Disclaimer: As usual, the characters of LFN belong to USA and not to me. I’m only borrowing them, promise to return them, not making money off them, etc, etc. This story takes place a few months after “A word after a word,” and I’ve again ignored any Season Five developments that I didn’t like (Mick’s disappearance, Nikita’s father being the real Mr. Jones, Michael working with terrorists, Michael leaving Nikita behind…you get the idea.) You may want to read the earlier story, you may not. It’s totally up to you. Feel free to tell me what you think of this story, or of the previous one, or of the show in general, etc.

***

Nikita pushed her chair back. She slowly leaned her head onto the desk, allowing her shoulders to relax and closing her eyes. After six hours of searching, she still hadn’t found any sign of Adam’s location. She sighed, unwilling to admit defeat, but unable to concentrate any longer on the labyrinth of connections that Wolfe had used to conceal the whereabouts of Michael’s family. Nikita wondered if what she was doing was wise. Michael had adjusted well to his new position as Operations, quickly reorganizing Section One and bringing their numbers back into an acceptable range. Although the relationship between them was more complicated than ever, she finally felt as if they were being honest with each other.

If she found Adam, though, all of that would change. She knew that Michael remained haunted by the loss of his family, especially his son. She also knew that her own relationship with Michael would remain uneasy until he located his son. Nikita straightened her shoulders and began scrolling through Wolfe’s personal files from the period when Adam had disappeared. Once again, she was trapped: if she didn’t find Adam and Elena, Michael would never really accept their loss; if she did, she ran the risk of losing him completely. No matter how close she was to Michael, the blood tie with his son and his wife might still be stronger.

Nikita was not the only one losing sleep over Adam. In his own office, Michael was having no better luck in tracing Wolfe’s actions. He briefly considered calling Wolfe in and asking for the location, but knew it would be useless. The former head of Section One was still bitter about his forced transfer, and Michael was certain that he would continue to hide Elena and Adam, only revealing their location when he could use it against the operatives who had taken his place. Michael knew that he could ask Nikita for help, but he preferred to do this himself. He didn’t want to contact them, or to alter the lives they had been given by the Agency. He only wanted to be sure that they were safe. Nikita wouldn’t understand this desire to avoid his family, to monitor them without contacting them.

There was no way to explain the way he felt, the fears he had for Nikita if he were to resume contact with Elena and Adam. As much as he loved his son, Michael knew that his relationship with Nikita would always be the most important thing in his life. He could live, albeit unwillingly, without his son, but everyone except Nikita knew that he couldn’t live without her. Given this situation, Michael felt more comfortable finding Adam alone, eliminating the need to discuss his decision with Nikita.

Mr. Jones sat back from the monitor and watched his new recruit struggle with the decision to let his mission family go. Although Michael didn’t realize it, this was the final test before his provisional status as Operations became permanent. In reality, Wolfe’s concealment of Elena and Adam hadn’t been that difficult to break—the man had never expected to have to conceal them from anyone above Michael, and so the level of security had not been difficult to overcome. Once Center had the information and had relocated the innocents, Jason went back through, carefully reestablishing the cover with a number of new twists and blind ends. The new difficulties were not insurmountable, but they were far too complicated for Michael to eliminate working alone; even if he could, Mr. Jones had been careful to eliminate a crucial piece of information in the files that Michael was able to access. He would need to ask for help, either from Nikita or someone else. How Michael reacted to this challenge would determine, once and for all, his suitability for the position. Secretly, Mick hoped that he would choose Nikita’s help. To facilitate this, he had inserted the one piece of information Michael lacked into the files that he knew Nikita would be searching as well. In the end, though, the important thing to discover was whether Michael would be able to ask for assistance. There was no official time limit, but given the threat posed by the Collective, Michael would need to decide soon.

Michael muttered a series of heartfelt expletives, slamming his fist onto the desk in frustration. No matter what he tried, there didn’t seem to be a way to break the system set in place by Wolfe. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was something more to his difficulties. It seemed unlikely that Wolfe had been given either the time or the opportunity to create such a complicated system before his transfer.

Closing his eyes, Michael thought carefully about the past few weeks. Nikita had seemed frustrated recently, although he wasn’t sure why. She had seemed to be settling into Oversight, and had even enjoyed some aspects of the new position.

She had recently begun modifying the directives given to Section with regards to acceptable collateral, an area that had always bothered her. Michael had no objections, although he was aware that increased requirements would force his operatives to rethink their actions and goals. It also created longer hours for himself, as he sought to recreate mission profiles that would satisfy the new directives. In the end, though, he agreed with Nikita: this was the only way to repair the damage caused by Paul and Madeline’s long years of abuses.

Accepting that there must be something else wrong, Michael thought back to determine whether it was something he had done. He knew that they had shared little time since his return to the Agency, but if that had been the problem Nikita was fully able to request that time, and even to order his compliance.

She wouldn’t go that far, but if that were the problem she wouldn’t need to. He was fully willing to take some much-needed downtime with her, when and where she asked. There were plenty of people who could watch over Section while he was gone, and to be honest, a vacation might be what he needed.

Having eliminated the obvious, Michael was left with only one option: she was hiding something from him, and that something probably had to do with Elena and Adam. Michael was well aware of Nikita’s remaining issues with his previous blood cover, and continued to feel guilty about his responsibility for her pain.

Unable to determine any good way to address the problem, he had simply ignored it, hoping that it would somehow go away on its own. Apparently, that was not to be the case. Shaking his head, he made a decision. Although it might do more harm than good, he needed to tell Nikita about his attempts to find Adam and Elena. If she didn’t throw him out on his ear, he would then ask for her help in finding them. There was nothing else to be done—if he didn’t find them, he would be unable to continue as Operations because of the distraction, and if he didn’t talk to Nikita about it, eventually she would grow angry enough to leave him. Neither possibility was really an option.

***

Nikita woke with a start. She automatically reached for her 9mm and swung herself out of the bed. Moments later, she saw a shadow move into the doorway. She was about to fire when she realized who it was.

“Michael. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to spend the night at Section.”

“I needed to see you. I can leave if it’s a problem.” Michael remained in the doorway. He probably should have called. One of these days she was going to change the locks, and then he would be back to ringing the doorbell.

“No, its okay. Just give me a second to get dressed, and I’ll be right out. Unless you were planning to join me.” Nikita didn’t think that was the reason for his visit, but she was eternally optimistic.

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Do you want anything?” Michael suppressed a grin. It was a tempting offer, but there were things he needed to talk about first.

Nikita sighed. One of these days, she was going to explain to him that he didn’t live here. He needed either to move in or stop treating her belongings as if they were his own. It was disconcerting to be offered a drink in her own home.

She had a feeling that now was not the time. “No thanks. Help yourself, though.”

A few minutes later, Nikita slid herself into a seat at the breakfast island.

The room was filled with the smell of coffee brewing, a scent that she always associated with Michael. There was also a bowl on the counter, and the oven was turned on. Obviously, something was bothering him. Last time Michael had been trying to make a decision, she had gained five pounds eating pastry and strange dishes with names she couldn’t pronounce. Whatever the problem was, they would need to figure it out, or else she would never fit into the little black dress she had chosen for an upcoming assignment.

“Okay, so what’s wrong?”

Michael finished pouring batter into a pan he had discovered in a drawer. One of these days he’d find the time to teach Nikita to cook. She could stand to gain a few pounds, and he had a suspicion that unless he cooked for her, she ate only fruit and fast food. There were probably days when she forgot to eat entirely. For the time being, however, he would continue to tempt her with his own skills.

At least he could keep her from starving. Sliding the pan into the oven, he placed the bowl in a nearby sink and poured a cup of coffee. Although he had carefully planned this conversation, it was still difficult to begin. He leaned back against the counter and cleared his throat.

“I’m looking for Adam.”

Nikita blinked. She slowly sat back and tried to process what this meant. Was he looking for Elena, as well? What was she supposed to do, give her blessing? They had finally begun to talk about all the issues between them, but what if that wasn’t enough? What if he wanted a family more than he wanted her? Nikita felt her eyes beginning to fill with tears. This wasn’t fair—how was she supposed to compete with his child and a woman who were innocent, who hadn’t been the source of pain and misery for them both?

Michael watched the competing emotions flit across her face. When he saw her wounded look, he swore, realizing his mistake. He had known that she would assume he was looking for Adam and Elena in order to contact them. He stalked around the counter and pulled her out of the chair. Enfolding her in his arms, he inhaled the scent of her hair.

“Ssh, don’t cry. Let me explain.” He pulled back, lifting her chin until she met his gaze. Her lower lip continued to tremble, but she sniffed and blinked back her tears. Michael stepped back. He couldn’t concentrate so close to her, and this was going to take all his carefully cultivated Section cool if he wanted a chance to convince her.

Nikita saw the patented blank stare descend and braced herself for the worst. After all these years, she had grown to expect a lie every time she heard the word explain. Still, at least he was bothering to lie, instead of flat out telling her that he had chosen his son over her. Nikita smirked. It took a really sick person to be comforted by the fact that the man she loved was willing to lie to her about his wife and child. Maybe Mick was right—maybe she was better off in the Agency after all. People with relationship hang-ups like hers shouldn’t be loosed on the unsuspecting public. She shook her head, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I don’t want to see him. I need to know he’s safe, and I need your help.”

Michael closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion. He was still getting used to the emotional fireworks Nikita used to express her anger. Half the time, he wanted to grab her and hold on until the storm passed. The other half, he wanted to hide under a table. He settled for bracing himself against the counter and preparing to duck. He waited for a half minute that felt like an hour, but nothing happened. Michael debated opening his eyes. What if she’d dropped dead from shock? On the other hand, what if she was waiting for him to look at her before clocking him with a frying pan? He wondered absently about where she’d left her 9mm. Finally deciding that it was better to see death coming, he opened one eye. She was smiling at him. He closed the eye. That couldn’t be right. Maybe he had dropped dead. Michael tried it again, this time with both eyes. No, she was definitely smiling. He glanced down. No weapon. One of them had definitely lost it; Nikita should be screaming by now. Briefly, Michael considered which of them it had been.

Nikita could barely keep from laughing. She loved the strong, silent operative she had first met seven years ago, but every once in a while it felt good to know he was human. At the moment, he looked just like Birkoff after a confrontation with, well, Michael. Thinking of the Oreo-munching boy genius dimmed her smile somewhat. She still missed him, most of all at times like this.

No one liked seeing Michael at a loss more than Birkoff. Nikita knew he would have appreciated this moment, if only for its comedic value. Michael asking for help? The world must have ended.

Nikita and Michael stared at each other for a few more moments. Finally, Nikita couldn’t resist pushing him just the tiniest bit farther. After all those years of berating herself for loving a man who didn’t know she was alive, she still enjoyed her ability to crack his composure. Tilting her head to the side and smiling sweetly, she asked, “Of course. What do you need me to do? And what do I get in return?”

Michael’s jaw dropped. Nikita reached across the counter and closed it. She really should let him off the hook—if he got any more shocked, he might never recover.

“You said the magic word. Mick told me that if you ever asked for my help, he’d have your name engraved on the Perch. Congratulations, you’re now officially Operations. Does this call for a celebration? I’m really not sure on the protocol.”

“So you knew why I came here? This was just a test?” Michael was having trouble processing the idea that Nikita had been putting on an act. She hadn’t changed that much—or had she?

“Not entirely. I knew that Mick expected you to ask for my help. I didn’t know why, and until a few minutes ago, I couldn’t even guess. When you said you were looking for Adam, I thought that was it, that you’d chosen him and Elena over me.” Nikita stopped, suddenly unsure. “Have you?”

Michael closed his eyes. This constant emotional reassurance was more draining than he’d realized. No wonder Nikita needed so much sleep. Still, he was trying to teach himself that strong and silent wasn’t always enough. He made a decision. One more night wouldn’t make a difference in his search, and there was no telling when they’d have another chance to relax. “No.”

Nikita smiled again, sensing the change in his demeanor. “Prove it.”

Michael smiled back. At least she didn’t need much convincing. “You never did learn to be patient.”

***

Nikita was startled awake for the second time that night, this time by the smell of smoke. She thought for a moment the apartment was on fire, and then realized the cause. “Michael. Michael, wake up. Did you leave the oven on?”

Michael rolled over, sleepily reaching for her. “Hmm? No, of course not.” He sniffed. “I could be wrong.”

“If you burn down my apartment, I’m moving in with you.” Nikita gave him a push. “What’s in there, anyway?”

“Fine with me. How’s Tuesday?” Michael rolled back over, burrowing his head in the pillows. In moments, his breathing slowed back into sleep.

Nikita sat in the darkness, trying to understand what she’d just heard. He must still be asleep. That was the only explanation. Shaking her head, she got up and pulled on a t-shirt, padding across the apartment to the kitchen. If she didn’t get whatever that was out of the oven, the whole building might come down.

Center would deduct that from her paycheck, she was sure. That is, they would have if they paid her. Nikita slammed the oven door, dropping the pan into the sink and turning on the water. She jumped, avoiding the billowing steam.

Apparently that was not the best way to handle a kitchen fire. Oh well. At least it was out. With one last glance at the remains of her pan, she turned and went back to bed.

Michael woke the next morning, feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks. He always slept better here, where there were no memories of those terrible first weeks after losing Adam. There had been something last night, though. What was it? Suddenly, he remembered. The oven, and moving…Michael sat up and groaned.

She was going to make him clean up the mess he had made in her kitchen. Worse than that, when he’d suggested moving in together, she’d ignored him. That had to mean something. Maybe she was more upset than he’d thought about Adam and Elena. Damn. This whole real relationship thing was nothing but a huge pain in the ass.

Nikita lay there, listening to Michael wrestle with his conscience. He obviously hadn’t meant his words last night, but it had been nice to think about it. She consoled herself with the thought that she hadn’t really wanted to give up her apartment anyway. It was finally like home, and it had much better windows than Michael’s apartment. The thought wasn’t nearly as comforting as she had hoped; still, it was better than crying.

Michael weighed his options: he could either pretend last night hadn’t happened, slipping back into Section Michael mode, or he could ask again. Option A was looking really tempting; handling rejection had never been his strong suit.

Actually, other than Nikita, he was pretty sure he’d never been rejected. There was that one incident with Lisa Fanning, but that didn’t really count because he’d been lying at the time. Michael groaned again. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He looked back over his shoulder, trying to see if Nikita was still asleep. She wasn’t. Well, no time like the present.

“I meant it. Would Tuesday be okay?”

Nikita hadn’t realized that she was holding her breath until she tried to answer. “No.”

Michael closed his eyes. No, rejection was definitely not getting any easier. He started to get up, knowing that he owed her the consideration of cleaning up the kitchen after last night’s fiasco. At least she had already agreed to help him find Adam, even if she wasn’t ready to live with him.

“I think we should live here. If that’s okay with you.”

Michael sat back down with a thud, missing the edge of the bed and landing on the floor. His head spun. There were times when he missed the numbness that came of being without Nikita. Well, not really. He had to admit, though, life was a lot simpler then. Never having been in this situation before, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Then again, neither was she. There was another awkward pause.

“Michael? Did you hear me?” Nikita bit her lip, wondering if she’d gone too far. She didn’t relish the idea of explaining to Mick how Michael had broken his tailbone.

“Yes.”

She leaned her head back over the edge of the bed, meditating on his profile. She always loved the sun on his hair. “And?”

“Okay. I sleep better here anyway.” Actually, Michael didn’t sleep at all at his own apartment. It wasn’t really a very welcoming place, and lately he’d taken to spending his nights at Section. He wouldn’t even miss it.

“So it’s settled, then. Tuesday it is.” Nikita sat up and began mentally rearranging her rooms. She would move the couch against the wall, and get rid of the coffee table, and now she really would have to invest in a dining room set, unless Michael already had one—did he have any furniture? She wasn’t sure, but if he did it would have to go into storage…or maybe Walter could use it…Suddenly, Nikita realized the flaw in their new arrangement. “We need to get permission for this, don’t we?”

One of these days, she would learn that he never did anything without planning. Well, almost never. “I already did. Mick said, and I quote, ‘If she’s fool enough to say yes, I’m not going to get in her way. One arse-kicking’s enough for this year, thank you.’ I took that as permission.”

Nikita glared at him. “How long have you been planning this? And what kind of person asks to move in with a girl in the middle of the night after he’s set her kitchen on fire?”

Michael opened his mouth to answer her, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. It was a good question, and not for the first time he wondered if this was really the best thing for Nikita. “If you want to change your mind…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Oh no you don’t. You asked, I said yes, end of story. You’re not backing out of this one, buddy.” Nikita’s fierce look changed to a smile as she resumed her mental redecorating.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Michael leaned his head back into her lap, closing his eyes and enjoying the strange feeling that washed over him. Was this contentment? If it was, he could definitely get used to it.

The End