Impact

by. Misery's-Toll

Chapter Seven: Flare

Westwego, Louisiana - 1:00 pm

When Nikita finally stirred, she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Splintered wooden rafters hovered high above her head, and shattered sky lights illuminated the room, providing an unimpressive view of gray clouds. The air in the vast, near empty room smelled of mold and an approaching rainstorm.

She tried to lift an arm to rub at her eyes, lashes crusty with dried tears, but something held her in place. Panic rose in her chest as she tugged at the makeshift restraints.

"Chill," Sam said, his groggy voice immediately quelling the adrenaline in her blood.

He set aside his phone which still glowed with a news article describing an unfortunate house fire that had taken the lives of a local millionaire and his unidentified female partner. Sam had a catheter taped in place on his forearm, which he kept upright. A thick red band was tightly tied around his bicep.

"Why am I strapped down?" Nikita asked hoarsely, her throat feeling like gravel from the screaming she had done the night before.

Sam gestured to a large blooming bruise on his cheekbone. "The first time I tried to insert the IV, you elbowed me in the face."

Nikita suddenly noticed that the medical tubing coming from Sam's arm was connected directly into hers. "Jesus Christ, Sam! Do you know how dangerous a direct blood transfusion is?"

"Yeah, I'm not an idiot," Sam shot back, "I learned how to do this in the army. I have an O blood type and I haven't taken any of the regiment in over 48 hours. Feel free to thank me at any time."

Nikita just closed her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. "I'll thank you after you untie me."

Sam rolled his eyes and nimbly unfastened the restraints, letting out an offended grunt as Nikita immediately yanked the catheter from her arm. A few droplets of precious blood splashed against the dirty floor before Sam could disconnect himself from the makeshift device.

Nikita's shoulder burned like fire as she pulled herself up and tore what little was left of her dress to wrap it around the small wound. She found herself taking deep breaths as she tried to recover some form of equilibrium.

"Thanks," she said so softly she wasn't sure he would be able to hear it.

"I didn't do it for you," Sam said back stiffly, obviously not anticipating any form of actual kindness from her.

Nikita ached with the way she had been treating him recently. She found herself lashing out at him more than he deserved, only because a selfish part of her resented who Owen had turned into. Or really, resented who Owen had always truly been.

"Where are we?" she asked. They were clearly in an abandoned warehouse somewhere, but she hoped Sam had gotten them safely away from the Boucher mansion before any members of The Shop could attribute the damage to arson and potentially track them.

"Westwego. I woulda gone further, but you were losing too much blood. How long until you're ready to move out?"

Nikita didn't have to see her reflection to know she was a mess. Her flesh was sticky with dry blood, flaking from her skin like old corn syrup. Her clothing was in tatters and her bullet wound was being held together by burnt flesh and a strip of cloth.

She let out an exhausted sigh, one that she wouldn't normally let Sam be witness to. But she found matching fatigue in his own expression. Finally, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"M.D.K Laboratories," Sam replied, "About an hour drive."

"Make it two hours," Nikita said, forcing herself to stand, "We need to go shopping first.

Westerly, Rhode Island - 2:00 pm

When Seymour got up the next morning, he found Alex sleeping at the same spot in front of his laptop as the night before. He had replaced the previously drooled-on sticky note with a new one that stated in no uncertain terms NO TOUCHING! But much to his chagrin, this fresh sticky note was now also soaking up saliva.

"Earth to Alex!" he said, volume just loud enough to wake her with a headache.

A small groan escaped the Russian princess as she leaned back, rubbing out a newly formed kink in her neck. "What the hell, Birkhoff?" she replied, her voice sounding like sandpaper.

When he saw the puffiness of her eyelids, a small amount of guilt invaded his conscience. He knew from past experience that Alex had wicked nightmares. She woke up screaming more than once, but usually wandered into the kitchen to have a cup of Sonya's tea to soothe her nerves. Occasionally, if Seymour was staying up late working on a new bit of code, they would exchange a few words of friendly banter before she returned to bed. Whether or not she eventually found rest, he didn't know.

FInding her snoozing less than gracefully in front of his laptop was a new pattern.

"You're drooling on my 'keep out' sign," he pointed out, figuring it would be better to lecture her than prod at sensitive territory. Mushy stuff wasn't his style.

Alex reluctantly moved her gaze toward the saliva-moistened paper and let out another groan and explained, "Sam hacked the access terminal to ShadowNet. I just wanted to check if he messed with Baby, but as far as I can tell it's untouched."

"Let me guess," Seymour ventured and sat in Sonya's usual chair, "He's not here."

Alex shook her head and replied, "No. I heard him leave last night. He knew about the backup exit and entered the code on his own."

Seymour pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and grunted. "So he's not working alone. It's too early for this bullshit."

"It's almost 2:00 PM. And you're right, he's not," Alex confirmed, "But I think I know who he's working for."

He rolled his eyes. "Amanda?" he hazarded.

"No," Alex said, her voice coming out barely more than a breath, "Nikita."

"No shit." Seymour's eyes widened. It was definitely too early for this shit. "How do you know?"

Alex shook her head again, "It's just a feeling. There's no way Sam would willingly work for Amanda. And Amanda would definitely not give him a placebo version of the regiment. She would push him until he dropped dead if it would get her ahead."

He needed a Red Bull, badly. "That doesn't mean he's working with Nikita. She left because she didn't want her friends to get hurt. As flawed as that logic was, I don't think she's a hypocrite."

"I talked to him for awhile, and at times he could be...kind," Alex admitted reluctantly, "And he seemed legitimately confused. Regardless of whether or not he was using that as a way to get his foot in the door, he's changed. I think that maybe...Nikita is saving Sam in the only way she knows how."

"By being Nikita," Seymour determined, "Great. So she won't talk to us, but she'll steal our WiFi every now and then."

Alex offered a small smile at his joke, and whispered, "She's alive."

Seymour tossed the idea around in his mind, the reality of the situation sinking in. Nikita was alive. The realization gave him deja vu, a throwback to the time when Percy announced that the manhunt to eliminate Division's greatest threat was revived. The combined feeling of relief and dread. If intuitive Alex could come to this conclusion, so could Amanda, the queen of psychological warfare.

"So I guess the question is, what do we do now?" he finally asked.

They had to act. That was not in question. They had waited for thirteen months for this.

Alex, despite her tired eyes and gravelly voice, offered a winning grin. "We tell Michael."

Somerset, New Jersey - 4:00 pm

"I need you to repeat those words exactly. Do you think you got all that?" Alex asked, speakerphone on as she peeled back the throw rug in her living room to access her loose floorboards. She had returned to her own home two days ago and slept off the side effects of her all-nighter so she could be well rested for whatever came next.

"Got it," her assistant confirmed and repeated the phrase back to her. He was in New York visiting family, much closer to Michael than she was. He asked, "Anything else?"

She dug her fingernails into the gap between two planks and lifted, revealing the small safe she kept hidden there. She quickly entered the code and it beeped before giving her access.

"Nope, that's it. Thanks Danny," she said, and promptly hung up.

Alex pulled the Walther P22, three spare magazines, and her four fake driver's licenses and matching passports from within, stuffing them in her satchel. She had already retrieved her stash of foreign currencies from her safety deposit box at the bank, including euros, rubles, yen, renminbi, and rupees. She considered briefly that she may actually be over prepared for a mission for which she had the barest minimum intel at her disposal. But Nikita had always taught her to expect the unexpected.

Her laptop was open to her twitter page in which she had announced that she was going on vacation in Brazil for the next two weeks. She hoped her lack of specifics would keep the paparazzi sidetracked and frustrated.

She ejected the magazine from her weapon, checking that it was full before reinserting it with a satisfying click.

"Here we go," she said, and turned to gaze out the window.

Queens, New York - 7:00 pm

Michael returned home later that evening than usual, having stopped for a jog at the park after work. Working in construction kept him physically fit in the most basic of senses, but he knew he had lost weight and stamina over the past several months and it would take time to get back in shape. He wasn't exactly sure what about his romantic encounter with Denise had changed him, but something inside him was whispering get ready.

He arrived at his apartment door at the same time she did, and they stopped a moment to look at each other. He had his orange construction vest tied around his waist, his undershirt sticking to his skin with sweat from his jog. Denise looked him over in an interested but resigned sort of fashion, and he could feel the back of his neck heating up.

"I don't suppose there's any use inviting you in for dinner, is there?" she asked, laughing shyly.

He could appreciate her attempts at normality, but rather than playing along, he shook his head, "Can't."

Denise nodded like she expected nothing less. She licked her lips and said almost wistfully, "Maybe next time."

"Right. Maybe," he responded awkwardly, pushing the door open the rest of the way with his shoulder, stepping into his apartment to hide away for the rest of the evening.

"Um, but I was actually told to deliver a message!" she interrupted as he began to shut the door.

Michael glanced back at her, suddenly on edge. The only caller he'd ever had was Alex, and he'd already heard from her.

"Yeah?" he prompted, trying to appear casual.

"One of your friends stopped by. He wanted to know if you wanted go hunting sometime soon," she relayed with a shrug, "I'm sorry but I forgot to ask his name."

A jolt of electricity fizzled down Michael's spine, and he dropped his groceries on the floor, a can of beer bursting open and spewing foam on the carpet. He shoved the door aside and strode with purpose up to Denise, unconsciously tapping into his old intimidation techniques.

"What specifically did he say, Denise? What were his exact words?" he pressured her, hovering intently in her personal space.

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly looked very confused. "I, um... He said something like... He went up to the mountains last weekend and spotted a big deer, I think? But it got away. He wanted to know if you wanted to try and track it with him. Said he was staying at Stuyvesant."

Michael let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, all the color draining from his face. He backed away, almost tripping over his overturned bags.

"So are you going to go?" she asked, completely oblivious to his turmoil.

Michael blinked as if to clear smoke from his eyes, suddenly filled with renewed life and purpose.

"It'd be great to get back in touch," he said with a charming smile, slipping easily back into the confident personality that had worked so well for him back at Division. It felt like putting on an old, familiar suit after wearing nothing but stained pajamas for a year and a half. "I should really start packing."

Denise looked disappointed for a moment, "Oh. I see. Well, be safe."

Michael almost turned to go back into his apartment, but was suddenly hit with a rush of gratitude. He pulled Denise into a firm, but gentle hug, forgetting for a moment that he was sticky with drying sweat from his jog.

"Thank you, Denise," he said softly before pulling away, "You've always been kind to me."

Her face flushed red and she ducked her head. "It's—uh, it's no problem at all."

He smiled, his pulse thrumming in his ears, and returned to his apartment to prepare. Nikita was out there, and he wasn't going to let her slip away again.

Westerly, Rhode Island - 8:00 am

Seymour was typing out the last few lines of code when the stairs creaked behind him. He'd had a conniption once when Sonya interrupted his concentration, and from then on she always padded straight past him and into the kitchen.

With a few more rhythmic taps of his fingertips, the program was practically complete. He still had to test it for glitches, which could take anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, but he was confident things would run smoothly. He wasn't known for making careless mistakes.

He kicked his feet up on the desk and stretched his arms over his head, letting out an exaggerated groan as his joints cracked. He could hear the kettle hissing in the kitchen as Sonya prepared her cup of morning tea, and soon the aroma of ginger filled the air.

He pulled a face. That was odd; Sonya usually had a mug of green tea with a slice of lime when she woke up, refusing to deviate even when (in Seymour's opinion) she'd feel much more ready to face the day if she chugged a can of Red Bull. The box of ginger tea bags generally remained in the back recesses of the cabinet, reserved for instances of motion sickness after plane rides.

Seymour rose from his seat and shuffled in his slippers to the kitchen, where Sonya was slouching heavily against the counter as the tea finished brewing. The shadows beneath her eyes were dark and heavy, the pallor of her skin a dreary grey to match.

"You don't look like someone who spent the previous night have the most bangin' sex of her life," Seymour greeted, and came over behind her to massage her shoulders.

Sonya rolled her eyes, but smiled tiredly at him nonetheless. "I think perhaps the body chocolate didn't settle as well as it should have," she offered by way of explanation, and leaned her head into the crook where his neck met his shoulder.

She smelled of dried sweat and a hint of clove, a not altogether unpleasant reminder that she had skipped her usual bath. The time on the oven read 6:30 AM—she would normally be relaxing in their giant tub right about now, singing quietly along with the radio. For the past three days however, her schedule had been completely out of whack.

"Hey, why don't you go back to bed? I'll make some toast and bring it upstairs," he offered uneasily. While they didn't frequently combine dessert and love-making, they had been known to indulge on occasion, and Sonya had never before shown up the next morning looking like she'd been trampled by an army of Stormtroopers.

This lead Seymour to believe that there was a larger situation at hand. Either Sonya was coming down with a peculiar case of the stomach bug which only struck in the mornings, or...

"That's sweet of you, Seymour, but I'm perfectly fine. I just need a cuppa and then we can test the ShadowNet update for bugs," she said with forced enthusiasm, and pulled away to grab her mug.

Seymour puffed his cheeks in frustration and took a deep breath, lifting his hand after her as she walked away from him.

"Wait, Sonya!" he said, and she turned around, casting him an inquisitive look.

"Is there something going on?" he prompted, "Something you're not telling me?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, but it was plain on his face that he already knew. She seemed to begin to reply several times, but continued to interrupt herself before she could even get the first word out. But Seymour waited patiently, familiar with Sonya's habit of babbling when nervous.

"Seymour..." she finally said, and dropped a hand to her stomach. Her eyes began to water, "I think I might be pregnant—well, I mean, I took a test. Three of them actually, because they're not one-hundred percent accurate, but they were all positive! And I know that we're fugitives from the state and the timing is terrible but-"

An alarm coming from Seymour's computer interrupted her tirade, and she clamped her jaw shut. Seymour's eyes were blown wide as he glanced between Sonya's trembling form and ShadowNet's persistent beeping, programmed to trigger only if an anomaly occurred at the site of one of The Shop's known set-ups. It couldn't be a coincidence, so soon after the revelation that Nikita was back on the scene.

"Sonya…" he started, but she interrupted him by clearing her throat.

"We can talk about it later," she said, turning her back on him so she could view ShadowNet's results, "There are more important things to discuss right now."

"More important things?" Seymour sputtered in disbelief, but Sonya gave him an expression that firmly dictated that she had no intention of speaking more on the subject at the moment. He sighed and followed her to glimpse the results.

"Louisiana," Sonya said.

"Louisiana," Seymour affirmed.

A/N: I'm so sorry that this took me almost a year to update. And I'm even more sorry that I can't promise it won't happen again. I've been working on this chapter in itty bitty bits and pieces over the past several months, and I only just finished it. If anyone is still reading this, I hope they enjoy.

-MT