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Homecoming

Chapter 18

Notes:

Set between 2x13 "Clean Sweep" and 2x14 "Rogue". Nikita cuts Michael's hair.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Here. Let me…" Noticing her struggle, Michael reached towards Nikita. They were finally getting around to fixing the damage Sean Pierce had caused with his bullet. Birkhoff was out fixing their security around the beach house's property, and the two agents were replacing the bulletproof glass and shades. Whereas they had worked together to replace the shattered pane, Nikita decided to put up the shades on her own. She struggled with the length, weight, and awkwardness atop the ladder. So, Michael tried to steady her. He only wanted to help.

"No. I got it," Yet, Nikita shoved him away. She could hang blinds over the window. She was almost done with her task anyway. Michael's interference was only getting in her way. She pushed his helpful hands off of her and set her determined gaze on the window, "I got it."

Michael rolled his eyes and huffed. He watched Nikita struggle with the blinds for a couple of minutes before she finally succeeded. As she made her way down the ladder, he attempted to help her again. And again, she shoved him away. He couldn't help but scoff, "You know, it's okay to ask for help every once and awhile."

"Yeah. I'm sure when I need it, I'll say something," Nikita brushed past Michael harshly. She began to clean their mess along the floor, completely ignoring him. She had been giving him the cold shoulder since they returned from saving Division and what was left of Oversight from Clean Sweep. He thought it was about his time in London, but she had seemed welcoming when he first returned. Something else was on her mind. If only she would talk to him.

There were plenty of things the two had to talk about. London and Clean Sweep were simply the heavy hitting subjects. Michael and Nikita had to sit and have an actual conversation- preferably one not interrupted by a bullet. However, as he chased after her, she pulled further away. He had to call across the room to her in order for her to listen, "What's that about?"

"Oh. I don't know. Maybe relying on Madeline Pierce for amnesty after this shit storm blows over," Nikita turned around sharply. As much as she wanted pardons for the hell she had raised and for the awful things she was forced to do, she didn't trust that her freedom could come from Senator Pierce. It was too good to be true. It was too great of a promise from the woman who never wanted the rogues to succeed.

"I know she's not completely trustworthy. But this is a real shot of something after our war," Gently, Michael neared Nikita. He knew she had had her reservations about trusting Senator Pierce. He was just surprised it took her so long to voice them. Sure it wasn't the ideal option, but it was their best chance of a life outside of Division's shadows. They had to take it.

"Yeah. Let's just follow the woman who tried to kill us, who sanctioned Division, and who rationalized child killing," Nikita threw the items in her hands into a box. She kicked it harshly towards the ladder and Michael. He could pack both away in the garage once she was done yelling at him. She wasn't going to let someone like Madeline Pierce ruin their shot at freedom. Not after everything she had worked so hard for.

Nikita was right. Senator Pierce was Oversight. She worked against the team, she sanctioned Division missions, and she was involved in the deal with Semak about killing the Udinovs for Zetrov. Madeline's sudden change of heart was something to be wary of, even if it benefitted her too. Yet Michael wasn't going to let caution hold him back. He wanted his freedom, and it wasn't as though they had any other real option, "So what? We end Division, then spend the rest of our lives hiding? I don't want that. Do you?"

"Rather that than trust our government. They've done nothing but fuck us over. So have fun chasing down a pipe dream, while I live in reality," Turning on her heels, Nikita marched out of the livingroom. She didn't even wait around to see Michael's reaction. She was done.

He should've chased after her. They had to talk. Letting the conversation just slip by wasn't going to do either of them any good. But Michael was just so goodman frustrated with Nikita. He tightly clutched his long hair as he brushed it out of his face and expelled a hot breath. If he wasn't going to follow after her, then he had to keep himself busy in some other way. Stopping to think would only make him more frustrated. Except, as he moved the ladder and box to the garage, he had to keep shoving strands of hair out of his face. The lack of cooperation from his own hair made him even more frustrated. It was like he couldn't win anything.

It was time he finally got a haircut. Yet, Michael couldn't just waltz into a barber shop and spend the time sitting defenseless in a chair. He'd have to cut it himself. Or have Nikita do it. He had seen her trim hers and Birkhoff's hair before. She apparently picked up the skill from Amanda. If he asked, she'd probably say 'yes', especially since he had made a big deal about asking for help. He showed he was willing to follow the same advice, then she'd be less stubborn. Or they could mend whatever strain was happening between them. Either way, he eventually found her in the bedroom, "Hey, Nikita. Can you cut my hair?"

"Uh. Yeah. Gather up some towels and newspapers, and I'll meet you in the livingroom," After taking a second to register what he had asked her, Nikita agreed. She gathered her haircutting scissors and Birkhoff's razor with the hair trimming attachment, while Michael set-up a mini salon for her. Newspapers littered the floor around the chair he sat in, and a towel was draped over his shoulders. She pulled over another chair to set her equipment in. Carefully, she tugged at his long strands and wondered, "How short do you want it?"

"I don't know. How it normally is," Shrugging, Michael decided. He hadn't put that much thought into his haircut, and he wasn't sure if Nikita's skills extended past trims. But she nodded anyway, the shears already making their first cut.

Running her fingers through Michael's soft hair after the fight they had had left Nikita's stomach in knots and her mind a complete puddle. She had to get herself in order. Maybe she could use that situation to talk to him about the things they were ignoring. Or, she could distract them both with a joke, "Percy's comment about your rebel without a cause hair got to you, huh?"

"I actually realized my hair would be as long as Birkhoff's was back in Division, and I panicked," Michael joked as well. Despite the need to, then really wasn't the time to talk. They'd figure it out later when their emotions were in better control. Laughing together was far better than yelling anyway.

"We can't have you looking like a nerd," Chuckling, Nikita chopped away at Michael's hair. Once she cleared the long strands, she'd worry about how even it was.

"I'd rather go bald," Michael shuddered at the thought of looking like Birkhoff. Nikita had to stop cutting as she laughed. Her giggles brought more laughter out of him. He looked back at her, flashing the crooked smile he only showed her. She beamed.

"Well, we don't want that," Tugging his hair lightly, Nikita shifted around so that she could cut his grown out bangs. Michael wanted to playfully swat her away, but she was standing so close to him. His hands had been awkwardly laying in his lap while she cut his hair; he wasn't sure what to do with them. Yet with her so close, he could reach out and touch her. That was all he wanted. So, as she moved even closer, he placed his hand on the back of her thigh.

Brown eyes instantly snapped to green. Michael absentmindedly ran his thumb along her leg. Nikita stopped moving as she stared down at him. They were trapped in their gaze, somehow drifting closer together. Their time apart made one locked glance between them magnetizing. Imagine how much more they could've been affected if they had talked first. For the moment, however, there was just the burning need to kiss after far too long apart. Their foreheads touched and their noses brushed. But then, Alex burst through the door, stealing the moment, "You're cutting hair? Great. The ends of my hair are completely fried. I need a trim."

Clearing her throat, Nikita tore her eyes away from Michael's. She resumed her movements as though nothing had happened between them. He followed her lead, removing his hand from her thigh. His hands felt even more awkward and lame sitting useless in his lap, but he wasn't going to touch her again. Not with Alex in the room. At least Nikita was the one to address her, "Maybe if you didn't curl or straighten your hair all the time, it'd be healthier. All that heat damage is gonna make your hair fall out."

"I use conditioner," Alex defended herself. Despite the eye rolls thrown in her direction, she collapsed on the couch and watched Nikita cut Michael's hair.

Since she had known Nikita, Alex had gone to her whenever she needed a trim. It was easier and better that way. Also, the rogue never judged her for her poor hair care habits. She simply stated facts, or helped her fix whatever damage she had done- like what she did with Michael, "Uh, oh. You have gray hairs."

"What?" Michael tried to shift to see Nikita, not caring that she had sharp scissors so close to his head. Gently, she righted him in the chair and plucked the few strands of gray away. It wasn't that big of a deal. She was able to solve the problem with a few plucks.

"I always knew Michael was an old man," Unable to stop herself, Alex quipped. Whereas she smirked, Michael glared. At least Nikita was in the young woman's corner as she laughed.

"Really? Cause when I braided your hair the other day, I had to pick out a couple gray strands," Nikita cast Alex a wry look. Michael instantly chuckled. The young woman gasped.

"You promised you wouldn't say anything," Alex bolted upright. She mostly didn't want Nikita telling Birkhoff when she had made her swear to secrecy. Yet, Michael could be just as awful with the information. He'd tease her relentlessly, just as she would him. There was no way out of that battle.

"I get gray hairs too. It's just stress. We eat healthy, stay active, find ways to relax, the stress won't completely kill us," Nikita offered a middle ground. Of course the stress of a war with Division gave them gray hair. It spiked their anxiety and caused them to have ridiculous fights with teammates. Why not also make them look older than they were. Fortunately, there were ways to battle the stress. And if there was one thing the team was good at, it was fighting.

"I'm not drinking a veggie shake or doing yoga," Shaking her head, Alex settled back against the couch cushions. Michael scoffed in agreement, which earned him a light smack on the back of his head.

When he tried to turn to glare at Nikita, she kept him looking forward by cutting more hair. She was practically done with the scissors by then. She simply had to clean a few things up. But she held him hostage by the blades as a way of payback, "That's how I stay healthy. You can do other things, you know."

"No. She has to emulate everything after you. You're her hero," Michael decided Alex was the easier target to tease than Nikita. After all, the young woman didn't have tools that could be quickly turned into weapons held against him.

"Oh my God," Groaning, Alex pushed off the couch and stomped away. Michael and Nikita simply laughed after her.

"Can you believe she's twenty?" Giggling, Nikita wondered. Michael's soft chuckles responded. She soon set down the scissors and grabbed Birkhoff's razor. Normally, she wouldn't use a razor as she cut hair. But the nerd had a hair trimming attachment she could use to clean up Michael's edges. She could also give him the extremely short locks he wanted with the more precise appliance.

Well, she would've if she would actually press into his head to cut his hair. Nikita barely grazed the razor over Michael. Her actions did nothing. He grinned softly at the fact. It was just like when she had helped him shave his beard when his arm was broken. She was way too timid using a razor, "You have to press harder than that to cut anything."

"I don't want to cut your ear," Nikita admitted. Her focus was entirely on attempting to cut the hair around his ear without cutting him in return. If Michael couldn't afford to spend time at a barber shop, then they definitely couldn't spend time at the E.R.

"I'll be fine. I trust you," Tilting his head back, Michael smiled at her encouragingly. She smiled wide in return.

Once she actually applied force to the razor, Nikita had Michael's hair trimmed and perfect in no time. It wasn't as short as he usually had it, but at least it wasn't the long mess it had become. It was also the best she could do with her limited skills, using basic equipment, and in a safehouse. Cleaning the hair off his neck and shoulders and removing the towel, she urged him to stand. She grinned at him in triumph, "There. Perfect."

"Thank you," Running his hand through his hair and examining his reflection in the windows, Michael beamed. He moved to help her clean up the mess on the floor, yet Nikita waved him off. She was about to cut Alex's hair. They'd deal with all the hair after that.

"I accept payment in food," Nikita continued to brush hair off Michael's shirt. Her quick movements slowed the more she felt his sturdy chest. She glanced up at him, only to find his green eyes already staring into her brown. The two drifted closer together once more.

"Anything you want," Full of sincerity, Michael captured Nikita's hand in his. He wanted to kiss her so badly; she interlocked her fingers with his, and she looked at him so adoringly. However, by the time he built up the courage to close the gap between them, Alex skipped back into the room. She took Michael's empty seat in the chair, impatiently waiting for Nikita to cut her hair. The rogue let go of the agent's hand with a roll of her eyes and a soft smile.

Although he moved to the kitchen to make her something to eat, Michael didn't take his eyes off of Nikita. Every so often, between snips of Alex's hair, she'd look back at him. There were so many things they had to talk about. They hadn't put aside a lot of the issues they were dealing with. But for the moment, they were good. Smiling and joking was good enough.

Notes:

Sorry for the brief hiatus. School work became more important. But I am back to regularly scheduled madness. And I thank you so much for sticking with me and continuously reading these stories!