Just an idea... what if the team didn't make it out completely unscathed? This is where my muse took me :) It's my first Nikita fic, I hope you enjoy :D

Michael stirred, coughing in an effort to clear the smoke from his lungs. Slowly, with his arms still wrapped tightly around Nikita, he heaved himself up, gently shaking his partner awake. She opened her eyes and pulled back, her face dusted with ash.

"You okay?" Michael asked, frowning slightly in concern as he looked her over.

She nodded. "We have to leave," she said distractedly, already lurching to her shaky feet.

Michael also rose and placed a steadying hand on Nikita's elbow, silently offering his support. They started to stumble towards the exit, before Michael halted sharply, realising they were yet to see any sign of Birkhoff. "Hey," he said, "where's Computer Genius?"

Nikita, now alert, began scanning the room with sharp, worried eyes. "There!" she exclaimed, pointing over to the staircase.

"Birkhoff!" Michael shouted as the pair made their way over to the corner of the room, avoiding the fires that licked at their feet. "Birkhoff?" Reaching their friend, Michael dragged away the large, steel trunk blocking their view, revealing Birkhoff's prone form.

The young technician was loosely curled up into a ball, his limbs now slack and heavy in unconsciousness. Nikita knelt by his side, rolling him over so he lay sprawled on his back.

"Birkhoff!" she tried to get a response, shaking his shoulder. Taking a deep breath to combat the pang of worry in her stomach, Nikita scanned her friend for any major injuries or heavy bleeding. Finding no extensive signs of blood loss, she checked for any head wounds and gritted her teeth when her fingers brushed over a large contusion at the back of Birkhoff's head.

"Minor concussion. At least," she informed Michael, looking up to meet his gaze. "We'll have to carry him." She quickly slipped one of Birkhoff's arms over her shoulders, waiting until Michael mirrored her actions before the two stood at the same time, pulling their friend with them. Birkhoff let out a small moan but otherwise did not protest as he was dragged from the room.

They made it halfway down the corridor towards the exit before Nikita suddenly stopped, remembering something. "Michael, hold him for a minute," she said quickly, shoving Birkhoff over to Michael before running back down the corridor, simultaneously reaching for her gun.

Michael dumbly watched her go, anchored by the weight of Birkhoff, his mind sluggishly realising what Nikita was about to do. "Nikita, no!" he shouted, but he was too late and his face fell as the ear-splitting cracks of two gunshots tore through the air.

Michael could picture the scene perfectly. A bullet through the brain, a bullet through the heart. Just to be sure.

Target eliminated.

Then Nikita returned, seemingly oblivious to what she had just done. "Let's go," she said, instantly resuming her place at Birkhoff's other side.

They burst out the door and into the night air, shuddering at its chill as they scrambled over to the bulky Land Rover. They bundled Birkhoff into the back of the car, laying him out flat across the three leather seats before they both jumped into the front and sped off into the night, only glancing back to check that they weren't being followed.

A couple of miles later and Birkhoff hadn't stirred. Michael pulled the car to a stop, safe from prying eyes under the closed canopy of a coniferous forest. Both opened their doors and jumped out, Nikita going straight to Birkhoff while Michael grabbed the small first aid kit from the boot of the car.

Nikita carefully rolled Birkhoff onto his side and into the basic recovery position, giving her easy access to the wound. However, thick, crimson blood coated the back seat of the car and matted the technician's hair, hiding the true extent of the damage.

When did it start bleeding? she thought, but quickly shook her head, thinking of the task at hand. "Michael, can you pass me some water?" He passed her a bottle. "Thanks." Carefully, she rinsed the wound and cleansed away all the dry, coagulated blood, allowing her to see the wound clearly for the first time.

The contusion was large; a great, egg-shaped lump that strained against Birkhoff's scalp. The skin was red and inflamed, indicating possible infection, and the wound continued to bleed sluggishly throughout Nikita's ministrations. She probed it with gentle, experienced hands, feeling for any potential cracks in the skull or additional swellings around the injury. Satisfied, she took out a small torch and shone it in both of Birkhoff's eyes, testing their sensitivity to the bright light.

Michael was at her side now, examining the wound for himself. He sighed in relief, realising it could have been much worse. He looped an arm around Nikita. "He'll be all right."

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling softly. "But I still think we should patch him up anyway."

Together the two made light work of disinfecting and bandaging the wound, taking comfort in the fact that there were worse injuries to be had, and Birkhoff would be back to his old self in no time.

Noting their friend's cramped position in the car, Nikita and Michael had lowered the back seats to give Birkhoff's form some more room, also folding up a blanket to create a makeshift pillow and spreading a second across his shoulders.

Birkhoff's journey to wakefulness was a painful one. As he'd emerged from unconsciousness, the dull throbbing in his head had escalated into shooting bolts of agony with every pulse. He could feel the blood thumping in his ears, and his limbs were screaming with cramp. In his desire to move he automatically opened his eyes, but hastily closed them with a groan as intense light burned his vision. Instinctively, he drew his knees up to his chest, trying to curl himself into as small a ball as possible.

A gentle hand suddenly gripped his arm. "Birkhoff?"

The technician recognised the gruff voice instantly. "Mikey…?" His voice sounded weak and scratchy to his own ears. He coughed, trying to dislodge some of the dust in his lungs, but quickly choked back his attempt as the coughs only increased the pain in his weary body.

"Can you open your eyes?" Michael asked, studying his friend's face.

Birkhoff tried again to open his eyes, cracking them open so they were mere slits. But the light still glared harshly at him and he squeezed them shut, groaning again.

"Okay, we'll leave it for now," said Michael, not wanting to cause Birkhoff any more pain. "Get some more rest."

"Nikita?" Birkhoff asked weakly, wondering if she'd made it out okay.

"She's scouting ahead. She'll be back soon."

"'Kay," the younger man sighed, his tense muscles relaxing as he slipped into a deep sleep.

Nikita's expression was focused as she shone the torch into Birkhoff's eyes, concentrating on the pupils' reaction. "Okay, your pupils are equal and reactive and I feel no fractures in your skull: you have a mild concussion."

"Mild?" Birkhoff exclaimed incredulously. "How can this be a mild concussion? I feel like my skull has cracked!"

Nikita gave him a pointed look. "I've checked you over three times. Michael must have checked you over at least five. Not to mention you've even checked yourself."

"Yeah, but I have a concussion!" Birkhoff protested. "I mean, my skull could be severed from my spine and I wouldn't know!"

"You're lucky it wasn't," pointed out Nikita. "I told you it was risky."

"I want to press charges," Birkhoff stated resolutely as Michael approached them.

"Against who?" the ex-division agent asked, slightly puzzled but deciding to humour Birkhoff.

"Against whoever did this!"

Michael glanced briefly at Nikita before his gaze returned to the technician. "A lead would be nice."

"How about the guy who blew up my house?" Birkhoff suggested.

"You blew up your house," said Michael.

"Oh," said Birkhoff, as if realising this for the first time. He looked up helplessly at Michael, feigning confusion. "I have a mild concussion," he said by way of explanation.

"So I've heard."

"So, are you going to tell us where we're going?" Nikita joined in.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she said. "You are the one with all the money and gadgets at your disposal, after all."

"Oh," said Birkhoff again, still sounding confused. "I have a mild concussion."

"So I've heard. But I told you blowing up the house could get us all killed," she said matter-of-factly. "You rest, we'll be back." Both she and Michael turned to leave him to rest.

"I have a concussion!" he called out after them. "A mild concussion."

"So we've heard."