This is just a random drabble I came up with. I actually have no idea how I came up with this idea, but I hope it works. Sorry if the endings a bit strange, I'm really bad at writing them.
It's not exactly Mikita, but it's close!
"Again," Nikita muttered to herself, before beginning another series of brutal punches to the already well-used dummy, making sure her aim was better than before, and her punch even more powerful than before, learning through repetition how to save energy and deliver the attacks to their full potential. She finished the most recent a few seconds faster than before, but she didn't smile at the improvement. It still wasn't good enough.
She'd seen Michael train the night before, and he was way faster than her. She was getting tired, but she refused to stop until she saw tangible improvement. It didn't matter that her hands were sore, even though they were wrapped, or that her body was soaked with sweat and she was panting heavily. She had to be the best. If she wasn't, then she was always at risk of being canceled. But it wasn't just that, if she wasn't the best, then Michael wouldn't notice her anymore.
"Again," she told herself, giving herself encouragement to go on. But before she could start, a hand reached out to stay her fist. Startled, she jumped back in a sparring position, but the hand didn't let go of her wrist, and she only stumbled into the body, which she quickly realized was Michael's body.
"Michael! You startled me," Nikita said, giving a slightly rebuking smile and trying to tug her hand free from his. He refused to let go, however, and his gaze stayed on her hand, which showed blood from underneath the bandages.
"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," he murmured, starting to unwrap the bandages. She flinched, and tried harder to pull away. Once fully bared, her hand showed sign of heavy bruising, and her knuckles seeped blood from the broken skin. Michael tsked at what he saw.
"You should take better care of your hands," he cautioned her. "They're your best asset, after all," he added humorously. This time she succeeded when she jerked her hand from his grip, letting it drop callously to her side, ignoring the blood flowing down her fingers and dripping to the flood.
"What?" he asked, showing his surprise at her severe reaction with a lift of his brow.
"Nothing," she muttered back, turning away from him. "It's fine. I'll go to Medical to get some more bandages." She began walking away, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder this time.
Nikita let out a sigh. She really didn't want to talk about this, and she berated herself for showing so much emotion, and she raged at him for being so curious about her.
"It's nothing," she tried one last time to get away with it, but his brow only lifted higher. She glared, but he glared right back. "My mom used to tell me that. That's all. Ok? Happy now?" Michael only shook his head at her stubbornness and smiled a bit.
"Why would she tell you that?"
"She was a music teacher, so she started teaching me to play piano right after she adopted me. I was surprised by how good at it I was. She was, too. At first, it was just something we did together for fun, to just bond. But when I grew older and began to play more seriously, she started pushing me harder, telling me that my hands were special, and that I should take better care of them. After all, how am I supposed to play piano beautifully if my hands are scarred? She wouldn't let me play normally, was always worrying about my hands. What you said just reminded me of her, that's all. Can I go now?" She brushed his hand off her shoulder and walked away rebelliously, a part of her disappointed he didn't call her back again.
Just as she walked into the elevators, though, she heard him say, "Your hands aren't the most special thing about you. Your heart is." The doors to the elevator closed before she could turn around to face him, but she let out a huge smile even though no one could see it.