so well in Alex's favor. She thought she could end the conversation there, not mention anything else about Division. All the agents were in danger for knowing too much; Alex couldn't add her mother to that list. Instead of finally letting her daughter go, however, Katya kept pressing for more. Alex couldn't be annoyed by her mother wanting to connect with her. She simply felt awful for lying and for keeping a part of herself hidden. There was no winning with anything lately. Everything was falling to pieces, "I'm trying to help bring people home and back to their families, like what I did for us."
Alex collapsed her head in her hands and tried not to scream. Not too long ago, things had seemed to be going well for Division. They had successfully dealt with terrible Dirty Thirties, protected innocents, saved Sonya, taken out Amanda's mole and the Watchman, but it hadn't been enough. The bitch was in the wind, and the team faced severe setbacks. Between healing and dealing with her Udinov life, Alex wasn't able to help much. Even if she could, she didn't know how. It was always one step forward and two steps back. Each good deed was battled and beaten. There didn't seem to be a way out, "I don't know how it's going anymore."
"Let's go make the donuts," Owen attempted to engage Michael and Nikita before they leapt from the van and into action. After they had moved from Medical to Ops, Ryan informed the three agents about one of their Dirty Thirties, Liam, getting involved in a police standoff in Mexico. The agents were to fly down, pose as DEA, and bring in their rogue. That all seemed simple enough after the hell they had recently endured. They could ease themselves back into the flow of things with a normal Dirty Thirty mission. At least, that was the hopeful ideal. Things weren't actually that simple.
Michael continued to frustratingly try and fail to make a fist with his new and twitchy prosthetic, and Nikita was silent. Besides planning the mission and professing that she was okay, she didn't say anything to the others. Owen had to do most of the talking. He didn't like that. He needed his partners physically and mentally with him on the operation. Even as they arrived on the scene, Michael and Nikita seemed so disconnected from the present. Owen had to gain their attention somehow. His stupid saying appeared to have done the trick. The two glanced at him strangely. He just shrugged, "That's something I usually say before missions."
Nodding slightly, Nikita and Michael simply readied their weapons and initiated their plan. Owen gladly followed them. The two were finally ready to kick ass and take names just like they always did. Unfortunately, that didn't last long. Owen was the only one truly prepared enough for the mission. He had been able to compartmentalize whatever was going on with his memories and the mission. He wouldn't allow his mind to become a jumbled mess, compromising his work, as it had on the last field mission he was involved in. Since Amanda wasn't involved, his plans could come true. Liam wouldn't stand a chance against him.
If Nikita and Michael were on their A-Game, the former Cleaner turned rogue agent wouldn't have stood a chance against them either. However, soon after leaping into action, the two agents couldn't focus. Michael stayed in the van to provide backup while Nikita and Owen engaged Liam. The two snuck around the back of the house, planning to surprise their Dirty Thirty. They should've stayed silent. Anything could've tipped them off to the former Cleaner. Despite knowing that, Nikita radioed Michael. She gave away their position.
She had no real reasoning for alerting her husband to hers and Owen's movements. Maybe a part of her needed assurance that he was truly there with her; he wasn't hurt, nor had he just bailed. Whatever it actually was, she definitely wasn't thinking. She lost them the element of surprise. Liam was ready for Owen and Nikita, and as soon as they entered the house, he attacked. The agents put up a hell of a fight- Nikita could certainly focus on that. Yet their Dirty Thirty still managed to slip away. He escaped and ran straight past the van.
It took Michael almost too long to register that Liam was coming his way. He had become too engrossed in the sounds he had heard on the coms. His wife was in a serious fight, possibly even for her life. Yet he couldn't rush off to help her. He had to hold his position in the van. Also, what could have he done that Owen couldn't. His prosthetic would've been useless. He just had to remind himself that Nikita could take care of herself. However, while he was desperately attempting to dispel his anxiety with that thought, he nearly missed Liam running past him. He had to scramble out of the van so he could attempt to do something.
His pistol was in his grip, and he was prepared to shoot. That shouldn't have been a problem. Under normal circumstances, Michael never had a problem taking the shot. Except, that wasn't a normal circumstance. His prosthetic twitched but wouldn't actually close. He couldn't pull the trigger. And switching to his left hand continued to prove pointless. The agent had no aim with his non-dominant hand. Liam was able to smirk and continue running away. Michael could do nothing to stop him. His new prosthetic just twitched.
The journey back to Division was filled with even more tense silence than before. Owen didn't have anything to say that time. He couldn't believe that a mission they could've easily had had blown up in their faces. Nikita and Michael couldn't get their heads in the game. No matter how many times they claimed they were alright, they continuously proved otherwise. Ryan should've had Owen lead another team of agents on the operation. Sure, the married couple had once been the rockstars of the field. But they were due to lose the title eventually. They had suffered one too many blows.
Nikita and Michael needed time to adjust and get back to themselves. There were tons of other agents in Division. It didn't always have to be them against the Dirty Thirties. They could continue to heal, and they could spend more time talking. Yet it was too late for that. Michael and Nikita rushed into the field too early, and the op was ruined. The two, plus Owen, trudged into the bunker, defeated. During their return, they didn't inform their team of much- only that they had failed. So the instant he saw the three, Ryan hurried over and demanded to know what had gone wrong, "What happened?"
"I couldn't shoot with the stupid prosthetic," Exploding in frustration, Michael shouted and threw down his mission bag. He had been stewing in that thought for far too long. If he could just get the new and lesser prosthetic to work, Liam would be dead and Division would be closer to being shut down for good. He still couldn't understand why his hand wasn't working for him. He had never had any problems with his old one (save for the occasional hiccup); he had never been a failure in the field because of his handicap. So why was he having so much trouble then. Why couldn't he have been there for his team like he should've been.
"I can try to calibrate it or something," Softly, Birkhoff attempted to settle Michael. The hacker didn't know what he could actually do to help with the prosthetic. But if it was a piece of machinery, then he could've figured something out. No one else had any solutions. Ryan was thinking about the failure of the mission. Owen knew better than to pile onto Michael's self-hatred. And Nikita was lost in thought. Her gaze was fixed somewhere else, unable to acknowledge what was around her. Michael was practically left to try to make a fist on his own.
"It's fine," Tensely, Michael released a harsh breath. He appreciated what Birkhoff had done for him in finding a new prosthetic, but he could manage the stupid thing on his own. Maybe if he just let it go for a moment, he'd be able to relax and form a fist later. Intently focusing on the lame hand was only making him frustrated- and only causing him pain. He had to forget about his problems and focus on something else. Actually stopping Liam was more deserving of his attention. After all, Ryan, Owen, and Nikita had shifted their focus there. Michael needed to follow their example and save the day instead of himself.
"Liam was just prepared for us. We'll beat him to his next move," Nikita replied to no one. Michael wasn't to blame for their failure. Owen certainly wasn't either. Nikita could take all the blame herself, admit that she wasn't mentally ready for the field. But she refused to travel down that road. If she kept pushing herself forward and learning from her mistakes, she'd be back to who she was- who she should be. Division would get another lead, and she'd take down another Dirty Thirty. Then, Nikita would take down Amanda, and her friends and family would have their happily ever afters. Or, as close to a happy future as she could give them.
Whereas Birkhoff and Owen glanced concernedly at the disconnect between Michael and Nikita, Ryan already formulated a way to calculate Liam's next move. Nikita was right: if Division could get in front of him, that'd be able to deal with him. The Dirty Thirty's movements could be easy to track once they understood how he operated. After some thought, Ryan believed he had an idea. He had the three field agents tell him everything they had noticed on the mission, then he had Birkhoff work with his idea. Although he knew the team was dealing with issues at the moment, they didn't have time to address them. That could be dealt with after Liam was.
Not long after Ryan put the team back to work, they got a hit on where their rogue was heading. The reason he had been involved in a police standoff hadn't been resolved, which was why he was going to the DEA evidence storage in Houston. Michael, Nikita, and Owen could intercept him there once Birkhoff pulled up the schematics of the building. However, as the agents were gearing up to go, Nikita stopped her husband. She gently took his hand in hers and smiled softly, "Why don't you just stay here. Owen and I can go into the field. You can be the voice inside my head, keeping me alive."
All Michael wanted to do was argue with his wife. He was her partner. She needed him in the field with her. Yet before he could say a word, she kissed his cheek and ran off to catch up with Owen. Michael was left to consider her words in stunned silence. She wasn't exactly benching him; he could still be active in the mission. But Nikita basically ordered Michael to remain in Division and perform the role she used to when she was pregnant. She had deemed the field too dangerous for him in his current state. It was better for him to stay behind.
She was probably right. Michael couldn't shoot a gun. He shouldn't go after a former Cleaner like Liam until he could accurately work his new prosthetic. Nikita and Owen would be fine without him; they could take care of themselves. Though, her penchant to draw away into her thoughts recently had Michael concerned. Nikita might not be okay. He'd have to watch her like a hawk while he ran the mission from Ops. He refused to allow anything to happen to her, even if he had to be apart from her.
Owen and Nikita managed to meet Liam at the DEA storehouse without any problems. However- just as it usually did- while the mission unfolded, so did numerous obstacles. Michael did his best to lead the agents through it, utilizing whatever information Birkhoff could get for him. Eventually, Nikita had Liam cornered. She couldn't take him down, however, without him taking her down in return. For a split second, she considered it anyway. But Michael's voice was soon in her ear, telling her about his plan. She focused on him instead of her intrusive thoughts, "Nikita, take a step to your left but keep Liam's back towards the door. Owen has a shot."
"Our team may be a mess. But thank god for the voices inside our heads, right?" Stepping back and to the left, Nikita distracted Liam with an off the wall comment. Sure, they had been talking while they pointed their guns at one another. But, to him at least, her recent comment came out of nowhere. He stared at her bewildered, rooted in his spot. She smirked, and Owen took the shot. Just as Michael had suspected, the bullet pierced through the wooden door and struck the Dirty Thirty. He collapsed to the floor, dead.
Ops erupted into cheers as a result. Michael had worked wonders as he led Owen and Nikita on a brilliantly successful strike. It was almost as though their earlier blunders hadn't even occurred. The two field agents were then free to clean the scene, establish a cover story, and escape back to Division. Another Dirty Thirty was handled. They were one step closer to freedom. Despite that, Michael didn't celebrate with the others. He just stared at his wife on the security monitors and begged his prosthetic to move. Nothing happened.