Author’s Notes: A big thank you to Tomy for getting this betaed so that I could post it before Christmas!
Ornaments
It left Michael cold, the gigantic Foundation holiday party. There were people everywhere sipping eggnog and spiced cider. Their laughter and conversation created a joyous din above the gentle cords of a string quartet playing Christmas music. He clung to the edge of the room, right near the door, avoiding the familiar benefactors and board members. He didn’t like celebrating Christmas with a crowd. At least not this crowd.
The whole point of the holidays was to be with family. It was a time of year that made it painfully clear to Michael that he was without roots, without a real family to celebrate with. He had people he cared about, people he loved. And he thought of them as family, but it still wasn't quite the same. They were like family. Which didn’t mean that they would spend the holidays together. RC had already left for Chicago. Bonnie would be heading home to her parents’ place in a couple of days and Devon was celebrating with friends. That left only Kitt. It was funny – the person who came closest to being true family wasn’t even human.
Michael sighed and glanced at his watch again. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the decorations. The doorway and windows were framed in evergreen branches nestled with white lights like so many twinkling stars. Little glass baubles hung from deep, royal red ribbons entwined in the boughs. There was a Christmas tree in each room draped in sheets of perfectly placed tinsel. So many pretty decorations, but in the end they just made Michael sad.
He closed his eyes for a minute and then opened them again. He was staring up at an ornament that was rocking back and forth in a draft. He reached up and plucked it off its bough. It was a traditional ball-shaped ornament covered with fine carmine threads spun together tightly enough to be a solid facade. The whole thing was topped off by a glittery gold loop with a ribbon tied through it. Michael allowed himself to be mesmerized by the pretty reflections of Christmas lights in its shimmery surface.
The quartet reached the end of ‘Carol of the Bells’ and started to play 'What Child Is This.' There were four of them playing, but all Michael could hear was the mournful cello. The sound sliced right through him.
He was done.
He couldn't take it anymore, holiday party be damned. He didn't care if he and Devon had it out later. Right now he needed to leave.
Tucking the ornament into his suit coat pocket, Michael slid around the edge of the doorway and out into the hallway. Just making the decision to go made him feel a little bit better. He turned down the hall toward the garage, and for some reason it finally hit him. He realized what it was that he needed to do, what was really bothering him. It brought him up dead in his tracks and he pinched the bridge of his nose in tired frustration. Tonight wasn’t the best night for his epiphany. He just had to hope that Kitt would understand.
Michael thought he’d gotten away cleanly but someone called out behind him. “Sneaking away so soon?” Bonnie asked with a festive laugh that made him want to cringe.
He turned around reluctantly. “Yeah, I just needed to get out of there.” He meant to give it a jocular tone, but his voice came out flat, betraying him.
Her smile slowly fell, and her eyes flooded with nakedly displayed concern. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She crossed her arms and looked at him quizzically. “If you want to go somewhere and talk …”
“No.” It came out more curtly he meant it to. “Thanks though,” he said trying to smooth it over, but he hadn't managed to soften it enough. He actually saw the openness in her face slam shut.
“Fine,” she said a bit sharply herself. Then she turned abruptly and headed back toward the party, the click of her heels echoing behind her.
Michael felt bad. He should call her back, explain that he just wasn’t feeling himself right now. But he couldn’t muster the energy. He’d deal with it later.
He slipped into the garage and pulled open Kitt’s door. The soft click it made when it shut was like a balm on his raw emotions. This was home – more so than any other place in his life right now. "Hey, pal, feel like going for a ride?" he asked, trying to force his voice to sound normal as he reached for the start button.
There was a pause while the engine turned over and then Kitt said, "Michael, is there anything I can do?"
His shoulders sagged as he sank back into the seat. He should have known he'd never fool his partner. He started to say 'no' but remembered Bonnie's reaction. He couldn’t take having Kitt mad at him right now too. "Yeah, pal, there is." He pulled the ornament out of his pocket and slowly twisted it in his hand. "There's something I need to do. And it would be easier, it would help, if you could come with me without making a big deal out of it, or giving me the third degree."
"Of course, Michael. Whatever you need."
There was still worry in Kitt’s prim voice and he knew it wasn’t easy for his partner to just let it go. "Thank you, Kitt,” he said sincerely.
He set the ornament on the passenger seat next to him, a little red world on a tan fabric sky. Then he backed the car out of the garage and turned sharply, feeling like he was swallowed by the darkness as they sped away from the Foundation’s grounds. The rain that had lingered all day had finally let up, but the streets were still wet and reflecting all the Christmas lights like gems strewn in their path.
She was close by, but he hadn't visited her. He'd buried himself in work, allowed the avalanche of other people's problems to bury him alive. It was just easier that way. It always had been. But while he was letting it happen, watching the snow charge down the mountain toward him, he knew it wouldn't last. Sooner or later he knew he was going to realize he was a mess and that he’d run out of ways to avoid dealing with it. Sooner or later he was going to have to dig himself out.
There were so many ways to die and he'd stared down a good number of them. But what he so often tried to avoid was the painful fact that dying didn’t just mean a body had stopped breathing. People died physically, but they could also die emotionally too. They could lose faith, love, happiness, hope. They could lose dreams and goals. People could lose themselves. For as physically dangerous as his life was, he’d come to the conclusion that it was for more emotionally dangerous.
What he hadn’t realized was that he’d been grieving over all of it -- losing his identity, his family, his own goals, and dreams. He hadn’t realized it until he was hit in the face with how much this job had taken from him. And he'd grown so tired of grieving over so many losses that he'd just stopped. But that hadn't worked any better. He found he couldn’t even mourn for the things he really needed to grieve over. So here he was again, back at square one, ready to give grief another try because he just didn't know what else to do.
The road got darker and the speed limit decreased - not that Michael did anything other than notice it. He knew Kitt was watching the road like a hawk, even if he wasn't saying anything.
They finally reached the turn off and pulled into the drive. He was lost in the dark, but Kitt silently took over, having figured out where Michael was going. They followed the winding maze of road until Kitt finally slowed the car and turned so that his headlights were illuminating the grounds. Michael knew it wasn't far off the road. He plucked the ornament off the passenger seat and said, "I'll be right back."
"Take your time, Michael," Kitt said softly.
His footsteps were swallowed by the damp grass and mud underfoot. He appreciated Kitt's lights, but he didn't really need them. They kept the cemetery well-lit, probably to discourage vandals and bored teenagers. In fact, the headstone he was looking for was right under a light made to look like an old fashioned lantern. It was almost like it was in a spotlight, which brought painful memories boiling to the surface.
Michael stopped in front of the row of little marble rectangles. One, two, three over. He stepped slowly, carefully, not wanting to stand on top of where she lay. The wet grass forgotten, he slowly sank down next to the headstone and ran his finger over the letters. He closed his eyes, fighting the burning feeling in the back of his throat. Then he fished the ornament out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands. For a moment he just stared at it before slowly reaching out and setting it on the corner of the flat granite grave marker.
“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” he said as his vision blurred, and the carmine red of the ornament bled into the charcoal gray stone.
-----------------------
-knightshade
December 23, 2005
Title: Anniversaries
Rating: PG
Author’s Notes: Thank you to tomy for the beta read!
Anniversaries
Michael stretched against the cold ground and stared up into the red beacon of his partner’s scanner. It swished back and forth like it had years before in the garage, back when it was a mystery, a specter in the dark, a glowing ruby Cyclops waiting to charge. It had been his first clue that this car was different, that there was something special about it.
Michael stretched out his arms and folded them behind his head.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Kitt said, his tone causing Michael to grin.
“How would you know?”
“Based on the reams of data I have on human anatomy and the basic parameters for the soil conditions, temperature, and humidity. That can’t be comfortable.”
Michael’s smile widened. “It’s fine for now.”
There was a long pause as Michael watched the tracking scanner. It was more mesmerizing than fire.
“Michael, what are we doing?”
“You’re parked in the desert and I’m lying on the ground in front of you.”
“Why?”
“It’s something different.”
“Than what?”
“Driving.”
Kitt didn’t breathe and therefore didn’t sigh, but somehow he’d never let that interfere with his ability to express exasperation. “How is it different?”
“We’re not moving. I’m lying down, not sitting –“
“You’re being pedantic.”
“I think it’s my turn. You’re always the pedantic one.”
“I’m not pedantic, I’m exacting. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I am a computer.
Michael snorted his laughter. “I noticed.”
“How long are you planning on lying there?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Are you at least going to tell me why we’re out here and not comfortably settled at the hotel?”
The word ‘no’ danced on his tongue and tickled his cheeks. But there was no point in pushing Kitt too far. “What is today?”
“Saturday, September 26, 1987.”
“Which is?”
“The third day of Tishri, 5748, on the Jewish calendar.”
“And?”
“The 4th day of Qiufen, in the fourth year of the 78th cycle on the Chinese calendar.”
“Who’s being pedantic now?” Michael groused.
“And the fifth anniversary of the day we met.”
“Precisely.” Michael gazed up at the dark sky above him. It took Kitt long enough.
“I fail to see what that has anything to do with you lying in the dirt on a 60 degree night in the middle of the Mojave Desert.”
“Sometimes it’s good to get a different perspective on things.”
“I see. And what perspective is lying in the dirt giving you?”
Michael laughed and sat up, the hard packed dirt below him finally getting too uncomfortable to lie on. He leaned in and rested his weight against Kitt’s prow, finding himself staring down at Kitt’s scanner again. Michael spent more time in the car than out in front of it so when he thought of Kitt he usually pictured the segmented red lines that made up his voice modulator. But really the scanner was a better mental picture. Like human eyes, it was his partner’s window on the world and even flashed with his moods. When it was tracking, Michael knew he was protected, that someone had his back. When it was tracing its slow line back and forth, it meant that Kitt was okay, functioning properly.
It was almost like a heart beat.
“Michael?”
He glanced up, remembering that Kitt had asked him a question. “It’s telling me not to take this, or you, for granted.”
“Well, in that case, you’re welcome to lie in the dirt any time you’d like,” he quipped. “But I’m not sure I see the connection.”
Michael sighed. He didn’t mean to get morbid. That wasn’t his goal, but it was kind of hard to avoid. “Pal, five years ago, I could have -- should have -- died like this. But thanks to Wilton and Devon, I didn’t. I got a second chance. And sometimes it’s good to remember that. Most people don’t get second chances.” Michael closed his eyes and sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m grateful to have you in my life, to be your partner.”
“Me too, Michael. I’m very grateful to have you in my life, as it were. I think we make a good team.”
“That we do, pal. That we do.” Michael stood up and dusted off his jacket.
“Are you ready to go?” Kitt asked.
“What’s the rush, pal? You got a hot date?”
“In a manner of speaking. Some of my circuits got damaged during our turbo boost this morning. Bonnie said she’d meet me after you turned in to fix it.”
“You’ve got a secret date with Bonnie?” Michael asked, feigning shock.
“I wouldn’t call it secret since I just told you. And it’s not a date in the manner that you mean it.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. I had no idea. Kitt, you dog!”
“Michael, really. She’s my technician.”
He grinned. “Love blooms amongst the microchips.”
“Hardly.”
“I think my partner doth protest too much. Come, we mustn’t keep the lady waiting.”
“Michael?”
“Yeah, Kitt?”
“What is it going to take to get you to let this go?”
Michael grinned as he put the car in gear. “Probably another five years, pal.”
--------------------
-knightshade
January 15, 2006
Title: Splatter
Rating: PG
Author’s Notes: Thank you to Mitch Knights for the beta.
Splatter
Michael stared down at the spatter of blood that covered the hood of the car - bright crimson drops against the silky black skin. It was a red so deep it made Kitt’s scanner almost pink in comparison.
A rosette of splatter, a painting in blood.
His blood.
He was hypnotized by the drip-dripping sound that pattered in his ears. His eyes followed the sound back along the curve of the hood to its source. A steady stream of droplets fell from the tips of his limp fingers. He followed them up his hand, where they curled around his wrist before disappearing under the cuff of his jacket. Halfway up his forearm was the trailhead, a ragged hole in the leather sleeve.
It was clean - only the barest hint of red on this side. He knew if he turned his arm to look at the back, it would be a bigger mess. There was after all, the splatter.
Michael slowly became aware of another sound that was buzzing in his ears - his partner's voice. It ramped up, finally cutting through the background hum that clouded his thoughts.
“… in the car, Michael, please.”
“Yeah, Kitt. What is it?” The words were distant. They seemed to come from outside him somewhere.
“Please get in the car. You’re hurt.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
But he couldn’t take his eyes off the fan-shaped pattern of droplets on the hood. There had been too much blood spilt in his life. Too many stains in too many places. Too much of him left in places he’d rather not have been. On catwalks, in parking lots, in the desert sand. This life he’d borrowed had started out with a splatter of blood on another dark hood in a far away desert a lifetime ago. Other people marked their lives by births, deaths, and anniversaries. His was marked by the spilling of blood.
“Michael, please. I’m not able to help you . . .”
The droplets were staring to collect and roll down the hood and over the fender like so many red tears. It was beautiful if you could look past the horror of it. And he was well beyond any feelings of horror. In fact, he had the sudden urge to write his name in it.
Michael bent at the knees, meaning to sink so that his fingers could reach the alloy skin, but he ended up taking a clumsy seat on the hood instead. His arm dragged along the surface, making a smeary mess and sending a red hot arrow of pain shooting up through his arm. It cut through the haze for a moment.
“Michael?”
He could hear the note of panic in his partner’s voice. Kitt was worried -- probably beside himself.
“S’Okay pal. It’s not that bad. Through and through. I’ll be fine.” It had been a lucky parting shot as the guys he was chasing got away.
“I’m aware of that. But you still need medical attention. Please get in the car so that I can help you.”
He was suddenly very tired. “I’ll get blood all over your upholstery.”
“Michael, I do not care about that. I care about you.”
Michael sighed and his gaze wandered up the hood through the windshield to the empty driver’s seat. He was hurting his partner. Hurting Kitt. “I care about you too.”
“Then please get in the car.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sorry, pal.” Michael glanced down one more time and then slid off the hood onto wobbly feet. He stumbled past the door which Kitt opened for him and sank into the seat. He set his bloody arm across his lap to keep the mess on his already ruined clothing. Kitt was moving before the door was even closed.
Off to the hospital. Off to let the doctors and nurses sew up his wounds again. It was one more scar, one more patch in the quilt of Michael Knight’s life.
-----------------
-knightshade
January 6, 2006
Title: Pretty Face
Rating: PG
Author’s Notes: Thank you to Mitch Knights for the beta!
This story takes place early in season 2 and is in the Sand Castles alternate universe (It has its own universe? Who snuck that in when I wasn’t looking!).
Pretty Face
Michael closed the door to his suite with a sigh, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and ran a hand through his already well-raked hair. He cast a guilty eye at the red light on the answering machine, but it was solid, as it always was – he had no reason to expect it to blink. The people he wanted to hear from never called. One couldn’t. The other . . . didn’t.
Shower or food? He didn’t really have the energy for either right now. Mentally flipping a coin, he padded into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. He stared at the bare shelves, breathing in the cool air. Fuck it, he thought and despite the early hour, reached for a beer. He popped the top off and wandered into the living room. Sinking onto the couch, Michael thrust his feet up on the coffee table, and took a deep swig from the bottle.
God, he missed Stevie.
He missed her so much it was like a gaping chest wound. Everything about it hurt. She was out there somewhere and he couldn’t have her. It wasn’t something he was able to ignore anymore, like he had before he'd spotted her picture in that newspaper. Before he’d gone and gotten mixed up in her life again. It haunted him, kept him up at night. Like it or not, he was walking wounded. He could pretend otherwise for Devon, pretend for Kitt, but he couldn’t pretend for himself.
He knew better.
Michael could bury himself in the cases, could spend his vacations thrill seeking, but there wasn’t anything he could do to take his mind off Stevie during the inevitable quiet times.
Michael took another deep gulp from the bottle, absentmindedly resting it against his lower lip.
Losing Bonnie too only made the wound bigger. He knew their relationship would probably never be all that he and Stevie had been, but at least it'd been something real. If he hadn’t run into Stevie, he knew he could have buried her in his heart and been happy with someone else. And he really liked Bonnie. Their relationship was different. It was definitely more challenging -- but in a way he kind of liked that. It made it feel less like he was chasing his own past.
Helping Stevie had probably put a stake in the heart of his budding relationship with Bonnie. That much he understood and accepted. But then Bonnie had left. He’d lost her friendship as well as any possibility of a real relationship. The two most important women in his life were out of his reach and he’d lost them both at once.
It left him painfully, bitterly alone -- a sucking chest wound that had emptied him of everything.
And along came April.
Michael swilled the last of the beer and got up, not really sure where he was going. His feet led him back to the kitchen for another beer. He knew he should shower, get cleaned up, do something. But he couldn’t face the mirror right now. Instead he staked his claim on the couch again -- not that anyone was going to fight him over it.
He didn’t even really know why he felt guilty. He was pretty sure that April was on the same page. He’d always been careful about that. He lived a dangerous life on the road, and he wasn’t a priest, but he didn't want to hurt anyone. He’d always tried to be careful – to be clear about his intentions, to only get involved with women who weren’t looking for anything more than he was. He’d gotten good at looking for the signs. April fit the bill.
She was pretty and nice, and most importantly – there. She flirted with him. And she had those captivating red curls. She’d probably have some fancy name for her hair color -- ginger or strawberry blonde or something. It didn’t really matter to him. Her curls were pretty, soft, and they took his mind off things. Besides, he was pining over a blonde and a brunette – he might as well have a fling with a redhead.
April was a fun distraction, a pretty face. There was nothing complicated or deceptive about her – she was basically an open page, which was nice. And judging by the cheery but detached way she smiled at him this morning, that was probably how she saw him too.
She wasn’t going to fill the hole.
And he didn’t think she wanted to.
So why the hell did he feel so guilty?
Sure, Devon wouldn’t be pleased if he found out. But there were a lot of things that didn’t please Devon, and frankly Michael didn’t really care. And Kitt didn’t seem too concerned about it. Michael had been bracing himself for the disapproving lecture when he got in the car this morning. But it hadn't come. There'd been a stern silence, but it had faded by the time they arrived back at the Foundation. It surprised Michael completely. The morning after he’d spent the night with Bonnie, Kitt had practically pounced on him at the first available opportunity. He wondered why the change, but suspected that Kitt had simply given up trying to lecture him on this particular topic. Either that or his partner felt the same way he did - April was nice but she just wasn’t Bonnie.
Michael scooped up the ‘dead soldiers’ by the necks and went back into the kichen.
Why was he feeling so guilty? It wasn’t like he was cheating on anyone. True, it probably wouldn't make either Stevie or Bonnie happy to find out about his activities, but neither of them had any claims on his fidelity anymore.
He dumped the empties in the trash bin and decided he really needed to get on with the inevitable. It was time to get back to pretending. Pretending that the last year hadn't pitted his heart with craters, pretending he was still the carefree crusader, pretending he was anything approaching whole. But as the bottles clattered to the bottom of the bin, he allowed himself one last self-indulgent thought.
He didn't feel guilty because he was claimed. He felt guilty because he wanted to be.
---------------------
-knightrider
January 6, 2006
Title: Glow
Rating: PG
Author’s Notes: Thank you to Gumnut for the beta!
Glow
"Well, I'm gonna call it a night." Jason Hallbeck stood up and dusted himself off. "You're welcome to stay out here as long as you want, but just be sure the fire's out before you come in."
Michael glanced up from the bonfire, realizing that he'd been mesmerized by the flickering light. "I'm going to stay out here a little while yet. Wait for her to finish up," he said, tipping his head toward the road.
Jason looked over at the looming shadow of the semi parked along the edge of his property, hidden among the pine boughs. "She hasn't left that truck all day. She's pretty dedicated, huh?"
Michael laughed. "That's one way of putting it, yeah. Especially when it comes to Kitt."
Jason smiled back. "There's a full bucket a water next to the woodpile when you're ready to come in."
"Goodnight," Michael said as the other man nodded and headed back to the rustic log cabin.
Michael slid off the rough hewn bench he'd been sitting on and used it as a backrest. The sand circling the fire pit was warm and deep enough to be more comfortable than the bench.
It'd been a harrowing twenty-four hours. Their current case had them hunting a militia that had been terrorizing a small town. Jason was the local sheriff, and smart enough to know he was in over his head. Michael knew the militia was trouble, but he’d had no idea just how much firepower they were packing. Kitt had taken a nasty direct hit that had knocked out several of his systems, leading Michael to call Bonnie in a panic. She drove all night to get to them. Then she'd worked all day fixing Kitt. Luckily it hadn't been as bad as they feared. After hovering all day, Michael was finally convinced that his partner was going to be okay. He decided to get out from underfoot and joined Jason for dinner and a couple beers around the fire.
Michael rolled his head to stretch his neck. He was tired, drained. But the warmth from the fire was soothing. The smell of the burning wood and the crackle of bark was lulling him into a pleasant stupor. He was starting to think about checking on things when he heard the metallic clink of the semi door opening and closing. Bonnie made her way down the path from the semi to the fire pit.
If he was drained, she had to be exhausted. Her gait was slow and shuffling, and her eyes were little more than dark hollows.
"How's it going sweetheart?" he asked, patting the ground next to him.
She sighed deeply and sank into the sand. "I'm just waiting for his sensor recalibration routine to finish. Then I can make a couple of adjustments and he should be good to go."
"How long does that take?"
She was staring into the fire and it took her a minute to answer. Michael knew that dead-on-his-feet feeling all too well.
"Ah. It'll take about an hour for the calibration to run and another two or so for me to finish up."
"Plenty of time for a nap."
She shook her head ruefully. "That'll make those last two hours just that much harder. Naps make me more tired."
Michael rested his arm across her shoulder. "Not if you take the right kind of naps. According to that super computer of yours, the key is not to sleep too long."
She gave him a half smile and rolled her eyes.
"I'm serious," he protested. "It's something about getting one complete sleep cycle or something. He can explain it better. All I know is that it works."
"How long do you sleep?"
"Well, Kitt monitors my vitals to determine when I come out of deep sleep, but it's usually twenty minutes."
"Hmm," she said, staring back at the fire again. Michael could tell that she was more than a little tempted. Her eyes closed for a couple of seconds and her shoulders fell forward in an exhausted hunch.
"Come on, if you're just waiting anyway, you might as well give it a try." Michael slipped off his leather jacket and balled it into a crude pillow for her.
"Here?" she asked incredulously. "In the sand?"
He grinned at her stained coveralls. "You're already covered in grease and dirt. A little sand isn't going to hurt."
She just looked at him.
"Besides, it's a beautiful, starry night, and we've got a warm fire going. Sounds like a perfect place for a nap to me."
"Except when I roll too close to the pit and my grease-stained clothing catches on fire."
Michael set his jacket down on the ground and said softly, "I won't let anything happen to you."
Bonnie turned back to the fire and he wondered if the red glow from the flames was hiding a blush in her cheeks. But temptation must have won out because she turned back. "Twenty minutes?" she asked.
"Twenty minutes, and not a minute longer."
"I'll hold you to that."
"Believe me, I know." He smiled as she slid down and rested her head on his jacket, her eyes closing immediately. Michael glanced at his watch for a time hack, and then started gently stroking her hair. The radiance from the fire was giving it shimmering, scarlet highlights as his fingers combed through the soft strands.
"Good night, beautiful," he said, but her breathing had already slowed to a slow, steady rhythm.
