Rating/Warnings: PG; no warnings, spoilers for S2
Characters/Pairings: Het(/Character Study/Meta); canon Michael/Nikita
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money, please don't sue me.
Summary:Division, n. something that divides or separates; partition.
Nikita is all to familiar with Division. Post 2x23.
Newly-minted Nikita fan, here. I blew through the series in a week and fell in love with everything. Enough, apparently, to write for the first time in ages. Title from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's Beat the Devil's Tattoo, because it seemed appropriate.
something that divides or separates; partition.
Division is more than just a word. It’s more than a term that Nikita has heard a million times. It means more than what they think it does, and the only people who know are the ones who’ve been inside.
Ryan knows, but maybe not as well as the rest of them. He was a prisoner, never an agent. He knows it was for the good of the country, that it became something much, much more. He knows what it’s like to be cut off and dead, separated from the world outside until outside is merely a memory.
But he doesn’t fully understand the effect. The true Division.
The true Division is Percy’s masterpiece, a world he put together, culling Carla and Amanda’s ideas for his own to build a system that never should have existed.
Division means to divide into separate parts. More than one out of one, a whole into many pieces. Pieces divided from each other, not touching, never interacting. Division means separation and security. It means losing (cutting, bloody and gory) those ties.
Every recruit who enters is already isolated, separated from the rest of the world through death and sealed in a tomb. Division, the program and the action, make them more so.
something that marks a division; dividing line or mark.
Michael stands abruptly. “Absolutely not,” he says, and Nikita knows what’s going to happen next.
Division had always kept them apart. First because he was her mentor, partner, smarter half, and then because she was a fugitive. And now, now that they’re finally together, after so long, Division threatens them again. It always comes down to duty, that thin line that snaps them back from each other every time they get close. It’s not fair. There are threats that need putting down, Division is falling but not everything is falling with it. There are too many loose threads to be choosy. She knows there’s a reason Ryan wants to send them on separate missions. She knows that six months is not forever. She knows he understand why they don’t want this.
She doesn’t want to lose Michael, she doesn’t want to leave. She can’t let Division (and Percy, though he isn’t here anymore) keep them apart. That’s selfish, but they deserve it. They did win, after all.
She turns to Ryan. “We’ll have to do it together.”
The frazzled-looking director huffs in exasperation and turns back to the displays. From the other side of Control, Michael offers her that half-smile of his that she loves.
one of the parts into which a thing is divided; section.
Every person who enters Division knows what it feels like to be isolated, to be torn apart and reshaped to server their country (Percy). Some more than others.
Nikita knows what it’s like to be remade in the image of a killer. A cold-blooded woman, born out of the ashes of a drugged-out teen. She knows that every day she lives, she could die. She knows she sees patterns and exits and potential threats and she doesn’t remember how to do anything else.
She knows she looks at Michael, asleep on his side, so quiet and relaxed, and thinks of how vulnerable he is, how quickly he turns his back to her. She’s supposed to love him, and all she sees is how she can hurt him. He promised to teach her how to love, but she’s not sure. The best parts of her were divided up and thrown into the wind long ago, and sometimes she wonders what he sees. Why he insists on loving her so much. She’s killed and tortured and murdered and done it all when she knew it was wrong.
He’s inches away and her fingers curl around the gun on her nightstand, still unaccustomed to standing still. Still unaccustomed to safety. She’s got a runner’s instinct and a killer’s mind and this is what Division whittled her into. She’s alone in the dark, listening for sounds that are never coming.
Michael rolls against her, his shoulder hitting her elbow. She knows it’s enough to wake him, but he shows no signs of stirring. His face is relaxed. He’s safe. He trusts her. He’s even snoring slightly as he twists and curls his arm around her, nudging her against him again.
They’re not on high-alert anymore. Division is gone. She’s not alone. She’s home.
She lets go of the gun.
the act or process of dividing; state of being divided.
Nikita wakes up with a jolt, everything spinning and refusing to right itself. Her vision is blurry and she doesn’t remember.
The man she didn’t notice looks intently at her, assessing.
“Welcome to Division, Nikita.”