Alex was hyperventilating. She put her head between her knees and tried to even her breathing, but it was of no use. She sat in the back of the windowless van, unsure of where she was headed besides Division. That was possibly their intention; if no one knew where they were, no one could escape or attack. Except, it didn't help calm Alex in the slightest. She was already reeling from the wine Dadich forced her, and from the greedy hands that had been all over her. She couldn't take any more reminders of the brothel. It was all too much. She felt like she would die before she caught a full breath of air.
She had to pull herself together. If Division saw her like that, they would never give her the opportunity to kill Semak. They might deem her unfit. They might kill her. But Alex couldn't stop panicking. Things almost got so bad with Dadich. Things almost got so bad, and the thought of it rotted her stomach in fear. If it hadn't been for Nikita, then who knew what would've happened. Alex couldn't allow herself to dwell on it. Yet it was all she could do. She rocked back and forth in the van, desperately trying to catch her breath.
If she had gone with Nikita when she offered safety, would she have managed to control herself better. Would running away with the rogue keep her safe and calm, and would she be able to survive. Alex doubted it. Her revenge mission gave her drive; it helped her focus. Maybe not so much in that moment, yet she survived the sufferings of Division because of it. Her need to kill Semak drove her forward. She just had to get her head straight. She wasn't in that hotel suite- she wasn't in the brothel. She was heading to a place where she could be safe. As long as she kept her wits, she would be safe.
By the time the van reached Division, Alex managed to get her breathing under control. Her body still rocked, and tears continued to build in her eyes. But she could attempt to pretend she was alright. That was all that mattered as she changed back into her recruit sweats and prepared for her debriefing. Due to her injuries and the alcohol that continued to shake her veins, Amanda and Percy met her in her room. She could at least have the pretense of comfort while they interrogated her. As she glanced up at them from her bed, however, she felt anything but peace, "Did you get a good look at the other rebels?"
"No. It was just chaos. I don't know what happened," Shaking her head, Alex did her best to calm her voice. She was lying. She knew exactly who caused the mission to go awry. Yet she couldn't tell Amanda and Percy. She wasn't sure why. Protecting Nikita and the man with the rifle (she assumed that was Michael) didn't benefit her in any way. She could rat them out no problem. In fact, if Percy and Amanda knew the rogues were responsible for the ruined operation, then Alex wouldn't be in trouble- no one was expected to beat the two of them. But she couldn't bring herself to mention them. She didn't want to paint a target on their backs.
"How can you expect to run your own mission if you couldn't handle this one?" Percy bit, glaring at Alex in disappointment. Division had managed to capture one of the people (they called them rebels) that had kidnapped Dadich. Another had been killed, and the rest managed to escape. Alex helped spin the story that the Division guards had been the ones to fight back before succumbing to their injuries. Again, she wouldn't mention Nikita or Michael. She didn't care if that made it seem like she couldn't recount events or handle a mission. The op had been blown regardless of who intervened. And Dadich deserved whatever pain was coming to him.
"I was forced to drink a whole bottle of wine. Kelly left, the guards didn't care, and I was thrown around the room like a fucking rag doll. I had no support," Sitting straighter on the cot that was supposed to be her bed, Alex argued. She should've bit her tongue. She shouldn't have tried to defend herself. Lying to Amanda and Percy was horrible enough. Trying to contain her panic and fear over what happened with Dadich already had her on the verge of hyperventilating again. Arguing only made things so much worse. She should've known her place and shut up.
"Yet you managed to survive the rebels," Interrupting Percy before he could teach Alex a lesson, Amanda studied the young recruit in intrigue. Alex averted her gaze, afraid that the woman would glean too much. She knew how odd it was that well-trained agents died but not a recruit on her first mission. That fact was possibly made even worse by her unreliable retelling of events. She was screwed; she was going to lose everything. Except, Amanda simply smiled at her, "I think that shows some improvement."
"She needs more training before she's sent out again. Zetrov and Semak will just have to wait," Alex was so busy trying to figure out what Amanda's smile meant, that she almost missed Percy's declaration. When her thoughts and his words caught up to her, though, she snapped her head around to look at the man in shock. Percy was resolute. She wasn't ready for her own mission. Division would have to keep using her until they decided that she was. Alex shouldn't have been as surprised as she was at the decision. Of course an organization that had been so willing to kill a child would renege on their deal. She was stuck powerlessly fighting for revenge.
Nikita crashed back into her safehouse and unceremoniously dropped her mission bag on the ground. She would've thrown it if it wasn't filled with guns. Ruffling her dark hair out of her face, she ended up gripping the strands tightly. It was the only thing she could get a hold of. It all felt so wrong. Not the armed people, rebels, whatever; she could make sense of them, and she didn't really care about their motives. It was Alex and Division that were driving her insane. How the hell was the young woman with them. Shouldn't she have been dead. Wouldn't they have killed her the second they knew who she was. What was going on, "What the fuck!"
The screams did nothing. Her curse simply reverberated around the spacious room, echoing her confusion. Nikita felt herself start to hyperventilate, yet she forced the panic away. She had nothing to be scared of. Alex seemed sure of her place in Division. That made somewhat sense if she had managed to stay alive. Nikita was dying to know the exact details, however. There was something else going on. She was missing so much information, it made her head spin. She clutched her hair tighter and paced the room. Black boxes, Alex, another secret group that rescued Dadich. What other mysteries lurked in the shadows, ready to tear her to shreds.
In order to battle all the raging thoughts in her head, she needed another hit. It was the only way Nikita knew how to calm down. She was anxious, she was scared, she was so confused it hurt. All of those negative emotions had to vanish. Maybe that was a sign she wasn't ready to go on her revenge mission. She was fighting too soon after getting clean. Biting her lip, she decided to resist that urge. Getting revenge was better than drugs. If she could stay off that shit, she could successfully kill Percy and destroy Division. She just had to focus on a singular point.
Dadich seemed like a great person to pour all of her attention on. Nikita needed to know where he went. She still believed he could lead her to Percy. No doubt the bastard wanted to locate the dictator as well. She could use Dadich to find her target. Fortunately, she knew how to access street cameras. She could search the area for the van she had seen the armed people escape in. She was aware Michael was employing the same trick, needing to kill the dictator as well. That meant the two could run into one another again. For some reason, the thought pissed her off. Her hands balled into fists and she cursed once more, "Michael, I swear to fucking God."
"What the fuck is wrong with Nikita?" Michael stormed back into the safehouse, nearly throwing the rifle case on the ground. He had enough control of himself to set it down gently, instead. But, rage and anxiety continued to course through him. He couldn't make sense of what had happened. Who the well were the people that had taken Dadich. How the hell had Nikita been there with them. And why the hell had she been so focused on saving a Division agent's life. Everything about that mission slipped from his grasp, and he couldn't make sense of how.
"Do you want me to seriously answer that, or…" Letting his sentence drop, Birkhoff watched Michael pace around the safehouse in concern. The hacker hadn't heard much over the coms. All he knew was that Dadich had been taken by a random third party, and that Division had been wiped out. He had no clue how Nikita figured into all that. Though, when did she ever really figure into anything. She was a continual mystery and unknown variable. And she continued to have Michael's thoughts completely fixated on her.
"Either she's working with fucking Division again, or some kidnappers. I don't know," Michael couldn't keep his voice under control. He shouted as he paced the livingroom. He had thought he had Nikita figured out. He had thought their conversation in the hallway- their heart to heart- had meant something. But she kept pulling away from him. She was making poor decision after poor decision, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. She didn't want his help. Maybe that was valid. It wasn't as though he was the pinnacle of good decision making. But she was going to get herself killed. He couldn't let that happen.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Birkhoff had to shout himself in order to get through to Michael. The last thing either of them needed was a complete and total meltdown. The agent appreciated it. He needed to focus on the ruined operation. He couldn't let his thoughts spiral down the rabbithole of Nikita destroying herself for the thousandth time. Taking a steadying breath, Michael informed Birkhoff of everything that took place. Even though he couldn't make sense of half of it, he spewed all of it out on the nerd.
Birkhoff took it in stride. He attempted to theorize what could've possibly happened, yet the events were lost on him. Mostly, the third party kidnappers confused him. Nikita's presence could be explained by that whole revenge narrative Michael claimed she was following. But who else was willing to risk their lives to take out Dadich. The rogues' lack of information could be dangerous at times. Yet that moment seemed especially maddening. Michael's stressed voice exemplified that, "Whatever is going on, they have Dadich and we have to stop them."
"Alright. I'll trace the van. As for Nikki…" As Birkhoff began to trace the license plate number Michael had been able to give him, one of their burner cellphones chirped. It was the one they used to keep in touch with the arms dealer, Trevor. Cautiously, the hacker answered the call. A part of him feared that Division had been able to trace their presence back to Trevor. If that was the case, he shouldn't have answered. He should've hung up and found a new place for them to stay. But it wasn't Division on the other end. It wasn't even the arms dealer. Nikita's voice rang loud and clear- and demanding, "She wants to talk to you."
"Mind explaining what the hell you were doing today," Michael instantly barked into the phone. He didn't wonder how she tracked him to Trevor, or how she convinced the arms dealer to call the rogue (she probably beat him up). He simply wanted Nikita to explain herself. He could practically hear her eyes roll as she scoffed. So, they continued to be inexcusably irritated with one another. Perhaps that was where their heart to heart led them. There wasn't any closure to their emotions. There was simply more pain and raw feelings to sort through.
"I was going to ask you the same thing. Teaming up with guns for hire. That's not your style, Mikey," Pushing a bloody and bruised Trevor into a chair, Nikita paced the arms dealer's hideout. She'd have to grab some weapons and ammo before she left. She had heard he had great custom equipment. She could utilize that in her warpath. For the time being, however, she had to figure out what Michael and Birkhoff knew. Tracking the armed people's van was taking too much time. She needed answers immediately. Since the rogues had more resources than her, they had to be the ones she turned to- despite her thoughts about them.
"What are you talking about? They're not with me. And if they're not with you, I can assume you went back to Division," Michael quite possibly put his foot in his mouth with the assumption. Why would she return to Division after the hell they put her through. But he didn't have any other explanation for what he saw. Nikita had saved a Division agent. Sure, she could've done so because she didn't want an innocent person getting hurt. Except, it was more than that. She extended her hand to the young agent. She wanted her to go with her.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Hell no I didn't go back. I was there to kill Dadich, same as you. Though, I was hoping to get Percy too," Nikita seethed into the phone. Her pacing stopped, and her fist clenched tightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Trevor flinch. She rolled her eyes at his reaction. She hadn't roughed him up that much. She just gave him enough motivation to call Michael for her. He was lucky she had been the one to trace the rogue's rifle back to him and not Division. The black ops group would've actually killed him.
Michael had been wrong about Nikita; he'd admit he had been so swept up in bitter confusion that he let it cloud his judgement. She wasn't working with anybody, and neither was he. Yet that couldn't be the end of their conversation. She couldn't make a run at Percy. Just because she was rogue, didn't mean she could automatically get her revenge. The world unfortunately didn't work like that, "Nikita, you can't kill Percy until we take care of the black boxes. They contain secrets going back five administrations. If one thing slips out, more innocents will die. We can't let Percy win like that."
"Then figure out how to find a damn black box and stop bothering me," Ending the call, Nikita huffed. She almost forgot that she was supposed to have called for information. However, she doubted Michael knew more than her. If he had, he would've freely given it. They were all scrambling to understand what was going on. She thought that would've made her feel worse, but she strangely found comfort in the fact. If no one knew what was occurring, then it'd make it easier for her to strike. She could find the upperhand, and use it to her advantage.
Tightly holding the silent cellphone, Michael attempted to get his breathing under control. How could one conversation with Nikita turn his insides out. And how come he hadn't learned his lesson when it came to dealing with her. He was always left so upset he wasn't quite sure how to feel. It wasn't quite anger or sadness or disappointment. It was just hell. Birkhoff stared at his partner a moment, unsure what to say. Eventually, his computer beeped and he luckily found an excuse to diffuse the tension, "I think I got some intel on those kidnappers."
"Show me," Michael refused to think anymore. He just had to act. If that was good enough for Nikita, then it was good enough for him.