Journey into Darkness

Caitlin was already dressed, working at the stove. She heard Michael come into the room behind her, and dared a quick glance back over her shoulder at him. "Good morning. I was just about to call you." She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, turning her attention back to the bacon. She was afraid to ask the question. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an idiot." She heard the refrigerator door open and close, and the scrape of a chair as he pulled it out and sat down at the table. "Cait, about last night... I'm sorry. It never should have happened. If I'd been thinking clearly, I never would have allowed it to happen."

Her fingers tightened on the spatula. *It never should have happened.* He was right. It shouldn't have happened. Somehow, though, she had hoped that he wouldn't use the word "never". But he had. "I could say the same thing." She jabbed at the bacon, fighting to keep the emotion from her voice. "I'm sorry, too, Michael. It wasn't a very good idea, was it?" she asked without turning.

"No." He hesitated. "I hope that this doesn't ruin things between us. We've become friends, good friends who can count on one another. I'd like to think that the bond between us is strong enough to survive one ill-advised evening, because I certainly don't want to destroy it."

"Neither do I." Friendship. If there was nothing else, at least she still had that.

"Can we pretend that last night never happened?"

She might pretend, but it would be a long time before she forgot. Even as injured as he was, Michael was a passionate and talented lover. The night she had spent with him would not be easy to ignore. Caitlin nodded with a mixture of reluctance and relief. "Agreed." Turning the stove off, she brought plates to the table. "I hope you like your eggs scrambled."

"Scrambled is fine, thank you." He started in on them as she poured the coffee, then sat down across from him and began picking at her own plate.

"How's your hand, has any more movement come back?"

Michael looked down, as if only then remembering. As she watched, she could see his fingers move. Again, it wasn't much, but was perceptibly more than the night before. He nodded, grinning. “Gaining on it.”

“We need to call your doctor. He said to let him know if there was any change.”

“Not today.”

“But--”

He bit into a piece of bacon. “I've been poked and prodded for the last two weeks. If I never see the inside of another hospital, it will still be too soon. I need a break from it. This--” he glanced down, “seems to be improving on it's own. Let's wait a couple days and see what happens.”

She could see his point. There was probably little the doctors could do anyhow, besides confirming what they already knew. “Okay, we'll wait.”

Michael picked at his eggs. “Can you drive a stick?”

“A stick?”

“Stick shift. Standard transmission.”

Caitlin grinned. “Oh, please. I'm a Texas farm girl. My first vehicle was a twenty-year-old pickup truck. Of course I can drive standard.”

“Good. Let's go for a ride this afternoon. We can take my car.”

“You don't like my Mustang?” she teased.

“The Mustang is fine, but I've got power seats and windows.”

Accessories that would undoubtedly be easier for him to operate. “Your car it is. You're sure you feel up to it?”

“I'm already going stir crazy. Don't worry, I'm not planning anything strenuous, we'll just take a ride up the coast and pick up some dinner.”

-*-
-*-

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, his arm propped on a pillow as Caitlin redressed his wounds. When she removed the bandages, he saw that there had been minimal bleeding, and the stitches appeared intact. That was a relief, had it been worse, she would have insisted on calling Marklin. *That was the last thing he wanted.*

She leaned close, her hands warm on his skin as she finished taping the gauze in place. He tried to ignore that warmth, the fragrant scent of her shampoo, the nearness of her lean frame. *Don't think about it*, he told himself. Finished, she straightened up. “All set.”

He gestured toward the closet. “Could you grab me a shirt, please?”

“Sure.” She opened the closet door, then chuckled. “I think I just went snow-blind!”

Michael knew that at least ninety percent of the contents were some shade of white or off-white. He grinned back at her. “Wise ass.”

Caitlin disappeared into the closet. “You have a preference?”

“Surprise me.” He already had a good idea what she would select.

As he had expected, she reemerged carrying a black shirt. “Have you ever even worn this?”

“Once or twice.” He wasn't about to tell Caitlin that he had worn it to the private, personal memorial he had held for Maria. Perhaps it was naive of him, but he still wanted to believe that Kruger and Kinskcov had forced his former lover to betray him.

From the look she gave him, Caitlin heard something in his voice. “I can get something else.”

“No, that's fine.” It was time to let go of Maria. “Give me a hand getting it on, will you?”

Minutes later, dressed and with the sling replaced, Michael stood. He rummaged in a drawer, pulling out a key chain with several keys. “Come on, let's get out of here.” He led Caitlin outside, enjoying the winter sun as they walked to the garage. He held the door for her, and she headed toward the white Mercedes convertible.

“Wrong car.” He motioned for her to follow him as he crossed the garage to the third, walled-off bay.

He felt his pulse rate jump. The sleek lines of Italian engineering brought a surge of adrenalin, as it always did. He wasn't one for buying himself a lot of “toys”, but this had been an exception. Caitlin joined him, looking at the car with something approaching terror. “Michael, I said I could drive standard. I never said I could drive a Ferrari!”

“Clutch works the same way it worked on your truck.” He unlocked the driver's door and opened it for her. “I'll show you the shift pattern.” Once she was in the car, he went around to the other side and let himself in, reaching across awkwardly to close the door once he was settled. *Getting out of the low slung car was going to be a bitch.*

Caitlin hadn't started the engine. “What are you waiting for?” he teased.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “For you to come to your senses. Are you sure about this?”

He thumbed the remote, and the garage door opened behind them. “I took the Mercedes in for service, and I happened to see this car on the showroom floor.” The maroon 308 Ferrari wasn't something he normally would have even looked at. “I must have been having some sort of mid-life crisis, because I decided I had to have it. Less than a month later, Moffet blew up Red Star. Damn clutch. My knee couldn't handle it, I didn't drive the car for six months. Now...” he looked down at his arm. “Drive, Cait. Please.”

She nodded, starting the car. “Where are we headed?”

“Let's cut down to the Pacific Coast Highway. We'll head north from there.” He put his left hand over hers on the gearshift. “Okay, now reverse is over here...”

-*-

All in all, it had been a good day. As Michael had expected, despite her fears Caitlin had driven flawlessly, quickly learning where the gears were. He had kept his hand on hers longer than it needed to be there, allowing her to assume that he was worried about his transmission. In reality, he simply enjoyed touching her.

They had driven up the coast, stopping for coffee near Santa Maria, where they turned around and headed back. Now, not far from the house, they had found a seafood joint with outdoor tables and a view of the ocean. The two of them sat on opposite sides of the worn picnic table, watching the sun drop towards the horizon. If the streaks of red in the sky were any indication, morning would bring another example of the fine weather that southern California was known for.

Michael picked at his clams and French fries. What he had really had a craving for was lobster, but picking out lobster meat with one hand would have been impossible, and he wasn't about to ask Caitlin to do it. It was embarrassing enough having her cut up his food at home. He looked down, willing his hand to move. The fingers and thumb responded. It still wasn't much, but he had been working at it all day as they had driven up the coast, and there was a definite improvement since the morning.

“Michael,” Caitlin sighed, rolling her eyes. “Enough for one day. Relax. Rest.”

“It's all right. Think of it as a kid with a new toy.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “One that moves, huh?”

“Yeah.” *Thankfully.*

She got up and came around the table, sitting down beside him. “Look the other way. Over there at the water.” Caitlin reached out, but he wasn't sure what she intended. “Let me know if you feel anything.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated. “Right there.” His eyes blinked open. “You scraped the inside of my wrist?”

“I did.” She grinned at him. “The bruising is fading, I could see it when I was doing your dressings this morning. The nerves are healing.”

Michael wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her like she had never been kissed before. No. He had taken advantage of her once, he wouldn't do it again. Instead, he let her experiment, finding the parts of his arm and hand where the sensation was returning, and the other areas that were still numb. He glanced for a moment at the other tables. Most of them were empty. At this time of year, this late in the day there was a definite nip in the air. The few that were occupied undoubtedly wondered what the two of them were doing, laughing like idiots every time she found another spot where he could feel her touch. *To hell with them.* What anyone else thought didn't matter. *It had been a very good day.*

-*-

“Ah, Caitlin, my dear. I didn't know I'd find you here.”

“Admiral, it's good to see you. Come on in. Michael is in the den.”

“Oh please, dear. Call me John. All my friends do.”

From where he sat at the computer, Michael could clearly hear the voices approaching, and chuckled It sounded like the Admiral was in his usual form, and was trying to hit on Caitlin. The man had to be somewhere past eighty, but still considered anything female and over the age of consent to be fair game.

He rose as the older man entered, carrying a large shopping bag. The Admiral started to extend his hand, then quickly snatched it back, trying to cover the motion. “Michael, son, how are you doing?” he asked, setting the bag on the coffee table.

“I'm fine. How are you? Can I get you a drink?”

The Admiral paused to consider it. “As I recall, you've got some pretty good Scotch around here somewhere.”

“I'll go get it. You two visit,” Caitlin offered. “Michael, can I get you anything?”

“I'll take the same, if you would,.” he answered. She left them as they sat down. The Admiral eyed him critically. “How are you, really? Not the pablum you feed everyone else.”

“Tired,” Michael admitted, grudgingly. “A little worse for the wear, but I'll live.”

The older man glowered at him. “You damn well better. Someone's got to keep the committee in line.” He reached for the bag that he had brought with him. “I bought you a little get-well present.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. Knowing his friend, that could be anything from a box of cigars to a high-priced call girl, although the call girl undoubtedly wouldn't fit in the bag. “I'm afraid to ask.”

The Admiral pulled out a box and set it beside the bag. “It's a Nintendo. Top of the line model. I threw in a few game cartridges I thought you might like.” He nodded toward Michael's arm. “Best thing going to improve your dexterity.”

“Going to be awhile before I'm playing video games, I'm afraid.”

“You'll get there.”

They were interrupted by Caitlin's return with the Scotch. “Michael, while you've got company, I'm going to run over to my apartment and pick up a few things, if that's okay?”

“Take your time.”

The men watched her go. “She's staying here, is she?” The Admiral asked, with a crooked smile.

“Take your mind out of the gutter. Marklin wouldn't let me out of the hospital without having someone here, and Marella wasn't available. That's all it is.”

The other man eyed him. “So, nothing's gone on between...?” He snorted as Michael looked away. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“Once. It was a mistake. She was vulnerable, and I took advantage,”” Michael admitted.

“Vulnerable my ass.” The Admiral sipped his Scotch. “That girl is interested. Damn interested.”

“Don't be ridiculous. For one thing, I've got nearly twenty years on her.”

That brought a laugh from the older man. “Like that's ever slowed me down. Trust me, that wasn't vulnerability I saw in her eyes when she looked at you.”

“John, enough. It's not going to happen again.”

The Admiral shrugged. “Your loss.” He hesitated. “One thing. Did you at least get her a Christmas present?”

“What?”

He sighed. “You left for Cambodia in the middle of December. It's now well into January. Girl saves your miserable ass, the least you could do is get her a present.”

Michael realized that he had, indeed, essentially forgotten the holidays. He'd been in the hospital as they passed, and while he was aware of their passage, it wasn't something he had consciously thought about. “I'll take care of it.”

“That's more like it.” The Admiral put his glass down. “You know, I'm proud of you, son. The Firm -- hell, our entire government -- was willing to leave those men over there. The committee is going to make you pay for it, but you did the right thing.”

“I did what I felt I had to do. I made a promise to Hawke.”

“And you would have gone after them even if you hadn't made that promise, wouldn't you?”

Michael considered it. “I don't know,”

“You would have. I know that, even if you don't.”

“What happens to them now?” He didn't trust the Firm. Those men had been rescued once before, only to be thrown back into that mess. He didn't want it to happen again.

“They're going home as heroes. I intend to see to it personally. You have my word on that.”

Michael knew that as retired military, the Admiral would make sure the men were returned home, even if they were Army rather than his beloved Navy. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I just wish I could square it with the committee. Zeus would like nothing more than to have your head.”

“Doesn't surprise me.”

“What is it with you two? That bastard has one hell of a hard-on pointed in your direction.”

“You don't know? No, I guess you wouldn't.” Michael closed his eyes and sighed loudly. “Tatyana Pettrov.”

“A woman?”

Michael blinked. “Not hardly.” He rose, carrying his glass with him as he paced. “It was a long time ago. I was in charge of Zebra Squad at the time. Zeus... Zeus was one of my operatives. He was assigned to take out a courier. He got the courier, all right. But he was sloppy. He killed a nine year-old girl. Tatyana Pettrov. For absolutely no reason, other than impatience.”

The Admiral shook his head. “God, what a business this is.”

“Yeah. I went to the committee and threw a fit. They promised me that he would be severely reprimanded.” Michael snorted. “He was reprimanded, all right. They slapped his wrist. Three years later he was my superior.” He downed what was was left of the Scotch. “And that's why Zeus did away with my division and tried to transfer me out of the country the second I turned my back.”

-*-
-*-

Caitlin glanced over at Michael as she drove, her eyebrow hiking in amusement. “You're going to wear a hole in that thing.”

“Good.”

They had come from his physical therapist's office. The news had been positive, in the week and a half since he had gotten out of the hospital, Michael had regained considerable movement in his hand, and some in his wrist and elbow. The rubber ball had become a constant companion. He worked it continually, flexing his fingers, trying to rebuild his strength.

“Are we headed back to the house?” She doubted it. Caitlin had given up on trying to convince him that he should stay home and rest. Injured or not, he wasn't one for sitting still. She was certain he would want to stop somewhere. At least they were in the Mercedes; she was a lot more confident driving that than the Ferrari, especially in traffic.

“No, we're going shopping.”

“Shopping?” That could mean almost anything.

“Head for Thousand Oaks,” he told her cryptically, smile playing on his lips.

Michael's good mood was contagious. The therapist had, without too much badgering, agreed to let him work on his own at home, and only visit the office once a week. It was an arrangement that made sense. Unlike many patients, Michael would push himself as hard or harder than the therapist would.

He interrupted Caitlin's thoughts. “Turn left at the next light, and find a place to park.”

She did as he asked, parking the car and getting out with him. Caitlin looked around. The stores in the area seemed to be mostly boutiques and specialty shops, nothing that she pictured him being interested in. “So where are we headed?”

“Taj.”

She had heard the name before, although she had never been in the store. They sold high end women's clothing, well out of her price range. It seemed an odd place for Michael to be shopping. *Perhaps Marella had a birthday coming?*

He led her into the store, and started scanning the racks, seemingly looking for something in particular. After a few minutes, he picked out a dress and held it up. It was a deep green that was not quite teal, but had just a trace of blue in it. The neckline was cut low without being too revealing, and one side split half way up the thigh. “What do you think?”

“Exquisite.” She couldn't picture Marella wearing it, though.

“Try it on.” He handed it to her.

“Me?” She glanced at the size. It should fit her, but she really couldn't see the sense of trying on a dress that she could never afford.

“Please. I want to see what it looks like on you.”

“Okay,” she agreed, and took the garment into the dressing room. Caitlin returned a few minutes later, turning to model the dress for Michael.

“You like it?” he asked.

“You have excellent taste.” Caitlin had checked her reflection in the mirror. She still didn't know who he was considering the dress for, but if the woman had her build and coloring he couldn't go wrong with it.

He sent her back in to change, and when she returned, he took the dress from her and gave it to the clerk to wrap.

“You're going to make someone very happy with that.” Caitlin told him as he paid the bill.

He handed her the bag, grinning as they walked out of the shop. “I'm glad you like it.”

She realized abruptly what he was saying. “Michael, you can't – I saw the tag, that's way too expensive!” He had insisted on paying her bills in exchange for her staying at the house and caring for him. There was no reason for him to buy her extravagant clothing.

They had reached the car. “Cait, if you haven't figured it out by now, money isn't an issue. If I never work another day, it still won't be. What's the sense of having it if you don't spend some of it on someone once in awhile? I want you to have the dress.”

Caitlin opened the door of the car, and carefully put the bag in the back. “Well, I guess if you're sure. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He got in the car. “You can wear it tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“You missed Christmas and New Year's while I was in the hospital. I think I owe you a night out on the town.”

“Nonsense. You don't owe me anything.”

“Maybe I just want an excuse to go out.”

“Well, if you really feel up to it.” She started the car, and an idea occurred to her. Caitlin grinned. “One thing, though. Since you picked a dress for me, I guess I get to decide what you wear?”

Michael laughed. “Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?”