by: L. M. Garcia
"Michael, don't put your hand there!"
"No, not there, either! Lower. Right there."
"I'm sorry, Nikita. I've...never done this..."
Birkoff stopped in his tracks, his hand poised centimeters above the doorknob. His breath caught in his throat, his ears strained to hear.
"I don't believe you. How can you say you've never done this?"
Birkoff's eyes were very wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He could hardly believe what he had almost walked in on. I need those files...but maybe I should warn them somehow... The young man walked back the way he had come and then came back down the hallway, walking decidedly louder this time around.
He stopped just outside the door. The voices of the two operatives could be heard still.
"Would you mind getting your butt off of my elbow?"
"Me? You get your elbow off of my butt!"
Birkoff took a deep breath and opened the door.
Michael and Nikita looked up in his direction with the most innocent of faces.
Nikita was poised in a push-up position, with her legs very far apart. Michael was standing in a splits, one leg back, the other leg waaayy forward. One of his hands was on the floor, maybe to steady himself. His said butt was close to touching Nikita's said elbow.
"Hello, Birkoff, care to join us?" Nikita asked sweetly. Michael said nothing, but his face was bright red. Birkoff declined with a "No, I just need these files." Then he left the two operatives to continue their game of Twister.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Michael, or Nikita, or Birkoff, or Twister. I wanted to write something longer, but first I wanted to "test the waters" of the Nikita world. This is my first Nikita 'fic, so be gentle.