Disclaimer: I don't own Nikita, I'm merely playing with the characters. Amanda might be a little OOC, but I'm playing with the idea of her having a breakdown. So yeah. Just something I whipped up just because.

XXXXXX

Her tight control is slipping.

She's untouchable, she reminds herself. Percy wouldn't dare get rid of her. He needs her.

She keeps saying that, over and over, as if it's some sort of mantra. As if it'll keep her alive.

As if that were the problem.

She's afraid of Nikita. She hates herself for it. She hates the idea that Nikita—who was supposed have been the crowning jewel in her collection—escaped her clutches again.

Nikita was hers.

Hers. No one else's. Hers.

Amanda was a carefully hinged woman, who kept her grasp on reality tight. But there were times when she was weak.

There were times when she lost control. Those times were known only to herself, those dead and buried, and Nikita.

Nikita, who was the only person she had to worry about killing her.

Nikita, whom she hated.

Hate was unacceptable. She was Amanda, in control, always. Feelings and emotions were supposed to be secondary.

It's never been that way with Nikita. Whom she loved. Obsessively.

At first Nikita was as difficult as any other recruit, but then Amanda had cultivated her, shaped her. She'd made her perfect—or so Amanda had thought.

She'd been wrong.

She'd watched over Nikita as she'd grown closer to Daniel. She'd gained some small pleasure from the voyeuristic nature of it all, until she'd discovered their plans.

Nikita couldn't be happy, she couldn't be with Daniel, not for long.

And in the end the reason Daniel died isn't because Division didn't trust Nikita with him, but because Amanda was angry.

Amanda was in a jealous rage. She'd been holding a glass of champagne at the time, celebrating a successful 'session' when she'd watched the feed.

Nikita was hers.

Always.

And as she'd felt Nikita slip away from her, she'd clasped her hand around her glass so tightly it had shattered in her hand. She hadn't noticed until minutes later.

She'd looked down, seen the glass, seen the blood, felt the release of the pain . . . and she'd ordered the kill.

It had been easy.

She'd thought it would be simple, that Nikita would simply need comforting, that she would return to Division—to her—but instead she'd gone rogue, and that had been the end of that.

Three years. She'd had three years to forget the mistake, to forget Nikita—though she hadn't, of course—but then Nikita had returned.

She hated her even more for that, especially for the terror—and yet loved the intense pleasure that it brought her.

It was a beautiful sort of disaster, and it was hers. On the outside she was immaculate, feared and respected. On the inside she was brimming to the surface with a twisted mixture of pain and pleasure, each melding into the other to the point that she honestly couldn't tell the difference between them anymore.

All because she'd fallen into a sick and twisted obsession with Nikita. Though that wasn't where it had started, that was where it would end.

The day she'd seen Nikita captured she hadn't wanted her killed, she'd wanted her in pain.

She'd enjoyed the heartbroken look on Nikita's face. She'd enjoyed the pain. She'd loved the pain. Amanda could feel her control returning with every moment she spent with Nikita in chains.

But then Nikita had escaped, pulling her chains down from the ceiling.

Nikita was terrifying, but later that night after the chaos had settled down, Amanda had smiled.

Nikita was hers, she'd trained her to be this way. And soon she would be Amanda's again. It was only a matter of time.

XXXX

As time passes she loses herself. Bit by bit, moment by moment. No one really notices(except they do, she can tell), and her work isn't suffering. She is.

She's enjoying every moment of it.

XXXX

The moment she stares into the eyes of the woman she loves she smiles cruelly. Her hair is perfect, her nails done, her outfit impeccable.

Nikita is defenseless. She'd been fighting other Division agents—all of whom were now dead, but it didn't matter—and Amanda had snuck out to meet her.

This time she'd known Nikita would be there, they all had. They'd sent more operatives, but it hadn't mattered.

It didn't matter.

Because now it is Amanda's turn.

Her genuine smile disappears, and the perfect halfsmile takes its place. She looks down fleetingly at the gun in her hands.

She hasn't killed anyone with a gun in years. She's been a fan of inflicting the most pain possible.

She looks back up at Nikita, who hasn't moved. "It was time, wasn't it?"

Nikita doesn't respond.

"Eventually it had to come to this. I'm glad it's me," Amanda begins to step closer, and as she does the halfsmile on her face turns into a gruesome, pained expression.

"Amanda—" Nikita begins.

"Be quiet. I wanted to make you suffer. But I really want you dead. It's the price I'll pay."

Nikita glares darkly at her and Amanda feels a bit of a thrill—almost sexual with its edge.

Amanda shakes her head slightly. "Oh, Nikita. You never learned. You were supposed to be my perfection. You were mine."

Nikita suddenly seems confused. "Amanda, what are you talking about?"

Amanda smiles coldly. "And now you're mine in death," she gets ready to pull the trigger, and at that last moment she hears a gun go off. It's not hers.

She's been shot. Oh well. She still needs to pull the trigger—but then she's shot again. She falls down, dropping her gun, unable to hold onto it. She looks up, "Michael."

Michael looks sternly down at her. He kneels next to her, "You've lost it, Amanda."

Amanda feels herself slipping away, and wonders why it feels so strange. She dies with a smirk on her face.

She doesn't feel like she's lost anything. She's dead. She doesn't feel anything at all.

Michael looks up to see Nikita staring at him. She nods. "Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you."

"You never do," Nikita smiles as if she knows a secret she won't let him in on, and she turns around, disappearing through the door she'd been inching her way toward before psychotic Amanda had cornered her.

Michael looks down at Amanda and sighs. Explaining this to Percy is going to be a bitch. Luckily, Amanda wasn't supposed to be out on this mission anyway. She was obviously unhinged. If only they'd discovered thing sooner, Michael shakes his head.

And that's exactly what Michael says to Percy as he explains his actions—leaving out certain details. Instead, he makes something up about Amanda losing it when she couldn't find Nikita. Some unnecessary bullshit that Percy will probably buy, because he can't lose both Michael and Amanda.

"It's too bad. She was good."

"She was psychotic," Michael responds.

"True," Percy nods. "But she was good. It will be damn near impossible to replace her."

Michael doesn't even feel shock at the fact that the thing that matters most to Percy is how to replace Amanda.

Percy needs them all . . . but they're all replaceable. It's inconvenient, but true.

XXXXXX

Well. There's that. I'm working my way into Amanda/Nikita fic, and I had to start somewhere.