A/N: I know I've been doing alot of post series fics with Nikita and Michael and it's probably getting tired, but I'm working on a long story about post series and I'm trying to perfect the mood of it. Hopefully you're not too bored of it!
Disclaimer: I do not own lfn
Better than Me
My chest is imploding. I can't stand the pain.
I've held my pain threshold from any terrorist who's ever had the misfortune of capturing me. I've survived through each torture I've been put through.
Pain was never an issue for me. I had been so numb for so long.
But she broke through the walls. My threshold is in shatters around my feet. I can feel. Hard and deep and heavy.
I feel pain. And it's ripping me apart. I can't take it. I'm about to break.
I don't want to be weak. It's killing me to be so. There's a war inside of me. Neither side will win. I'm fated to lose no matter what happens.
I've realized long ago, when she was first taken from me, that I need Nikita. I can't seem to live normally without her. Breathing becomes difficult. I can't remember to refill my lungs and depress them after. I can't be bothered to think of keeping my heart beating to pump blood into my brain. It can't think anyway. It's useless without her. Simple tasks become impossible. Missions becoming unthinkable.
This is not the ways of a top Section level five operative who's always been looked upon to one day take over the place. I've been ruined for that. And I'm glad. Not that it matters anyway. It was never in my destiny to take over Section.
But it wasn't in Nikita's destiny either.
It's wrong that she's in power. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't be anywhere near it. Let alone, chained to it. It's not fair. It's not right.
And I can't make it different. I can't change it. I'm powerless.
I'm all alone. I'm without her. She's alone, without me. And it's my fault. She set me free so that I can live. So that I can watch my child grow. So that I can help heal all his wounds.
But who will heal Nikita's? She living her worst nightmare, while I'm here. It shouldn't be like this. I never meant it to happen this way.
Nevertheless, it's happened.
I know now, looking back, that I'm not supposed to be her Savior. She may be mine, but I am not hers.
I shouldn't be. It's not my place. just because I'm in love with her, just because I drive myself out of my very mind without her, doesn't mean I should take advantage of her.
She doesn't deserve me. She deserves so much better than me.
She was right. I was Section's lapdog for so long. I lied to her, deceived her, made her look like a fool. Just for Section's sake. It was wrong. I can't take it back.
As so often late a night, the guilt starts to kick in. It comes in waves, matching the heavy, fast beats of my thundering heart.
I miss her so much. It hasn't been long, but being without her is killing me. Her blue, innocent eyes. Filled with caring. Compassion. The president of that five percent club I've heard rumors of. Her light blonde hair, done up in all her ridiculous styles. Or when she was upset, she'd leave it down. Perhaps not even brushed. She looked so vulnerable and beautiful at those times. Her pillow soft plush lips, so eager to smile. Begging to have a reason to brighten my day. Trembling when she was scared. She was scared too often.
She was so pure. So wonderful. If there were ever angels to walk to earth, she would be one.
So what is she doing, crying over me? A broken soul, chained to hell. The darkness that fears her heavenly light. A demon, a killer, a man who should never see the dawn.
I never should have let her love me. But my resolve was so weak. I loved her too much. But I took too much from her. I have to live with the heaviness of the tears she sheds from the sins I've committed. In my absence, I can feel her weep. It weighs on my conscience. The gateway threatens to break through.
I need her. But I can't stand the thought of being with her.
It doesn't matter now. Others, higher than us, have decided our fate for each other. There's nothing left to do but to live it out. And to pray she forgives me. Forgets me. While I live on with her memory. Nikita will stay with me forever. She's the only one I could ever love. There were others before her. But she showed me how love, so strong and deep, conquers all. At least, until we're ripped apart. I'll still go on, following through with our love. But I hope she finds her heart reaching out to others.
Men adore her. I've seen it in front of my eyes. My heart twisted in jealousy. She won't have a problem finding someone, even in the confines of the prison she's sentenced a life time to. My only hope left is that she allows it.
Our romance was left gaping at the seams. Unfinished. There's nothing to close it up. There's no closing the book. There isn't an ending.
It's not over. Not for me. Will it be for her?
The room is cold. The sheets are chilled against my shuddering chest that's trying to inhale and exhale normally. It fails. There's sobs caught in my chest. In my throat. They block the airways.
My eyes sting as I feel them watering. God, I'm not going to cry. I never cry. It's not my way. Nothing affects me enough to make me do so.
That's not true, I know. My mind works just well enough to remind me of the fact. I've cried for Nikita. Not just once, but multiple times. And when she had told me that she had never loved me...it had gone beyond words. Beyond emotions. I knew it wasn't true. She did too. It was beyond our control.
I cried a blood tear that day. Because the very thought was too painful for words. For normal, average tears that are often wasted on meek things.
But tonight, I won't let a single tear shed. I'm growing cold without the warmth of her love. I can feel myself becoming the way I used to be. Reserved. Distant. Cold. Afraid to be hurt again. Not allowing myself to fall in to the trap of more pain. I can't bare any more pain.
But I can't do that to Adam. My son. My wonderful, innocent boy who doesn't deserve anything that he's been through. He's been through so much. Too much. I don't know how he'll ever overcome it all. My greatest fear is that he'll grow up like me.
I won't allow him to become what I have. I'll be there for him. And I'll keep him alive. And loved. He'll learn to forget what he saw. What he went through. The terrors he's eperienced.
We are all hurting. He, Nikita and I. I can't help Nikita, no matter how much my heart reaches out for her. But I can help my child.
I throw the sheets from my body. I barely wince when my feet hit the cold of the floorboards. I navigate my way through the room and down the hallway and in to the room Adam is in.
He's curled in a ball in the middle of the bed. His eyes are closed, but there's fat, pain-filled tears falling upon his chubby cheeks.
I climb in to bed and hold him to me tight. His small hands grab at my arms, yearning for comfort. For me to remove the hurt inside him. I can't do that. He has to.
But I'll do what ever I must to help him along with it.
I start to breath again. In. Out. As Adam's dark hair falls upon my chest, my heart starts to beat slower. As if it doesn't want to be too loud, in fear of discomfort to the child over it. The tears still feel like daggers in my eyes, but I'm growing sleepy.
I haven't slept in days. But I feel like I can now. Slowly, the peace of dreariness is starting to take over. My head gently throbs. My eyelids close over my moist eyes that wet my lashes in to clumps. My chest stills. My arms are filled with the tender innocence, who's tears have stopped as well.
We comfort each other. It feels right, to have him back where he belongs. He needs his father, no matter how bad I may be at it. I need my son, no matter what. I know he too, deserves better. But I'm all he has now. He's all I have.
Maybe, just maybe, we can get past at least the most damaging of times we've faced in our pasts. Perhaps we can begin to heal. To gather comfort from each other.
We may just yet survive.