Hey everyone!

As promised, here's the second part in Nikita's POV. :]

Part II: Nikita

She felt so lost.


It frustrated her that Michael was trying to shut her out.

She expected a bit of that though. Because that was who he was. But she stretched her patience. For him. She knew that he needed space, time to himself, and she gave whatever her sanity could afford. She even tried to be understanding when he'd rather stay in Division than go home, or talk to Birkhoff instead of her.

Even if her mind and heart were in a constant state of worry over him, she endured it. Tempered it. Controlled it.

Just to no avail.

Because knowing him like she did, she knew that he was going to torture himself over what happened. Keep things hidden within until it ate him up inside. And that scared her. Especially during the night. It kept her awake. She'd toss and turn in the half-empty bed she shared with him, trying to keep the worst ideas at bay. Anxiety would bubble inside her, coloring every thought that ran through her mind.

It was just too much.

She was responsible for the torment he was experiencing. She was supposed to help him get through this. If she could help others, why not him?

He wasn't even just any other person. He was Michael. Her fiancé. Her Michael.

She did this to him. She had to help him deal with it, accept it.

Only, she couldn't. He wouldn't let her.

For each day that passed since the incident, she could only watch as he pulled farther and farther away from her. And it wasn't for the lack of effort on her part. Everyday, she tried to reach out in any way that she can, to bring him back, but he just shunned her out. He shot down any attempt she did to show that she cared. That she was sorry that this was happening. That she was there for him.

But he just wouldn't let her in.

It broke her heart, little by little.

But it didn't even occur to her that he would go as far as not telling her what was going on with him.

If Birkhoff didn't inform her that he was going to fit Michael with a bionic hand that day, it probably would've taken longer for her to know that he was experiencing phantom limb pains, or that he had already gone off his painkillers.

That knowledge shocked her more than she ever let on. She never thought that he would keep those important things from her.

But she should have known that he would act that way. He would rather carry the brunt, than let anyone else. He was a martyr like that, expecting too much from his self.

It literally pained her to think that he going through all those things alone. That he was choosing to do it without her help. Why couldn't he see that she could share this burden with him? That she could take a part of his suffering if only he'd let her? That they could get past through this, together, like he always said?

And then she found out why.

It wasn't that he was shunning everyone. It was just her.

He just didn't want her help.

Because she'd helped enough.

The bitter edge in his voice was not lost to her. It took her breath away. The wall he created around himself cracked in front of her, just enough to let her glimpse at how he really felt inside. The pain and the grief. It also showed what he kept hidden when she was around. It was probably even why he didn't want to stay in the same room with her alone for longer than necessary anymore.


He blamed her.

He'd never be the same again. Because of her.

Nikita felt disgusted with herself. She was angry at herself.

He was suffering because of her.

And he was just the start. Her obsession with taking Amanda down was putting everyone she loved at risk. She couldn't have that. Michael served as her cruel reality check at how fleeting their welfare was, how quickly and devastatingly everything can change. It crushed her that it had to be him. Why not her? She'd rather take it all than let someone else get hurt.

But it was done and over with. There was nothing she could do to change what happened.

Michael was suffering because of what she had done. She had to live with that.

And then the thought creeps up, making her wonder, making her doubt if she made the right decision. Knowing what Michael is going through now, if she had made the right choice. Then she remembers that he was still there, still alive and breathing, and she knows that she did what she had to do to spare his life. Even if he didn't see it like that yet.

She couldn't – no, she wouldn't let herself be directly responsible for another loved one's death.

She'd been through that with Daniel. And it all but broke her to pieces. She only survived because she knew that she still had someone to live for. She still had Michael.

So she couldn't even begin to fathom what would happen had he met that same harsh fate.

She knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself.

She'd be dead without him.

If there was a way, any way that she could just get through to him now… She'd let him know, let him see.

Because he didn't understand, didn't realize why she had no choice but to do what she did.

And that she didn't regret it.

It was because she loved him too much.

Too much that she just couldn't let him die.

And it was shattering her within, not being able to help.

That if she wouldn't get to him soon enough, she was going to lose him.

It was ironic.

She was saving others, even the world. She's done many things, even the almost impossible at times.

But she couldn't save the man she loved.

And that's it!

I'd love to read your thoughts in the Reviews (even if this was kinda depressing). So leave one, if you can! :D

And hopefully some other writers out there can come up with a happy Mikita story that'll feed our little hearts until Michael and Nikita really do get better in the show? Yoo hoo, anyone?

So, anyway! This is it for this story. I am always grateful to everyone who took time to read this. And to the most amazing reviewers, you are just awesome. You guys rock. ;)

xx Dani